The Awakening s-1

by L. L. Foster

  "No wonder." Gaby gave him the once-over. "You are a big cuss for anyone to mess with."

  Defending himself, he explained, "I got hit from behind." He put his fingers to the exact spot over the back of his skull where he now lacked a two-inch square of hair, but had gained several stitches. "Most people who get knocked out are only out for a few seconds, but the bastard really brained me."

  "That's why your sorry ass is still in bed?" Gaby asked. "The docs are worried about you being unconscious for too long?"

  "They took some tests, yeah."

  Eyes dark with worry, she caught her lush bottom lip in sharp white teeth. Her voice lowered in commiseration. "Does it hurt?"

  His voice lowered, too—from awareness. "Yeah, like a son of a bitch." Ignoring Mort's fascinated presence, Luther added, "Wanna kiss it and make it better?"

  Just that easily, Gaby shook off her tenderness. "Hell no. But Mort might." She turned to her landlord. "What about it, Mort? You feel like puckering up?"

  "Uh… No. That's okay."

  "Worried about diseases, huh? Not that I blame you. He's mean enough to be rabid."

  Luther chuckled—and paid for it with a lightning shaft of pain.

  Gaby lifted off the bed. "We should go and let you rest."

  "Wait." This time he went ahead and took her hand and if she didn't like it, tough shit. That's when he noticed the bandage around her arm. More suspicions crowded in, adding to the strain in his cranium. "What happened to you?"

  "A broken pipe bit me. But don't worry about that now."

  "What broken pipe?"

  Expression aggrieved, she said, "How about I share the whole sordid story with you when you're up and about?"

  "I'll be up as soon as the docs get back in here."

  "Tomorrow then."

  It'd be an excuse to see her. "You promise?"

  Her head tilted; mystifying emotion shone in her light blue eyes. "Yeah, cop. I promise."

  Luther couldn't put a name on it, but he felt that something monumental had just occurred between them. Gaby had committed to him somehow. She'd decided to trust him in some indefinable way.

  He felt like a newly appointed king. Like a triumphant warrior. He had to tamp down those bizarre emotions to deal with her here and now. "You said the streets talk."

  "Chatter, chatter, chatter. It's nonstop."

  He looked from Gaby to Mort and back again. "So what did you hear?"

  Hedging, Mort shifted from foot to foot. "Um…"

  Gaby's manner became impassive. "Give us a minute, Mort, okay?"

  "Sure." With grateful haste, Mort darted back around the curtain.

  Putting a hand on either side of his pillow, Gaby leaned down and loomed over him. She looked deadly serious, and so sweet that Luther wished he were up to snuff so he could haul her down and kiss her.

  He waited.

  She looked at his injury, at his mouth, and then finally into his eyes. "Just between us, okay?"

  Now that piqued his interest. "Okay."

  "Your word, Luther?"

  God, he loved it when she broke down and said his name. He couldn't define what it was about her, but each concession felt like a precious gift.

  Giving his word before he knew the details was risky, but curiosity got the better of him. "All right, Gaby. You have it."

  "I think you were attacked by another of those cancerous things. Like the thing you were first investigating."

  Thing? "You mean the filleted man from the other side of town?"

  "Yeah." She nodded. "The cops didn't find anyone there with you?"

  "No. They say I was alone."

  "But you didn't hit yourself in the head."

  "No."

  She considered that. "There was blood around the area, right?"

  "My own, yes. And there were scraps from the butcher that a stray dog had gotten into. Besides that, I don't know. Blood darkens pretty quickly." Luther watched her scowl and wondered why she didn't have frown wrinkles, given all the stewing she did.

  "I guess if the cops found you alone, they figured you were just mugged or something, right? No reason to go over the area in detail, checking for forensics."

  "That's the assumption. Except nothing was taken off me. Not my wallet, my gun, my radio."

  "Right." As she pieced things together, her mouth pinched in displeasure at what she obviously considered a sign of ignorance. "So the next assumption is that backup came too quickly and the crime was thwarted."

  Fascinating. "Something like that."

