“All they do at night is laugh and talk on their cell phones . . .” Emily noticed the concern on her niece’s face. “Why are you here, Amanda?” Her voice became serious, her frustration over petty matters forgotten.
“I’m going back to Colorado Springs.”
“Why?” Emily asked sharply.
“Greg called me a little over a week ago.” Amanda hesitated; Emily knew about her infection and some of the subsequent events, but she didn’t know everything. Amanda had hidden the most important consequence of her infection because she didn’t know how Emily would react. “I’m fairly certain that a version of the virus that I contracted in Honduras has found its way to Colorado Springs.” The one thing Amanda did know about Emily was that she was an excellent intellectual sounding board; she would examine Amanda‘s reasoning and logic and dispassionately pass judgment.
“The flu that everyone is talking about; don’t we have a health department to deal with that?” Emily studied Amanda. ”Are you planning on turning yourself in? Are you going to sacrifice your freedom to help them? Or is it that you are responsible?”
“I’m not responsible, and I’m not really sure what I’m going to do.” Amanda said weakly.
“Then why are you going?” Emily waited for an answer, but only silence filled the room. “Amanda, we’ve never discussed this because you’ve never wanted to, but now the time has come when we have to. Something happened to you in Honduras; when you came back, you were a different person. I can only imagine what you went through down there, but it doesn’t explain everything. It doesn’t explain what you’ve become.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Amanda began to fidget with the straps of her purse.
“I think I have a right to know,” Emily said firmly.
Four years after her father died, Amanda’s mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She didn’t put up much of a fight—it wasn’t her style—and mercifully the end came quickly. Amanda was thirteen; her brother William was turning eighteen, on his way to college, and didn’t require a guardian. Amanda was shipped off to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where she would become the burden of her only surviving relative.
Amanda met her Aunt Emily for the first time at her mother’s grave site. Her world had been turned inside out. Her mother was gone; her brother was gone; the three-bedroom apartment that she had called home for three years was gone. Even her bed was gone, sold to some stranger for fiftyfive dollars. All that she had in the world fit into two small suitcases, and, with the exception of her older brother, no one in the world cared. She was nothing more than a “disposition issue,” as one social worker had phrased it. Aunt Emily’s disposition issue, to be exact.
“They wanted to put you into foster care, and I’ll admit I thought long and hard about it,” Emily said as the pair left the grave site. “After all, what’s the difference if you live with a family you’ve never met or an aunt you don’t know? If there had been a reasonable chance of you being adopted, I would have left you here. At least you’d still be close to your brother and friends, but no one adopts thirteen-year-old girls, at least not for the right reasons. So, I guess we’re stuck with each other.” Emily made no attempt at hiding her emotions from her new charge. “I’m not your mother, God rest her soul, and I’m nothing like your father. He may have been my brother, but the man never worked a hard day in his life, and it showed in what he made of himself. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but you are half him, and if you think you’ll skate by on good looks alone, you’re in for a rude awakening. Only with an education can you hope to escape your family’s legacy of unrealized potential. They don’t give scholarships for being pretty.”
Her Aunt’s ground rules clearly established, Amanda was ushered into the car by large rough hands; before the door closed, she waved to her brother; tears streamed down both their cheeks.
“Do you think that was the most appropriate way of introducing yourself?” Amanda challenged her Aunt as the car pulled away.
“I make no apologies for how I communicate,” returned Emily.
“It’s unworthy for an educated person to speak with complete disregard for another’s emotional state. It’s an abdication of personal responsibility,” Amanda fired back, her grief now being focused into anger.
“Impressive. Do you actually know what you said, or are you simply mouthing someone else’s words?”
“I’ve been able to read since I was three, and had independent thoughts before that.”
“I must remember that,” Emily said while breaking out into a smile of respect.
“So tell me about yourself; what should I know about you?”
“I’m an orphan,” Amanda answered, managing to be both sullen and defiant at the same time.
“You do have a right to know. I’m just not sure you want to know,” an older Amanda said to her aunt.
“I do want to know. I’m not a very emotional person . . .” Emily’s eyes began to tear.
Amanda smiled again. “You told me that the first day we met.”
“There’s some salt on that table, if you’d care to rub it into the wound.” Emily dabbed at her eyes and smiled back at Amanda. “God, I was such an ass that day. If I had bothered to spend five minutes talking to you, I would have realized that you were not the self-absorbed, lazy thirteen-year-old girl I had expected.”
“You’re different now.” It had been nearly twenty-five years, but the memory was still fresh. “I’m still an orphan, only a different kind,” Amanda finally said. “The infection did change me, and probably not for the better.”
“Greg told me what you’ve done. Seven people?” Emily’s voice betrayed her conflicting emotions.
“It was more than that.” She waited for a trace of guilt or shame, but those emotions had disappeared long ago. ”I can do things that others can’t. I can feel your horror, and revulsion, but also your love and understanding. I can put names on the things that you’re feeling even when you can’t.”
Emily stared back at her niece, bewildered.
