Soulless

Chapter 8

A few minutes later our SUV was back on the highway, doing about a hundred miles an hour, barreling north on the interstate with the siren blazing. Kat was at the wheel and I was in the passenger seat. Scott was passed out in the back seat, his head against the window. We hit a bump and he didn’t stir. I rolled my window down and let the warm night air blow in my face.

“How are you holding up?” Kat didn’t take her eyes off the road. I could tell she was tense, white-knuckling the wheel. I would have been too. Scott had learned to drive years ago. Kat and I had learned in the last six months, with Parks as our instructor, in an intensive driving course that the Directorate gave us to teach us how to drive both offensively and defensively. Now I could run a car off the road at eighty miles an hour easier than I could parallel park.

“My world is in motion,” I said, as I swallowed heavily. I didn’t quite feel sick, but I certainly felt the first strains of it. “I could do with a little less of that.”

A tight smile made its way onto her face and a few of her teeth peeked out from between her lips. “At least I didn’t take the back roads route the GPS suggested. All those twists and turns…”

“Bleh.” I shook my head. “Drinking is bad for you. Also, I think I came close to kissing a guy to death in the bar.”

“What?” Her head snapped over to look at me.

“He’s fine.” My eyes pointed straight ahead, and I was trying to watch the road in order to avoid getting motion sickness. “I mean, he seemed fine, so we must not have kissed for very long.”

“Um, wow.” Her eyes were not on the road, which became obvious a moment later when she had to swerve after the tires started bumping on the strips at the edge of the highway. “Sorry. Wait, so what happened? I mean, aren’t you and Zack…”

“I don’t know.” I pulled out my phone and pushed the button again. The screen flared to life, giving me a perfect view of the background, but there were no missed calls or waiting text messages. “We kind of had a fight.”

“Oh.” She turned to look at me, then swiveled her gaze back to the road. “What about?”

“Pretty much about what you and Scott were doing just before we left.”

“Sleeping?” She turned to me and then reddened. “Oh. Before that.”

“Yeah.”

She let the silence hang for a minute. “Because you guys can’t…?”

“Yeah.”

I think the edge in my response put her off, because she got quiet before she spoke again. “Not even a little? Like maybe being really careful, with some clothes on, and—”

“No.” I tried to end her inquiries, but I felt my frustration bleed over. “I don’t have much margin for error, Kat. A little unnoticed skin contact in the throes of passion and a few seconds later he’s dead.” I felt the breeze run through my hair. “That’s not really how I would want it to go. It’s not a turn-on, having impending death hanging over you during sex. Especially…” I swallowed heavily again, this time unrelated to that slightly sick feeling that was growing in me. “…you know. The first time. Or hell, any time.”

“I guess it sort of kills the romance, huh?” She looked at me again, and her face turned sympathetic, her eyebrows arched in concern. I found it annoying, especially since I knew she and Scott were having plenty of sex; scads of it, loads of it, probably every single night of the week, and I couldn’t even get a kiss in without worrying about hurting someone. “So, did you and Zack break up?”

“I don’t know.” I frowned. “We didn’t really resolve anything, and he hasn’t tried to talk to me since we fought, so maybe.” I looked over at her. “Why?”

She didn’t look at me, just shook her head, and when she answered, her tone was completely casual. “No reason. Just wondering.” She chanced a glance at me, then half-shrugged. “Well…you were kissing some other guy in a bar…”

“Oh.” I felt a dull pain in my head, and then I slapped myself right on the forehead. “Oh, damn.” How could I have been so stupid? “I didn’t even…it didn’t even occur to me about Zack. Damn, I have a boyfriend. Damn damn damn.”

“Well, maybe.” Kat wasn’t exactly reassuring, even though I knew she meant well, so I spared her the glare.

The trip passed uneventfully, though by the time we reached the sign indicating Red Wing’s city limits, I was feeling a little more ill and had the beginnings of a headache. We pulled up in front of a gas station that had a police car parked outside, lights still flaring. My feet hit the pavement and I steadied myself, my FBI ID already in my hand as I crossed the pavement to talk to the two cops that were standing behind the yellow tape that cordoned off the door.

