Dorian collided into the couch and teetered over the back, flipping himself face-down on the cushions. He let out a groan before curling himself into a ball.
Suzette bit her lip and forced back her laughter. Something within her—she assumed her new ability—told her that Dorian Gray was no danger. Unable to hold back a smile, she sauntered around and sat herself down on the couch next to his feet. “C’mon, Dorian,” she pressed, poking at his arm.
He shook his head and instead flattened himself out on the couch, propping his feet up in her lap. “Shhhhh.”
“Oh, you’re no fun!” Try as she may to sound whiny, her voice wavered in her chortling.
The celebrity stopped moving.
Suzette paused and studied him, waiting for a sign of life.
A soft snore broke the silence.
Suzette giggled into her hand. Stifling it only brought tears to her eyes and she let her head fall to the back of the couch.
Suddenly, a knock came at the suite door.
Shocked, she shot up straight, bringing the other hand over her mouth.
“Dorian, it’s me.”
The familiar, mousy voice turned her in her seat.
“I saw your limo pull up,” the man on the other side of the door said. “Listen, I know you don’t watch the news very much, but I think a friend of ours is in town.”
As he spoke, she felt certain she knew him. Slowly rising, she picked up Dorian’s feet and gingerly put them back in place. Then she walked up to the door and glanced through the peephole to find a tuft of red hair and a pair of nervous blue eyes. The man scratched the back of his head, almost like a tick.
“I was hoping I could get a look at those files really quick,” Henry Jekyll whispered.
Suzette’s jaw dropped. As her excitement built up, she leaned herself onto the wall and kept silent.
Jekyll knocked on the door again. “Dorian?” he called. “Hyde said this was serious. I need those files and we need to move!”
Suzette waited anxiously, frozen in place.
After a moment of hearing only snoring, Henry let out a sigh. His footsteps faded away.
Once she was sure he was gone, she slowly came off the wall and peeped out the small circle in the door—nothing but an empty hall.
Letting out a shaky breath, Suzette turned to the suite. She couldn’t believe her luck. She had come to the room with Dorian not even knowing what she was looking for. Jekyll changed that real quick. If I were files, where would I be? Her eyes surveyed the suite; the living room was to the right, the kitchen a little down to the left, but the door to the bedroom just beyond that caught her attention.
There, she thought. She hurried forward, but her feet stopped her. Curious, she glanced back toward the doorway but found nothing but a fancy vase with flowers on a table and a giant, crooked painting. As she turned away again, her foot took a step back.
She huffed and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. Letting out a sigh, she faced the entrance and stared, waiting for some sign. But the longer she stared, the more the askew piece of art drew her in. Shrugging, she took it up off the hook and set it on the ground.
A safe stared her square in the face, its door slightly opened. The locking bar propped itself out against the frame. A thick manila folder poked out, lodged between the frame and door.
Someone was in a hurry. Suzette pulled the safe open further, releasing the file and letting it spill out all over the floor. She quickly scooped up all the papers and set them back in as neatly as she could. Looking back into the safe, she saw a stack of a few more files. She took them out and put the door back the way it had been, though she wished she could have locked it. Then she rehung the painting and started toward the door.
She stopped abruptly, staring at the questionable pile of papers in her hands. She glanced around the room for something—anything.
Dorian snorted.
Suzette jumped, her eyes darting toward the couch. They landed on the coat that hung there, beckoning to her. She hurried over and snatched it up, draping it over the files in her arms. Then she flew over to the door and checked the hall through the peephole.
No sign of Jekyll.
She took a deep breath and left the room, trying to manage elegance and grace. You don’t have anything to hide, Suzette. But as she walked down the hall, the adrenaline that pumped through her made her scurry into the elevator. As it inched down, she tapped her foot, fighting her anxiety to just get out of the building. At any moment, she feared Jekyll, Dorian, or the Hunter would pop up out of thin air and demand the files.
