Maggie responded, "I'll know when you do, and I can get her back here. Above all, be careful! You don't know what pulled her into your world, and there's no way to know what they'll do to keep her there."
"Now you tell me," Audrey mumbled. Evening shadows covered the hills with dark patches that grew until they clouded her vision.
The doctor's pulse fluttered under Damien's fingertips.
"C'mon old friend, hang in there," he muttered. "You can't leave like this. Not now."
"Is it Arthur?" said a woman in scrubs.
Damien waved her off. "Ma'am, be careful. We haven't secured the area."
Obviously ignoring him, staff pushed past him and began emergency procedures. He was relieved to see that a couple of men wore Kevlar vests over their scrubs. Damien ushered everyone else out, then checked under the bed. There was no other place for anyone to hide, and the mattress bowed in as though not just one, but two people had sat on it, one of them very heavy.
What the hell happened in here? Adrenaline had chased the sleep fog from his mind, but he couldn't shake the sense he had missed something. But whenever he reached for what, fear for his friend clouded his brain. He stepped back so they could wheel Arthur to surgery.
Someone laid a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped. "Backup's almost here," Charlie said. "C'mon, Dame, pull it together. The gunman got out in the rush, and he could be hiding anywhere."
"Or he could be halfway to Marietta by now," Damien mumbled, but he followed Charlie into the hallway. They and the hospital security team confirmed the area as clear.
Then a thought hit him. "Oh, shit, Charlie. Rizzo's office!"
"What about it?"
Damien clutched at his hair in frustration. There was too much to describe, so he could only get out, "He had strange things in there. And books."
Instead of skepticism, Charlie's expression betrayed curiosity and…excitement? "Lead the way."
They sprinted up the stairs. Without breaking stride, Damien burst from the stairwell and ran to the doctor's office, which looked like a tornado had hit it. Medical journals mixed with books on mythology, shamanism, and alternative healing methods lay scattered and open on the floor.
"Damn," Charlie said when he arrived a moment later, puffing. "How'd you get in so much better shape than me?" He looked at the office and held Damien back from entering. "Never mind that. Does it always look like this?"
"Nope. It was neat when I was in here earlier."
"Shee-yit, look at that stuff." Charlie knelt at the door and poked at a book with a fingertip. "Astral projections and familiars? What the hell? Is he a medical doctor or a witch doctor?"
Damien wanted to defend Rizzo, but he couldn't lie. "I'm not sure. He had hobbies."
Sirens sounded outside. "Ah, the cavalry has arrived," Charlie said. "Stay here and keep the room secure. I'll send someone up to relieve you in a minute."
Damien stood in the door and replayed his last conversation with Rizzo. The doctor had said something about "lesser beings," but that was all he could remember. And then Rizzo had given him the book to read.
He blinked to clear the fuzziness from his vision and looked up. A hazy glow turned the fluorescent light into a soft, glowing rectangle. So tired… He yawned, checked his watch, and tried not to think about how much sleep he hadn't gotten the day before. His shift had run over due to having to fill out the now-blank report on Jane Doe Number Three. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but something heavy weighed on him.
Still, I should be pumped up, not falling asleep on my feet. Some bastard shot Rizzo!
"Wake up, Lewis." Charlie nudged him on the shoulder.
Damien shook his head. "I wasn't asleep." He squinted at the light, but it looked like a normal fluorescent fixture now.
"Do that again, and it's a reprimand, understood?"
Damien nodded. "Yes, sir. It won't happen again."
Charlie left another policeman at the door. "Actually, you confirmed something for me," he murmured as they walked down the hallway to the elevator.
"What do you mean?"
Charlie had a gleam in his eye that had never meant anything but trouble for Damien. "I'm going to tell the Chief that you've got detective potential. Plus, this night shift is killing you."
"Charlie, no. They'll think I'm going soft."
