Killerbyte (byte Series Book 1)

by Cat Connor

  “Well, it was someone, and it wasn’t me either.” I washed my hands and splashed a little water on my face. My mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. I squirted a dollop of toothpaste onto my toothbrush and gave my teeth a quick scrub. From the mirror above the sink, I caught sight of the shower curtain. I spun around and stared at it. I dropped the toothbrush into the sink. Cold dread curled in my stomach.

  “You want to look in the shower?” I asked.

  Mac moved closer into the room. “Hell, no,” he said, with an unsure glance at me.

  “How could he get a body in here?” I said, thinking out loud. “Unless it was here before we came back from the café.#8221;

  “But agents were watching,” Mac reminded. “Across the road, remember?”

  “In theory the motel was under surveillance.” Surveillance is boring; attention wanders. “He could’ve posed as housekeeping and come in here with a trolley. I wouldn’t put it past him. The guy is smoke!”

  We stood together watching more flies emerge from the top of the curtain and buzz about the light bulb. I had hoped we might enjoy at least a day’s reprieve before anything else happened. I watched another few flies emerge.

  Dammit!

  “Oh, fuck-a-doodle-do. I’ll do it.” I edged forward with my hand outstretched and flicked the far side of the shower curtain. It barely moved. “Welcome to Friday night in Lexington.” I stepped forward with more purpose.

  What’s the worst it can be?

  I ripped back the curtain in one fast movement. I had to swallow hard and clamp my hand over my mouth and nose. I heard Mac gag next to me. I gulped back bile and stared at the slumped body in the shower cubicle. Flies crawled all over it. I moved as close as I could. I tried not to breathe. Disgusting didn’t even come close to describing the mess. I couldn’t see anything distinguishable. I leaned in and lifted back a piece of torn fabric from what I thought was a sleeve. Maybe there’d be a watch or something that we might recognize. Vomit rose in my throat as I held the fabric out of the way enough to see what appeared to be a tattoo, a mermaid.

  Roy Matheson, DEA. Oh, Jesus, dammit. Roy is dead. 4urxtc was Roy!

  “Roy.” Stumbling back in an effort to get away, my feet slid on a small towel, and I felt Mac’s hand brush past my arm as I fell.

  I heard my name, and Mac said, “Oh, shit, this isn’t good.”

  I tried to say ‘I’m okay’ but the darkness swallowed me.

  When the night comes, it comes with a vengeance. No gentle billowing of soft clouds, just thunderous black storms, pounding and unrelenting, shaking my soul.

  “What else did he do?”

  My arm hurts. It’s not real. It’s a dream. My arm hurts.

  “What else did he do?” The dream voice was insistent.

  “Shut up! He didn’t do anything.”

  A door closed somewhere; it got darker. How can night get darker? A night light would be good, an anti-demon night light would be even better. It’s not always as it seems.

  Thunder rolled around me. I took a breath.

  I’m okay. It was just a storm.

  Momentary panic grasped at me. I couldn’t feel Mac. The panic subsided; something told me he’d be close. The thunder stopped. I flew, gliding through the air and then sank into warmth. I heard his voice. Not what he said, but how he said it. I was right, he was close. I loved his voice.

  The darkness lifted a little then fell again like a guillotine. A trick. There was no reprieve, and no light. The darkness wasn’t going to set me free or let me go back to the safety of Mac’s arms. It had a purpose, its purpose was to disorientate and torture.

  “What else did he do?”

  Why was the dream person doing this to me?

  “Shush! He did nothing. Nothing happened!” Did I even speak? My voice sounded hollow inside my head. Maybe it wasn’t my voice. I didn’t recognize the voice speaking to me.

  “You protest too much, holder of secrets.”

  “There are no secrets,” I squirmed, “Nothing happened.”

  “Things are not always as they seem, Conway. What are you hiding?”

  The unrelenting torment by this dream person was almost more than I could cope with. “I have nothing to hide, leave me be!”

  “How did he break your arm?”

  “What are you talking about?” The non-stop inquisition annoyed me. This is my dream!

