“Don’t let it happen!” cried out Kara, starting forward. There were only moments to prevent it, and had Dreamer not been a Passer also, she would have been forced to watch helplessly. But there was a reason that Tracy had strangled her to death, even if the Passer had acted merely in hatred. She leapt and embraced Aidriel from behind, ordering with strong authority, “Rubin, pass on alone!”
This moment was the reason St. Cross had felt Dreamer needed to meet Aidriel. It was not only that Tracy broke the rules when it attacked the bear; it broke the rules to obey Dreamer’s order to do so. There was something about the girl’s words that demanded obedience from the spirits. Somehow, the shrink seemed to know she was the one to help Aidriel save himself.
In the twinkling of an eye, Rubin was gone, though Aidriel continued to drift upward. Dreamer did not have to struggle to pull him back to earth. Falling down as if to her knees, she guided him onto his back over his body, ensuring he returned to it. Though his mortal shell was damaged, the bleeding in his leg had stopped when his heart did.
No pain of leaving his body or nearly doing so the many times before compared to the white-hot agony that bathed him to return to life. He sucked in a breath and convulsed as he had in death, the still-healing injury on the back of his head scraping across the pavement, his arms and hands again squeezing in close to his chest. Dropping limp, he turned and saw Dreamer lying beside him.
Her brown hair spread out beneath her head like a carpet, her limbs lying gracefully as if she was sleeping; but her skin was gray, her lips blue. Her Passer lay down upon her body, superimposing a cloudy reflection over the lifeless form. But the ghost began to weep.
“I can’t return to it,” she murmured.
All the pain of his injuries swept over Aidriel like they always did when he was revived, yet with effort he rolled to his side. He lifted his aching head, and dragged his arm up to reach for her.
“Yes, you can,” he said hoarsely.
They were stronger when their hands met; that must be why they so often had an unexplainable urge to hold hands.
Dreamer’s Passer closed her eyes and sighed slowly, vanishing into her body. She experienced the same burning unpleasantness to be reborn, reeling and gasping, her senses too shell-shocked to take in anything at first. Someone held her hand, and when she opened her eyes, she could see. It was Aidriel.
CHAPTER 15
The most important thing on deTarlo’s mind as she craned her neck to see into the ambulance was publishing her study. Aidriel was semiconscious and looked like a dead body under the hurrying hands of the paramedics. They were hastily bandaging his leg so he’d make it to the hospital and were preparing a transfusion.
Dreamer was sitting on a stretcher several feet away, a blanket around her trembling shoulders, her hands holding an air mask to her face and sucking in the wonderful oxygen. She was trying to croak something to the EMT examining her bruised throat, but he kept shushing her.
“He’s AB positive,” she insisted. “Listen to me; I was there for some of his care.”
The paramedic took it under advisement and called it to his fellows.
DeTarlo stepped away from the ambulance and strode over to the phlebotomist as yet a another police vehicle arrived. The psychologist had her precious clipboard tucked in her arm against her side, and was swinging Aidriel’s dog tag deliberately with the other. When she and the additional people present had converged on Aidriel and Dreamer, she was sure that above all else, she got a hold of his tag. He’d made it through the hard part. She would hate for him to die now because of his DNR order when she desperately needed him to finish her report. She could already visualize the study being published, and the thrill gave her goose bumps.
“Are you alright?” the shrink asked Dreamer, her eyes on the activity around them. The phleb just nodded, keeping the mask over her face. The EMT had left her briefly, and she gingerly felt the nasty bruising on her neck. She glanced toward the open ambulance, but couldn’t see Aidriel.
“He okay?” she asked huskily, motioning.
“He’ll survive.” DeTarlo smiled broadly and authentically. Dreamer mirrored her and pointed at the dog tag.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For taking that.”
DeTarlo smirked again, claiming it was her pleasure, then wandering off to find Williams while the paramedic returned to load Dreamer into the ambulance.
Chester stood facing the empty baseball diamond, talking rapidly on his Bluetooth and poking around on his touchpad. He paused in his chatter to send his assistant off with a wave of his hand to talk to some local officials. St. Cross and Todd were speaking to the police who stood guard around the psychiatrist, though what about, she had no idea. The cops had witnessed everything they had. All of them continuously waved off the questions and pleas of the journalists, especially Williams, who was becoming agitated. The police photographer had finished taking pictures of the scene long after the media had, and someone was hosing the blood off the street. There was not a single Passer in sight.
Giving up on any interviews, most of the reporters and their crews dashed off to their vehicles, many of them talking on their cells, desperate to be the first to break the story. DeTarlo loved the circus; she was the ringmaster. No one could get to Aidriel except through her, and at the moment, she would not let anyone close to him. She had all the answers to the questions the law and media asked, and she said not a word more than she wanted.
The ambulance slammed its doors, its siren wailing as it sped off in the direction of the hospital in Waterloo. Williams finished a call and paused before making another.
“Chester, Ana.” St. Cross got their attention and motioned them over to talk. The police took several reluctant paces away, but watched the psychiatrist closely, assuming correctly he couldn’t go far. Williams and deTarlo took places as near to him as they could to keep the conversation private, ignoring Todd, who hovered nearby.
