by C. J. Lyons
“West Virginia,” Grey grinned as he typed, “best place in the entire country for body disposal.”
“I disagree,” Tyrone countered. “Everglades.”
“No, no. Some buffoon kills the wrong alligator and finds body parts inside? But that slurry pond at the mine in West Virginia? We didn’t even need to weigh them down, sucked them right in like quicksand. Acid had them dissolved to nothing before we made it out of the state.”
“Why kill them at all?” Ryder asked.
“We have to,” Tyrone said in a tone that sounded as if Ryder was the one being unreasonable. What did he expect from two homicidal psychopaths? “Can you imagine the risk if they died under uncontrolled circumstances and some hillbilly doctor did the autopsy? Even if the experiment failed, those brains in the wrong hands—”
“Because of the prions, right? That’s how it spreads, through brain tissue. Like mad cow disease.”
“Or by being born into the right family.” He and Grey exchanged a glance at that. “Our job is to prevent any prions from escaping our control.”
“Who are you, the prion police? Do you know who infected the children with fatal insomnia?”
Neither man answered Ryder. Instead, Tyrone moved to peer over Grey’s shoulder at the computer. “Any luck tracking Devon Price?”
“Not yet. Number’s a burner, untraceable. Ideas?”
Ryder needed to distract them. If they found Price, they’d find Rossi, and it was clear that was their true agenda. He wished he understood why. “Tommaso Lazaretto? He was working with you? Or against you?” More silence. “What if I told you where to find him?”
That got their attention, Grey’s more than Tyrone’s. “What do you know?”
Ryder stuck to the truth—or rather, a well-educated guess. He wasn’t certain of the reality. Devon Price never told him everything. Best way to preserve their quasi-friendship. “He’s at Good Samaritan Medical Center.”
He left out the small part where Lazaretto was already dead.
Chapter 27
FLYNN AND LOUISE both stared at me. Flynn was the first to react, no surprise. “What did you say her name was? Francesca Lazaretto? Let me see what I can find out.” And she was gone.
I climbed to my feet, more than weary or exhausted, feeling as if my limbs were ready to dissolve into puddles, taking me down with them.
“I’m going to clean up,” I told Louise, heading for the bathroom.
“Leave the cap on. I want to keep monitoring your EEG, especially if you have another fugue.”
The wireless brain readings would go directly to her tablet, but I hated the thought of wearing the cap. It was tight and tugged at my hair and itched. My expression must have said it all, because Louise sighed with one of her “you’re acting like my toddler” sighs and grabbed a knit cap from the sleeve of a parka draped on one of the chairs.
It was black and bore the Steelers’ logo. “Devon’s idea of a disguise when he snuck me into his car,” she said, gesturing to the oversize parka.
“Wish I had a picture to send Geoff and Tiffi,” I said, a smile forcing its way past my exhaustion.
Louise shuddered. “Don’t you dare.” And she wondered where little Tiffany got her fashionista attitude.
I pulled the cap over the wireless EEG monitor. “How’s it look?” I turned to the mirror to answer my own question. The cap actually covered the ugly electrodes and their wire mesh filaments. Made me look normal—except for the purple bruises sagging beneath my eyes and my pale, cavernous cheeks. Too bad it wasn’t Halloween, I could easily have passed as undead.
I washed my face and patted the sweat from my body using one of Daniel’s ultra-fluffy towels. Poor Patsy. All those years, the distance between us...now I understood. How agonizing it must have been, losing the love of her life, raising his child by another woman, always fearful that her real mother would someday come steal her away.
It explained so much. But none of it was helpful. I still needed more answers. Answers Daniel didn’t have—but Leo might.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Louise was turning off Daniel’s monitors. “He’s gone.” She gently folded his hands together. We stared down at the man. He looked more peaceful in death than he ever had in life.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, touching my arm. “He was almost gone even before you—”
“I know.” I spun away and headed to the door. Louise followed.
Flynn waited for us downstairs in the study where she was attacking a laptop and talking on the phone with at least one other person. “Let me know when you find anything,” she said when she caught sight of us, and hung up. “You sure this woman is your mother?”
“That’s what Daniel said.” I hung on to the rest of what he’d said—about me being the source of the infectious fatal insomnia. It made no sense, and I needed time to process.
Flynn frowned. “I found Francesca Lazaretto. Age fifty-seven. Vice president of research and development at Almanac Care.”
“Then she’s our woman,” Louise said, her voice jumping with excitement.
“Only problem is I can’t find any record of her ever giving birth. Not to Tommaso. And certainly not to you.”
“Why would Daniel lie about something like that?” Louise asked.
“He wouldn’t,” I answered, a few of Daniel’s veiled hints becoming clear. “The Lazarettos like to keep their private business private. Especially if they’re conducting unauthorized human genetic research.”
“Or research on biothreats like prions,” Flynn added. “What else did Daniel say?”
I was silent until we left the house and were crossing through the gate leading to the street. “He said my father was also a member of the Lazaretto family.”
Louise made a face at that. “Seriously? As in your biological parents were related?”
