Killerbyte (byte Series Book 1)

by Cat Connor

  I see dead people.

  “Just answer my question! Did he call you?”

  “Someone called me. An anonymous Good Samaritan told me you were injured and suggested that a toxicology screen be done.”

  “You don’t know who it was?”

  “No.”

  “Aidan did you get a call?” My gaze shifted to him.

  He looked uncomfortable. He started to shake his head but changed his mind. “Yes.”

  The rest of the conversation with Roy bounced through my disjointed mind. He told me the truth. Toxicology – is that why I don’t remember. Did Carter drug me?

  I didn’t want to ask, but something told me I needed to know. “What showed in the tox screen?”

  Caine shook his head. “We don’t need to go here, it’s going to do more harm than good.”

  Funny how things become clear all of a sudden. I believed there was a fight. I didn’t have exact details, just enough to make me think that’s how it was. They told me there was a fight. Roy, Caine, maybe even Aidan, concocted the story.

  “Tell me, Caine.”

  His eyes landed on mine with force. “Rohypnol.”

  I’m okay.

  I don’t remember anything happening. So if I don’t remember, it didn’t happen. I’m okay dammit! But Roy was right. Rohypnol has a specific use, so it’s highly possible that something else did happen.

  I’m still okay.

  I sensed Mac’s question and before the words escaped his lips, I answered it, “It’s a date-rape drug sometimes called coma capsules, or Roofies.”

  He didn’t say a word. I peered at Aidan. He was a little sad looking.

  Words fell from my mouth in an effort to stop the tears, “We have to stop this son of Shakespeare prick before he kills again. Roy was a good guy.”

  Caine didn’t ask again how I managed to talk to a dead DEA agent. Instead, he turned his attention to Aidan. “I want you to go home. Ellie’s fine; she’s in good hands.”

  “I can stay and help.” Aidan offered.

  “No. I don’t want you becoming a target. Please Aidan, your sister and Mac have been through enough.”

  Aidan nodded and stood up. He reached his hand out and shook Mac’s. “Keep her safe.”

  “I intend to,” Mac replied.

  Aidan kissed my cheek. “Be okay.”

  I smiled. “I’m always okay, you know that.” For the first time since he arrived I could see him clearly. “The new sweater suits you. You should wear turtlenecks more often. Black makes your eyes stand out more. They seem a brighter blue.”

  Aidan smiled.

  “Next time you visit Holly, wear the black.”

  He grinned. “‘Night Ellie. You seem to be feeling better.”

  I listened as Aidan’s footfalls faded away.

  “You rest up, kid. I’m going to organize your decoy and everything else.” Caine turned towards the door then spun back, his eyes glistening in an odd way. “Don’t hate me for what I did.”

  “Were you protecting me?” I knew the answer already.

  “Yes.”

  “I would never hate you, Caine. Sometimes I dislike you. Your intentions were honorable, that’s what counts.” I surprised myself with that answer.

  Maybe the drug was some kind of truth serum.

  Caine’s mouth twitched, so I smiled back. He wasn’t so bad: More teddy-bear-like than he would have anyone believe. He felt a lot more than everyone around him suspected; the cold hard SAC was a fa硤e. You had to know where to look to find the cracks. I know where to look.

  I’m okay.

  “We’ll move you tonight.” Caine left the room.

  Mac stretched out in a chair. I closed my eyes and wondered if I’d see Roy again. It’s not so bad seeing dead people.

  My eyes opened a while later. I lay still listening to noises. Hospitals aren’t quiet places. How anyone could sleep without sedation, I didn’t know. The fact that I couldn’t sleep for long told me the ketamine was probably all but gone from my system.

  A small lamp, no brighter than a night light, partially lit the room. The corridor lights shone in through the glass in the top of the door. I turned my head. The inside of the pillow rustled. Yet another reason people needed sedation. Plastic protected pillows.

  Mac sat in the chair partially obscured by the curtain, his legs stretched towards me.

  “Hey!”

