GhostWalkers 2 - Mind Game

by Christine Feehan

  “Dahlia.” He said her name softly. His tone was impossibly gentle. “Don’t panic on me. We’re almost out of here. You can do this.”

  Ashamed, she realized she was backing away from him, shaking her head like a child. She forced her brain to work again, nodding to show she was in control. She had no idea what happened, only that the moment she could safely get away, she would put as much distance between Nicolas and herself as possible. To keep the violent swirls of energy at bay, she kept her hand on Trevane’s broad back, and her mind carefully blank.

  They made their way slowly through the water, staying low and moving carefully to prevent splashing. As they reached the bank, Nicolas eased his body, belly down, into the mud and began to inch his way over bare ground. Dahlia swallowed convulsively and followed his example. It was impossible to keep physical contact with Nicolas while she crawled in the muck, easing her body over the strip of bare ground to get to the alligator slide. The sickness slammed into her hard, burning through her body, roaring through her head. White spots danced in front of her eyes. She bit down hard on her lip, determined not to lose consciousness.

  Nicolas knew they were fully exposed as they inched their way over bare ground. It required patience to move in the open. The natural inclination was to run, get past an open area, but movement always drew the eye. He had deliberately chosen this section as an exit because it was open and they wouldn’t expect him to use it.

  He could hear Dahlia fighting to breathe. The heat shimmered around her, waves of energy so strong he could actually feel them battering at her. Tuned to her now, he felt her level of exhaustion, knew she was nearing the end of her endurance. It didn’t stop her from following him, inching her way through the mud, across the bare ground to the slide. His respect for her grew. She didn’t complain even though her world had been torn apart.

  She made a small choking sound. He knew she was fighting off the waves of sickness rolling over her. He breathed, air in and out, in an effort to help her. As he slid into the water of the channel, he kept his rifle above water, using his legs to keep him up. He turned back to wait for her. It was going to be impossible to keep his weapon dry, but until they were away safely, his rifle might be the difference between life and death.

  Dahlia slipped into the water. There was a measure of comfort in seeing him waiting. In the dark, his striped face should have appeared frightening, yet she only felt relief looking at him. She touched his arm, needing the contact, trying to breathe down the rising bile. “There’s a small island no one uses, if we swim in that direction.” She pointed the way. “It isn’t far and there’s a boat we can use. I know of a trapper’s cabin that’s usable a few miles from there.”

  Nicolas nodded and laid out across the water on his back, low so that most of his body was submerged. He propelled himself using his legs beneath the water in a strong frog kick so that no sound could be carried in the night. Dahlia followed his lead, turning over, looking up at the smoke-filled sky and then over to the burning island. Everything seemed on fire. Her vision blurred and she blinked rapidly to clear it.

  Nicolas didn’t make a sound as he moved through the water. It should have been awkward as he kept his rifle out of harm’s way, but he moved efficiently as if he’d done the maneuver a hundred times. Dahlia did her best to swim in silence and look like a log. She splashed a few times but was too sick to care.

  “Just a little longer,” he encouraged. “You’re doing great.”

  “You do know there are snakes in this water.”

  “Better than bullets. We’ll make it, Dahlia.”

  They were out in the middle of the channel now, and Nicolas wanted to put some distance between them and the island in case the moon came out from under the clouds. Exhaustion lined Dahlia’s face. Her breathing was ragged. He noted her swimming was becoming clumsy as they made their way through the open water. “Don’t quit on me,” he said, a deliberate goad. He couldn’t imagine Dahlia quitting anything.

  She wanted to glare at him, but couldn’t muster up the strength. It took every ounce of self-discipline she had to keep going. She followed him across the channel and through a short, weed-choked canal. Dahlia lost track of time. The water helped to dissipate the energy surrounding her, but she didn’t dare allow what was inside of her to escape and give their position away. Her churning stomach helped her to stay awake.

