Thirst No. 3: The Eternal Dawn

by Christopher Pike

  “To hell with you both!” Athena’s mother shouts before storming out the front door. The secretary and I exchange amused looks.

  “I hope she didn’t upset you,” she says.

  “Not at all.”

  “You know the old saying: No good deed goes unpunished.”

  “That’s the story of my life.”

  The woman points to my bleeding hand. “You’re the one who needs the bandage.”

  I held Athena firm while picking out the glass, but a wounded child is one thing I’ve never learned to totally control. My fingertips are more badly scratched than I realized. Yet they are healing rapidly.

  “That’s not necessary,” I say, raising my hand to decrease the blood flow into my fingers. “I’ll just pop in your restroom a minute. I’ll be fine.”

  The secretary shakes her head as she strides away from her desk.

  “A couple of bandages will keep the cuts from getting dirty.”

  “I’ll take them when I get back.” Cradling my injured hand with my other hand, I try to keep my blood from spilling on the floor. It is an old habit of mine, to guard my blood. Once in the restroom, I let the hot water wash over my cuts. Already they have sealed; nevertheless, I’m careful to wash away the faintest sign of my blood.

  When I return to the front desk, and the secretary, I hide my healed fingers beneath a paper towel. I gratefully accept the woman’s bandages and casually wrap them around my fingers. The secretary is a polite soul.

  “I’m really sorry you had to be subjected to all that.”

  “The child moved so fast. I don’t know if it was the talk about her father, or if she hated that painting.”

  “Did you see her face just before she broke the vase?”

  “No. She was looking away from me.”

  The secretary frowns. “Her eyes suddenly blazed. Something set her off. I don’t know, that kid kind of spooked me.”

  “She seemed sweet,” I say, but my words lack conviction. Something about the kid bothered me as well.

  Ms. Cynthia Brutran calls for me a few minutes later. The secretary directs me to take the elevator to the fourth floor. At the top of the building, I’m met by what appears to be Ms. Brutran’s personal secretary—a young man who couldn’t look more sexy if he was naked. He flashes a warm smile, apologizes for my having to wait, and directs me to the boss’s office.

  Ms. Brutran sits behind a beautifully finished walnut desk crowded with keyboards and computer screens. To say the lady multitasks would be an understatement. She’s forty but looks ten years younger. She’s had work done to her face and neck by an exceptional surgeon. It would take my eyes to spot it.

  Her short brown hair has a bright sheen. She wears a single piece of jewelry, a diamond ring encircled with a dozen tiny rubies. The central stone is exquisite, without significant flaws, and is no doubt worth more than most people make in a lifetime. She has on a beige pantsuit. Her overall look is professional but relaxed. I’m dressed in a black skirt and a red blouse, and hopefully project the feel of a hunter.

  Yet Ms. Brutran isn’t truly relaxed. Her gaze is intense, and she does not hesitate to let me feel its heat. It’s probably an old habit—to intimidate weaker souls in business meetings. She doesn’t know exactly what I am, but she knows something about me. She’s guarded but not fearful. I smell steel and gunpowder coming from the drawer on her right. I find it interesting she keeps a loaded weapon so close at hand.

  “I hear you had a little accident downstairs,” she says.

  “News travels fast in your building.”

  “To me it does. Are your fingers okay?”

  “Just scratched, thank you.”

  “My receptionist said your name is Alisa Perne, and that you need to speak to me. May I ask the nature of your business?”

  I stare at her and allow a measure of my power to enter my gaze. She blinks under my invisible and extremely subtle assault but does not back up or try to look away. For the first time I notice how disciplined her mind is. I don’t get an immediate sense of her thoughts, although I reach for them. It’s as if she wears a psychic helmet over her head. I’m intrigued.

  “Simple curiosity,” I reply.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Please, let us dispense with the innocent act. You agreed to see me—a complete stranger off the street. Who made no appointment ahead of time. Whom you have never met before in your life.” I pause. “You must have a reason.”

