Blood Ties

CHAPTER 11

DIANA LOOKED at the gray Quentin in this gray time or place and knew it wasn’t the real Quentin. Her Quentin. “She’s lying to you,” he repeated, still smiling.

Brooke didn’t argue or dispute the charge; she merely looked from him to Diana, her gaze dispassionate.

“Say something,” Diana told her.

Brooke shook her head. “In this, I can’t interfere. You have to decide for yourself what’s truth, Diana. What’s real.”

“I know he—that—isn’t real,” Diana said, her gaze fixed on the smiling not-Quentin.

“Of course I’m real,” he said.

“You’re not Quentin.”

“Well, there you may have an argument.”

Diana blinked, then frowned. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to be funny. Because I’m really not in the mood.”

“Look, I only meant that this… form… was chosen in order to better communicate with you.”

“Chosen? Chosen from what?”

He looked surprised, the expression confirmed when he said, “That’s not the question I expected you to ask.”

“Glad I could surprise you. Answer the question.”

“Well, chosen from those in your life you trust. Precious few of them, actually. Your trust in Quentin is the least… shadowed.”

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Now, that’s the question I expected.”

“So answer it.”

He looked at Brooke, brows lifting. “Demanding, isn’t she?”

“She has reason.”

“Another arguable point, I suppose.”

“You’re wasting time,” Brooke told him.

“Time is something I have in abundance.”

Brooke tilted her head to one side, as though listening to a distant sound, and said, “Not really.”

The not-Quentin’s face tightened, though he continued to smile. “Are you trying to get in my way, little girl?”

Brooke didn’t correct his seeming assumption about her age but instead said in a musing tone, “See, the thing about the gray time, the thing Diana understands, is that nothing living can exist here for long. Actually, not even spiritual essence can exist here for long. And there’s a reason for that.”

Diana wasn’t sure what was going on but felt compelled to say, “It’s because this is a corridor, a place to travel. Not a place to live in.”

“And?” Brooke prompted.

For a moment Diana was even more confused, but then she realized what it was Brooke wanted her to say. “And… there’s a pull from each side of the corridor. The living side—and what lies beyond death. They both pull constantly. That’s why it’s gray and flat and cold here. That’s why it’s so tiring for me to be here. This place saps strength, energy.”

“Energy,” Brooke murmured. “Power.” Her gaze never left the face of the not-Quentin.

He stared at her for a long moment, then turned and went back through the open door, closing it behind him.

Left with Brooke in the seemingly endless corridor lined with closed doors, Diana said, “What the hell just happened?”

“Maybe I bought you a little more time.”

“Before what? And I thought you said you couldn’t interfere?”

Brooke was frowning now, but her voice was almost absent when she said, “I wonder if you have any idea at all how many people want you to live, Diana.”

“Listen, this isn’t one of those It’s a Wonderful Life things, is it? Because if it is—”

“No, of course not. That’s Hollywood stuff.”

Diana managed a shaky laugh. “As opposed to the gray time, and seeing spirits, and, oh, I don’t know, having visions of the future or the past or seeing auras or making people see what you want them to—that sort of stuff? Because Hollywood angels make it all look a lot simpler than I’ve seen it in my actual life.”

“You have a point.”

Reluctant humor fleeing, Diana sighed and said, “Brooke, give me a clue, will you? You say I’m here because I have to be, here to do something. That… thing… dressed up to look like Quentin says you’re lying. And the only thing I really know, the only thing I feel, is that one of you is trying to deceive me.”

“You have very good instincts.”

“Brooke, for God’s sake!”

“I can only tell you so much, Diana. Help you so much. Most of this you have to figure out on your own.”

“Why?”

“Just because. It’s the rule.”

“Why did I know you were going to say that.” Suddenly aware that she was beginning to feel more tired, Diana fought off a chill from someplace even colder than the gray time and said, “So you can’t tell me who or what that is pretending to be Quentin.”

“No.”

“Can you at least tell me what I’m here to do?”

“I’ve already told you that, Diana.” Brooke turned and began to walk again down the endless corridor. “You’re here to find the truth.”

Diana followed. “Yeah, you said. The truth underneath it all. Underneath all of what, Brooke? How many layers do I have to peel back before I can find the truth?”

“Several,” Brooke admitted. And then, surprising Diana, she added, “There’s the truth at the heart of the investigation you’re involved in. The truth of why you were shot. The truth of your relationship with Quentin. The truth of who is trying to deceive you—and why.”

“And the truth underneath it all?”

“That too. Uncover the other truths, and that one will be exposed.”

