Grant sat up straighter, engrossed in her story now. Her walls were falling away as Grant watched in fascination. This wasn’t easy for her.
‘‘After the trial, I started stealin’. I needed the money but I also wanted to strike back at the world that’d taken everyone away from me. Turns out I was pretty good at it. I’m a little older and wiser now, so I know a lot of the stuff going on in my head that got me here was unjustified. I know I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. But at least now I do it for high-enders; I won’t work for criminals. Mostly I get a lot of corporate warfare, that sort of thing. No one gets hurt, and no one suffers. Guess I do it ’cause it’s the one thing I’m good for.’’
‘‘You do it for the rush,’’ Grant clarified.
‘‘I do it for kicks, capitalist rivalry, and the American way.’’
Grant folded his arms and sat back. ‘‘Then why do you help me?’’ he repeated again.
She sighed, and when she spoke again, her words came out slowly. ‘‘I can’t put it into words. Maybe I’m seein’ something I ain’t seen since before my father passed. Maybe I feel the connection of another orphan. We both know nobody should ever feel that kind of alone. Maybe . . .’’ she hesitated, ‘‘I just like you.’’
Grant felt an urge to reach out and take her hand, but he resisted . . .
‘‘The one thing I can tell you for sure,’’ she concluded, ‘‘is that bein’ around you makes me want to be better.’’
She sat back now, keeping her gaze fixed on him. ‘‘Even Morgan doesn’t know all that,’’ she said softly.
Grant was silent for a long time. Hannah waited patiently.
‘‘I, uh . . . I’m not . . .’’ he fumbled for words when his mouth finally opened. ‘‘If you need me as some sort of bridge to your past, to reconnect with your old life, then I’m okay with that. But I don’t think you can build a relationship on that. If you want more, then it’s time to—’’ The sound of a throat clearing came from nearby. Grant turned to see Fletcher peering down on the two of them as if he’d just changed the channel to a soap opera, and couldn’t be more disgusted by it.
Hannah, meanwhile, was doing everything in her power to maintain her composure, painting a false grin on her face and blinking hard.
‘‘Morgan wants to see you right away,’’ Fletcher intoned.
‘‘Can it wait?’’ Grant asked. ‘‘We’re talking . . .’’ he explained, grasping at an easy explanation for what he was feeling.
‘‘It’s urgent,’’ Fletcher replied, indifferent to Grant’s concerns. ‘‘Marta wants to meet you.’’
Morgan massaged her temples as today’s migraine—which was actually yesterday’s migraine refusing to die—slowed her thinking as well as her pace. Grant walked alongside as she led him through the labyrinthine asylum.
‘‘I don’t suppose you speak Spanish?’’ she asked, as they navigated the book-lined halls.
‘‘No,’’ Grant replied, wondering what it must’ve been like for the patients who once called this place home.
If they hadn’t lost their minds before, this place would certainly do it . . .
‘‘No matter,’’ Morgan replied. ‘‘I’ll translate.’’
He glanced at her, thoughtful. ‘‘How many languages do you speak?’’
‘‘Three thousand, eight hundred fifty-seven. But many are dialects.’’
Grant nearly tripped over his feet.
‘‘What I do is not merely about remembering the facts that I’m exposed to,’’ she reminded him. ‘‘I have razor-sharp clarity. I memorize every single fact I encounter. Without even having to try.’’
‘‘So . . . all you’d have to do is read a foreign dictionary once, and you’ll become fluent in the entire language?’’ He began catching on.
‘‘It takes some time to learn syntax and grammar. And idioms, local colloquialisms, and pop culture references are often lost on me, so I don’t know how I’d fare if I ever visited any of those countries in person. But I can get by.’’
Grant dwelled on that a moment. ‘‘So what does this Marta do? What’s her mental thing?’’
‘‘The most peculiar I’ve ever encountered,’’ Morgan replied. ‘‘Think of the most analytical person you’ve ever known. Such a person would be capable of looking at a situation, weighing the possibilities quickly, and determining potential outcomes to various actions they might take.’’
