The Awakening

Chapter Seven

Angry black clouds filled his vision. When he got his hands on her, he'd throttle her. Twice.

Luther tried for a calming breath, but calm remained well out of reach. Gaby had done him in, and it hadn't even taken much effort on her part.

Where the hell was she going in such a hurry? And how had she gotten cut?

"Son of a bitch."

Cursing didn't make him feel any better, and in fact, it only served to bring Morty Vance scuttling out of his cubbyhole.

The scrawny landlord gaped down at Luther in disbelief. "Detective Cross. What are you doing on my stoop?"

Luther sat up and dusted off his hands. His leg hurt. His head pounded. Trying not to growl, he said, "Taking survey."

Mort looked around the dark, deserted streets and along the dirty sidewalk in confusion. The baking sun amplified the rancid scents of God-knew-what. Discontent buzzed in the air. "Survey of what?"

"My bones. I wouldn't swear to it, but I think they're all in one piece still." Had Gaby missed his crotch on purpose, or did she have faulty aim? Somehow he doubted the gangling barbarian ever missed unless she meant to.

Luther worked his jaw, tamped down on his blistering temper, and got off his ass. "Gaby leveled me."

Mort's mouth drooped open, then snapped shut. "She did what?"

Nodding toward the uneven doorframe where Mort hovered in trepidation, he said, "She came barreling out of the building, damn near ran into me, then laid me low. All without so much as a how-do-you-do."

"But…" As if seeking explanations, or looking for Gaby, Mort rubbernecked around. Finding nothing but the same old dirty surroundings, he shifted his bony shoulders. "Well, I'd say that doesn't sound like Gaby, but I guess it does. She's not much for small talk."

"You don't say." A dirt stain marred the front of his gray slacks. "She was bleeding." He looked at Mort. "From the throat."

His curled hand pressed to his mouth. "Much?"

"What?"

"Was she bleeding much?"

Luther wanted to punch a hole in something. "You're not surprised that she was bleeding? You just want to know how much? Does that mean you're the one who hurt her?"

"No!"

Crossing his arms, Luther waited. Silence had a way of making small-minded people spew their innermost thoughts. He doubted it'd work with Gaby. No, she'd just stride away. But Mort…

"I would never hurt her. I swear, I wouldn't. She's a friend."

"Then who did?" He looked beyond Mort to the shadowy entrance. He could see the peeling paint on the battered walls, the chipped wooden floor. "Is there someone else in your building?"

"No way." Mort shook his head in surety. "Gaby never has anyone over."

"Never?" That was a pretty long time. But it didn't surprise him.

"Not since I've known her. Not even once."

"Hmmm." Pondering that, Luther said aloud, "I suppose she could have done it to herself. Hopefully an accident. It didn't look too serious—"

"Thank God."

Luther drew back, perplexed at Mort's reaction. Had he been in an agony of suspense, not knowing how badly hurt Gaby was when she fled the building? But why assume such a thing anyway? "Why all the relief, Mort? You've seen her hurt worse, have you?"

Showing some belated spine, Mort straightened. "No. And why are you bothering Gaby? What did she ever do to you?"

Luther did an abrupt and unplanned about-face. "I'm not bothering her. Actually, I came to see you."

"Me?" Astonishment and worry muted his pleasure. "But… why?"

"You've lived in this area for a long time, right?"

Excitement made his voice stronger. "About a decade now. My mom used to own the building and I lived with her." He realized how that sounded and cleared his throat. "I took care of her, made sure she had what she needed…"

"Yeah, I get it. That's real noble of you." Putting an arm around Mort's shoulders, Luther led him inside and toward his apartment. With a slow groan of rusty hinges, the entry door crept shut behind them. "Where's your mom now?"

"'She passed away about five years ago."

"Two years before Gaby moved in?"

Nodding, Mort stepped to the side and allowed Luther to enter his apartment. Everything looked the same as it had two days ago: cluttered, meager, and impoverished. "I'm sorry about your mother."

"Thanks." Mort ran his hands up and down denim-covered thighs. "Why d' you care how long I've been here?"