“How am I supposed to uncover any of them here, Brooke?”

“The best way you can. And… I expect you’ll have help.”

Hollis really hoped DeMarco had been right when he said secretiveness kept her from broadcasting her thoughts—and intentions—all over the place. But she wasn’t counting on it. She was trying her best to keep her mind quiet and still, pretending to sleep.

She had never been more wide awake in her life, despite being so tired it was a bone-deep ache.

They had been moved to a smaller, more private waiting room just down the hall from the ICU, a space clearly designed for the families of intensive-care patients to spend long hours; several of the chairs were actually recliners, and fairly comfortable ones at that.

Then again, maybe a bed of rocks would have felt no different, Hollis thought.

She opened her eyes a bit to look at DeMarco, deliberately glancing and then looking away so as not to awaken that ever-vigilant primal sense of his. Not that she posed any sort of danger to him, but she had a hunch that sense could warn him about anything he wanted it to.

Such as her leaving the room to do something that was probably really stupid.

He appeared to be asleep, eyes closed and hands clasped peacefully across his lean middle, the recliner tipped nearly all the way back. His face—that unexpectedly, almost unnervingly handsome face—was relaxed in a way it never was when he was awake.

Hollis didn’t trust that seeming serenity, especially since she couldn’t see his aura. But according to the big clock on the wall, it was nearly five A.M., and she didn’t want to wait any longer. From what she remembered of her own hospital stays—though the ICU tended to have its own rhythms and bursts of activity—the general hospital routines began early.

Her chances of getting caught and ushered away from Diana increased considerably as the time for doctors’ rounds and mealtimes and visiting hours grew closer.

Almost holding her breath, she slipped from her recliner, grateful there were no creaks or squeaks to betray her, and eased her way to the door. A glance back at DeMarco showed him still sleeping. Hollis wasn’t sure she believed he was asleep, but she did believe it was now or never.

She opened the door just far enough to allow herself to pass through it and within seconds stood out in the hallway, her heart pounding.

Oh, shit.

In her determination to keep her mind calm enough to deceive DeMarco, she had forgotten the other little thing guaranteed to test her nerves here in this place.

Spirits.

She could see five of them in this single stretch of hallway—three men and two women—wandering around aimlessly, their expressions mixing uncertainty and confusion with dread. All of them wore regular clothing rather than hospital gowns, and Hollis wasted a moment wondering fleetingly about that; where had she read or heard or been told that spirits wore the garments in which they’d died, at least until they completely left this world?

“You can see me?”

Hollis realized she was rubbing her hands up and down her arms, because the gooseflesh was actually painful. She felt very cold, and everything except the anxious woman standing in front of her seemed to have faded… or receded… or become less real.

Almost as though she herself had one foot in the world of the dead.

Jesus, is this how it started for Diana? Have I always been able to step toward the gray time but never realized it?

Drawing a quick breath, she whispered, “I can see you. But there’s somewhere I have to go right now.”

“No, please—just tell me. Am I dead?”

Before Hollis could answer, a nurse whose lively print scrubs appeared weirdly faded began to bustle past her and then stopped, her preoccupied expression turning inquisitive.

“May I help you, Agent?”

Hollis cleared her throat. “No. No, thank you. I needed to stretch my legs a bit.” And please move a little to the right, because you’re half standing in this poor woman….

“Don’t wander far, please.” The nurse smiled and bustled on, completely unaware of having passed through the spirit of another woman.

“I am dead, aren’t I?” the spirit whispered.

Hollis glanced around quickly, hoping no one else was nearby to see her apparently talking to herself. She kept her voice low. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I can’t help you. A friend of mine is still alive, and I have to get to her right now.”

The spirit took a step back, nodding. “Oh… okay. I understand. It’s just… I don’t know what to do now.” She looked up and down the hallway, adding somewhat forlornly, “Isn’t there supposed to be alight?”

Oh, shit,

“I’m sorry. I don’t know. But I believe you can… move on… if you want to.”

“I guess I should want to, shouldn’t I?” The spirit nodded and wandered away, looking even more lost and alone than she had before.

Hollis felt worse than useless and made a mental note that, if she survived all this, she would devote a lot more time to the study of mediums in general and her own abilities in particular, so she at least would know the right thing to say to these poor souls. But for now she moved away from the waiting room and headed toward the ICU, keeping her gaze directed downward as much as possible so she wouldn’t make eye contact with any of the other spirits.

There were four more wandering around the ICU.

There were also two nurses.

Guessing that asking to visit Diana at five in the morning wouldn’t go over at all well, Hollis slipped into a room marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, which turned out to be a supply closet. Keeping the door open just a crack, she watched the nurse’s desk.

