All the Wounds in Shadow: The Healing Edge - Book Two

by Anise Eden

  “Thank you, Dr. Gastrell.” Captain Abbott cast his eyes about the room, giving us a moment to absorb that information. “The FBI found that Dr. Belo was, in fact, the victim of a murder attempt. A tiny injection site was discovered on his neck behind the ear. Its size and location on the body, combined with the type and concentration of poison used, pointed to one of the CIA’s signature methods for making an assassination look like an accident. That’s when Yankee Company was called in. Our CIA contacts claim to know nothing about the attack. Either they’re lying, or the attack was carried out by a rogue agent or cell. To ensure Dr. Belo’s safety, we transferred him here, while a decoy Dr. Belo remains on Walter Reed’s roster as a patient who can’t receive visitors. However, whoever poisoned Dr. Belo may have tracked his movements. If they discover his true whereabouts, they may try to finish what they started. And if they find out that we’ve managed to get him talking, so to speak, everyone working on this project could become a target.”

  The hair on my neck prickled again as Captain Abbott swept his hand through the air. “You have nothing to fear down here, however. This subbasement of the hospital is secure. Although this location has served many purposes over the years, officially, it doesn’t even exist. Neither does Yankee Company, for that matter. But we don’t know how much the attackers know, and if they are CIA, we can’t be too careful. That’s why we need to keep security airtight.”

  I’d read enough about U.S. history to know that the CIA had a long and spine-chilling history of assassinations. But why would they want to kill a scientist, of all people—especially a neuroscientist at NIMH? I looked around the room. While everyone appeared grim, my surprise and confusion were mirrored only in the faces of Vani, Eve, and Asa. They weren’t asking any questions, however—and I didn’t blame them. Captain Abbott seemed like the type of person who was used to doing the asking, not the answering. But I couldn’t help it. The accumulation of mysteries was making me nervous. I slid my hand into the air.

  Captain Abbott’s head whipped around. “Yes, Miss Duncan?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I began tentatively. “Why would the CIA want to kill Dr. Belo?”

  Ben, Captain Abbott, and Skeet all exchanged glances. Then Ben turned to me. “That’s what we’re here to help them figure out.”

  “Oh.” Suddenly feeling the weight of that responsibility, I slouched back down into my chair. “Can I ask what Dr. Belo was researching?”

  “An excellent question!” Skeet’s face lit up. He glanced at Captain Abbott, who gave him a nod. “Dr. Belo is originally from Brazil,” Skeet said, “but we invited him here on a special grant to do research on the brain’s pineal gland.”

  I reached back into my grad school memories. “The pineal gland—the seat of the soul?”

  “Yes, indeed! The seat of the soul, according to Descartes.” Skeet practically glowed. “Of course, we now know more about the functions of the pineal gland. It produces melatonin and possibly DMT, a compound that may be instrumental in producing near-death experiences. Dr. Belo is fond of saying that he’s spent most of his career asking the question: what came first, the soul or the pineal gland?” When Skeet realized that he was the only one in the room chuckling at his joke, he cleared his throat and continued. “Being a spiritual man, Dr. Belo believes that the soul came first, and that God created the pineal gland as a gateway to allow us to experience the divine presence. He’s done quite a bit of research on this theory.”

  “Like the third eye study,” Kai chimed in.

  “Yes!” Skeet pointed at Kai. “Dr. Belo was part of the team that discovered that the pineal gland contains photoreceptor cells, the same type of cells found in our eyes—an odd thing to find in the middle of the brain, you must admit. This discovery, of course, has given spiritually-minded folks more reason to believe that the gland is, in fact, a third eye—a pathway to communicate with God. And that’s just one of the interesting aspects of Dr. Belo’s research.”

  Skeet walked around the room like an energized professor in front of a lecture hall. “He came to NIH on a special grant to work with the National Cancer Institute. They’re investigating outcomes in patients whose pineal glands are damaged in the process of treating some very rare tumors that can develop in that part of the brain. Dr. Belo is studying what effects this damage has on a person’s sense of themselves as a spiritual being, their sense of morality, and their conscience.” Skeet’s face fell. “Or he was, that is.”

