Shifting Isles Box Set (Books 1-3): The Prisoner, S.P.I.R.I.T. Division, and Return to Tanas

by G. R. Lyons

  “Why I'm naked?” she asked for him. “Or, well, try to be? I kinda fucked that up on Bordal's yesterday.”

  Crawford nodded and looked down at his ice cream.

  Asenna laughed, shaking her head. “Do you remember the Trimbel case, a couple years ago?”

  Crawford looked up, frowning, then asked, “That sounds familiar. Twins, right?”

  Asenna shook her head. “Triplets.”

  “Triplets?”

  “Yeah.” She snorted and shook her head again. “Total fucking disaster. It all came down to one tiny little incision that we missed because it was obscured by my clothes, and the other cuts were all so much larger that the pain of them completely overpowered it. One little cut. Funny the things that'll make or break a case.”

  Asenna scooped up a chunk of cookie dough, savoring the taste while they lapsed into an awkward silence.

  “So how does it work?” Crawford blurted out, gesturing with his spoon. “The visions, I mean.”

  Melting ice cream dripped off his spoon and onto the glass table top. Crawford set aside his pint, apologizing as he wiped his napkin across the mess, only succeeding in smearing it further.

  Asenna carefully set down her container, darted over to the kitchenette, grabbed a damp sponge, and returned to clean up the mess, drying it with a fresh napkin and returning the sponge to its place on the sink before answering his question.

  “It's just–” she began, then looked up at Crawford. “What?”

  He was staring at the spot where the ice cream had dripped, a bittersweet smile on his face.

  “Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Nothing at all.” He took up his pint again and asked, “You were saying?”

  “What? Oh! The visions.” She settled back onto the bed and cradled her container in both hands. “I only have a vague idea, really, from what Chief told me. Apparently I'm Tanasian, or so he says. Part or full, I'm not sure. I couldn't get him to answer that one. But the visions…” She paused, tilting her pint container and pushing the more solid ice cream to one side, letting the more melted portion pool on the other. “You see, Agori are supposed to have very secure minds. Chief said he's never known a Tanasian to be able to access their thoughts. But extreme emotion can sometimes be enough to break open the barriers around the mind.”

  “Like, extreme fear,” Crawford suggested around a mouthful.

  “Precisely,” Asenna answered, taking up a spoonful of melted ice cream and gathering her thoughts. “The way I understand it, the victims are so afraid that it opens up their minds, and being in that situation, they're mentally crying out—almost praying—for someone to just happen to come along and find them, rescue them, before it's too late. In most cases, it's a pointless effort of thought, but it just happens naturally. With my visions, though, those victims' cries break through their defenses strongly enough that they broadcast out, and I can hear them, as it were. Feel what they feel.”

  Crawford chewed on a large chunk of cookie dough, frowning in thought, then asked, “But why do their injuries show up on your body? That's what I don't get.”

  Asenna shrugged. “Mind over matter, I guess. Chief said that some of the stronger Tanasians have learned to actually manipulate their bodies just by using their minds. So, his theory is that my mind just happens to be so receptive to the victims' pain that my mind forces my body to display the same injuries. Like, my mind is so wrapped around the connection that it can't help but order my body to respond to the sensations coming to me.”

  Setting down his spoon, Crawford stared at her. “Isn't it creepy? Having other people in your head?”

  Let me out!

  Asenna winced at the memory of that voice. “You have no idea,” she murmured. Finishing her ice cream, she set her pint aside and stretched out her legs. “Although, technically, it's more like I'm in their heads. But, yeah, it's unsettling. The first time was horrible. I'd just woken up in the hospital the day before, had no idea what was going on, or who I was, and then these visions started coming.” She shivered and looked down at her hands, old scars faint but still visible on her skin.

  “So, you have no memories of–” Crawford began. “No, of course you don't. I can't imagine. Waking up one day and remembering nothing.”

  Asenna glanced up at him from under her eyelashes and chewed on her lip. “Well, I might remember one thing.” Two things, she thought, but she wasn't sure she could explain the flashing lights. There was barely enough there for her to grasp herself, so she doubted she could make anyone else understand why it felt like a memory.