When the doors opened to the lobby, she took a deep breath and walked out, forcing her legs to slow down. As she got outside, Dorian’s limo caught her eye. The driver sat on the hood, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“Sir!” she gasped, hurrying up to him.
He stopped and stared.
“Do you think you can take me back to my hotel?” she wondered.
The request made him rock back a little, uncertain. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m not supposed to go anywhere unless Mr. Gray authorizes it.”
She quickly gave him a disappointed look. “He fell asleep on me.”
His stare softened and he couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. “Sure.”
—
Suzette flung the door to her suite open, her limbs shaking from the rush of adrenaline.
Jack turned on the couch. “You’re a little early. Lady Augustine only just left the party.”
Without a word, Suzette marched over to him and let the stack of files fall to the coffee table with a thud.
Jack set his computer aside and leaned forward. “What’s all this?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed through a smile. “All I know is that it’s important—and it’s Jekyll’s. Ready to find out?”
Jack was quick to mirror her bewilderment. “Yes.”
She took up the first thick file and cracked it open.
Inside was a picture of Jack, probably a yearbook photo, paper-clipped on top of a stack of pictures on the far left. She took off the photos and flipped through them. The second was a photo of Jack with a group of people, all wearing Science Club shirts. The last was a close-up of his face, unconscious on a table with an upside-down pentagram painted on his head.
“Oh my…” But she couldn’t find words. A pentagram? I’ve only seen this kind of stuff on TV. What is this? She tried to muster up a good question, but the only one she could come up with was: “Why is that on your head?”
“I don’t know.” Jack rubbed at his forehead, as if the symbol still lingered. “I didn’t even know it was there. It must have washed off by the time I got to town.”
The first piece of paper in the file was a typical basic information sheet—height, weight, name, etc. The second set of pages was a copy of Jack’s medical records.
Jack snatched it up. “How did they—?!”
Under that were notes. They listed Jack’s new known abilities: telepathy and phasing. The next paper seemed to be an outline of the procedure done on Jack, noting how he had been lain out on a table and injected with the chemical via his arm. There was mention of a “helper” and some big, black book, but no names or details.
“Wow, it’s like a cult,” she muttered aloud. Then she read the last line: “Location: unknown.”
“Good,” he grumbled, taking the rest of the file.
Suzette picked up another and opened it. “Hester Prynne,” she read.
“She’s missing,” Jack said. “If she didn’t show up somewhere, they were going to charge me for her murder.”
“Missing?” Suzette sighed and quickly flipped past the picture with a pentagram on Hester’s head, skipping to the notes. “The notes say, her abilities are unknown. However, they believe she is linked to the Letter Killings.”
“Letter Killings?” Jack repeated.
Suzette felt sick remembering the picture on her dad’s phone. “The cops in our town were stumped about this k
iller who carved a letter into the victim’s chest.”
Jack looked nauseous.
“I only knew about one incident. If these notes are right, there must have been more.” Suzette flipped pages. “Location: unknown.” Frowning, she closed the file and gave it to Jack. “Set that aside.” Picking up the next one, she read confusedly, “Dorian Gray?”
Jack leaned in close and watched her flip through the pictures, all from movies or photo shoots. But one was a picture of a portrait.
“Who gets a painting of themselves anymore?” Jack scoffed. “That’s weird.”
“And why is it in here?” was Suzette’s question. “And where is the creepy picture with the pentagram?” To double check, she skimmed through the stack again and found nothing. She flipped to the notes. “It says: ‘Volunteered.’” A little bewildered, she paused. “‘Abilities: Can morph his body to look like anyone. Location: known.’” Not much was said about his experimental process, which only heightened her curiosity. “It says: ‘Supply donor and experiment assistant.’” She grimaced.
“Wait, are you telling me that greasy actor helped shoot me up with some chemical?” Jack seethed.
“I guess so.” Suzette sighed. “I figured he had something to do with it, but now we have a clearer idea.” She set Dorian’s file aside and scooped up the next one. As she opened it, her heart dropped.