  I waited for a response, but he didn’t reply. Maybe he was asleep. I decided to leave him to sleep for a bit; he must have been exhausted.

  My attention turned to my cast arm. I inspected it. It was very yellow. Would it glow in the dark? A chuckle erupted from me at the thought of a cast bobbing about a pitch-dark room all by itself. My left arm itched. It wasn’t my whole arm that itched, but inside my elbow and the back of my hand. I discovered white sticking plaster in both locations. No wonder it itched. It was time to try out moving my right arm. It moved okay. I was even able to grasp the edges of the tape and pull it off. It left behind welts that itched like crazy.

  “Mac!”

  My throat was dry. I watched his legs. They didn’t move.

  “Mac!” My voice was loud that time.

  He still didn’t wake.

  With extreme care, I sat up. I needed a drink, and had a desperate urge to pee. I had no idea how much fluid they had pumped into me.

  Enough to make me need to pee with urgency and yet I was still thirsty, go figure! I swung my legs over the side of the bed. This gave me a chance to examine my thigh. No wonder my legs were stiff. There was a huge bruise spreading from just above my knee almost to my butt.

  I looked at Mac again. He seemed in no hurry to wake, so I wobbled my way to the bathroom unaided. I reckoned he’d bellyache a fair bit about that when he woke, but I needed to go, now.

  He was still sleeping when I returned. I chuckled as I crept over to him and whipped back the rest of the curtain intent on giving him a fright. He was still in the shadows. I leaned forward. He had his stupid cap pulled over his face.

  “Mac,” I whispered, expecting him to jump as I touched his hand.

  He felt cold.

  A horrible feeling spread through me like wildfire. No! Not Mac. Not Mac. Oh God!

  A Post-it protruded from blue-tinged lips. Someone screamed. Everything stopped.

  A cloud of nothingness descended from above.

  Fourteen

  Calling All Angels

  Ilay staring at the ceiling with no clue where I was. For the first time ever, I didn’t care. It didn’t matter where I was. Nothing mattered.

  My eyes followed the swirling pattern in the plastered ceiling. It wasn’t a hospital – they didn’t have plastered ceilings. Maybe it was some kind of private sanitarium. Yeah, a nice secluded nuthouse. That seemed reasonable given recent events. The spirals began to revolve and made me dizzy.

  My head moved on the pillow. It wasn’t plastic-lined. From where I lay, I could see a bureau and a gilt-edged mirror above it. Fancy furnishings indeed. Floor-length curtains obscured almost an entire wall. They appeared to be pale-green embossed satin. There was something familiar about the drapes, but I gave up trying to place them. My gaze shifted and roamed the walls: paintings, several paintings. They weren’t prints; they had too much life to be prints. Wherever I was, it was nice. If it were a nuthouse, it was costing the government plenty.

  It took some time before I had enough courage to move my head the other way. A door. A regular, solid, door. It matched the door I saw on the other side of the room by the mirror. Something moved in the corner of my eye. My gaze moved further around the room, more paintings and another door, this time different, a closet maybe. A chair, Mac, a bedside cabinet with a tiffany lamp set upon it. I dragged my eyes back to the chair. Mac. Legs stretched towards me, eyes closed.

  What was the last thing I remembered? I blinked back tears as hard as I could. A little voice deep inside whispered “Psychotic break.” Another voice screamed for Mac to wa
ke up. I shut my eyes. I knew when I opened them again the chair would be empty.

  I felt my body shudder, my face wet from tears, as a voice I so wanted to hear said, “I’m here.”

  I rolled over. I didn’t want to see the empty chair.

  Again I heard his voice, “I’m here.”

  A hand took mine. I knew that touch. I searched my broken mind for answers. The only one that made any sense was a psychotic break, some kind of mental lapse due to shock. I expected a nurse to appear and sedate me. They did that to my mother when she took little breaks.

  The hand that held mine moved. Two hands were on my shoulders, then one underneath me. My body moved. He rolled me onto his arm and lifted. How could it be him? His face was inches from mine. “Ellie, I’m here!”