  Crawford's eyes went wide, and he hastily discarded his container, sitting forward on the couch.

  “I don't know if it's an actual memory or just something from my imagination,” she clarified, looking back down at her hands as she thought of the one thing she could share. “I have this sense of being small, like a child, and looking up to see a man standing beside me, holding my hand. I can't see his face, but I think I know him. When I look forward, I see we're standing in front of a starglass Gate, like the ones in Divinity Square.”

  “Divinity Square?”

  Asenna gestured with her chin. “A few blocks over. Big statues of the gods and lots of Gates.”

  After a pause, Crawford murmured, “Does it look like Divinity Square? Your memory, I mean?”

  Asenna shook her head. “There's…I think there's grass on the ground, but I'm not quite sure. It looks vaguely green, all around the edges of the image, but the rest is just a blur.” She blinked the image away and shrugged, sitting up straighter. “The only Gates I know I've seen for sure were in the Square, but that was only when Chief first brought me here a few years ago, and there's definitely no grass around those.” She paused. “Or is there now? I haven't been out since I got here, so it may have changed, for all I know.”

  Crawford blinked at her. “Wait, hold on. You…You haven't been outside in three years? At all?”

  “Would you want to go outside when you could be caught in a trance and start bleeding right in the middle of a department store?”

  He sat back, his surprised expression fading. “Oh. Right. I guess not.”

  CHARLIE PICKED up his container and spooned up the last of his ice cream, glancing over at Asenna while her gaze was fixed on her hands in her lap.

  He shoved the empty pint aside again and sat back, stretching his arms out along the back of the couch, trying to think of something to say. He glanced around the room, his gaze occasionally resting on Asenna as she fidgeted with her hands.

  He opened his mouth to say something when Asenna sat up and looked toward the recliner.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  Charlie's eyes went wide, and he glanced at the empty chair, then back at Asenna, who looked puzzled.

  “No, I'm pretty sure that was the other one,” Asenna said, still looking at the recliner.

  Charlie sat forward, staring at her, but couldn't quite get his mouth to work to say something.

  Asenna threw her head back and laughed. “Ah, that's right. I'd forgotten about that.”

  “Alright, I'm…gonna…go,” Charlie said, slowly rising to his feet, but Asenna paid him no attention, still looking at the chair and laughing as she talked. Charlie hesitated, shifting his weight, then turned and hurried from the room. He closed the door and came to a stop on the balcony, looking out over the office below.

  “'Freaky shit' is right,” he muttered to himself. He glanced back over his shoulder at the door, shook himself, and went downstairs.

  Detective Malrin half rose from his desk as Charlie passed him, asking, “Got a case?”

  Charlie blinked as he looked at him. “What?”

  Detective Lehinis joined them as Malrin nodded up toward the balcony. “Did she have a vision?”

  “What? Oh, no, I just…”

  Charlie looked up at the closed door, then back at his two predecessors.

  “Did she ever…you know…like, talk to hersel
f?”

  “What, you mean like–” Malrin began.

  “Oh,” Lehinis said with a knowing grin, slapping Malrin on the arm. “He saw a ghost encounter.”

  “Ghost encounter?”

  Malrin chuckled. “She does that a lot. Looks like she's carrying on one half of a conversation with herself.”

  Charlie hesitated before he asked, “Is she?”

  Lehinis shrugged. “Who knows? She won't explain it if you try asking her. Just looks at you like you're an idiot.” He shrugged again. “We just always figured she's talking to ghosts of the victims she's divined, especially the ones whose cases haven't been solved.”

  “Like, they haven't been able to cross over, so they stick around and talk to her, waiting for her to find their killers so they can move on,” Malrin added.

  “If you believe in that sort of thing,” Lehinis said.

  “More likely she's just flat crazy and talks to imaginary friends.”

  “Well, it could be ghosts, couldn't it?” Lehinis asked. “I mean, she keeps getting recurring visions of unsolved cases, right? So maybe it's because the ghosts are still there, begging for help.”