  She hesitates, then nods. “I ran your name through our database. It says you’re a person of interest.”

  “Does your database explain why?”

  “Of course. Our company research has identified you as one of the wealthiest women in America.”

  “That’s extremely confidential information. How did you come across it?”

  “Frankly, I don’t know. In my daily business I often use our database, but I don’t spend time creating it.” She pauses. “May I ask how you’ve managed to stay so completely out of the public eye?”

  “Through great effort. But now you and your firm have invaded my privacy. I want to know why.”

  “We’re an investment firm, one of the most successful in the country. It’s only natural we should seek out people such as yourself with a large amount of wealth.”

  “Is that what you do? Manage other people’s money?”

  “It’s one service we offer, yes.”

  “Because I heard different. I heard you manage your own money. So well that IIC is worth trillions of dollars. Trillions that no one knows about.” I turn the tables on her. “May I ask how you’ve managed to keep these trillions out of the public eye?”

  She smiles stiffly. “I fear you’ve been misinformed. Our firm is rich, true, but not on that scale.”

  “You’re lying,” I reply. I still can’t read her thoughts. She blocks me somehow. Yet I sense hidden depths behind her walls. This woman must be handled carefully. I cannot simply snap her neck, much as I might want to. I sense she would not let me, although I have no idea how she would stop me. My intuition tells me only a part of her story.

  However, she doesn’t have the supernatural heartbeat of the man who came to kill me. She doesn’t have his speed, muscle control, powerful eyes and ears, nor his extraordinary strength. She’s human, only she’s a highly evolved human. Suddenly, I feel her struggle to scan my mind, and I block her by keeping it blank. As blank as my expression.

  The puzzle deepens, as my curiosity soars.

  “We’ve just met,” she says. “Don’t you think it’s foolish to start with such insults?”

  “I apologize.”

  She nods. She accepts my apology.

  “Now tell me why your company’s keeping a file on me. The real reason. And don’t tell me it doesn’t exist. Randy Clifford discovered it before you had him killed.”

  There, I’ve gone and done it; once again my impatience has overridden my caution. I’ve thrown down a challenge I can’t take back. Now Brutran realizes I know about the dark side of IIC’s business deals. I sharpen my focus, using all my senses, to see how the information affects her, and again I’m stunned by her control. Her expression remains impassive.

  “I’m afraid that name doesn’t ring a bell,” she says.

  “Does the name Marko?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The hit man who murdered Randy. IIC paid for the contract on him.”

  Ms. Brutran is amused. “I’m sure you have proof to support these wild accusations?”

  “Of course. I never leave home without a pocketful of proof.”

  “Ms. Perne—”

  “Alisa, please. If I may call you Cynthia.”

  “I prefer Cindy.”

  “Cindy it is.”

  “Alisa, I agreed to see you because of the reason I stated. You’re wealthy, and my firm is interested in investing your wealth. But as to these wild accusations you’re making, I must say they seem beneath a person of y
our stature.”

  Slowly, I turn up the power of my gaze. Brutran doesn’t flinch. Indeed, I feel an odd power radiating back from her, one I’ve never felt before.

  “Who are you?” I whisper.

  “I told you who I am.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “I told you that as well.”

  “But you’re lying, we both know that. Why the games?”

  “I’m a businesswoman, Alisa. I don’t play games.” She leans closer. “It’s important you understand this clearly. This meeting is important to our whole firm.”

  She’s trying to tell me something without saying it aloud. There’s also power in her words. She’s trying to implant a suggestion inside me. Because I’m aware of the psychic trick, I’m able to block it. But I struggle to figure out her hidden message.

  “Then tell me the true nature of your business,” I say.

  She smiles. “Why should I?”

  “Perhaps I can help you. Perhaps we can help each other.”

