All Seeing Eye

5

Home.

If you’d asked me when I was fourteen what my perfect home would be, it wouldn’t have been this. And I’d thought about it then-a lot. A mansion with a manicured lawn pampered against the heavy-handed Georgia summer. Not that I would do the pampering. I’d leave that to the professionals. After all, didn’t they come with the big house? People to take care of the outside, people to clean the inside. Surely they were part and parcel when the bank handed over the keys. The neighborhood would be as fancy as they came, with towering gates, paved roads, and not a single kid selling half-fermented berries from a four-board stand. The dreams of a fourteen-year-old. A place like that would’ve driven me nuts. Associations, rules, fees for anything and everything… hell, they probably even had one against scratching your ass after ten P.M. No, once I grew up, that dream wasn’t for me.

My reality now was better than that. Worlds better. My house was average-sized but paid for and was outside of town, north. It sat directly on the Chattahoochee River. The road was paved, barely, but my neighbors were out of sight around a bend in the shoreline. I saw them only rarely. Most likely they rented their cabin out to tourists the majority of the year. Many river folk did. It was all right. I valued my solitude. After delving into the private lives of people all day, every day, the quiet, the stillness, was welcome. Sitting on my deck with a frosty beer and watching the undemanding river flow by, it was the closest thing to heaven I was ever likely to experience.

The house itself was nothing to look at, not from the outside. Weathered cedar siding worn to a nondescript silver blended into the surrounding yellow poplar and sweet gum trees. You could be a hundred feet away and almost not see it, if not for the betraying sun-spangled glitter of a window. The inside, however, was more eye-catching. The ceiling was high and paneled in poplar, reddish brown wood with mellow streaks of gold. There was a lofted area edged with a banister over which were thrown two blankets of red, black, and gold. The walls were painted the same gold, the color of the late-afternoon air.

There were two leather couches-one for me and one for Houdini. I was willing to share, but he wasn’t as agreeable. Evil dog.

The kitchen was just that, a kitchen. When I cooked, I tended to try to burn the place down. Spending money on shiny new appliances would be a waste. The oven had been singed but good on only its second day, and it had only been downhill for it from there. The refrigerator was defrosted on a nearly daily basis. Houdini would sneak in the middle of the night to open it and root his big nose in the cold cuts-drawer. In the morning, I’d find a puddle on the tile floor and the stink of spoiled milk. I’d tried blocking the door with a chair. That lasted about two seconds. Then I’d tried securing it with a chain and padlock. That morning, I woke up to another puddle, and this one wasn’t water or melted ice cream. It was yellow and pungent, and it soaked through my socks before I saw it.

Houdini won that battle. As a rule, he won them all. A brain the size of a fist, and he outmaneuvered me every time.

The bedroom was in the loft, which made nighttime bathroom breaks a bitch of stumbling stairs and stubbed toes. But it was worth it when I woke up every morning to the green, yellow, and blue explosion that lay outside six-foot windows. Earth, sun, and sky-it was all that was eternal. In comparison with the rest of us, at any rate. In my business, you saw everything that was fleeting, you were shown that most things pass. It was nice to be reminded of the few exceptions. Abby had helped me with decorating the entire place. I might cultivate my personal look, but when it came to decking out the house, I was like most guys. I bought what was functional and closest to the checkout counter, so to speak. If I could sit on it or sleep in it, that’s pretty much all that mattered. Or at least so I thought. Abby straightened me out quick on that front.

I’d liked what she did with the rest of the house. It was bold and masculine and comfortable. The bedroom had been a different story. She and Gemma, her British girlfriend at the time, had wanted to do the room in white. For peace and moral purity, they’d said, Gemma in all her feng shui seriousness and Abby with a naughty wink. I think Abby was under the impression that I got more action than I actually did. I’m not saying I hadn’t gone through my share some years ago. After a while, that kind of tomcatting had gotten old, but not for the more noble and mature reasons most might eventually reach. I simply had gotten tired of the trying to tune out women’s life stories-stories they’d be horrified to find out I knew. Some guys, dumb-asses usually, bitch that their dates won’t shut up. Try multiplying that by a thousand, a million. I’d learned over the years to hold things off to a certain extent in my day-to-day life, keep it at arm’s length where it was a persistent whisper instead of a loud, constant drone. I’d gotten good at it. But during sex, all bets were off. All that skin-to-skin contact combined with the usual brain shutdown, arm’s length was hardly an option. Try doing your business with a person shouting her life story in each ear. I’m not saying it isn’t doable, but it’s a challenge, no doubt about it.