The image of the handsome, Italian-looking Franklin Stein stared up at her, paper-clipped to the corner of papers. She hesitated a moment over his old face before moving to the next photo. The burnt, blackened corpse unsettled her and she quickly flipped again. The last picture was one of a mix-matched, sewn-up body, a pentagram painted on its head. Groaning, she quickly moved to the notes. “‘Incredible strength. Location: unknown.’ Good.” As she further examined the notes, she struggled to decipher the lengthy, sloppy writing. “‘The procedure was a three-step process,’” she read aloud. “‘We electrically jump-started his new heart while injecting the chemical simultaneously. Then Dorian read from his book in a language I could not identify. It was then that the cadaver reanimated, doubling in size. The symbol and the book both lead me to believe the ritual to be some form of occult religion, though Hyde does not explain further.’”
“So, this is some freak cult?” Jack gawked.
“Strangely, I’m not surprised that an actor is part of some weird group,” she grumbled. “It only makes sense. But who’s Hyde?”
“I don’t know, but maybe he’s this last file?” Jack wondered aloud, reaching for the lone folder. It was practically flat. As he opened it, Suzette gasped.
She stared at the picture of the Hunter unconscious on a table with a pentagram plastered across his forehead. It was the only photo. There were no medical records in the folder and only a half-page of notes with the name “Abraham Van Helsing” scrawled across the top.
“Do you know him?” Jack’s tone was confused and worried.
So, that’s what he’s after. A man as surreptitious as Abraham Van Helsing wouldn’t want any file on him floating around—especially in an enemy’s hands. As for the rest of the files, she still wasn’t sure if she wanted them in his hands. This Van Helsing man still hadn’t revealed his motives, much less what side he was on. Suzette was just glad that between the two of them she was the only one that knew the other files even existed.
She gasped. “Oh no!” Throwing the files at Jack, her hands flew to her barrette. She fumbled with the hair accessory, feeling for the tiny microphone.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.
The urgency she felt made it more difficult to fish it out. Finally, she took out the whole barrette and let the rest of her hair fall free. She jumped up and hurried to window, where she flung it open and tossed the jeweled accessory out into the night. Then she closed the window tight and leaned against the frame.
Jack was on his feet now, studying the small file she had dropped. “What do you know about Abraham Van Helsing?”
“Hardly anything,” she confessed. “I don’t know what his plans are or what side he’s on. He’s clearly not on Jekyll’s, but that doesn’t mean he’s on ours.”
“He’s someone we should look out for.” It wasn’t a question.
Nodding, she realized she needed to act fast. “Get on the computer—hurry!” she ordered.
Jack sat himself back down and grabbed his laptop. “Now what?”
“Look up the city’s news,” she told him, remembering Dr. Jekyll’s words.
Jack clicked and typed away for a moment. “The biggest headline is about a serial killer,” he read. “It actually started in our town and made its way up here, it seems. The victims, all random, were found dead in secluded places, showing signs of cardiac arrest and having a letter carved into their chest.”
“The Letter Killer.” Suzette paced a moment, trying to piece it together. “Jekyll mentioned something about checking the news because their friend was in town. He needed to look at the files.” She paused and turned to him. “The friend must be the serial killer. We know it’s not Frank, Dorian, or Jekyll. That leaves Hyde and Prynne.”
“Hester Prynne?” Jack sucked his teeth at the idea. “You’re telling me a skinny, middle-aged woman who’s registered as missing has made it”—he raised his eyebrows—“all these days alone in the city?”
Suzette’s shoulders drooped at the implausibility. “I guess you could be right.” Her mind raced around other solutions. “I mean, we don’t know Hester, so we can’t just rule her out. We still don’t know who Hyde is or where he may be.” She paused. With a strained, quiet voice, she whispered to herself, “Abraham is here, too.”
“Abraham is here?” Jack frowned. “How do we know he’s not the serial killer?”