"There's been some trouble in the area and I figured you had to know people, right? I thought maybe you could lend me a hand."

"You want my help?"

"Sure, why not? The police can always use a little outside assistance. Given your proximity to things, you're a good candidate to help now." Luther stared right at him while telling the lie. "I can trust you, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, sure. I'm glad to help however I can." Shifting in nervous ebullience, he stirred the air, sending the odor of unwashed skin to Luther's nose. "You want something to drink, maybe?"

After a discreet cough, Luther nodded. "If you make it strong, coffee would be good."

Mort's thin face lifted. "Cool. Let's go in the kitchen."

Rushing ahead, he emptied dirty clothes off a chair and piled them in the corner, then began clearing the tabletop of comic books and unpaid bills. Luther sat down and, trying to be subtle, asked, "You said Gaby keeps to herself, but you don't get much company here either, do you?"

"Nah, but it's okay. When I have the store open, I stay plenty busy."

Luther pictured the ramshackle store that abutted the two-family structure. Enough filth marred the windows to impede a view beyond the bent, stained, and faded signs crookedly hung. Handwritten messages pronounced the sale of comic books and other fan magazines. "You own the connecting building, too?"

"Yeah. I inherited both this place and the comic book store from my mom. But I didn't feel like opening the store today."

"Under the weather?" When Mort glanced at him in edgy suspicion, Luther said, "I noticed you had some allergy problems or something with your eyes. It hits a lot of people this time of year."

"Yeah." He turned away to fix the coffee. "So you wanted to ask me some stuff about the area?"

Absently, Luther picked up one of the comics on the top of the pile. He thumbed the edges, making the pages flip. "You heard there was a murder?"

"There always is." After he finished the coffee preparations, Mort turned to face Luther. "It's sad, but around here, we're used to it."

Very true. "Lots of hookers getting killed, the occasional robbery gone wrong."

Mort nodded.

"This one was different, Mort. A man was mutilated."

Mort said nothing, but his Adam's apple bobbed in his scrawny throat.

"He was so hacked up, body bits were everywhere."

"Hacked up, huh?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I heard some stuff… people around here talk. I guess it was pretty bad?"

"He was nearly decapitated. Almost every bone broken. Ribs sawed through. His guts spilled out." Luther watched Mort. "Pretty macabre stuff."

Both hands covered Mort's mouth. "That's…"

"Disturbing. I know. And then you had that mutilated critter hung in your foyer." Luther tossed the comic aside and picked up another. "I wonder how someone got in there to do that, without you hearing or seeing anything."

"I was in bed a lot that day, and Gaby wasn't here."

"Where was she?"

"I already told you I don't know." He paced away. "I don't know how I didn't hear it."

Probably because he'd been crying too hard, the poor schmuck.

Fear overtook Mort's expression. "You think the two things are related?"

"In this neighborhood, who can say?" Luther lifted his shoulders. "I do know that Gaby shouldn't be out alone at night—like she was a few nights ago." He waited a second or two, "She was alone, wasn't she, Mort?"

"I don't know." He almost wailed that. "Gaby doesn't tell me anything. I wasn't lying about that. She's real private."

"She's been here three years. You must know something about her."

The second the coffee machine quieted, Mort took out the carafe and filled two mugs. As a type of warning, he said, "I know she keeps to herself and doesn't like questions."

"How does she support herself?" When Mort again glared at him in suspicion, Luther tapped the comic book against the tabletop. "I'm just asking because I'm worried about her. It doesn't seem she works during the day, but if she has a night job somewhere, she could be at risk. Until we catch the lunatic who committed the murder, no woman should be out alone at night."

Mort grunted. "Yeah, well, you try telling Gaby that." He held out a mug of coffee, and Luther started to toss the comic away.

That's when he noticed the cover.

Servant slashed across the front in a scratchy font above the depiction of a tall woman, her hair blowing back in the wind, her eyes narrowed in what appeared to be pain and resolution.

He accepted the coffee in one hand and lifted the graphic novel with the other. "You read this?"