  After a while it felt like a terrible dream, one she struggled to wake from. She drifted, closing her eyes part of the time, trying to keep her mind from replaying the sight of Milly and Bernadette lying motionless on the floor. Had they felt pain? Had they been afraid? Dahlia had been delayed by no more than two hours. She was nearly always on time, but things hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Had she returned earlier, could she have prevented the deaths of the two women and the burning of her home? And Jesse. He had screamed in pain. It had been a terrible thing to hear, to witness. She hadn’t stopped them from taking him away. She’d made her promise to him and she intended to keep it. She would find him and somehow, if he were still alive, she would get him back.

  Dahlia was certain she was swimming, moving through the water, yet suddenly Nicolas yanked her up by her collar and she was choking, fighting for air. She tried to push him away, but her arms no longer obeyed her, hanging limply at her sides. “I’m drowning.”

  “No you aren’t, you’re falling asleep.” His voice never changed, calm and gentle and so irritating she wanted to scream. She was beginning to suspect he had no real emotions. And that made it all the more difficult to be showing weakness in front of him. It wasn’t that he tried to act superior, but she felt he was.

  “Keep going. I’ll catch up.” She was going to float. Just lie on the water and float. If an alligator wanted her for a late dinner, he could have her and she would just hope the energy inside of her, pushing so hard to get out, would be her revenge.

  Nicolas gave up on keeping his weapon dry. He had a choice, the rifle or Dahlia, and he wasn’t going to lose her now. He put the strap around his neck and reached for her, drawing her close. She felt small and light and his heart did a curious jump before settling back to a steady rhythm.

  * * *

  CHAPTER FOUR

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  Nicolas dragged his weary body out of the channel onto the muddy bank, cradling Dahlia against his chest. He lay looking up at the night sky. Clouds churned over his head, an ominous warning of a coming storm. He had covered several miles swimming and few more wading waist-deep in the reeds and swamp. Tree trunks rose out of the water, silent sentinels everywhere, guarding narrow strips of land. He was exhausted and his side throbbed. He hoped it didn’t mean he’d reopened the wound. Not a good thing when he was in the water.

  He glanced down at the woman lying motionless on top of him. They were both covered with streaks of black mud. He pushed strands of her dark hair aside. “Dahlia. Wake up.” She had finally lost consciousness out in the channel after fighting every step of the way, holding back the wash of energy to keep from giving away their position and gamely keeping up with him until her body said enough. “You’re beginning to worry me.” It was the truth, and he objected to worrying on principle. It was a useless pastime and one he avoided at all costs. He shook her gently. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, wake up for me.”

  Nicolas sat up, ignoring the shrieking protest his body made. She looked vulnerable, starkly white beneath the mud. Just looking at her caused a curious shift in his belly. He was a man very much in control of himself, and yet, Dahlia had awakened something long dormant and apparently strong within him. It was uncomfortable not recognizing exactly what he was feeling.

  Thunder boomed directly overhead, rattling the trees and shaking the ground. Rain poured down on them, a heavy deluge soaking them within minutes. Dahlia stirred, her slight body shrinking away from the impact of the stinging rain. She turned her head to try to escape the onslaught. Her lashes fluttered, drawing his attention to their length. She lo
oked up at him. He caught a glimpse of fear quickly masked. She looked around her, slipping off his lap to break physical contact.

  “I guess I passed out. The overload gets me every time.” Her gaze touched his face, jumped away. “It can be a liability.”

  He shrugged, the gesture casual. “I’m a GhostWalker too, remember? I know what it’s like.” He got to his feet and reached down, offering his hand.

  Dahlia hesitated a moment before she put her hand in his. “I still don’t know what a GhostWalker is.” She took a careful look around. “You got us to the right place. The trapper’s cabin is that way.” She indicated an area to their right.

  Nicolas shouldered his pack. “Do you remember Dr. Whitney? Dr. Peter Whitney?” He watched her closely. Her face changed—her expression went blank. There was instant withdrawal, not only physically; she distanced herself from him in her mind. He could feel the separation and it was almost a blow. That stunned him. Uncertain if he could. cover his rare inner turmoil, he was the one to look away, studying the direction she indicated before setting out.