Abby, on the other hand, worked both sides of the fence. Men or women, they were both fair game. She was monogamous and honest to a fault with whomever she ran with, but there was no denying she had a healthy dating and sex life. And she wasn’t averse to sharing the details. Half the time, I didn’t need that nudie mag in my desk. Abby was all the entertainment that money needn’t buy. Once-long hair was now cropped to short platinum curls. That and the tiny diamond stud in her nose had changed her style considerably, but she was still Abby through and through. She had just grown up, and grown up damn fine.

Was I jealous? Hell, yes, I was jealous. Being a human ask-the-eight-ball wasn’t exactly compensation, no two ways about it. The moment when scarlet stars burst behind your eyes and the base of your spine melts into warm pudding, to feel that and nothing else-how could I not envy that? To hold someone tightly in a tangle of warm limbs and heated breath without seeing the cheap green tile of an abortion clinic and hearing the sobs of a scared and sad sixteen-year-old girl, I couldn’t even begin to imagine it. That was the thing. To her, that memory might be ten years old, melancholy but faded to a rain-washed watercolor. To me, it was fresh as the day… the very minute it had happened. The sound of the vacuum. The nurse’s hand warm and tight on hers. The fact that her boyfriend hadn’t shown up even though he had promised. The ache, strange and different, like none she’d felt before. That was just one memory, one among numbers uncounted. Good, bad, indifferent. Everyone had them. If that weren’t bad enough, and it was, the women who knew what I did for a living always had this look, this wary, corner-of-their-eye expectation, when we were in bed. Whether they actually bought the whole psychic package or not, they still had the look. Does he know I wore the underwear with the ripped elastic because it was laundry day? Yeah, I did. Does he know who I’ll marry? When I’ll die? No. Thank God or the lack thereof… no.

So, moral purity was less of a problem than I wished it were.

For the bedroom, I’d vetoed white. Anything but white, I’d said. I should’ve been more specific. They went for the country look. Not surprising, considering where I lived. Imitation oil lamp, braided rug, and quilt, it was uncomfortably familiar. Of course, the quilt was hunter green, wine, and cobalt blue on a cream background. Nothing like the one I’d slept under for nearly eleven years. That one hadn’t come from an upscale department store. It had been sturdy and ugly as hell. Drab brown, rust orange, and whatever scraps happened to be on sale at the fabric store the day Granny Rosemary got her monthly check from the government. I should’ve cherished it, no matter how hideous it was, because it was made with love. For all that my stepfather was-who he was-his mother was a gentle woman. Loving and quick to give hugs and homemade cookies. I should’ve loved it because it came from her, but… I didn’t. I had been a stupid kid, resentful and ashamed of the way I lived. I wanted a bedspread with superheroes or cowboys or, as I grew older, a plain comforter in navy blue or stripes. I never got either. Instead, I’d later learned to do with a thick, itchy institutional blanket of faded gray that had seen hundreds of homeless kids before me. The soft worn cotton of a shabby, homely quilt was missed more than I could’ve dreamed.

I’d complimented Abby on her choice, nodded as she bragged how she’d gotten it for only two hundred and fifty dollars, then folded it up and put it away in the cedar chest at the foot of the bed the moment she drove away. A simple solid-colored comforter replaced it. It handled the dog hair better, anyway, and it was machine washable. That was helpful for getting out Houdini’s drool stains on a weekly basis. I was damn talented when it came to making money, but that dry-cleaning bill would’ve broken me.

It was a comfortable house and a helluva lot better than my childish fantasy. I planned on staying there until they zipped me up in a body bag. I only hoped I was watching the river and drinking a cold one when it happened.

This night wasn’t one for that, though, not unless I wanted to sit in a pool of my own sweat and inhale bugs instead of air. It was a good decision. The moment I stepped inside, it began to rain, turning the muggy air into an almost impenetrable soup. Listening to the hiss and gurgle of water in the gutters, I decided on reheated pizza and a movie. I’d just popped the veggie special into the microwave when there was a knock on my door. Houdini was so flabbergasted by this unprecedented occurrence that while his head swiveled in the direction of the sound, he remained frozen in his favorite dozing position, on his back on his couch with all four feet in the air. I was nearly as thrown. Except for Abby and Glory, people didn’t show up at my place uninvited. It wasn’t welcome, and, quite frankly, it wasn’t a smart thing to do. Between Houdini and the occasional visit from my sister, my house wasn’t a place for the unwary. And that wasn’t factoring in my annoyance at having my space invaded.

