"What are you-no!"
But by then he had her paralyzed, her defenseless mind opened like a ledger. It'll be okay, he told her, this is for the best. He felt sick, though, almost to the point of throwing up. This was Louise. Each part of her he cut out was like cutting
out a part of himself. But it was too late, now. It had always been too late.
Snip their summer afternoons together, their long walks along the Seine. Snip the day playing tourist, their lovemaking, their laughter at an old movie. Snip their quiet talks, washing dishes together, arguing playfully about who would cook supper.
It was all going too fast. He didn't have enough time. Soon the ruse his i nsiders had set up would be at an end, and the hunters would be back here, for him. Garibaldi would be back for him.
He was trying to be careful, but it was hurting her. She moaned almost steadily, and all of the sweet light disappeared from her eyes, leaving only pain, and loss, and still that awful incomprehension. Why are you doing this to me? I love you!
Snip him posing for her, the sun shadowing his face. Snip their first kiss. Snip the comfort of body against body, in the dark of night, when nightmares woke her.
The artist in the square. The fight with Jem. Tasting wine together and complaining about the vintage. Everything. She passed out long before it was done, thin streams of blood leaking from her nose. He collapsed onto the table, every nerve raw, utterly exhausted. He felt dead. He wanted to be dead.
But Louise would live. There were holes, of course, things torn, but they would heal, and she would have no memory of him. To her, he would never have existed. But she would live, and with help she could be rebuilt into a normal, functioning, safe human being.
He staggered to his feet. One more thing.
Going up the stairs took almost all of the energy he had left. The loft was locked, but he had her key. He used it and entered the room where he had fallen in love with her. The easel and the canvas were still there, quiet, awaiting her hand, her presence.
He almost saw her there, hair pulled back, paint smudging her face. For too long he stood, locked in place by emotion. But it was too late. It was done.
He walked across the room, stood where she had stood when she painted, and at last saw it. It was finished, and it was him. He wobbled slowly to his knees, almost as if praying.
Because it was him. All of him.
How had she done it, with nothing more than a brush and paint?
The face that stared back at him was lonely, and hurt. And yes, there was cruelty there, and cold purpose. She had seen that. She had always known. But she had also seen the compassion he hid, the love that came so hard, his deepest desires and most profound wounds, the ones that remained unhealed from his earliest childhood. The boy, the man, the torturer, the killer, the poet, the lover, the hater, the fearful, the hopeful. All there, in loving brush strokes.
She had known everything important about him, and loved him still. He had known grief before. But he had never known this. A sound came up from his throat that he didn't even recognize, a sort of whimper, a tearing.
"What have I done?"
He had been wrong.
Louise would have followed him anywhere, and loved him. She would never have betrayed him. He took the can of turpentine and emptied it over the painting. He struck his lighter to it and stood there, watching the face dissolve in flame, a damned soul burning in hell. When it was ash, he ground out what remained of the fire, the smoke stinging his eyes. When he was sure it was out, he went downstairs and got his papers.
He checked Louise's pulse. It was weak, but steady. He wanted to say something. He couldn't. His throat was tight. I love you, he 'cast, knowing it would mean nothing.
Papers tucked under one arm, he opened the door, and went out into the night.
Chapter 10
After an hour, Girard began seriously worrying about what Garibaldi might do. At first he had railed against Sheehan and her people, then he had grown sulkily quiet. Now his muscles were starting to twitch.
Girard, he was pragmatic. He had seen this coming all along, and it didn't surprise him. What did surprise him was Garibaldi's arrest. The EABI might not like what he had done, but they had to know they wouldn't be able to make any charges stick. The arrest had to be purely for the purpose of annoying Garibaldi.
It was working, maybe too well. Any minute now, the ex-security officer was going to try something rash. Was that what they wanted? They hadn't cuffed him or anything. No one seemed to be watching him. But they were telepats, so they knew better than Girard did that Garibaldi was about to explode. Were they giving him an opportunity to hang himself?
He walked over to where Garibaldi sat, fuming.
"They're letting him get away," Garibaldi said, softly.
"Intentionally, deliberately."
"They seem to have the matter in hand."
"They're going through the motions, chasing a ghost. Have you been watching them? They know they're chasing a ghost. Sheehan does, anyway."
"You think she's the insider?"
"One of them. There may be more. Hell, they may all be Bester's chosen few."
"How can that be? I thought they were all monitored."
Thompson, a few feet away, nodded.
"Sure. But that can be pretty pro forma. Besides, it's not impossible to condition yourself to respond the right way - or be conditioned, by someone as strong as Bester."
"Or maybe it's rotten right to the top, like it always was."
"I don't believe that," Thompson said.
"For one thing, some of these people are pretty excited about catching Bester - I can feel it. He's the boogie man for the younger generation of teeps."
"You scanned them?"
"They're leaking it. But you're right about Sheehan. She's up to something. She's sweating it, too."
"They're chasing a decoy and they pulled all of our men off the streets. You know what that means."
Girard nodded.
"Of course. It means he's still in the Pigalle, tidying things up."
"But not for long."
Garibaldi lowered his voice even further.