  I felt a rush of compassion for Skeet. It was obvious that in Dr. Belo, he was losing a respected colleague, if not a friend. “That sounds fascinating,” I said—and to me it was, even if it didn’t shed any light on why Dr. Belo might have become a CIA target.

  “Yes, quite,” Skeet said, but he appeared to be lost in his own thoughts.

  “Any other questions?” Captain Abbott barked. No one spoke. “In that case, marines, it’s time to get back to work. Ben, a word.”

  Within moments, everyone wearing a uniform had left the room. Ben gathered our crew by the door. “Why don’t you all go back to your rooms for a few minutes before we get started? We might not get many more opportunities to relax.” He nodded at Hector and another marine who were standing in the hallway. “They offered to walk you back. Apparently it’s easy to get lost down here.”

  I glanced over at Captain Abbott and Dr. Gastrell. They stood in the far corner of the room, conferring. “Do you know what Captain Abbott wants to talk to you about?”

  “No idea.” Ben shrugged. “Something security-related, no doubt.” Then he looked at each of us one by one. “Thank you for being here. As you’ve heard, it’s an important mission, and they need all the help they can get.”

  “Well, somebody’s got to cover your ass,” Pete drawled.

  Kai punched Pete’s arm lightly. “No need to thank us. We’re all glad to be here—right, people?”

  Ben smiled as everyone nodded and murmured their assent. “All right, then,” he said, “I’ll come and get you as you’re needed.”

  Ben and I were the last ones in the line out the door. Dr. Gastrell slipped in front of me, blocking my exit, and extended his hand. “Cate, it’s such a pleasure to meet you. May I have a quick word?”

  I shot Ben an anxious glance, feeling awkward about being singled out.

  “It doesn’t have to be in private,” Skeet quickly added.

  “Okay.” After a brief handshake, I said, “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  Skeet took off his glasses and cleaned them with the corner of his lab coat. “In preparation for your arrival, I was speaking with Dr. MacGregor—the elder, that is.” He put his glasses back on and gave Ben a quick nod. Then he turned to me, his expression pained. “She told me that you recently lost your mother. I’m so sorry.”

  My mother. In an instant, everything in the room seemed to disappear except for the space surrounding Skeet, Ben, and me. My breathing sounded loud and ragged to my ears, and my pulse pounded in my head. My eyes could see every worry line on Skeet’s face as though through a magnifying glass. I felt the heat of Ben’s body on my own as he drew closer to me. “Yes. Three months ago.”

  Skeet nodded as if in slow motion. “I just wanted to extend my sincere condolences.”

  I swallowed hard. Ben laid his hand on my lower back, steadying me.

  “I also wanted to say that I hope this situation won’t prove to be too difficult for you. If it does, however, we will all certainly understand.”

  At first I was unable to piece together what he meant, but then I realized what he was getting at. He hoped it wouldn’t be too hard for me to be around another dying person so soon. Someone else was giving me an out.

  Thankfully, the stubborn part of me shook itself awake and helped me pull myself together. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. My tunnel-like experience faded and my breathing and pulse returned to normal. “Thank you, Dr. Gastrell,” I said, reaching behind me and grasping Ben’s hand at the small
of my back. “That’s very thoughtful of you. But I’m here to help Dr. Belo, and I’m confident that I’ll be able to handle any personal issues that may arise.”

  “Of course.” Dr. Gastrell bowed his head to me. “Well, while you’re here, any time you’d like to talk about Braz’s research, I’d be more than happy. And please call me Skeet; everyone else does.”

  “Thank you.” I mustered up a professional smile.

  “I’ll be right with you and the captain,” Ben told him. Skeet headed back toward the other side of the room. As he walked away, that sense of connection struck me again. Was it his walk, or his cologne…? Something about him seemed familiar. I had no idea where I could have met him before, though.