  “I remember him.” Her voice was low and filled with distaste.

  “Did you figure out what he did to you?” Nicolas kept his voice neutral and continued to walk ahead of her, keeping his back to her so she wouldn’t have to hide her expression from him. Or maybe he needed to hide his expression, he wasn’t entirely certain which it was. Before he’d started off on the trail, he noticed she was shivering, her body reacting to the harsh conditions. In spite of the deluge of rain, the air was still warm. It made him want to gather her up and hold her close. He shook his head in an effort to rid himself of his extraordinary thoughts.

  Dahlia listened to the sound of the rain. She always found it soothing. Even now, with it pouring down on top of her, she felt she could lose part of herself in it. The part that hurt people. The part she could never control. When she sat out in the rain, it washed her clean. “I feel as if Whitney stole my life. Yet at the same time, I feel as if I should be grateful to him. He built my home and he hired Milly and Bernadette. He also provided me with everything I could need or want. My brain requires…” She broke off and stared at the silent trees on either side of them, afraid she might shame herself with tears. She was exhausted and vulnerable, filled with such grief she could barely breathe. She couldn’t even look at Nicolas’s broad back while they walked, not if he wanted to talk about Dr. Whitney.

  “You aren’t alone, Dahlia. Whitney brought over a number of children, most infants, from various foreign countries. He found the little girls in orphanages, and he was very wealthy so he didn’t have much opposition. No one wanted the children, so when he paid for them, the authorities closed their eyes and asked no questions.”

  Her heart accelerated with every word he spoke. She forced herself to listen to the cadence of his voice. He might not have an inflection, but there was a carefulness, a way he had of speaking that told her volumes. Nicolas was not as unaffected as he seemed. “I was one of those children.” She made it a statement.

  “Yes.” He stopped on the small strip of solid ground and surveyed the grove of trees growing in knee-deep water straight ahead. “We’re going to have to cross this.”

  Dahlia sighed. “I told you it was difficult. I’m sorry.”

  Nicolas turned his head and grinned at her. It was fleeting and barely lit his eyes, but it warmed her. “I think we’re already soaked.”

  A reluctant smile touched her mouth briefly. “I guess we are.”

  “Is the rain getting the mud off of me?”

  She tilted her head. A hint of laughter crept into her eyes. “Actually it’s running down your face in a rather dramatic fashion. I think you’d even manage to scare an alligator.”

  “Before you start laughing at me, you might take a look at yourself.” Nicolas made the mistake of reaching out to brush at a streak of mud on her face. At once her amusement vanished and she moved her head to escape his touch. His hand dropped to his side.

  “Were you one of those children Whitney took out of the orphanage?” She met his gaze, a dark, almost belligerent challenge.

  Nicolas stepped into the water. It was deeper than he thought. He reached back and shackled Dahlia’s wrist, not giving her time to pull away from the contact. She initially resisted, a slight instinctive pull away from him, but he saw her set her jaw and step into the black water right beside him. “I came much later,” he answered matter-of-factly, pretending not to notice her aversion to being touched. The water was over her breasts, nearly to her shoulders.

  “What did he do?”

  “He had an idea that he could enhance psychic abilities. He thought if he could find children with some signs of talent, he could boost their capabilities and improve on their ability to serve their country. He took the children to his laboratory, hired nurses for them, and conducted his experiments.”

  “What exactly did he do to us?”

  “Do you remember Lily?” He stopped walking to look down at her.

  Her breath caught in her throat. “I didn’t think she was real.”

  “She’s very real. Whitney kept her when he got rid of all the others. He told her she was his biological daughter and raised her as such. She had no knowledge of the enhancements, only that she was different and couldn’t be around people for very long. She lived a fairly solitary life. When some of the men in my unit were killed and Whitney suspected murder, he brought her in on the project to try to help him figure out what was happening to us. Peter Whitney was murdered before he could tell her anything. Lily figured it out and helped us all. She’s been looking for all the other girls he brought over from the orphanages ever since. That’s how she discovered the sanitarium and you.”