“No, it’s not a mental illness; and no, it’s not related to the terrible things that have happened to me.”
“So you can read thoughts as well?” Emily asked tentatively.
“Yes, and a good deal more.” Amanda paused for a second to allow Emily to compose herself. “I was a little unstable when I first changed; actually I was beyond a little unstable. I became convinced of my infallibility and that I had been given the responsibility and the authority to dispense justice. I’m still struggling with it now.”
“That helps to explain the last six years of isolation,” Emily said.
“I’ve been torn down the middle; a part of me wants to go back to the way I once was, to feel again. But the other part wants to embrace who I’ve become and live beyond the restraints of society.” She avoided her Aunt’s eyes. ”Maybe I’m just tired of always trying to do the right thing.”
“I can see why you kept this a secret. Society can’t tolerate your existence.” Emily stared at Amanda. “You’re in a very dangerous place.” Two long minutes passed before Emily spoke again. “You’re hoping that by going back to Colorado Springs you will find redemption? To save the day and balance the scales?” She phrased it as a question, but it was more of a statement.
“Not redemption, I need resolution. I have no remorse about what I’ve done, but I can’t live this half-life anymore. I’m not even sure I care about those who are going to die; this is about me, not them.”
“I don’t believe that; otherwise you wouldn’t be here. If this was entirely about you, and you truly had no concern for those who could die, there would be no debate, you would have already made a decision, and you would be lost to me and everyone who cares about you.” Another minute passed. “Life isn’t fair; you more than anyone should know that. You have been hurt so many times I’m surprised that you can get yourself out of bed each morning, but you do, and because you do, it is your responsibility not to turn your pain into an
ger.” Emily began to cough, and it took her another minute before she could continue. “Anyways, how do you know that Greg is even right about this? Maybe it’s entirely unrelated to what happened to you.”
“He is right,” Amanda said quickly.
“Look at this logically, Amanda. Your virus killed hundreds of people, and that’s just not happening now.”
“No, they aren’t dying—at least not yet. Someone has changed the virus.”
“Amanda, this sounds a little fantastic and more than a little irrational. There are other more reasonable explanations. Or is this another thing that you . . . can do?”
“There are no other possibilities; someone is purposefully spreading this new virus. He is close enough that I can almost feel his mind, and I know that he is aware of mine.”
“I see.” Emily began to fidget with her gown. “So you are going there to find this person.”
“I’m going to get some answers,” Amanda said.
“And once you have those answers, will you stop him or help him?”
“I won’t help him,” she said flatly.
“But will you stop him?” Emily countered.
“I’ve already tried. I contacted the CDC this morning and they ignored me. I’m done trying to help”
“You’re done! I won’t accept that from you, Amanda, and you can’t accept that from yourself. You may have been changed, but not to the degree that you’ve grown comfortable lying to yourself. If you’re going to claim that you’ve tried to stop him, then really try to stop him. Go to Colorado Springs, get your answers, and then if you have to, kill this bastard in the most painful manner possible. Then make a decision as to how you’re going to restart your life.” Emily’s face was bright red and spittle flew from her lips.
Amanda waited for her aunt to calm down. “Maybe you haven’t changed.”
“There’s no reason to change when you’re always right. So what are you going to do?”
“What I have to.”
Rodney Patton did not need this; he did not need this at all. He watched Phil Rucker walk out the Van Ders’ back door, and all he could do was shake his head. Of course, he had heard all about Rucker before this morning, but even those estimations fell well short of the mark. Rucker really did live on another planet, one without the realities of this one.
A uniformed officer eased into his view and waited for Patton to compose himself.
“What is it?” Patton said gruffly.
“We’re done with the scene; nothing much to report, except for some footprints that lead out to the road. We’re having some trouble getting a casting . . .” He spoke slowly, hoping Patton would take the hint.
“Castings in snow,” Patton said bitterly. This job was not turning out to be what he had been promised. Over a year ago, the Colorado Springs chief of police had personally recruited him out of the Baltimore Special Homicide Unit. That unit had been his life for eleven years, and he had been its chief for seven of them. He had hated to leave, but the success he had achieved, and the pride he felt, was easily overshadowed by the pain of the familiar surroundings. He saw his wife, Connie, everywhere. Each time his desk phone rang, he expected to hear her voice; every time he reached for his car keys to go home, he remembered the thousands of nights he had taken solace in the fact that no matter how bad work got, he would sleep next to a woman he loved. He felt her presence in the grocery stores, the dry cleaners, and the gas stations. He never realized how much of their life had become routine, or how special that routine really was, until he had tried to live without her.
Connie had fought breast cancer for four long, hard years, and he had balanced work with helping her through biopsies, radiation therapies, chemotherapies, and surgeries. His unit deserved more loyalty than he had shown them. They supported him through all of it, but after she died, he saw her in them, and that was just too much to take. He should have retired like he had planned, maybe written a book. Lord knows he had enough material to write about, but his chief knew the Colorado Springs chief, and before he knew it, he was moving to Colorado. A change of scenery seemed a reasonable alternative to premature, boredom-induced senility. He was only fifty-eight, and a thirty-two-year veteran of some of the meanest streets in America. He had earned a change of pace, but maybe not yet a gold retirement watch. Only the sleepy little town of Colorado Springs had chosen this moment in time to come apart at the seams.