  “Carter broke your arm.”

  Whoa, what? I want to wake up now. I don’t want to dream this dream. It’s not real. It’s not real. How dare someone step into my dream and say such things?

  “No. There was a fight.”

  Okay, it’s my dream so I’ll change it. I shall dismiss the dream person. “You can go now, goodbye!”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Someone killed me.”

  I blinked in the dim light trying to make out features. It wasn’t enough for someone to say they’d been killed. I’ve had a week of people being killed; this could be anyone. For some reason that thought gave me zero comfort and the dream continued. I needed Ghostbusters, the obvious answer.

  “Who are you?”

  “I was there. Who found you?”

  My throat constricted as pure panic took hold. “No!”

  “Who found you?”

  “There was a fight.” It was a fight. Why won’t the dead guy listen? Why is he in my dream? My stomach churned. Breathing became difficult as my throat tightened even more.

  “Who found you?”

  “I don’t know.” I felt cold. I was cold and my arm hurt. I was freezing as if the air had turned to ice around me.

  “Can you feel it? The biting cold?”

  “Yes.” I was so cold I couldn’t shiver, and I couldn’t move. It was dark again. Pitch dark.

  “Let me open the door, so you can see.”

  “I don’t want to see.” I closed my eyes.

  “You have to see.” He was adamant.

  “No.” Hot tears stung my frozen face as they sprang from my tightly closed eyes.

  “Please?” The voice changed, he pleaded. Light flooded across me. I blinked to clear my vision. A man appeared in front of me. Blood ran from a cut above his right eye. He wiped it away. I saw the tattoo.

  “Roy?”

  “I found you,” he said, as he nodded.

  I took a breath and looked around. My eyes hurt. I couldn’t move my head properly. Where was I? A bathroom. I looked down at myself. Where were the rest of my clothes? I was half-dressed. My arm hurt. I looked at my right arm. Handcuffed to the shower rail, there was something very wrong with my arm, the angle was all wrong. I looked back at Roy.

  “You don’t remember do you?”

  “No.”

  “I was there looking to buy from Carter.”

  “Drugs?” I asked. The shock of seeing myself faded. It’s a nightmare, nothing more. Maybe some kind of ectoplasm trap would deal with the ghost of bathrooms past, because he sure wasn’t leaving of his own accord or even on mine.

  “He was giving me the run around. I suspected he’d been supplying Xeo.”

  Nightmare, nightmare, not real. My body shook uncontrollably.

  “I was leaving. I had spoken to Carter several times during the evening. I was about to leave when I heard a scream.”

  I didn’t want to hear this. I clamped my free hand over one ear, no more!

  He took my hand and held it. “The fight happened when I opened the bathroom door and found you.”

  “No!” I shook my head.

  “I went looking for the source of the scream. I found him with you.”

  “No. That’s not how it happened. I was using his computer. You and he came in yelling at each other. There was a fight.” See? I did remember what happened. Just a fight and my arm was broken.

  “I’m sorry. Things aren’t always as they seem. I’d been after him for a few months before you became involved.”

  “It was just a fight.” Why won’t he listen to me? Stupid
dream! Why can’t I change it? My arm hurts, my head is going to explode, what sort of warped damn dream is this?

  “I couldn’t arrest him for what he did to you. I was undercover and for all I knew you could have been too.”

  “Nothing happened.” My voice echoed off the cold walls, bouncing through Roy leaving a trail of pale light.

  “I didn’t walk away. Don’t think I did. I took you to the hospital. I called Grafton, you had his card in your wallet, and then I called your brother. I found his card too.”

  Roy began to fade, his edges blurred. “I’m sorry, Ellie, I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t be, it was a fight.” It would always be a fight, always and forever.

  “Things aren’t always as they seem. I wish you could remember, but I also hope you never do. Stay safe, Ellie.” His feet disappeared into the mist.

  “I’m sorry you were killed.” My words took shape and surrounded him as the gray dissolved his form. For a fleeting second, he was a merman.

