Rock Star (Dream Weaver #2) (20 page)

             
Forward movement was slow. My body hadn’t caught up with the present. Finally, we fought our way to the ‘mother brain’ at the center of the maze. Lasers darted and slashed from its surface, all aimed to destroy us. We huddled behind a plywood wall, defending against shots not only from the ‘mother’ but from various levels and vantage points, as well.

             
“Would you like the honors?” Nick yelled over the chaos.

             
“Just shoot the damn thing,” I roared and shot another enemy drone behind us before it could set off his back sensor.

             
Nick took aim and unloaded his weapon on the flashing disco ball-like globe suspended from the ceiling. Sparks exploded from the central computer and pitched the entire maze into darkness. We stood there panting, waiting for the lights to come back on. With a breath, I released the tension in my shoulders and lowered my gun.

             
“We’re not done yet,” Nick growled.

             
“What the…”

             
“Holograms,” he said. As if by his command, the image of Thomas appeared a few yards away. A glowing red dot appeared on my forehead and Nick launched himself at me and knocked me to the floor. “Sling the rifle over your shoulder. Side arms work better for close contact. We still have to make our way to the exit. The holos are a little tricky because they appear like the real thing.”

             
We scrambled back to our feet and peered around for the hologram of Thomas. Black lights illuminated the neon paint along the floor and walls, and we skulked through the haze, weapons at the ready. Nick’s memories wandered to another place, another time—a dark and foggy night in a chaos of trees and nightmares. The images and his angst permeated my skin and spiraled my heartbeat out of control. I choked for breath and stumbled against the wall for support. Nick continued several more feet before he realized I wasn’t behind him anymore.

             
With two long strides, he was beside me. “Emari? What’s wrong?” His voice was breathy and wrung out.

             
“You’re spilling, again,” I explained. “There was a forest. And you were afraid.”

             
“Cle Elum. We took out a Wraith there, last fall.”

             
I peered into the depths of his eyes and saw his fear for me. I understood how badly it wrenched his heart because mine ached vicariously. But in my internal vision, an image of Thomas appeared.

             
“He’s coming,” I hissed.

             
Nick swung around beside me and pressed his back to the wall. He held his gun at the ready near his face. His senses probed the darkness and conveyed his efforts to me. “I hate holos.”

             
But to me, the image felt too clear to be a hologram. “No, I don’t think…”

             
With the fury of a blizzard, Thomas whirled in beside Nick, knocked him to the floor and pinned him to the ground with Nick’s own gun pressed to his forehead. Instinct and virtual training took over. I holstered the 9mm, swung the Stealth from my shoulder and smashed the butt into Thomas’ head. My ruthlessness caught him off guard and gave me the opportunity to swing for home with the stock of the rifle at his head. Thomas reeled away from Nick, swiping at blood that gushed from his temple. A preternatural growl rumbled around me, so I raised my weapon at him and pulled the trigger.

             
Dark and malevolent, Thomas laughed. “It’s only a game, Miss Sweet.” His laughter morphed into a sneer. “But I do not like games. We shall see you soon enough.” And then, he phased from the arena.

             
Nick rolled to all fours and pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled to my side and enfolded my quivering body in his arms. “It’s okay, Em. He’s gone.”

             
“I wanna go home,” I whined into the folds of his shirt.

             
“Sure, honey.” Nick directed his voice to the rafters. “Abort. Abort. Code 10-31-18.” The date of his mortal death.

             
Light flooded the maze and flashing strips on the floor led the way to the exit like the emergency hatches on a plane.

Chapte
r 22 One Last Breath

              On the drive home, Nick remained silent. A scowl twisted his mouth and canyons creased his forehead. Finally, he said, “Sabre’s gonna be pissed that we aborted.”

             
“Good for Sabre. Besides, how would he know?” I argued.

             
“Because, he checks the scores. He analyzes every move, every tactic.”

             
“Well, you can blame it on me. He doesn’t scare me,” I said. But we both knew that wasn’t true. Sabre James scared the hell out of me.

             
Nick drove through the Garland District with its narrow two-lane main street lined with eclectic shops, and to the quaint little diner shaped like a milk bottle. “You like Johnny Depp?”

             
“Sure,” I said as he got out of the car.

             
Nick walked around the car and opened my door. “He filmed a movie called Benny and Joon in the diner next door.”

