Relentless (25 page)

30

Finch Bailey didn’t seem to appreciate it when Collin tripped him at the lunch table.

All of the other kids laughed heartily as the larger boy’s food went flying and Finch landed in a mound of mashed potatoes. But Finch wasn’t laughing.

Just as Collin expected.

When asked later by one of the orphanage workers why he did it, he looked the woman straight in the eye and said, ‘‘Just seemed like the thing to do.’’

Three hours later on the playground, Collin was alone on the swing set, when Finch shoved him from behind in midswing, making Collin dive out of it. As he rose, sand clinging to his face, he snatched a handful of sand and flung it straight into Finch’s laughing face.

A caretaker broke in before it went any further but as she led Finch away he turned and mouthed, ‘‘Just you wait.’’

Later that night, Collin was only pretending to be asleep on the bottom of the bunk bed, when he heard footsteps approaching. More than one pair of footsteps.

Hands grabbed all four of his limbs and dragged him out of bed. He struggled against them, but only halfheartedly. Duct tape was placed over his eyes and mouth and the other three or four boys—Collin couldn’t tell how many there were, exactly—dragged him roughly out of the building, intentionally banging his head into various solid objects along the way.

Half an hour later, he was lying in the poison oak patch deep in the woods behind the orphanage. The other boys had stripped him to his boxers on the cool spring evening, and used more of the duct tape to strap his feet together and his hands in back.

Then they began hitting. But he only pretended to flinch, to fight back.

Light at first, the impacts grew harder and harder until fists were involved. A hardness coursed through his body with each blow. He willed himself to take it. Soon Collin felt hot, sticky blood running out of his nose. But they stopped long enough to rub ivy leaves across his bare chest, arms, and legs.

It was late the next morning before the frantic orphanage workers found him; he was shivering and wet with the morning dew, with so many dark red rashes covering his body, they’d rushed him to the emergency room.

He’d never bothered to try and free himself or crawl out of the woods because he wanted to see the other boys pay for doing this to him. Almost as much as he yearned for the ordeal to last as long as it possibly could . . .

‘‘NO STOP!!’’

Grant bucked straight up in bed, panting, covered in sweat.

He slowly eased himself back down onto his pillow and glanced at his bedside clock. Through the window blinds, he could make out a soft glow as the sun began to greet the horizon. The world was at peace.

But he was not.

He used the bed’s sheets to wipe sweat from his forehead as he lay there with his eyes wide open.

Where did
that
come from?

He hadn’t thought of that particular episode from his childhood in years.

He decided to leave early for the asylum; he needed advice, and not on anything he’d learned from Harlan Evers . . .

The Thresher was looking straight down at the ground, over twenty-five feet below, when his phone vibrated.

His arms and legs were completely outstretched, bracing his position in the narrow space between two neighboring downtown hotels. The confines of the tight outdoor corridor were far too small to hold a car or truck; instead, it merely allowed for rear entrance to both hotels.

The Thresher carefully released his right hand from the brick wall, shifting his balance to accommodate three limbs, and thumbed open his cell phone.

‘‘Yes?’’ he whispered.

‘‘Your presence is required.’’

‘‘Devlin,’’ the Thresher replied in recognition, still whispering. ‘‘Been a long time.’’

‘‘Too long. I’ve been made aware of your recent movements. You must meet with me, at once.’’

‘‘If you know what I’m doing, then you know I’m at a critical stage. I’ve no time for . . . guidance.’’

‘‘The Secretum disagrees,’’ Devlin replied without emotion.

Below, a door opened and a man carrying a large bag exited.

‘‘Very well,’’ the Thresher said, snapping the phone shut.

He let go of the walls and plummeted to the ground.

Landing without a sound, he rolled to absorb the impact. While on his back in midroll, he kicked the man with the bag.

The man landed sprawled out on all fours a few feet away. He immediately looked up to find the Thresher towering over him from a few feet away, his sword out and pointed right in the man’s face. But the blade was turned sideways, and the bag of food hung from it, unspoiled.

‘‘This is the third consecutive Friday morning you’ve made this delivery,’’ the Thresher said in his soft inflection, holding the sword perfectly motionless.

The young man on the ground was in complete shock, trying to reason out what had just happened. And more importantly, how.

‘‘
Where
are you taking it?’’ the Thresher asked.

