“Things could be normal,” he mused. They could be so peaceful together.
Aidriel forgot that Dreamer wasn’t imagining the same things he was, and looked at her to witness her agreement. But she didn’t understand; her thoughts were still in the present. All his plans vanished in an instant, and so suddenly it pained him. He glanced at her accusingly, because she wasn’t receiving his signals.
Dreamer sadly lowered her eyes, choosing her words before speaking.
“How long have you been a target to the Passers, even before the attacks?”
Aidriel put his hand thoughtfully over his mouth.
“Is this another session?” His voice sounded muffled behind it. He didn’t answer her question.
Dreamer finished folding the shirt she had let rest on her lap, making him wait for her to speak.
“I dreamt of you last night,” she told him, laying it aside. “This is the second about you. I could see your pulse like purple lightning, coursing out from your heart. It flashed in the dark quickly at first, but slowed down. You were tired—are tired.”
Even as she talked, Aidriel sank down on his bed to listen.
“You’ve got…,” Dreamer continued hesitantly, suddenly self-conscious. “You’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Aidriel sighed deeply in agreement.
“I want to disconnect,” stated Dreamer. “I want to be on your network.”
“It’s a lonely signal,” Aidriel responded, half-smiling bitterly at the strangeness of his words.
“I’ll respond to it.”
Aidriel repeated his partial grin and shook his head.
“I realize that dreams are not real,” she said, “but since I was a little girl I’ve been having nightmares about bears. They feel very real, and have caused a subconscious hurt by association. Your hurt is much worse, and deep-seated, but I kind of know what that pain looks like, so I can see it.”
“So it doesn’t even matter what happens,” Aidriel muttered. “The damage has long since been done.”
“That sounds so hopeless. Regardless of what’s happened to you, what do you need? What could…I don’t know, save you?”
“I need reprieve. I need peace and normalcy. I need air. I need help. I need to breathe.”
Dreamer got up without him noticing.
Aidriel lapsed into his memories; it was easier than imagining the future. He recalled awakening in agitation the night he was attacked after Dreamer had resisted his advances. He had sat in the darkness, peering at the outline of her asleep in her bed, straining to hear her silent breathing. He sensed the Passers were coming, but he knew he couldn’t wake her up. Though distracted by his thoughts, he had dressed swiftly and silently, sitting on his bed to put on his shoes. He had paused, dreading having to leave without her. It was safer for her that way, but then her fears would be right; he would be abandoning her. He’d envisioned awakening her and dragging her through thick and thin, but had been unable to do it. The hesitation of wondering if she would stir if he touched her or kissed her goodbye had cost Aidriel in the end; he’d lingered too long and was taken by surprise by the aggressive swarm. Yet the assault had roused Dreamer; the question of whether to leave without her had not been one he’d had to answer. Just remembering how he was intending to leave her ashamed him. It was damaging to realize one had been abandoned.
Aidriel saw in his memory how his dad’s truck looked that last time he saw it, driving away down the road, taking the curve and disappearing. He remembered vividly the sense of being alone, even though he technically hadn’t been. Sometimes it was terrible to be alone.
The bed shifted beneath him, and he came back to the present, finding himself staring at Dreamer, who had sat down across from him. Her face was calm, her light eyes fixed on his steadily. His senses recalled the last real-life moment of comfort for him; the surreal rocking, the weightless drifting of his body hanging from the noose.
His equilibrium was unmoored and his thoughts were in an orderly confusion, unable to focus on exclusively what had happened, what was happening, or what could happen, without skipping intermittently among them. He didn’t like the future; there had never been a reason to hope for any change. But there were more options than he had ever let himself picture. Dreamer was trying to ground him and connect with him without words. She would have succeeded, perhaps, had Todd not pounded on the door, calling that it was time to get going.
Chester Williams sat on the top step of the rolling stairway against the side of his plane, his hand gripping his computer touchpad between his knees, on which he tapped with a stylus. He had his Bluetooth device in his ear, and for hours had gone from one conversation to another, reiterating the same information and hearing the same reports. In the distance, he could see the beginning of a thunderstorm shaking the tops of the trees. The wind fluttered the hem of his coat, but he was too focused on the information he was streaming on the handheld screen to notice.
Jack Stickney was on the other end of the line and was sparing no harshness toward the Passerist.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for almost three hours,” was the first thing Jack had said grumpily, and out of pure exhaustion, Williams didn’t bother to tell him that pretty much everyone with any of his private numbers had been calling him.
“I’ve received all the recent reports about the protests,” Chester said. “I know about the fire in Denver, and about the migration in Europe and Asia, and about the riot in Gettysburg and about the end of the credit card trail in Bartonville, Illinois. I talked with Fagin. No, I’m not shirking my responsibilities, and if I was, it’s none of your freaking business.”
“Then lucky for you, I’m not calling about any of those things,” Jack answered.
“Shock me.”
“I got a call from St. Cross the other day, and he was really pissed about you interfering with his patient.”
