Кей Хупер - Out of the Shadows

"If you two would care to walk a few more paces, I'm sure it would be easier for all of us."

Goddammit.

Still no choice.

They moved forward as ordered, and emerged within the promised few paces into what looked like a clearing in the center of the greenhouse.

It must once have been a work area; there was still a rickety table at one side of the space holding a few rusting tools and empty clay pots. Hanging crookedly high above the table was a long fluorescent light, and though it flickered from time to time, it threw an almost painfully bright light over the scene below.

Bishop and Miranda standing frozen.

Mayor John MacBride smiling at them as though greeting welcome guests, his expression pleasant, his stance relaxed.

Except for the gun he held, cocked and ready, at Bonnie's temple.

Bonnie was clearly frightened but amazingly calm, pale but not crying. She even attempted a smile at her sister, obviously wanting to reassure her that she was okay.

Miranda had a sudden, overwhelming sense that this was the place she had seen in her vision, and she had a helpless awareness of fate rushing, of events carrying her toward whatever destiny was intended for her. She didn't look toward Bishop, but she was very conscious of their connection, and of his absolute certainty that she would not die here.

Still, she knew that if what she had seen was right, the abrupt severing of their link could be as devastating for the living as the dead; gently and without warning, she closed the door on her side.

"You might want to drop the guns," MacBride suggested.

Neither of them hesitated. They dropped their guns. Not only because of the gun he was holding to Bonnie's temple but also because of what he held in his other hand. It was obviously an explosive device — some kind of small but undoubtedly deadly grenade, with the pin out.

A dead man's switch.

"Kick them toward me," he instructed.

They did so, and when MacBride gestured commandingly with the gun, Bishop moved closer to Miranda until he was hardly more than a couple of yards away from her. MacBride could cover them both easily now. They were facing him across fifteen feet or so of rotting mulch and little else, with the tangled jungle all around them seeming to hover, to press inward. That and the sour smell of rotting vegetation made the place feel so claustrophobic it was difficult to breathe.

Or maybe, Miranda thought, that was just her terror. It clogged her throat, cold and sour. And her heart thudded against her ribs with heavy urgency.

She had promised to protect her sister. She had sworn.

Bonnie's hands were tied behind her back, her ankles tied together. She was completely helpless. And she looked very small to her sister, very fragile. She still wasn't crying, but there was something resigned about her calm, something fatalistic.

Miranda hadn't told her all that she'd seen, but she had always suspected Bonnie had guessed the rest.

Conversationally, MacBride said to them, "I keep asking her if she can really talk to the dead. But she won't tell me. I thought it was Liz, you know, when I heard the story that night at her coffeeshop. I thought she had helped you, had told you where to find Steve's body. But it wasn't Liz. Poor Liz."

"You made a mistake." Miranda was surprised her voice sounded so calm. "Don't make another one, John."

"I didn't want to hurt Liz. I liked her. You know I liked her, Randy. But what choice did I have? I was careful with her. And I didn't take anything." His tone was reasonable but held a hint almost of pleading, as though for her approval.

Miranda tried not to gag. "You mean no body parts or blood? That was big of you, John."

"You don't understand," he said, shaking his head.

"Then make me. Make me understand." She had no idea if it was even wise to keep him talking, but a glance had shown her that Bishop's expression was unreadable, so she was following her instincts.

"You're a cop, you know all about the need to deal with threats," MacBride said. "Liz was a threat."

"No, you only thought she was. And you were wrong." She saw a faint quiver disturb his complacency, and concentrated on that chink in his armor. "You were wrong, John."

He smiled suddenly. "I know what you're trying to do, Randy. But it won't work. I'm sorry about Liz, but that's past now. Done. This" — he gave Bonnie a little pat, almost friendly — "is hardly a mistake.I can learn so much from Bonnie."

"No. You — "

"Because if she can talk to the dead, that opens up a whole new avenue to explore. I've been thinking about it for some time, you know, about what to do next. I'd already realized I couldn't go on finding my subjects around here."

Your subjects ? But Miranda couldn't say it, couldn't force a word out. Her fear was choking her again.

Bishop either knew or guessed, because he spoke up then, his voice steady. "Because you knew them. Knew their names, their faces. Their mothers and fathers."

MacBride responded to that easily, almost eagerly. "That proved to be... surprisingly difficult. Adam wasn't so bad, the sneaky little bastard, but Kerry ... she kept crying and asking me why. And then there was Lynet, little Lynet. ... I liked her."

"But you killed her anyway," Bishop said.

"I had to. Once I'd taken her, well. . . she had seen me. I couldn't let her go. But I made sure she didn't suffer."

Miranda swallowed hard and said, "That might earn you a cooler corner of hell, but I doubt it."

"You still don't understand. It was research, Randy, that's all. Study."

"To figure out what makes bodies tick? Sorry, John, but medical science has pretty much got that pegged."

"Do you think so? I don't agree. There's still so much to learn. I wanted to learn." His expression darkened for the first time. "I wanted to be a doctor. But they said my grades weren't good enough in college. My grades. Idiots. I've learned more on my own than any school could have taught me. All it took was a certain amount of. . . detachment."

Bishop said, "We've been wondering about something. Why take the blood?"

Not at all reluctant to supply the information, MacBride said, "I was working on various ways to naturally preserve organs and flesh. I thought blood might do it. But I haven't found quite the right combination of blood and chemicals just yet."

Bishop nodded gravely. "So I guess you were experimenting with the chemicals when you discovered how to age bones?"

MacBride shrugged dismissively. "I used the chemicals to clean the bones, but I noticed how it aged them. I wondered how the formula would affect a living subject, so I tried it on Adam. I'm afraid it was very painful — but he deserved it, the little sneak."

"He found out about you."

"Little sneak. Poking his nose into places he had no business being. If he'd just done the yard work I hired him for, everything would have been fine. But, no, he had to snoop. He took my knife. One of my jars. Other things, probably." MacBride laughed suddenly. "The little bastard wanted to blackmail me, can you believe that? Wanted me to pay him to keep his mouth shut."

"So you killed him," Bishop said. "But he didn't talk, did he, MacBride? He didn't tell you where he'd hidden the things he took from you."

"No. He seemed to have it in his head that as long as he had that stuff hidden he'd be all right in the end. Idiot." MacBride shifted slightly and, perhaps tired of remaining in the position, stepped back away from Bonnie. He didn't push her to the ground so much as guide her down with his gun hand until she was sitting. He kept his gaze steadily on the two people in front of him.

Miranda wanted to go to her sister so badly that she could feel her muscles tensing, and forced herself to relax as much as she was able. It wasn't time to act. Not yet.