I told them what little Daniel had told me about the strange clan and their centuries-old history with prion disease. “He said Francesca was a scientist, determined to take control of the Scourge—their name for fatal insomnia. She harvested and artificially inseminated her own eggs, combining them with sperm from other members of the family with specific genetic mutations. He made it sound like the family used anyone with the fatal insomnia gene as test subjects. Said both she and my father had fatal insomnia, and when my father heard what she’d done, that he had a child, he rebelled and stole me from the family.”
We crossed into the park. The streetlights were spaced so far apart that we moved in virtual darkness—not that there was anyone around to see us. Flynn laughed as she unlocked the shed that camouflaged the tunnel entrance. “Sounds like a telenovela, not reality. Maybe Daniel’s brain was more damaged than we realized.”
“No,” Louise said. “Actually, it makes sense. If their form of fatal insomnia produced individuals with the same...” She hesitated, searching for the right word.
“Gift,” I supplied. “Daniel said they called the children who can access memories like I do Vessels. Treated them like they were royalty.”
“That I get,” Flynn said. “Since they’re the way the family built its wealth and power. So, they started experimenting on their own family, inbreeding and crossbreeding, trying to create more of these Vessels?”
“Such a waste.” Louise’s disapproval was clear from her tone. We moved down the narrow staircase into the tunnels, Flynn locking the doors behind us. “They could have easily eradicated the fatal insomnia gene from their family generations ago.”
“They didn’t want to,” I said. “To them it was their ultimate secret weapon. Until Francesca came along and decided to do nature one better by creating a form of fatal insomnia they could use to infect people outside of their family and harvest more of these Vessels to use to do their dirty work.”
I sucked in my breath, hating the metallic taste of the tunnel’s recycled air. We hadn’t spent more than five minutes below the surface and already I was starving for fresh air. “And now
they’ve hit the jackpot.”
“That’s why they want you. To be their new Vessel.” Louise’s voice was grave, and she reached for my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.
“But if Angie inherited her fatal insomnia, how did the kids get it?” Flynn, as always, cut to the heart of the matter. “We need to know how it spreads before we can stop it.”
I had no answer for her, but Louise did. “While you were inside Daniel, Devon called. He found some of Tommaso’s research that indicated he was working with Leo not just on the PXA but also on infecting Leo’s victims with prion disease. Sounds like their research had been going on for a year or more.”
Research? The kidnapping and torture of innocent women? But it explained what had happened to Leo’s earliest victims—the ones who’d never been found.
“Even a year is still too little time,” I argued. “Prion diseases take much longer to develop before symptoms start.” The children and I had only had symptoms for a few months, although our symptoms were progressing much faster than they should.
“We’ve only been working on this for less than a day,” Louise said. “You can’t expect us to have the answers so quickly.”
“Those kids need answers. Now,” Flynn put in.
I stopped. The others turned to me. I had to tell them the truth. “Daniel said I’m the one who gave the kids fatal insomnia.”
Saying the words made me feel clammy and chilled—more than fear, guilt. The knowledge that I’d somehow been the cause of so much pain and was helpless to do anything about it.
Flynn was the first to recover from the shock of my words. “How? Not like you’d ever met any of these kids before they had symptoms, right, doc? Just like you never met Leo or Tommaso before they began infecting Leo’s victims.”
“I don’t know. But how can I face them?” I asked, despair darkening my tone. “Knowing I’m the reason why they’re sick?”
Neither of them had an answer. We trudged on through the dark tunnel, each step weighing on me like a shroud. I thought back through everything Daniel had told me—and realized what was more important than his ambiguous words with their slippery meanings was the way he’d been able to access specific memories.
The PXA reversal formula. Daniel wasn’t a chemist. He’d never have known the exact formula. He must have retrieved it from Leo’s memories—buried inside the jumble inside my head. And he’d been able to do it almost effortlessly. Why? How?
Because he wasn’t the coward I was, refusing to face the truth.
It wasn’t Daniel’s memories I needed to steal: It was Leo’s. Which meant I had to break past the fear of living through the horrors he’d performed and learn how to take the knowledge I needed to save the kids. The irony was not lost on me: In many ways, that was exactly what Leo had done with the victims he’d tortured.
Despite the fact that I was trying to help save lives, not take them, I really wasn’t any better than he was. Not the way I’d trespassed into Daniel’s mind, not the way I was willing to play voyeur to a sadistic killer in order to dig out the memories that would help me.
“I know what I need to do,” I told them, trying and failing to keep my fear from squeaking through my voice. “I need to access Leo’s memories. Learn exactly what he was doing with Tommaso.”
“How are you going to do that?” Flynn asked.
“A dose of PXA. High enough to induce a fugue.”
“No,” Louise said. “You’re not strong enough. Besides, you have no control over when your fugues hit.”
“I read a case study of a man with fatal insomnia using a sensory-deprivation tank to induce a fugue state without the physiological side effects.”
She shook her head. “Too risky. Besides, where are we going to find a sensory-deprivation tank on Christmas night?”
“We have four of them already,” Flynn answered. “I found them when I found the EEG sensors and the other medical equipment.”
