by R. R. Virdi
A lopsided smile spread over my face. Elizabeth Haylen kept me from stepping over the line into becoming a monster. She reminded me that no matter Katherine's actions, warped or not, I didn't have to be the same. Kneeling by her body, I beckoned to Ortiz. “Help me get her onto my shoulders.”
Getting Katherine onto my shoulders wasn't the easiest of things. My knees bent further as her weight caused a few of my aching joints to grind. It felt like someone had tapped my ribs with a mallet.
“Let's get out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Ay yai yai yeow!”
“God,” Ortiz exhaled after my exclamation.
“Wow,” followed Lizzie.
The asylum halls looked like a hurricane had blown through with the windows left open. Clothing, plastic cutlery, broken glass, and food was everywhere. Every now and again we came across a person slumped against a wall or on the floor. Some were out cold, others babbled to themselves. They all sported cuts and bruises. It was like the aftermath of a prison brawl scene from a movie. An occasional flare of red and blue lights shone through the windows onto the asylum walls.
I released an inner sigh.
A woman staggered around the corner, hands pressed to her skull as if trying to keep it from splitting. The tops of her forearms bore lengthy shallow cuts. The tips of her nails were encrusted in the blood that also matted bits of her wheat hair. I let out a sharp whistle to draw the nurse’s attention. Her body jerked in reaction to the piercing sound. The nurse pulled her hands away from her face. It was tear-stained. Grime marred her cheeks and forehead, as well as bits of her own blood.
“Hey.” I lowered my voice to a more soothing tone. “You okay?” I eyed her arms.
“This?” She blinked several times as if trying to remember how to speak. She cleared her throat. “I think so. Now, at least. I don't know what happened. It's like the whole place went nuts at once. I started seeing things. People were fighting. I saw things—monsters...and things on my arms.”
“Things?”
She nodded. “Don't ask me what they were. I just... I had to get them off.” The nurse held up her bloodied nails.
“We're sorry,” Ortiz whispered.
If the nurse heard Ortiz's apology, she didn't show it. Her gaze was fixated above my shoulder. “Oh, my God.” She threw her hands up to her mouth.
Totally unsanitary when they're covered in blood.
“Is that Katherine?”
I grimaced. “It is.”
“What's wrong with her?”
I didn't want to tell her. Death is never easy to deal with, especially after what had transpired in the asylum. Fortunately, I didn't have to. Lizzie stepped forward. She wrapped her arms around the nurse’s waist.
The nurse got the message. Her lips quivered and her eyes fluttered. She took shallow breaths before shutting her eyes tight. The nurse shook her head as if the act of doing so could change the fact.
Denial is one of the most complicated tools the mind has to offer. A man can deny his perceived fate and whatever others believe, be they human or monster. He can fight against the odds, no matter how grim, and win. All by denying the horrendous odds stacked against him. And then there are the moments where denial can do nothing. It can't bury the pain of losing a friend or colleague. You can't push those things aside.
Ortiz placed a hand on the nurse’s shoulder and helped guide her into a nearby room. I followed behind and waited till the nurse had taken a seat before I lowered Katherine Robinson to the bed. The young nurse cradled her head in her hands again. Her body shook and we could hear the sobs. Ortiz gave me a silent tilt of the head. We left the room, heading toward the exit of the asylum.
If the insides of the asylum were one helluva mess, then the front grounds were a veritable fustercluck. Everyone imaginable was there. Patients, staff, and medical first responders were helping out. A flash of blue lights peppered the overwhelming red emitted by the ambulances.
“Wonderful,” I grumbled.
Officers sifted through people, helping sort things out. Some gathered statements. Cutting through the mass of people with a bit more purpose were men and women dressed in cheap suits of the same color.
“And there's the Feds,” I sighed.
Ortiz rubbernecked and let out a hiss. The sort you'd get from a pissed off cat.
“Something wrong?”
She gave me a look.