  Sadness crept from the edges of a bleak memory. People were dying, and I didn’t know why. I closed my eyes a second time and locked away the nightmare. My closed eyes offered scant relief from the searing arm pain or the invisible daggers breaching my skull.

  Mac. I wanted Mac. Wanted him to erase the night and stop the guillotine from decapitating me, and most of all to say “It’s only a dream.”

  Weariness washed over an uninviting dreamscape until there was nothing. The pain in my arm drained away. Replaced by a soothing yellow glow.

  Somewhere from the deep night a smooth voice filtered through the shadows and drifted into my semi-conscious mind.

  What I wanted, what I needed was right there if my eyes would just open.

  A warm and comfortable feeling spread from the pit of my stomach radiating outward as I recognized the words. “Ellie, please wake up.” Words accompanied by the gentle touch of lips on my lips and the soft scent of familiar warm skin.

  My eyes were tired. Opening them was difficult and required more effort. Focusing through a haze, I recognized his smile.

  “Welcome back.”

  I took a breath. “Hi.”

  Not exactly profound.

  “How do you feel?” He studied my face. I looked into his hazel eyes and wondered where he’d been all my life. I wasn’t sure how I felt. Safer now I could see Mac but a little confused as well. I tried to lift my right arm. It seemed heavier than normal. My eyes searched Mac’s for answers, knowing he’d supply them without my voicing the question.

  He smiled. “You broke your arm and cracked your skull, have a concussion, and you’ve got a wicked damn bruise on your right thigh.”

  I blinked trying to clear the swimming blobs of light in front of my eyes as I tried to assimilate this new information. “Where are we?”

  “Stonewall Jackson Hospital.”

  “Why?” I forced my eyes to remain open as I tried to understand what the hell was going on.

  “Babe, you’re hurt. You’ve been unconscious for several hours.”

  “I don’t remember,” I said. I tried very hard to keep panic from my voice. Mac brushed a stray hair from my face. He sat on a chair right next to me. His arm reached over my head, and a light flashed at the edge of my vision. “What did you do?”

  “Pressed the call button, need to tell them you are awake.”

  I searched his eyes for something familiar and found heaven. His eyes smiled drawing me into their depths. He didn’t move until a nurse appeared next to the bed. Then he sat back a little to allow the nurse easier access.

  “Hello, Gabrielle, glad you have joined us,” she said, smiling as she took my wrist in her cool hand. “How do you feel?”

  Why does everyone want to know how I feel? I don’t even know how I feel. She should be able to tell me. Isn’t it her job to know such things?

  I watched her. She looked around forty. My father once described women in their forties as being of a sensible age, and she looked sensible, with short, wavy, dark hair and a wide, pleasant smile.

  “Let’s see how you’re doing.” The nurse produced a small flashlight from her pocket. She shone it across my eyes. I recoiled as pain erupted with great force in my head.

  Great – just what was needed – more bright lights exploding in front of my eyes.

  “Sorry,” she murmured.

  I waited for the next instrument of torture to appear. She produced an electronic thermometer. “This will take two seconds,” she said poking the small cone-shaped end of the machine into my ear. “Excellent!” she smiled at me. “So far, so good.”

  I sighed. I didn’t mean to, but the light made my head hurt. She watched me with clinical interest.

  “How’s your head?”

  “It hurts,” I replied. “What’s your name?”

  She smiled again. “Sorry, Gabrielle, I should have introduced myself. My name is Annie.”

  It suited her.

  Annie held up her hand in front of me. “What do you see?”

  “Two blurry fingers or maybe hairy sausages.”

  Mac whispered in my ear, “Smartass.”

  “Good, now I have a few questions for you. What is your name?”

  “Gabrielle Conway.”

  “What year were you born?”

  “Seventy-six.” The questions were surprisingly easy for a pop quiz.

  “What year is it now?”

  “2000 and something.”

  I hoped that was the end of the questions requiring numerological answers. I had zero clue what the actual date was, and anything more difficult than the year I was born and my age was beyond my comprehension. I heard Mac chuckle to himself, well aware of how challenged I am by simple things like the actual date or day, with or without a head injury.

