Kathy Reichs - Seizure

“I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately,” he said. “My breakdown. Father’s public humiliation. The trial. While I’ve been locked away in that asylum, the Claybourne name has been dragged through the mud.”

I said nothing. I’d played a pivotal role in those events, a fact of which Chance needed no reminder.

“I’m concerned that perhaps I’m not … well. Not fully rested.”

“What do you mean?” Like I didn’t know.

“I think I might be seeing things that aren’t really there. Last night, for example.”

“It was late,” I said. “Dark. We were exhausted. Then everything happened so fast.”

“No!” His fingers curled into fists. “It was more than that!”

Chance drilled me with a look.

“I saw , Tory. Your eyes changed . Became golden. Like the wolves that attacked on the beach.”

I searched for a reply, came up blank.

“This wasn’t the first time, either. In my basement, the night Hannah—”

Chance flinched as if burned. It was a very long moment before he continued.

“That night, I was on the ground. There was blood everywhere, and the pain was indescribable. But I watched . You moved too fast!”

You were hurt,” I said. “Confused. And we were fighting for our lives.”

“No!” He shook his head. “I know what I saw!”

Chance’s breath became ragged. A sheen of sweat appeared on his brow.

“I’d assumed it was my imagination. After all, I’d been shot. Betrayed. Even now those memories are unbearable.”

Chance’s fist struck his open palm. “But the same thing happened last night. Your eyes turned golden. You moved with amazing speed. It was incredible.”

What to say? Chance knew. There was nothing I could do to persuade him otherwise.

Then he threw me a lifeline.

“Am I crazy?” His voice had a desperate quality. “Suddenly I don’t trust my own senses. My dreams are haunted. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Chance’s hand shot out and grabbed mine.

“Is it real, Tory? Do your eyes change? Or am I in worse shape than I thought?”

Guilt battered me in waves.

I hated to lie. Worse, to chip away at Chance’s grip on reality.

But I had to protect myself. Protect my friends.

In the end, there was no choice to be made.

“My eyes don’t glow, Chance.” I wrapped my hands around his. “They’re green, as always.”

I held his gaze, hoping the deception wasn’t naked on my face. I had to convince Chance I wasn’t lying. Wasn’t hiding anything. I needed him to believe.

“I think you’re unwell.” I felt disgust for myself. “Stressed out. Your mind is playing tricks on you.”

“Tricks,” he repeated numbly.

“It’s all in your head,” I whispered, driving the dagger home.

“Of course.” Chance seemed to wilt.

Coop nuzzled Chance’s side, then turned and yipped at me. The wolfdog seemed to know I was warping his new friend’s fragile psyche. And did not approve.

I felt lower than pond scum.

“Perhaps I should check back into Marsh Point for a bit,” Chance said. “My … work there isn’t done. They probably miss me by now.”

Neither of us smiled at his attempt at levity.

He’s better off back at the hospital. Chance still isn’t well .

“Let us take you,” I said. “Ben can drive.”

“I didn’t walk here, Tory.” He waved to a black motorcycle parked down the drive. “There are lots of toys at my father’s cabin.”

“Will you get into trouble?”

“Trouble?” Chance’s smirk suggested some of his old swagger. “I’m a Claybourne. For all I know, my family owns that hospital. I expect a discrete reunion.”

I walked him to the bike, a Kawasaki Z1000. Sleek and aerodynamic, the thing looked like a spaceship on crack. After strapping on a helmet, Chance reached down and petted Coop one last time.

Then he looked at me. “I’ll see you again, I’m sure.”

Hammering back guilt, I kept my voice steady.

“Just get better, Chance.”

He nodded, straddled the bike, and was gone.

“POOR BASTARD.”

Shelton took the seat beside me in Sewee’s stern. “But you did the right thing, Tory. The pack comes first. And Chance needs treatment anyway.”

“He’s right,” Ben said. “You had to lie. Chance can’t know the truth about our powers.”

“I know.” I finished stowing my gear under a bench. “It had to be done.”

Then why did I feel so awful?

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Shelton patted my shoulder. “Messing with Chance’s mind is terrible, but we’ve got to look out for ourselves. Our freedom’s at stake. Maybe our lives.”

“I know,” I repeated. “But Chance was a part of this. We wouldn’t have found the chest without his help. And how do I repay him? By convincing him he’s bonkers. Awesome karma.”

Ben shrugged. “What choice did you have?”

“None.” Shelton said firmly.

I tried to focus on the task ahead. “Let’s just get going.”

I’d make it up to Chance somehow. Some way.

“Where’s Thick Burger?” Ben complained. “We said fifteen minutes.”

“Here he comes.” Shelton rose to his feet. “And something must be wrong, because he’s running full tilt.”

It was true. Hi was flying down the hill. He hit the dock staircase and nearly tumbled down, then descended as fast as his legs could pump. Five more seconds of sprinting brought him alongside Sewee .

“Guys!” Hi puffed and wheezed, his face gone scarlet. “ Guys !”

“Calm down,” I said. “Take deep breaths. You’re going to pass out.”

“ Radio .” Hi gasped, hands on his knees. “Turn. On. Radio. News .”

“Okay, okay.” Ben reached for the dashboard and switched on Sewee’s sound system. “Just don’t stroke out. Any particular station?”

“News 12,” Hi croaked as he crawled into the boat. “Now!”

Ben tuned the dial. A scratchy voice boomed from the speakers.

Recapping our top story, a police spokesman has released the names of the two victims of last night’s single-car accident on the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge. While department sources won’t confirm specific details about the incident, the spokesman identified the deceased as Chris and Sallie Fletcher of the Radcliffeborough area of downtown Charleston. According to unconfirmed reports, a 2010 Toyota Prius belonging to the couple was found at approximately five forty-five this morning after apparently driving off the road near the Highway 17 interchange. The car had crashed into a bridge abutment and burst into flames. In a News 12 exclusive, we’ve learned that the deceased were graduate students at Charleston University and curators of the Charleston Museum. We’ll have more on this breaking story as information becomes available. In finance, Wall Street took another hit today, as stock prices—

Ben powered off the radio with shaking fingers. “Oh my God.”

“Dead?” Shelton’s brows were almost at his hairline. “Dead? As in, the Fletchers died last night?”

“It’s all over the news.” Hi’s breathing was back to normal. “I was tying my shoes when the story flashed on TV.”

“Dead?” Shelton repeated. “For real?”

“They must’ve woke up on the beach, then left Bull Island by boat and reached their car.” Ben stopped, paled. “Driving home, they would’ve been tired, maybe a little woozy …”

“It’s not our fault,” Shelton blurted. “They attacked, and we defended ourselves. I’m sorry they got killed, but we are not responsible.”