"We have to get out of here."
Girard laughed bitterly.
"Mr. Garibaldi, I have exactly two things worthwhile left right now. One is my life, the other is my job. I don't particularly feet like risking either."
"Thompson?"
The younger man hesitated.
"What about that call you made to your lawyer? It can't be long before they release you."
"It doesn't have to be long," Garibaldi grunted.
"Just long enough for Bester to vanish. Why else would they even arrest me? Why would they keep me here?"
"The inquiry will show what happened," Girard said.
"Sheehan and her cronies will be discovered, surely."
"I don't give a damn about that," Garibaldi said.
"It has to be now, not later."
He cocked his head at Thompson.
"You really think the rest of these guys are straight?"
"I'd bet my life on it," Thompson said.
"Glad to hear it," Garibaldi replied.
"What do you..."
"Hey!" Garibaldi yelled.
"I want to call my lawyer again. Somebody bring me a phone."
Sheehan turned from her task of "monitoring" the chase to scowl at him.
"Call him, then."
"You took my link. I need it back."
She grinned, not in a nice way.
"I'm sorry, you aren't authorized to use a link. Use your phone."
"I don't have one. That's why I had a link."
"Too bad."
"Let me use yours."
She looked more annoyed than ever, but then walked briskly over, producing her phone.
As soon as she got close enough, he leapt. Girard was impressed by the speed of the maneuver, by the way Garibaldi's limbs uncoiled, straightened, snapped out all in the same breath.
He was impressed, too, by the speed with which Sheehan understood what was happening and reacted, dodging back while simultaneously chopping a knife - hand at Garibaldi's throat.
Finally, he was impressed at how quickly it was over, with Garibaldi's forearm clenched tightly under Sheehan's chin and her gun in his hand, pressed against the side of her head Every telepath in the room had produced a weapon as well, and they were all aimed at Garibaldi-for a moment. Then, as if in response to a silent agreement, several of the muzzles slowly moved, to cover Thompson and himself. He raised his arms, slowly.
"Drop it," the Thor look-alike said.
"Hang on. Everybody just calm down. I want to try a little experiment. If it doesn't work out, I'll let her go. If But you're going to let me try it, or so help me God I'm going to splatter her brains on that wall over there."
"Let her go," Thor repeated, but none of them moved.
"Thompson, get her phone."
Thompson did so, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to excite anyone.
"What's your encryption key, Sheehan?"
She didn't answer. Two of the telepaths shifted a bit, presumably to get a better shot at Garibaldi.
"Come on. I don't have all day. I say your boss, Sheehan, here, has something to hide. I say she's been making and receiving calls from the man you're supposed to be chasing."
"That's insane," Sheehan managed to gurgle.
"Is it? Do any of you really think your team is chasing the real Bester? Even if you thought that, why would you pull surveillance from the one place you know he was? That can't be procedure."
"What are you talking about?"
Thor grunted.
"He's trying to..."
Sheehan gasped as Garibaldi tightened his grip.
"It's insane? Then you shouldn't mind giving us your encryption keyword. Prove me wrong."
"I don't take orders from you," Sheehan snapped.
"Thompson, scan her - get it from her."
"No."
Thompson said it quietly, but firmly.
"What?"
"I may work for you, Garibaldi, but you can't make me do that. It's not legal and it's not right."
"Of all the..."
But Thompson wasn 't finished. He looked squarely at Thor and the other telepaths and addressed them.
"You can do it, though, if you think she's lying. I think she is. It comes off her like a stink, even without me scanning her. Whoops-feel that? She just blocked up. Why would she do that?"
Thor raised an eyebrow.
"Mr. Garibaldi, let Sheehan go and drop the gun. Then we can talk about this."
"Sorry" Garibaldi said.
"No can do. Not until we hear the last few conversations she had."
Thor took a step closer.
"Stop," Garibaldi said.
"No. I won't. And you won't kill her. I can tell you won't."
"She's lying to you. She's working for Bester."
"We'll see about that. After you let her go."
The big man took a step closer.
"Don't try anything," Garibaldi warned.
"Don't try a damn thing, or..." he broke off, mid-sentence, his lips quivering.
For a moment, no one moved, and then Girard noticed something that sent cold chills up his spine.
Garibaldi's finger, pressure on the trigger. Not quite hard enough to discharge the weapon. Thor took four big steps, reached down, and carefully removed the weapon from Garibaldi's fingers. Then he placed the end of his own gun against Garibaldi's head.
"I'm going to let you move again," he said, "and you will remove your arm from around Sheehan's neck."
Garibaldi's hand suddenly clenched, and he let out a tortured gasp. Then, slowly, he raised his arms. Sheehan wriggled out of his embrace.
"Bjarnesson, give me my sidearm," she snapped.
"Just hold on a minute, Lieutenant," Bjarnesson said.
"I'd like to know..."
"Bjarnesson, that's an order."
The big man stared at her, his blue eyes steady.
"Lieutenant, for the record, I think it's best that I temporarily relieve you of duty until I can..."
His voice suddenly caught, as if there were something in his throat, then he slapped both hands to his head and groaned. The gun in his hand went flying.