Charlie stopped walking, and Damien pulled up short beside him. "Look," Charlie said, pinning Damien with his blue gaze, "you're much better suited to be a detective, and the chief owes me a favor. Getting you off nights is going to free you up to help me. I need you for this investigation."
Yep, trouble. "Why?"
"Because there's something fishy going on, and you're involved somehow. Otherwise, how would you have known to come up here? Besides," Charlie said with a wink, "when was the last time you had a real meal? A date? It's time to rejoin the land of the living, my friend, and you deserve to be a detective."
"I eat all the time. And I'm not into dating." As for whether he deserved to be a detective, well, he'd never been asked. Charlie was the only person who seemed to notice that he made extra effort to help with ongoing investigations.
"That's what I thought. Your sergeant has to chase you out of the station in the mornings. You need to cut it back to forty hours, dude. Not fifty or sixty. Once we get this case closed, of course. Which is going to take a while."
"Why? I thought you had leads."
"I thought so, too. But the doc who treated your Janes is now in emergency surgery for gunshot wounds with his assailant still at large, and someone trashed his office, likely looking for something. This case has taken on a whole new level of complexity."
Damien hated complexity. "How do you know they're related?"
"That's the Damien I know." Charlie clapped him on the shoulder. "And I can't say too much, but let's just say I've had a hint that there are larger things afoot."
The back of Damien's neck prickled, and he looked over his shoulder but didn't see anything strange. "Maybe I don't want to help on this case. You have plenty of other detectives you can ask. Why me?"
"You and I have known each other for a long time, Dame. Seeing the stuff in that doc's office… We're dealing with some strange shit here, like I said. You're the only one I can trust to see it through with me."
A chill went down Damien's spine. "You think it's a cult?"
Charlie's mouth curled into a one-sided smile. "I wish that was all we were dealing with."
Charlie's radio squawked. "Sir, we need you down here. We found the shooter."
"Where?"
"In the E.R. exam room next to the victim's."
"How did we miss him?" Damien asked, wracking his brains. He'd searched thoroughly…hadn't he? "We checked all the rooms."
Charlie frowned. "That's what I mean. Expect things to get a lot stranger, my friend."
4
Audrey opened her eyes to see Margaret's, which were golden, gazing at her.
Margaret's eyes faded to blue. "Remember now?"
Audrey nodded and attempted to swallow past her heartbeat, which had moved from her chest to her throat. Had her dream been real? Did she want it to be?
Nothing to be done for it now. She couldn't have made Margaret up. The woman stood in front of her.
"Part of me wishes I didn't remember. How am I supposed to find Persephone?"
"Remember, strange things will likely happen around her."
"I've got a whole new definition of strange." Dazed with one thought leading to another before finishing, Audrey stood and followed Maggie to the door. She looked at the dragon statuette in the window. "Is that Zinfandel?"
Maggie smiled and handed it to her. It barely fit in the palm of her hand, but it weighed as much as a small brick. "Isn't it cute? He doesn't like it—he says it makes him look fat—but I think it's adorable."
Audrey examined it and handed it back. "Is all the art in here of real creatures?"
"Most of them. The artists are dream
weavers, too."
"Right. And what is that, again?"
"Someone who can travel to the Collective Unconscious and still be aware while there. Like lucid dreaming, but more powerful because if you can influence events there, what you do there can be reflected here."
"Um, right. That sounds cool and terrifying. Thanks, Maggie. I'll keep you posted about what I find." But don't expect it to be much. I doubt I'm a dream weaver like you seem to think I am. Otherwise I'd make something happen to make Kyle spend more time with me.
As soon as she stepped outside, her phone beeped with a news alert: Shooting at Dekalb Hospital E.R. Extent of casualties unknown. At least one staff member confirmed injured.
Her hands shook, and she almost dropped her phone. Staff member? As in resident? Kyle's supposed to be home by now, but sometimes he stays late doing paperwork. Trembling fingers made it difficult to call him. He finally answered on the sixth ring, and she sagged to a bench in relief.
"Hey, babe." Rock music played in the background, and he sounded oddly cheerful. "How did that sleeping pill sample work for you the other night?"
