The Stone (Lockstone Book 1)

by Seb L. Carter

  Liam rolled his eyes. They had this argument when he left for college. His aunt lived up on the northwest side in Norwood Park. He chose DePaul University because it was so close, and, with his cousin Trey gone out of state, he hated the idea of leaving his aunt all alone in the city, especially since Uncle Dale passed. Still, he wanted to live on campus, not at home. He wanted to experience that part of college life, something any normal guy his age would experience. “I’m fine,” Liam said. He pushed Aunt Jonie’s hand away from his forehead and tried to sit up more in the bed. “Really. I feel fine.”

  But Aunt Jonie only moved her hand to his shoulder to keep him in place. “I’m sure you are, honey, but let the doctors check you out first. If nothing else than for my own peace of mind.”

  With a sigh, Liam gave up the fight, and he lay back against the thin hospital pillows. He rubbed his palm, the memory of the… “Where’s my stuff?” Liam asked, sitting up again. The stone. Suddenly he was worried about where it was.

  “Hey, hey!” Aunt Jonie made him lay back again. “Calm down, okay?”

  “I need my stuff.”

  “Relax. It’s right over there.” She pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. His backpack was there along with his clothes in a plastic bag provided by the hospital. His Target bag was there too.

  “Can I see it?”

  “Why?”

  Liam tried to shrug it off like it was a normal thing. “I want to make sure nothing’s missing.”

  “Honey, I doubt anybody’s gone through your things. Nina and Justin rode over with you in the ambulance, and I’ve been in here ever since I arrived.”

  “Are you sure?” He couldn’t get the stone out of his mind.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She had the look on her face that Liam had gotten used to over the years, the look of concern and worry that caused a crease in between her eyebrows and deepened the lines of her forehead.

  “Okay.” He studied his backpack like he might be able to pick out which bulge was the stone. But a sense of sudden knowing caused him to relax a little. If the stone was truly missing now, he would know it. He couldn’t explain that feeling or how he came by this knowledge, but there it was. The stone was close. As he put his mind to it, there was a gentle tug, a whisper against his ear. If it had somehow become separated from him, the stone would find him again just as it had before. That knowledge helped him to ease up, and he turned to look at the monitors attached to him, their quiet hums, beeps, and whirrs. But, seeing the worried look on his aunt’s face made him want to change the subject. “How’s Trey?”

  Aunt Jonie leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Oh, you know how he is.”

  Liam nodded. “Doing a hundred things at once.”

  “Right. I mean, football, he’s doing this residence hall council thing, and now, this is the latest, he wants to be a resident assistant.” She threw up a hand. “In addition to all his classes. I don’t know where he gets all that energy from. Has to be from his dad.” His aunt had a reflective shadow cross her face. His Uncle Dale, Aunt Jonie’s husband, was dead from cancer, going on four years now.

  “I feel guilty I haven’t called Trey that much.”

  “Oh, honey, don’t feel guilty. He knows how it is. You’re just as busy as he is. I doubt he even notices.” She leaned forward again. “But enough about Trey. I’m here for you right now.” She took his hand. “I was scared, you know,” Aunt Jonie said. “When they called me, my first thought was that it was something horrible again.” She touched at one of the scars on his wrist.

  Liam self-consciously pulled his hand away, and he covered his wrist with his hand. Where were his bracelets? He searched the room for them and saw what might be them in the bottom of the plastic bag with all his clothes. “I don’t think that way anymore,” Liam said. He noticed something on the back of his hand, though, a mark like a mole that he hadn’t seen before. When he touched it with his thumb, it was upraised. When he prodded it, it didn’t hurt. Even when he picked at it with a fingernail, it felt a part of him, attached to his skin. He should probably have it checked.

  “I know, honey.” She reached up and moved a piece a hair over his ear. “I know you don’t.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Aunt Jonie gave a sad smile. “I just thought with everything that’s happened these past few days…”

  Liam had told his aunt about the homeless guy and the death he witnessed. She was worried, and he understood her worry. He’d given her plenty to worry about.

