“She just had a little too much to drink,” Mr. Specter said, playing the part of Dr. Mitchard. “Tomorrow she’ll pay a price, but otherwise she’ll be fine.”
The agent’s eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you transporting the heart attack patient to the hospital?”
“I’ve determined it was a panic attack. The patient is stabilized and waiting for a family member to come pick him up.”
“I’m going to need to check on this,” he said, shaking his head.
Inwardly I cheered, but before I could make it an all-out celebration one of the fake agents stepped forward. “No need to do that. I’ve got it covered.”
My savior said, “And who might you be?” His voice was indignant. Yes! Their cover was blown and soon a whole squad of Secret Service agents would swoop in and arrest the five of them. An old man accompanied by his so-called son, a fake doctor, and two imitation Secret Service agents. Who in their right mind thought this idea would work?
The fake agent leaned in close and rested his hand on my savior’s arm. He said, “Everything here is fine. You’re going to walk away now and feel satisfied that you’ve investigated the situation. If anyone asks, you will assure them that the doctor and his crew were sanctioned by the White House. Do you understand?”
My heart sank as I recognized he was using Mallory’s brand of mind control. Would it work?
The agent blinked like he’d suddenly awakened from a long nap. “Yes, I understand.”
“Now go and check out the guy who’s escorting Layla Bernstein. He seems suspicious. You need to take him out of the room for questioning.”
My savior obediently wandered off and didn’t even look back. The plane had gone over the island and didn’t see me waving for help. He was gone.
On stage the band played an intro and then launched right into “Happy Birthday.” The crowd sang along, some of them lifting their glasses to toast Layla.
Even so, I stayed with my body, so I heard the old man on the gurney lift his oxygen mask and say, “Smooth. Now what are you going to do with her?” No one around them could hear his voice, which sounded incredibly feminine. I veered closer and looked beyond the fake beard and mustache, and the matching hair piece. The tux no doubt covered a body girdle hiding this person’s true female form. Or maybe there was some kind of padding rounding it all out. I wasn’t sure of the details, but I was certain of one thing. Underneath all the deception lurked someone I knew.
Mrs. Whitehouse.
Mr. Specter nodded to one of the Secret Service agents. “Take her, will you?” He handed my body off as easily as if I were a life-sized Raggedy Ann.
“What do you want me to do with her?”
“Do whatever you want,” he said. “Just get her out of sight. And whatever you do, make sure it’s permanent.”
The young guy Russ had called Snake Boy grinned so wide I could see the gold tooth in the back of his mouth. “Let me take her,” he said. “I got me a few ideas what to do with her.” Oh man, I had a sick, sick feeling about this.
Mr. Specter frowned at Snake Boy. “You’re not going anywhere.” He gestured to the wheeled base of the gurney. “I’ll need you in case the Specteron doesn’t work.” I could see now that the base was a metal box with tubes coming out of it, one of which was attached to the oxygen mask covering the patient’s face. Mr. Specter nudged the box with his foot, where Mrs. Whitehouse, in character as the old man, still lay. She slapped at his hand. “Careful there. Don’t set it off while I’m on top of it.”
“I designed this thing myself,” Mr. Specter said, absentmindedly tugging on the stethoscope.” Believe me, it won’t go off until I activate it. And that’s not happening until the official goodnight. And believe me, it will be an official goodnight. Or should I call it the last and final goodnight?” He tilted his head toward the stage where the president stood with her husband and daughter. Russ was no longer next to Layla. I rose and scanned the room only to see him moving frantically through the crowd, a tuxedoed salmon trying to swim against the current.
I watched the faux Secret Service agent carry my body out of the hall through swinging doors. My head, still covered in the glimmering headband, drooped over his arm and my legs dangled loosely. I wanted to take action, but I was conflicted. Should I stay and see what Mr. Specter was up to, or follow my own body? Or maybe something else entirely.
I decided. Take me to Russ Becker.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Russ
I stood on the stage trying to see what was going on in the back of the room. My breath caught in my chest when the dark-haired woman turned around and I realized it was Nadia and that the doctor had her by the arm. Nadia twisted around and yelled my name, and my heart burst into a million pieces. She needed me and I wasn’t there.
She screamed something I couldn’t make out and the doctor put his hand up to her neck. Whatever he did caused her to wilt like he'd killed her. Swiftly, he scooped her up before she hit the floor and held her in his arms like a sleeping child.
Adrenaline bursting and heart pounding, I leaped down the stairs. I couldn't get to Nadia fast enough; the ocean of people made it impossible to make any headway. I pushed through the guests. The ones who noticed me, and that seemed to be all of them, looked puzzled.
“The boy's running scared,” one man joked.
Three more steps and I heard a woman call out, “What's the matter? Can't handle Layla?”
Layla. Oh no. When I dashed off the stage, I’d only had one person in mind. Nadia. During training they’d repeatedly stressed the importance of never leaving Layla unprotected and I’d done just that without a second’s thought. I’d done the worst thing a bodyguard could do—I’d left my post.