“I’m Agent Clark and this is Agent Ahern,” I said, my ID wallet unfolded as I ducked under the tape and joined the officers behind the line. “What can you tell us about what happened here, Officer…” I let my eyes find the silver nameplate of one of them. “…Olmstead?”

The one I had spoken to was a bald guy, dark skinned. “We responded to a 911 call a couple hours ago from a customer that came into the station and found the clerk unconscious behind the counter. The guy had been smacked around pretty hard. We sent him to the hospital and started looking over the scene, but we didn’t find much of anything.”

“No forensics?” Kat chimed in, catching the attention of both officers, drawing it away from me. I hated how she could do that, but it was the least of my problems now.

“Nah,” Olmstead answered. “The store serves a couple thousand people a day during the summer, more on a weekend like this. There’s enough hair and fingerprints in this place to start a new civilization in a petri dish, but nothing we can tie to anybody.”

I looked over his shoulder and saw a camera hanging from the awning above the gas pumps. I pointed at it. “What about that?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shake of his head. “Perp took the recording and smashed the system. Most of these smaller stations don’t bother with off-site data backup because they use the cameras more for people who drive off without paying for their gas.”

“Thanks for your help, Officer Olmstead.” I smiled at him and he nodded back, slightly tense from what I presumed was being questioned by the FBI. “We’ll need the name of the victim and which hospital you sent him to.”

“Sure.” He pointed to the road we had just been on. “Hospital is that way. We only have one. Follow the signs and you can’t miss it. Victim’s name is Roger Julian. He was pretty messed up when they carted him away. Couldn’t remember a damned thing.”

I exchanged a look with Kat. “Nothing?” When I turned back to the officer, he shook his head. “How bad was he hurt?”

“Not bad,” Olmstead said. “Scrapes and bruises, lost consciousness for a while. Paramedics said he looked like he’d be just fine, but they wanted to get him an MRI because of the disorientation, the loss of consciousness and the head wound. Thought he might be concussed.”

“Uh huh. Thanks for your help, Officer.” I nodded at him, and Kat and I walked back to the car. I heard him say something under his breath to the cop that was with him about the FBI recruiting toddlers, but I pretended not to hear it. Once we were in the car, I turned to Kat. “Sounds like this one might have the same issue.”

“Yeah.” Kat started the car and put it in gear. “I’m not healing this guy unless he’s got major problems, but I’ll take a look and see how hurt he is. I’m guessing if he can’t remember anything about the attack, he’s suffering from the same kind of memory loss as the last guy.”

“You sure you can’t heal him, just to be safe?”

She let out a slow breath. “I don’t think so. I don’t want to push it. After we get to the hospital, we seriously need to find a place to crash for the night or else you need to take over driving.”

I did a little head shake of my own. I couldn’t tell if I was sober yet, but I doubted it. “We should just find a hotel. I’m not in any condition to drive yet.”

We went a little further down the road, turning when we saw a blue sign with a white H on it. After another mile, the hospital came into view and we parked. It was a predominantly brick building with white trim and an enormous, multi-story octagonal entry. I felt the warmth of the air as I stepped out onto the pavement. I looked into the car before I closed the door; Scott was still passed out in the back, snoring.

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs as I followed Kat across the parking lot and through the sliding doors. The hiss they made as they moved, coupled with the cool air conditioning hitting me in the face, gave me a half-second of disorientation. I’d started sweating, just a little, on the walk from the car. I wished this damned state would come to some sort of happy equilibrium in regards to the weather; but no, she bitterly clung to her extremes.

After inquiring at the check-in desk we were routed up a couple stories to the critical care unit. The tile floor clicked under Kat’s heels and I heard the squeak from the soles of my flats as we walked along. She had slowed her pace so that I would trail behind her. The air bore the familiar smell of disinfectants and I heard raised voices ahead of us. We came around a corner and found a nurse’s station with three security guards surrounding someone.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to—” One of the security guards stepped forward, blocking my view of the person that the three of them had surrounded. A couple nurses were behind the desk in the station, backing away.