“Oh, right, you're here on the down low.” I grinned. “Nobody knows. So I suppose if I hollered real loud and pointed to you—”
“You'd be a dead man.” She glared. It was a look that could've stripped paint and primer off cars.
“Hehe.” I took a step back, raising my hands in surrender. “Wouldn't dream of it.” She kept staring however.
Ortiz turned her head back to the crowd. “We should go.” Her tone and stare told me it wasn't a good idea to argue with her. So we moved aside.
I led as we pushed our way through tight-knit groups within the already massive gathering. Ortiz stepped up to my side and spoke over the raucous noise around us.
“About Lizzie. Honestly, do you think she’ll be fine?”
I cleared my throat. It was a hard question. Harder still because I didn't know the truth. God, I wish I did. “I don't know.” My voice was weak. “I don't know and I hate it. When that thing was in her mind... I mean, for Christ's sake, she's a kid. She didn't deserve that. And that's the sort of stuff that sticks with you, especially children. They're more impressionable.”
Ortiz nodded in silence.
“But I hope so. I really do.” I threw a look back to Lizzie, who was trailing a few feet behind us. The kid was content in whatever was going on in her head. “There's something else, Ortiz, and it's not good. I told you how the phage taints things—corrupts them.”
Ortiz nodded again.
“It got inside the mind of a child, Ortiz. A child who’s already been through a lot. Losing her family, her beloved sister—twice technically. Getting locked up for what she can do, cut off from the outside world...”
“You're saying it could have done something to her. Something...permanent?”“I don't know. That’s what scares me.”
Ortiz chewed her lip, mulling for a moment in silence. Her nose and lips twitched. “So...what about the phage? What happens now? I mean, look what it did, Charles. People are going to come asking questions, and I’m not sure they’re going to like the answers...or find them. That thing’s body crumbled to dust. What do...”
“You know the funny thing I’ve learned doing this?”
Ortiz arched an eyebrow, waiting for my answer.
“People are obsessed with causality. Everything has to have a reason. Cause and effect. One thing leads to another. And, in all of that, people want the answers they want to hear, want to believe, need to believe. The answers have to fit their paradigms. And here’s the scary thing: if things don’t add up, humans are great at making up their own explanation, one that everyone’s okay with. So long as everyone comes out happy and things are somewhat believable, no matter the holes, people don’t push it.”
“You’re right. That is scary.”
“Ignorance normally is, Ortiz, especially when people choose to be.”
“Lizzie!” someone called, drowning out every other voice nearby. Lizzie snapped out of her reverie and turned to the source of the voice with an alertness I hadn't seen before. Her mouth quirked into a smile and she tore past us, pushing people away by the waist. Ortiz and I exchanged a look before we chased after her. The voice called out again.
A squat woman with the complexion of rich clay bulldozed her way through a small group of people. Her skin was old leather, tanned, wrinkled and hardened. She had the same eyes as Lizzie. Quick and warm. Thinning hair and a powerful look.
She barely came up to my chest in height.
“Move!” she barked, shoving an officer out of the way. The cop turned with a snarl, looking the elderly woman in the fa
ce. The pint-sized woman shot him a look that could've turned granite to dust. The cop paused before deciding it was better for his health to turn around and forget what happened.
Lizzie screamed in delight and threw herself against the diminutive woman's chest. “Grandma!” she squealed. Her grandmother returned the pleased look and beamed. She squeezed the kid back. The embrace lasted for ten seconds or so before Lizzie pulled away. “Grandma, these are my friends.” She gestured to us with a sweep of her arm.
Her grandmother eased out of Lizzie's hug, moving towards us with a penguin-like gait. I stiffened in response, equal parts respect—any woman who stares down a cop like that deserves mountains of respect—and fear. She stopped a finger's length away from Ortiz, hands on hip, chin upthrust as she turned her head to regard us.
I could feel the weight of the appraisal...and the judgment. Oh, the weighty judgment of family members.
