Relentless (20 page)

He pulled away from the table, suddenly not liking where this conversation was going. ‘‘But . . . if the tablet talks about this ring, and it’s as ancient as you say it is, why do you assume that it has anything to do with me? Couldn’t
anyone
have worn this ring in all that time?’’

A hesitant look shadowed her face. ‘‘There’s more. I’ve never quite come up with a complete word-for-word translation, but I’ve been able to decipher many of the
meanings
behind these symbols. One key area I’ve decoded is numbers.

‘‘I’ve discovered a date on the tablet, Grant,’’ she said portentously, taking a step closer to him as he continued to slowly creep backward. ‘‘The date refers to you.’’

‘‘How do you know that?’’

‘‘Because it matches the date you experienced the Shift.’’

Grant moved backward until his back hit the wall. He caused a few of the candles to tumble to the ground, but Morgan ignored them. Julie, meanwhile, was speechless, her eyes bouncing hopelessly between Morgan and Grant.

The date on this ancient hunk of rock matches the date I spotted
myself walking down the sidewalk downtown? The day all of this
began?

‘‘That’s preposterous,’’ he blurted out, but the shock and concern never left his features.

‘‘Whatever is happening to all of us,’’ Morgan said with conviction, ‘‘it hinges on you. The Shift. The rings. This tablet. Our enhanced abilities. You are the
key
to it all, Grant.’’

Grant swallowed and fought the urge to pass out. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be true . . . He shook his head. There were no words, no other response.

She moved closer to him, her eyes piercing his soul.

‘‘The bits of the stone tablet I’ve been able to translate speak of a ‘miracle man’ called ‘the Bringer,’ whose destiny it is to ‘shape the future.’ That man . . . is
you
.’’

23

Morning came, and once again Grant had been up all night. Only this time, he had been talking with Morgan. Julie had fallen asleep somewhere along the way. Morgan had no more details or speculation to offer him, but she helped him sort through the stone tablet’s implications, and gave him her word that she would always help him with all of the resources at her disposal. She also promised that she would keep working to translate the entire tablet, encouraged now that it was completed and a full translation was possible.

When they finally emerged from the hidden room, the Common Room was louder than usual. There seemed to be a buzz about the room, which for the first time featured no one who stopped to stare at him for long periods of time. Instead, the Loci were coming and going, to and fro, busy little workers. They had purpose in their movements, and Grant realized that all of this commotion was because of him.

They knew, and they understood.

Julie walked away, lost in her own thoughts.

Grant noticed that Hannah was still around, helping with chores and other tasks. He was a little surprised to find himself
encouraged
to see her friendly face, considering Morgan’s earlier warning, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on when it was he’d begun thinking of her face as ‘‘friendly.’’

Grant was about to break away from Morgan and approach Hannah when Morgan touched his arm and pulled him aside.

‘‘May I ask you one last personal question before you go?’’ she said quietly.

‘‘Sure.’’

‘‘Who were you, before all this? Before the Shift?’’

‘‘My name was—’’

‘‘No no no. I’m not asking for a
name
. Who
were
you? What was your
identity
, your purpose, your path? What was your existence like?’’

He looked into her gaze until he could look no more. Finally, he spoke again. ‘‘I was . . . alone.’’

Morgan examined him thoughtfully for a moment. ‘‘I thought as much. What would you say was your greatest weakness?’’

He looked away, stunned at her forthright manner regarding his deepest, most hidden feelings. ‘‘I had some problems, growing up. At the orphanage . . . sometimes I would pick fights with other kids. On purpose. And I almost always
lost
. When I finally got out of that place, I told myself it was all over, and now was my chance to make a clean break, to start again. But there were a few times, in public places . . . when I lashed out. My anger would just build and build . . . until it exploded.’’

‘‘So you isolated yourself to ward off the temptation,’’ she summed up. ‘‘Very noble, in a way. But in all this time, you had no friends?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘No family?’’

‘‘Just Julie. But I stayed away.’’

‘‘Acquaintances, co-workers? Not even a pet?’’

Grant shook his head.

‘‘My, my,’’ she breathed in deeply, examining him with new eyes. ‘‘You embraced it. You allowed it to change the very foundations of who you are.’’

He breathed faster, old feelings rushing to the surface. ‘‘I never
asked
for everyone in my life to run out on me,’’ he huffed. ‘‘Why are you asking me about this?’’

