"This facility is perfectly secure, Dr. Johansen." The head of security clenched his jaw, his Cro-Magnon brow furrowing in displeasure.
"Don't take this personally, Captain. Under normal circumstances, I'd agree with you, but these are not normal circumstances. Derrick Penningly is not normal. He knows the location of this facility, and he has repeatedly expressed the desire for access to our specimen. That we cannot allow. I have transportation arriving in four hours. R&D, you will pack everything up in that time for transport."
"Yes, Doctor." The scientist, at least, didn't take exception to her orders. "Will we have another crack at this thing?"
"Once our breech has been sealed, yes. Engineering, every access code into the facility will be changed immediately. Penningly watched while my predecessor punched him in. We can't assume he didn't memorize the codes."
"Yes, Doctor."
"IT, same story. New passwords on your firewalls and separate access for all data files on the specimen. All files will be encrypted."
"Yes, Doctor."
"Security, I want a change in our tactics. Derrick Penningly is no longer an asset, he is a threat. Aleksi Rychenkna is not to be harmed. Our primary objectives are to neutralize Penningly, cover up his mess, and bring Rychenkna in willingly."
"How are we going to manage that, Doctor? She hasn't exactly been cooperative."
"And if I were to put a five point five six millimeter round in your shoulder without the slightest provocation, Captain, would you be cooperative?"
The man's jaw clenched again, but his mouth remained closed.
"We will bring her in by giving her incentive to cooperate. All of you have your orders. Surveillance is to continue as before."
"And I have a shoot order on Penningly now?"
"You do."
"Very good, Doctor." Security's jaw finally unclenched.
Typical soldier, as long as he had clear orders on who he could shoot, he'd be happy. "Any questions?"
There were none.
"Good." She disconnected and leaned back in her chair. So far, so good.
Persephone stood and strode to the credenza where a coffee machine waited patiently. She popped in a K-cup and stabbed the button. While it filled, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and cringed.
God above, woman, what possessed you to get that haircut?
41
So, what's this I hear about you missing work because of some little scratch?" Jasper grinned as he entered the hospital room, one hand bearing a Dunkin' Donuts box, the other a card attached to a flock of shiny balloons. He waved to Charles and deposited the donuts out of the patient's reach. "You cut yourself shaving and expect a paid vacation?"
"This was no shaving accident." Willis' voice was a little thick from the meds, but the smile on the half of his face not swathed in bandages was genuine.
"You two are insufferable." Charles stood from his seat beside the bed—he had barely left it for three days—and took the card and balloons. He looked tired and was dressed in an old sweatshirt and jeans; rags for someone with his taste in clothes. He wrapped Jasper in a hug that was clearly not optional. "And such an appropriate gift! Shiny, pretty, and full of hot air!"
"The card's signed by the whole homicide team." Jasper liberated a cruller from the box and took a bite. "Vice wanted to send something, too, but I told them you were in no condition to appreciate a stripper."
"Bullshit." Marty took the card from Charles and fumbled it open.
"I'll be screening all of his presents personally, Tony, so you just tell them to send whatever they want." Charles sat back down and took the card from Marty when he was done reading it. He put it with about a dozen others and tied the balloons to one of the flower arrangements that crowded the room.
"The doctors say you're going to be back at work in a couple of weeks. Don't dawdle, huh? We need you back."
"That's bullshit, too, but I appreciate it." Marty pointed to the huge bandage that swathed the left side of his neck and face. "Gonna be scaring children with this face."
"Now who's shoveling the bullshit?" Charles slapped the back of Marty's hand in a scolding gesture. "The doctor said once the swelling's down and there's no danger of clots, a plastic surgeon can touch up the incisions and make him all pretty again. Not that I don't like a man with a few battle scars."
"Any luck finding Penningly?" Willis shifted in bed. He couldn't turn his head, so Jasper moved to the foot of the bed so he wouldn't have to.
"There was another body found last night along the Promenade. A jogger this time. That's three in three nights."
