Broken Souls (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 2) (22 page)

“Why do you think it’s this dermatologist?” Ping asked.

“The other guy in the video, the one the guard shot by accident, the one who turned into a pile of ashes? His name is Juaquin Prado, also a dermatologist, and also Mourissey’s partner in a practice over in southwest Portland.”

“What were they doing at this bank?”

“It looks like this Mourissey guy—if it’s him—had disguised himself somehow to look like the bank manager, walked into the bank vault, filled up his briefcase and was attempting to leave the bank when he was confronted by the real bank manager. Then he turned into a big freaking housefly. The cops over in Clackamas are at a complete loss about how to investigate this thing.”

“So this isn’t even your case,” Mara said.

“No, but they contacted us to see if we knew these guys, and, when the video hit my lieutenant’s desk Friday night, I got called in, ’cause, you see, I’m now the go-to detective when people explode or turn into bugs.” Bohannon paused for chuckles that never came. “Anyway I spent some time over the weekend looking around and turned up Prado and his partner, Merv, a dynamic duo if there ever was one.”

“And they were both on the flight?” Ping asked.

“Both of them,” the detective said.

“Why did you want me to see this video?” Mara asked.

“I was hoping to get your impression of what was going on.”

Mara shrugged at the phone. “Dude crosses over from another realm, robs a bank, turns into a bug, gets shot dead by a security guard.”

“There was a lot more going on in that video, don’t you think, Mr. Ping?”

“Absolutely. This Mervin Mourissey appears to be a metamorph of some kind, although it did not appear he was in complete control of the process. Did you notice how he slapped his neck and panicked at the door as he attempted to flee? That is when he changed into the insect.”

“So you’re saying he came into contact with an insect and then turned into one?” Bohannon asked.

“Based on the limited information we have, that would be the most logical hypothesis.”

“If he couldn’t control this ability, how did he turn into the bank manager?”

“Perhaps he came into contact with him earlier, either as a fortuitous accident that he was attempting to exploit or as part of an intentional plot to pilfer funds from the bank.”

“You’re guessing. Right?” Mara said.

“It is just a theory, but it’s rather clear the man had the ability to change his appearance. How voluntary that change was or the mechanism by which it was accomplished is another question.” Turning to the phone, Ping asked, “Has an autopsy been performed?”

Bohannon chucked. “Last I heard, the coroner said he was not qualified to perform an autopsy on an insect and was refusing to touch it. I think there’s some fear that whatever caused him to change might be communicable.”

“There’s a thought,” Ping said. “But I doubt that’s the case.”

“What did you think about what happened to Prado?” Bohannon asked.

“From the video, it was difficult to understand what was going on with him as he got shot. Did his body suddenly combust and turned to ash? I noticed black smoke or vapor swirling around the guard’s head, and it appeared that he inhaled it. No, that’s not correct—it appeared to enter his body.”

“According to the detective running the investigation, the guard says he didn’t see any smoke or mist. And the ashes were cold when he touched them, so it is unlikely his body spontaneously combusted.”

“What about the ghost images at the end of the video?” Ping asked.

“Obviously no one at the bank saw those. The Clackamas investigators think there was a technical glitch, a video stutter of some kind,” Bohannon said.

“Hmm. I suppose that’s possible, but do you think it’s wise to make that kind of assumption, given the circumstances?” Ping said.

“I’m all for being open-minded, just don’t ask me to convince a bunch of cops from Clackamas County, okay?” the detective said. “Is Mara still there? I haven’t heard much from her about all of this.”

“That’s because she doesn’t have a whole lot to say about it,” Mara said. “What would you like me to say?”

“I don’t know. Share an opinion, some insight about how best to proceed.”

“I think the best way to proceed is to let things proceed.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you.”

“To me, it appears that these people who crossed over on the flight are falling into one of three categories. One, people like Ping and my brother, Sam, who are making an effort to have a life here. Two, people who are coming into contact with their counterpart’s DNA and being blown back into their own realm,
we think
. And three, people who, by their nature, cannot continue to exist here and will eventually meet the same fate as Bug Man.”

