Rob Thurman - All Seeing Eye

I kept walking. He started to grab my arm as I passed but aborted the motion almost before it began. “I apologize for considering anything else.” The formality of a good man who was finding out that pedestals weren’t healthy things-not for your brother and not for yourself, especially when you tumbled off of yours. “Desperation is no excuse for becoming like the rest of them. I’m sorry, Jackson.”

I paused at the door and took the biggest leap of faith of my life. I let myself trust him again, and this time not because of Charlie but because of Hector himself. Abby had told me hundreds of times that people can’t live without trust. They can exist, but they can’t live. I was beginning to see that she was right. Hector had messed up, more than once, but he’d also risked his life to save mine-and more than once on that, too. He wasn’t perfect, but I wasn’t any kind of fool in believing I was, either.

I gave a single nod. “All right.” It wasn’t apology accepted, but it was the closest I could come to it. I went on into the shower and closed the door behind me.

Fifteen minutes later, I was out, changed with the shirt over a new Kevlar vest. Hector had said next time it would be a head shot, but it hadn’t stopped him from doing what he could in case I was lucky and a head shot wasn’t practical for my invisible stalker. And wasn’t that some kind of luck? Hoping someone would shoot you in the chest instead of the head. With my damp hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail and with gloves on, I opened the door to see that Meleah had shown up. She was standing next to Hector. Moral support.

“Have you two made up?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, we’re just peachy. Bestest friends.” I dumped my dirty clothes onto the bed. “Hector’s going to braid my hair, and then he’s going to show me his new dollhouse.” All right-trust with a shaky foundation and a razor-sharp defense mechanism, but a modicum of trust was better than none at all. Hector would have to accept it for what it was: the best I could do right now.

“I suppose that means yes.” She smiled. “Are we ready for this, then? To set Charlie free?”

“You’re going?” I asked, admitting to myself that it wasn’t the worst idea I’d heard as Meleah made the argument aloud.

“Every time you and Hector are together at one of these sites, someone is thrown off a roof or nearly drowned,” she noted pointedly. “I think a doctor is mandatory for this trip. And…” She touched the ring hanging on a chain around her neck. “I’d like a chance to say good-bye-to my best friend. My family.”

I understood that. I’d have given anything to say good-bye to Tess.

Once the van was loaded, it was Fujiwara driving. It was a good idea to bring him along. If you wanted anyone caught up in a violence cycle and trying to kill you, it was Fuji. He wasn’t very good at it. That upped everyone’s chances of survival considerably.

Thackery was in the front passenger seat. That I didn’t care for much. The sociopath who had let Charlie die through indifference and ambition wasn’t someone I wanted watching my back. But Hector had said, lack of conscience aside, that next to him, Thackery was the best scientist, and he’d rather have him in sight than lurking back at the base unsupervised, doing God knows what. Psychic reading wasn’t any kind of proof that Hector could take to his government oversight contact, and Hector did have his own eventual plans for Thackery that government oversight had no part of.

That left three soldiers in the first bench seat, Meleah and me in the second seat, and Hector in the back with the Charlie buster, or what he called the Transplanar Energy Reintegration and Stabilization Device. I used the name to distract myself from the sharp ache of my rib. No happy pills today for the psychic who needed to stay sharp and focused.

“Someone has a thesaurus fetish, and it is out of control,” I drawled. “They need help. Professional mental help that can probably only be found in Germany in some experimental psychiatric study run by Freud’s cryogenically frozen brain in a jar.”

“I named it,” Thackery said stiffly from up front.

“So surprised. It would take a narcissistic egomaniac to come up with a name so boringly geeky that they wouldn’t even use it on a Star Trek episode. Hell, I’m astounded you didn’t name it after yourself. Wait.” I groaned. “You did, didn’t you? The Thackery Transplanar Energy Reintegration and Stabilization Device. God, what a dick. You should patent it as a sleep aid, too, because that’s what it’ll induce halfway through actually saying it.”

Hector was running last-minute diagnostics time and time again on the Charlie buster as the van sped along the road. Whether the machine worked or not and dissipated what was left of Charlie or failed and left Charlie still roaming to activate brutal aggression sprees, Hector wasn’t going to have a good day either way. That he was able to give an amused snort at my taunting of Thackery was my good-bye to him, like Eden having said good-bye to me with pancakes. We all had our talents, and we all used them in different ways. Who wouldn’t think the bite of sarcasm wasn’t as tasty as that of blackberry pancakes?

Although we were no longer going to the caverns, and Thackery had bitched a solid hour about that, the drive was every bit as long as Fujiwara had told us. With the van’s tinted windows, the scenery was all shadows. The radio was silent, as was everyone else. The soldiers weren’t big talkers, and Hector and Meleah were distracted by hopes and fears that were one and the same thing. I took the opportunity to nap off and on, making up for a sleepless night and getting some respite from the pain that Tylenol did nothing to dull. It was a damn shame they couldn’t make a narcotic that kept you happy, pain-free, but without the fuzziness.

I dreamed of Charlie and those pink walls of Cane Lake. The pink that had been the final straw. The color that had reminded me too much of my lost sister’s shoe. I remembered lying to Charlie about taking his calls. When I woke up with a crick in my neck, I realized that I hadn’t lied. I was going to be there to take Charlie’s call, his last one. I hoped that made up for all the other unanswered ones.

The van was bumping over what felt like a dirt road. That was standard for a Georgia farm. Hector had said one brother had beaten the other over the head with an axe handle for the privilege of gaining twice the acreage, so it had probably been a while ago, a hundred years, give or take. These days, everyone had a thirty-eight shoved in a drawer somewhere, nice and convenient when arguments became a little too hairy. Hell, if you wanted to drive on up to Tennessee, they had some places that would let you carry guns in a bar, because nothing mixed like alcohol and bullets. And nothing cured a hangover when you didn’t have a head left to host it.

A Georgia farm, I thought, as we hit another bump that had my rib groaning. They’d been lucky with that list of theirs. What if someone had razed one of those massacre houses and built a mall over it? Would there still be a recording? Would an employee suddenly go berserk at the Gap and start beating customers over the head with a mannequin arm since axe handles weren’t available?

The van stopped, and Fujiwara announced almost cheerfully, “We’re here!” Fuji cheerful while sitting next to the testicle-withering Thackery-what had happened there?

Thackery looked out of his window. “Someone killed his brother over that land? He should’ve stored that homicidal fury up for something more valuable,” he stated disparagingly. I couldn’t see jack from where I was sitting, but if a sociopath, who would gut you like a fish for cutting him off in traffic, didn’t think it was worth killing over, chances were it really wasn’t.