  Malrin shrugged, and both men turned to look at Charlie.

  “Oh, shit,” Malrin muttered, his amused look fading.

  “What?” Lehinis asked, looking from Malrin to Charlie and back.

  “I forgot,” Malrin said. “Your wife. Man, I'm sorry, I–” He cut off and shook his head. “Her case is still unsolved, isn't it?”

  Lehinis perked up, slapping Charlie on the arm. “Hey, maybe her ghost shows up there sometimes. Ask the Spirit. Maybe she can relay a message or something.”

  Charlie stared at them, trying to work out a response, then turned on his heel and walked away.

  Chapter 7

  IT WAS a week before Charlie got to witness another vision, and though he was more prepared for it, it still left him so unsettled that he actually couldn't wait for his session with Dr. Galvin.

  Something about watching Asenna calmly shrug on her robe while covered in blood—from what appeared to be a gunshot straight to the forehead—was a little too much for his nerves.

  It all looked just too real.

  The following day, after the evidence had been gathered and a file started, Charlie joined the others in the conference room when Chief called a meeting to go over the latest files.

  “Well, we've got nothing,” Malrin grumbled as he walked into the conference room and tossed down a data chip. “This guy is good. Not a shred of DNA evidence anywhere at the crime scene. No blood, no hair, no semen, not even any skin under the vic's fingernails. As usual. This bastard is a fucking ghost.”

  At the end of the table, Charlie saw the chief glance toward the empty chair beside him and whisper, “Hush.”

  The other officers had noticed too, and looked around at one another and cleared their throats before they went on.

  “There's absolutely nothing to show that another person was in that room,” Malrin said, flopping down in a chair as he waved at the chip lying on the table.

  “Well, she certainly didn't rape and murder herself,” the chief said, sitting forward and folding his hands on the tabletop. “Let's run another sweep, just to be sure.”

  Lehinis threw his hands up. “We did, Chief. We ran three, just like with the last one.” Chief winced and clenched his hands into fists, but Charlie didn't think the detective noticed. “There's nothing there.”

  Chief glanced at the chair beside him again, took a deep breath, and nodded subtly before turning back to his men.

  “Alright,” Chief said with a sigh. “Let's continue with searching out video surveillance and any witness testimony. Not that there's ever been any,” he added in a grumble. “Good work, gentlemen.”

  With that, the chief got up and left, rubbing his temples as he walked out the door.

  The room fell silent until the door shut behind him.

  Lehinis whistled and poked a finger at his temple. “Chief is really losing it,” he said.

  “Losing it?” Charlie asked.

  Malrin snorted a laugh. “Don't tell me you didn't see him looking at that chair like there was someone sitting in it.”

  Charlie hesitated, shrugging. “Maybe he was looking away to gather his thoughts?”

  “He told it to hush,” Lehinis pointed out.

  “Well,” Malrin began slowly, “Chief is Tanasian, remember? Maybe he's doing one of his mind talking things with someone who's not here.”

  “Telepathy,” Charlie offered.

  “That's the one. Maybe he's just talking to us while he's also 'talking' to…oh, I don't know…his wife or something.”

  “He hasn't got a wife, moron, remember? She died, years ago.”

  Malrin paused, then asked, “You think he's in denial? Maybe that's who he thinks is with him when he goes to the theater?”

  “The what?” Charlie asked, standing up and gathering his things.

  “Oh,” Malrin said, looking at Lehinis with a conspiratorial grin. “He hasn't seen the freak show yet. I mean, other than the one that happens upstairs.”

  “Freak show?”

  “Yeah.” The detectives gathered in slightly, bending their heads toward him. “Chief goes to the theater all the time. Always buys two tickets. Always goes alone. I work security there sometimes, and he's always by himself, but almost acts like there's someone there with him. Totally fucking weird.”

  “Hey,” Lehinis said as he slapped him on the arm. “You should take Crawford tonight. Pretty sure Chief's going to the concert. I saw Lani hand him some tickets this morning.”