  My hand reached up, struggling free of the covers and past his sweater. Fear gripped me as my fingers touched his face. It was warm and stubbly. His eyes filled with tears. One escaped and dripped onto my cheek.

  I couldn’t speak. I was either insane or Mac was alive, which was it?

  There was a knock at the door. It opened, and Mac’s father peeked in. “Just wanted to see if you needed anything.” His shadow fell over Mac and me as he stopped at the foot of the bed.

  I looked up at him. “Mr. Connelly?”

  He spoke Mac’s name as if he were here.

  If he can see him, he must be real. Was Roy real? Oh man!

  My hand stayed on Mac’s face. He kissed my palm. “I am real.”

  He held me so tightly, how could I doubt him?

  “It wasn’t me, love, I was talking with Leon.”

  Leon, the doctor. I remembered him.

  “When I left there was a nurse with you. She was supposed to stay till I returned. She must’ve been called away. I swear I was gone ten minutes.”

  “It was your baseball cap.” There was no way to stop the tears as I remembered what had transpired.

  Mac’s voice was calm and smooth as he spoke, “I know. I was coming back when I heard you scream. I stepped into the room and found you unconscious on the floor holding my hat.”

  The bed sank as Mr. Connelly sat down. His arms went around us both. “You had a terrible shock, Ellie. You’re both safe now.”

  “I thought it was Mac.”

  He nodded. “You’re safe here.”

  Here? Where’s here? Are we in Rockbridge still? Did Mac’s Dad come down?

  I watched them. They looked at each other but didn’t speak. Or did they and I couldn’t hear? I wanted to know where we were. Something odd happened. Maybe I missed him leave, or perhaps he never came in, but Mr. Connelly was gone.

  “Mac, Where are we?”

  “The last place on earth, Ellie. The last place on earth.”

  “We are at your parents? Did hell freeze over?”

  “I think it must have.” The pensive look from a few minutes before faded. His eyes smiled.

  Can a dead person smile like that? Are we both be dead and not realize it yet? Am I the only one who knows that was logical, and being in Fairfax wasn’t.

  “What?” The look returned. “What’s happening in your head?”

  Before I could silence them, my words were hitting the open air. “What if this is a dream? How do I know we’re not both dead and only think we’re alive?

  Mac’s hands cupped my face. “Can you feel me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  His hands stayed on my face holding me as he looked into my eyes. “I’m alive. You’re alive, and this is real.” He never flinched or moved his gaze. “I understand how confused you are right now, I do.” His eyes filled with pain.

  “Don’t let me turn into my mother.” It was my fear, and it always lurked in my mind. And now it felt like reality was unhinged and flapping in the autumn breeze.

  “No chance.” He smiled again.

  “Promise?”

  “If that’s what you are worried about, I can assure you it will never happen.”

  Damn, the truth serum was still in effect.

  “I feel discombobulated and everything’s jumbled up. I’m scared it’ll always be like this. If I close my eyes, you’ll disappear.”

  “Where would I go? I ain’t leaving you.”

  I tried to smile. His thumbs wiped away my tears. “It’s going to be okay.”

  A loud complaint erupted from my stomach which made him smile then chuckle. “Let’s feed whatever the hell is trying to get out of there. I think it will help.” My stomach reverberated again. It appeared to agree with Mac.

  A sigh came from somewhere; it could’ve been me. A distinct fog hung over my aching head. In the middle of the fog, a voice said something about eating and doing it now.

  “Here.” A glass of orange juice appeared in my hand. “You must be thirsty too.”

  The glass magically rose to my lips, and the room-temperature liquid slipped down my parched throat. The empty glass disappeared. The juice tasted better than I ever remember it tasting before.

  “Okay?”

  “Yep.”

  In a day or so, we’ll be laughing about this as we lie in our coffins.

  “You’re smiling.” Mac whispered, placing a piece of toast in my hand. I ate, and relief flowed through me as the juice and toast kicked in.

  If I’m dead, it’s okay. If I’m dreaming, please don’t let me ever wake up.