  “I just don’t want you stressing yourself out too much,” Aunt Jonie said.

  “I’m careful now. I know my triggers,” he said. “I pay a lot better attention, and I have a lot to live for now.”

  “You’ve always had a lot to live for.”

  “Difference is, I know it now,” Liam said. “Like I said, I don’t think that way anymore.” He was almost exasperated, but he hid it. His aunt meant well, and he had no doubt she was being sincere. But it was tiring feeling as if he always had to explain himself and his actions under the lens of his past suicide attempts.

  She reached up and cupped a hand on the side of his head, her thumb touching his cheek affectionately. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “I really am.” She had tears in her eyes that she blinked away.

  Liam turned his gaze back down to his hands folded in his lap, the bottom of his wrists down. “This time, it was just—I don’t know. Maybe this time it’s scarier.”

  Aunt Jonie huffed. “I doubt that.”

  Liam understood where that was coming from. Both times, his aunt and uncle stood by him—his Uncle Dale hadn’t been diagnosed with cancer yet. His cousin, Trey, was there for him too. All three of them bent over backwards and sideways to make him feel comfortable after he got home from treatment. His aunt tried to tell him she could understand why he felt that way. She was hurting too, of course. It was her brother who held the rifle and who shot his wife and two kids and left Liam behind to carry that burden. She said she didn’t blame him for thinking that was a way out. Nobody should have to carry that burden. She said she understood, even if she really couldn’t. Liam never fought her on it.

  “I had this kind of vision, I guess,” Liam said.

  “Vision?”

  “Yeah. It was weird. I was sitting there, drinking coffee one minute, then I passed out, and I remember this weird dream, some kind of battle.” Liam tried to laugh, because it sounded stupid and silly to even say it. He shook his head and put a finger to his forehead. “So yay! Possible brain tumor!” He looked up at his aunt to see if she thought it was in any way funny. As expected, she didn’t.

  “Oh, stop!” Aunt Jonie said.

  “I’m just kidding,” Liam said.

  But the creases on Aunt Jonie’s forehead only deepened.

  “Look who’s finally awake!” Nina’s voice floated into the room from beyond the curtains.

  Liam saw her standing there in the opening of the curtained area, smiling as big as she could. Justin was there too, and they came in to stand on both sides of his bed.

  “Oh good,” Aunt Jonie said. “I’ll leave you to your friends. I need to pop out for a minute.” She left the curtained room before Liam could say anything else to her, to ask her what was wrong. He felt guilty for making her worry even more.

  “You scared us,” Justin said.

  “Yeah,” Nina said. She playfully slapped his arm. “Jerk!” She laughed.

  Elsewhere in the hospital

  Patrick woke and instantly knew he was in a hospital. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up like this. The time before, he’d been knocked out by a concussive blast when following his team in Kandahar. A charge had been set on a door. They were in pursuit of a Taliban insurgent who’d been spooked when a whole team of SEALs and Patrick stormed into his flat. It was the insurgent who ran through and flung the door open to set off his own trap. The insurgent was blown to pieces. The other guys hit the deck and shook it off. Patrick ha
d been the only one on their team to get knocked on his ass and have a bookshelf fall on top of him to knock him out.

  From that point on, someone always warned Patrick to look out for bookshelves when they went on a mission.

  This time, though, there’d been no bomb blast, even though he recalled a battle.

  A nurse came in dressed in pale green scrubs. “Well, good evening, Mr. Taggert,” she said as she moved to the hanging bottle of IV fluid.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Well, you’re not dancing a tango, that’s for sure,” she said with a heavy laugh. Her accent placed her clearly as a Chicago native.

  Patrick didn’t join in the laughter. Mr. Taggert. They’d looked in his wallet, and that could be bad. That was the name on the ID he carried, a legend created by the CIA’s Office of Technical Services, the branch of the CIA tasked with creating false documentation and setting up usable identities for operatives around the world. This particular identity made Patrick a low-level accountant working for a company based in New York, a front-organization for the agency. He’d opted to go with a created identity for this job as he wasn’t quite sure what it would entail. He thought it best to distance himself from what happened here as much as he could, especially considering he still wasn’t quite sure what the endgame of this job was yet.

