Shades of Memory

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “Leftover debris, mostly,” she said. “Fake memory fragments that don’t attach anywhere and intrude on the real memories. Too many of those cause psychosis and nervous breakdowns.”

  “What’s too many?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “You. The fragments. The memories. How old everything is—pretty much everything. Now, you’d better check on your brother. The big bad wolf is threatening your house.” She winked and headed out the door.

  Gregg watched her go, lost in thought. He ran a hand over his face, trying to push away the feeling of cobwebs layering his mind.

  It didn’t work, but he hadn’t expected it to. He checked his watch. It had been around one when he’d left the diner to fetch Cass. Now it was approaching five o’clock. The countdown clock was ticking. He needed to rev up taking over Savannah’s organization.

  He stood, reaching for the phone on the table beside him. He touched a button, and it rang through to Julie, one of his assistants.

  “Do you know where my brother is?” he asked without a greeting.

  “Out back in the courtyard.”

  Gregg didn’t bother with a reply. He hung up the phone, donned a thick jacket, and headed downstairs.

  When he stepped outside, the wind struck him like a blow, making him stagger. It was cold and harsh, scraping at the skin of his face and shredding the steam of his breath. He plunged his bare hands into his jacket pockets, hunching his shoulders to help fend off the knife-edged wind from his ears.

  The house formed a U shape, with the courtyard in the middle, the open side overlooking the caldera. The building was on the south side of the Midtown shelf and surrounded by thirty acres of trees, all inside a wall made of brick, iron, and magic.

  The courtyard itself was paved in flagstone with an artful variety of fountains, planting beds, pergolas, benches, and an artificial creek running through it. Gregg kept the snow cleared all winter and often came outside for air and a chance to clear his head.

  He grimaced. Clear his head. According to Cass, that wouldn’t happen for another twenty-four to forty-eight hours. He didn’t have time to wait it out.

  Clay was nowhere to be seen, but Gregg heard a thudding sound echoing through the chill dusk. He strode across the flagstone, skirting the broad fire pit with its surrounding rock benches, and heading down the snaking center aisle. The wind continued to blow, a sharp wave of air that felt eerie and unnatural in its constancy. He paused at the railing to look out over the vista. Below, the dark shadows filled the caldera, while on the opposite side, sinking sunlight bloodied the edges of the mountains. The panorama was heartbreakingly beautiful.

  With a grunt, Gregg abandoned the view. Turning around the south side of the house, he followed the continuing thuds and Clay’s trail of footsteps in the snow. The towering evergreen trees soughed and tossed with the relentless sweep of the wind.

  He found his brother beneath a tall pine. Clay had stripped off his coat and was swinging an ax, chopping determinedly at the trunk. He’d been at it awhile, having notched out one side and begun on the opposite.

  “You aren’t going to drop that on yourself, are you?”

  Clay didn’t stop the smooth rolling motion of his arms and back. “Suicide by tree? There are easier ways.”

  “We don’t need firewood.”

  “Didn’t think we did.”

  “So you suddenly decided to become a lumberjack? Or has it been a deep and abiding dream you never told me about?”

  Clay took an extra hard swipe at the tree. The ax bit deep, and he released the handle, leaving the blade stuck in the wood. He swiped a forearm over his forehead. Sweat matted his black hair to his head. He examined his palms. A series of blisters had begun to form. “I’m getting soft.”

  “Hardly. What’s going on?”

  A sardonic smile came and left his brother’s face. “I fucked up,” he said, then changed the subject. “How are you? I saw Cass. She told me what she found.”

  “I’m a little foggy. Cass says it should clear up soon.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you done chopping? Because we’ve got some work to do and it’s damned cold out here. You might want to put your coat back on.”

  Clay reached for the ax handle, jerking it free of the tree and readying himself to swing again. “I’ll be in later.”

  “When?”

  “Later,” Clay repeated, punctuating the word with a hard swing. Woodchips flew.

  “I need you now.”