  Malrin grinned. “Got any plans tonight, Crawford?”

  Charlie shook his head.

  “Then meet me at the side entrance of Garbon's Theater at half seven,” he said, heading for the door. “This is just the kind of thing you have to see for yourself.”

  * * *

  CHARLIE FOLLOWED Detective Malrin from the theater side entrance to the front of the building, peeking around the corner at the line of finely-dressed patrons lined up to get inside.

  “Aren't you supposed to be working right now?” Charlie whispered.

  Malrin shrugged. “Technically, I'm not on until eight. Mostly just keep an eye on the hallways and backstage areas with the others to make sure nothing happens. Nothing ever does, but the theater owner likes having us here anyway– Oh, look, there he is.” He pointed at a short, wiry man in an expertly tailored suit. “That's Garbon himself, right there. And there's Chief.”

  Charlie leaned out a bit farther and saw Benash approach the ticket booth, clearly handing over two tickets though there was no one with him. The theater owner hurried up to him just as he stepped to the side to approach the doors.

  “Mr. Rothbur!” Garbon greeted him warmly, shaking his hand. “So good to see you again, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Chief said with a smile.

  “I have a box arranged for you if you'd prefer it to the main gallery,” Garbon said. “We were hoping you'd be here tonight.”

  “Look, look,” Malrin whispered, tapping Charlie on the arm.

  Charlie watched, and sure enough, Benash looked to his right side, silent for a moment, then turned back to Garbon.

  “Thank you,” he said. “That's very kind of you.”

  “Right this way, sir,” Garbon said, sweeping an arm and leading Benash inside.

  Malrin tugged on Charlie's coat, so he turned and followed the man back down the alley toward the side door and into the building.

  “Pretty nice treatment,” Charlie commented.

  Malrin nodded. “Like I said, Chief comes here all the time. No matter what's playing—opera, play, comedy show, symphony—you name it, he's seen it.”

  “And always two tickets?”

  “Yep. The stage hands said that Garbon noticed one day, years ago. Came out to introduce himself, thanked the chief for his patronage. Pretty much offers Chief whatever he wants any time he com
es. Never questioned his two tickets, either. Just plays along like it's nothing.”

  Charlie ducked under a low framework behind the stage and followed the officer though a labyrinth of people and equipment. “Maybe Chief just likes the space of an empty chair beside him? Feel less crowded? He said they're touchy about that sort of thing on Tanas.”

  “Not likely,” Malrin said with a laugh, shaking his head. “Come see.”

  They stepped out to a hallway and crept up toward a side entrance down near the front of the stage. Malrin scanned the crowd until he pointed up at a box on the other side of the theater.

  “Look there.”

  Charlie looked up and saw Garbon shake hands with Benash and disappear through a curtain, leaving Benash alone in a box as he looked down at the stage.

  The house lights went out, the stage curtain opened, and the symphony performance began. The sign outside the theater had boasted a piano prodigy, a boy named Vesad Stromos, who was famous for being self-taught and could play like an aged professional, and apparently on his way to being the greatest performer since Will Knightley, who lived four hundred years ago. Charlie watched the lad take the stage with the rest of the orchestra and expertly put his hands to the keys.

  “Now watch,” Malrin whispered, interrupting Charlie's appreciation of the performance and nodding toward the box.

  Charlie tore his eyes away and looked up at Benash. The chief was sitting forward, with one hand on the balustrade, his eyes riveted to the stage. Minutes passed, with nothing unusual happening, and Charlie was about to tease his fellow officer and leave, but then Benash turned to the chair beside him.

  Even in the little bit of light that reached the box from the stage, Charlie could clearly make out Benash's mouth moving as he spoke to nothing but thin air.

  “See?” Malrin whispered, jabbing Charlie in the ribs. “Told ya.”

  The music forgotten, Charlie stared up at the box, flabbergasted at the sight. The chief alternately watched the performance and turned to the seat beside him, occasionally speaking or sometimes just gazing at the empty chair with a wistful smile on his face.