"They sure it was Penningly?"
"Yep. The wounds are similar, and he's…well, the bodies were mutilated." Jasper thought his partner needed to know the truth, if for no other reason than to realize how lucky he'd been. "Some of the organs were missing."
"Oh, my God." Charles turned a little pale and swallowed.
"Too bad you didn't get a decent shot at him." Marty shifted again. "Does the commander want to get my statement today?"
"He might send someone over, but he really doesn't need it. It was Penningly. I saw him." Jasper didn't want to go into what else he saw, or thought he saw.
Marty shifted again. "Hon, could you maybe get me a pillow? My leg's gone to sleep again."
Charles looked at Jasper and then back to his husband. "You don't have to fib, hon. If you two want to talk shop, I can go get some coffee." He stood and smiled at them both. "Doctor said no caffeine for Marty, but do you want anything, Tony? There's a Starbucks in the cafeteria."
"Sure. Just a regular coffee with milk. Thanks, Charles."
"For the man who saved my husband's life? You kidding? Anything you want, sweetie." He started for the door.
"Then bring him a tall blonde with big tits," Willis said with another half-grin.
"Anything but that." Charles closed the door behind him.
"So, the doctor says—"
"Cut the bedside manner crap, would you? So, did you tell the commander about Penningly?"
"I told him what I saw." Jasper finished his cruller and talked while he chewed. "I didn't get a very good look."
"You saw his fucking eyes, didn't you?" Willis' voice was hard, almost accusative. "You saw the goddamn claws that did this!" He gestured to the thick swath of bandages.
"Yeah, I saw, Marty, but I think it happened too fast to say anything definite. Looked like he had some kind of contact lenses in his eyes, like those ones the goth freaks wear, but yellow. The rest could have been makeup. The claws…must have been some kind of glove or something."
"I know what I saw, Tony. That wasn't a fucking glove on his hand."
"Maybe not, but telling the commander that our murder suspect has real claws is more likely to get you a psych evaluation than help solve this thing."
"Damn it, I wish you'd have put a bullet in that fucker!" Jasper could hear the frustration in his partner's voice. "How many shots did you get off? I know I heard two, but…"
"Three, but I didn't hit him. Forensics found the slugs. I managed to hit two cars and a tree." He tapped his partner's foot and grinned. "Don't sweat it, okay? We've got half the cops in the city looking for this freak. The whole Boston PD's hunting him. We'll get him, Marty. Don't worry about it."
"Yeah." Willis closed his eyes and sighed. "I just hope they get him soon. He's not going to stop killing, Tony. He likes what he's doing too much to stop."
"We've got some leads, Marty. We'll get him. I promise you that."
Sleep, Aleksi thought, staring into the dark, listening to it, feeling it like a living, breathing thing. Just close your eyes and sleep. But sleep would not come. It hovered at the edge of her exhaustion like dangling fruit, just out of reach. She knew she needed it but also knew what lurked there waiting for her. No more dreams…please. Another train passed; another twelve minutes of her life slipping away.
Mercifully, her phone rang. A glance confirmed that it was the only p
erson on Earth she wanted to talk to.
"Hi." She tried to sound awake, alert, not exhausted.
"Hey there." His voice soothed her frazzled nerves like a cool balm. "Sorry to call during the day. I know you sleep days, but I thought you might like to know what's in the papers."
"I wasn't sleeping. What's up?"
"Another murder."
"Derrick?"
"Yeah, and it's getting weird. The bodies are…were…"
"Eaten?"
"Mutilated, was what the paper said."
"He's hunting, Hutch. He's feeding on people." Her stomach roiled.
"I also got a call from our favorite congressman."
That got her attention, not that the news of Derrick on a killing spree hadn't. "Let me guess, they want me to come in."
"He said to tell you that things have changed. Dr. Johansen wants to talk to you." His voice brimmed with suspicion. "He gave me a phone number."
"The last time I talked to him on the phone, I got shot. No thanks."
