Vision

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  Dusty looked past him, out the window. The orange tint of late day was in the sky.

  Not much time.

  He didn't have the power or control to do anything about Heinrich Himmler or Adolf Hitler, but he might be able to stop the sadist from infecting anyone else.

  How? The same way you took out the man at the plane?

  Shit! What am I becoming?

  “Dusty, you okay?” Erik asked him worriedly. Had he blown it again?

  “Fine. It's just that—” he hesitated. What if they wanted to stop him? Could he live with himself, knowing he had the chance to change something and hadn't?

  It was a chance he had to take. They'd dropped everything to track him down and save his butt. They needed to know that said “butt” might be going back on the line.

  Besides, Dusty thought with something resembling relief, Zar might be able to help him work this through. To figure out whether he had the reason, or the right, to kill a dead man.

  Dusty sighed. Here goes...

  “If we're leaving tomorrow, there's some business I've got to take care of tonight.”

  Valterzar lifted an eyebrow, but Erik's groaned “Shit!” said it all.

  * * * *

  “What about a candle? I've seen it on TV. They always use candles in seances.”

  James shook his head, and said slowly, “That's so they can blow them out, Joshua. So the audience can tell when the ghostie's there.” He sighed dramatically. “Sometimes it seems I have to tell you everything.”

  Downstairs, directly beneath them, there was a gigantic thud and bump that rattled the floorboards.

  “Mis-er-y,” James sang in a whisper.

  “He's in some kind of hell,” Ren said quietly, sensing Garris’ disjointed thoughts.

  “Of his own making,” reminded Merrie.

  “Hope he doesn't expect visitors there,” Josh said. He sat, waiting for Merrie to do something. The noises, the dark, and the damned nonchalance of the others was getting on his nerves. He, who used to be so easygoing, to take everything in his stride, was turning into a nervous wreck.

  James started to hum again.

  Josh guessed it was his way of handling his nervousness—better than breaking windows—but hell, he couldn't take it any more. He bellowed, "Show yourself, Garris!"

  At his words, the door to the bedroom slammed back, ramming the wall. A chill wind blasted the room, and somewhere downstairs, a window broke in a shattering of glass.

  “Is that him?” Josh asked, wondering what he'd done.

  “The door and the glass were me,” James said, embarrassment and anger in his voice. “Dammit, Josh!”

  "Wait!" Merrie was saying.

  The wind swept past once more, seeming to gather in the centre of their circle.

  “The wind?” Josh whispered.

  A voice he recognised hissed in his ear, "That, my Dear Boy, was me."

  * * * *

  Dusty was nervous. When Erik and Valterzar left to have dinner, he changed into a shirt and pants, then paced the hospital room restlessly. They'd already decided Smythe would know nothing about tonight's effort. That meant no guards. The only way to lose them later would be to make them complacent—make them think that everything was under control, and everyone accounted for.

  Something was really bothering Dusty, though, and Zar guessed he wanted to talk. He left Erik to dessert, after warning him to make sure his energy levels were replenished, then went back to Dusty's room.

  Dusty froze when he entered, then relaxed and resumed pacing when he saw who it was. Valterzar didn't say anything; just sat down in a chair and waited.

  “When does ‘self-defence’ turn into ‘murder'?” Dusty finally threw out.

  “Past or present?” Zar asked him, with a glint of amusement.

  “It all depends on who's involved,” Dusty responded, his lips creasing in a smile. “You know I killed the pilot, from the aeroplane.”

  “Not murder,” Valterzar told him, without hesitation. “You did it to protect Ren and Josh. And the rest of us, come to think of it.” He smiled. “You won't find any of us arguing ethics over that one.”

  “The Camp—it-it's horrible,” Dusty whispered, his smile fading. “Some of them were—are—”

  “Are,” Valterzar said, understanding Dustin's confusion.

  “—are barely alive. I've never seen anything like it. Most of them are starving, exhausted—without hope.”

  “No idea whether they'll be alive tomorrow.”

  Dusty nodded. “I'd kill Hitler—or-or Himmler, if I could.”

  “Understandable.”

