Twist (Book 1): The Abnorm Chronicles-Twist (7 page)

Chapter
16

Ingrid stared at the reception staff in the bustling intake room. The VA Hospital in Denver, just off of Eighth and Colorado, was a busy building with thousands of patients moving through the doors every day; their problems ranged from minor to devastating. A staggeringly large staff, as well as the administration and infrastructure, was required to support that many patients.

Though she had worked for the
VA for several years, Ingrid did not know many of the day-shift, desk-staff, and outer-office people. A blur of faces worked the stations and the desks, changing every day. But this morning she couldn’t help but notice the young nurse working the phones at the long intake desk. The woman wore an incongruous long-sleeved thermal shirt under her scrubs—sleeves that did not quite cover the ugly bruises on her arms and wrists.

Ingrid was t
rained to be alert for evidence of domestic abuse. Her eye lingered on the ugly purple marks around the girl’s wrists and forearms. Ingrid couldn’t ignore it; too many other people already had. Tentatively, she took a step forward. “Excuse me?”

The girl with the bruises swiveled in her chair. She looked harried, bleached out. “Can I help you, Doctor . . .”
A glance at her name tag. “Wolverton?”

Ingrid pointedly looked at
the girl’s wrists, then glanced up at her name badge. “Nurse Cook, I’d like to talk with you in private. I’m concerned. Has someone been hurting you? I’ve seen the signs of domestic abuse many times, and those bruises—”

The young woman stared at her, self-consciously rubbing at her wrists. “I can’t
; I’m too busy right now. I appreciate your concern, but my boss—”

Ingrid had seen the same pattern
again and again. Denial went hand in hand with the bruises.
I fell. I walked into a door. I’m so clumsy. I wasn’t looking.
She doubted this had been a one-time thing. “No, you need to talk about it, and I’m here to listen. I usually talk with disabled vets, but I am a licensed therapist. Really, no charge. I can work around your schedule, and I’m right here in the VA, fifth floor.” Ingrid handed her card to the nurse. “Give this to your supervisor; tell them I said it’s a work eval. You’ll even be on the clock for it.”

The young nurse seemed angry rather than nervous, not even relieved. “Thanks, but you should mind your own business.”

A frustrated man pushed his way next to Ingrid. “Excuse me, but are you ever going to get me in to see my doctor? Maybe this year?”

Nurse Cook
pulled her work around herself like a shroud. “Of course, sir. I’ll get right on it. We’re almost done with your paperwork.” As the frustrated man retreated to one of the uncomfortable chairs, the young woman glared daggers at Ingrid and tugged her thermal shirt over her wrists again. “As I said, Dr. Wolverton, I’m busy.”

Before
Ingrid could press the issue further, her cell phone vibrated. The hospital’s main switchboard. Making a mental note to revisit the bruised girl, she ducked out of the noise and accepted the call. The operator said, “Dr. Wolverton, you’ve got a call from a Special Agent Nicholas Cooper of the Department of Analysis and Response.”

“Of course, put him through.” Although
her specialty was working with Brilliants at the VA, the DAR had never called her before. She waited while the telltale clicks of the switchboard filled her ear.

“
Dr. Wolverton, this is Nick Cooper with the DAR’s Equitable Services task force.”

“Hold on, Equitable Services?” Ingrid was immediately on guard, suspicious of the DAR’s newest branch. She wasn’t sure how she felt about preemptive law enforcement. “All my patients who have exhibited Brilliant tiers are registered.”

“
Yes, I’m calling regarding a patient of yours. Adam Lee. As I understand it, he reported witnessing a murder.”

“
Again, why would Equitable Services be involved? And Adam is registered as a Brilliant. It’s all in his service record, parts of which are sealed—but I’m sure you’d have access, if appropriate.”

Cooper sounded surprised.
“I think you misunderstand. I’m not calling about registration—and actually, I wasn’t aware that Mr. Lee was a Brilliant. Last night’s murder is part of a pattern. The killer is targeting Brilliants, four of them now. I need to talk to Mr. Lee to learn what he saw.”

Now it was her turn to be surprised.
“I didn’t hear anything about the other victims being Brilliants.”

“That information isn’t easy to come by. The Denver PD didn’t even put it together. I would very much like to
speak with Mr. Lee about what he saw. Could you help me out?”

Ingrid tried to keep her tone
even. “My patient is in shock.”

“
We don’t have a lot of time. In all likelihood, the killer will target another victim next Thursday. I was hoping you could meet me at his apartment, help me put him at ease so I can speak with him.”

Pressuring one of her patients ran against the core of her being
, but the Hippocratic oath tended to fall apart when Federal Agents got involved. And when it came to Brilliants, the DAR had a million ways to overcome doctor-patient confidentiality. And this was a murder investigation. “I can meet you at Adam’s apartment in an hour.”

“
I’ll be there.”

Walking back to the front intake area
, she glanced at the reception nurse, who self-consciously tugged down one of her sleeves and avoided meeting Ingrid’s gaze. Later. It would have to be later. She began calling her patients and reorganizing her day as she walked out to her car.