  But it also meant if anybody from the agency was looking for him, this alias could pop up as tagged.

  She waved his lack of mirth away and noted the amount on the IV bag on her clipboard. “Doc says you’re probably dehydrated. They’re running a couple of tests to rule out any other cause, but the consensus is it’s nothing at all to worry your pretty head about. Just a little pass out is all.”

  “How did I get here?” Patrick asked.

  “In an ambulance, of course,” she said, a hand on her hip. “You came in with the other guy. Your friends are in with him now, I believe.”

  Liam. It all came back. Had he succeeded? The tracker. “I need to see him. Where are my clothes?” He sat up in the bed. He pulled the IV out of his arm.

  “Mr. Taggert, I don’t think you should be doing that.”

  Patrick ignored her. He found his clothes in a corner of the curtained room in a plastic bag, which he emptied on the bed. He fished through everything he dumped out and turned to the nurse. “Where’s my gun?”

  “Checked,” she said. “As per procedure, Mr. Taggert.” Lucky for him, the legend created had a permit for a concealed weapon, hence why there were no cops there to ask him questions. But the nurse was persistent. “I really think you should wait until the doctors come in to talk to you.”

  “Why? Is there something wrong?”

  “Well, no. Nothing readily apparent. But, Mr. Taggert, you passed out for a reason.”

  Yes, he did. And he wasn’t sure what that reason was. It happened after he attempted to place the tracker. A shock that triggered something in him. And he remembered the battle scene, viewing the monsters and the people fighting against them. A dream from when he was passed out, most likely. Everything from that dream was vivid, almost as if he’d been there.

  But it was also a distraction from his objective. He was here to complete a mission to help in the rescue of his team from Taliban forces. And he needed to make sure he had taken the necessary steps in that mission. “Do I look like there’s anything wrong with me?” Patrick asked the nurse.

  She opened her mouth to say something but stopped herself short.

  “Do you think, in your professional opinion, that there is anything wrong with me?”

  “You appear fine, Mr. Taggert, but you really should wait for the doctors to confirm that assessment.”

  “Where is Liam?” Patrick asked the nurse as he pulled on his pants and stripped off the hospital gown.

  Her eyes lingered a little too long down on his bare chest as she spoke. “He’s in exam bay four,” she said. She turned away. “I’m going to have to inform the doctor that you removed your IV, and you’re going to have to sign some paperwork before you’re able to leave. But, Mr. Taggert, I think you should wait for the doctor to speak to you before you leave.”

  “Fine,” he said, and he fished out his t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

  The nurse left him alone.

  The remaining contents from the bag were on the bed, his wallet, his hotel key, both burner phones—and the case from the tracker. He held it up and turned it over between his fingers. It was empty. He’d had it in his hand before he passed out. If he had somehow failed to make contact with Liam’s skin, he’d have to call to get another one from his employers.

  He stepped out into the busy ER. He’d been in plenty before, many of them military hospitals. This one was a large space, the type expected in a city the size of Chicago with wheeled beds designed to be mobile gurneys if a patient had to move quickly. Nurses gathered at a central station, some of them typing at computers located near exam bays, some of the bays curtained, some open. On the ceiling, he saw the numbers. Exam bay four was two down from where he’d been deposited when he was brought in.

  As he neared the space cordoned off by curtains, he heard a woman’s laughter and the chatter of voices. He stood at the open space and saw the two people who had been approaching he and Liam when everything went sideways for him. When they both turned to Patrick standing in the doorway, Liam also moved into view and Patrick’s eyes met his.

  It was the same as it had been when he first saw him from the café window, a rush of recognition. But this time, there was also something else. A certainty that he couldn’t quite figure out what he was certain of. He knew Liam was somebody important. He knew it in his gut and in his chest. A whole-body sensation, a need to be close to Liam.