‘‘Grant, my fate and that of those around us is about to be decided at your hands. I’d like to know if you’re more Jekyll or Hyde.’’

‘‘Morgan!’’ someone shouted.

They both turned as a tall, thin, black man Grant hadn’t yet met stormed through the Common Room doors and marched straight up to Morgan. He appeared to be ignoring Grant.

‘‘It was
too soon
!’’ he cried, his eyes twitching wildly behind his oval, wire-rimmed glasses. ‘‘How
could
you?!’’

The man had short, braided hair and was clearly agitated, gesturing wildly with his arms. He was impossibly thin and couldn’t have been more than twenty-three.

Morgan was untroubled by his actions. She merely stared at him.

‘‘Grant, I don’t believe you’ve met Fletcher,’’ Morgan said without taking her eyes off of the newcomer. ‘‘You’ll have to forgive his . . .
zeal
. He’s made it his self-appointed mission to guard the safety of this place and the Loci who live here. His enthusiasm sometimes gets the best of him. But I keep him around because he’s a genius.’’

‘‘I thought you were
all
geniuses, of one kind or another.’’

‘‘Well, yes. But he’s different. Fletcher is capable of multiple thoughts at the same time. He’s quite brilliant, capable of seeing patterns and connections that others physically cannot.’’

Finally Fletcher turned his twitchy frame in Grant’s direction, though he barely acknowledged him at all. ‘‘I provide the intuition that her vast knowledge of cold facts utterly lacks.’’ He returned his attention to Morgan. ‘‘This man could be anyone. How could you take him to see the stone so soon? You don’t know
anything
about him!’’

‘‘Enough,’’ Morgan said forcefully, her face calm but her volume matching his. ‘‘I know
enough
.’’

‘‘You’re jeopardizing our safety by trusting him.’’ His eyes darted back and forth quickly between Grant and Morgan. ‘‘He’s killed at least one person—
that we know of
—and injured several others. Morgan, he blew up a house, for crying out loud!’’

Morgan’s lips stretched into a thin frown as Fletcher continued talking for another minute. Her head slowly turned to look in his direction.

‘‘Young man, are you aware that your lips are still moving?’’ she said, interrupting him.

He fell silent, registering an appalled expression.

‘‘You should look after that,’’ she said, her eyebrows slightly raised.

He glared at her. Then stormed off.

‘‘Don’t mind him. You are
always
welcome here, Grant. Though when you stop by, I would thank you to bring me a new book or two, if you can.’’ She offered a knowing smile. ‘‘Preferably something rare.’’

He nodded, and Morgan excused herself.

Hannah noticed the opening and approached. She must have guessed the meaning of the stare Grant couldn’t hide because she smiled.

‘‘Sleep makes all things better,’’ she quipped. She grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze, and he found himself squeezing back, overwhelmed and grateful to have sympathetic human contact. ‘‘You should try it.’’

‘‘No, I’m glad to be headed home. Though to be honest, I am a little worried,’’ he said sheepishly.

‘‘What, because of those Inveo people?’’ she replied.

‘‘They can identify us.’’

‘‘We don’t know that anybody other than the security guards ever actually saw our faces, and they were a bunch of psychos, anyway,’’ she replied. ‘‘I’m thinkin’ the question they have to ask themselves is, do they know more about us, or do we know more about them? We saw their entire operation. Their ‘war room’ or whatever. Not to mention that enormous door, which leads to God only knows what. I’m guessin’ that’s not the kinda info they’d want the police or the media to find out about.’’

‘‘But that’s all the more reason for them to come after us,’’ he said.

She sighed, rolled her eyes. ‘‘They won’t try anything, they’ll be too afraid after what you did to them. You certainly struck fear into that detective’s heart tonight, too. And if they
do
come after us, I’ll just put tarantulas in their dreams.’’ He thought she might be joking, but reconsidered at her expression.

‘‘You can do that?’’ he said.

‘‘Tip of the iceberg, big boy,’’ she said, breaking into that thousand-dollar smile, with those gorgeous ruby lips and radiant white teeth . . .

Her cell phone rang. She pulled it out and looked at the display.

‘‘Sorry, I’ve been waiting to hear from a client,’’ she said, and started walking away.