Louise and I exchanged glances. “Daniel,” I answered her unspoken question. “He was preparing in case the prions got loose. Or in case Francesca double-crossed him and tried to use them against him.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Louise was adamant. “You’re in no state—”
“Neither are those kids,” I told her.
“Angie, it’s too dangerous.”
I stalked down the dark tunnel, leaving them a few steps behind. Finally, my anger trumped my fear. It felt good—like when dealing with a trauma in the ER and I transformed my natural flight-or-fight adrenaline rush into pure focus. “Louise, go check on the kids. Flynn, take me to the tanks. We’re getting answers.”
Even if it killed me.
Chapter 28
THERE HAD BEEN many times in his life when Devon had felt fear. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact. His fear was a weapon, gave him an edge. Fear allowed him to focus on what was essential, without worrying about cost or consequences.
Fear had kept him alive.
But now, Tommaso’s words echoing through his mind, he wasn’t only afraid; for the first time that he could remember, he was truly frightened.
Definitely not as useful as fear. Too vague, amorphous, too many possible worst-case outcomes...including Esme dying.
Devon did not like this new feeling. It didn’t give him direction, a path to victory that no one else dared to follow. Instead, it left him feeling queasy and anxious and uncertain. More emotions he was unfamiliar with.
His fingers mechanically finished uploading all of Tommaso’s files to the secure cloud account he’d set up for himself, Louise, and Angela. Once the machine had done its work, he gathered all of Tommaso’s materials back into the box, called to Ozzie, and left. He was torn between wanting to take his new information to Louise and needing to see Esme.
He gave in to need.
Usually, when Devon prowled his newly inherited underground complex, he made mental notes of locations, strategic improvements, repairs calling for attention. Not this trip. This time he found himself jogging, an unseen specter at his back urging him on. Ozzie felt it as well, springing ahead, pulling his lead taut, the low-level red lighting and hollow echoes of their footsteps enhancing the feeling of dread.
When they arrived at the makeshift dormitory, Devon had hoped to find Esme still asleep—right now, sleep was the best medicine Louise had to offer her and the other children. But to his dismay, Esme and most of the others were awake, despite the fact that their parents were all nodding off, exhausted.
He bent and removed Ozzie’s lead. The children had gathered in a corner of the room and cheered when they spotted the dog. Veronica had done a good job of creating a play area. Someone had set up a computer, and an animated film was playing, keeping the majority of the group occupied. Others colored or read books, a few bobbed their heads in time to music, several were playing jacks, but a few simply stared into space, eyes vacant and unblinking.
Fugue states. Devon recognized them from his experience with Angela. The adults watching over the children hovered, despair at their helplessness evident on their faces as they watched the children simply vanish into their own minds, prisoners of their catatonic bodies.
Even more heartbreaking was how the children took it all in stride. When one girl abruptly froze in place, another simply eased the ball from her lifeless fingers and took her turn. A boy watching the movie shook himself free of a fugue, and the others paused the film, catching him up on what he missed before resuming it.
As if this was all normal. Living like rats below ground, not sleeping, their bodies betraying them as their minds slowly surrendered to the prions attacking them.
Devon wanted to scream in frustration. From the looks on the other adults’ faces, he wasn’t the only one.
Maybe, finally, thanks to Tommaso, they could do something about saving their children.
All he needed was to find Patient Zero and trade him for the cure.
“Sir, sir.” Esme ran up to him and tapped his arm before politel
y taking a step back. He’d been out of her life for so many years that neither of them knew what tone to take with the other. Esme had chosen distant respect for an elder mixed with informal acceptance and affection.
Still, it broke Devon’s heart every time she didn’t call him Daddy. He hid his pain by swooping her up into his arms, releasing a gleeful giggle from her. “What can I do for you? Do you need your socks braided? Your fingernails nibbled?”
“No, silly.” She was ten. Desperate to regain lost years, he treated her as if she was younger, but she was a good sport, going along with his masquerade of parental intimacy. “You don’t braid socks, you braid hair. And I like my fingernails unnibbled, thank you very much.”
“Okay, then.” He set her feet on the ground and crouched down so their eyes were level. “What do you need?”
She shuffled her feet and looked down at them, frowning as if worried she might be in trouble. “It’s Randolph. He won’t wake up to play with us and,” she glanced over both shoulders and lowered her voice, “he wet his pants.”
Damn fugue. God, how he hated that word, so foreign to him until recently. More than a seizure, a fugue froze the body while it sped up the body’s metabolism as well as all brain functions. When Angela had her fugues, her senses became almost superhuman, as did her memory and ability to process information. Of course, the fugues had also almost killed her several times—from dehydration, heat stroke, and the sheer vulnerability of being frozen and powerless to protect herself.
“That’s okay,” he assured Esme, taking her hand. “Let’s get him all cleaned up and back to bed.”
She led him back to the corner the children had appropriated. Randolph stood at the foot of a chalked hopscotch game, legs planted as if ready to jump, arms outstretched. Tremors shook his strained muscles as he stared, unblinking, not reacting to the wet spot spreading over his corduroy pants.