  “Are you okay?” Ben asked me quietly.

  “Yeah,” I said, “I guess that was just sort of unexpected.”

  “I can imagine,” Ben said, his voice edged with irritation. “My mother must have brought it up with him because she was concerned about you. I’m surprised she didn’t mention it to me, though.”

  “Me, too.” I thought about telling Ben that Dr. Gastrell had already been making me uncomfortable, but “Skeet’s smiling at me weird” didn’t sound like a very worthy complaint. “It’s okay, though. It was kind of them to be concerned.”

  “Cate.” Ben’s hand cradled my elbow. “You know I’m here if you need anything.”

  As I looked up into Ben’s eyes, the strength of his caring flowed into me, setting everything right again. I placed my hand over his and squeezed. “Yes, I know. You’ve only told me like a hundred times.”

  “Good,” he said, squeezing my hand back. “We won’t need you for a while at least. Try to relax this afternoon, maybe get some more rest. You might need it. And I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

  Chapter Five

  Buzz, snap, buzz. The sound of another failing fluorescent bulb in the hallway. The light under the door flickered. Fantastic; the horror movie had moved right outside of my room.

  I pulled myself up into a seated position and stretched. The clock read 3:43 p.m. I was beginning to wonder if Ben was ever going to come for me. But I knew that I was plan B, and they probably hadn’t exhausted plan A yet. I’d been trying to relax, but my brain just kept chewing on what I’d learned in the morning briefing.

  I knew I’d been raised in something of a bubble, thanks to my mother’s well-intentioned efforts to shelter me. But I’d made it a point to educate myself as much as possible since leaving home, and had shed much of my naïveté. Still, if the Marine Corp had an entire unit dedicated to protecting whistleblowers from our own government…. I’d watched enough movies and TV shows about crime and espionage to suspect that there were occasional territorial wars between federal agencies. But the existence of Yankee Company made it seem like there was an actual internal war going on. Between that revelation and everything I’d learned recently about the paranormal, it seemed likely that there was an endless number of dimensions to the world that I didn’t know about—and might never know about.

  I pondered all of the ways in which being a part of Yankee Company must have shaped Ben, and how radically different our worldviews must be given his experiences. I wondered if I would ever really be able to understand certain aspects of him as well as the other marines did. Would crucial parts of who Ben was forever remain inaccessible to me? If so, what did that mean for us as a couple? Just raising the question made my stomach feel like lead.

  Being alone with my thoughts wasn’t helping me relax at all. I decided that if I didn’t get out of that room, I was going to go stir crazy. There had to be coffee available somewhere in that subbasement; I would go on the hunt. After quickly rebraiding my hair, I layered two fitted tunics over my jeans to see if I could keep warm without resorting to Ben’s oversized sweatshirt. Then I left a note on the desk saying that I’d be back soon, just in case anyone came for me.

  The hallway was empty and silent. It occurred to me that I had no idea where anything was. Ben had been right; in that maze of duplicate hallways it would be easy to get lost. I needed breadcrumbs. I went back to the room and scrounged a handful of pennies from the bottom of my purse. I figured I could leave one on the floor against the near corner each time I took a turn.

  After exploring a few empty corridors and seeing no one, I began to think my coffee hunt might be in vain. Then, just as I passed by an open door, a woman’s voice called out from the room. “Cate!”

  I stood in the doorway of what appeared to be a small gym. The floor was lined with mats. The lights were low, and the room smelled of stale perspiration and old socks. I recognized some of the equipment from my few short-lived gym memberships. There was a bench press, a set of free weights, a medicine ball, and a blue exercise ball. I didn’t see any people, however.

  “Hey!” the voice called again. I looked up to find Nessa close to the ceiling, holding on to a rope. Someone had removed one of the ceiling tiles and tied the rope to some fixture higher up. Nessa climbed down halfway and jumped to the floor, every motion appearing effortless. She straightened up and wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her T-shirt. “Do you have a few minutes? I want to lift some weights but I need a spotter.”

