Relentless (26 page)

Grant settled back in his chair, listening quietly.

‘‘We fell in love very quickly,’’ Morgan went on. ‘‘Perhaps too quickly. It was around the same time that I first discovered the existence of the stone tablet—or rather, the fragments that make up the tablet. Collecting them became my passion, and Payton picked it up quickly as well. He and I spent years flying all over the world—Argentina, Malaysia, Tibet, Zaire, and dozens of other countries—following any leads we got our hands on that could lead us to more of the fragments. We turned up quite a few of them—most of what I have now, what I showed you— came from that trip.’’ She looked away, tears forming in her eyes.

‘‘Something went wrong?’’ Grant offered.

She nodded. ‘‘Payton and I had found evidence of another fragment buried in a cave in France. The French government refused to allow us to dig in the caves—the location is a historical landmark—but we did it anyway. I suppose we dug too deep. There was a cave-in. Payton pushed me clear, but I had to watch as he was buried under a pile of enormous rocks, only inches from where I lay. I tried with all my might to dig him out, but the boulders were too heavy. I tried to find help, but there was no one in the area. So I went back in and found his hand protruding clear of the rubble. It wasn’t moving, but I held it until I felt it go cold. And then . . .’’

She trailed off and he watched her.

‘‘I
ran
. I just panicked. We had no permission to be there and too many questions would uncover our plans. I loved Payton with all my heart, truly I did. But I’d always led a quiet, uneventful life until the Shift. And I never would have had the nerve to go on these globe-trotting adventures alone. Payton had a vibrant, infectious personality. And when he died and suddenly I was completely alone . . . I didn’t know what to do.

‘‘Leaving him there was the hardest and worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. I couldn’t bring myself to go home to London, so I ran away here, to the States. And I entered a deep depression that lasted for years.’’

Grant could hear the bitterness, the brokenness in her voice, and he realized this was something she’d held inside for a very long time.

‘‘After I reached the States,’’ she said quietly, ‘‘I didn’t have it in me to continue the search for the tablets myself. The weight of what I’d done bore down on me, and I just wanted to hide. That’s when I first began thinking of a place where I and others like me could live in seclusion, safe from the cares of the world.’’

‘‘Hiding from the world doesn’t make it go away,’’ Grant said softly. ‘‘I’m beginning to realize that.’’

She nodded. ‘‘I know it as well. Yet I hide anyway. Part of me really
is
afraid to step out into the world, fearful of who else might get hurt or what I might cause. Mostly, I’m just too ashamed to leave this place. The pain that was born in that cave stays with me every moment of every day. My ‘miraculous’ perfect memory won’t let the pain fade. The thunder of the rocks as they fell. Payton’s screams. The jagged rock edges my fingers scraped as I tried to dig him out. The dust that burned my eyes. The warmth—and then the cold—of his hand, as the life ebbed . . . I still remember every detail.’’

‘‘I’m sorry,’’ Grant said. There was nothing else to say.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled. ‘‘Thank you for listening.’’

There was really nothing else for her to say, either.

32

Grant was eating lunch with his sister in the asylum’s dining room when Hannah entered the room. She sauntered her way in their direction and helped herself to a seat.

‘‘So . . . I’m not your girlfriend, huh?’’

‘‘Huh?’’ he asked.

‘‘Back at the military base. Evers thought I was your girlfriend, and you were about to tell him I wasn’t.’’ She flashed those beautiful teeth before stealing one of his french fries.

He backpedaled. ‘‘That’s not what I . . . I mean, I’m not
opposed
. . . I just didn’t know what to—’’

‘‘Relax, darlin’. I just like watchin’ you squirm.’’

Grant didn’t laugh, though she was clearly enjoying herself. Instead, he turned to his sister, growing serious. ‘‘Could you give us a minute?’’

Julie nodded and walked away.

‘‘What’s up?’’ Hannah asked, leaning on top of the table, as if waiting to be filled in on the latest gossip.

‘‘Why are you so determined to help me?’’ he asked quietly. ‘‘I need to know the truth.’’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘‘You saved my life. That ain’t reason enough?’’

‘‘It
is
, it’s just . . .’’ he grappled for the words. ‘‘I have to know why a cat burglar would want to help a total stranger? I mean, say it out loud and doesn’t it strike you as strange? Tell me
why
.’’

‘‘I got no big noble explanation.’’

He considered this. ‘‘Then tell me who you really are. Inside.’’

