Lonely Path

by Melissa F. Miller

  “That is unique,” she agreed.

  “It’s the only restaurant of its kind in North America—and possibly the world. And the food’s phenomenal. I’ll be eager to hear what you think of it.”

  The cab driver caught Claude’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Hey, mister, where do you want me to drop them. There’s construction right in front of the restaurant, you know?”

  “Ah, yes. Pull into the alley then.”

  The cabbie started to say something but stopped himself.

  “Is something wrong?” Bodhi asked

  “Eh … it’s just … this neighborhood is kind of rough.” he said in an apologetic voice.

  Claude waved off the concern. “It’s marginal, true. But it’s midday. They’ll be fine.” He turned to Eliza and Bodhi. “In fact, call me when you ask for your check and I’ll have an officer meet you and bring you to the forensics unit. He’ll pick you up in the same side alley.”

  Eliza nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  Claude lived in the city, after all. If he was confident they’d be safe, she supposed he’d know.

  The cab driver shrugged to indicate the decision was out of his hands. A moment later, the car slowed and he pulled into a narrow alleyway, lined on both sides by block-long brick walls.

  “The restaurant’s just on the other end of the alley. Turn right and it’ll be the first door on the right. It’s a one-way street though, so we’ll just drop you off and then back out of here. Bon appetite,” Claude said as they exited the cab.

  Bodhi and Eliza watched the taxi cab reverse out of the alley and disappear onto the street before they turned and walked toward the other end. Dumpsters lined both sides of the alley, but it was otherwise unremarkable, as far as Eliza could tell. She’d seen sketchier alleyways in Belle Rue.

  They reached the end of the alley and turned right. The commercial drag where the restaurant was located did seem to be somewhat questionable. The restaurant was next door to a marijuana dispensary and directly across the street from an adult video store and a pawnshop. A check-cashing store sat catercorner. And, as the cab driver had said, the street in front of the restaurant was dug up. A construction truck sat empty in the middle of the crater.

  “Well, one way or the other, this is going to be an experience,” she said under her breath.

  Bodhi winked at her and opened the door with a flourish. “After you.”

  Virgil watched as the couple strolled along the alley as if it were the Champs-Elysées in Paris and not a gritty side street. After they disappeared around the corner, he turned to Mike.

  “Did you see them?”

  “Yes. Man and woman.”

  “That’s right. Now, Mike, listen to Dad.”

  Mike pinned his eyes on Virgil and waited for instructions.

  “The man and woman are going to eat lunch. You stay here. When they come back, they’ll be walking toward you from there.” Virgil pointed to the south end of the alley. Mike’s eyes tracked the movement.

  He waited a moment, so Mike could process the information. After the young man nodded, Virgil went on. “When they come near you, step out from behind this Dumpster and stop them.”

  Mike’s brow creased. “Stop them?”

  “They’re bad people, Mike. It’s important that you stop them. And it’s okay to hurt them.”

  “Hurt them?”

  “Yes. Or kill them.”

  Mike shook his head no, violently, from side to side.

  Virgil took him by the shoulders. “Look at me, Mike. Yes. You should hurt them or kill them. If Dad says it’s okay, it’s okay.”

  Mike hesitated, but after a long moment, he said, “It’s okay for Mike to kill them.”

  “That’s right.” Virgil smiled encouragingly. “Now, let’s take your medicine.”

  Mike obediently opened his mouth. Virgil squeezed several drops of the antidote out of the dropper and watched the young man swallow them.

  He’d kept a close eye on Mike during the drive from Montreal because timing of the dosage was crucial, and it would have been too early to dose him before they’d left. But by the time the American doctors finished their meal and came back through the alley, the medication would have taken full effect. They would run smack into an aggressive, hypersensitive zombie who’d been ordered to kill. If that didn’t solve his problem, he didn’t know what would.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Bodhi smiled as he watched Eliza pick up sign language with the same facility that she used to pick up new medical skills over a dozen years ago. By the time their soup came, she was conversing with their waiter as if she’d been signing her entire life.