Ortiz didn't smile. She dipped her head in a polite nod of respect. “Ma'am.” Lizzie's grandmother continued to stare up at Ortiz, thinking in silence for a minute that felt like an hour.
The old woman's mouth quirked at the edges, making the lines in her face more visible. “I like you. Polite, honest”—she paused for a moment before adding—“strong.”
Ortiz's lips twitched, not quite spreading into a pleased grin, but a hint of it was there. Her eyes gleamed at the compliment.
Lizzie's grandmother rounded on me and I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. Her hands balled into fists that rested on her hip. She marched over to me. I dwarfed the elderly woman by a couple of feet, yet I got the feeling she was the one looking down at me.
I followed Ortiz’s earlier lead. I lowered my head in respect, working hard to keep my expression neutral. “Ma'am,” I said, echoing Ortiz's tone.
She said nothing. Just an exhale of breath through the nose. This was going well.
I cleared my throat awkwardly. “You have an amazing granddaughter, ma'am. She's smart, kind, tough and brave, even where others wouldn't be.”
Her grandmother blinked. A smiled cracked that hardened face. “Yes, she is.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“And you,” her tone turned accusatory, “are trouble!”
Am not.
“But,” she continued. “You are strong. Brave, like my little Lizzie. A good man with a good heart.” She jabbed a finger at the left side of my chest to make her point.
“Ow.” I rubbed the spot.
“And a crybaby,” she added. All three women broke out into varying degrees of laughter.
I sniffed indignantly. “Am not.”
The laughter subsided and Lizzie crept up beside her grandmother, putting an arm around her. It was a nice thing to see, especially after what we all went through. It killed me to ruin it. “Ma'am, there's something I need to tell you about your granddaughter.” Lizzie watched me without a fleck of concern on her face. “She's special, and she doesn't belong in a place like this, no matter what—”
Her grandmother made a slashing movement with her hand and cut me off. “I know.”
Ortiz and I responded at the same time. “You do?”
Lizzie bobbed her head. “Yup. I told her a long time ago. She believes me.” Her grandmother nodded in affirmation.
“So why...” I was unable to finish the question.
“Was she in this place?”
I nodded.
Her grandmother's body sank with a sigh. “The state. Too many hoops to jump through. But I have her back now. Thank you.” She gave us a smile that touched her eyes.
“Hey, Camilla. Hey!” A voice shouted over the crowds. “That you?”
Ortiz swore. She threw her hands up to cover her mouth. “Sorry,” she said to both Lizzie and her grandmother before rubbernecking toward the direction of the voice.
“What's up?” I asked.
“Harrison,” she spat. “Guy I worked with at the Bureau. Good guy, but Christ, is he a loudmouth. If he catches me here, it'll spread through the bureau. My job will be at risk.” She gave me a dagger and nails look. “Wait here. I'm going to duck this clown, but you and I have things to discuss.” Ortiz's voice was ice.
“Camilla!” he called again. Ortiz shook her head and slipped through the crowd, heading in the opposite direction.
A silent thanks went through my head as she disappeared. It was the bout of good luck I needed. My pants stretched as something tugged at them. Lizzie was staring at me. “What's up, Short Round?”
“I have something to tell you,” she said. I arched an eyebrow. “Well, not me really.” She looked over her shoulder at someone.
The woman's appearance remained the same as when I saw her last. A mature version of Lizzie. Long-haired, large eyes, and beautiful. A member of the nursing staff passed through the spot Lizzie's sister occupied. The man reacted as if someone had dumped ice water on him. He stood there for a moment, eyeing the space. He frowned, shaking his head before moving on. “People can't see her,” Lizzie explained.
“Uh, yeah. I, uh, got that.” I blinked. “Hi.” I waved. Her sister smiled and returned my wave.
Lizzie's sister's face scrunched up in effort as her lips moved. “Sorry.”
She said—she spoke—and I heard it! Her voice wasn't the waning, garbled echoes people expect ghosts to speak in. It was strained but clear. “Sorry?” I asked.