I looked back to see that Jameson had already taken my place by Layla’s side. He saw me looking at him, noticed my hesitation, and motioned for me to just go. His gesture said that he had this and I should do what I had to do. I weighed the situation for about a nanosecond. I wasn’t sure I could trust him, but it came down to this: I had to. Nothing was more important than Nadia.
I kept going in the direction where I’d last seen Nadia fall limp into the doctor’s arms. The image of him hurting her made me burn with anger. With each step I took, the electricity in my body welled up inside of me, building and building, until finally it was so strong, I had to clench my muscles to keep it from spilling out. If I didn’t watch it, I’d wind up frying that man alive. I needed to hang on to some semblance of control or I was going to blow up this whole building.
I charged onward with my gaze straight ahead. I kept my words to a minimum. “Move.” Startled, most people stepped aside and the ones who didn’t were shoved.
“Stop right there.”
I glanced up to see a Secret Service agent standing in my path. He’d arrived so suddenly we nearly collided. I pointed to myself. Me? And he nodded, all serious and said, “Don’t take another step. You need to come with me for questioning.”
I didn’t get it. All of the agents had been informed that I was Layla’s date, and I’d already passed through security. Why would the Secret Service want to question me?
There was only one explanation. He had to be an imposter planted by the Associates. When he roughly grabbed my elbow, I shook it off and when he reached for something inside his suit coat, I reacted by giving him a jolt of electricity. I tried to keep it small, something less than being tased, but I overshot by a lot. I wasn’t touching him at the time, so the charge arced through the air and into his mid-section. Everyone around us who saw the blast stepped back, alarmed. He dropped to his knees and rocked back and forth, trying to contain the pain. I took advantage of the situation and kept moving. The group “Happy Birthday” sing-along had just wrapped up and the applause drowned out the guests cries of alarm. “Someone help this man,” a woman screamed.
“Him. He’s the one who did this,” another woman cried out and even though my back was to her, I knew she was pointing in my directi
on. I definitely looked like the bad guy here, but I didn’t have time to explain. For now my only hope was to get lost in the crowd before the panic spread.
From the front of the room, I heard the singer take to the microphone again. “That was a wonderful rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’ And now, if you’ll indulge us, the band would like to perform another special piece for Layla’s birthday.” The band launched into a song I recognized as the Beatles classic birthday song. Luck was with me because the band was so loud it drowned out the outcry behind me.
Twenty feet away from where I’d zapped the agent, I saw the air start to shimmer right in front of my face. Because I knew what would happen next I stopped. Just as I expected, the shimmer took on color and then form. And then it became a perfect holographic image of Nadia. From the startled exclamations of those around me they could see it too, but I couldn’t worry about them right now. The joy I felt came out in one word. Nadia!
Russ, I don’t have much time, so listen carefully.
I shut out the world and concentrated on her, and her alone. Yes?
Mr. Specter is here dressed up as a doctor and Mrs. Whitehouse is posing as an old guy who had a heart attack. They’re with the Associates and the others with them are Associates too. Some of them look like Secret Service agents.
I know, I encountered one already. He wanted me to go with him for questioning.
That one actually was a Secret Service agent. She shook her head. Never mind that now. The gurney the patient is lying on is a weapon Mr. Specter invented. He said he improved on Tesla’s design. I’m not quite sure how it works but it shoots some kind of deadly particle beam. It’s going to go off when the president says good night. You have to leave right now. Right now!
But what happened to you? Where did they take you?
She said, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I need to know you’re safe so just leave the building and get as far away as possible. I love you but I have to go!
But what about everybody else? I thought about the president’s family and Mallory and Jameson, all of them unaware of what was about to happen. I thought of Kyle Sternhagen singing drunkenly off key, and all the scientists and artists and everyone else who was present in this room. All the great minds of our day were together in one place. All of them were about to die, and I was going to be a coward and go? That wasn’t right.
She shook her head. You’re the only one I’m worried about. Be safe. I love you. Her image quivered for a few seconds. Leave right now. Promise me!
And then she faded from sight.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Nadia
It killed me to have to pull away from Russ, but I had a bad feeling about what was happening to my body. I concentrated hard and put out a request: take me to Nadia. It felt weird to refer to myself in the third person, but it must have been the right thing to do because it worked.
I found myself following the Secret Service imposter as he carried me down a long fluorescent-lit back hallway. My body was completely limp; my head jiggled slightly with each step and my legs swung like pendulums. One of my arms was pressed against his chest, the other, the one wearing the ring Russ had given me, hung loosely in front. Seeing the ring from this angle reminded me of the night I’d received it, and what Russ had said about the continuous spiral pattern—it symbolizes our interlocking lives and our never-ending love. Oh, why did I let him go? We should have run away together that night. I could have so easily crawled through that window. It didn’t matter where we went after that. We would have figured something out. At least we’d now be safe and together instead of in this impossible situation.
The man carrying my body spoke quietly under his breath. At first I thought he was talking to himself until I figured out what he was saying. “It’s a shame what I have to do to you, pretty girl,” he said, looking down at my face. “Such a shame.”
He turned a corner and came upon a portly man pushing a mop around the tile floor. When he straightened up, it was easier to see his janitor’s blue shirt with the oval name patch that said, “Dean.”