“Has he called back, or did he leave a number?”
“No, do you want me to get a hold of him?”
“If you can. He might actually know where his patient is.”
“Nothing came up in Bartonville?”
“I said that, didn’t I? No, they haven’t used the card since, and they left their car at the airport.”
“So they are heading toward Iowa.”
“You’re a genius,” Chester said nastily.
“Where are you?”
“Des Moines. Had that thing in Farrar I was supposed to go to. A car’s on the way, then we’re heading to the dead zone.”
“Dr. deTarlo going with you?”
Williams just groaned.
“What about the protest there?” asked Stickney.
“If I ever finish with the endless phone calls, we’ll be heading there next.”
“Boy, are you a masochist or what?”
“It’s called accountability,” Chester responded snippily. “I don’t have the time to chase some random guy around just because he has a problem with Passers. A.S.M. won’t run itself.”
“Actually, it will.”
In a snit, Williams pressed the button on his ear device to hang up, assuming the insolent intern would call back if he got anything from or about St. Cross. The clouds were drawing nearer and the wind was picking up, but the temperature hadn’t dropped yet, and the rain still wasn’t falling.
He wearily answered the next call-waiting.
“Finally,” deTarlo sighed. “You’ve got three lines and all of them were busy at once. I was lucky it finally rang through.”
“Oh, for the days of face-to-face conversations,” Chester responded sarcastically.
She’d left hours ago with his assistant to head northwest to little Farrar, Iowa, with its haunted school house to sit in on a Passerist meeting there, which Williams had wanted to attend but couldn’t find the time for. The psychologist had made some vague mention of accumulati
ng expert commentary, but Chester had just been glad to be rid of her for a little while.
“You’re not the only one with things to do,” she chided him. “I know how much you enjoy my company, but—”
“Are you bugging me for a reason?”
“Rod and Kara were here earlier. They’re on their way to meet you at the airport.”
“How long?” Chester asked, looking at his watch.
“Forty-five minutes if we’re lucky. Rod has something to tell you.”
“Why didn’t it tell you?”
“You’ll have to ask it.”
“Anything else?”
“No. We’re heading back. I’ll see you—”
The Passerist pressed the button on the Bluetooth again, sighed, and said, “Chester Williams.”
When Rod and Kara arrived at the airstrip, Williams had retreated into the plane at the arrival of the storm, and was sitting by the window, watching for them. They stood at the bottom of the steps and didn’t ascend them, so the Passerist came to the door, holding a hand up to shield his face from the rain.
“We’re going to the dead zone, my friend,” Rod told him, unaffected by the falling water. “Everyone is. He’s on his way there.”
“I already know that,” Chester answered.
“Did you know that I was there the first time he was attacked?” asked Rod.
“At the Bird Cage? Yes, I know.”
“No. The first time.”
“Twelve years ago? Before you came to me?”
“Yes, when his journey was just beginning. I sounded the silent warning.”
“No, I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you say…?”
“It does not affect the present. I withhold no secrets of the past from you, and will speak now of the near future. Are you listening to me?”
“Yes…” Chester was slightly unbalanced. Before his eyes, the dimly human resemblances of the two Passers were changing; Kara’s head and shoulders were wreathed in an immense, bright colorless flame impervious to the rain, and Rod’s hair drifted in an unseen flood, the surface of the spirit’s skin and garments marbling with wavy lines of translucent light.
“You’ll send the girl a message,” Rod told him. “You’ll tell her to tell him to stop being afraid. He must no longer be afraid.”
“You’ll tell her to tell him to stop running,” added Kara. “He mustn’t run another step.”
“He’s going to die,” said Rod, raising its eyes upward as its clothing floated out in the same submerged manner as its hair. “Under the sky, he’ll give up the ghost. Today; this afternoon.”
“How?” Chester asked, squinting through the rain.
Rod and Kara answered at the same time:
“Rubin.”
CHAPTER 13
The waitress topped off Aidriel’s coffee and checked to see if Dreamer needed more. The two were perched on the stools at the bar of a little diner within walking distance of the Waterloo airport. The flight had thankfully been short and safe, but Aidriel was downing more and more painkillers, and still couldn’t seem to take the edge off. He was perpetually achy and groggy, and had been on the side of irritable since St. Cross showed up.
Dreamer was often sore herself—the residual effects of the ambulance crash—but she felt more alert by ignoring the pain and remaining off the analgesics. She rested one hand on the bar, swiveling her stool back and forth, her eyes on the empty sidewalk outside. There was no one else in the diner but an elderly couple eating pancakes, their Passers nowhere in sight.
Aidriel leaned against the bar wearily, staring down into his steaming brew and sulking. What he was upset about at present, Dreamer wasn’t sure, but he had been less than civil with her, so she didn’t bother to ask. Depending on how fresh of a dose of pills he was on or how acute his discomfort, he was warm and inclusive of her or cold and distant. The last couple hours he had been ignoring anything said to him and remaining lost in thought.