The waiting was difficult enough, but what really unsettled Hollis was the realization that the whole place had a grayish sheen to it and a kind of remote dimness, as if she was looking at something farther away than she knew it to be. No matter how many times she rubbed her eyes or tried to shake off the sensation, it remained.

Only the wandering spirits looked colorful and close and real, their auras bright with energy.

And that was creepy as hell.

It was another long fifteen minutes before one of the nurses was called away from the desk by something clearly not an emergency and the other turned her back to Hollis to take what looked like a personal phone call.

Hollis was able to slip past the nurse’s desk and into the ICU.

There were only three patients: two men and Diana. All three were on ventilators, so the haunting sound of machines breathing for people was the first thing Hollis was aware of. Then there were the other machines, beeping and clicking as they monitored and measured. Lights blinked faded red numbers. Bags hanging above the patients dripped liquids into tubing and then needles and then bodies; bags hanging lower on the beds received fluids the bodies no longer required.

Trying to ignore all that, Hollis was relieved that at least there were curtains on either side of the beds and, in Diana’s case, they were drawn far enough to provide for some privacy. She stepped into the semi-private space.

“Hey, Hollis.”

His voice was low and rough, still hoarse from shouting the day before and maybe from talking to Diana ever since. His fair hair looked as if fingers had been raked through it many times, even though he was holding Diana’s hand tightly with both his, and on his face was a hollowed-out look of exhaustion and desperation and a terrible need.

Hollis had to look away from that, but when she did it was to see Diana in the bed, lying so still and unnaturally straight. A machine breathed for her with a hush…. thump repeating steadily, and other machines monitored her heartbeat and blood pressure and whatever else they monitored. There were bandages and drains and…

It was even harder to look at Diana. Not because of the machines or tubes or bandages, but because she had the same gray sheen as everything else, and that scared the hell out of Hollis.

“Hey, Quentin.” She tried to hold her voice steady.

“They told me she might not make it.” His gaze was fixed on Diana’s face. “They’re wrong about that, you know. She’ll make it. She has to make it.”

“I know.”

“Do you? I didn’t know, not really. Not the way I know now. Not until I saw her go down, saw all the blood and… That’s when I knew. It happened so fast, so goddamn fast, there wasn’t even time to tell her. All these months I could have told her. And didn’t. What kind of fucked-up sense does that make?”

Hollis was silent.

He turned his head finally and looked at her, with eyes she knew were blue but looked grayish, bloodshot, and darker than she’d ever known them to be. In a queerly conversational tone, he said, “I can’t see the future. Not now, not when I need to. I’ve tried and I can’t. But there’s one thing I can see. No matter what they say about brain scans and a heartbeat, Diana isn’t here. I’m holding on as hard as I can, as hard as I know how, but… I’m holding her body, not her soul.”

“I think you’re holding her soul too. Her spirit.”

“She isn’t here,” he said.

“I mean you’re holding something of her anchored here. So she can find her way back.”

“Will she?”

“Yes. Because she has to.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. I’m not letting go. No matter how long it takes, I’m not letting go. Even though…”

“Even though?”

“This was her nightmare, you know. As a little girl, she saw her mother like this. Maybe like this. A body with a beating heart, breathing because of a machine. A body without a soul.”

“She’ll come back, Quentin.”

He nodded again. “Because she has to.”

“Yes. Because she has to.”

Hollis had thought she might persuade him to leave Diana for at least a few minutes, but now she didn’t even try. Instead, she said, “Why don’t you put your head down and try to rest.”

“I might hurt her,” he said.

“You won’t.” Hollis found a small pillow in her hands and didn’t even question where it had come from. She leaned across the bed and placed the pillow so that all he had to do was turn a bit sideways and put his head down. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable position, but at least he might be able to relax.

“Rest,” she told him. “You won’t be any good to Diana or anyone else if you don’t.”

“I don’t want to stop looking at her,” he murmured.

“It’s okay. Just close your eyes for a while.”

Almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, Quentin was out. But his grip on Diana’s hand didn’t weaken in the slightest.

“So now what?” DeMarco asked.

Hollis turned her head and looked at him. “Did it amuse you to watch me trying to sneak out of the room?”

“It did, yes.” He didn’t crack a smile.

Damn telepaths.

“Now what?” he repeated.

They were both keeping their voices quiet.

Hollis didn’t bother to dissemble. “I want to try something. It probably won’t work, but I have to try.”

“Not a visit to the gray time, I hope.”

“No, something else. But…” She hesitated.