“Let’s get something out in the open, shall we?” began St. Cross. “Aidriel is my patient, has been from the beginning, and I can guarantee that I can overturn any paperwork you might have that says otherwise.”
DeTarlo opened her mouth to respond but he motioned for her to listen.
“That being said,” he continued, smacking his lips at the beginning of his sentences, “any and all decisions about his participation, opinion, and well-being from here on out are his, and none of us can say otherwise. He was released from the psych ward under your recommendations, Ana, and as far as I know, has complete control over his own welfare. But I don’t necessarily get first dibs on him, and our…plans…don’t have to be contradictory.”
“My study has a conclusion very different than what I hypothesized,” said deTarlo. “And though I am not usually pleased to admit being wrong, the patient has proved to be a very interesting subject, and will continue to be so, I’m sure.”
“Do you have any idea what he means for the Sentience Movement?” asked Chester with excited animation. “Everything we thought we knew about Passers could change! With his help, I can revolutionize the world of Passerists!”
“What makes any of you think he’ll do what you want?” asked Todd, forgetting his place. “Dreamer said they ditched you guys because you’re so dang bossy.”
Williams rolled his eyes and deTarlo just smiled patiently.
“I could prolong my study for years,” said Ana.
“Kelly Road was not officially closed,” added Chester. “Akimos still has obligations to fulfill.”
“Why does this have to end in exploitation?” asked St. Cross bitterly, feeling the utter helplessness that his physical condition imposed upon him.
“Everyone saw your little sharpshooter stunt,” Williams pointed out. “It’s lucky for you that the cops are just taking you in for procedure and are buying the lie that you were aiming at the Passers and missed. We could have you shut out entirely.”
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br /> “This isn’t about me!” St. Cross exclaimed. “Aidriel has been to hell and back, and now you want to interrogate and study him for another lifetime.”
Ana and Chester didn’t argue, neither did they appear remorseful.
“This isn’t about us,” said Williams. “Can you imagine the power he has? We know he can control the Passers while in the same form as they, but perhaps he can do it while alive also! Who knows what he could accomplish in cooperation with A.S.M.? The possibilities are endless and awesome!”
“We’re very fortunate to already have a foot in the door,” agreed deTarlo. “The patient can make our lives very profitable. Our writings will be taken as reliable information for generations to come, at least.”
“Aidriel’s not going to go along with that,” St. Cross insisted. “I’ve known him longer than both of you have, and I know that I understand him better. He’s endured the rarity of his situation for years, and this could mean an end to it. Can you imagine living every day with such fear? He’s thought of nothing but Passers for the last twelve years; if he has an opportunity to leave it all behind now, he will.”
Williams didn’t appear moved, and deTarlo simply shrugged.
“He’ll have to put his retirement on hold,” she said dismissively. “He still has legally binding obligations.”
St. Cross knew she was right and could not think of anything he could do. He didn’t bother to argue further, and slumped back in his chair, his green eyes fixed sadly on Ana’s face. She adjusted her tortoiseshell spectacles and looked at her clipboard, ignoring him. Chester turned away to tap his ear device and listened a moment before saying they’d be there soon.
“Aidriel and Dreamer have no next of kin available,” he told deTarlo. “They want me to sign them in at the hospital.”
He looked around for his assistant, but the slight man was still busy in conversation with the officials and clearly could not be torn away. Leaving him to find his own way was the decision Chester made with a shrug. Without a word, deTarlo lowered her clipboard and fell into step beside Williams as they headed off toward his car.
St. Cross grimly watched them go, his mind racing for ways to prevent them. It would be a lengthy battle, he knew, but there was no convincing them. His best course of action was to post bail, get back to Fort Wayne and start looking for the loophole to get Aidriel out of any commitments.
“There’s the car,” Todd said, jogging over to a police car that had pulled up by the curb. The nurse oversaw a pair of officers that opened the trunk and began moving things to make room for the psychiatrist’s wheelchair. St. Cross sat in thought for several more minutes before he sensed Andrei standing beside him. After having seen how uncommon rule breakers were among the spirits, he became fascinated with the idea.
“Why did you break the rules?” the shrink asked the Passer. “Why’d you push the ladder?”
Andrei looked down at him grimly. Its gaze passed over the people still moving about around them.
“Because,” Andrei said finally, “if you had not fallen, you would be on the road to Waterloo already, and you would not be sitting here waiting, where it’s safe.”
“Safe?”
Andrei didn’t elaborate and replied, “You will be well looked after. Goodbye, my friend.” Breaking into a run, the ghost dashed up the street in the direction the vehicles were leaving from, vanishing from sight.
The ambulance was roomy; there was enough space for Dreamer to sit quietly to the side, clutching the oxygen mask to her face, while Aidriel lay serenely on the stretcher. His skin was so ashen he still appeared dead, but the paramedics seemed for the moment unconcerned, or preoccupied.
Taking several deep breaths, Dreamer pulled the mask from her face to speak.
“I’m outside it now,” she whispered hoarsely.