             
“I remember hearing something like that.”

             
Nick opened the door to the Milk Bottle. “But this place makes the best milk shakes.”

             
The waitress, who was about my age, waved us to a small table at the front corner of the diner. Nick gazed up into the hollow inside of the giant bottle. His fingers caressed the wall, coaxing out its secrets.

             
“They raised the ceiling back up to its original height after the fire,” he informed me.

             
I gazed up at one of the black and white photos of the Milk Bottle from the 1930s, when milk was five cents a gallon. As I traced a finger across the picture’s frame, a current jolted up my arm.

             
Smoke billowed from behind the restaurant
and the ‘cap’ of the bottle. Yellow and orange flames illuminated the walls like a scene from hell. A woman across the street was crying, crowds were gathering, and fire fighters scrambled to get a handle on the flames and save one of Spokane’s cherished landmarks. Inside, the dining area was filled with acrid black smoke and the air was hot and stifling. Gloved hands reached for the precious pictures that adorned the walls, historical photographs of the city’s past. The fireman pressed the pictures lovingly to his chest and shuffled out into the night.

              “Oh,” I gasped as I pulled my hand away. “One of the firemen saved the pictures. He came in and took them right off the wall.”

             
“That’s true,” the waitress said. “He was able to get the pictures out before the heat and water could destroy them. They’re a little warped, if you look at them just right, but otherwise they’re okay.”

             
“
That’s amazing,” I said. “Did they ever find out the cause?”

             
“Not really, but everyone still thinks it was arson.”

             
The wheels of my brain rumbled to life and Nick’s mouth pinched in a ‘leave-it-be, Em’ sort of way, but remained silent.

             
“
So, what can I get you?” the waitress asked.

             
“An espresso milkshake, please.” I turned my gaze to Nick.

             
“Nothing for me, thanks,” he said.

             
After she stepped away, Nick held out his hand to me. “Come here. I want to show you something.” I offered my hand and he led me to a photo of a crowd of people in the 1930s at the old rail yard that was now Riverfront Park.

             
“See the old clock tower?” He pointed to the sandstone brick pinnacle with nine foot clock faces. “This was the day President Woodrow Wilson came to Spokane. And you see this person here?” He pointed to blurry figure in a window above the rail yard. “That’s me.”

             
“You’re so full of sh…it.” I really was trying not to be such a potty mouth. It was hard after living the rocker chick life for what seemed like months.

             
“It’s true,” he defended. “I wouldn’t lie to you.” A look of chagrin flashed across his face but was buried under a conspiratorial smile. “Sabre took this shot from an adjacent building overlooking the platform. He positioned me up there.”

             
I scanned his face and found he was in earnest. “That is just too bizarre.”

             
Nick chuckled and pulled out a chair for me. As I sat down, the waitress brought my shake in a full shake glass and the remainder in the metal mixing cup. I stirred the thick concoction with my straw and contemplated the lump of ice cream in my glass.

             
“You have that look,” Nick said.

             
“I have ‘a look’?” I asked.

             
“Yeah. And you’ve got it right now. What are you thinking?”

             
“I was thinking we should try to print this diner and find out who started the fire.”

             
“Emari, that’s not possible. The heat from the fire, the water, time, tons of people; there’s no way there’s a print left to find.”

             
“Yeah, but how much could it take? If there’s even a tiny spark left, we could find the person who did this.”

             
“Why? The owners have rebuilt; the place is in better shape than it was before the fire,” he argued.

             
I shrugged. “I just think it would be epic to solve the mystery. I mean, wouldn’t it be cool if we could go into the city archives of cold cases and print evidence and find the perps?”

             
“Perps?”

             
“Yeah. You know, un-sub, perpetrator—guilty party?” I could hear his eyes roll as he thought,
Too much Criminal Minds.

             
“No. How would you explain why you know the information? How you got the information? They’d start suspecting
you
.”

             
I shook my head. “Anonymous tip line,” I retorted.

             
“Emari, let things be. You can’t risk all of us on a whim.”

             
I scowled at him. One way or another, I was going to find out who started that fire.

             
“I just have a feeling, that’s all,” I pressed.

             
“A feeling? Like an intuitive feeling or a prescient feeling?” he asked.

             
“Honestly? I’m not really sure. I am a novice at all of this Caphar stuff, ya know.”