I threw a jaundiced eye at the unmoving Houdini and went to the door. I wasn’t too surprised to see that it was good old Dr. Chang from that morning. I’d been fairly sure I’d see his lying ass again; I’d just been hoping it wouldn’t be so soon. Or here.

“Oh, look,” I said, snorting, hand resting on the knob, “someone more persistent than a Jehovah’s Witness. What fun.”

He was less put together than he had been that morning. Rain had flattened his hair, and the suit jacket was a shapeless sodden mess. He was trying to protect a white box with a curved arm with only limited success.

“Could you take this, please,” he said with exasperation.

I hesitated. My gloves were off, lying on the kitchen counter. Everything in my house was new… safe. No one had been in contact with anything long enough to leave an imprint. Still, it was only a cardboard box, brand-new-chances were it hadn’t had time for anything to imprint on it, even from Chang. I took it from him, noticing that he was careful to keep his hands from touching mine. The study, still with the study. Yeah, and who was really running that study? Cradling the box that was mercifully mute in my hands, I continued to block the door and watch the water drip from the eaves onto his head and down his neck. “So, do you want a tip or what?” I asked innocently.

“What I want is to talk to you. And if I could do that without half drowning, I would consider it a bonus.” The blue eyes were narrowed grimly as drops of water drizzled down his face.

“Then maybe you should’ve called first. Oh, wait, I didn’t give you my unlisted number.” I bounced the box on my hand and took a sniff. It smelled familiar. “Or my equally unlisted address. Huh, you’d almost think you weren’t wanted. Go figure.” I opened the lid. Apple pie… from the same neighborhood diner I’d mentioned to him. I recognized the thick cinnamon-crumble topping and the wide chunk of cheese nestled in a cardboard corner. “I don’t suppose you brought coffee.”

He continued to fix me with an unwavering and demanding silent gaze.

Unmoved, I shrugged. “That’s all right. The caffeine makes Hou a bitch to live with, anyway.” I opened the box and set it on the floor. Houdini instantly catapulted to his feet and raced over to bury his snout in the pastry. At the last second, I saved the cheese from his gaping maw. Canine constipation is never a pretty sight.

Chang sighed and wiped a palmful of rain from his face. “So much for my goodwill gesture. You’re not going to let me in, are you?”

“Keep this up, Doc, and you’ll put me out of a job,” I drawled, and started to slam the door in his face. Chances were good that it would take off the end of his nose. Let us count the ways in which I did not care.

His foot stopped the door with a skill I found it hard to believe that college professors, even only professed part-time ones, possessed. “I wanted to do this the easy way, the civilized way,” he offered with grim regret. “I hope you try to keep that in mind.”

For a moment, I had no idea what he was talking about. The easy way? He might be quick with the old salesman foot, but did he honestly think he was up to pissing me off? I’d learned more when I was a teenager than the superiority of quilts over scratchy blankets or how to spot a mark with one eye and the cops with the other. I could take care of myself. More to the point, I could take care of some dickhead who mistakenly thought I was caught between his foot and an apple pie. I might not want to run into him in an alley, but I would take care of business if I did. “You know, Dr. Chang, you’ve been so careful to avoid contaminating your precious study.” I balled my hand into a fist and bared my teeth in a humorless grin. “What a shame, because I’m about to get one helluva reading off your face.”

“Maybe you should try reading this instead.” Not precisely impressed with the threat, he held up a picture. It was rain-splattered in the dim light that spilled from the doorway, but I made it out. A face nearly as familiar to me as my own.

Glory.

My sister. The numbers she held up beneath a blindingly bright smile were almost a fashion statement for her, she wore them so often. With her perfect cheekbones, hair the color of a handful of new pennies, and eyes the unfathomable green of well water, she looked more like a beauty contestant than a criminal. Hometown girl done good in the big Peach Queen festival, or ex-high school cheerleader who was as fresh and sweet as the day she graduated.