  “Hey,” Liam said, and he smiled, a smile that was nearly beatific in how it lit up his face. Did he feel it too?

  “I hear we’re both a little too much for one another,” Patrick said as he slipped into the room.

  “I guess so,” Liam said with a blush.

  The girl cleared her throat as she stared at Patrick.

  “Oh,” Liam said like he just realized they were there. “This is my friend, Nina,” he said pointing to the girl. “And Justin, my roommate.”

  “Yeah, I think we met before.” Patrick recalled the introductions just prior to falling over.

  Nina stood and offered her hand. “Pleased to actually meet you this time,” she said. “Don’t knock my friend out again.”

  “What?” Patrick paused, a little shocked and confused. “I didn’t…”

  “Relax,” Nina said with a laugh. “I’m kidding.” She grabbed hold of his hand and shook it.

  Patrick usually wasn’t this unsure of himself. He’d faced down terrorists and aided in the capture of war criminals, but the comment of a college girl caused him to shrink in fear. “Sorry,” Patrick said.

  “What are you apologizing for?” Nina said.

  “I don’t know,” Patrick said. His gaze fell on Liam again, who still watched him with a bemused grin on his face like he was looking upon a long-lost…acquaintance? Old flame? Was that possible? But it was the closest thing to describe it. He’d only seen Liam’s face in pictures a day ago, and they’d met just today, but there was a sense he was looking upon a guy he’d had a thing for at one time. “How are you?” Patrick asked Liam.

  “I’m fine,” Liam said. “Confused, but fine.” Liam sat more upright on the bed. He felt at his hair which was a little wild but also artful in a way that Patrick thought was cute.

  Nina moved over and grabbed Justin by the wrist. “We’re going to go to the cafeteria. Anybody want anything?”

  “I’m fine,” Justin said. Nina shushed him and pulled him out of the room, and Patrick could hear them arguing as they moved away from the curtained space.

  “How are you doing?” Liam asked when they were alone. “I hear you had some trouble too.”

  “Yeah, weirdest thing. That’s never happened to me before,” Patrick
said.

  “Me either. They’re telling me dehydration.”

  “Same,” Patrick said. He shuffled where he stood.

  “You can sit,” Liam said, and he patted the bed.

  There was a chair, though, and Patrick sat in it. He leaned forward so he and Liam were closer. “What really happened?” Patrick asked. “And I’m not talking about what the doctors are saying.”

  Liam seemed to be sizing Patrick up. “Why? Did you experience…something?”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said. “When we touched.”

  Liam lifted his hand and reached for Patrick. Patrick didn’t pull away, but he didn’t make a move to close the gap between them.

  “If it’s going to happen every time, don’t you want to know?”

  Patrick shrugged. He’d never been this apprehensive before. Why was he starting now?

  “We’re in the right place for it,” Liam added.

  He was right. Patrick lifted his hand and held it out to Liam. Liam hesitated, one hand over the other like he was afraid to go through with it.

  “Come on,” Patrick said. “It’s okay.”

  After an internal conversation witnessed in Liam’s eyes, the way he stared at Patrick, Liam tentatively lifted a hand toward Patrick’s. Patrick saw the scar on his wrist, and he understood. But he knew enough to not say anything. He didn’t want to break this moment. Besides, he had scars of his own.

  He met Liam’s gaze, that sensation once again inescapable. Then he closed the space between them, touching the skin of his palm to Liam’s.

  A rush passed through him that caused a quickening of his heartbeat. He waited, relishing the warmth of Liam’s palm against his own. Liam curled his fingers around Patrick’s hand, and Patrick did the same like they were awkwardly shaking one another’s hand. But they didn’t let go.

  Instead, Patrick rode the wave of whatever he was feeling, a rush of blood into his ears, a thrill of something like electricity shuddering over the length of his body, moving into his head to make him dizzy. He was glad he was sitting. And it coursed down into his legs, swirling in his limbs then back again. He watched Liam as it was happening. Liam’s mouth hung slack as their eyes met. Both of their stares were galvanized, fully awake. Powerful.