Grant thought of Evers. ‘‘Sure, okay.’’
‘‘Imagine that kind of analytical mind magnified times ten,’’ Morgan said. ‘‘Times twenty. Possibly even one hundred.’’
‘‘So . . . what? She can predict what’s going to happen in my future?’’
‘‘Not as such,’’ Morgan replied. ‘‘She sees . . . potentialities. If she fully grasps the dynamics of a situation—and she always does, very quickly—she can determine all eventual outcomes of that situation. With remarkable accuracy.’’
Grant absorbed this. ‘‘So if meeting her is this important, why didn’t you bring me to see her before?’’
‘‘It took some . . . convincing . . . for her to agree to meet you.’’
Morgan approached the lonely door at the far end of one corner of the building. With a gentle knock, she opened it and ushered Grant inside.
‘‘This is Marta,’’ she said.
‘‘Hello,’’ Grant offered, but the elder woman did not react.
‘‘This,’’ Morgan addressed Marta, switching to Spanish, ‘‘is my friend . . .’’
Marta immediately lifted her eyes and focused on Grant. Her pupils contracted at the sight of him, and through her lips suddenly passed the words, ‘‘El Traerador.’’
Grant didn’t have to speak the language to know what phrase she’d just uttered. He exchanged a glance with Morgan, already frowning at the mention of the Bringer.
‘‘Sí,’’ Morgan replied. ‘‘He’s come to meet you.’’
The old woman studied Grant like a dead insect on a microscope slide. She didn’t strike him as unkind, yet he was never comfortable with this kind of scrutiny.
‘‘Is she going to talk, or what?’’ his eyes swiveled to Morgan.
Before she could answer, Marta made what sounded like an offhand remark to Morgan. Morgan nodded.
‘‘What’d she just say?’’ Grant asked accusingly.
‘‘She said your impatience will be your downfall.’’
He scowled.
Marta’s tone changed when she began speaking again. She sounded like a storyteller, revealing ancient wisdom with the greatest of passion.
‘‘The winds of change are blowing through these old bones,’’ Morgan translated as Marta seemed to be choosing her words carefully. ‘‘And if you have ears to hear, you will know and understand what they are trying to tell you. The very earth feels . . . different.’’
Grant swallowed. ‘‘Different how?’’
Marta continued before Morgan could relay the question. ‘‘Danger surrounds you from all sides. Yet the truth eludes you, though it has been within your grasp from the beginning. Soon you will find it impossible to ignore.’’
She said something else, which Morgan didn’t translate right away.
‘‘Are you certain?’’ Morgan asked, and Marta repeated her words precisely, the same vocal inflections.
Grant watched.
‘‘She says,’’ Morgan said, facing Grant at last, ‘‘that the choices you make will decide the fates of all.’’
Grant hesitated. ‘‘ ‘All’ of you here at the asylum?’’ he clarified.
Morgan conferred with Marta.
‘‘She will only say ‘all’,’’ said Morgan.
Marta spoke again.
‘‘Something . . .’’ Morgan translated slowly, ‘‘something unbelievable . . . is about to happen.’’
Outside the asylum, Hannah leaned back against Grant’s car. Anyone who saw her there might have assumed she was waiting for Grant to come out.<
br />
But instead, she was angrily wiping at her eyes, which were burning red. She gazed upward, searching the afternoon sky. She wiped them again, fighting the overwhelming feeling that was surging up within her.
Finally she stood up, away from the car, and retrieved her phone. She keyed in speed dial.
‘‘I’m out,’’ she said, when the person on the other end answered. ‘‘You better think long and hard before you threaten me! I did what you wanted. But my part is over. I’m out!’’
33
‘‘I don’t actually know his name . . .’’ Alex said.
Grant towered over her, angrily staring her down in front of the hospital’s main entrance. As agreed, he had met her just as the sun was descending. Her chosen hiding place was behind a grouping of shrubs.
‘‘You said you work for him!’’ Grant shouted.
