The Darkest Hours

Chapter 20

Mary Jane appeared at the door, eyebrows lifted in inquiry.

"Felicia," I reported, handing back the phone. "Oliver, her guy at the company, found Dex."

MJ nodded, frowning. "What are you going to do?"

"They're bringing him here," I said quietly. "I'm going to go talk to him."

Her mouth quirked at one corner. "Aren't you getting a little old to be throwing parties when Aunt May is out of town?"

"We'll party tonight and clean it up tomorrow," I responded. "What could possibly go wrong?"

She put her hand over my mouth and said, "If you don't shut up, you're going to bring on a montage."

"Is that some kind of seizure?"

"Actually," Mary Jane said after a moment of thought, "that's not a bad description." The whimsy faded out of her face. "Seriously. Up here?"

"They're bringing a car. I'm going to go talk to him."

"I see," Mary Jane said. She glanced from me to the recumbent Rhino. "And I stay here?"

"I think you'll be all right. I'll be on the street right outside the building," I said. "I put Felicia's cell number on your speed dial. If you even think there might be a problem, you hit that, and I'll be up here inside of fifteen seconds."

Mary Jane considered that for a moment, and then nodded. "I suppose I'll make some coffee, then. Stay alert."

"Keep the lights dim," I said, "and stay away from the windows."

Mary Jane's eyes glittered. "I'll keep an eye on our guest. If he gives me any trouble, I'll subvert him with cheesecake."

"There's cheesecake?" I said. "I didn't see any cheesecake. Why didn't I get cheesecake?"

"Because I haven't made it yet."

I considered that for a moment. "I suppose I'll accept that explanation."

"You're a reasonable man," MJ said. Then she stepped close to me and pressed herself against me. I held her quietly, eyes closed, until her phone beepbeep-beep-BOOP-booped. She flipped it open and checked the screen. "Felicia." Rather pointedly, she did not answer the phone.

I released her reluctantly, walked to the window, and looked down. A white van that looked like an unmarked bakery truck pulled up on the street outside. A pair of professionally unremarkable cars pulled out from spaces they'd somehow secured, making room for the van, which slid up to the curb and came to a halt.

I gave MJ a quick kiss, hit the fire escape, flipped myself across the street so that I wouldn't be approaching the van from the direction of Aunt May's place, and moseyed on down, landing on the van's roof. Then I stuck my head down in front of the driver's face and said, "I hope you guys take credit cards, 'cause I can't find my checkbook and the only cash I have is a bucket of pennies."

Felicia looked back at me without any amusement whatsoever in her expression. She shook her head, then turned and vanished into the back of the van. The side door whispered open, and I crawled on in.

The inside of the van looked like a cramped office. There were several low seats and an abbreviated desk, complete with a clamped-down computer and monitor. There were several people in there. Felicia, dressed in her bodysuit and leather jacket, sat behind the desk, her legs crossed, her eyes cool.

A small man hovered next to the desk, and he was the only one there short enough to stand up. He was a dapper little guy in a casual suit of excellent cut. He had sparse, grizzled hair, spectacles, an opaque expression, and unreadable blue eyes.

"Spidey," Felicia said. "This is Oliver."

I folded my legs, Indian style, only I sat on the ceiling. It's a rare man who can honestly say that his butt has a superpower. " 'Sup, Oliver?"

His eyebrows lifted. He didn't say anything. He looked like the kind of man who was used to patiently suffering while other, more intellectually limited people tried to catch up with him.

Sitting across from the desk were three men. Two of them were bruisers—though older and more solid than most of the thugs I've tussled with. They also had suits and wedding rings. Law-abiding bruisers, then, I supposed. Security personnel.

"Mister Walowski," Felicia supplied. "Mister Gruber."

"Howdy," I said to them. Then I tilted my head toward the last man, who sat between them, his shoulders hunched defensively. He was as skinny as I remembered, almost famished-looking. His hair was a mess, his eyes sunken and lined with what almost looked like bruises rather than bags. He hadn't shaved in a few days. He was dressed plainly, in jeans, a T-shirt, and a blue apron bearing the words, "Sooper-Mart!"

His eyes, though, were dark, intent, calculating. He reminded me of a trapped rat, spiteful and stubborn, holding still in hopes that the predator might simply leave, but ready to fight with berserk desperation if pushed too far.

"Is this the guy?" Felicia asked.

"Yeah, that's him. Where'd you find him?"