Aidriel turned his head to look up at her, his eyes too dull to convey his wordless question.
“The… network,” Dreamer explained with a small wave of her hand at an invisible strand of spider silk, as before. “I’m outside of it now, like you. We’re tuned in to one another now, aren’t we?”
With heavy eyelids, Aidriel blinked slowly and nodded. He painfully raised one arm to motion at his own shoulder with his hand that the weight had been lifted. Dreamer leaned forward to grasp his fingers, kissing them and letting go. He managed a smile.
Mirroring him, Dreamer put her mask over her face and sat back, relaxing.
Rod and Kara stood on either side of Chester’s car when Williams and deTarlo got into the front seats.
“Where are you going?” Rod asked, leaning over to see in the window.
“The hospital.”
“Don’t do what you plan to do,” Kara tried to convince them. “We can observe the outcome, and no good shall come of it for you.”
DeTarlo laughed slightly.
“As far as we know,” she said, “neither of you can be heeded until further notice.”
Williams looked at her, surprised.
“I don’t agree with that,” he stated. “Rod has been nothing but trustworthy.”
“Only when the patient isn’t around.”
“Well, he’s not around.”
“Not at the moment. That’s why neither of you,” she now spoke to the Passers, “are coming with us. Kara, go back to Fort Wayne.”
“Did you not witness the event?” asked Kara softly.
“Go,” ordered Ana.
“Kara,” Rod said, its face telling the other spirit that it didn’t have to obey.
Without responding, Kara turned and took a step away, concealing itself from the psychologist, though Williams could watch it leaving.
“Chester,” Rod began again. “Heed our warning. I can see how you will be of continuing help to him.”
“Chet,” deTarlo said, steely. “Start the car. We need to get to the hospital before the reporters do.”
Williams resisted, his hand resting on the keys in the ignition, but not turning them.
“Chet,” deTarlo repeated, harshly. “Unless you’d prefer to go back to Denver to deal with the fire and protests, start the car.”
He looked at her, unyielding. He did want to return to Denver. That wasn’t the issue.
“Kelly Road is mine only,” he demanded. “You don’t set another foot in that building unless I say so.”
Dr. deTarlo’s eyes burned angrily, but she forced a smile.
“We’ll discuss this later.”
“No, I’m not your errand boy. You can conduct your own studies when and wherever you want. But the Bird Cage is off limits.”
“Alright,” Ana said like a long-suffering parent. “We need to leave.”
Williams started the car and shifted into drive, speeding off and leaving Rod standing alone in the street. The Passer watched them go sadly, then walked over to fall into step beside St. Cross as Todd was wheeling him to the police car.
“My friend,” Rod said softly. “Prepare for the change.”
Williams and deTarlo were still debating heatedly when they turned a corner at a stop sign, starting down a road with nothing but trees and a lake on either side. Ana was razzing Chester for choosing the longer route to Waterloo to avoid traffic. Besides a semitruck coming in the opposite direction, the street ahead appeared empty. Distracted and anxious, Ana cast a prolonged glance at the road ahead. She did not see the delayed flash of realization on Chester’s face as he stared out the windshield, his gifted eyes discerning the hazy outline of an invisible Passer.
Had he not been able to see the spirit, Chester would not have reacted the way he did. There was only a moment for the image before his eyes to register in his brain, and Williams’s subconscious mind told him he was on a collision course with a person. His hands responded instinctively, jolting the wheel to avoid hitting the humanlike form, but he overcompensated. The car swerved wildly into the other lan
e, and deTarlo screamed.
They collided head-on with a solid tree and Ana went crashing forward through the windshield, the car spinning to the side after her. The back wheel of the vehicle struck a mound of soil just short of where the psychologist had landed. For the briefest of moments, a ringing silence descended in the midst of the clunking made by the damaged engine, then the semi blared its horn, riding the brakes. It was too close to stop.
Williams was shaken but unhurt, and was lifting his head from the steering wheel airbag when the truck hit the back of the car. The smaller vehicle swung around off the road, metal shrieking. Smashing into the short guardrail on the lake side, it flipped over it and rolled down the short ledge, landing upside down on the water with enough force to crack any windows that were still intact.
Chester found himself lying on his head at an angle, the water gushing in through the hole in the windshield and surrounding him. He could feel the car sinking at a terrifying rate and struggled to loosen his seatbelt. The latch was stuck. The airbag was crowding him, hogging precious space. Twisting and pulling, Chester began to panic. The water had risen around his head and was submerging his chest. It took a lot of effort to bend far enough to get his face above the surface to gasp for air.
The groaning of the car drowned out any sound outside. He heard the sloshing of the water rushing in, and the clinking of his rings against the windows as he thrashed about. There was no noise of help coming; no audible voices.
By the time Williams got the seatbelt loose and rolled over, the water had almost entirely filled the inside of the vehicle. The passenger airbag blocked any escape through the windshield. He struggled and kicked at the side windows, yelling out wordlessly or shouting Ana’s name. Not that he thought she was still alive. It was instinct; his panicked psyche couldn’t think of anyone else to call to.
Sentinel Event Page 19