‘‘Yeah,’’ Alex replied. ‘‘I didn’t say the two of us are best pals. I’ve never even met the guy. Or maybe the gal. I don’t really know which. My orders always come by carrier.’’
Grant sighed, stifling his frustrations once again. His thoughts turned back to Morgan’s subtle warning about running headlong into avoidance of how he felt. Once again, he’d been confronted by huge revelations— his father’s possible faked death, Morgan’s surprising confiding in him, Hannah’s admissions, Marta’s predictions—and yet here he was, turning to another enormous task.
But what does she expect me to do? Sit around and mope?
And stopping long enough to consider how all of this seemed to center on him, the sheer improbability of it all . . .
It was unbearable.
‘‘So . . . is this boss of yours interested in helping me as much as you are?’’
‘‘What makes you think he hasn’t already?’’ she said knowingly. ‘‘Be careful who you trust, sweetie, but be more careful who you assume your enemy is. Things are never that cut and dried.’’
‘‘Why is he manipulating all of us? What’s he after, in the end?’’
‘‘He wants to rig the game, no mistaking that. But as to what the game is exactly . . . you’d have to ask him.’’
‘‘I don’t believe you,’’ he said suspiciously. ‘‘You can’t tell me you’ve worked for him—or her—for this long and don’t know anything about him. Is he the good guy or the bad guy?’’
She nodded. ‘‘All I can give you is his title. I’ve heard it a few times, though don’t ask me how—I’m not supposed to know it. And whatever you do, don’t repeat it to anyone.’’
He waited impatiently as she took a dramatic breath.
‘‘He’s called the Keeper.’’
He almost laughed.
The Bringer. And the Keeper.
Doesn’t that sound like a happy combination?
‘‘Yeah,’’ she replied. ‘‘Now I held up my end of the bargain . . .’’
‘‘Fine,’’ he said resignedly. ‘‘Tell me where to find this person who needs my help so desperately.’’
‘‘There you go again, always assuming the worst,’’ Alex sighed, hands on hips. ‘‘Just because this guy needs your help doesn’t mean you’re going home empty-handed in this. This guy’s in seriously bad condition, but he’s in worse danger the longer he stays here. You’re going to have to find a way to get him out. And he’s going to need supplies and equipment to recover—’’
‘‘What do you mean, I’m not going home empty-handed?’’
‘‘Mosey up to Room 458 and find out.’’
Lisa stirred when she heard a nurse come in to check Daniel’s vitals. It was dusk outside, yet she was surprised to see Daniel awake again so soon. His swelling had gone down considerably in the last few days, and it was nice to see him looking more like his old self again, even with all the bandages.
She smiled at him and he offered something resembling a smile in return. But she knew that half-smile better than he realized. His mind was preoccupied.
Lisa waited until the nurse left to speak. ‘‘What are you thinking?’’
‘‘About how I asked you not to leave me here alone. But it’s been days now, and really, if something was going to happen, I think it would have by now. Please go home and get some rest. That chair can’t possibly be comfortable.’’
‘‘What are you talking about?’’ Lisa replied with a smile. ‘‘Me and this chair have bonded. We’ve been through some experiences together. I’m not going anywhere.’’
He smiled wearily at her. ‘‘Lisa, everything you’ve done for me has been wonderful. I’ve been through traumatic things before; I’ve pulled through things—well, maybe not worse than this, but still pretty bad.
Now I think it’s time to be honest. I’m not escaping from here. What comes, comes.’’
‘‘Quitter,’’ she replied, in a voice that almost made him smile.
Daniel sighed. ‘‘You know . . . even if you could get me out of here, where would you even take me? The lab has been destroyed, my home and your apartment probably aren’t secure . . .’’
‘‘I know a place,’’ she replied. When he eyed her curiously, she said defensively, ‘‘I have thought this through, you know.’’
He smiled. ‘‘You always have been the brains of the operation.’’
‘‘I can’t believe you finally figured that out!’’ She laughed out loud.
He laughed as well, but then started gasping when the laughter triggered his cracked ribs. He brought both hands up to brace his chest as he tried to catch his breath. Lisa jumped up and helped, placing his oxygen mask back over his mouth and nose until the pain subsided.