Hannah sat back in her chair, uncertainty written across her face. But she seemed to be determined to indulge him. ‘‘I’m still tryin’ to figure that out. Growing up, I was a brat. Spoiled little rich girl and the apple of my daddy’s eye.’’

She looked away, collecting her thoughts.

She cleared her throat. ‘‘Mom passed when I was seven, and I was all he had left, so he showered me with attention and gifts and love. It ruined me, of course, but not a day or an hour goes by when I don’t think of him. He was bright and funny. And very brave. He was everything I wanted to be.’’

‘‘Was?’’ Grant said.

‘‘He was killed when I was sixteen. Assassinated, in fact. He was a senator, believe it or not. He led the fight on some kind of bill about . . . actually, I can’t remember what it was about. It don’t matter now. Someone out there didn’t like what he had to say,’’ she said, with a far-off look in her eyes.

‘‘So how does a straight-laced politician’s daughter turn to a life of crime?’’

‘‘Took the scenic route,’’ she offered a wry smile. ‘‘And I never said I was straight-laced.’’

‘‘The scenic route?’’

‘‘I went into foster care at sixteen. Ran away a few months later. Fell in love at nineteen. Found out the guy I was in love with was a drug dealer when I saw him get his head blown off by a competing dealer. Went to the police, helped them track down the killer. Testified in court, the whole nine yards. Guy got off, not guilty, ’cause the testimony of a destitute runaway couldn’t stack up against his mega-lawyer squad. It was after that, that I started seein’ the world in all its splendid shades of gray. If there was no justice in the world, if people you love could get killed right in front of you and no one cared if they got away with it . . . then what did anything matter?’’

Grant sat up straighter, engrossed in her story now. Her walls were falling away as Grant watched in fascination. This wasn’t easy for her.

‘‘After the trial, I started stealin’. I needed the money but I also wanted to strike back at the world that’d taken everyone away from me. Turns out I was pretty good at it. I’m a little older and wiser now, so I know a lot of the stuff going on in my head that got me here was unjustified. I
know
I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. But at least now I do it for high-enders; I won’t work for criminals. Mostly I get a lot of corporate warfare, that sort of thing. No one gets hurt, and no one suffers. Guess I do it ’cause it’s the one thing I’m good for.’’

‘‘You do it for the rush,’’ Grant clarified.

‘‘I do it for kicks, capitalist rivalry, and the American way.’’

Grant folded his arms and sat back. ‘‘Then why do you help me?’’ he repeated again.

She sighed, and when she spoke again, her words came out slowly. ‘‘I can’t put it into words. Maybe I’m seein’ something I ain’t seen since before my father passed. Maybe I feel the connection of another orphan. We both know nobody should ever feel that kind of alone. Maybe . . .’’ she hesitated, ‘‘I just like you.’’

Grant felt an urge to reach out and take her hand, but he resisted . . .

‘‘The one thing I can tell you for sure,’’ she concluded, ‘‘is that bein’ around you makes me want to be
better
.’’

She sat back now, keeping her gaze fixed on him. ‘‘Even Morgan doesn’t know all that,’’ she said softly.

Grant was silent for a long time. Hannah waited patiently.

‘‘I, uh . . . I’m not . . .’’ he fumbled for words when his mouth finally opened. ‘‘If you need me as some sort of bridge to your past, to reconnect with your old life, then I’m okay with that. But I don’t think you can build a relationship on that. If you want more, then it’s time to—’’ The sound of a throat clearing came from nearby. Grant turned to see Fletcher peering down on the two of them as if he’d just changed the channel to a soap opera, and couldn’t be more disgusted by it.

Hannah, meanwhile, was doing everything in her power to maintain her composure, painting a false grin on her face and blinking hard.

‘‘Morgan wants to see you right away,’’ Fletcher intoned.

‘‘Can it wait?’’ Grant asked. ‘‘We’re talking . . .’’ he explained, grasping at an easy explanation for what he was feeling.

‘‘It’s urgent,’’ Fletcher replied, indifferent to Grant’s concerns. ‘‘Marta wants to meet you.’’

Morgan massaged her temples as today’s migraine—which was actually
yesterday’s
migraine refusing to die—slowed her thinking as well as her pace. Grant walked alongside as she led him through the labyrinthine asylum.

‘‘I don’t suppose you speak Spanish?’’ she asked, as they navigated the book-lined halls.