“But what?”

“Nothing. I’ll—” She broke off when DeMarco grasped her arm and half-turned her to face him.

“But what?” he asked. “I heard what Quentin said. Things happen fast, and we can run out of time. So tell me what’s worrying you now. Don’t make me wonder about it later.”

“I figured you’d just read my mind.”

“No. Tell me, Hollis.”

She drew a breath and let it out slowly, trying not to be so conscious of time ticking away. “It’s… the spirits. The place is full of them.”

“I gathered that from your conversation with Miranda before she left. What’s changed?”

Hollis hesitated again, then said, “Ever since I came out of the waiting room, since I stepped through that doorway, they’re the only things that look real.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything else is… sort of gray.”

He glanced around them, then said, “It’s a sort of gray place, really.”

“No, that’s not it. Quentin and Diana… you. You’ve all got a gray tint. Washed out. Like a TV picture with the color turned down. And the only auras I see are around the spirits.”

DeMarco considered that for a moment, a slight frown between his brows. “So you think you may have opened a door to the gray time.”

“If I have, it’s my own screwy version, because this isn’t like Diana’s gray time. At all. Her gray time is empty of people and spirits—except her guides—and it’s desolate, like I told you. Cold and empty. But this… I’m seeing the living and the dead, and the dead have more color, more—hell, more life. So I don’t know exactly what I’ve done, Reese. Or how I can undo it.”

Or if I can undo it.

He nodded toward Diana. “What were you planning to do here?”

“I can heal myself. Miranda’s sister is a medium, and she can heal others. I figured it was worth a shot.”

“That takes energy, right? Strength?”

“Yeah. If healing others is anything like healing myself… yeah. A lot of energy, especially for injuries this serious.”

“I doubt you have much to spare,” he noted coolly.

“I’m hoping I’ll have enough. At least to help, if only a little. It might take only a little to make all the difference.”

“You’re going to do this no matter what I say.”

Hollis nodded.

“Okay. Then we’ll worry about this almost gray time later. Give it a shot.”

Something about his voice made her look at him questioningly, not even sure what she was asking. But DeMarco was sure.

“Something I noticed back in Serenade,” he told her. “In all the commotion, you probably missed it. The thing is, when Diana’s heart stopped, it wasn’t the CPR that got it going. You put your hand on her and called her name. That’s when her heart started beating again.”

Diana said, “Is there a point to this? Walking down this endless corridor as if we expect to find something?”

“You tell me.”

“Jesus, Brooke, I thought we were done with the cryptic guide routine.”

“Somebody’s getting cranky.”

“No, somebody’s getting pissed. I’ve been following you guides for most of my life, doing my damnedest to help you even when I couldn’t help myself, and now when I could use a little quid pro quo, all I get is more of the same old bullshit.”

“Whether you believe it or not, Diana, I am helping you.”

“Helping me burn off energy so I’ll die faster?” Diana knew her voice was harsh, but she couldn’t help it.

“No. Helping you search for the truth. Look at these doors as we pass them. Think about what may lie behind them.”

“Another fake Quentin, probably.”

Brooke paused in the corridor to look at her, then continued on. “All right. Then think about this place. The fact of it.”

“The fact is, it doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because it was an evil place and it was destroyed.”

“Why was it evil?”

“Because it held an evil creature. Because evil things were done there. Horrible things.”

“So why do you suppose we’re in that evil place now?”

“We aren’t. It’s gone.”

“In a… replica of it, then. A reasonable facsimile of it.”

“Because you want to mess with my head, most likely.”

“Diana.”

She sighed. And tried to think, if only because she didn’t want Brooke to get pissed and vanish, leaving Diana alone here. Not that she’d ever known a guide to get pissed, but still. Always a chance.

“Why are we here? Quentin said…” She steadied her voice with an effort. “Quentin said there has to be some connection. Between this place and the investigation. Or else why does this place keep coming up? Why do I keep visiting it in the gray time?”

“Everything is connected, Diana.”

She frowned. “So this place is tied to the investigation in Serenade? How?”

“That’s your truth to uncover.”

“Dammit.”

Quite abruptly, one of the doors opened as they came abreast of it, and the fake Quentin smiled at her. “You really want to quit listening to that child. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Diana had stopped instinctively, and a glance showed her Brooke had stopped as well. But the guide remained silent, and it was left to Diana to respond.

“What do you want?”

“I want to help you, Diana. You know that. I only want what’s best for you. I know what’s best for you.”

“You’ve said that before. But you’re fake. You’re a phony wearing Quentin’s face, and I want to know why.”

