Iris Johansen - Pandora's Daughter

She moved quickly for the door but she was blinded by tears by the time she reached the hall.

"Hey, easy." Grady was pulling her into his arms, cradling her. "Don't fight me. You need a shoulder to lean on and I want to be the one to help, dammit."

She didn't fight him. He felt warm and strong and alive. She needed that life after facing the half death that Phillip was experiencing. "Pretkay said he probably wouldn't ever wake up. He wanted to know if I wanted to take him off any life support." She buried her face in his shoulder. "Screw him. No way. Phillip hasn't even had a chance to fight his way out of this. I haven't had a chance to fight for him."

"Shh." Grady was stroking her hair. "You're right. We'll take care of him. And we'll find a way to help him."

"Damn right." She pushed away from him and wiped her eyes. "And the first thing we'll do is find that son of a bitch who shot him. I don't want that bastard prancing around when Phillip is lying there like a zombie."

"I've been working on it." His lips tightened. "Don't look so surprised. I'm the one who sent Phillip to you. There wasn't any question that I wouldn't go after that shooter. What do you think I was doing while you were sitting in that waiting room?"

"Who is it?"

He shook his head. "I'll know soon."

Her lips twisted. "Crystal ball?"

"No, Atlanta Police lab. There were tire tracks in the sand from his truck and fiber on the porch where he was kneeling."

"That's not much."

"It's a beginning. I have contacts with the CIA and they'll put pressure to hurry up the investigation. And I called Michael Travis and he said that he knew someone who might be able to help."

She remembered that name. "Phillip said there was a Michael Travis who headed a Psychic Investigative Group in Virginia. I thought you said no crystal ball."

"It's the truth. Michael was talking about Atlanta City Hall. His contacts aren't limited to-"

"Freaks."

"Call it what you like." He looked her in the eyes. "No one has a better right."

He meant because she was one of them, she thought wearily. "I won't admit that yet."

"What? Not even after what you went through in that cave?"

"It could still be a mental problem. I'm a very pragmatic person and I have no evidence that would prove otherwise."

"The hell you haven't," he said roughly. "Accept it, Megan."

"When I can prove it to myself. I don't believe I'm schizophrenic. But do I trust what my instincts tell me and go against my logic? Do I go against what my mother told me? But what you did to me at the zoo has no logical explanation. Phillip believes what you told me and he'd never steer me wrong. I just don't know." Her hands clenched into fists. "You said that the voices are usually connected to the scene of a particular emotional disturbance. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"This hospital must be overflowing with those echoes. Why aren't I hearing them?"

"I'm helping a little."

"A little?"

He nodded. "You're doing a lot of blocking yourself. That's pretty incredible. It's got to be instinctive. I didn't have a chance to teach you."

"Why would you want to teach me? It would have taken away any threat you might be able to wield over me."

"True. I considered that possibility. However, eventually you would come into your own and it's better if you help me willingly."

"Come into my own?" she repeated bitterly. "Oh, yes. This great gift that could send me around the bend like it did Phillip's wife."

"She wasn't anywhere near as strong as-"

"I don't want to hear it." She cut him off. "Not now. I have to go home and check on something. Afterward I have to pack up Phillip's belongings." She shuddered. "They do that after someone dies. He's not going to die, Grady. And he's not going to go on living in that silent hell." She moved down the hall. "I have to find a way…"

THE COMPUTER SCREEN GLOWED blue in the light of Megan's desk lamp on the desk in the library.

Do it. Don't just stare at a blank screen. Tap the World Wide Web of information. You could find anything on a computer if you looked long enough. Or at least it would tell you where to go to find what you wanted.

But she didn't really want to know if her mother had lied to her.

Bite the bullet.

Concentrate. Remember the only echoes that had come clear.

Hiram.

A long scream, fading…

A woman falling?

John, my baby…

What baby?

Pearsall. A woman done wrong by a man named Pearsall.

She didn't even know during what time period those episodes happened. It was pitifully sparse information to go on, she thought in frustration. Of course she could go back to the cave and try to let the voices return.

Yeah, sure. She was going to put herself through that again? No way.

She typed "Myrtle Beach" in to the search engine.

She would dip into the local newspaper files and see if that babble was the echoes that Grady claimed them to be. Considering those references were so scanty as to be close to nonexistent. Lord knows how much time it was going to take her.

It didn't matter. She'd stay with it for as long as it took.

GRADY LEANED BACK IN THE DRIVER'S seat, his gaze fixed on the light streaming out of the library window. She had been up all night and he had an idea what she was doing.

Go ahead, Megan. Work it out for yourself.

I'll be here protecting your back.

IT WAS CLOSE TO NOON BEFORE Megan finally shut off the computer and leaned back in her chair.

Done.

She should be exhausted, but she was too wired to feel anything but excitement, tension… and fear.

Get over it. She hadn't spent all this time and effort to let herself be blocked by an outpouring of emotion. Go take a shower and make a fresh pot of coffee. Think clearly and logically, go over the notes, and then come to a conclusion.

No matter how unclear and illogical the conclusion might prove to be.

"YOU PHONED?" GRADY SAID WHEN she opened the front door to his ring two hours later.

"Ten minutes ago." She frowned. "You must have been practically on the doorstep."

"Close enough." He came into the foyer and shut the door. "I told you I'd come when you called."

"But that was at the hospital."

He smiled. "That doesn't make any difference. I don't believe in short-term commitments. If you phoned, then you must have had a good reason. I'm not one of your favorite people at the moment."

"That's true." She turned on her heel. "Come into the kitchen and sit down. I need to talk to you. I'll even give you a cup of coffee."

"You're feeding me under your roof? Isn't that a medieval gesture of truce?"

"I'm not feeding you. I'm giving you a cup of coffee." She pulled out a chair at the kitchen table where she'd already set out cups and a carafe of coffee. "And the truce depends entirely on what you tell me."

"Then I'll start telling you about Phillip. I called the hospital and they have him comfortably settled in Bellehaven Nursing Home. I had Harley arrange for a guard to keep an eye on him."

She stiffened. "Wait a minute. You had no right to choose a nursing home without my input. Do you have any idea how many substandard nursing homes there are? A coma patient is totally helpless."

"I wouldn't put Phillip in a place where he'd not be well cared for. I checked it out. It's a fine place. Bellehaven has a special Coma Rehabilitation Unit in the annex run by Dr. Jason Gardner. It's small but high quality. They don't just let a patient lie there and vegetate. They try experimental medication, physical therapy, even study past psychological evaluations. I talked to Gardner and he's passionate about what he does. You should appreciate that."

"I do." Phillip needed all the passion they could give him in that dark world. "Has he evaluated Phillip yet?"