But Glory hadn’t finished high school, leaving when she was fifteen some six years ago. The school board frowns on throwing your rival down on the bathroom floor, tying her up with her own bra, then cutting off all her hair with a switchblade. It wasn’t the first time my sister had terrorized her classmates, I would guess, not that I was around to know for sure. However, this time, she was caught in the act by a teacher, a female one. Otherwise, she would’ve wriggled her way out of it with an innocent fluttering of lashes and a not-so-innocent twitch of her ass. Glory had never been quite… right. Even at two and three, she made her own rules and flatly refused any others. Self-centered was part of it. Glory just didn’t connect with people around her much. Only one person could ever reach her: her sister. And Tess had been gone nearly as long as Glory had been alive.

I know she never listened a damn to me. Before or after. And by the time I was old enough to give what would probably be a futile try for custody, she was gone. Her foster family, and I use the word “family” in the Charles Manson sense, had disappeared with her and several other children. The state does such a great job at those background checks, don’t they? Despite years of searching and private detectives, she was the one who found me. That had been about three years ago. She’d asked for money and then robbed me blind when I was in the bathroom and took off. There hadn’t been any sisterly hugs offered, either, or touching of any kind. Not a hand on an arm. Nothing. Her personal space made mine look normal.

I’d only seen her a couple of times since… and on those occasions, I gave her money for a hotel. I was nothing if not a fast learner. Still, in the end, she was my sister. My last family, no matter how sociopathic. And she was a sincere sociopath, through and through. What to do about that when it slammed up against sibling loyalty, I didn’t have a goddamn idea, not one.

Attached to the photo was a stapled police report. I didn’t bother to read it, letting it all flutter down to fall half in, half out of the door. Balanced on the threshold, it rapidly turned to a soggy mess. “It’s a mug shot, big deal,” I said, bored. “She practically sends them out as Christmas cards.”

“Well, maybe that’s true.” He bent, picked up the papers, and tried to shake them out. “But has she ever been arrested for assault with a deadly weapon before… on a police officer? Or been nine months’ pregnant while she sits and waits for trial? Georgia has a three-strikes law, Mr. Eye. Glory has two other violent felonies on her record in addition to this one. She has the potential to go away for life without parole.”

For a split second, I thought that might be the best place for her, but then there was the baby. And the guilt. If I’d found her sooner rather than her finding me, maybe she wouldn’t be this way. Or at least not this bad. I’d done all I could, but all I could had fallen damn fucking short.

“What about the father?” I asked without emotion.

“Apparently, on that subject your sister isn’t talking.”

Or didn’t know. The baby would go to Family Services. What wouldn’t happen is giving it to me, a self-employed, unsocial psychic. I was nothing but a con man from their point of view, a single male ripoff artist, not precisely parent material. They wouldn’t be flashing their panties in joy to give the child to me, only relative or not. I wasn’t saying that the kid might not be better off adopted by a nice, carefully screened couple than being raised by Glory or me. Unfortunately, my sister’s life had shown that careful and screening didn’t always go hand in hand when it came to Family Services. They had taken a stubborn, wild, and defiant little girl and given her to people who had done… things to her. Those things had turned her into something predatory and treacherous to the world around her. They’d taken a wolf out of the wild and turned it into a man-eater.

I hadn’t been able to save her then, and it was too late to save her now, but maybe I could keep her out of jail. As for the baby… I grimaced to myself. Something would have to be done. If only I could buy the time to do it. I wasn’t surprised that Glory hadn’t called me for help. She had the unshakable conviction that she could control any situation, and until now, she’d been right. Given enough time, that still might hold true, but if so, it would probably involve a hospital guard beaten half to death with a metal bedpan during a faked labor. Something to be avoided if possible. Life and the things she’d done would catch up with Glory eventually, but it wouldn’t be now, not if I had anything to say about it.

“You telling me you can do something about this?” I said, my voice dangerously flat.

“Not me, but the people I work for, yes.”

“So you’re not really an academic, private or otherwise then.” A not-so-big surprise. My lips curled coldly. “You only play one on TV.” I’d known the ID in his wallet was fake. If my memories hadn’t told me, then the suspicious niggle in the back of my brain would have. I knew a liar when I saw one, no matter how practiced.

“You think I’m a blackmailer.” He folded the papers, tucked them into his jacket pocket, and set his jaw. “I guess you have every right.”

I thought I saw a flash of self-contempt in his odd eyes. His conscience was evidently pricking him as he rammed that knife into my back. What a good guy. Yeah, right.