She decided not to tell him about the headache and the odd dreams, at least not on the sidewalk where she would be overheard. "Fine, I guess. Where are you?"
"Still at the hospital. The day tech likes to listen to music while he scores the sleep studies."
"Are you okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
It hit her with a sinking feeling. He's not at the hospital. They would have alerted everyone who's there. "There was a shooting at the E.R. Surely the place is on lockdown."
"Well, you know how it goes with the sleep lab. It's a little world unto itself over there, uh, here in the professional building."
"Uh huh." She clenched her shaking knees together and swallowed the tears that wanted to erupt. "There was at least one staff person hurt. Anyone you know?"
"They, uh, haven't released the name yet." His tone and apparent lack of concern told her he was making it up as he went.
She gave him one chance to redeem himself. "So, are you coming over this evening?"
"Can't, babe. I need to watch another sleep study hookup tonight, and I'm backing up the student in the E.R. so I'm just going to grab dinner at the caf and do some reading."
Her heart fell. "Oh, okay. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Be careful."
"I will."
"Okay. Call me if you get a break." The line went dead.
Hmm, he's not at the hospital. She sighed. Forget it. I'll deal with him later—I need to get ready for my interview. But it was harder than she thought to get her mind off him and the feeling that he wasn't telling her the truth. Was that why she thought about the coffee shop cop so much—who was more trustworthy than a policeman, after all?
Damien followed Charlie downstairs. Could it be this easy? But when they arrived back in the E.R. he discovered no, it wasn't.
Another policeman had found the young man hiding under one of the gurneys in the exam room next to the one where Rizzo had been shot. He lay curled in a fetal position, shaking, his black hair in a wild tangle of curls and his clothes matted with red clay, leaves, and what looked like ashes. His black eyes darted from face to face to things only he could see.
"Sir, we got this away from him." One of the deputies handed Charlie a gun nestled in a towel. Charlie waved it off.
"Send it to the lab for fingerprint and ballistics analysis. And test this guy's hands for residue."
"We already got the swab, sir." The deputy gave Damien a small wave. "Burning it at both ends, eh, Lewis?"
The clock said ten oh-five. "Just another day on the job."
Charlie coughed, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Damien wanted to elbow him. Instead, he said, "What can I say, DeMarco? Maybe I need to get me a fine woman like your wife so I have a reason to go home."
"In your dreams, Lewis."
Charlie coughed again. "That's enough, DeMarco, Lewis. Bring the suspect to the station for questioning."
"Detective?" The woman's voice was low, soothing.
"Yes? Oh, hello, Dr. Lee."
A willowy blonde woman in a lab coat stood behind them. A real looker even with her glasses, she held a clipboard with a patient chart on it. "Would you mind waiting to question this particular patient?"
Damien wanted to shout no, he needed answers, but he clamped his lips shut and let Charlie answer.
"Is he one of yours?"
"Yes, and I need to get him stabilized so he's coherent and can answer your questions. You won't get much from him when he's like this."
"Is that why he looks like that?" asked Damien.
"Yes, keeping these patients compliant with their medications is a challenge because even though the new ones have a much milder side effect profile, they can still be hard to deal with."
"How much time do you need?" Charlie flipped open his pocket calendar.
"Come back tomorrow."
"Will you be here?"
She looked over Charlie's shoulder to check the date. "Absolutely. I'm rounding in the morning and have office in the afternoon."
"It's a date, then."
She accompanied the young man, escorted by two orderlies, out of the room.
"You're incredible," Damien told Charlie as they walked out of the hospital.
"I've dealt with her before. She's a good psychiatrist."
"She's a psychiatrist, huh? Do you think she would have seen any of the Jane Does?"
Charlie smacked his forehead. "Damien, Damien, Damien… See? This is why I need you on the investigation. So I don't forget important things like that." He sighed. "Let's go back in."
