“What kind of an idiot do you think I am?” she snapped.
Williams smirked and sat back in his chair, tapping his fingertips on the end of the hard plastic armrest.
“You tell me. I didn’t come all the way from Denver because I think that Fort Wayne is beautiful this time of year.”
Ignoring his response, deTarlo explained, “Just days ago, this patient was admitted to the psych ward after a botched suicide attempt. Since then, he has suffered two more ‘attacks’; the first time a phlebotomist was harmed in the process, and the second time, another patient killed himself in the same room.”
Williams arched an eyebrow, but didn’t speak.
“Sounds like a typical dangerous psych patient, I know,” Ana continued. “But the phlebotomist was adamant that the patient was ‘being attacked.’ She claims to have received injuries from the Passer involved, the one the patient identifies as ‘Rubin,’ though no spirits were visible at the time.”
There was a flicker of recognition in Chester’s eyes, though he said nothing.
“During the second attack,” said deTarlo, “the patient began seizing and bleeding from the mouth, at one point asphyxiating. When the nurses and orderlies attempted to revive him, the defibrillator malfunctioned and has been examined and shows signs of electromagnetic radiation.”
That caught Chester’s notice and both eyebrows went up. He remained motionless in his chair but appeared to pay closer attention.
“Also strange is that no injuries were found to the patient’s chest, heart, lungs, stomach, anything. The bleeding eventually stopped, but a source wound couldn’t be found. A significant amount of hemorrhaging occurred, yet there was no internal bleeding. He was covered in bruises and scratches, but no actual incisions.”
She paused to let the information sink in, and Williams began to lose interest again.
He began derisively: “Unless you pulled some strings to get me a doctorate without me knowing it…”
“I want to know about similar cases,” deTarlo snapped.
“You could have just had one of my interns look it up for you.”
“I don’t want a list. I want to know about the attacks.”
Chester remained still and looked at her for several moments as if waiting for an incentive, though his eyes glazed in thought.
“Dozens of cases at the beginning,” he started finally. “Less through the years, mostly because they were false and general bad opinion did nothing for attention seekers. Two dozen cases in the last twenty years has dwindled to less than half that in the last decade. Last I was up to date on the information, there have been only two—well, three now—recorded cases of possible legitimate Passer harassment in the country in the past six months.”
“Only three?” DeTarlo looked incredulous.
“That’s the possible legit cases,” Williams repeated. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you that it’s down to one where we thought there were none.”
DeTarlo appeared confused, so Williams clarified. “Case one, a woman, killed herself in Detroit over a month ago. Case two just stabbed himself to death in your psych ward. This one, case three, is all that’s left.”
“You appear awfully nonchalant about putting these pieces together, Chet.”
Williams narrowed his inky eyes at the nickname.
“Coincidences like this happen so often they become the norm,” he said. “I get so much information about these things, it’s no surprise to me anymore. The Passers have called in all debts with fate, and the world has become more balanced and symmetrical. You’d be surprised how much the natural and spiritual worlds mirror one another when you really get into the facts and figures. Behavior aside, that is. Since when are you interested in Passer hunts?”
Ana tried to hide a smile and turned her eyes down to the file in front of her again.
“I haven’t treated anyone with claims to this extent,” she responded with a blasé shrug.
“Uh-huh.” Williams waited to hear more.
“You know my fondness for fringe research. I’ve never read any reports that supported this sort of circumstance definitively. It’s advantageous that Dr. St. Cross has kept such careful and detailed reports, even if he has been overly secretive.”
“Isn’t it patient confidentiality or whatever?”
“Oh, is it?” Ana lifted her eyebrow, shadows cast on her forehead by the reflection of light off the papers before her, exaggerating the dark line above her eye. “You just told me he sent you this report.”
Chester shrugged, adopting the casualness she had just abandoned.
“St. Cross is a slug, I guess,” he said. “If that’s what you want me to think. He has been annoying.”
“Oh, I’ve told you what I want you to think.” She smiled deeply. A glimmer of pride and interest twinkled in her eyes at the mention of something she was familiar with and expert in. She was no stranger to how Williams’s mind worked.
Chester ignored her gloating and said as a disclaimer: “I would check and double-check that my statement about case three being the last one is correct. There’s no way my sources and interns are one hundred percent accurate all the time. Just because these are the only recorded cases of believable Passer harassment doesn’t mean there aren’t other cases out there that either aren’t taken seriously or just aren’t reported.”
DeTarlo still appeared very proud of herself and began shuffling through paperwork on her desk.
“I want you to reread the file in detail, and the other two cases as well,” she said. “Write up a statement and sign it.”
A look of intense annoyance and disappointment contorted Williams’s face.
“Oh gimme a break!” he exclaimed. “I have a life and responsibilities. I’ve got the whole of A.S.M. to deal with, and the riots, and I’m in the middle of getting another book through a final draft. I don’t have the time to write out reports for you.”
“Then have your interns write it,” deTarlo answered, unflustered. “But make sure you sign and agree with it. If we play our cards right, this could be just what we need to finally get just the subject we need for your Kelly Road project.”