“I don’t think you realize the depth of your mistake here.” The voice was familiar, but I still couldn’t see the speaker.

“Sir, we’re going to have to call the police.” The lead guard’s hand rested on his holster, and I could see that he was tensing on the grip.

“That’s a shame.” Cold, bitterly ironic, the speaker didn’t sound at all regretful. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew that voice and I adjusted my position, crossing in front of Kat. I caught a glimpse of him over the security guard’s shoulder.

He was in profile to me, looking at the guard closest to him, and didn’t see me. His hair was long, brown and hung almost to his shoulder blades. I saw that his face was red, though it was hard to tell through his swarthy skin. I knew his eyes were brown, though I couldn’t see them from this distance. I quickened my pace and drew my FBI ID.

“Gentlemen,” I said, holding it open. “Sienna Clarke, FBI. This is Agent Ahern.” I nodded to Kat. “What’s going on here?”

“Ma’am.” The lead security guard peered hard at my ID while the other two watched their subject with undistilled suspicion. “This man was trying to access patient rooms long past the end of visiting hours.”

I turned to the man they held captive. “Is this true?”

He folded his arms and stared at me with barely disguised disbelief. “I just came here to talk to the guy who got robbed.” He nodded at the lead guard. “This clown gave me the party line and I was about to give him the party platter.”

Kat squinted. “What…what that does even mean? Is that a threat?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “A party platter filled with meats and cheeses is a generous gift, and he should be damned happy to get it.”

“Ma’am?” The head guard got my attention turned back to him. “What is the FBI doing here in the middle of the night, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The same thing your troublemaker is doing,” I said. “We need to have a conversation with the patient. He’s a witness in a series of robberies that have crossed state lines.” I nodded to Kat. “If you could show Agent Ahern to his room while I deal with your interloper…” I gestured with my hand toward the man standing between them all and he rolled his eyes and nodded back, with the greatest reluctance. I locked eyes with Kat. “We’ll be outside when you’re done.”

“Ma’am?” The head security guard spoke up again. “Would you like us to come with you, keep an eye on him?” He said it as the troublemaker walked past me, already on his way back to the elevator.

“Him?” I turned to follow him as he walked past. “If he gives me any problems, I’ll just shoot him.”

I heard the security guard behind me, a warble of uncertainty as he whispered to his colleagues. I followed the long-haired man back to the elevator, stopping in front of the door after he pressed the down button. “I didn’t need your help,” he said, stepping into the box.

“Of course you didn’t,” I said with an easy nod. “You were about to lay waste to three local rent-a-cops and probably a couple nurses because you had it all well under control.”

“Damned right.” His sullen look finally cracked and I caught the shake of his head that was followed by a grin. “How have you been, Sienna? I haven’t seen you in my dreams lately.”

I blew air noiselessly between my lips. “Honestly, I’ve been too busy to think about you, Reed.”

“Ouch.” He ran a hand through his long hair. “So you’re a full-on Directorate agent now, huh?”

“Nah. I work for the FBI. Longer hours, worse pay.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure. Should we play the game of denial about why each of us is here, or can we cut the crap and get right to the truth?”

“I will if you will.”

“You’re here because of the guy, right?” He stared me down. “The guy going around treating convenience store clerks like he’s Chris Brown?”

I started to lie, but he was watching me. I’d known Reed longer than just about anybody, though I hadn’t spoken to him in months. “Yeah. We figure this is a new meta, just manifesting, that needs a serious reining in.”

“Yeah?” He tugged on the front of his shirt. He was wearing a nice one, a white dress shirt that was untucked, with a suit coat over it and dark jeans. “You talk to the guy in Owatonna?”

“You mean the guy with a big hole in his memory?”

“He was kind of a dead end, wasn’t he?” Reed smiled. “The ones in Wyoming and South Dakota had the exact same problem, oddly enough. How big of a believer are you in coincidence? Because I’m not much of one; and head traumas don’t typically cause that much memory loss.”

“What kind of meta would be able to do that?” I folded my arms, felt the familiar lump under my left arm as I rested my hand on my pistol.