‘‘No,’’ Grant replied, wondering what it must’ve been like for the patients who once called this place home.

If they hadn’t lost their minds before, this place would certainly do
it . . .

‘‘No matter,’’ Morgan replied. ‘‘I’ll translate.’’

He glanced at her, thoughtful. ‘‘How many languages do you speak?’’

‘‘Three thousand, eight hundred fifty-seven. But many are dialects.’’

Grant nearly tripped over his feet.

‘‘What I do is not merely about remembering the facts that I’m exposed to,’’ she reminded him. ‘‘I have razor-sharp clarity. I
memorize
every single fact I encounter. Without even having to try.’’

‘‘So . . . all you’d have to do is read a foreign dictionary once, and you’ll become fluent in the entire language?’’ He began catching on.

‘‘It takes some time to learn syntax and grammar. And idioms, local colloquialisms, and pop culture references are often lost on me, so I don’t know how I’d fare if I ever visited any of those countries in person. But I can get by.’’

Grant dwelled on that a moment. ‘‘So what does this Marta do? What’s her mental thing?’’

‘‘The most peculiar I’ve ever encountered,’’ Morgan replied. ‘‘Think of the most
analytical
person you’ve ever known. Such a person would be capable of looking at a situation, weighing the possibilities quickly, and determining potential outcomes to various actions they might take.’’

Grant thought of Evers. ‘‘Sure, okay.’’

‘‘Imagine that kind of analytical mind magnified times ten,’’ Morgan said. ‘‘Times
twenty
. Possibly even one hundred.’’

‘‘So . . . what? She can predict what’s going to happen in my future?’’

‘‘Not as such,’’ Morgan replied. ‘‘She sees . . . potentialities. If she fully grasps the dynamics of a situation—and she always does, very quickly—she can determine all eventual outcomes of that situation. With remarkable accuracy.’’

Grant absorbed this. ‘‘So if meeting her is this important, why didn’t you bring me to see her before?’’

‘‘It took some . . . convincing . . . for her to agree to meet you.’’

Morgan approached the lonely door at the far end of one corner of the building. With a gentle knock, she opened it and ushered Grant inside.

‘‘This is Marta,’’ she said.

‘‘Hello,’’ Grant offered, but the elder woman did not react.

‘‘This,’’ Morgan addressed Marta, switching to Spanish,
‘‘is my
friend . . .’’

Marta immediately lifted her eyes and focused on Grant. Her pupils contracted at the sight of him, and through her lips suddenly passed the words, ‘‘
El Traerador
.’’

Grant didn’t have to speak the language to know what phrase she’d just uttered. He exchanged a glance with Morgan, already frowning at the mention of the Bringer.

‘‘
Sí
,’’ Morgan replied. ‘‘He’s come to meet you.’’

The old woman studied Grant like a dead insect on a microscope slide. She didn’t strike him as unkind, yet he was never comfortable with this kind of scrutiny.

‘‘Is she going to talk, or what?’’ his eyes swiveled to Morgan.

Before she could answer, Marta made what sounded like an offhand remark to Morgan. Morgan nodded.

‘‘What’d she just say?’’ Grant asked accusingly.

‘‘She said your impatience will be your downfall.’’

He scowled.

Marta’s tone changed when she began speaking again. She sounded like a storyteller, revealing ancient wisdom with the greatest of passion.

‘‘The winds of change are blowing through these old bones,’’ Morgan translated as Marta seemed to be choosing her words carefully. ‘‘And if you have ears to hear, you will know and understand what they are trying to tell you. The very earth feels . . .
different
.’’

Grant swallowed. ‘‘Different how?’’

Marta continued before Morgan could relay the question. ‘‘Danger surrounds you from all sides. Yet the truth eludes you, though it has been within your grasp from the beginning. Soon you will find it impossible to ignore.’’

She said something else, which Morgan didn’t translate right away.

‘‘Are you certain?’’ Morgan asked, and Marta repeated her words precisely, the same vocal inflections.

Grant watched.

‘‘She says,’’ Morgan said, facing Grant at last, ‘‘that the choices you make will decide the fates of all.’’

Grant hesitated. ‘‘ ‘All’ of you here at the asylum?’’ he clarified.

Morgan conferred with Marta.

‘‘She will only say ‘all’,’’ said Morgan.

Marta spoke again.

‘‘Something . . .’’ Morgan translated slowly, ‘‘something
unbelievable
. . . is about to happen.’’