"I thought you might say that." He paused again. "Look, Aleksi, Twain said that the whole project is on hold. Everyone's freaking out with Derrick on a rampage. They need to stop him before some lucky cop puts a bullet in him and they can't explain why what's lying dead on the sidewalk isn't quite human."
"Not human." Those two words felt like a knife in her ribs. "Like me."
"Aleksi. Those were his words, not mine. You know I didn't mean it like that." It sounded like he was telling her the truth. She hoped it was the truth.
"So, they want to talk to me about Derrick?"
"That's what Twain said."
"I don't trust Twain, Hutch, and I certainly don't trust Johansen."
"Neither do I, but I think you ought to consider talking to them. You can take precautions to keep him from finding you. I can help."
"I'd rather not have you with me if all hell breaks loose, Hutch. I can't worry about you if I'm fighting for my life."
"I guess so, but if you need help, let me know. I could even do a phone relay if you want."
"That might work." She rubbed her eyes and sighed. "Let me think about it. I'm kind of tired right now, Hutch, and I can't sleep."
"Did you try the meditation audio I gave you?"
"No." She had listened to some of the Thich Nhat Hanh book, but plugging into the IPod made her nervous. She didn't like blocking out the sounds of her environment. It made her feel vulnerable, blind. "No, I completely forgot about it."
"Try it. It helps me, and it might help with your dreams."
"Really?" She doubted anything would stop her from seeing blood while she slept.
"That's why I gave it to you. I know they're bothering you, Aleksi. There's a lecture on directed dreaming. It might help."
"Thanks, Hutch. I'll give it a try." She'd try anything if it meant sleep.
"Good. I hope it works."
"Okay, well, I better let you go. I'm sure you're busy."
"Never too busy for you, Aleksi. I miss you. Call if you need anything."
"I will." She felt his arms around her and clenched her teeth. I miss you, too. "Thanks again."
"Okay. Bye."
She hung up the phone and listened to the echoes of his voice in her mind. The light from the phone died and darkness closed in again. Aleksi rooted around in her pack until she found the IPod and flipped through the menu until she found the meditation audio. She put the ear buds in and closed her eyes, listening to the melodious voice of the narrator. She tried to concentrate, to trust the voice, to relax; anything to control the monster that lived in her dreams.
Darkness settled on the city early in winter. By five it was past twilight, by six, night and time for people to be getting home, for families to congregate around dinner tables, ask what happened at school, snicker at the goofy guy at work, enjoy a glass of wine or a beer. Unwind. Relax.
For Derrick, it was time to hunt.
It was getting hard to evade scrutiny during the day, even with sunglasses, his hands tucked away, and the hat pulled low. The shirt he favored didn't fit very well anymore, and the overcoat was restricting under the arms, but he could hardly take them off. There were police everywhere, and he knew they were looking for him.
"They ought to fucking thank me." He turned the corner from Agassiz Road onto Park Drive. The winter-bare trees of Back Bay Fens Park loomed close to the road, the grass crusted with half-melted snow. There were foot trails here, and he knew the worthless dregs of society came here to make their deals: drugs for sex, booze for a spare shirt, food for sharing a squalid shelter of cardboard or a moldy mattress. "I'm doing them a favor. Taking out the trash."
Two figures arm in arm came the other way. They turned onto one of the footpaths. He heard their voices, the low laughter of two women. Dykes, he thought. Probably met in some fag bar and come out here to get high and do each other. The dragon's tongue licked his lips, tasting the air. They weren't vagabonds, but he was hungry. He turned off the road before the trail and unbuttoned his heavy coat. With two, he would have to be quick.
Sound and scent were enough to keep him on track and out of sight. He shucked the coat and stashed it under some bushes. Closer, edging through the brush, he caught a glimpse of them. The wind gusted and brought him their scent; perfume, the cloying overtone of makeup, cigarette smoke, and something else, something familiar that he couldn't place. Under all of that, the scent of female, not the one he wanted, not Aleksi, but definitely female.
