Кей Хупер - Blood Ties

DeMarco said, “But didn’t say how.”

“No. Before I could ask, she said she needed me to find the truth. I asked if she meant the truth of how she died and she said no, that it had started long before she died. ‘The truth buried underneath it all,’ she said.”

Quentin frowned again. “Yeah, I’d call that cryptic.”

“No kidding. I told her I didn’t understand, and she said I would. Then she walked through a door—” Diana looked at Hollis, interrupting herself to clarify, “That open door.”

Hollis nodded. “I’m guessing you followed her through it?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

She really didn’t want to answer, but finally Diana said, “And I was back here, outside in the hallway, but still in the gray time. Brooke was gone, and I was alone. I opened what I was sure was my door, the door to this room. Only when I came in, it was Quentin’s room instead.” She wished suddenly that he wasn’t holding her hand, and yet she couldn’t seem to draw away.

He was looking at her intently, waiting, and Diana did her best to meet his gaze and sound as matter-of-fact as possible. “You were there, waiting for me, expecting me. Except it wasn’t you. You—it—looked like you and sounded like you. But I knew it wasn’t you.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know. It… was coming toward me, smiling, saying—” Diana broke off, wishing she wasn’t so damn tired , because if she’d had her wits about her she could probably think of a dozen reasons why the others in this room didn’t need to hear any of this. And then she could keep it to herself, as she wanted. But she was tired, her thoughts were fuzzy, and they were telling her that maybe this was important for the case, maybe it wasn’t as intensely personal as it felt.

“Diana?” Quentin’s voice was steady. “Whatever happened in the gray time, whatever was said or done, you know that wasn’t me, know I wasn’t there. Right?”

“Right.” She nodded. “Right.”

“We can leave,” DeMarco offered, matter-of-fact, and Hollis nodded grave agreement.

Diana got a grip on herself. Be a professional about this, dammit. If you’re going to be any help at all… “No, of course not. Because it has to mean something to the case. It has to be connected somehow. Brooke said it is, and the guides don’t lie. And maybe one of you can work it out, because I can’t seem to.”

Hollis said, “Okay, then. Tell us what the fake Quentin said.”

“He said… that we belonged together and that he’d been waiting for me to realize it. That I had to accept it because it was the way things had to be. That he knew what was best for me and I could trust him.” Avoiding everyone’s gaze, she hurried on, “Here’s the thing. The gray time is an almost-empty place, between worlds or times, whatever. That’s why there’s no substance, no color or light or shadow, no depth or dimension. It’s a place to… travel. Like a road through a cold desert. Not a place where you want to pause any longer than necessary, let alone a place to live in.”

“Okay,” Hollis said. “I would certainly agree it isn’t a place to live in. And so?”

Fumbling for the right words, Diana said, “It’s also a place of truth, or always has been. Absolute truth. Like everything else has been stripped away, with only the truth left. I see the guides there, and once before I felt some… thing… truly evil there. But I don’t see deception, and none of the guides has ever lied to me. As far as I know, anyway. They never tell me everything, and as I said they’re more often than not damn cryptic, but there’s never been any attempt to deceive. Not like this.”

DeMarco said, “You’re sure you have no idea what it means? The deception?”

“No.”

“How many times have you had company in the gray time? From this side, I mean.”

Trust DeMarco to home in on that . “Once before,” Diana said reluctantly. And before anyone else could comment, she looked steadily at Hollis, adding, “I’m sorry, Hollis. I should never have done that.”

“It was my idea.”

“I know. But it was wrong, and I should have known why.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a medium too. The last person I should have taken there. And now you’re sort of… connected to the gray time, almost like I am. At least according to Brooke.”

Hollis blinked. “Which means?”

“If Brooke was right, if she wasn’t trying to deceive me, it means that whenever I visit the gray time, whenever I open that door, you’ll be drawn there too.”

“Whether she wants to be or not,” DeMarco said, and it wasn’t really a question.

Diana nodded. “She’s a medium, and we’re hardwired to communicate with the spirit world, one way or another. Most of us open doors, the way Hollis opens doors. But those doors are almost always meant to work only one way, allowing the spirits to come here, to this plane of existence. According to Bishop, I’m the only medium he’s ever encountered who… walks with the spirits on the other side of the door, in that place or time in between. And I’ve spent my whole life—even if it was mostly subconsciously—learning how to do that, learning how to exist over there, as safely as possible. Hollis, I thought I could protect you too, but… now I’m not so sure.”

Hollis began to chew on a thumbnail and without moving her thumb managed to say clearly, “This is the whole pillar-of-salt thing, right? The consequences?”

“Bishop’s Second Rule,” Quentin murmured. “There are always consequences.”

Momentarily distracted, Diana said, “What’s his First Rule?”

“Some things have to happen just the way they happen.”

“Oh, right. He mentioned that. You mentioned that.”

DeMarco said, “It’s something we’ve all learned. The hard way.” He paused, adding dryly, “Though I hadn’t realized we were numbering Bishop’s rules.”

“Quentin is,” Hollis said. “Of course Quentin is. And can we get back to my own pillar-of-salt consequences? Sorry to sound selfish, but I really would like to know what the worst outcome might be. What to be on guard against if—when—I find myself in the gray time again.”

“You already know, Hollis. The worst outcome is that you could be trapped on that side of the door when it closes.” Diana drew a breath and let it out slowly, fighting to hold her voice steady as the reminder brought back an old but still-aching memory. “Lost, with no way of getting back to your body. And a body cut off from its spirit, deprived of its soul… can’t exist very long without medical intervention.”

“Medical intervention? You mean—”

“I mean machines. To keep the body breathing, the heart beating. Under those conditions, the body can last years. Decades. But you wouldn’t be there. You wouldn’t be there ever again.”

Bobbie Silvers was proud to be a deputy. Of course, she wasn’t a real deputy, not yet; she was only partway through the training manual, and the sheriff refused to let her even begin weapons training.

Still, she was young, energetic, and determined, so she knew it was only a matter of time until she made it to full deputy status.

In the meantime, she worked as hard as she could to prove to Sheriff Duncan that she was deputy material. If he asked her to do something, no matter how seemingly routine or unimportant, she went above and beyond to make sure she did a thorough job of it.

Which was why she was, in the middle of the evening and the middle of her shift, still at her computer terminal, poring through missing-persons reports—covering a radius of five hundred miles.

“Give it up,” Dale McMurry advised. “Sheriff’s gone home for the night, and, besides, there isn’t much anybody can do ‘til morning.”