Chapter
17

Cooper trudged up the stairs of the Lion’s Regency Apartments, flight after flight. He felt Denver’s high altitude and thin air with every step. Why was a paraplegic living on the top floor of a building with a broken elevator?

T
he building was probably constructed in the 1960s. Beige paint that had, at one point, been another color chipped from the walls, and the trim had rotted away at least a decade previously. Typical Section 8 housing. The nonfunctioning elevator was probably not the only thing wrong with the place.

He
plodded up to the top floor and paused at the stairwell door, caught his breath, and emerged into the hallway. He saw a line of identical, unwelcoming doors along the corridor, a closed “Roof Access” door at the end. Dr. Wolverton was waiting in front of apartment 707.

In a snapshot, he assessed the therapist.
She was a decade older than Cooper and dressed in casual clothing. Wavy red hair spilled across her shoulders and halfway down her back. She was a few inches shorter than he was, but her confident body language added to her stature.

Cooper
thrust out his hand and introduced himself. He gave her an affable smile. “Again, I appreciate you doing this favor for me. If Mr. Lee can recount what he saw, it’ll help the case enormously and could save lives.”

She nodded,
though she remained skeptical. “Adam says he didn’t see anything, and he has no reason to withhold information. He felt an attachment to the murdered girl.”

“
Still, I need to give this a shot. There have been four murders, and he’s the only witness.” He narrowed his eyes. “I reviewed his DAR file. His ability seems like it could be helpful to the case.”

“We can try. I already told Adam you were coming to talk to him.”
She opened the door. “Adam—we’re coming in.”

When he entered
the apartment, Cooper immediately got an overwhelming sense of who Adam Lee was. His own abilities as a Brilliant painted a picture more nuanced than the surface of what he saw. The front room was stark, both in decoration and function—hardwood floors, almost no furniture—which made the place seem more spacious than it was, and allowed room for the wheelchair to move. Bookshelves clung to the walls like rock climbers on a windy cliff. He noted a mixture of paperback novels, comics, and baseball paraphernalia, mostly on low shelves.

M
any people would have missed the wear pattern in the wax on the hardwood, but Cooper spotted it immediately. The slow erosion of wheels on the floor had left barely perceptible grooves from window to kitchen, window to bedroom, and window to bathroom. The details clicked into place: this man’s life centered entirely around the window, his only portal to the outside world.

Adam
Lee sat in his chair, and he did not turn as they entered. He stared out the window, palm of his splayed left hand pressed against the warm glass. Even with Adam’s face turned away, Cooper spotted that his cheeks were moist and his eyes rimmed red.

Adam’s face looked exactly like the photos in his service files, strong chiseled features and close-cropped blond hair. The only difference
from the military file photos was a scar that stretched across the back of his neck. He was . . . disproportionate. The paralysis of his legs and right arm had forced the muscles in the left half of his torso to overcompensate. Atrophying portions of his body seemed to droop, but the left arm and shoulder were obviously tough.

Cooper
stopped by the lone padded chair and coffee table. “Mr. Lee, thank you for taking the time to see me today.”

“I didn’t consent to anything,” Adam said.
His hand never moved.

Ingrid
Wolverton laid a hand on his shoulder. “Adam, this is important. You need to tell Agent Cooper anything that could help the case.”

Cooper looked around the apartment.
The tracks led to and from the window but never to and from other parts of the apartment. This man hadn’t seen the murder by an accidental glance. Adam Lee didn’t just live his life watching other people, he lived his life
through
other people. Confined to his chair, trapped on the seventh floor, that was all he could do.

He drew the obvious conclusion.
“You have feelings for her, the woman who was murdered.”

Adam
turned his head, openly crying. “Chloe. Her name was Chloe.”

Cooper paused to imagine what sort of effort Adam had
made, what inferences he had drawn to acquire even that detail. Cooper doubted the two had ever interacted, but he must have heard conversations, picked up tiny threads. “And you can help me get justice for Chloe. We need to track down who killed her.”

Adam’s face flushed. “
Justice? How can you say there’ll be justice for her? Are you going to cut the throat of the bastard who killed her? Are you going to torture him? Are you going to make him live with the agony that I have to now?”

Cooper
met Adam’s gaze, reading what he saw there. He treated Adam like an equal, pushed hard. “I can hunt him down and stop him from killing again. The police are on the case, but I can do more. Equitable Services doesn’t torture or kill people—we find them. And we are good at our jobs.”

“
Why is the DAR involved at all?” Adam’s voice was level, but Cooper noticed his knuckles were still white, fingers splayed against the window. On some level this man sensed—
experienced
—what was happening beyond that window.

“
For one, the victim was a Brilliant like you.”

Adam’s surprise was obvious. “Chloe was a Brilliant?”

“Tested and registered. Tier five, ability to capture and draw perfect images of what she observed.”

Adam shuddered
, and he fought back a sob. “I saw her drawings, through the window. They were perfect . . . .”

Cooper continued. “And also, I suspect the killer may be a Brilliant as well. At the moment, I have no evidence of that . . . just a hunch. And I put a lot of credence in my hunches.” He paused a beat, considered,
then said, “Because I’m a Brilliant, too. Sophisticated pattern recognition.” He let that sink in. “Chloe was the fourth Brilliant killed within a twelve-block radius in four weeks. Please help me before a fifth one dies.”