  “Um….” My eyes darted about. I did have a few minutes, so I couldn’t exactly say no. On the other hand, I hadn’t touched weights in years, and I didn’t know what she expected me to do if something went wrong.

  Nessa walked over and sat on the bench. She toweled off and took a few swigs from a water bottle. “I won’t need you, I promise,” she reassured. “It’s just a safety regulation.”

  “Oh!” I forced a smile. “Well, sure, in that case.”

  “Thanks.” She began to adjust the weights on the bar. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

  “Well, no. I mean, I was just trying to find someplace to get coffee.”

  “Coffee sounds good, actually. We can go to the staff lounge after this.” Nessa placed the bar on the bench press frame and laid back. “Okay, all you need to do is stand behind my head. If I kill myself, just yell down the hall.” She tilted her head back so she could see me and grinned.

  “Got it!” I gave her the thumbs-up.

  Nessa lifted the bar and began a series of slow, repetitive bench presses. Apparently, she wasn’t even winded, because she started up a conversation. “Hey, I’m sorry again about this morning. I have a tendency to put my foot in my mouth.”

  “Please don’t worry about it,” I said, trying not to stare. Nessa handled the weights as though they were feathers. “Ben explained everything. It was perfectly natural for you to assume what you did. There was no way for you to know it was a secret.”

  “It was a secret?” She tilted her head back again and gave me a curious look. “I thought you just hadn’t got around to telling everyone yet.”

  I felt a blush creeping up my neck. “Right. That’s what I meant—that we hadn’t told anyone.” I hoped that Nessa wasn’t an experienced poker player or an interrogator or something, because I knew from experience that I was a horribly ineffective liar. I cast about quickly for a change of subject. “So you and Ben served together in Yankee Company?”

  “Yeah. Ben, Pete, Hector, Kevin, and I started together on Parris Island. Almost as soon as we got there, somebody leaked that I was a failed ballerina. You can imagine the grief I got. But those four guys defended me—until I started kicking ass in training exercises, that is. No one gave me a hard time after that.” As though for emphasis, she dropped the bar back onto the bench press frame with a loud clink.

  That sounded like Ben and Pete, all right. “A failed ballerina? Were you injured?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Nessa sat up and toweled off again before walking over to the collection of hand weights and selecting some intimidatingly large dumbbells. “Ballet is just very competitive. No matter how hard I worked, I was never more than decent, passable. I didn’t have what it took to make a career out of it. The wrong body type, not enough r
aw talent. It was always going to be a hobby. And since dance was my major in college and I didn’t really have a fallback….”

  I squinted at her. “You joined the Marines?” It wasn’t until after the words were out that I realized how rude my question must have sounded. “Sorry,” I muttered, “I guess you’re not the only one with a foot-in-mouth tendency.”

  “Don’t sweat it! It’s a reasonable question, and one I’ve been asked a lot, believe me.” She lay back on the bench and began pressing the dumbbells towards the ceiling. “My father’s a marine, and my two older brothers.” This time, she spoke with some effort between lifts. “They always made it sound like a life of adventure. Not to mention job security. Plus, having grown up surrounded by marines, I knew I enjoyed their company. I guess you do, too, huh?” she asked with a knowing smile.

  “Well, Ben and Pete, yes. But they’re the first marines I’ve really hung out with, and I’ve only known them for a little over a week, so—”

  Her eyes widened. “A week? Really?” She appeared to be puzzling over that piece of information as she extended the dumbbells out to her sides and then brought them overhead in an arc. “You must be experienced in that paranormal stuff, then.”

  “No, actually. Before I got involved with the MacGregor Group, I was a psychotherapist. I knew I could do some things that I couldn’t really explain, but it never occurred to me that they might be—you know. Paranormal.” I shrugged. “Until Ben and his group explained how it all works.”

  “Oh, wow.” She looked frankly dumbfounded. “And Ben brought you down here?”

  Wondering what she was getting at, I said, “Well, I volunteered.”