Rob Thurman - All Seeing Eye

Here.

Hector was more than aware of who said asshole was, but he didn’t bother to put up a defense. Pulling up a chair, he sat heavily, much of his natural grace in abeyance. “I thought I’d killed you, Jackson,” he said wearily. “Believe it or not, there’s not much you can say to make me feel worse. I’m right there in the moment: Callous Bastard of the Year.”

And there came that taste of Charlie. A shuffling of pages, a fanning of faded photographs. Hector joining the Army to pay for his college so Charlie wouldn’t be put in the position of being financially responsible for his younger brother. Because of that, Charlie had been able to work his own way through school along with quite a few scholarships and grants. MIT wasn’t cheap even with those things. What Hector had done had made it possible for Charlie, made it possible for them both.

Grumbling silently at myself, I felt the dark-edged emotions lighten some. I fought it, but you can’t escape knowledge, not really, even when it’s not your own. Ripping the foil off the yogurt, I said almost under my breath, “Maybe you’ll get a plaque in the mail.”

He blinked, confused at a comment that was far less razor-edged than what he expected. “Maybe. So… how are you doing?”

I took a few spoonfuls of the yogurt and gave it a moment. When my stomach accepted it without incident, I moved on to the oatmeal. “Didn’t you ask the doc?” I asked with a knowing quirk of my eyebrow. Of course, he had. He might have all the regrets in the world, but he still needed me for some reason. There wasn’t anything about my health that he wasn’t going to know.

“Yes, I did,” he responded, leaning back in the chair and washing a hand over his tired face. He kept his eyes on me, though, somber. Sincere. “But now I’m asking you, and I don’t just mean physically.”

Ah. Talking about your innermost crap. First Eden, now Hector. Like the few times Abby showed up with the chick-flick movies and forced me and Houdini to suffer through the talk, talk, talk that fixed everyone’s problems, enriched their lives, and closed the hole in the ozone layer, all while she snuffled with her own box of Kleenex. What fun. Yeah, right… maybe later.

“Charlie was your brother, Hector, not mine. He was my roommate for a while and a nice kid, but that was a lifetime ago. A memory.” The banana was a little soft, but I ate it anyway. Concentrating on it was easier than concentrating on other things.

“A memory,” he repeated, then dropped the hammer. “Fine, I’ll accept that’s what he was before, but what is he now?”

Christ. He had to go there, didn’t he? He couldn’t let me enjoy the goddamn banana, he had to push it. I pushed the table and tray away, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and stood. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Eyes narrowed on me. “You’re stalling.”

“I’ve been in this bed almost twenty-four hours, and you think I’m stalling?” I folded my arms. “Hey, if it’s proof you want, pick a spot. I’m up for a challenge. I think I’ve got enough to spell my name and yours.”

He snorted. “I stand corrected. It’s down about fifteen feet and on your right.”

He was right, of course. I was stalling, but that didn’t make the need any less pressing. By the time I came back, I was feeling slightly more relaxed. The fact that I’d actually been able to walk there and back without anyone holding my hand or standing guard helped more than I would’ve guessed. Naturally, there would be someone outside the infirmary door to make sure I didn’t make a break for it, but I still wasn’t going to take that tiny bit of freedom for granted.

By the time I sat on the edge of the bed and folded my arms, I was more than ready to work toward having all my freedom back. “Okay, Hector. Let’s get down to business. I know what Charlie was doing. I know about the experiment, and I know that he died during it.” Died being the cleanest, safest word for what had happened. “Now for what I don’t know. What do you need me for?”

“You saw it all, then? You saw the experiment… you know what he was trying to do? You understand it?”

I shifted my shoulders. “Eh. Think of it like reading the blurb on the back of a book. I get the general outline. I know what Charlie was trying to do, but I don’t really understand anything. I don’t get the how, and I definitely don’t get the why. I’m not really up on my quantum physics and whatnot.” I shook my head and said dryly, “Astral projection. What will you wacky scientists come up with next?” Because basically, that had been Charlie’s goal, the project’s goal: the dissociation of awareness from human form. Charlie had wanted to be able to come and go from his body like it was a summer-house at the beach. Wacky wasn’t quite the word.

“The military uses for it would be immense, I’m sure you’re aware.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bracelet that had taken me down so swiftly. I gave it an uneasy look as he turned it over in his hands. “But to Charlie, it was simply the pure love of doing what was thought to be impossible. To be able to travel instantly or nearly so. To perhaps see things no one had seen before. To be spirit outside of flesh.”

Good old Charlie, smart as hell but obviously crazy as a bedbug. “Yeah, okay, whatever… but it didn’t work out for him, did it?” I pointed out.

“No.” He studied the bracelet, then put it away. “There were successes of a sort, with computer models and animal experimentation.”

I didn’t ask them how they knew if Rover was taking a walk on the astral side or not. I already knew… almost. I saw it through Charlie’s eyes. Something about brain waves and measuring the ambient energy patterns in the air. I didn’t actually understand it or have anywhere close to a complete cataloguing of the information. It was more like hearing the occasional phrase, in Charlie’s voice, drift through my head. Bits and pieces that made up an elaborate painting. I might not see or understand every stroke of the masterpiece, but I could see the picture.

“So it worked fine with Rover but not for Charlie. Anyone know why?” I met his eyes squarely. I knew why, but Hector didn’t… I hoped. Even if I knew for sure, spreading that knowledge couldn’t help my situation. It could only hurt it. What would a murderer do if he thought a psychic knew the motive for his murder and was only a mandatory project-personnel reading away from figuring out his identity? Nothing good.

“No.” He cleared a suddenly constricted throat. “There were no malfunctions found. No energy spikes. No reason for Charlie to die. We didn’t even know it was… painful until you told us. We thought his heart simply stopped while he was in a state very similar to a deep sleep.”

It wasn’t a moment I wanted to relive even in passing, and I went on quickly. “We still haven’t gotten around to why I’m here. What the hell do you possibly think I can do for your project?”

“We need you to find Charles.”

I turned my head to see my best pal Dr. Thackery standing by the curtain. He looked marginally more rested than Hector but not by much. He’d had a late night, too, apparently, but I would’ve been willing to bet the long-gone homestead that it wasn’t spent worrying about me.

“ What? ” I asked in disbelief.

“We want you to find Charles,” he repeated, “by reading him.”

All right, what was this? What the hell was this? “You want me to find what? His ghost?” I asked derisively. “I can’t read a ghost. Mainly because I don’t believe in ghosts.”

He stepped further into the room, face as bland as my morning oatmeal. “Charles isn’t a ghost… precisely. How shall I put this so you might grasp it?” he pondered in a tone so supercilious that I wanted to beat him on the head with my oatmeal bowl. “Charles is no longer living, true, but he’s not dead. Well, not entirely dead.” A long finger tapped his chin as he finished absently. “Not yet.”