  “I go inside now and I’ll do a Wizard of Oz on the inside of your house. Knock it flat.” He yanked the ax free and cocked back for another strike.

  “And chopping down my trees will stop that?”

  “Isn’t hurting.” Swing. Crack! Chips. Yank.

  “We can’t organize from out here.”

  “Can’t organize in a tornado either.” Swing. Crack! Chips. Yank.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on? You weren’t having out-of-control issues earlier.”

  “I told you. I fucked up.” Swing. Crack! Chips. Yank. Cock. Swing. Crack!

  “This has something to do with Riley,” Gregg guessed. Clay had iron control and a will of stone—except when it came to her. Then all bets were off. “What did she do?”

  “You got wax in your ears? I fucked up.” Clay paused long enough to swipe again at the sweat rolling into his eyes.

  “Could you get more specific? I don’t really have time for twenty questions.”

  Clay stiffened and looked up as he rested the ax head against the ground. He bit hard into his lower lip. Wind swirled hard around them both and then swept up and tight like a cocked fist. A moment of silent stillness, the air pulled taut as a bowstring. It snapped loose and rushed past Gregg, hitting the pine like a god-sized sledgehammer. A loud crack ruptured the silence. Wood chips exploded like shrapnel, and what was left of the tree leaped a good thirty feet before crashing to the ground, taking with it other tree limbs and saplings.

  The wind collected again. Clay’s face twisted, and he snarled with effort, thrusting the handle of the ax away from him. Before Gregg could say anything, wind slammed against a cluster of trees, snapping them off and sending the tops flying in a hail of wood chunks.

  “I suppose it’s less effort than using the ax,” Gregg observed, trying not to feel nervous. “You’re starting to be able to target it.”

  “Right. Like aiming an ocean at a snail.”

  “Nobody learns to ride a bike on their first try.”

  “Nobody slaughters innocent people with bikes.”

  “Neither will you.”

  “But I could.”

  Gregg snorted. “I don’t think so.”

  Clay bent and picked up the ax. “Chopping helps me concentrate and keep my shit together. You’re distracting me.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with Riley so we can fix it and get to work. We’re burning daylight.” He glanced up. The light had turned more gray than not. The days were getting longer, but they were still short.

  “I’m—” Clay paused, then faced his brother, his face losing all expression. “I’m not going to be able to help you.”

  Gregg frowned. “Because of your talent? We’ll figure out how to work around it until you get control. What?”

  Clay had begun shaking his head before Gregg finished his first sentence.

  “Because you’re working with Vernon, and because Tyrell is interested in the Kensington artifacts, and by extension, Riley. She wants to make sure she can protect herself and her family. She’s taking a shot at Savannah’s organization.”

  It took Gregg a few seconds to process that information. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d be doing the same in her posi
tion, doomed as her effort was. He chuckled and shook his head. “She’ll fail. Anyway, I’ve already told her I’ll protect her.”

  “She doesn’t believe it. She’s not willing to put her fate or her family’s fate in your hands.”

  Gregg’s amusement drained away. “And you’re going to help her.” He couldn’t help his feeling of betrayal and fury at both Riley and Clay. Her for coming between them, his brother for letting it happen. He spit on the ground, but it didn’t take away the bad taste in his mouth. “Guess blood isn’t as thick as they say,” he drawled. “Why are you even still here wasting my time?”

  Clay just looked at him. “Because you deserve to hear it directly from me, and because I don’t know where she is. I may have broken it off with her.”

  Gregg just blinked, torn between curiosity and angry resentment. Curiosity won. “May have broken it off with her?” he repeated. “You’re walking out on me for a woman you broke up with.” He shook his head. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”

  Clay smiled self-mockingly. The wind around them spun dagger sharp. Gregg pulled up his coat collar and dug his hands deep into the pockets. It didn’t stop the cold from biting through his jeans.