St. Cross and Todd had separated from them at the airport; where they had gone was anyone’s guess. Probably to get another rental car. The days seemed to be long progressions of driving, flying, and procuring transport. At least they were in Iowa now.
Dreamer’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket, and expecting to hear from the shrink, she took it out. Surprisingly, Chester Williams had texted her. He had begun trying to call or reach her by text right after she lost them on the expressway. But he’d given up on contact some time ago. She thought that he’d finally gotten the hint that she was intentionally ignoring him. This was an urgent message.
Aidriel was nursing his coffee and paying her no attention, so she got up to check the text outside where the signal would be better, in case she felt the need to call Williams. The little bell above the door rang as she went out; she chose a spot at the corner of the storefront by an unkempt shrub.
The message read: URGENT: TELL AA TO STOP FEAR & RUNNING.
Dreamer wasn’t clear on the meaning at first, and would have simply blown it off as a demand to return to deTarlo’s care, based on the “running” part. But why had he told her to tell Aidriel to stop being afraid? Had the Passerist realized something about the spirits that could help Aidriel?
The phleb hesitated, her finger over the button to dial the callback number. She was very interested in finding out what Chester meant, but at the same time was worried he could somehow figure out where she was if she called him. She knew that it was possible to track cell phones down to a ten-foot area, but reasoned that since her mobile that been on all this time, they could have already tracked her if they wanted to.
She pressed dial, crossing her free arm across her chest to support the hand holding the phone, and braced herself for whatever the conversation would entail.
In the diner, Aidriel continued to lean against the counter tiredly, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand, and remaining oblivious to his surroundings. A sudden jolt of pain in the pit of his stomach startled him, and though he waited, he didn’t hear any ringing. He looked up and toward the door to see if Dreamer was coming back in, but she wasn’t. There was, however, a female Passer standing just inside the glass, staring at him.
It had long wavy dark hair and a young face. Aidriel recognized it; it was the strangling ghost that had been present at the attack in the Bird Cage. For some reason, it was standing still and waiting, not launching at him. His heart pounding, Aidriel watched it.
Behind the Passer, Dreamer opened the door and came back in, her eyes lowered on the phone in her hand. As she put the cell into her pocket and looked up, she spotted the staring spirit and stepped swiftly between it and Aidriel.
“Tracy!” she exclaimed nervously. “Where have you been? What’re you doing here?”
“Wandering,” Tracy answered flatly. It lifted its ashen hand and pointed a long nail at Aidriel accusingly. Dreamer looked swiftly at him over her shoulder.
“Don’t be scared of it,” she said. “I just talked with Williams, and he said that you might have a better chance of safety if you don’t act afraid.”
Aidriel slid off his stool nonchalantly, adjusting the collar of the gray wool coat he had switched to in the airport. The jacket Dreamer had given him wasn’t warm enough.
“Is this your Passer?” he asked Dreamer. It took a certain resolve to follow her advice and not run like a rabbit as he was accustomed to doing.
Dreamer swallowed, keeping her eyes on Tracy, muttering an affirmative.
“What’re you after?” Aidriel asked the Passer. It continued to point at his face.
“Yeah, but why?” demanded Dreamer. “The ghosts didn’t harass you when you were alive! What is it? You aren’t a vengeful Passer!”
Tracy smiled slightly, stretching its arm as far forward as it could, still pointing. Aidriel glanced at the door behind the ghost and wondered if he could get past it and Dreamer without suffering much injury.
He didn’t know if there was a back door. It had been stupid to come in here in the first place. But he remained still, stuffing his hands apprehensively into his pockets and deliberately telling himself to be calm. Williams was a Passerist; surely he knew more than the average person did about the spirits. He would probably not give advice for Aidriel to do something dangerous intentionally. After all, Chester had partnered with deTarlo for their stupid study, which as of yet was not completed.
Tracy took a threatening step forward, its face contorting in wrath. It seemed to Aidriel to be stalling, and he wondered if it was waiting for the backup of other Passers. He kept his attention on the ghost while Dreamer took out her phone and looked at the display, pressing a few buttons.
“St. Cross and Todd are waiting for us at the airport,” she said without turning.
Aidriel glanced again at the door. They were only a couple of blocks from the airport gate. They could make a run for it.
Tracy advanced another step, jabbing its arm forward threateningly. Dreamer was becoming upset, and took a swing at Tracy’s hand, snapping, “Knock it off!”
Aidriel turned, unfolding a few of the dollar bills that St. Cross had given him to lay on the counter before the gawking waitress. He forced himself to remain cool as he pocketed the rest of the money. Then with a snap of movement, he darted past Dreamer, catching her by the arm and dragging her out the door.
They fled down the sidewalk toward the airport, running as hard as they could, but not risking a glance back until they were dashing up the long drive toward the terminal. Tracy was nowhere in sight behind them, and Aidriel felt as if he had dodged a bullet.
Sentinel Event Page 15