He shrugged, looking for all the world like he was a man unconcerned with anything. “Well, the beatings could be caused by just about any type…as for the other, there’s a few that could cause that, but one in particular I’m thinking of.”

I waited a minute for him to answer. “I thought we weren’t gonna do the mystery game.”

“I said we weren’t gonna do the denial game – I never said I was gonna tell you everything I know.” He turned and pushed the button to call the elevator and stared at me, puzzlement brewing on his face. “Why Clarke? Why not just go with Nealon?”

I rolled my eyes and lowered my voice. “Because if you’re going to commit a felony, it’s best not to use your real name, especially if said name is being entered into the FBI database as an agent. That tends to leave a pretty exact record if anything goes wrong.”

He frowned. “Well, wouldn’t they have had to put a picture of you into the database in a personnel file?”

“I—” I stopped and thought about it. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not planning on making a major problem of it.”

“Huh.” He stared back at me with cool amusement. “I might worry about that a little bit if I were you, especially given who you work for.”

“Oh yeah?” We both looked up as the elevator dinged. “Care to share what you mean by that?”

He smiled as he stepped into the elevator. “Nope.” His hand reached out to hold the door as Kat came up to join us. “What’s the word, blondie? Does this guy have a swiss melt for a memory too?”

Kat had the rarest of expressions cross her face, irritation, as she shot me a look, as though she were asking permission before speaking in front of him. I nodded at her. “Yeah,” she said. “He’s perfectly healthy, his brain is fine, but the memory’s just gone, like it never existed.”

“Same old story.” Reed pulled his hand back and the elevator door started to close. “See you ladies down the road. Oh, and Sienna? You smell like whiskey. Just FYI.”

The elevator doors closed before I could snap back a reply. I looked to Kat, who was slightly flushed. “Of course I smell like whiskey,” I said. “I’ve been drinking whiskey.” Kat shrugged as I pushed the elevator button to call another one. “Ass,” I said, lowering my voice.

“Who was he?” Kat waited until we were walking across the parking lot to ask.

“Him?” I chucked a thumb toward the hospital building. “When Zack and Kurt came to my house for the first time, they ended up drawing guns—”

“What?” She looked at me with incredulity. “Really?”

“Really. I kinda got into a scuffle with them first. Anyway, I ended up running when Kurt started shooting, and Reed was waiting outside and offered me an escape route, so I took him up on it.”

“They shot at you?” She stopped and grabbed me by the arm. I felt the strength in her grip; it wasn’t quite as much as I could bring to bear, but the girl was no slouch. “With real bullets?”

“Tranquilizer darts. But I didn’t know that until later.”

“So who is he?” She stared at me evenly, and had the slightest smile. “He’s kinda cute, you know.”

“I had noticed that, yes.” I pulled my arm gently from her grasp. “And if he’d ever stick around for more than five minutes without disappearing, that might matter.”

“Oooh,” she said in a somewhat high and floating voice. “A man of mystery?”

“The very definition of it.” I opened the passenger door to the SUV and climbed in, tossing a glance back to confirm Scott was still snoring softly in the back, head against the window and mouth open wide. “I bet you could do with a little bit more of that in your life right about now.”

“Huh?” She cocked her head at me, question written on her face, then swiveled to look when I indicated the backseat. She saw Scott, shook her head and stuck the key in the ignition. “So what did he tell you?”

“Not much. Said he’d interviewed the victims out in Wyoming and South Dakota, that they had the same memory gap as the guy in Owatonna.” I leaned back against the headrest. “So now we’ve got four people who got the holy hell beat out of them and they don’t remember a thing about it. We’ve got no idea where they’re going and no clue who’s doing it – except…” I frowned.

“What?” She was at rapt attention, looking at me.

“Reed confirmed one thing.” I chewed my lip. “He said a meta was definitely causing the memory loss – and I think he knew which kind of meta it was.”

Kat looked at me blankly. “So what kind of meta causes memory loss when they attack you?”

I looked out into the black night, and I racked my brain for something, anything, I’d learned in my studies, anything at all about metas that could make memories disappear. Without that clue, we were without anything to do or any lead to investigate until the next call came in. “I don’t know,” I said. “I just don’t know.”