Makir’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “What do you mean? He was awake.”
“Look, I can’t explain it, but I’ve broken into someone’s mind before while they were awake. I’ve already told you that I saw into Tara’s memories, and she was dead. I just did that with Wallace.”
Makir’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Explains the dazed and confused look you left on his face, but why did you do it?”
Malcolm opened a random sugar packet he found in the side compartment and poured the contents into his mouth. The pain began to throb in his right temple, and he searched for tissues, knowing the nosebleed would come next.
“Jesus, you’re acting like you just came from a target.”
“That’s what it’s like.” Malcolm pinched a leftover fast food napkin to his face as the blood began to trickle out of his nostril. “I didn’t mean to. The power just did it. The same way I knew to let go when I touched Tara.”
“Shit. Did you find out anything?”
“Oh yeah. Wallace is our guy. That Tremblay is one of Tara’s killers.”
“Who?”
“Remember when his secretary came in and said he had a phone call from Tremblay about security?”
“You’re positive?”
“Absolutely.”
Halek spoke in his ear. “Already began my research.”
Malcolm gasped and jerked the damn comm from his ear. “I hate this thing.”
The phone rang a moment later. Makir hit the speaker to play through the car. “Halek?”
“Sorry, Gab.”
Malcolm held up a hand but realized Halek couldn’t see him. “No problem.” He replaced the tissue with a clean one, pinching the bridge of his nose hard, wishing he had more sugar.
“Tremblay, you’re sure?” Conflicting images of the man’s face pinched in pleasure with both the sexual encounter with Wallace and while ending Tara’s life raged in Malcolm’s mind and he wished for someone to take the memories from him. “I’m positive.”
“Alright. I’m on it. When I found out something, I’ll let you know.”
They hung up and Makir handed him a vial of simple syrup from inside her jacket. He sucked it down, not relishing the sickeningly sweet taste, but the pain in his skull lessened.
The phone rang for a second time. This time Malcolm didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Hello?” A trembling voice said from the car speaker. “Is this Malcolm Anderson?”
“It is. Who’s this?”
“This is Rebekah Moss. I was Tara’s roommate. Are you still investigating her death?”
“I am. How can I help you?”
“I think someone’s in my apartment.”
Makir’s back straightened. “Rebekah, this is Detective Madison Asher. Are you in the apartment?”
“No.”
“Good. I don’t want you to go inside. You get somewhere safe and call the police. We’re on our way.”
26
Red and blue lights flashed in the distance as Makir pulled closer to Autumn Fall Apartments. Crowds of neighbors peeked from windows or huddled near the large palmetto trees in the front. Malcolm spotted Rebekah standing beside a police cruiser, giving her statement, waving an arm toward the ajar front door. Makir parked far away and left the vehicle without a word. Malcolm followed, letting her take the lead. Despite his own considerable height, he had to jog to keep up with her. She marched straight toward Rebekah and held her NYPD badge in her hand.
An older, greasy officer paused from interviewing Rebekah, lowered the notepad, and let his hand drift toward his waist to hover above his holster.
Makir raised the badge. “I’m Madison Asher, NYPD. I’m here assisting with the recent death of Rebekah’s roommate. She called my partner and I when she suspected there was someone in her apartment.”
The officer nodded, shoulders relaxing, and dipped his head in greeting. “Officer Miller. I’m just taking her statement. My guys already swept the apartment. There’s no one inside, but someone sure ransacked the place. I was in the middle of explaining to Miss Moss here that it isn’t uncommon for people’s homes to be broken into after a recent death.”
“Is anything missing?” Malcolm asked.
Officer Miller gave him a once over. It just occurred to Malcolm they looked more like businesspeople than detectives.
Rebekah, face tear-streaked, shook her head. Her hands shook, and the green hue to her skin made Malcolm keep a healthy distance away in case she lost her cookies.
“I didn’t go in. Someone kicked in the door.”
“May I get your name for the record?” Officer Miller shifted his weight toward Malcolm.