  “What’s the grin for?” she asked, after Edmund, their friendly waiter, sprinkled freshly ground pepper over their bowls and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I’m just enjoying our lunch.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I am.” He dipped his spoon into his autumn vegetable soup. “This place actually reminds me of a restaurant I went to in Barcelona once.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You went to a restaurant in Spain where everyone was deaf and you ordered using sign language?”

  “Nope. I went to a restaurant in Spain where all the servers and hosts were blind and we ate in total darkness.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s called dark dining. It was a very interesting sensory experience. It did get a little messy, though.” He laughed softly at the memory.

  She grew serious. “I don’t think I’d like that. It would make me uncomfortable not to know who was near me.”

  “That’s a reasonable response.”

  “I’d be afraid I’d have a panic attack, alone in the dark.” Her gaze fell to the tablecloth.

  He seized the thread she’d left hanging. “Have you been feeling anxious?”

  “You mean, like, when we were traipsing through a cemetery in the dark or when I was giving a talk about my paper?” Her tone was light.

  “Either one.”

  “To be honest, presenting on the panel was more nerve-wracking for me.”

  “I could see that.”

  She raised her head sharply. “You could? But you’re comfortable speaking in front of groups.”

  “I am. But I’m not super comfortable hanging out in a graveyard, digging around in the dirt until I find a corpse. We all have our comfort zones.”

  She pursed her lips and tried not to smile. “I’m pretty sure public speaking is generally less stressful than graverobbing.”

  He pulled himself up in mock offense. “I wasn’t robbing the graves—just disturbing them.”

  Edmund appeared with their entrees. Bodhi turned his attention to the carefully constructed vegetable lasagna. It was light and flavorful. Eliza seemed to enjoy her duck and poutine just as much.

  They practiced signing each other’s names while they ate. Time sped by like water flowing downstream.

  Just like that, she was tucking into a bowl of ice cream, and he was calling Claude’s cell phone. He left a message to let Claude know they were just about done.

  Edmund returned with their check, and Eliza signed out several sentences thanking him for his excellent service and complimenting the chef. Bodhi tried to keep the pride he felt from appearing on his face—he had no right to be proud of an autonomous, adult woman, yet there was no denying it—he was.

  Edmund seized her hands and kissed her on both cheeks in the European style. Then he turned to Bodhi and rapidly spelled a message that he couldn’t quite catch.

  He turned to Eliza. “I missed most of that. What did he say?”

  She gave an embarrassed laugh. “He said you’re a lucky man.”

  Edmund smiled broadly. Bodhi signed ‘thank you’ and tried to ignore the pang in his chest as he followed Eliza out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Bodhi saw him first. They had walked about twenty-five feet into the alley, whe
n Eliza stopped to pet a stray cat that came out of the shadows to wrap itself around her ankles.

  “Oh, Bodhi, I think she might be pregnant—look at her belly.” Eliza bent and scratched the cat behind its ears.

  He turned back and was about to tell her the cat just appeared to be well-fed, probably by the waiters from Silence, when movement flashed in his peripheral vision. He followed the motion and found himself staring at a broad-shouldered, blank faced young man. In an instant, his mind processed the vacant eyes, shallow breathing, and clenched fists.

  “Stay there,” he warned Eliza without taking his eyes off the man.

  “Bodhi …” she trailed off.

  He kept his attention on the looming menace. The man shuffled forward with a stiff-legged gait. His head swiveled as he looked from Bodhi to Eliza and then back to Bodhi. His lips were moving, but it took Bodhi several seconds to register his words.

  “Mike can kill the bad man and woman. It’s okay to kill.”

  The words caused a chill to race down Bodhi’s spine. The man repeated them over and then again, as if they were a dark mantra.

  “Mike.” Bodhi infused the word with authority.