Gotta be quick. He increased his pace. If one screams, I won't have time to enjoy this. He glanced up and down the trail, but the two were the only ones in sight. There were no other sounds, no other scents nearby. He closed in.
"This is useless," the taller one said, her blonde hair whipping in the wind.
"You think?"
"Total bullshit. Jamison's giving his girls the scut work."
What were they talking about? It doesn't matter. Too close. Too delicious.
"I don't know. It could—"
A low growl escaped his throat, a feral sound that he knew would draw their attention. It wasn't incaution; it was calculated. He wanted to see their fear, to taste their panic. That instant of terror just before the kill was almost as delicious as the warm gobbets of flesh.
They both turned, and the tall one had time to shout, "Shit!" before his claws tore a raking hole in her neck.
The shorter one opened her mouth to scream, but the spray of blood across her face made her wince, eyes closing reflexively, hand fumbling for something in her pocket. She stumbled back, the hand that had held her friend's arm rising to fend him off. He snatched her wrist, claws piercing, bone cracking. She drew breath to scream, which would ruin his fun, so he grabbed her throat with his free hand. The fragile cartilage of her larynx crumbled and her eyes widened in horror. Derrick grinned and flexed his claws deep into the soft tissue of her neck, relishing the moment.
Sound and impact exploded through him.
A gun! The bitch has a gun!
The smell of oil and metal from the other cops came to him now. He ripped her throat out and flung her aside, glaring down at the bleeding hole in his thigh. She'd fired the gun from the pocket of her coat.
Pain lanced through him, and with it, rage.
The woman who had shot him was still struggling, though the blood flooding from the whole in her neck told him she wouldn't last long. He stomped down on the hand fumbling in her pocket and stabbed his claws into her face, groping deep into her eye sockets. She twitched and thrashed in his grasp, then stilled.
"What kind of a bitch carries a gun in her pocket?" He tore open her coat. The answer to his question hung strapped to her shoulder. A leather harness with an empty holster. He ripped open the inside pocket, and a thin leather case fell out, the silver shield glittering in the dim light. "Fucking cops!"
Derrick stepped back and listened for sirens, for running footsteps, for anything. Tires squealed on the road behind him, and he knew he on
ly had seconds before more cops and guns arrived.
The wound in his leg hurt, but the bullet had not hit bone. Pain was only an annoyance. The bullet had passed through the outside of his thigh, the exit hole twice the diameter of his thumb and bleeding. That won't do. He needed a bandage, and he needed to send these cops a warning not to mess with him.
Two birds with one stone, he thought, reaching for the neck of the dead woman's shirt. He tore out a swath from collar to hem and quickly tied it around his leg. That would have to do until he had more time. Now for the message.
His claws parted clothing and flesh, and he arranged the two women in a vile parody of love-making. He wanted to do more, but he could hear hurried footsteps now. It was time to leave. He limped a little as he vanished into the foliage. Four cops came running down the path, flashlight beams giving away their position.
"Holy Christ!"
"God, its…"
A flashlight beam swept the darkness, but Derrick stayed low. He heard the sound of one cop retching.
"Call for back-up," another voice snapped. "Cordon off the area. Joey, check to see if either of them is alive."
He circled around and recovered his coat. They might have interrupted his dinner, but they would never forget the message he'd left. They'd think again before they hunted dragons. He dashed through the brush, heading south into the greensward along Fenway. Despite his injury, he knew he could vanish into the maze of university buildings before they could track him down.
He would have to hunt again tomorrow night—he healed faster when fed—but he would change his hunting grounds. Perhaps it would be best if he returned to his home turf. He knew Cambridge better than Boston, and there were specific prey items there that he'd been neglecting. It was time to send another message, one that was sure to bring Aleksi out into the open.
The sonofabitch hit again, and this time he picked a couple of cops!" Commander Fisk threw down a stack of eight by ten glossies of a murder scene, and even the hardened faces of the homicide squad blanched. "Two veteran detectives, and he did that to them!"
Dragon Dreams Page 36