When Lisa walked into Daniel’s hospital room bright and early that morning, she was surprised to see him sitting up in his bed. He’d slept the entire previous day, and the rest seemed to have done him well. The swelling around his eyes had gone down, and he could finally see her again.

A nurse was feeding him.

‘‘Lisa!’’ he nearly shouted, spewing Jell-O everywhere. ‘‘There you are!’’

‘‘I can’t believe you’re up!’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘Are you okay?’’

‘‘Better now that you’re here,’’ he replied weakly.

Her heart did a back flip.

‘‘I went by the office to pick up some things for you, and then I had to call Gordon. May I?’’ Lisa asked the nurse. The nurse smiled in reply and handed her the tray of food. In a moment, she was gone.

Daniel was rooting around inside his mouth with his tongue. ‘‘Huh. I think I’m missing a couple of fillings . . . and the teeth they filled,’’ he said, lost in thought. When she sat next to him, he snapped to attention. ‘‘Why’d you meet with Gordon?’’ he asked evenly. ‘‘And why do you have bruises all over you?’’

She’d hoped to wait a while before telling him everything, but he seemed much more coherent now and clearly wouldn’t accept a postponement to this conversation.

‘‘You weren’t the only one that was attacked,’’ she said.

His face registered horror.

‘‘I’m okay. No permanent damage. My car is a thing of the past, but I’m good.’’

He winced and put an arm over his chest, where the cracked ribs were. ‘‘Gordon?’’ he asked again through the pain.

Lisa sighed. ‘‘The lab’s been ransacked by the police. A forensics unit pretty much tore the whole thing apart, piece by piece. Gordon said there’s nothing we can do—they had a court order, and they’ve declared the entire premises a crime scene. It’s gone, Daniel. I’m sorry.’’

He looked down, unable to meet her gaze. But instead of despondent and inconsolable, he seemed rather resigned.

‘‘What?’’ she asked.

Daniel hesitated, then offered something that might have resembled a smile. ‘‘Doesn’t seem all that bad, compared to being nearly beaten to death.’’

She winced. Thinking about the attack and how it must have felt was something she couldn’t bear to dwell on.

‘‘And the other thing is,’’ he said softly, ‘‘this terrible thing meant to harm us might be for the best, all things considered.’’

‘‘How can you say that?’’ Lisa nearly came out of her chair.

‘‘I don’t believe in coincidences.
Everything
is traceable to cause and effect.’’ He sounded for a moment like his old self.

She threw a quick glance outside the room’s door. He nodded.

‘‘Drexel,’’ he concluded. ‘‘This was about Drexel trying to get to Borrows. All of it.’’

‘‘I think so, too,’’ she nodded. ‘‘We could probably never prove it, but I think he paid some thugs to attack you, to give him a legal excuse to search our office. He wants Grant’s file.’’

Alarm flashed across his face. ‘‘Did you get rid of it?’’

‘‘I burned it,’’ she said and then held up a blank CD. ‘‘Encrypted, too.’’

‘‘Good girl,’’ he patted her hand, and leaned back, resting his eyes. He let out a long, painful breath, concerns and troubles fading into pain and exhaustion.

She wished she could simply let him rest, but he needed to know. ‘‘Daniel, the police have stationed a cop outside your door at all times. For
protection
.’’

Daniel looked up at the door sharply. Then he looked back at her, and what was left of his complexion under all of the scratches and blotches turned completely white. ‘‘He wouldn’t . . .’’ he whispered.

She turned and looked back out the door again. ‘‘I don’t think you can stay here.’’

Daniel started breathing faster, which caused him pain in his chest again. ‘‘But I can’t even
move
!’’ he gasped. ‘‘The doctor just told me that I’m going to have to relearn how to walk! He said it’ll take months of physical therapy. My ankle may even need another surgery.’’

He looked at her and then back at the door, fear and desperation all over his face. ‘‘What are we going to do?’’

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, as everything rested on her shoulders for a change. She wasn’t used to being in this position and was in no way convinced she was capable of doing something like this alone.

‘‘We’ve got no choice. We have to get you out of here.’’

31

Grant had just started the Corvette’s engine, Julie in the passenger seat, and begun to back out, when he hit the brakes.

‘‘What?’’ Julie asked, hurling forward into her seatbelt.

‘‘It’s
her
,’’ Grant said, staring into his rear-view.

Julie’s head spun around. All she could see was a denim jacket and simple black T-shirt, standing right behind the car.