"Are you kidding? It's the best. I've collected them all. They're my most popular item. They—"

To Luther's surprise, Mort suddenly clammed up. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I just… I realized how you might look at it, me reading graphic novels."

The lie showed all over poor Mort's face. For some reason, he didn't want to talk about the story. With more to ponder, Luther again skimmed the cover.

Something about that cover depiction drew him. The claws of curiosity dug in, and Luther couldn't let it go. "Mind if I borrow this?"

"Why?"

"I've heard good things about it."

Suspicion showed again. "Yeah? From who?"

Thanks to Gary, he didn't have to lie. "There's a college kid who hangs out at the station, getting in some credit time. He cleans up, runs errands, hands out the mail… that sort of thing. He mentioned the novel to me just this morning. Raved about it, actually."

Staring down at the floor, Mort muttered, "He's probably getting anxious for the next installment. I know I am."

"So can I borrow it?"

Drawn back to himself, Mort looked at Luther. "Uh, sure. But… you'll bring it back, right? I mean, they become collector's items. I wouldn't want anything to happen to it."

"I'll keep it safe. Soon as I'm done, I'll return it to you."

"Thanks. Take your time. I've already read it, but a new one should be out soon, so I was just rereading it until then."

It occurred to Luther that he could accomplish a lot by becoming Morty's friend. "When do you expect Gaby back?"

"I don't. That is, she comes and goes on her own. Most of the time I don't even hear her. I swear, she's like a ghost."

Did Gaby sneak out, or was stealth a natural part of her personality? "Sounds like you have plenty of time to visit."

"Sure."

Luther glanced at his watch. "Let's order a pizza. My treat. It'll give us a chance to get better acquainted, and you can tell me more about the people around here."

Specifically, he could tell him more about Gaby.

Blending into a hospital couldn't have been easier. Watching the woman covertly proved simpler still. Curiosity was sharp, but then, to a scientific mind that never rested, this new phenomenon held almost as much interest as the cancer growth.

Thinking of the cancer growth wrought both satisfaction and annoyance.

Too many medical critics want to proclaim that the procedures violate a cardinal rule of surgery by leaving dead tissue in the body. Of course that can—and usually does—lead to sepsis. But on a dying body, what difference did a massive infection make? Why can't the skeptics grasp the underlying significance in what we can learn, what advancements can be made in the field of cancer research?

Idiots.

But not this one, not the spiritual girl. She saw too much, and understood everything. She had a similar intelligence.

sharp and unwavering, and a way of dealing with things that proved almost as satisfying as a major medical breakthrough.

Stepping into a patient's room gave all the cover needed. The girl went on past, her long ragged jeans dragging the hospital floor, her lank hair in her face, her eyes almost unseeing. She'd turned her thoughts inward, and for the moment, forgotten her purpose.

Interesting.

So not only lightning distracted her, but an inflated empathy for the ailing took her off course, too? Good to know.

And even easier to use.

But first, like the cancer subjects, this would be tested. After all, brilliant minds insisted on analyzing all that they could. Then, with the results in hand, the knowledge gained could be put to good use.

For an extended length of time, Gaby wandered unnoticed through the hospital. Silent as a wraith and just as devoid of her surroundings, she went up elevators, down halls, in and out of waiting rooms. At times her senses prickled, but overall, the despondency of strangers overwhelmed her. She heard soft sobbing, loud wailing, and witnessed restless, worried pacing.

If she'd had a heart, it would have broken into tiny little pieces.

But what she'd once claimed as a heart had been shredded years ago.

Eventually, as she again became familiar with the suffering, everything blunted enough for her to concentrate on her unease. By then, she could detect no evil, and in fact felt the power of angels lurking about. Auras, eight feet square, showed strength of purpose. The exact opposite of the draining auras near the abandoned isolation hospital, these hues fed her, strengthening her, giving her clarity.

Whomever she'd followed had gotten away.

Time for her to leave, too. Next time, Gaby assured herself, she'd do better.

To get her bearings in the sepulchral hall, she looked around and realized she'd wandered into the cancer ward. Several yards away, a nurses' station stirred with lights, machines, sounds, and kindly-looking women.