Adams shoulders sagged
, and he let his hand drop from the window. “I’ll help, but I didn’t really see much. I was away from the window.” He sobbed as if he had failed her. “For just a minute. And then she was dead.”

Dr.
Wolverton said, “He knows about your ability.”

Adam
looked at him. “Do you know what I can do, Agent Cooper? I doubt it. The detectives last night think I’m a crank, that I couldn’t possibly have seen anything.”

Cooper said, “I know you’ve never submitted to formal testing, so I don’t know your exact tier level, but the military file lists you
as having an aptitude for ‘microdetail analysis,’ that you supposedly have the ability to see around corners, through keyholes and cracks, long distances, like remote viewing.”

“That’s simplistic,” Adam said. “Explain it with psychic powers so nobody takes it seriously. Look, I want to help catch the bastard who killed Chloe. I can see things. But when I call in reports, even the emergency dispatchers don’t take me seriously
anymore.”

Dr.
Wolverton sounded encouraging. “Adam, even I’m not sure I have a full grasp of what you can do. I know you watch out the window, and I try to draw you out of yourself. It would be helpful if we had a better grasp.”

Adam considered, obviously wrestling with how much he wanted to reveal. “All right, if you’re a Brilliant, too, maybe this will make sense.” He looked hard at Cooper, assessing him. “Go into my bathroom, face away, and look at me in the mirror.”

Puzzled, Cooper obliged, while Dr. Wolverton watched, the curiosity plain on her face.

Adam turned in his wheelchair. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

“Exactly. And you realize that you’re looking behind your own head?”

Cooper thought about that. “So when you look out the window, you can see off a reflection of glass and get additional details?”

“It’s more than that, Agent Cooper.
Ingrid, could you get me the pad of sticky notes from the coffee table?”

She brought him the pad and a pen, and Adam scrawled something with
his bandaged hand, then rolled back to the bathroom. He asked Cooper to bend down so he could affix the note between his shoulder blades.

“Now, step two,” Adam said. “Give me that hand mirror, but stay there.”

Adam rolled back out to the living room to where he had a clear line of sight on Cooper in the bathroom, then held up the hand mirror, angled it properly. “Now, look in the mirror in front of you and tell me what the note on your back says?”

Cooper was intrigued. His gaze bounced from the bathroom mirror to the hand mirror. He squinted, tried to focus. “You’ve got sloppy handwriting. It says . . .
‘Like This’? I was afraid you were going to write ‘Kick Me.’”

Adam put down the hand mirror. “Now you get it. I squint just like that to make out the details. Squinting is how I zoom, like with binoculars. It allows you to bring things into focus
. It allows you to change the shape of your eye so you can see at different distances. That’s what I do, except I don’t have to think about it. My brain does it naturally for me.”

Cooper twisted around to pull the sticky note off his back
, and Adam turned to the window and called for Cooper to join him. “Look out there and tell me what you see.”

With Dr.
Wolverton beside him—she seemed just as interested in Adam’s explanation—Cooper looked out. “Street scene, pedestrians, cars, trees. The apartment building across the street. What sort of detail do you want?”

“The windows,” Adam said. “Seventy-five windows in Chloe’s apartment building.
And each of those seventy-five windows holds a certain reflection. They serve the same purpose as the hand mirror.” When he rattled off the math, Cooper knew he had done the calculations many times already. “My building also has five apartments per floor, but we have seven floors. So we have a hundred and five reflective surfaces.”

Cooper was amazed as he began to grasp the extent of what this man could do. “Just like the hand mirror, you’re looking from reflection to reflection.”

“Exactly. Now, some quick numbers. Each window in Chloe’s building,” he pointed across the street, “contains the reflection of the hundred and five windows in this building. With seventy-five windows over there, each reflecting a hundred and five different views, that’s seven thousand eight hundred and seventy-five different lines of sight that are created every time I look over there.”

Dr.
Wolverton raised her eyebrows. “That’s a lot to keep track of.”

“Now imagine how many windows each reflective surface on the Lion’s Regency is reflecting. Then add in all the car windshields and mirrors, glass bottles in the gutter, puddles on the sidewalk.” He looked up at Cooper.

“I follow you,” Cooper said. “I really do.” The magnitude of Adam Lee’s pattern-assembly gift was unlike anything he had seen before.

Adam seemed to be fully engaged in his explanation, to Dr.
Wolverton’s obvious pleasure. “But that’s not all. There’s also wind speed.” Adam leaned his head over, glancing down toward the sidewalk. “Right now, based on the movement of leaves on the trees, the wind is about two point seven miles an hour. The wind hitting every single pane of glass creates different frequencies, creates oscillations. No matter how solid or how thick it is, it’s a minute motion. And all of those minute motions let my senses triangulate.”

Though he had expected an impressive scope of the Brilliant’s abilities, Cooper’s head was spinning. “And you do it without mirrors.”

“No,” Adam said. “For me, everything is a mirror.”