  “But I don't have that kind of control. Sometimes, it's all I can do to get in and out. With someone like Hitler, and all those guards—”

  “You'd be dead before you could get close.” Zar studied him. “So what do you want to do?”

  “Get the doctor.”

  “Schilling, or the one you punched?”

  Dusty smiled at that. “The one I punched. Whatever Schilling was doing, I didn't see him in action.”

  “I think you have to ask yourself if it's personal, Dusty.”

  Dusty sat down on the edge of the bed. “It's personal,” he admitted, “but not because of me.” His voice was choked as he described the march, the man who'd stumbled by the wayside and died as a result, the men who'd helped him. “It could be one of them next.”

  “But you don't know that.”

  Dusty's eyes were tortured. “But I can't leave it, either. I can't just walk away assuming he won't do it to anyone else.” He looked at Zar. “If I could stop him—”

  “Kill him?”

  “Whatever it takes. I had a few hours of sickness, Zar—how long for other people?”

  “Hours to days.”

  Dusty shook his head in distress and resumed pacing. “Days of that! If I could save just one person from that, it'd be worth it.”

  Zar sat quietly as he thought it over. In a war situation, actions were often excusable that weren't conceivable in peacetime. Dusty was caught in a terrible dichotomy between now and then; between self-defence and murder. It was apparent he was still feeling guilt over the pilot, and that had actually come down to self-defence, at the end. What had been eating at Dusty was the moral issue, because he'd decided to kill the pilot after seeing the outcome of the man's actions. The “killing” was to have taken place before the man had even finished aiming his gun.

  How much worse would he feel in this instance, where he had no proof of the man's guilt, other than the attack on himself? Whether or not it was justified wasn't the issue here—it was whether or not Dusty felt it was justified, so he could live with any self-recrimination and doubt later.

  Maybe they could go it one better. All it would take was a little research, into the man's activities. “What was his name?”

  Dusty tried to recall what the white-haired man had yelled, but he'd been too dazed. He shook his head. “I don't know,” he admitted.

  “Then that's what we've got to find out first,” Zar said.

  * * * *

  If she'd been afraid of Drew Garris when he was alive, Ren was three times as afraid now. Besides her own fear, she was intensely aware of each of the others'.

  And Dr. Drewsome was doing his best to make it worse.

  He was flitting from one to the other, hissing in their ears and prodding and poking with non-existent fingers. He kept flinging her hair in her eyes, then laughing when she flinched and peeled it back. She had a terrible feeling that in this state, he could read her mind.

  It was then she realised how deliberate his actions were, and why they now seemed to be centring on her. He was trying to stop her from reading him.

  It gave her confidence, and she said coldly, “Now I understand why Sylvie Dainler hated you.”

  He coalesced. There was no other way to describe it. He came into being, out of swirls of misty light, to hover in her face. He slapped her, with hands that shouldn't have been ther
e. Ren, shocked, cowered. "Merrie!" she cried.

  “I'm trying, Ren!” Merrie yelped.

  Trying to give the game away, Jamie thought. Garris would realise he had the upper hand. Jamie did what he could to halt him, but all he got was a slimy Garris, who laughed in his face, then spat a wad of ectoplasmic mucous at Josh.

  “I think we've got a problem,” Josh said, covering his face with one arm.

  “Tell me where the files are!” Merrie demanded.

  “Now you can see why I encouraged your gift, Meredith,” Garris told her. “So you could bring me back...”

  “Away from the consequences of your actions?” Merrie said. She was standing now, defying him. “Not a chance, Fool!"

  Ren sensed it coming, but she didn't have time to warn her. With a gigantic blast, much like the one that had echoed from the floor below, the room exploded. Merrie was flung back, against the window. The glass splintered around her, and screaming, she started to drift through.

  Jamie was fighting it now—straining to keep her inside while Josh dove for her legs. "Help me!" Jamie yelled.

  Ren didn't stop to think. She reached a hand into the writhing mass of seething ectoplasm—and let it come. The misty light faded, and the room was once again plunged into darkness.