  Her gaze locked on his. "The lock was broken on a window in Mort's basement. It faces the back alley. I found it wide open. That's probably how someone got in to hang that carcass, and again to dump the blood."

  "I see." He hadn't even thought about windows in the basement. What the hell kind of detective was he?

  The kind thrown off-kilter by Gabrielle Cody, apparently.

  "It's also how someone likely knew you'd be near the butcher's. They could have overheard us talking."

  She looked as simply dressed as ever in her loose dark T-shirt and worn jeans. But this close, Luther could see the blue striations in her irises and the way her long lashes left feathery shadows on her smooth cheeks. "Let me guess. You don't want me to investigate the break-in?"

  "It'd be safer for Mort if you stop coming around his place so often."

  As Luther studied her, he noted something in her expression, something close to honesty that proved she did worry for Mort. But something more, too, something vague and mysterious. "If I don't come around, how will I get in touch with you?"

  The blue of her eyes darkened to midnight. "Why would you want to?"

  Luther said nothing.

  She already knew why.

  Ill grace accompanied her surrender. "All right, fine. Be a jerk. You can come one more time, and we'll figure out how to stay in touch. But after that, you'll have to stay away. You got me?"

  Instead of agreeing, he asked a question of his own. "Who do you think attacked me, Gaby?"

  "I don't know."

  Liar. "Take a guess."

  "All right." She leaned closer and her cool hair, even cut so short, brushed against his forehead in a teasing caress. "When I first met you, you said there weren't any bogeymen."

  "I remember."

  Shocking Luther, her mouth touched his forehead, so gentle, barely there.

  A kiss of healing.

  To make it better.

  She sat up and away. "The bogeymen gotcha, Luther." She stood, and nodded at his head. "You've got the proof on your noggin. It's time to admit you're wrong. That's the only way you'll ever be able to defeat them."

  She started out of the room.

  "Gaby?"

  Pausing, she said, "Yeah?"

  "If you had to start looking for the bogeymen in one place, where would you start?"

  Keeping her back to him, her shoulders straight and proud, she said, "Where I'd start is my business, cop." Over her shoulder, her blue-eyed gaze struck with laser accuracy. "But you should start in the hospital."

  "This hospital?"

  "Yeah." Her gaze never faltered. "Try the cancer ward and go from there."

  Letting that go for now, he asked, "If bogeymen got me, then why aren't I dead?"

  "That's an easy one, cop. Someone saved you."

  With that niggling memory of Gaby's voice at the scene, Luther pushed up to one elbow. "You ? "

  Pain marred her features before her countenance turned sardonic. "Yeah, right. That knock on the head really rattled what little brains you had, didn't it?"

  Luther would not let her throw him off with insults. "I was the only one there when backup arrived." He watched her closely. "Where did the bogeymen go?"

  Wearing no expression at all, she shrugged. "Where they all go, Luther." She turned away, and he barely heard her whisper, "Straight to hell."

  Before he could call her back, she was gone.

  Luther shoved the sheet aside. The
pain in his head mushroomed, but he couldn't stay idle in the bed while Gaby stuck her stubborn little nose into dangerous police business.

  If he didn't find the bogeymen, she would. He knew it down deep in the pit of his soul.

  Five minutes later, when the doc walked in, Luther was dressed and anxious to be on his way. The attending physician tried to insist he couldn't drive and shouldn't be alone. Luther didn't need to do either one. He had another officer who could pick him up, but in the meantime, trolling the halls of the hospital would keep him in plain view of plenty of people.

  He needed to follow what few clues Gaby had given him. He had to keep her safe.

  Damn it all, he had to find a bogeyman.

  Knowing Luther wouldn't be far behind her, Gaby dragged Morty along the white halls of the cancer ward. She shouldn't have told him anything.

  She shouldn't have… well, more or less asked for his help.

  She worked alone, damn it. Always had.

  That's how God had designed it.

  So why the hell did she still have Mort in tow?

  "What are we looking for, Gaby?"