“Extortion.” I remained in the doorway to block his way and enjoyed the tiny revenge of his continued soaking. “Manipulating the judicial system-all this over something that is mostly smoke and mirrors, Chang? I’d think you’d have better sense.”

“Oh, I have sense. I have all the sense you could want and then some.” The regret disappeared, to be replaced by an unshakable and ruthless determination. “People are dying, Mr. Eye. I have no idea if you can help us stop that or not. But if you can, you will, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

“Ah, it’s all in the name of truth, justice, and the usual crap, is it?” I leaned forward and said without emotion, “You’re a real humanitarian, there… Hector.”

Sometimes you don’t have to be psychic; you only have to follow your instincts. I watched as his jaw tightened in surprise. How’s it feel, you son of a bitch? I thought savagely. Surrendering to the inevitable, I turned away from the door and headed for the fridge, knowing he’d follow me. Thanks to Glory, he had his foot in the door and there was no getting him out now. After retrieving a beer, I said impassively, “Charlie said I’d like you. Guess what? He was wrong.” I still remembered it clearly. Charlie wanting to be my friend, wanting to make a family out of the three of us when I got out of the home. Hector didn’t seem to be as kindhearted as his brother.

“And Hector, psychics, real psychics, don’t like liars. It means you’re trying to deceive us and insult us all in one.”

I popped the tab on the beer and took a swallow. “Don’t sit on the couch. You’ll ruin it. And if you’re looking for a towel, you’re not going to get it.”

“How did you read me? You never touched me,” he asked grimly.

“Read you? Christ. How many half-Japanese guys with pale blue eyes are running around Georgia? And drop the fake Chinese name. First time you run into someone who speaks Chinese, you’ll embarrass the shit out of yourself.” I took another swallow. “It was obvious the second you walked into my office that you’re Charlie’s brother, but without his personality.”

Hector ignored the snipe, standing unmoving with the door at his back. “You remember Charlie?” he asked neutrally.

I shrugged. There was no percentage in lying, and hell, hadn’t he filled the daily quota already? “I remember.” Staring down at the can, I could see the distant shimmer of golden liquid. I remembered Charlie, all right. A few months of rooming together, studying together, eating together, and every moment of it, I’d spent denying that he was my friend. I’d say I’d been a real asshole, but that would imply a change had taken place, wouldn’t it? “Enough to recognize his brother when I see him. His lying, blackmailing brother. Charlie must be so proud.”

“Charlie’s dead.”

Two words. Only two.

Then again, wasn’t pink shoe just two words? Sky falls. World ends. Amazing what you could do with a mere two words.

Not once had I ever thought I’d see Charlie again. Not once had I entertained the notion of looking him up. That would’ve been breaking my own rules, rules that had been in place since I was fourteen, and I didn’t do that. Abby had broken a rule for me, but I wouldn’t have done it. I would never have taken that step. I’d had a family, then lost it. I wasn’t going down that path again. I wasn’t running to another abandoned well or a drowned sister, not for the rest of my unnatural life. I’d known Charlie wasn’t for me, as a friend or a brother, simply because no one could be. But I had liked knowing that he was out there somewhere. An insatiable appetite for knowledge, a heart wholly undamaged by life, and a crooked smile under a crooked nose, that was Charlie, and a Charlie Allgood in the world could only be a positive thing.

Now… now it was a darker place. Shadowed.

In some ways, a lot less worthwhile.

I closed my eyes and drained the rest of the beer. I’ll call you, he’d said stubbornly. So just take the damn calls. And he had called. I’d been long gone, over the fence and down the road, but I didn’t need to have been there to know that. He’d called. Unlike his brother, Charlie hadn’t lied to me. Not once. Sorry, I thought silently. Sorry, geek boy. Just… so goddamn sorry.

“I’m not much of a memorial for him, is that what you’re thinking?” Hector’s emotionless voice hit the stillness like a bomb.

I ignored his question, although he was right. It probably was what I would’ve thought, but right now, I wasn’t thinking much of anything… at all. Opening my eyes, I looked blankly at the can in my hand, the thin metal dimpled from my tight grip. “Do I need a jacket, or is this something we can do here?”

There was a moment of silence, and then he said quietly, “Pack a suitcase. I don’t know when you’ll be back.”

And just like that, all my plans, all my rules-my whole damn life-went right out the window.