  She shakes her head. “Honestly, I doubt you would help us. At least not willingly.”

  Us.

  “You think I need to be motivated,” I say.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must know who I am,” I reply, straining with my mental antennae to pick up even a fragment of her thoughts. But I get . . . nothing.

  “We have some idea.”

  I scan the room, searching for hidden cameras, listening devices. I see nothing, but that means nothing. They could be built into the very walls. Yet there’s a strange dead sound to the room. Our words hit the walls and don’t bounce back. I assume she employs an exotic form of soundproofing.

  She has referred to “us” and “we.” She’s telling me our conversation is not private. She might also be warning me that if I try to attack her, I will be cut down.

  “Tell me what you want with me,” I say.

  “Maybe later.”

  “I didn’t come here to harm you.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “For information.”

  For the first time, I appear to have said something the woman did not expect. She frowns, and I finally realize she’s listening to an implant buried deep in her ear. Yet the technology must be advanced. I can’t hear what her associates are telling her.

  “You can always put them on speakerphone,” I taunt her.

  She gestures, as if to brush aside my comment, or else the ones in her head, I’m not sure. Then she points to the door. “I think it would be best if you left. Now.”

  Since she has implied that there are guns trained on my body, I take her advice. But I don’t want her to think I fear her. Quite the contrary.

  “Shanti Garuda,” I say. “You’ve taken a contract out on her as well. Due to conditions beyond his control, Marko won’t be assassinating her or anyone else anytime soon. And I’d advise you not to hire another assassin.”

  Nothing surprises this woman. She reacts as cold as ever.

  “How is she any business of yours?” she asks.

  I stand. “She’s a friend of mine. I want her left alone.”

  Brutran also stands. “This is my building, my company. I give the orders here.”

  She is definitely threatening to kill me. This instant. I’m forced to back down, a feeling I despise. “You’re right, Ms. Brutran, this is your place. I’ll leave you now.”

  “Later, Alisa.”

  “Definitely.”

  NINE

  Lisa Fetch answers the door of her condo after peering through the eyehole. At least she’s displaying some caution, but I doubt she’s ready to hear everything I have to tell her. She hastily invites me inside.

  “Did you meet with Ms. Brutran?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Before I answer, I’d like to know if you’ve heard from Jeff.”

  “Not a word. I’m so worried.”

  “Take me to where he lives.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to examine the place. Let’s go now.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  “No.” It’s a hard no, difficult for her to resist.

  Fearful, reluctant, Lisa nevertheless climbs in my rental and we speed over to her boyfriend’s place. My driving scares her; she worries I’ll get a ticket. She doesn’t know all I have to do is smile at a policeman and he’ll walk away.

  Jeff lives in an actual house. I ask Lisa to remain in my car while I go inside. She resists, naturally, she wants to come along, but finally gives me a key to open the door. I tell her to shout if anyone approaches the car. Yet I feel we’re safe, for the time being. I know we weren’t followed. That was one reason I drove so fast.

  I smell the blood the instant I enter the house.

  I remember Jeff’s smell from his visit. It’s his blood.

  A bloodhound would sense the odor, perhaps, but not a human. And I suspect the people who came for Jeff have not left traces of blood that can be detected by special chemicals or lights. Nevertheless, his blood is in the air, infinitely tiny particles, and it is fresh.

  There’s a strong odor in the bedroom. But I’m not surprised that my nose leads me farther on, to his bathroom, to the drain in his tub. I’m able to see the scene as if it were playing out live before me. They surprised him in his bedroom, probably while he slept. They struck him on the head and cut him slightly. Then they carried him into the bathtub and butchered him alive with a sharp knife. It doesn’t matter how long they ran the shower. I can smell the amount of blood that’s gone down this drain, and it’s enough to fill a body.

  I notice there’s no computer in the house.

  Lisa told me he owns three.

  I return to the car. Lisa waits anxiously.

  “Did you learn anything?” she asks.