  For some lame reason, Mort's presence brought her comfort in the memory-laden section of the hospital. Her body, her mind, recognized the smells, the sights, the auras and the emotions. Mort, with all his newfound gallantry, blunted the cutting edges of desolation.

  She wore the yoke of his friendship, accomplishing much, and bearing the burden. "I'll let you know when I see it."

  Ambling along, Gaby peered into each room, and eavesdropped on each conversation. Every nurse, doctor, and patient received her sharp appraisal.

  "What are we doing here, Gaby?"

  Pausing near a nurses' station, Gaby waited as two doctors approached. Voice low, she explained to Mort, "There's a thick tide of sickness caged in here, ebbing and flowing with no place to go. There's choking depression and a dark, heavy emanation because of it."

  Mort stared at her wide-eyed.

  Disgusted, Gaby said, "Don't let it spook you."

  "It's not. But you're freaking me out."

  He looked freaked, causing her to lock her teeth. "You weren't afraid of me earlier."

  "I'm not afraid now. Just worried. But this isn't anything like earlier. You were hurting then. I could tell." He chewed his lower lip. "Can you tell me now what was wrong, what happened to you? I think I understand most of it. But you… you looked so different—"

  "I didn't!"

  At her angry retort, Mort jumped a foot. "Okay, okay," he soothed. "You looked the same—"

  Sickened at herself and the growing stain of reality, Gaby dropped back against the wall. "Did I?" She turned her head toward him. "Did I look the same, Mort?"

  Apologetic, Mort shook his head. "No."

  "Fuck."

  "Shhh. The nurses will hear you."

  Reminded of her purpose, Gaby turned her body to face Mort as if in close conversation. "Be quiet so I can listen in."

  "Listen in on what?"

  To him, to a plain, mortal of a guy like Mort, the low voices of the doctors and nurses would be insubstantial. But for Gaby… "Just hush."

  "Okay."

  The conversation was a mere drone at first.

  Until Gaby concentrated.

  Then she heard them as clearly as if they addressed her personally from only a foot away. Another God-given talent.

  Super ears—when need be.

  "Ms. Davies has taken a turn for the worse. When I visited with her this morning, I couldn't get any response at all. Her vitals are weak. I don't think she's going to make it much longer. She's barely hanging on."

  A female voice said, "I thought she was better yesterday."

  "She's dying," said a male voice. "How much better did you think she'd get?"

  Annoyed but attempting to hide it, the female said, "I'll check in on her now, to see if I can ease her in some way."

  Gruffer and filled with impatience, the man growled, "It's a waste of time, Dr. Chiles. You're here to doctor her. Her family and friends should be soothing her."

  "She has none."

  "Perfect. So we're supposed to pick up the slack?"

  "I thought—"

  "I know what you thought. But you have other patients to see today, patients who are coherent, who have a chance. They need your care. Let Ms. Davies pass. We're short on beds anyway."

  "I'll see to all my patients, Dr. Marton. But I won't let Ms. Davies suffer needlessly."

  "If there's no response, what makes you think she's suffering?"

  "Cancer has taken her, and it seldom does so without a great deal of pain."

  "Hell." Gaby heard the pause, and then: "Fine. Do what you want. But she'll hardly know, now will she?"

  Out of the corner of her eye, Gaby watched as the male doctor, Dr. Marton, stormed past. He was big, and though he tried to conceal it, he was furious.

  At himself? At Dr. Chiles? Or at the hopeless situation in the cancer ward?

  Behind Gaby, the nurses held silent, but Dr. Chiles said, "He's tired. Too many long hours and too little hope."

  Then she too, walked away, releasing the nurses to gossip freely.

  "God, he's a coldhearted bastard."

  "I'm surprised he didn't have Ms. Davies moved out of here as he usually does with the indigent patients who can't pay for hospice."

  "That horrible place where he sends them…" A shudder of revulsion broke the voice. "Can you imagine dwindling away in that cold, dreadful place, all alone and in so much pain?"

  "At least he makes routine visits there to help treat them."

  "If you call his brand of doctoring real treatment."