Chester glared at the psychologist murderously, and his watching Passer began to shift tensely in the shadow cast by the open office door in the evening light. Ana was not intimidated.
“Yes, I know about it,” she said. “Do you think I wouldn’t hear about something like that just because you try to keep it all hush-hush? I know that St. Cross tried to connect these dots too, but he got nowhere.”
She stepped around her desk and cupped her hand to Chester’s cheek patronizingly. He slapped her away and got to his feet, whirling toward the door to leave.
“You’ll have your stupid report,” he snarled. “But there’s no way in hell I’d let you have the reins at Kelly Road.”
“It’s not up to you,” she replied, vaguely gloating. “I control the subject, and public curiosity is on my side. Passerism is a fad that’s becoming stale and obsolete.”
“While we remain among you,” answered Williams’s Passer, Rod, “the study and worship of our kind shall never be obsolete.” Dressed in a light-colored dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the ghost was a sharp-eyed brunette that looked no older than Chester.
“Yes, and you’ll always be around, so long as people keep dying,” deTarlo said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Williams slammed her office door behind him as he left, and Rod passed through it to follow.
Aidriel tensely tapped his bare foot against the floor and rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips.
“I have no advocate, then,” he said grimly.
Dr. deTarlo crossed her legs at the knees, smoothing her pencil skirt. She leaned back in the plastic chair and rolled her eyes when it creaked.
“Why would you say that?” she smoothly asked, controlling
her expression again.
Aidriel dropped his hands to his knees and eyed her before rising to pace in front of the window.
“Mr. Akimos,” the psychologist began when he didn’t answer. “You are under my supervision until I am satisfied you are no longer a danger to yourself or others. But you attacked a medical worker and are under investigation for a man’s death.”
She bobbed her head once in the direction of the orderly standing just inside the door, watching.
“Oh that’s bullshit!” Aidriel exclaimed. “I was strapped down for Pete’s sake. The man was tormented; he killed himself.”
“Are you implying his suicide was the result of mental illness?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Aidriel snapped. “I mean he’s dead because he couldn’t take having to suffer the same way I am. He just managed actually offing himself.”
“It’s under investigation,” deTarlo murmured.
Aidriel stared out the window at the horizon, shaking his head in disbelief, his hands on his hips.
“It’s your decision, ultimately.” Ana tried to keep her voice soothing. “You can either stay here or allow yourself to be transported to another, specialized facility.”
“Bullshit,” he said again. “If I say I want to stay locked in this prison cell, you’ll come up with some medical gibberish reason that I’m not in my right mind and transport me anyway. I don’t want any part of your stupid study.”
DeTarlo pretended to be preoccupied with taking notes and didn’t let his words register immediately.
“Why do you feel that way?” she asked without looking up.
Aidriel smiled bitterly and scratched at the back of his head. He knew the orderly was watching his every move like a hawk, and though the doctors had insisted he stay in bed, Aidriel just couldn’t. He was getting stir-crazy.
“I didn’t know this was about my feelings,” he commented snippily.
“It’s my job to evaluate your mental state.”
“Last time I checked, I was still pretty sane.”
“Then why did you attempt to take your own life?”
Aidriel exhaled deeply. For a brief moment he became very sad before pulling himself together.
“My mistake was botching something simple,” he stated impassively. “No one ever wonders how long I can put up with this. I’ve been trying to convince everyone for twelve years that I’m serious and this is real, but you just ignore it. You’re all wasting time trying to figure it out, but no one’s that unlucky.”
“Have you told Chester Williams?”
Aidriel snorted a laugh and shifted dangerously, watching the orderly out of the corner of his eye. It bothered him that he was being physically watched by the man while mentally monitored by the woman. St. Cross didn’t play these games with him.
“Oh sure, your average fool can get personal meetings with the likes of Williams any day,” he commented. Before deTarlo could make a patronizing reply, Aidriel walked over to the bed and sat on it with his back to her.
“There’s no point in delaying the inevitable,” he said grimly. “You’re going to move me to your ‘special facility’ sooner or later. I’ve had all I can take of this place anyhow.”
Dr. deTarlo got up and came to stand next to him, holding out her pen and clipboard.
“Sign these,” she ordered, and he wordlessly complied.
“I want Dreamer there,” he said, handing back the pen.
“Who?”
“The girl from the lab. I want her to be wherever I’m going.”
She’d been on his mind often since the attack, and though he’d asked, they wouldn’t let him see her. For her safety, they said. But he wanted to talk to her. If only to apologize, though he felt she could relate with him now. She’d be someone he could confide in with complete honesty, and she might even help him.
“Why?” DeTarlo didn’t bother to hide her incredulity.
Aidriel looked up at her darkly.
“’Cause she’ll believe me,” he answered.