  “She planned to keep me in the dark. She didn’t want to make me choose between the two of you, so she figured what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me. I got it out of her, and then got pissed and told her to call me if she decided she wanted me to be in her life. After that, I hung up. That was somewhere around an hour and a half ago. I haven’t heard a word.”

  He reached for the ax, picking it up and looking around for another tree. “So now that I’ve notified you, I’m waiting and hoping to hell she hasn’t given up on me.”

  “Why don’t you just call her? Or better yet, go find her?”

  “I tried to call. She didn’t answer. And I don’t know where she is.”

  “Then go ask her friend—Patti—the one who owns the diner. She’ll know if anybody does.”

  “She won’t tell me anything that Riley doesn’t want me to know. Those two are as tightly bound as a virgin to her chastity belt.”

  “So that’s it? You’re just going to wait around, chopping down my trees?” Gregg spat again. “Sitting with your thumb up your ass isn’t usually your style. But if that’s your plan, the least you could do is be useful.”

  Clay readied himself to swing the ax. “I don’t want to know your plans. I’ll have to tell Riley. Bad enough I’m choosing her side. I’m not going to spy on you, too.”

  Gregg watched as Clay began chopping again. He made himself set aside his anger and betrayal. Losing his brother’s help in this mess was annoying, but it didn’t cripple him. He could still get the job done. He didn’t want to do it without Clay, but he could. Riley? She was going to be putting herself at serious risk and for nothing. She’d never succeed, and would probably get herself killed trying.

  The fact was that Clay loved her. Totally and blindly. If she managed to get herself killed, it would gut him, especially if he let her undertake this stupidity by herself. Gregg was capable, with seriously deep pockets now that he had Tyrell and Vernon backing him. He also knew what he was doing. She was going to get eaten alive.

  Anyhow, being on different sides in this wasn’t going to hurt his relationship with Clay, not if he didn’t let it. Their bond was strong enough to weather this and a lot worse. They’d been on opposite sides before, with Clay being a cop. This would be the same.

  “Better go find her,” he said. “You don’t want to wait for a call.” One that might not come. He kept that to himself. Didn’t matter anyway. Clay needed to be at Riley’s side. “You were a cop. You know how to hunt down people who don’t want to be found. Go do your thing before you knock down all my trees.”

  Clay stopped, his back rigid. Finally, he turned around, leaning the ax handle against the tree and picking up his coat.

  “We’re good?”

  “Always.”

  Clay nodded, then pulled Gregg into a hard hug, thumping his back with an affectionate fist. Clay pushed back and quirked a pained smile. “See you when I see you. Watch your six.”

  “Back at you. And keep everybody safe. That family is a giant pain in the ass, but I like them. Even Leo.”

  “I’ll be sure to send him your love.”

  Gregg laughed and headed back to the house. Clay set off in the other direction, out of the trees and around front to find a car. Gregg kept a small fleet with the keys inside.

  MIDNIGHT CAME before Gregg found his bed. He stripped and showered, brushing his teeth under the hot spray, and then tumbled onto the mattress with a groan. The last hours had been grueling, like getting pecked by rabid ostriches while a proctologist jammed a hand up his ass. But things were in motion.

  Savannah had compartmentalized her organization, with a CEO for each section, all of them reporting directly to her. It would have been simplest to just get them to offer him their loyalty and transfer ownership that way. But simple didn’t equal easy. Those CEOs, Savannah’s top lieutenants, all wanted to rule the roost. They’d be scrabbling to take over. If they hadn’t gone to war with each other yet, they soon would.

  Gregg planned to take advantage of the confusion. He had techs working to disrupt the money flow. Without the lubricant of money, the wheels of their separate franchises would seize up. No one worked for free, and while they could strong-arm some support, that wouldn’t get them far. Not with Gregg ready to sweep in with all the man power and funds he needed to buy every last soul in the city. Between the carrot of money and the stick of bloodshed, he’d take Savannah’s organization by Tyrell’s three-day deadline. The toughest part would be rounding up her seven lieutenants. Getting rid of them fast would definitely help things.