So did Sheehan.
She got it and fired from the floor, hitting one of the younger cops-a young Chinese man - an inch to the left of his heart. The return fire from the remaining four all went wide, and then it got confusing for Girard because he was diving for cover himself.
He had a glimpse of Garibaldi, in motion again, a pantherlike form.
Of the muzzle flash from Sheehan's weapon leaping out to meet him halfway. He heard three, maybe four more shots, and when he got to look again, there was Garibaldi, clutching his shoulder, standing straddled over an unconscious Sheehan. The whole left side of her face was an angry red.
Thor was getting shakily to his feet, blood running out of his nose and from the corners of his eyes.
Garibaldi bent over and very deliberately picked up the PPG.
"Thompson, call an ambulance," he muttered.
"And somebody cuff her. Bjarnesson, are you in charge now?"
"I... ah..."
He nodded his head.
"Yes."
"Get a squad together. We're going hunting."
Thor hesitated for another second, then chopped his head up and down. One of the cops was tending to the wounded one - probably not for long, given the nature of the wound.
"Derben, you and Messer stay with Li. Inform the Bureau of what's happening. The rest of you - you heard Mr. Garibaldi. Get your gear. We have a monster to catch."
The last time Garibaldi had hunted with a telepath, it had been with Bester himself. The two of them had gone after a dust dealer on Babylon 5. Sheridan, never one of Bester's fans, had forced then - Psi Cop to take the sleeper drug, to temporarily cancel out his powers. Even without them, Bester had proved a hell of a hunter.
After all of it was over, Garibaldi had developed a grudging respect for Bester. He was a vicious, arrogant man, but what he did, he did well, powers or no.
He still respected Bester, the way you might respect a snake. That didn't mean he thought the man ought to go on breathing.
These cops were good at what they did, too. It was spooky, the way they deployed without speaking a word, each scanning a different sector as they made their way quickly up the narrow streets toward the hotel where Bester was supposed to have been staying.
"I've called my men back," Girard said.
"You think he's still there?"
"I can smell him;" Garibaldi grunted.
"How's your shoulder?" Thompson asked.
"Nothing I can't live with," Garibaldi answered, grimly.
* * *
Bester had only gone a few steps from the hotel when he felt a gun pointed at him.
"Hello, Officer d'Alambert," he said.
"Hold it right there, Mr. Bester."
D'Alambert's features appeared as he stepped into the light of a streetlamp.
"I'm unarmed"
"You don't fool me. I know what you are."
"Well, you are either very brave or very stupid. I can switch your brain off like a light."
In point of fact, he couldn't. The effort of wiping Louise, without seriously hurting her, and in such a short time, had taken its toll. He could barely sense the policeman's surface thoughts, much less do anything about them.
"If you've hurt Louise, I don't care what you do to me."
"Ah. I thought you protested too much. You do love her."
"What have you done to her?"
"She's in there."
He nodded toward the building.
"She's not hurt. And I'm out of her life. You ought to be happy."
"Yes, you are out of her life. I'm taking you out of it."
"You'll have to kill me."
"I'll do
it."
Bester cocked his head, aware that his time was running out. It almost seemed as if he could hear the hounds coming, in the distance.
"You've never killed anyone before, have you, Lucien?" he said softly.
"I envy you."
"Shut up."
"No, I do. There's this moment, when they die, when you know you've taken everything from them, and they know it, too. It's an awful moment. People pretend I have no conscience, because they want to pretend they could never do what I've done.
The fact is, their ghosts never leave me. I see their eyes, in the dark. I hear the last, sucking gasps. Every man or woman I've ever killed follows me. It sounds unbearable, doesn't it? But it is bearable-it just takes practice.
"In fact, it only takes one time. The first time you kill, and you watch the lights go out, you understand how terrible it is. But at the same time you know you can do it again. That's the worst thing about it: you can never be clean again, never get the blood off your hands, and so a little more doesn't matter, does it?"
The gun wavered.
"You're just trying to fool me."
"Stop you, yes. I don't want to die. But fool you? No. You know what I say is true. And Louise, you know her, too. She still loves me, you know. She wanted to go with me, but I wouldn't let her. But if you shoot me down, me, a defenseless man, her lover, how will she feel about you? Intellectually she might understand, but in her heart she will never forgive you."
"You bastard."
Bester took a step forward.
"I'm leaving. I'm not going to hurt you, Lucien. With me gone, Louise will need every friend she has, and she doesn't have many - you know that. I won't take you away from her, too. So you have a decision to make. I hope for all of our sakes you make the right one."
With that, he very deliberately started walking past the policeman. The gun tracked him, and then he could feel the man's gaze, boring into his back, wavering, wavering. Gone. A moment later, he heard the door of the hotel open. He started to run.
Chapter 11
When they reached the hotel, the hunters clumped together and then broke like a rack of billiard balls, some darting up side streets, others covering the windows and roofs around them. Two drew a bead on the door.
Babylon 5 12 - Psi Corps 03 - Final Reckoning - The Fate Of Bester (Keyes, Gregory) Page 18