CHAPTER 4
The orderly behind Aidriel held the handles of the wheelchair in a death grip, his focus completely on the patient as he pushed him toward the ambulance bay doors. Through the glass panels, the two men could see Dr. deTarlo and a nurse motioning with their arms for visitors to stay away from the building. The few people nearby stepped back to watch and wait obediently, while the Passers remained wherever they were standing, their ghostly forms like clumps of fog in the early morning light. They were far enough away that they didn’t appear to notice Aidriel, but he could see them. He sat frozen, his eyes unblinking, his attention focused on his senses, waiting for even the slightest sign he was going to be attacked. Besides his heart pounding like a dynamo, he was fine.
Eventually deTarlo was satisfied everything outside was under control. She stepped back through the doors anxiously and motioned for the orderly to bring Aidriel out to a waiting ambulance.
“I’m kind of surprised,” the patient commented to the shrink as she fell into step beside him.
“Really, at what?”
“I figured you’d want to walk me straight out into a mob of Passers to see what would happen.”
To Aidriel’s astonishment, deTarlo nodded in genuine agreement.
“That option crossed my mind,” she answered. “But Williams didn’t think it was a good idea, what with the way the electromagnetic radiation would affect the ambulance.”
She sounded serious; Aidriel was speechless.
Reaching the open back of the van, he got up from the chair and climbed in.
“Lie down,” deTarlo ordered, pointing at the cot to one side. The EMTs staffing the vehicle kept their lips sealed and watched Aidriel for a reaction.
“What?” he asked, annoyed. “Why?”
“Do as I say,” the shrink answered coolly, taking a seat on the bench.
Aidriel sat down on the stretcher and plopped onto his back. The EMTs strapped him in and hovered nearby attentively, as if expecting him to stop breathing at any moment.
Aidriel’s intuitive sense of warning kicked in and pounded. The orderly took his time returning the wheelchair to the building before he hopped into the back of the van, pulling the doors closed. They waited without speaking, listening to the rumbling of the engine, and Aidriel prayed it wouldn’t suddenly stall.
Eventually the vehicle began to move, and deTarlo insisted the siren be turned on.
“We’re transporting a high-risk patient.”
No one noticed the vague, sour smile on Aidriel’s face.
“How’re you feeling?” deTarlo asked him.
“I’m sure you’re more excited than I am.”
“You aren’t looking forward to the personal attention of Chester Williams and his staff?”
Aidriel didn’t reply, but he was thinking that Williams’s staff was probably half Passers. They had to be, with the work he did.
The drive went remarkably quickly with the lights and sirens, and soon they found themselves at the airport. Aidriel was itching to get off the cot and was up and moving as soon as the EMTs undid the straps.
“We’re at the helipad,” deTarlo told him. “This is where the chopper comes to drop off patients to the plane for transport. There aren’t many people around. Less Passers.”
The orderly opened the back doors and Aidriel peered out into the bright morning sunshine. He could see a private jet parked some ways off on a runway as he and the psychologist climbed out of the ambulance. Printed on the side of the aircraft was American Sentience Movement in bold, scrolly letters.
“Everything from here on out is run by Williams,” deTarlo explained, taking his arm and leading him toward the plane as if he were a child. Aidriel resisted the urge to pull away, though he found it distracting to be hustled by a woman in pumps toward a plane. It made him feel like a fugitive being smuggle
d out of the country.
Earlier that morning, deTarlo had brought him regular street clothes to wear in place of the featureless dress of the psych ward. He was glad to have the jeans, sneakers and button-up shirt, but the dog tag was a bit much. It had his name and medical record number on it, Dr. Ana deTarlo, Psy.D. and her contact number, along with the logo of Williams’s company.
“Great, just in case I didn’t already feel like a research subject,” he’d complained.
“Just put it on,” deTarlo had snapped irritably. “Why do you have to whine about everything? You should count yourself fortunate American Sentience is funding all of this and showing so much interest in you.”
While he slipped the chain over his head, Aidriel had asked, “So why are you showing such an interest?”
“I won’t lie,” she’d said. “There has never been a case like yours since the Sentience began. With an expert like Williams involved, this study can be very beneficial for my career.”
Aidriel had not known how to reply at first, and fingered the dog tag thoughtfully.
“What is the expected outcome of this ‘study’?” he’d wanted to know.
DeTarlo had stared coldly as if he were just another case and wasn’t waiting for her answer.
“I don’t think that’s information I have to discuss with you,” she’d retorted. “You signed the consent forms. Once the report is published, feel free to read it.”
Now, as the psychologist was dragging him toward the plane, Aidriel was starting to get cold feet. No one knew where he was or where he was going, and he wished he’d thought of someone to tell before they left. Did it really matter in the long run? He had a few friends and acquaintances, but what difference would it make if they knew where he was? Nobody would come after him. He thought briefly of Dr. St. Cross, but he had stopped contact with his former shrink shortly after he saw him last and realized he didn’t mind.
Aidriel also had reasons of his own to allow these bigwigs to shuffle him around like a curiosity to study. Since the attacks began, he had been unable to leave Indiana, and was curious to see if he ever could. Every time he’d tried, a Passer somehow blocked his way. He was always harmed in the process, and found himself waking up in the emergency room to the faces of confused doctors. He had mentioned this to deTarlo the morning before they left, but she hadn’t appeared concerned or even convinced.
Sentinel Event Page 3