“Don’t bother with trying to cast footprints. It doesn’t work, despite what the book tells you. Take photos with a ruler.” He ratcheted down his frustration. It wasn’t their fault that they didn’t have the necessary experience. “Is there a bullet out for the Taurus the witness described?”
The uniformed cop stared blankly at Patton. “A what, sir?”
“Sorry, old habits—an APB. I doubt there are many vehicles out now. Maybe we’ll catch a well-deserved break.”
“Already done, but our patrols were limited by dispatch this morning. It seems that everyone is out with the flu. We’ve got the main streets covered, but not a lot else.” He spoke in his most professional voice.
Patton guessed that the officer was in his early twenties and anxious to please. “What’s your take on this, Officer Yaeger?”
“You mean the body, sir? I think Mr. Van Der died of natural causes. There are no signs of a struggle. No marks on the body. No real motive. I don’t think we’re going to find much here.” Yaeger was excited that the new chief of detectives had asked for his opinion; it would make for a good story back in the precinct.
“What about the witness’s account of a man standing over the body?” It was strange, but Patton was starting to see things a little from Rucker’s point of view. What were the odds that someone had driven by just at the instant that Van Der fell over? Especially on a morning like this. And then, after stopping to help, why did he calmly walk away when Rucker showed up? Good Samaritans didn’t do things like that. His brain began to itch, a sure sign that he was missing something.
“I’m sure it was someone stopping by to help,” Yaeger said, proud he had a reasonable answer at the ready.
“Probably,” Patton said with less conviction than a few moments earlier. The overheated kitchen was starting to close in on him, and he began to sweat under his new suit. “Thank you, Yaeger. That will be all.”
Patton wanted to express his final condolences to the widow and her newly arrived son and get back outside, where he could breathe.
Ten minutes later, he was inhaling large gulps of clean, cold mountain air as he stood in the middle of a set of tire tracks that cut through the snow of the unplowed street. He considered the situation. A single set of tracks. Only one car had driven down this road since late the previous night. All the police units had been directed to park at the opposite end of the street and walk down to the Van Ders’ house. The original responding unit was still parked in front of Rucker’s house, just behind the idling ambulance. No one except Rucker’s mystery man had come this way. What are the odds of that? He thought. His brain itch was really going now.
Rucker’s garage door opened with a loud scraping sound, and Patton jumped. He watched the coroner’s GMC Power Wagon bound over the snow effortlessly. Rucker expertly spun the four-wheel-drive vehicle in the street and drove north, towards the city’s downtown, away from Patton and his solitary tire tracks. The crime scene unit, or more properly, what passed for a crime scene unit in Colorado Springs, watched Rucker drive off, and almost as if on cue, they turned as one to Patton. Their collective intent was obvious: Okay, the bizarre man is gone. Can we stop now? Patton turned away, feeling their disappointment on his back, and trudged up the street. Following the tracks was a little obvious, and in real life, they never led anywhere, but still, someone had to do it.
He walked to the corner, and the tracks turned left. Looking up the street, he saw that the parallel tracks were once again the only ones in the snow. “This is too easy,” he said to himself. He reached for his cell phone
and called the detective on the scene. “Mayer? It’s Patton. I’m following this set of tire tracks, and they head east. Have someone who knows how to drive in this shit follow me, and tell them to stay away from the tracks.”
After a moment of silence on the other end, Mayer responded, “No problem, Chief.”
“I’m not the chief anymore,” he mumbled to himself. He was a cross between a baby-sitter and a tutor. The ringing of his cell phone brought him back to the moment. “Hello,” he said gruffly.
“Hey, Dad,” a voice said and Rodney’s mood immediately lifted.
“Hi sweetheart; how’s life in the big city?” His daughter Laura had from the day she was born the unique ability to make Rodney feel good about the world.
“Oh you know, exciting, glamorous, thrilling, same thing every day.”
“I realize what a heavy burden you bear just being you. How’s Glen, how’s my favorite grandchild?”
“Glen is wonderful, as always, and your favorite grandchild is right on schedule to appear May first. How’s life in the mountains?”
“Turning out to be a little more challenging than promised. Is that why you’re calling?” One of the networks had just done an investigative piece that compared the violence in Colorado Springs to Detroit.
“So what’s going on up there?”
“Is this my daughter asking or the Assistant to the Special Prosecutor?”
“Just me. Your high crimes and misdemeanors have not yet reached the ears of anyone important, yet.”
“To tell you the , Laura, I don’t have a clue as to what’s happening here. Whatever it is, it’s affecting the very fabric of society. Even in the bad old days, I never saw such an outbreak of wanton violence.” Rodney’s voice had become painfully serious.
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