“Malcolm Anderson. I’m a private detective.”
Miller jotted down his name and eyed the ID Malcolm gave him. He looked up from the notepad, making eye contact with another uniformed officer, and shook his head at the unspoken communication. “Miss Moss, you can go in now. See if anything was taken.”
Malcolm and Makir followed the still shaky Rebekah. Chaos reigned inside the small apartment. Someone had slashed through the cream sofa and matching chairs. The end tables lay flipped on their sides with broken trinkets, shredded books, and a shattered lamp littered the floor. The nondescript artwork had been flung from the walls. The destruction continued through the minute kitchen, tight bathroom, and both bedrooms.
Rebekah sniffled and wiped away at her eyes, and by the time they finished, her shoulders shook with the repressed sobs. “I don’t know if anything was taken. There’s so much damage.”
Makir stepped beside the girl, pulling her against her, and rubbed the opposite shoulder. “Try to remember, it’s only things.”
Rebekah nodded. “I wanted to stay here. Stay where Tara was so I could still feel her near me, but now…”
Malcolm understood. Her home, her sanctuary, her sense of safety had been violated. “Do you have somewhere to go?”
“We have a long weekend off from school. I’m going to go home to my parent’s house. I…” she let her glassy eyes roam over the remains of her apartment, “think I’m going to take the rest of the semester off of school. Maybe transfer to another school. It’s too much.”
Malcolm didn’t think this was a bad idea. Someone had broken into this apartment, and no matter what Officer Miller said, this didn’t feel like a simple break-in. Nothing was stolen, and they hadn’t bothered hiding the racket that must’ve occurred. No, whoever had done this was either looking for something or making a statement.
Makir went with Rebekah to pack what she could of her belongings while Officer Miller and his partner finished up taking pictures for their files. Malcolm stepped outside to call and check on Debbie. The events of the day grated on him, but nothing like her being mad with him. He walked across the parking lot to a sidewalk lining the apartment complex, and he pulled the cell from his pocket. Two loud bangs rang through the night.
Hot and sharp pain tore through his upper body. His knees gave out. Landing on the pavement with a thud, the air rushed from his lungs. Curling into a ball, he covered his head while another two shots rang out.
Frightened shouts sounded from somewhere behind him. Feet pounded on pavement. Tires screeched and an engine revved. A warm hand grabbed at his shoulder, pressing down, sending a searing hot jolt of pain through him. He screamed. People shouted all around him. Only a few words made sense.
“Shots fired.”
“Man down.”
“Ambulance.”
Makir’s face leaning over him. “You’re going to be okay.”
Her face faded from view, inching away from the oncoming darkness.
Distant beeping called to Malcolm. The sounds were high pitched, persistent, and demanding attention. His eyelids sagged heavy over his eyes. He strained to pull them open, fighting the stickiness clinging to his lashes. Someone had turned the lights down, but a TV hanging near the ceiling blared laughter from a rerun of a comedy show. Malcolm let
his gaze drop to the off-white plastic footboard. White, thin, scratchy blankets covered his legs and torso. Rails blocked either side of the bed, preventing him from falling out. His expensive clothes had been replaced by a thin blue hospital gown. An IV needle and tubing stuck out of his left hand. The tube connected to a bag with clear fluid. Something moved in his peripheral vision. Pain lanced from his right shoulder when he shifted.
Makir leaned forward, her expression concerned. “Thank god, you’re awake.”
“Where am I?” He sucked in a breath.
“The hospital. Where the hell did you think you’d wake up after getting shot and passing out in front of two cops?”
He grabbed his still aching shoulder and straightened as much as he could in the lounging bed. “Well excuse the fuck out of me. Next time I get shot, I’ll try to do it in private!”
“Shhh.” She eyed the door.
“Did they figure out who it was?”
Makir locked her gaze with him. “No. Rebekah’s parents picked her up last night. I doubt she’ll ever set foot in that apartment again.”