  Mike froze mid-step and cocked his head.

  “Michael Raglan? Is that your name?” Bodhi guessed.

  “Mike Raglan.” He nodded slowly. Up. Down.

  “We’re here to help you, Mike.”

  Mike’s entire face wrinkled with concentration. Then he said, “No. Mike can kill.” He started to advance again.

  “Bodhi, be careful.”

  Without taking his eyes off the man in front of him, Bodhi said, “Eliza, go back to the restaurant. Call the police.”

  “I’ll call Claude—”

  “No. Call 9-1-1. Okay?” he struggled to keep his voice calm.

  “I don’t want to leave you here,” she panted.

  He didn’t dare turn to look at her, but he knew what he’d see if he did. Her pupils would be dilated; her skin, flushed; and her breathing, shallow and rapid. She was losing control. And a full-blown panic attack was likely to get them both killed.

  “Eliza, please.”

  The cat mewled.

  “Take the cat inside with you. You have to protect it. It’s pregnant, remember?”

  “But what about you?” A sob tore from her throat.

  His pulse ticked up. He had to get her to safety. Now.

  “I’ll be okay. Go ahead. Pick up the cat. Go into the restaurant. Call the police. Please.” His words were urgent but soft.

  Behind him, she took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he heard her shaky voice, “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  Bodhi knew she had turned to leave because Mike’s eyes tracked her movements. He felt his body sag with relief. Once she was safely inside, he’d figure out a way to deal with an automaton programmed to kill.

  Mike’s attention locked on Eliza and he started to walk right past Bodhi to follow her. Bodhi waited until they were standing parallel to one another, then he hip checked the younger man into a Dumpster. The Dumpster banged off the wall behind it, and metal screeched against brick.

  Mike covered his ears and fell to his knees, keening.

  Hypersensitivity to aural stimuli.

  Bodhi ran to the Dumpster. He lifted the lid and slammed it down with a loud squeal and three tremendous clangs.

  Mike kept his hands clamped over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Bodhi raised the lid again and let it drop. Mike whimpered at the sound and rolled to his side, tucking himself into a fetal position.

  Bodhi abandoned his noise-making and hurried to Mike’s side. He crouched beside him and put his hands firmly on the young man’s shoulders.

  “Look at me, Mike.”

  He kept his eyes tightly shut.

  “I’m going to help you.”

  Mike opened his eyes. “Kill you.”

  “I don’t think so. Someone told you to do that, but that’s not what Mike wants.”

  Something—a hint of emotion—flickered in his eyes.

  “What does Mike want?” Bodhi thought back to what McLord had said. The kid disappeared after going to a drum circle. “You like Tam-Tams? Drums?”

  Mike blinked.

  Bodhi thought he might actually be able to get through to the guy before the police came. Then three things happened.

  First, he heard a loud noise as a door opened at the back of the restaurant. He turned in time to see Eliza reappear in the alley. She was definitely not having a panic attack. She held a large kitchen knife and was flanked by Edmund, who held a very pissed-off cat.

  Second, as she shouted, “The police are on their way,” the cat leapt from the waiter’s arms and streaked across the alley, hissing. It made a loud, strangled crying sound that tore through the air.

  Mike’s face contorted with rage. He clambered to his feet and lunged for the cat but missed.

  Third, two black-and-white police cars with their lights flashing screeched to a stop, one at each end of the alley. Officers jumped out, shouting for them to get down, lie on the ground, hands above their heads.

  Fear splashed across Mike’s face. Bodhi could see that the man couldn’t process the orders. The police continued to shout.

  Fearing that they’d shoot Mike for not complying, Bodhi threw himself at Mike’s legs. The guy’s knees buckled, and they both tumbled to the rough ground. As they hit the ground, Mike twisted his neck and sank his teeth into the fleshy web space between Bodhi’s thumb and index finger.