Suzette weighed Hester against Van Helsing. Of the two, the man definitely seemed the more likely. But we don’t know. Curious, she made her way over to Jack and took up Abraham’s file again. “‘Heightened strength. Improved hunting skills. Location: unknown.’” Suzette shivered at the thought of heightened strength. It would explain why she had run away from him instead of fighting back like she had expected. She plopped his open file down on the table.
“I don’t like the ‘improved hunting skills’ part,” Jack mumbled. “This guy has ‘serial killer’ written all over him.”
Suzette picked up Hester’s file from the couch and opened it, staring intently at the picture. There was nothing unusual about the photo or of the woman in it. Hester had long, light brown hair, dark lashes, beautifully sculpted cheekbones, and thin, pink lips. Suzette even thought her a pretty woman. Yet, looking at the woman gave Suzette an odd, almost frightened feeling she couldn’t quite explain.
Suzette glanced down at Abraham’s picture. His face was the definition of masculine and tough, with scars and a thick, mean brow, even when unconscious. Yet, there was no anxiety in Suzette.
“So, what’s the plan?”
There was a knock at the door.
Suzette’s blood turned cold as her eyes locked on the door.
Jack moved to get up, but Suzette stopped him with a hand. He slowly sunk back down and looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes.
Another knock came.
Suzette slowly shuffled toward the door, her feet quiet against the carpet. Her heart pounded heavier as she drew closer and closer.
“Hello?” Lady Augustine’s voice called.
Suzette let out a groan of relief and hurriedly opened the door, swooping the confused old woman inside.
“What’s going on?” Lady Augustine asked, wide-eyed.
Without a word, Suzette grabbed her bag, went into the bathroom, and changed into her new suit. When she stepped back out, Lady Augustine looked even more perplexed.
Jack looked frightened. “You have a plan, right?”
Suzette clipped her utility belt into place, darted over toward the pile of files, and shoved them in Jack’s hands. “You need to take all the files and the computer and leave. I
don’t care where. Just take Lady Augustine and drive. You can make your own notes and research Hyde, Dorian, Hester, and Van Helsing. I’m going to go look for Van Helsing while I still have a few hours of night and get some answers.”
Jack nodded.
“Suzette, please! What’s going on?” Lady Augustine wrung her shawl in her hands.
Sensing the old woman’s fear, Suzette took her shoulders. “Everything is going to be alright. Jack will explain everything in the car.”
“But—”
Suzette hurried over to the window and flung it open. Then she kicked her legs out and stepped onto the ledge. From there, she shimmed over to the corner of the building. Then she reached into her tool belt and pulled out her grappling gun. She aimed at the roof a few stories up and let the hook fly. When it stuck, she pressed the button on the side of the gun and let it reel her up. Then she climbed up on the roof and surveyed the area. The building next to her was only slightly shorter than her hotel and had a fire escape that went all the way to the ground. She took a deep breath and shook out her limbs. Then she sprinted toward the edge of the building and leapt into the air.
As the butterflies tickled her stomach, she briefly questioned her sanity. But the second roof quickly transitioned under her. As she hit the concrete, her body rolled a few times before bounding her back to her feet.
Seeing she was safe, Suzette smiled to herself and made her way to the fire escape.
—
Abraham awoke with a start, rage building up inside of him. Way to fall asleep on the job! He shoved the golden necklace with the cross pendant back in his pocket, deftly pushed himself up on his feet, and slid closer to the rustling curtains. The lights were still on inside the suite, but there was no sign of movement. He tilted his ear toward the living room.
Snoring.
A good sign.
He slid inside noiselessly and remained against the wall, taking in the room. Dorian wheezed away on the couch, his hand limply sprawled over the arm. The rest of the room was still. Just to make sure, Abraham kept along the wall and crept over to the bedroom, peering in only to find a pristine, untouched setup.
Blind World (The Onyx Fox Saga Book 1) Page 32