“Okay, what is your point?” Bohannon asked.

“Each of the passengers who crossed over has to adjust to being here in this realm, go back to their own realm or die here. So like I said, we have to let things proceed. Eventually each will come to the point where that decision is made, and then things will settle down again.”

“While I appreciate that a kind of natural selection is occurring, a lot of people could get hurt if we stand by as these passengers work out their destinies, don’t you think?” Ping asked.

“Do we have a choice? What good is it to sit around and watch videos of people exploding or turning into some sort of creature? Aren’t we just torturing ourselves, fooling ourselves into thinking that there is anything that we can do about it? It has to play itself out.”

“As we have discussed previously, I don’t think your role in all of this is being a bystander,” Ping said. “And I certainly don’t think you can simply stand by and watch people get hurt if you could do something to stop it.”

“That’s the big ‘if,’ isn’t it?
If I could do something to stop it
.” She pointed to the computer screen. “There’s nothing we can do to stop this. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen.”

“Mara, as a progenitor, you have the ability to—”

She held up her hand. “Please, let’s not get into my metaphysical obligations to the universe right now.”

Bohannon cleared his throat through the phone’s Speaker. “I appreciate all of that. I’m looking for some advice on how to handle things, especially if we encounter more issues with some of these . . . passengers.”

“How should I know? I’m a seventeen-year-old gadget monkey.”

Ping nodded toward the detective. “Tell him what you would do if you found yourself in an out-of-control situation with one of these people who crossed over.”

Mara shook her head blankly and shrugged.

“Remember Sarah Gamble and her grandson, Jeremy?”

“Oh. Oh, right.” She turned to the phone. “If one of the passengers gets unruly, touch them with some of the DNA of their counterpart, and they’ll get blown back into their own realm. Use something like a toothbrush. Watch out though. It will make a big bang.”

“A toothbrush?” Bohannon said.

“Yeah, and, if someone gets hurt, lay your hands on them and heal them.”

“Come again?” Bohannon said.

“Touch them, and they will be healed—like Denton Proctor did to you down at Pioneer Courthouse Square.”

“I was hoping for something more serious than toothbrushes and miracle cures,” Bohannon said. “If I had my druthers, I wouldn’t be involved in any of this either. Unfortunately I don’t have a choice in the matter, and there’s real potential for people to get hurt. So if there’s anything either of you can come up with, I would appreciate a heads-up. It’s not like I can turn to the FBI for advice on this stuff.” He hung up.

Ping turned to Mara. “What was that about healing people?”

“It’s true. The Proctors came over for dinner last night. When Denton heals people, he passes along the ability, or so he says.”

“I don’t think the detective believed you.”

“Sometimes I sound sarcastic when I don’t mean to.”

“Only when you’re speaking.” Ping patted her shoulder.

Ping pushed open the door to the warehouse with a hand, not needing his keys since the doorknob hung loosely in the frame, still damaged from Vanderberg and Galinsky’s break-in the previous week. He walked into the cavernous darkness, followed by Mara and Sam. The smell of burnt polyester and something more organic wafted over them as their few steps echoed off the distant walls. Ping fumbled along the nearby wall for a second and flipped the main light switch, ignited the rows of fluorescents high above.

Oddly, instead of one bright spot highlighting the makeshift classroom in the center of the warehouse floor, now a dark spot hung over its remains surrounded by lights. There stood the toppled metal cabinet and a pile of burnt sticks that once comprised the whiteboard. Large swaths of blackened cement surrounded the former classroom, shadows of the fiery plumes that had whipped across the floor a few days ago.

Mara shook her head, amazed. She had not noticed the burn marks before. Nor the deep gouges scratched into the concrete floor, some several inches deep, exposing rebar. “It looks like a war broke out in here,” she said.

“Wow, look at that!” Sam pointed to the floor some distance away. A distorted, elongated figure of a man was seared into the floor. A blast of char outlined the gray concrete silhouette created by Vanderberg’s body, a human stencil for dragon art.