“She's trying to talk. It's hard for her to do it this way, but she wants you to hear her,” said Lizzie.
“She doesn't need to. Look, I get it. You don't need to push it.” I raised a calming hand to her sister. Her lips quirked into a lopsided smile and she inclined her head. That was more than enough for me.
“She says thank you...not Charles.” Lizzie gave me the same lopsided grin as her sister.
“I know, Lizzie, and thank you. Believe it or not, you helped me a lot on this case too. More than you know and...” I stopped as I became aware of another person standing to Lizzie's side. He was dressed exactly like me, a bit more disheveled though. His face bore the same hawkish features as the one I was borrowing.
“She's not the only one who wants to say thanks.” Lizzie gave me a smile wide enough to bring out her dimples.
I blinked. My mouth moved, trying to sputter a single word.
He flashed me a grin, winking as he turned to Lizzie.
“He says ‘thank you’, too, for figuring out what he left behind. For stopping the pain.”
I nodded like an idiot as he waved. His appearance dimmed from sight until it was gone. Lizzie leapt, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug which I was too out of sorts to return. I stood there gawking as she took her grandmother's hand and left. The entire scene had unfolded before dozens of people, and not a single one saw what I had.
“Sunuvabitch.” I laughed. That was a first.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Everyone knows that feeling when you're being watched. It's that itch in the back of your skull prompting you to turn. I'd worked my way to the edge of the asylum grounds. I stuck close to the woods as I moved back toward the building. The sensation became too much. It felt like there was a hook tugging on the back of my head. I turned.
“Lyshae.” I frowned. “What now?”
“You're welcome, Vincent Graves.” She sounded like she expected a thank you.
“For what?”
Her voice changed, and I shivered as she called, “Hey, Camilla. Hey!”
“That was you?”
She nodded.
“How did you—”
“Know?” She gave me a self-satisfied smile. “I learned a great deal about your female friend. Her name, occupation, people in her life. While you were busy with the phage, I was rather busy myself.”
Bitch. Saying it aloud wouldn't have served any purpose besides self-satisfaction. “Bitch.” I felt better.
I'm petulant. Sue me.
“Why though, Lyshae?”
“Your ability to perform whatever tasks I have
in mind needs no further complications. A particular woman discovering the truth of who and what you are, for example.”
“Uh, thanks?”
She bowed her head. “I also witnessed your exchange with Elizabeth Haylen.”
Oh, bitch squared!
“Leave her alone, Lyshae.” I kept my voice level but she knew it was a threat despite the tone.
“I will, for now. But if it ever serves my purpose...I won't.” She gave me a foxlike smile.
I bristled. “The hell you will, I'll—”
“Stop me?” She laughed, throwing up a hand to cover her mouth. “You're in my service now. Your case is done, remember that. I could compel you to fetch her right now if I wished.”
An animalistic sound formed in my throat. “Is that why you came here, to dangle this over my head?”
“To let you know that when I come asking, you will do as I say, regardless of the case at hand. You know the price of breaking a pact.” It wasn't a question. “I also came to share something with you. A token. Something to let you know that I'm not all you make me out to be.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, Vincent. A bit about your old life.”
My thoughts turned into the static of a dead radio station.
“The Watcher of the Ways has all your answers.” She smiled before shifting. A fox of pure white with nine golden tails sat before me. Lyshae bounded into the woods an instant later.
“Triple bitch.” I scowled and headed back toward the asylum. It was time to wrap things up.
I pushed through the chapel doors and released a pleasurable groan of relief. Church wasn’t in sight.
The chapel was empty. It's never completely empty.
“Church? Tall, blonde and nerdy—you here? Goldilocks?” I made my way toward the middle of the pews.
“I told you not to call me that,” came a soft voice.
“Gyah! Church, I... And you stop doing that!” My chest heaved.
“Sorry, Vincent,” he apologized.