“You know why.”

Do I? Or is this… thing… lying?

She went with her gut, saying, “No, I don’t know why. All I know is that you’re lying to me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

His tone suddenly silky, he said, “Wouldn’t you rather concern yourself with the body back in that hospital? Wouldn’t you rather be worrying about whether you’re going to live or die?”

She knew he was trying to manipulate her, trying to make her fearful and uncertain. But she didn’t know why. To weaken her? To make her more vulnerable? Just for the hell of it?

He was good, though. Good because it worked at least a little, as her thoughts turned, however briefly, to her terribly wounded body and the terrifying uncertainty of whether she would be able to reclaim it.

For an instant she thought she could feel Quentin’s hands—both of them—holding one of hers, and she looked down at that hand wonderingly.

“He won’t be there, Diana. When you really need him to be. When you finally have the courage to reach for him. He won’t be there.”

She looked at the fake Quentin and for the first time felt only anger. “You’re wrong.”

“No. He won’t be there. He’ll disappoint you.”

Diana shook her head. “You don’t know him. Whatever you are, you don’t know him. But I do. I might not be able to count on anything or anyone else, but I can count on Quentin.”

“Now you’re the one who’s wrong.”

Turning her gaze to the silent guide, Diana said, “You aren’t going to help me, are you?”

“I’ll help all I can.” Brooke’s gaze was fixed on the fake Quentin, with a peculiar watchfulness Diana found almost more unnerving than anything else. “But you have to find the truth here on your own, Diana.”

“Because that’s the rule?”

“Frustrating, I know.”

“Can you at least give me a damn hint?”

Brooke looked at her finally and said matter-of-factly, “He’s here because you allow him to be here. See what’s underneath the mask and he’ll have no power over you.”

“I don’t—” Diana turned her head again only to see the door closed and no fake Quentin confronting her. Slowly she said, “I don’t know how to look underneath the mask.”

Brooke began to walk again. “Well, perhaps you’ll figure that out while you’re here. Perhaps you’d better.”

“Threat or warning?”

Ignoring that, Brooke said, “We’re here for a reason, Diana. In this place for a reason. Think it through. Why would you come in the gray time to a place that no longer exists?”

“Because…” The flippant response in her mind vanished as a far more serious—and frightening—one occurred to her. “Because… the evil still exists.”

Brooke turned her head and smiled at her. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You mean I’m right?”

“Doesn’t it feel right?”

To her surprise, Diana realized that it did. Then a chill cold enough to make itself felt even in the gray time stole through her. “The evil still exists. But—they stopped him. He’s in a cage.”

Brooke continued walking, her face serene.

“Brooke, the evil creature that killed in this place, the creature that nearly killed Hollis—he is caged. No longer killing. No longer dangerous. They got him.”

“If you say so, Diana.”

“If I say so? You mean he’s still dangerous?”

Sending her a calm glance, Brooke said, “You have to think in layers, Diana. Peel away one layer at a time.”

Diana walked for a time in silence, glancing rather idly at each door they passed as she grappled with the question of how the evil that had existed in this place could still exist—and be connected to what had happened and was happening in Serenade.

Layers.

Layers…

She stopped walking, staring at one of the doors that wasn’t quite as featureless as all the others, hardly aware that Brooke had also stopped and was waiting, silent. Slowly, as Diana stared, a shape was forming on the door at eye level.

It was a cross.

“My God,” she whispered. “Not the puppet—the puppet master. The evil hand on an evil creature’s leash. Samuel.”

Nurse Ellen King came around the curtain prepared to pour wrath all over whoever had dared to invade her ICU without permission. But the sight that met her eyes stopped the words before they could even form.

On one side of Diana Brisco’s bed, Agent Hayes finally slept, slumped mostly sideways with his head on a pillow near her knees, his hands still holding one of hers.

He’ll have a monster crick in his neck, she thought. Her professional gaze checked the monitors, and she was both surprised and pleased to see that Diana’s vital signs were stronger, steadier.

Then she saw the other two federal agents. Saw the tall, slight brunette on the other side of the bed from Agent Hayes slump as though all the strength had drained out of her. Saw the big, powerful blond man lift her as though she weighed nothing and cradle her carefully in his arms.

“Hey, is she all right?”

He turned, holding the brunette, and said, “She needs to sleep. Do you have an extra bed?”

Ellen King looked at that almost-expressionless, handsome face, and thought fleetingly, That’s twice I’ve seen that look. Wow. I wonder if she knows.

Then she got a grip on herself and said, “Yes. Yes, of course. Follow me.” And led the way.