No. Not here. Making haste, Gaby turned to leave before she got noticed.

Mere seconds before she reached the elevator, she detected the soft cooing of a woman. It was a familiar sound, one of insanity and surrender.

One without hope.

Her eyes closed. Father had made those indecipherable sounds too, when the cancer had reached his brain and modern medicine numbed his pain. They sounded placid enough, but Gaby knew the truth. They meant nothing, no more than the body issuing them.

Unable to help herself, she slowly turned and looked into the room.

A shrunken female form, barely clinging to life, rested flat on her back in the bed. Beside her, a plump nurse gently eased a damp cloth over her arms. The cancer victim made another pleasurable sound, and the nurse smiled.

"It's all right, Dorie. I'm here. Your family has been to visit, but they needed to go home. You know you're very loved, my dear. Very, very loved. They all care so much. And I care. I'll be here until morning, and then Eloise will take my place. You know how you like it when she brushes your hair."

Hot tears welled in Gaby's eyes, choking her, blurring her vision of the deceptive scene. Someone touched her arm, and she flinched away, coming back to the here and now in a crashing disturbance.

"Hey, it's okay," the man said. He wore a cleric's collar and a sympathetic smile. All around him, a swelling purple aura swam and shifted, indicating a noble and spiritual soul. "Is Dorie a relative of yours?"

Gaby straightened as much as she could. To her horror, she could feel her nose running, but she had nothing to wipe it.

The man handed her a hankie. "It's so difficult, I know."

Gaby snatched the hankie and wiped her eyes first, then blew hard. Uncaring of decorum, her voice broken with pain, she said, "It's fucking inhumane."

The man peered in at Dorie and nodded. "It's not something we can easily understand. But we all do what we can."

"There's nothing that can be done!" Gaby didn't mean to raise her voice, but memories of Father growing weaker by the day still infested her mind. Over and over, she visualized the awful treatments that made him suffer more than the worst torture. She remembered his agony, his prayers, and then his blankness. She remembered… everything.

"Sometimes, no," the cleric agreed. "But the tenderness does help soothe the pain."

"You can't know that." But Gaby prayed that somehow he could.

In answer, he patted her and his compassionate smile came again. "I thank God often for the angels here on earth, the ones with the patience and caring to take on so much suffering day in and day out."

Damn it, her eyes flooded again and the hankie received another loud honk. Choking out the words, Gaby said, "I can't be in here. I have to go."

He squeezed her shoulder. "Of course, child. Go, collect yourself."

But Gaby knew the nurses would stay.

The cleric would stay.

They weren't cowardly like her.

Angels on earth, he'd called them. It must be true, because even as she rushed to escape, she felt the cottony softness in the air, and around the black spots of imbalance and the gray shadows of sickness and lugubriousness, she saw the cocoon of sympathetic green and calm blue hues. They came from the caregivers.

They came from angels.

Two nurses rode the elevator with Gaby, speaking low to one another, giving her privacy in their averted gazes.

One said, "I wish Dr. Chiles could always be on call. I really don't like dealing with Dr. Marton."

"No one does," the other nurse replied. "Talk about clinical."

"And lack of feelings…"

The nurses grew silent, leading Gaby to wonder about Dr. Marton. Was he like the doctor Father had, detached to the point of leaving a body shivering cold? Gaby had hated talking to the doctor, listening to his evasive non-answers and lack of respect toward a man who was no longer a man, but a shell with a disease.

The elevator doors opened and Gaby launched out, almost running, so anxious to breathe in fresh air that she thought she might hurl. In the very back of her mind, she thought she sensed a laugh, but the distress of her body kept her from reading it clearly.

She burst through the emergency room doors and, doing all she could not to fall to her knees, sucked in the humid summer air.

She could have returned to her apartment at that point, but she didn't want to.

Ignoring the strange crowd loitering outside the hospital, hoping to buy prescription drugs or trade sex for favors, Gaby headed for the street. She had a few miles to go before she'd reach the apartment. But she intended to go beyond that.

She intended to seek out the woods where she'd located the abandoned isolation hospital.

For some reason, she felt drawn there.