  Dahlia rubbed her temple. “I actually feel sick for her. It must have been a terrible blow to find out the truth about Whitney. I remember her as being so nice. I always felt better if I was with her.”

  “She’s an anchor. Like I am. We trap emotions, and to some extent energy, away from the others so they can function better. Is Jesse an anchor?” He slipped the question in deliberately as he turned away from her, tugging her through the water with him.

  “I don’t know. He must have been. It was easier to be in his presence. I never really questioned why. I felt calmer and more in control when he was around.”

  Nicolas felt a strange burning in the region of his belly. His chest grew tight. “Were you and Jesse close?” His tone was strictly neutral.

  She glanced at him, suddenly nervous and not knowing why. “I guess we were. Closer than I am to most people. I don’t know many people. I counted Jesse as family, the same way I did Milly and Bernadette.”

  There was honesty in her voice. Innocence. He let his breath escape slowly, not liking himself very much in that moment. He was learning things about himself he had never considered a part of his character before. It wasn’t pleasant. “I’m sorry about the two women, Dahlia. They were already dead when I got there. I managed to take out the man who shot Jesse, but then things got a bit hot.”

  “I know you would have saved them if you could have.” And she did know. “Tell me more about Whitney. What did he do to us?” Just the dreaded name conjured up memories she had worked to suppress.

  “Lily can give you all the technical data if you want it. I listened to it and understood about a third of what she was saying. But basically, he removed all the filters in our brains. We’re always on sensory overload. Of course he went a bit further and used electric pulses and designer drugs, but you get the idea. We feel things and hear things and can do things most people can’t, but the cost is enormous. At least I volunteered. You had no choice. Whitney has a lot to answer for.”

  “Yes he does.” Dahlia closed her eyes against the flood of bleak memories. Sounds of crying children. Pain that raged in her head night and day. The shadowy figure always watching, never smiling, never pleased. Not human. She thought of him that way. A tormenter, devoid of all feeling. He w
as a monster from her nightmares, something she pushed far away and tried never to think about.

  “Dahlia?” Nicolas drew her under his shoulder. It was a measure of her distress that she didn’t notice. She had such an aversion to physical contact, yet she remained close to his body. He could feel her shivering right through the soaked clothes. “I don’t want to upset you. You’ve had a rough day. We can have this conversation another time.”

  Dahlia looked up at the rain, nearly stumbled in the water. The night sky was dark and cloudy and felt very much like her weeping heart. “I have to be careful.” She tried to keep her voice as expressionless as his. “If I feel too much of anything, bad things can happen.” She looked up at his face. In the night he looked made of granite, not flesh, a beautiful stone carving with amazing eyes. “Did he do that to me?”

  “Yes.” There was no reason to deny it. Peter Whitney was dead, murdered by a man far more unscrupulous and far more lethal than Peter had ever been. “I’m sorry. I wish I could say we’ve found a cure, but we haven’t. We’ve found a way to make it easier to live among other people, but so far, there is no way to reverse the process.”

  The water was becoming shallow. Dahlia waited until they were back on solid ground before looking around to try to get her bearings. “It’s over there, just through that grove of trees. The cabin is small and doesn’t have hot water, but we can improvise. It sits right on the bank of a canal that runs like a ribbon through the island. Very few locals come out here because accessing it so difficult. A few of the older trappers come once in a while.” She talked fast, trying to keep his words from sinking in. She hadn’t realized until that moment, until he said there was no way to reverse the process, how she’d hoped he’d tell her they had a miraculous cure for her.

  She forced herself to shrug. “I’m alive. Did I thank you for that? I doubt I would have made it away safely by myself. I would have tried to rescue Jesse right then, with all of them there. Do you think they tortured him to get him to tell them where I was?”