  He stared up into the darkness. It all seemed too easy. He and Savannah had been fighting for supremacy in Diamond City for years. She often had the upper hand, with more money and a better network of informants permeating every level of government, law enforcement, and private business. He had better ideas—more creative—and took nothing for granted. Theirs had been a war of bites, each gnawing away from the other. With Savannah gone, however, her organization was a snake without a head, flopping wildly with little purpose, and perfectly situated for a hostile takeover.

  He considered Riley. How did she think she was going to take over Savannah’s operation? Walk in and ask? Not that she wasn’t smart and resourceful. She and her family had taken down the FBI building where Clay had been held. They’d been tough. But this? Ridiculous. Hopefully Clay would talk some sense into her, get her to sit this one out until the dust settled.

  Dismissing thoughts of Riley, he returned to his own plans. He’d called Tyrell for no apparent reason, pretending to be driven by the planted impulse Cass had removed from his brain. He’d also let Randall and Bruno in when they’d finally arrived at the gates, though he’d kept them as far on the periphery of his plans has he dared.

  The mental fog had started lifting, and he remembered most of what had happened when Tyrell had taken him. The dreamer who’d fucked with his head had been a woman—older, with a long, crooked nose and frowsy gray hair. She’d sniffed a lot, he remembered, and her fingers had been cold and bony as she laid them across his forehead.

  Gregg shuddered at the memory, hate and fear rolling back over him like ocean waves. The wound on his wrist had come when he’d tried to fend her off. He’d sliced himself on the medical table he’d been strapped to after freeing his arm. Because he’d been wearing his coat, Tyrell hadn’t noticed. He smiled. He’d been able to punch the dreamer bitch before he was immobilized again. Served her right.

  If not for the dumb luck of cutting himself, he might never have known Tyrell had fucked with his brain. The idea revolted him. He needed to figure out some surefire way to warn himself if he ended u
p in that situation again. Something he could wear on his body or maybe a tattoo spell.

  He was barely aware of the tickling sensation at first. Deep down in his brain, an itch he couldn’t scratch. Gregg shook his head to clear the feeling, but it only increased. Now it uncurled itself like a spider, legs stretching outward, extending into his brain.

  Gregg sat up, grabbing for his phone. Cass. His hand spasmed open. The phone fell. He reached for it but stopped halfway, then folded both hands in his lap, staring straight ahead.

  Muscles twitched and jerked as the spider took control of his mind. It wriggled and settled itself. Threads spun from it, weaving through his brain. Trapped in his own body, Gregg didn’t move. His heart raced, and then suddenly slowed as forced calm settled over him. His jaw relaxed, and he lay back down. His eyes closed.

  The web continued to build inside his skull. His mouth opened and closed. He touched his right index finger to his nose and then his ear. He cupped his balls. Something itched along his side. It grew in intensity, and though underneath the controlling web his consciousness twisted and clawed, he remained still. At last the itching died.

  He got to his feet and walked around the room, picking up a lamp, a cup, a picture, a statue. Each time he grew more fluid, the movements growing more natural as his body responded with increasing speed to the commands from his colonized mind.

  He jogged in place, then dropped and performed six push-ups. Up on his feet and spin, then squat and a somersault. Back on his feet, Gregg began to speak, slowly at first, a little slurred.

  “What time is it? Where is the bathroom? How much does it cost? Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. She sells seashells by the seashore. The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.”

  Gregg’s tongue grew nimble, the words turning quick and crisp. He walked to the mirror, looking at himself. His chest and feet were bare, black flannel pajama pants tied loosely around his hips.

  “I own you now, puppet,” he said, meeting his own dark gaze in the silver glass. “There’s nothing you know that I don’t. Nothing you can stop me from doing. Don’t worry. We’re going to take down Tyrell. I’ve been after him a long time. You did well getting rid of your brother. That will make things go easier. What’s that? You plan to fight me with everything you’ve got?”