  “Who’s the president?”

  “George W Bush,” I replied. I also knew he was the forty-third president and his father was the forty-first and I didn’t vote for either of them. I chose not to elaborate quite that much. I could see Mac waving frantically and holding up fingers but was having a hard job making my eyes stay still.

  “Okay, we’re done for now. I’ll just write up your chart. You’re doing great.” Annie patted my left arm and then looked over at my right arm. “How does that feel?”

  I moved it and wiggled my fingers. “It’s okay.” I saw the cast for the first time. It was bright yellow like the sun.

  Annie smiled. “Don’t often see yellow casts, makes a nice change.” She closed the door as she left.

  Mac nudged me. “We’re on to the forty-fourth President now.”

  “Whoops.” You’d think I’d remember something like another inauguration.

  “You even voted for this one. Do like the yellow?”

  “Yeah, did you choose it?” I lifted my arm gingerly for closer inspection; it sure was yellow.

  “Nearly went with Barbie pink.” He grinned. “I had a feeling you’d smack me with it if I did though.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Since the wee small hours.”

  “What day is it?”

  “Still Saturday, not long after dawn.”

  I smiled. My head felt floaty, my arm felt odd, but having Mac with me made everything okay.

  “Were you scared?” I asked. I smiled, yet silent sneaky tears ran from the corner of my eye onto the pillow. Eyes can’t be trusted.

  Mac wrapped his arms around me lifting me off the bed. “Yeah, you scared me,” he whispered. “I’m happy you are awake.”

  “Good, now put me down, I’m not a doll! And tell me what happened?” I felt nervous as snippets of a disturbing dream slipped in and out of my mind before I could grasp their meaning. “The last thing I remember was you changing the light bulb in the bathroom and now we’re in hospital.”

  “You’ve missed the fun bit, babe.” He moved so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. I struggled to focus. He grinned like an idiot. “You used the bathroom and accuse
d me of creating an odious smell in there.” He attempted a wounded look but failed. “Then, you pulled back the shower curtain and we discovered the body, at which point you stepped backwards and tripped or slipped on a hand towel and fell, hence the hospital.”

  “Ohhh,” I said. “Whose body?” Something pushed its way from the edges of a murky shroud. Roy.

  “You said it was Roy. Guess we’ll find out if we ever get any FBI in here.”

  I slid down the bed. How did I remember it was Roy? I looked up at Mac. “Where’s Caine?”

  “Our motel.”

  My eyes wanted to close.

  “Rest,” he murmured. “I’ll be here in this very comfortable-looking chair.” He pointed to a chair by the bed. “I think it’s conformed to the shape of my backside, by now.”

  Footsteps sounded, coming ever closer. I opened my eyes to see a man in a lab coat standing by the bed. I glanced at Mac. He nodded at the man.

  “Hello,” he said to Mac. “I heard she was awake and scoring well.”

  Scoring? Did I take a test? They could wait until I’m fully functional.

  “You seem surprised,” Mac said.

  “I’m very pleased. Not everyone comes back from a four.” His eyes narrowed somewhat. “Certainly not so quickly, it’s a big jump from four to fifteen.”

  What the hell was he talking about? Four to fifteen what? It made no sense.

  “Who are you and what the hell are you talking about?” I said, trying to sit up. It was way too hard. I managed to get my shoulders off the bed then lay back down.

  “I’m Leon Kapowski,” he said. “Your physician.”

  “Uh huh, and?”

  I saw him and Mac exchange glances before he spoke to me again, “Do you know what the Glasgow coma scale is?”

  It didn’t sound good.

  “Are you about to tell me my head is made of sawdust?”

  He smiled. “No, I was about to explain how the scale works.”

  Oh man, medical mumbo jumbo! Can we just skip it? Move right on. I’m sorry I asked the stupid question to start with, I really don’t care what four, or fifteen are.

  I sighed and wondered if it had been audible. By the look on Mac’s face I guessed it had.

  Leon hadn’t taken his eyes off me since he started speaking but now he waited for me to give him permission to carry on.