He got out of the car; Julie followed suit.

‘‘There’s this guy who’s in danger and could use your help. In a tothe-rescue kind of way.’’

‘‘So?’’

‘‘So, that’s what people with abilities like yours do, buster,’’ Alex replied, mildly annoyed. ‘‘Or at least, what you
should
be doing.’’

Grant rolled his eyes. ‘‘I don’t have time for this . . .’’

‘‘Neither does the guy who needs your help. I know you’re all consumed with this ‘quest for answers,’ but don’t you think it’s about time you started putting this awesome new ability of yours to good use?’’

Grant just stared. He couldn’t believe he was getting a lecture on who to be from this woman.

‘‘There,’’ she said, letting out a long breath. ‘‘Any of that get through? It was, like, my civic duty or whatever.’’

‘‘A for effort, C for delivery.’’

‘‘All right, then let me try a different approach,’’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘‘Go see this guy who needs your help . . . and I’ll tell you who was responsible for your Shift.’’

‘‘You
know
who did this to me?’’

‘‘Of course she does,’’ Julie jumped in. On Grant’s look of astonishment, she added, ‘‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? She
works
for him.’’

Grant paused. ‘‘Is that true?’’

Alex surveyed Julie. ‘‘Home run for the rookie. Look, there’s not much time. Go do whatever it is you’ve got to do, but meet me at St. Frances Hospital by sundown. And watch your back.’’

‘‘That’s
my
job,’’ Julie retorted.

When Grant and Julie emerged from the long hallway full of books and into the Common Room, he spotted Morgan and Fletcher sitting in the lounge area, on opposite sides of a chess board. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but given how heated Fletcher looked, it wasn’t hard to guess.

Grant took his sister by the hand and led her across the floor. Many of the Loci customarily stopped to stare as he entered the room.

‘‘Ah, Grant,’’ Morgan smiled warmly. ‘‘Good to see—’’

‘‘Wonderful,’’ Fletcher groused. ‘‘He’s back.’’

Grant wasted no time. ‘‘These are for you.’’ He handed her Julie’s college textbooks. ‘‘Can we talk in private?’’

‘‘Certainly,’’ she replied, rising from her seat. Fletcher was about to protest but Morgan just held up a hand.

Grant followed Morgan through the Common Room. Eyes followed him and the room buzzed.

‘‘Do they have to do that?’’

Morgan looked up. The Loci were still standing about the room, watching them as they exited out into the hallway. ‘‘They intend to be witnesses.’’

‘‘Witnesses?’’

‘‘To what you are going to do. They mean not to miss it.’’

The small white room she led him to contained a countertop, cabinets, an examination table, and a couple of tiny, uncomfortable-looking chairs. She sat in one and invited him to sit in the other. As before, she waited for him to speak first.

Grant gathered his thoughts before opening his mouth.

‘‘I need some advice,’’ he began. ‘‘I think I’m developing . . . feelings . . . for Hannah.’’

A hint of a smile played at the corner of Morgan’s mouth. ‘‘I see,’’ she said in an unsurprised tone of voice.

‘‘Am I nuts to want to pursue something like this now? With everything that’s going on?’’

Morgan allowed herself one full breath. ‘‘Attraction, passion, love . . . these aren’t my area of expertise. But if I may be so bold . . . your entire world has fallen apart and rebuilt itself into something unfamiliar, Grant. It’s only natural that one of your most fundamental human needs—to be cared for—is going unmet, and that you should attempt to fill that hole. My advice would be to be careful that you genuinely feel for her as you think you do.’’

Grant considered this, something piquing his curiosity. ‘‘Sounds like solid advice. So, uh . . . what makes you think you’re not good at this sort of thing?’’

‘‘Experience,’’ she replied. ‘‘I don’t seem cut out for romance myself. My last relationship was . . . well, it was devastating. Goodness, it’s been
ages
since I’ve talked about it.’’

The hesitancy in her voice made Grant wonder if she always played this role of advice-giver, but rarely had anyone to open up to herself. He felt for her in this position, everyone looking up to her, depending on her. It was a notion he was beginning to identify with.

‘‘What was his name?’’

She smiled. ‘‘Payton. I met him after the Shift. He was another like us—another Loci. Payton went through the Shift about two years after I did. He was the very first person I met who had undergone the Shift as well. The joy of finally meeting someone else who knows what this feels like! Well, it’s overwhelming, isn’t it?’’