  I munched through another piece of toast before speaking again. “I don’t know what day it is.”

  “Hardly surprising, you’ve slept through most of the last two days. It’s Sunday, late afternoon.”

  “Have they caught the Unsub yet?”

  “No.”

  “Where is your dad?” I wondered if he was ever here at all.

  “Guess he’s gone back to see Mom.”

  The Connelly men and their insane women: damn, they had bad luck.

  The fog lifted, slight panic built on a momentary fear. I was about to wake and find myself alone. I pushed the fear away; my head ached, and I didn’t need fear as well. “Tell me why we are here?”

  Mac smiled. He brushed crumbs from my tee shirt. “Caine’s idea. He spoke with Dad. Dad insisted we come home.”

  I groaned as snippets of the last few days surfaced. I needed a sledgehammer; I had to fix that printer once and for all. The conversation with Mrs. Connelly. Whoops, the bitch thing!

  “They know you were drugged, huh? When you called your Mom a bitch?”

  “Nothing like a little truth to drop someone in the shit! Caine explained the whole thing to them.”

  From outside the door I heard her say, “Is she okay?” I barely recognized the woman when she wasn’t yelling abuse about her printer down the phone.

  A few scattered intrusive thoughts forged forward. The scariest was, is he real? At least the thoughts were calmer now and easier to set aside.

  “Mac?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re alive?”

  He smiled. I’m sure he wanted to scream ‘Yes, dammit, I’m alive. Now get over it!’ To his credit he didn’t. “You heard the mad woman’s voice?”

  I nodded. Never nod with a headache!

  “You think anyone could pry that woman from her home and drag her all the way to Rockbridge?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “The dead guy is in Stonewall Jackson Morgue. I’m here in Fairfax with you.”

  “What happens now?” I had no idea how long I had been lying around in this unhelpful semi-conscious state or how much I had missed.

  “Caine’s on his way over. They still don’t have the Unsub. He’ll fill us in when he gets here.”

  My eyes roamed the room. It would be a shame to see this house sullied by the death that followed us.

  “Who was it in the chair?”

  “There was this guy who used the nickname, DiedMonday. They think it was him.”

  “What did the poem say?”

  I had a flash o
f a note stuck to dead lips and refused to think of the lips as belonging to Mac, no matter what my mind tried to tell me.

  “We’ll talk about it later. Let’s not get into it now.”

  I should get up.” I attempted forward motion. Mac pushed my shoulders back onto the bed.

  “Oh, no you don’t. You are in no condition to cope with this house right now.” He smiled wickedly.

  Fifteen

  Lay Back In The Arms Of Someone

  Iknew there was a story from the twinkle in his eye.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Tell!”

  He struggled to keep a straight face. “We arrived very early this morning. I got you settled right away and went back to face the music in the dining room. I thought Mom would have a few things to say to me. But she was still asleep.” He paused. “Anyway ... I was standing by the dining table while Dad made coffee and it occurred to me that there was something not quite right about their very, very, neat and tidy house. You know how Dad likes things … he’s a neat freak.” Mac grinned. “The entire table top was covered with at least fifty sets of mouse traps. I questioned Dad about this strangeness. He told me it was a crafty plan to stop the cats jumping on the table.”

  “Perfectly normal!”

  “Yep, said he set them up a week ago and that every night he could hear them going off, pop, pop, pop, but not as much the last several nights because the cats are learning.”

  “So are these traps there all the time?”

  “I think so.” He looked thoughtful for a minute. “I’m sure they were still set when I went through the room a few hours ago.”

  I forced my thoughts to more serious matters. “Your parents know how dangerous it is, having us in the house?”

  Mac nodded. “They know. Dad said he would prefer us here rather than alone at some strange hotel.”

  “Of course he does. The killing hasn’t started yet. We shouldn’t be here, Mac. We shouldn’t. This is not smart.”

  “It’ll be okay, Ellie, if we can cope with the madness that tends to wash over this house.” He brushed my hair back from my face. “You look brighter. Feeling better?”