‘‘Remind me to have a talk with you about your line of work sometime,’’ Grant called out.

Still walking, she craned her head around and stuck her tongue out at him, before flashing that big smile again.

The smile that he was finding increasingly pleasant.

On the front doorstep, Hannah opened her ringing phone.

‘‘Yeah?’’

She walked lightly down the front steps and glanced at her watch. Then she walked away from the building, along the broken driveway until she was as far away as she dared.

‘‘No, I was just talkin’ to him before you called,’’ she said, her voice low.

The voice on the other end responded.

‘‘Yes . . . I understand.’’

She listened to the phone.

‘‘Trust me . . .’’ she said, turning back to gaze at the asylum. ‘‘He has no idea.’’

24

‘‘You’re not going to get anything out of him,’’ said a man with the name ‘‘Hanson’’ on his nametag. He seemed like a competent kid, but a bit young for a lieutenant. And the way he kept sizing up Drexel’s bruises and scrapes was starting to grate. ‘‘He hasn’t said a word since we brought him in after that 911 call.’’

‘‘He hasn’t met
me
,’’ Drexel replied.

Drexel put his hand on the doorknob to the interrogation room and opened it.

‘‘So . . . the legendary Thresher, caught with his guard down,’’ Drexel said. He began circling the small metal chair in the interrogation room. The bald man sitting within it tensed briefly but said nothing. A bright spotlight shone from above—the only light in the room— and the Thresher’s hands were cuffed in plastic restraints behind him.

‘‘Oh, I know all about you,’’ Drexel continued, noting the other man’s edge. ‘‘It would seem your skills are surpassed only by your legendary status in your line of work. Did you know you’re creeping up the FBI’s Most Wanted list? Though they never had a picture to go with the profile till now.’’

The Thresher squared his shoulders, sat upright.

Drexel leaned forward and lowered his voice, so only his captive could hear him speak. ‘‘I know what you’re looking for. You want the Bringer.’’

The Thresher turned to face him for the first time. ‘‘For your sake, I hope you’re going to tell me where to find him.’’

‘‘Ah, he speaks!’’ Drexel triumphed. ‘‘Idiots here were just telling me how they couldn’t get a single word out of you. Now that we’re friends, why don’t you tell me your real name. To go along with your portrait.’’

‘‘I have none.’’

Drexel shrugged. ‘‘Never hurts to ask. So how
did
they capture you, anyway?’’

‘‘They cheated,’’ the Thresher replied.

‘‘Cheated!’’ Drexel laughed out loud. ‘‘Let me guess,
everyone
who defeats you cheats.’’

‘‘No one has
ever
defeated me. Your men scored no victory,’’ the Thresher spat. ‘‘Where is triumph when you lack the spine to look your opponent in the eye? Those adolescents with guns and nightsticks knew they had no chance of besting me. Just as
you
do. So you seek to intimidate me.’’ He paused then continued with a note of amusement in his voice. ‘‘Intimidate . . .
me
.’’

Drexel slapped him hard across the back of his bald head. ‘‘Men in handcuffs shouldn’t mock.’’

He didn’t say anything else for a moment, just circled the man for a minute or two. Finally he asked, ‘‘Are the rumors true? Do you really get a million per hit, in cash?’’

The Thresher made no response.

‘‘What a stash you must have!’’ Drexel continued. ‘‘A man might wonder what you spend that kind of money on.’’

Still there was no response.

‘‘They say you’re real selective about the jobs you’ll take,’’ Drexel continued, still walking in a circle around the chair. ‘‘But no one’s ever been able to figure out what your method of selection is.’’

The Thresher did not even move in his chair, he simply continued staring straight ahead.

‘‘Ah, well,’’ Drexel resolved. ‘‘Back to business at hand, I guess. Let’s start with this, my new favorite piece of evidence.’’ Drexel produced the sword from somewhere beyond the room’s darkness and continued to circle until he was standing in front of the seated man. He hefted the sword with his good right arm—the other was still in a shoulder brace from his episode at the UCLA office. ‘‘Don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what these markings on the blade signify?’’

The Thresher looked up at Drexel.

He kicked out sharply with his foot, knocking the sword out of Drexel’s hand. It arced into the air until the tip was pointing down; soaring downward, the mighty blade sliced through the plastic cuffs and as his hands became free, he caught the sword in one hand at the last second.