  Like magnetized puzzle pieces clicking together, awareness, realization, and suspicion all formed an image of possibilities.

  Dr. Marton.

  Terminal cancer patients.

  Indigent patients, all alone, without family or friends.

  Each abomination Gaby had faced had an evil past, a past that had alienated them from family and friends, leaving them alone with their tragic fates.

  Dr. Marton sent them somewhere, and then treated them there.

  Where?

  "Come on, Mort." In a hurry to investigate, Gaby had taken three steps before she realized Mort didn't follow. She turned back and saw him staring into Ms. Davies' room.

  Retracing her steps, she paused beside Mort and followed his gaze into the room. The nurses and Dr. Chiles congregated around the sick bed.

  Voice stricken, Mort whispered, "What's going on do you think?"

  "She's dead."

  He fell back a step, but couldn't alter his stare from the scene. "But… how can you tell for sure? She could be sleeping…"

  "She's not."

  "'Maybe…"

  "No." Anxious to drag him away, Gaby took his hand. His fingers curled around hers, warm and secure and again, comforting. "Trust me, Mort. She's gone."

  If he saw enough dead people, he'd learn to tell the difference between a sleeping body and a hollow shell. After death, the remaining flesh and bones held only a dark chasm instead of a vibrant soul.

  She didn't want Mort to learn about that. She didn't want him to become familiar with death.

  Not the way she had.

  He grew winded trying to keep up with her. "Where are we going now?"

  "Out of here. I can't breathe in here."

  His hand tightened on hers, slowing her down. "You know something, don't you?"

  "No." What she knew, she couldn't share. Not with a simple fellow like Mort. Regardless of his recent stoicism, he'd never understand what she did.

  He'd never understand who she was.

  "You can trust me, Gaby."

  That deserved no more than a snort.

  "C'mon. Tell me. Before I noticed everyone going into that poor old lady's room, I saw you…"

  With the suddenness of a stroke, his voice died.

  "I what?" Gaby asked.

  "Nothing."

  H
e stayed silent, and Gaby stopped, jerking around to face him. "What, damn it?"

  She watched as he resigned himself to giving her a straight answer. "You looked funny again. Not as much as in the alley, but… sharper." His gaze searched hers. "More dangerous."

  It had happened again, and over something so simple, something so ordinary? Jesus, did she run around shifting all the time?

  Maybe.

  For two heartbeats, Gaby could do nothing. Then she exploded. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

  And from behind her, Luther tsked. "Gabrielle Cody. You really do need to learn to curb that foul mouth of yours."

  Hands fisted and teeth sawing together, she pivoted around to face her newest nemesis. "So, cop, you were faking?"

  "Nah. But I do feel a lot better." He daringly reached out and touched her bottom lip with one finger. "Maybe your kiss healed me after all."

  Gaby jerked back out of his reach. She and God both knew that her job wasn't to heal.

  It was to destroy.

  To Mort, she said, "Stay."

  He blinked at her hard and fast, but didn't question her, or object.

  Knowing he would do as told, Gaby grabbed Luther by the front of his shirt and dragged him toward a quieter corner. Using anomalous strength that came when she needed it, she shoved his broad back up against the wall.

  Luther allowed her manhandling with an amused male smile.

  "Don't start questioning me and don't you dare touch me again. I have a tew things to tell you and you're going to listen. Then I'm outta here."

  "All right."

  "First, you might as well stop grinning like a fool right now because you won't find any of this funny." She sucked up a fortifying breath and strived to calm her anger. "You need to do a background check or whatever it is detectives do with suspicious people, on a physician here. A Dr. Marton."

  "Why is Dr. Marton suspicious?"

  "Try listening, Luther—I said no questions, remember? I don't have the time or the patience for it! You'll just have to trust me for now."

  Wearing a speculative expression, Luther relaxed against the wall. Finally, he nodded. "Okay." But he made it clear, "For now."

  Gaby could tell that he wasn't taking her seriously, that he merely indulged her, and more than anything, even more than she wanted to investigate the strange emotions he evoked, she wanted to flatten him.