Malcolm shrugged, which brought on a new wave of pain. “Damn.” He’d been shot before, plenty of times, but never had it hurt like this. “Can you blame her?”
“No.”
The realization that he, a dream thief, was in the hospital. “Oh my god. What did the doctors find?”
Makir tilted her head in a ‘now the fuck you get it’ look. “You’d already started to heal. At first, the trauma surgeon wanted to do surgery, but the next time she examined you there wasn’t enough damage. Then they tried to give a transfusion. You had a seizure.”
A seizure? Damn, no wonder everything hurt.
“Yeah. Luckily for you, they blamed it on a transfusion reaction, but of course, they wanted to monitor you. The very next time, your hemoglobin was normal. I believe they’re chalking that up to lab error. Good thing for us, instead of running more tests, they’re worried they’ve fucked up and you’re going to sue. We need to get you the hell out of here.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Overnight. It’s a damn good thing you do have a dick because they’ve scanned every part of your body. Nimue is reviewing the files for her own research, and Halek’s already hacked into the system removing anything extraordinary, but the longer you stay, the more risk you’re putting us all in.”
Malcolm swallowed, knowing he needed to get moving, but fear froze him. “Where’s Debbie?”
Makir rolled her eyes and slumped back into the guest chair. She ran a finger through her short hair, making it stand up further, as if she’d been running her hands through it all night. “Jesus fucking Christ. She’s in the cafeteria getting breakfast. I swear you mortals need to eat way more than I realized.”
Happiness spread through Malcolm. Debbie was here. She hadn’t abandoned him. He’d half expected her to leave him.
A knock sounded at the door. A middle-aged woman with a long white lab coat on pushed the privacy curtain aside. She smiled, making her brown eyes sparkle. “Good. You’re awake. I’m Dr. Mills. I’m the trauma surgeon. You’ve been through quite a lot. How’re you feeling?”
“Sore, thirsty, and my head’s hurting some too.”
“That’s expected. We can give you some pain medicine, if you would like. It’s already been ordered. You just need to ask the nurse. We can get you something to drink. Perhaps start with a liquid diet.”
“Okay.”
“Would it be okay if I examined you?”
Malcolm nodded, and Dr. Mills raised the hospital bed, and Makir muted the TV. The surgeon listened to his chest, back, and belly. After pushing on his stomach and checking his feet, she moved over to the right side of the bed and slipped on a pair of blue gloves. “I need to check your wounds now.”
Malcolm leaned forward and slipped the gown off his shoulders. Dr. Mills removed several bandages, and Malcolm looked down. Two small wounds, already pink with new skin, sat on his upper right chest with yellowing, greenish bruises surrounding them.
“How strange.” Dr. Mills stepped back, forehead crinkled as she inspected his wounds.
“What is?” Malcolm asked.
Mills scoffed. “Where should I begin? The placement of both of these gunshot wounds should’ve collapsed your lung. And this one,” she pointed to the higher one, "is right over your subclavian artery. How it missed it is a miracle. You would’ve bled to death in minutes. Add to all that, the amount of blood loss reported along with your initial low hemoglobin. That made sense. You would’ve needed blood. I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but you had a reaction to the blood. We rechecked your hemoglobin and it was normal, and now your wounds appear weeks old. Like I said, all of this is very strange.”
Malcolm caught the concern flash across Makir’s face. Halek could erase all the data in the world, but he couldn’t take away the staff’s memories. “Look, I really just want to go home. I’m feeling fine.”
Mills shook her head. “No, it’s really not safe. I’d prefer if you stayed at least another twenty-four hours.”
Malcolm covered his wounds and pulled himself up. “I insist. I’ll sign whatever papers you need me to. I’m leaving.”
Mills touched his arm. “Please, I’d really like you to stay.”
The singularity inside him woke up and latched onto the doctor’s mind. Images of laughing with a man playing with a little boy swam up first. Her husband and son. He pushed those memories back into her and let the power inside him fill each memory of him with a murkiness. With each passing second, more and more of his energy drained from him.