  There was a sudden cessation of activity. James wasn't prepared for it. As the counterpressure on Merrie ceased, she went sailing forward, just as Josh grabbed her legs. She did a forward flip over Josh's head, to land face up on the floor. All the wind was knocked out of her, and she could only lie there as Jamie came stumbling over, and tripped over her leg, to end up sprawling himself.

  "Ren! Where's Ren?" Josh asked.

  There were footsteps on the stairs now. Someone whistled all the way down, and on out the front door. The slam echoed in their ears.

  "That must be Ren!" James said, stunned.

  Merrie sighed. She sounded near tears. “Unfortunately, she's taken Dr. Drewsome with her.”

  * * * *

  Erik attempted to stroll into Dusty's room, but his walk held the jerky movements of someone trying to control his panic. “D'you have your phone off?!” he asked Valterzar, clearly upset.

  “Yes. Dusty and I were talking—” Zar began.

  “'cause I figured,” Erik went on, as if Zar hadn't spoken, “if you weren't answering, that one or both of you was in trouble. Never know when trouble's going to strike this group, do we?” he said. There was a note of hysteria in his voice.

  Uh-oh, Zar thought.

  “What's happened?" Dusty asked worriedly.

  “Did you know they were having a seance?” Erik asked Zar accusingly.

  He nodded. “Ren said something about that, yes.”

  “Well, she won't be talking about it now,” Erik retorted, his voice high.

  Dusty grabbed his arm. “What's wrong?"

  “The seance. It backfired. They managed to summon up Drew Garris, all right, but then things got a little ‘out of hand'. Drewsome took over Ren's body, and they don't know where the hell she is.”

  * * * *

  Valterzar was the one pacing now. Dusty was grabbing his stuff together, preparing to exit. Erik was sitting in a chair, aimlessly babbling. It was all along the lines of “we should have known", “what are we going to do now?", and “what if they catch her?". Since Valterzar couldn't answer any of his questions at the moment, he just left him to it.

  Zar was having problems directing his own thoughts past Merrie. Erik had said she'd nearly been tossed out a second-storey window. If they found Ren—and Merrie wouldn't give up until they'd managed it—Merrie would try to fix it, by herself. She could get herself killed.

  He knew Dustin was in a similar state. He'd been absolutely silent since Erik's announcement. Silent and tense. Erik wasn't much better, but at least Zar could determine his state of mind. For all of them, the plane trip back was going to seem interminably long.

  “If we head for the airport, at least one of us might be able to get back early.” They were the first words Dusty had spoken. His eyes met Valterzar's.

  “One” meant just that: no entourage. There'd be some kind of fight at the airport if any of them left tonight.

  “No,” Valterzar said.

  "What?!" Erik gasped, unable to believe what he was hearing.

  “We're scheduled for the morning flight. If anyone gets on tonight, there'll be trouble.”

  “From you?" Erik asked, a little belligerently.

  “No, Erik,” Dusty told him quietly. “The watchdogs.” He sank down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

  “We're going back to the Camp,” Valterzar decided. “We still need to find out why Smythe lied, about the malaria.” At this point, he couldn't care less, but they needed something to do. Otherwise, they'd be at each others’ throats. “Ren thought it might have to do with the DNA, but I'm not so sure.”

  “What DNA?” Dusty asked dully.

  “Ren thinks we have some foreign DNA in our systems—maybe even fungal. Unfortunately, she admitted her suspicions to Smythe, before she could run any tests in her lab. She was hoping to separate the proteins, maybe define some of the molecular weights. Something that would help her figure it out. Garris’ research would have told her a lot more.”

  “I could charter a plane!” Erik said excitedly. “Big enough for ‘everyone'. You know Smythe's gonna be gunning for them.”

  Dusty looked at Valterzar for enlightenment.

  “Smythe's lost track of the rest of the cluster. He probably suspects they're in touch with us, but he doesn't know for sure.”

  “So if we start acting panicky, he'll probably take us into custody,” Dusty said.

  Zar nodded. “So he doesn't ‘lose’ us, too. He may even figure holding us would bring the others in.”