“Wet floor. Be careful,” Dean said leaning on the mop like it was holding him up.
I feared the imposter agent might kill Dean, but instead the guy said, “Will do, thanks.”
“What’s with her?” Dean asked, motioning with his head. Up close I saw that he had a day’s worth of dark whiskers covering his lower face and the top half of his neck.
“This little lady had a bit too much to drink.”
“Ah.” Dean gave him an understanding nod. “Good champagne is wasted on those that can’t handle their liquor. Me, I could drink all night and never feel a thing.”
“I hear you brother.” The agent maneuvered around Dean and kept going. “Have a nice night.”
“Yeah, you too.” Dean sighed and went back to his work.
The agent continued to a service elevator at the end of the hallway. Getting in, he pushed the button for the lowest level and hummed along with the music. A sense of panic overwhelmed me. I’d been too much of a spectator, tagging along with my body, but not doing anything to protect myself. But really what could I do? In this state I couldn’t turn on a light switch, much less fend off an attacker. If I were lucky, Russ, my hero, had listened to me and was on his way out of the building. I was on my own.
But. And there was a but and it was a big one. I could show myself to someone else and get them to help me. Who wouldn’t want to save an unconscious girl from who knows what kind of horrible thing?
The closest person, proximity wise, was Dean, the janitor. He didn’t look particularly muscular, but he was big and he’d have the element of surprise on his side. Yes, he would do.
Take me to Dean.
He was right where we’d left him, still mopping, still sighing. I concentrated on making myself seen, and gave him a mental nudge to lift his head so he could see me. His eyes widened in surprise as I became visible. I said, Dean, you have to help! The girl you saw being carried—
I stopped mid-sentence because Dean had started visibly shaking and then it got worse. His face grew white and a wet spot formed around his crotch, spread down his leg and ended in a puddle on the floor between his shoes.
I tried to reassure him. It’s okay. I’m a real person. I’m just astral—
But he didn’t stick around to hear the rest. Instead, he turned and ran, screaming with the high-pitched wail of a little girl. No one would ever believe him, but I suspected he’d be telling this story for the rest of his life.
Take me back to Nadia.
We were in a cleaning supply closet. Shelves on one side held various bottles and jars of cleaning solutions. Leaning against the opposite wall was a jumble of brooms and mops, next to a bucket on wheels. And in the middle of all this there I was, flat on my back on the floor with the fake Secret Service agent kneeling next to me studying my face.
I materialized faster than I ever had before. I willed my astral projected self to fill the closet with my presence. What do you think you’re doing? Get away from me!
This man did not react in fear like Dean the janitor, but he did look puzzled. “What are you?” he asked.
I couldn’t resist. I’m your worst nightmare.
He put his hands over his ears, like he was trying to shut out my voice in his head, but I had news for him. Wasn’t going to work.
Covering your ears won’t help.
Lowering his hands, he said, “I wasn’t doing anything to her.” He stuck out his chin defiantly. “Nothing at all. Just go away.” Pointing to the door, “Be gone. Leave me alone.”
And that’s when it hit me. He had no idea that the girl on the floor was me. Russ had recognized my likeness when I’d astral projected, and so had Mallory and Jameson, but they knew it was me from the start. This guy didn’t have a clue, which gave me a huge advantage. I’m not going anywhere, I said. You need to leave this girl and go or you’ll be sorry.
He shrugged. “No can do,” he sai
d. “I’ve got my orders.” He shook off his suit coat and pulled something out of the inside pocket, then fastidiously folded the jacket in two and set it on a nearby shelf. Now I could see that the object in his hand was a knife. He took off the sheath and admired the knife, looking at himself in the reflection of the silver blade.
I was afraid of him. Why wasn’t he afraid of me? Stop. I made my voice as powerful as I knew how. Stop right this minute.
“Or what?” he said, bored. He ran his finger over the blade’s jagged edge.
I scrambled to come up with an answer, but I had nothing.
“I thought as much,” he said, and then as if, giving himself a pep talk, chanted, “The hallucinations never last. The voices aren’t real. The hallucinations never last. The voices aren’t real.” He took the knife and held it over my neck, like he had a rump roast in front of him and he was deciding where to cut. The stitches from my encounter with my mother’s knife stood out on my exposed neck. I could still remember the horror of the blade slicing into my skin and the feeling of blood flowing down my front.
I’m not a hallucination. I said, frantically. I’m a ghost.
Now I had his attention. The knife still in his hand, he looked straight at me. “Like a dead person?”
Yes, I’m dead. One of your relatives has sent a message. She says, I thought for a moment, that she is disappointed in you. She wants you to change your ways.
His face fell. “Nonny?”
Yes. She says it’s not too late. That you’re a good boy and you know better. Nonny says you should let go of the past. Terrible things happened to you when you were a little boy, but it wasn’t your fault and that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. The words poured out of me without any thought on my part. Where was all this coming from?
He whispered, “She always said I was a good boy.”
You can still be good and make her proud. Nonny says to put the knife away and leave the girl alone. And from now on, live a good life. Something else popped into my head. She also says you should go to a doctor and get help for the hallucinations.
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 85