Damien didn't mention he didn't want to leave until he'd gotten news about Rizzo. But as he'd found out, gunshot wound surgery could take a while.
"Dream weaver," Audrey murmured to herself, but her mind was only half on the strange events of her dreams. The supernatural beings could have their crisis. She had her own to deal with.
"An about to be single dream weaver, I wager. I bet it's that blonde chick he's been hanging out with. Chastity? Huh, hardly."
She munched on the leftover portion of the muffin she'd bought earlier while she walked home. But she hardly tasted it or saw where she was going as her mind clicked all of Kyle's lies into place. By the time she turned on Sycamore, her eyes burned with tears, partially for the end of the relationship, but also for the end of how she'd imagined their life together would be. She pushed aside the little voice that whispered her disappointment came more from the loss of certainty than of Kyle himself. What could be more secure than being a doctor's wife?
Too bad I didn't get the cute cop's number. Oh, wait, I don't date guys who might not come home. A tear splashed on the last bite of muffin, creating a soggy spot. But apparently that applies to more than law enforcement.
By the time she arrived home, Audrey decided that of the two realities she'd been faced with—Kyle's betrayal or the existence of a place that holds mythical beings that people go to in their dreams—she'd rather deal with the dreams, after all.
It almost seemed foreordained when she found her neighbor Lucia sitting on the Adirondack chair on her side of the porch with a steaming cup of coffee.
Lucia had moved in a few years ago, just a few months after Audrey. Instead of the petite Romany lady that Audrey had expected when she’d heard who her new neighbor would be, Madame Lucia stood at a good six feet of solid mahogany-colored muscle. Her micro-braided hair started gold at the top of her head, darkened to orange, then red, then brown, then Lucia's natural black at the ends. And if Audrey believed in such things, she'd say the woman had amazingly positive energy.
"Good morning," she said in a lilting accent. "Are you all right, dear?"
"Morning, Lucia." She tried to force a smile but gave up. "I guess there's no keeping stuff from you, is there?" Audrey plopped in the other chair.
"Your energy is disturbed. You're feeling betrayed. And you have
the dream shadow in your aura, dear. It tells me you've been to the Collective Unconscious recently."
"What do you mean?" She sat up straight and bit her tongue so she wouldn't say too much like she had to Maggie. Crap, does everyone know what happened to me?
"It's nothing to be too concerned about, but not many can."
"So I hear." Her neighbor's words hit her as less threatening than Maggie's. But then again, it was easier to trust someone she'd spent many a late night on the porch drinking wine and talking about strange experiences with. Not that any of their previous conversations could compare to what she'd seen this morning.
"Come in. I have fresh coffee."
Audrey hesitated—she did have the interview to prepare for, after all—but, seduced by the thought of someone taking care of her for a change, she followed Lucia inside.
A fire in the fireplace dispelled the autumn chill, and a mug waited on the kitchen table.
Lucia waved Audrey into a chair at the table and poured coffee into the cup. "A little bit of sugar and cream, right?"
"That's exactly right."
Lucia fixed the coffee and sat across from Audrey. "I know it's a big adjustment, dear. You've been called for an important task, and whatever disappointment you've faced will no longer be relevant to your life soon."
"How do you know?" She recognized it was a stupid question to ask a psychic, but she no longer cared. And her disappointment felt very relevant. "And how did you not know before?"
Lucia shrugged. "I had a hunch. But it's not just your quest to find the missing goddess. You must also find the source of the proliferation of journey paths that is eroding the boundary between the C.U. and the waking world."
"I don't know where to start." Audrey looked into her coffee. "She could be anywhere, and my mind isn't on the task right now."
Lucy seemed to ignore Audrey's hints that something else was wrong. "Did you meet Hades? And did he give you any ideas? He's notoriously difficult. Never shows up how or when you'd expect."
Audrey smiled. She suspected Lucia tried to distract her and make her laugh while getting information, but she trusted her. "Just that she might go somewhere that will allow her to be of service to others."
Tangled Dreams Page 4