Ping toed some groves in the floor. “It was quite the conflagration, wasn’t it?” He looked up solemnly. “I appreciate the two of you coming to help clean up.”

Mara walked over to the remains of the whiteboard. “We can drag this stuff out to the Dumpster, but I don’t know what can be done with the burns in the flooring and the walls. I suppose we could get an industrial sander or sandblaster of some sort and take out the burn marks. The gouges will have to be filled or patched somehow.”

“I didn’t realize the extent of the damage to the floors and walls. I’ll have to figure out a way to explain this to some contractors. I was hoping to avoid that,” Ping said.

“I’m sure you will come up with some explanation,” Mara said.

Sam snorted and drummed his fingers on his chest, pointing to the figure of Mickey Mouse in a wizard’s cap, holding a magic wand, emblazoned on his black T-shirt.

Mara eyed him. “What’s your deal, Opie? You trying to say something?”

“Sometimes you guys are dense. What do we need contractors for when we got a Grade-A certified progenitor who can patch this up in a few minutes? You know, do your hocus pocus on it. Metaphysicize the place.” He twirled a finger like a magic wand.

Ping’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t suggesting—”

Mara raised a hand. “Why not? You said I needed to practice to get more comfortable with my abilities. Why have to explain anything to anyone?” She turned to her brother, deepening her voice. “
Let’s refrain from
hocus pocus
references. They are only for the ignorant and the uneducated
.”

“Mock me all you want,” Ping said. “I’m trying to give you children a foothold in reality instead of allowing you to be duped into believing superstition and trickery.”

“How about it? Should I give it a go?” she asked.

Ping waved his arm to the open, scarred space and bowed slightly.

Mara stared out over the blackened floor and slowly focused on it. After a few seconds she closed her eyes, still seeing the image in her mind’s eye. She tried to imagine the floor unmarked, but she couldn’t get the image to change. Eventually it simply faded away, and she had trouble picturing it at all.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Sam said. “Clean ’er up.”

Ping shushed him and walked up to Mara, taking her elbow. “It might help if you used a talisman, to get started. What do you think?”

Mara opened her eyes. “It might help me to concentrate a little better. Do you still have the bytownite crystal here—the yellow one that I practiced with before?”

Ping pointed at the toppled metal cabinet and said to Sam, “Can you look in the cabinet? I think I left it there.”

Sam jogged over, lifted one of the cabinet doors as if it were a coffin and lowered his upper torso inside. He lifted out a shelf and threw it on the floor, then reached in once again. After throwing a few items out of his way, causing a loud series of clatters inside the cabinet, he straightened and held up a softball-size crystal.

“This it?” he said, jogging over without waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Mara took it and sat down lotus-style on the cold concrete floor. “You guys go hang out over there for a minute.” She nodded back toward the cabinet. “And be quiet.”

Sam rolled his eyes and walked away with Ping.

Turning the crystal in her hands, Mara stared deeply at it, consciously allowing the refracted light to shine into her eyes. Soon her entire field of vision filled with golden light, and she felt a sense of control flow over her. She could move the light with a thought—make it lighter, brighter and more amber. A childhood memory of staring into the sun came to her, a time when she had squinted into the light to bend it and shape it. But now it didn’t feel like a fantasy—she could move the light, bend it to her will.

She peered through the light and gazed at the warehouse floor. She willed the amber rays to scour away the blackness. She visualized the slate floor rippling like the surface of a pond, tiny waves slowly diminishing until it was smooth as glass. Something glinted in her mind’s eye.

From somewhere she heard a tiny voice say, “Whoa, cover your eyes!”

Sam held out his hands, trying to create a makeshift screen to eclipse the bright light streaming from the crystal in Mara’s hands. It wasn’t enough, and he closed his eyes, though he sensed the brightness through his eyelids. He even felt the light on his skin, like the noonday sun but without the heat. Soon he sensed the light had diminished and took a cautiously peek.

Sharply defined rays of golden light retracted into the crystal, and the dull institutional light from above shone down on them.

“Look,” Sam said, pointing to the floor. “The burn marks are gone.”