             
“All right, if it makes you feel better, we’ll poke around a bit before we go.”

             
We sat watching the traffic and complaining about Spokane’s crazy drivers. The buds on the trees that lined the sidewalk were gorged with sunshine and popping at their seams. Spring was tumbling into life and awakening my heart from winter’s hibernation. The pull of nature tugged at my insides, stirred my spirit like warm breeze.               Once my shake was gone, we said our ‘goodbyes’ to the pretty little waitress, and went outside. I lifted my face to the sun and breathed in a draught of warm air. Nick took my hand and led me to the back of the diner. A three foot gap ran between the Milk Bottle and the famous Ferguson’s next door, where the fire was believed to have started.

             
“Emari, there’s been rain, snow, wind—firemen, water, smoke, demolition and construction guys here,” Nick argued.

             
I traced my fingers along the wall, pulled on every shred of memory that was left on any surface. A chaos of activity whirled in my mind. Nick was right. There had been a great deal of traffic in this area. This was probably a pointless endeavor. I squatted down and ran my hand along the foundation, but there was nothing. But, I still couldn’t just let it go. I pushed past him and wandered across the parking lot to the low fence that divided the lot from the house next door, then turned back to the diner. I trailed my fingers over the rough post, pressed my senses, my electrical impulses into the grain, tugging at any shred of memoryprint I could find.

             
The night was warm and dark. I stood across the parking lot under the shadow of a tree, watching the warm yellow-orange glow creeping like a encroaching dragon, licking up the walls
,
devouring all it touched.

              I gasped and withdrew my hand.

             
“Em?” Nick’s voice rumbled with concern.

             
“He watched,” I whispered.

             
“They usually do,” he said. “Fire bugs like to see their handiwork.”

             
“Here,” I said. “He stood here. Watched to make sure the fire was going.” Hand on the fence rail again, I pressed my senses into the wood. “Oh! It’s so sad….”

             
His forehead corrugated. “What’s that?”

             
“Here,” I said and reached for his hand. I pressed his palm against fence like a father feeling for the kick of his unborn child. “You can feel him.”

              Violence and abuse. Screaming. Silence and solace locked in a closet. A leather belt with a metal buckle. A switch from the tree in the front yard. A yard stick to his back. All alone. Black desperate loneliness, and fire-hot rage.

*          *          *

              “You okay?” Nick finally asked when we were over halfway home and I hadn’t uttered a word.

             
“Yeah.” I slogged back from distant thoughts.

             
“You won’t be able to find him.”

             
“No. Maybe not. But I’ll know him if I ever even brush up against him.”

             
“Would you turn him in? Knowing what you know?” he asked.

             
“I don’t know. Maybe. I guess.” My heart still remained on the fence rail. My eyes still witnessed the abuse. “He needs help. Psychiatric help, not sent to prison.”

             
We fell back into silence as I weighed the tragedy of someone else’s life. A tattered heart. A broken psyche. Boiling anger that was appeased only with flame. Now that I knew, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I didn’t want to know the extended implications of the thing; what this man, this child would become. Who he might hurt in the future. And who he might’ve hurt already.

             
“Was it worth it? To know what you know?” Nick asked softly, as we sat under the carport in the cooling Hello Yellow Jeep.

             
“I don’t know,” I confessed.

             
“You’ve got to let it go, Em. You can’t let it get to you,” he warned.

             
I huffed a sharp laugh at him. “Yeah? Didn’t you?” From the very beginning, he’d let my pain, my grief, my night terrors ‘get to’ him.

             
“That’s different,” he argued.

             
“Yeah? How’s that?”

             
He was silent, lacking an adequate answer. So he answered like a parent that doesn’t know the answer. “It just is, Em.” I pursed my lips and nodded. “Sometimes, we know things we don’t want to know. There’s nothing within our means to change them. It’s something you just have to file away for future reference, learn from it and get on with life.”

             
“Sure—yeah—I get that.” But my mind still rebelled, wondering just how many times this guy had been filed away and forgotten.

             
“Come on. Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death.”

             
I hadn’t even realized I was shivering. “Yeah.”

             
His hand engulfed mine as he led me inside like a lost child. He was right though. There really was nothing I could do. And there were so many more pressing things that required our attention. Like surviving an attack by enraged Nightmare Wraith.