It was a while before he removed the mask and lay back on his inclined bed.
Lisa returned to her chair and shook her head at him. ‘‘This Grant Borrows person . . . What makes you so sure that he’s worth all this? Worth everything you’ve been through?’’
‘‘I have my reasons,’’ Daniel croaked. When she wouldn’t release his gaze, he added, ‘‘There are plenty of things about me you still don’t know.’’
She was about to respond when everything went black.
The power went off all over the entire hospital, but the emergency generators immediately kicked in. It wasn’t enough electricity to power everything in the building, only the essential systems. The medical equipment Daniel was hooked up to continued unabated, but the only light came from the emergency beams out in the hall.
They heard panicked screams erupt from other rooms on the floor, and nurses running around, trying to keep patients calm and making sure everyone was okay.
Once her eyes had adjusted, Lisa finally saw Daniel again. Terror had returned to his eyes, and she looked away before he saw her notice it. Instead, she took his hand in a reassuring way.
‘‘Must be a storm coming up or something,’’ she tried.
‘‘This is it, isn’t it?’’ Daniel whispered. ‘‘They’re coming for me.’’
She tried to show him a reassuring smile, but the screams were closer now. They both turned to look through the open door.
The patrolman outside was already on his feet, and he peeked inside the doorway. ‘‘Don’t leave this room,’’ he growled. ‘‘Lock the door.’’
Lisa did as commanded and then rejoined Daniel and took his hand again.
‘‘It’s okay, it’s probably nothing. Maybe a car hit a power line . . .’’ she was saying. The room was almost pitch dark, the only light now coming from the city lights outside the window.
‘‘Lisa, I ought to tell you something,’’ Daniel said gently.
Her heart pounded madly in her chest, but before he could say anymore, there was a loud crash against the door from the other side. She screamed.
They clutched each other’s hands even tighter.
Strange sounds came from outside, and they continued to watch as something else crashed into the door, and then there were grunts and kicks and blows.
A loud pop like a small explosion went off somewhere out there, a
nd there was one last violent crash against the door, before everything went silent. They heard jangling, the sound of keys.
Lisa looked at the man beside her and whispered. ‘‘Daniel, I—’’
He turned and looked at her. ‘‘You’ve never called me ‘Daniel’ before.’’
The door crashed open, and they both gasped.
The policeman slumped to the floor just inside the doorway, his body propped up against it from the outside.
Standing behind him in the doorway was a tall silhouette. A man.
He produced an empty gurney and steered it into the room.
‘‘I . . . I’m here to, uh . . . rescue you,’’ the man stated. ‘‘Apparently.’’
‘‘Sorry, who are you again?’’ Lisa asked skeptically as she ran along beside their mysterious savior, dragging Daniel’s I.V. stand.
‘‘It’s not important,’’ Grant replied, maneuvering Daniel’s gurney through the dark corridors and toward an elevator.
‘‘Power’s still out,’’ Lisa breathed. ‘‘How’s an elevator supposed to help?’’
‘‘They operate on a back-up grid, in case of emergencies,’’ Grant explained, turning around to drag the gurney onto the elevator car.
Daniel looked horrid with both legs outstretched in full casts, his right ankle still sporting the complex metallic contraption. He seemed to be worn out already from all of the excitement, but he startled when Grant pulled him over the doorsill and the gurney bumped.
‘‘Easy!’’ Lisa screeched. ‘‘He’s not a sack of potatoes!’’
Grant sighed.
‘‘How do you intend to get us out of here?’’ Daniel whispered.
‘‘No worries,’’ Grant replied. ‘‘I’ve been in tighter spots than this.’’
‘‘I feel better already,’’ Lisa muttered.
The elevator arrived and Grant allowed the adrenaline to flow, to begin to build up . . .
The lights were coming back up on the bottom floor, where there was a great deal of commotion. It was almost shoulder-to-shoulder as hospital workers kept coming out of their offices to find out what was going on.
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