  Putting my hand on her arm, I gaze into her weary green eyes.

  “Jeff’s dead. He was killed last night. IIC sent their people to kill him.”

  Lisa struggles to keep up. “You don’t know that. You can’t . . . I was in his house this morning, and there’s nothing there that shows he was attacked.”

  “That’s because the people who killed him were professionals. But in my own way, I’m a professional. I know a crime scene when I see it. Jeff is dead, and your life’s in danger. Frankly, I’m not sure why they didn’t kill you last night. I can only assume you’re still of value to them.”

  “You don’t know any of this!” Lisa screams.

  I lock my gaze on her eyes and force the truth into her brain.

  “He’s dead. IIC killed him. I’m sorry, but you have to accept that.”

  In response, she collapses, sobbing, in my arms. I hold her a long time. Although I’ve killed thousands, I’ve never forgotten the feeling of what it’s like to lose a loved one. Lisa truly loved Jeff, he was a fine man, and I know she’ll miss him for a long time.

  I drive her back to her condo and order her to pack. She obeys as if in a trance. I make sure she brings with her all the computer records or written files she has on IIC. Apparently, she has a load of information on her laptop, which I keep with me as I store the rest of her things in my trunk. We get on the 10 freeway heading east.

  “Where are we going?” she mumbles.

  “Where no one can find you. From now on you’re to talk to only me, and on a cell phone I’m going to give you.”

  “What’s wrong with my cell phone?”

  “Give it to me.”

  “Huh?”

  “Give me your cell.”

  She complies, slowly, and I shatter it on the dashboard and throw it out the window. She gasps.

  “Why did you do that?” she cries.

  “I suspect they placed a tracking device in it. From this moment on you have to live as if you’re being hunted. Wherever you sleep, wherever you eat, you’re not to use a credit card. Don’t worry about money—I’ll give you cash to live on. I’m going to get your new
identity. Lisa Fetch doesn’t exist.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I don’t want you to end up like Jeff. Listen, you asked if I met with Ms. Brutran. I did, and I can assure you she’s one of the most dangerous creatures I’ve met in my life. She threatened to kill me, and only let me leave IIC alive because she wants something from me.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, we didn’t get that far. She’s not a normal woman, and that’s not a normal company. You know this already. You can’t go back there. You can’t call to tell them you’re quitting. Just vanish, for now, until I’m able to figure out what they’re doing and how to stop them.”

  “You speak of them like they’re evil.”

  “They are. Listen, this morning I was in Texas. The same man who murdered your ex, Randy, was contracted to kill a teenage girl named Shanti Garuda. Does that name ring a bell?”

  “You asked me about her earlier. I told you I don’t know her.”

  “IIC paid for a high-level hit man to kill this girl. I was lucky I was able to stop him. But IIC was in a hurry that she die. Can you think of any reason, even a crazy reason, why they would want her dead?”

  “Wait . . .” Lisa pauses. “No, that can’t have anything to do with it.”

  “What is it?”

  Lisa is thoughtful. “I told you IIC’s performance in the market has dropped in the last two years. They asked me to correlate groups of numbers with the drop, to see if I could detect a pattern. The cause wasn’t obvious, because on the surface it appeared this number helped inflate their earnings.”

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘groups of numbers’ and ‘this number’?”

  Lisa shrugs. “That’s just it, I don’t know what the numbers stand for. But they were always five-digit numbers. Initially I thought they represented stock symbols. But later I thought they might be IIC’s way of listing people. Actual employees in the company.”

  “How could an individual both help and hurt their earnings? It seems they would either do one or the other.”

  “That was the puzzle. That’s why they couldn’t answer it without my help. But I’m a mathematician, and using advanced algorithms I was able to spot a trend where this number—or person—helped boost the revenue from a small group of stocks, while causing other numbers—or other people—to mess up when it came to a large list of stocks. Do you follow?”