  “So no flight, Erik,” Dusty said. “I'm sorry—you don't know how sorry." He leaned back on the bed, his hands behind his head. “If it helps, Rik, Ren must know about the Camp, if she was transmitting all that information to you. I have a feeling that no matter what else has happened, she'll expect—” his lips quirked in a grim smile, “—maybe even demand—that I see this through.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “First things first,” Josh said. “I don't care what James says.”

  “Shut up, Josh. This isn't the time.” They were in the car, but everyone wanted to head a different direction. James asked Merrie, “Being dead doesn't make him ‘omniscient', does it? I mean, will he know about Ren's house? That it's burned down?”

  “No. Not unless he can read Ren's mind.”

  “Aren't there any rules regarding this shit?” Josh asked in frustration. “If he can read Ren's mind, we're all in trouble, because she can read everyone else's. She'll be able to sense us coming a mile off. How are we going to save her then?”

  “I don't know. We'll have to do some research on possession,” Merrie said.

  “But not till after we have those cuts looked at,” Josh said firmly. “I don't know how much blood you lost up there in the dark.”

  “I'll drop me at a cybercafe,” James said. “You take the car. I'll do some research, while you take Merrie into the ER. Make sure to use a fake name.”

  “Nothing like stating the obvious,” Josh said. “Speaking of which, why don't you just use Ren's computer? We've got a pretty sweet deal going at Drewsome's house. Ren may even convince the old goat to bring her back there.”

  “I want to make sure the neighbours didn't hear anything first. Breaking glass and screams do tend to draw attention.”

  “I suppose...” Josh said slowly.

  “We already did some research with Ren's computer and my cellphone, and I don't know whether it can be traced. What if they somehow figure out where we were working from? Can they do things like that?”

  “I don't know,” said Merrie, “but from what Ren told me about this ‘agency', I wouldn't be surprised.”

  “How're you holding up, Mer?” Jamie asked. Sh
e was cradling her arm, which was wrapped with Josh's hankie. It wasn't her only cut, but it was the worst.

  “Sore—and tired,” she admitted with a yawn.

  “Blood loss,” Josh said knowledgeably.

  “Shut up, Josh,” Jamie said again. “She doesn't need to hear that right now.”

  “I'm the one taking her to the ER. I want her to know who's in charge.”

  “Thank you, Josh,” said Merrie, smiling sweetly, but pointedly, in his direction. “I was wondering when you'd notice.”

  Josh shook his head. “Makes me damn glad I chose the dinosaurs,” he said.

  * * * *

  It was an altogether different matter going to Dachau at night. There'd been the security people to deal with first, but that had been more a matter of doing exactly what was expected (Valterzar and Erik to a hotel, Dusty spending a last night in the hospital), then avoidance. No problem.

  Two hours later, Zar and Erik were back in the hospital parking lot. Neither of them was willing to meet Dusty anywhere else. If he was going anywhere near Dachau, it was in company.

  They took the train toward Petershausen, and disembarked at Dachau station, twenty minutes later. There'd been one bad time, aboard the train, when Dusty's breathing had become erratic and his gestures panicked, but Valterzar had been watching him. He'd been quick to grasp Dusty's shoulder, and a moment later Dusty, somewhat paler but obviously alert, nodded to him.

  He didn't know how relieved Valterzar was that he could avert another incident. Erik knew, though. His eyes met Zar's and he formed a silent “Phew!".

  That instant on the train had given Zar something to think about. He'd experienced a little of Dusty's trauma while trying to combat it: been momentarily crammed in a mass of hypoxic humanity, heard the moans of the dying, caught a scent of deteriorating flesh. It had horrified him, and he hoped he could keep his distance, in order to help Dusty maintain his.

  And the flicker of doubt nearly made Zar call a halt.

  But he couldn't. The same flash of history that had scared him with its intensity, had given him a better understanding for why Dusty felt he needed to do this. No one had a right to make other human beings suffer like that. No one.

  They took a bus along the Sudetenland Strasse, disembarking several blocks from the Camp. It was so different this time that Dusty had trouble taking it in. He didn't even know whether this was the road he'd travelled, but he had no trouble identifying the iron gate under the archway.