  A police officer ran down the alley, his feet pounding and tackled Mike.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Bodhi said as the officer managed to handcuff the young man. “He’s been drugged and doesn’t understand what’s going on.”

  The police officer jerked his head around to search Bodhi’s face. “You mean he’s on drugs. What’s he doing, Solo?”

  “I think he’s been held against his will by a drug dealer. He’s been drugged—and weaponized. He was programmed to kill us.”

  A skeptical look crossed the officer’s face. “Really? By whom?”

  “Virgil Lavoire,” Eliza said as she crossed the alley and took Bodhi’s injured hand gently in her own hands. She turned his palm over from side to side, inspecting the wound. “Nasty bite,” she said.

  “I’ll live.”

  “Is he infected now?” the second police officer said nervously, his gun drawn and trained on Bodhi.

  “No. It doesn’t work that way,” Bodhi assured him.

  Edmund joined the group and began signing furiously. He finished by pointing at Mike and then the police.

  “What’s he want?” the officer worried about zombie infections asked as he holstered his weapon.

  “He’s spelling out letters. G-P-S,” Eliza explained. “But I don’t know why.”

  GPS. Bodhi let his gaze follow the trajectory of Edmund’s finger, which pointed at the bottom of Mike’s jeans.

  GPS. Bodhi leaned forward and lifted the cuff. A small, black box was pinned to the inside of the pants.

  “What’s that?” the officer who’d handcuffed Mike asked.

  “I believe that’s a GPS tracker,” Bodhi said. “The man who’s controlling him must have wanted a way to monitor his location.”

  The police officers grinned at each other. “So we’re not going to have to go looking for this dirtbag. If we keep this guy here long enough, he’ll come to us.”

  “Most likely,” Bodhi agreed. He signed ‘thank you’ to Edmund.

  Then he stood and the alley began to spin. The edges of his vision turned black. The darkness spread and ran inward to the center of his vision. And then, nothingness.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Friday morning

  General Hospital, Toronto

  Bodhi winced as he regained consciousness and sunlight filtered in around his eyelids.

  “I sort of thought I’d be the one to pass out.” Eliza’s low voice sounded near his ear.

  He
turned in the direction of the sound and opened his eyes. He instantly regretted it. The light made his temples throb.

  “Hi,” he croaked.

  He raised his right hand to stroke her hair and stopped midway. His hand felt too heavy and clumsy. He stared at it. It was wrapped in heavy white bandages.

  Eliza followed his eyes. “After Michael Raglan bit you, you fainted. At first, I thought it was from blood loss because you were bleeding pretty freely, but the docs here tested your blood. Virgil kept his captives on a maintenance dose of Solo. But Claude had given him the antidote before he attacked us, so you got a hit of both at once when Michael bit you.”

  His heart rate spiked. A monitor to the right of him started beeping wildly.

  “Don’t worry. You’re okay. They put you in a light, medically induced coma until everything cleared your system. I’ll bet you’ve got one helluva a headache, though.”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah.”

  She nodded. “Open up.”

  He did as she instructed and she held a large tumbler of ice water up to his mouth. He sucked it gratefully through the flexible straw.

  “Thank you.”

  “No sweat. You saved my life. And probably Michael’s. Maybe the cat’s. And Edmund’s. I figure I can give you some water.”

  “You might be overstating the situation.”

  She regarded him with somber eyes. “I don’t think so.”

  After a moment, he looked away. “So tell me what happened with Virgil. Did you say he had captives? Plural? And how is Claude involved in any of this?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ll give you the short version because the police are on their way to pick us up. You’re being released in about an hour. We’ve got to give the authorities our statements so we can make the afternoon flight back to Quebec City. I want to get out of here.”

  He took a long look at her exhausted expression and wrinkled clothes. “Did you spend the night in that chair?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Eliza—”

  “Whatever. I’ve spent lots of nights sleeping in hospital chairs. At least nobody was waking me up to perform surgery in the wee hours.”