The connection snapped, and he snatched the rail so he wouldn’t topple over. Dr. Mills stared at him; eyes blank for several minutes. Then she blinked and shook her head.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot what I was saying,” Dr. Mills said.
“You just said you were going to go put in my paperwork, so I could go home.”
“That’s right. I’ll get right on that.” Dr. Mills swayed as she stumbled from his room.
Makir followed the doctor to make sure she’d left the room before returning. “What the hell did you do?”
Malcolm’s head pounded worse than it had before, and he pinched his nose, already feeling the flow of blood. Makir, recognizing the symptoms, removed her own vials of simple syrup and a bottle of tablets. She handed him three vials and three pills he assumed were painkillers.
He drank the syrup, hating the nectar-like sweetness, but felt a rise in his energy level with each vial. The IV line burned, and Malcolm winced, releasing the tape, and let the needle push itself from his healed hand.
“Fuck Gab. We’ve got to get out of here. What if someone saw that?”
“Saw what?”
They both turned toward the open door. Detective Robinson crossed his arms, and Malcolm knew he was screwed.
27
As I live and breathe! Detective Robinson, if only you’d been a few seconds earlier you’d have seen my boy here in action. Then perhaps you’d believe me.” A bright smile lit up Makir’s face at the presence of the detective.
“What would I have seen?”
Makir shrugged, unfolding herself from the chair, rising to her full height, which matched Robinson’s. “Honestly, you’d have just seen the doctor go a little cross-eyed. What you should really see is this.” Makir pulled down Malcolm’s hospital gown and ripped off the bandage. “See that. Doesn’t look like a gunshot that’s less than a day old to me. That would be our super healing. If I’d have been shot, I wouldn’t have a scratch by now.”
Robinson’s face darkened, then blanched, taking an involuntary step forward to examine the wound. “What trickery is this?”
Makir laughed. “None whatsoever. I told you the truth. It’s not my problem you didn’t believe me, and if my sources are correct, no one will believe you either.”
Anger flashed in Robinson’s eyes, and his lips pressed in a thin line. “What’s that
supposed to mean?”
“It means we are very good at covering our tracks. If you aren’t here for something important, I think you should leave. Malcolm is being released, and he needs to get dressed.”
Debbie glided into the room after a short knock announcing her presence. Malcolm’s heart leapt at the sight of her in a dark purple floor-length skirt, lavender flip flops, and a bright pink and purple floral shirt. A smile spread across her face along with a flick of happiness but faded as she eyed the detective. Robinson dipped his head and gestured for her to continue inside.
Debbie squeezed passed him, placing two coffee cups on the patient table in front of him. She leaned down, kissed his cheek, and wrapped her arms around him. She whispered in his ear, “I’m so glad you’re okay. If anything would’ve happened to you—”
“I’m fine, baby. We’ll talk later.” She stood next to him, held his hand, and covered up his healing wound.
“Well, Detective, aren’t you leaving?” Makir released one side rail and put a bag of Malcolm’s clothes at the foot of the bed.
Robinson cleared his throat. “Actually, I came down here to get your statement.” He pulled out a small notepad from his back pocket.
Malcolm wondered what it would take for police officers to start carrying around an iPad instead of notepads for things like this.
Malcolm shot Makir a questioning look. What was he supposed to say? He had a suspicion Halek would be hacking into the police database as well. With an almost imperceptible nod, Malcolm understood her meaning. “Bit embarrassing actually. We were outside of Rebekah Moss’s apartment after someone broke in. She’d called us when she came home and found her door open. We advised her to call the police and wait for them to arrive. Soon after we got there, a car drove past and started shooting. I fainted.” Malcolm feigned a sheepish half-smile, turning his palms upward. “When I fell, I scrapped an old wound on my shoulder, and since I’m on aspirin, it bled quite a lot. I’m sorry to say the policemen on scene thought I’d been shot.”
Robinson’s pen hung above the pad, not writing anything down. “You expect me to believe that?”
The Dream Awakened Page 15