"Hartford," Oliver said. He had a very calm, quiet voice. "The convenience store where he works was robbed, and another clerk was stabbed. They took prints from all the store's employees so that they could sort out which belonged to the suspect. The prints were put on file and the company found them."

"You found them, Oliver," Felicia corrected.

He favored her with a small smile.

I nodded at the bruisers. "You been sweating him?"

"Just doing a lot of looming," Felicia said. "Apparently, he doesn't scare easy."

I snorted. "No. He wouldn't. Hi, Dex."

Now that I'd spoken to him by name, Dex let out his breath in a hiss. "I did what you told me to. I stayed away from New York."

"That's good," I said.

"Then what do you want?" he asked.

"I want you to talk to me about Morlun."

"He's dead," Dex said in a monotone, and closed his eyes. "What else is there to say?"

"I'm sure there must be something," I told him. "His sister and his two brothers seem to be really upset about the whole situation."

Dex looked up at me sharply, and for a second his expression became frightened, before congealing into that ratlike calculation again. He said nothing.

"Dex? Did you hear me?"

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "What makes you think I know anything?"

"You were with Morlun for a while. You ran his errands. Handled his books. Went out for coffee. You were his Renfield."

"No," Dex said, in that same flat monotone.

"Renfield got to die; Dracula killed him. Morlun kept promising, but he never would do it."

I wasn't sure which was creepier—the words Dex had said, or the way my instincts told me that the faint shades of longing in his eyes were entirely genuine.

"Dex," I said. "I know he was a monster. But I'm looking at three more just like him up here, and I need to know whatever you can tell me."

"Or what happens?" A faint sneer colored his voice. "You tell them about me?"

"No," I said. "They're blaming me for his death. I doubt they know or care who you are. You aren't in any danger."

"I wouldn't say that," Felicia said sweetly. "Dex, Spidey is a longtime associate of mine. I'd be very upset if something happened to him."

"Oh," Dex said. He paused for a moment, then asked, "What are you going to do to them?"

"Whatever I have to," I said.

And then something in the man's demeanor changed. In that instant, his weakness and fear abruptly vanished, and his eyes widened, gleaming.

"Kill them," he said, his voice suddenly hardedged, hot, eager. "You beat him. You beat him. You can do it again; you can beat them again. You can kill them. Kill them.

All of them. Promise me you will kill them, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

He stared at me, panting as if he'd run up a long hill, fever-bright eyes locked on my face. I'm not a therapist, but I've been around it enough to know what crazy looks like, and Dex was it. Something told me that if I pushed him or put him under any pressure or strain, he might crack.

Violently.

After all, I'd seen him do it once before.

I had to give him what he wanted. Or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.

"Talk to me," I said, gently, "and I promise you that I will send them to the next world."

Dex choked out a breath and his eyes sagged halfway shut. He let out a low, shuddering sigh, a disquietingly intimate sound, and closed his eyes. Then he said, "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about Morlun's feeding habits," I said.

He paused for a moment, frowning in concentration, gathering his thoughts. "Morlun was never alone when he fed. Sometimes he would dismiss me for days. But always, when he fed or hunted, I was there. Always."

"I thought they only fed every few years," I said.

"From the source, yes," Dex said. "The pure, primal life energy. Like yours. But others have the same energy, though in lesser quantity, very diluted. It wasn't very satisfying to him, but it pleased him to snack on such folk from time to time."

"Like popcorn," I said.

Dex smiled at me. His teeth had been stained by cigarettes. Too much of the whites of his eyes showed. "Like popcorn. Normal humans with some kind of personal association with a totemic source.

Something about their personality brushed on the source, gave them a minuscule amount of the same energy."

"Someone like a lion tamer," I said quietly. "Or someone who worked with and rode and loved horses. Maybe Grizzly Adams."

"Yes," Dex said. "Those, he'd take every few months. And always he made sure I was there."

"Why?"

"To watch for intrusion," Dex said. "To notify him if anyone approached. He was very specific about it. Paranoid, really, even for him. He would repeat the instructions every single time, in full, every time."

"Do you remember them?" I asked.

Dex shuddered and licked his lips. "I remember everything." He folded his arms and shook his head several times. I gave him a minute to work himself up to it. Felicia leaned forward and began to speak, but I made a small, discouraging gesture with one hand. She saw it, and for a second I thought she'd go ahead anyway—but then she settled back into her seat and waited.

Dex looked up and spoke. His voice, when it came out, hardly sounded like his own—it had gained richness and depth and had taken on a faint, vaguely British accent. It sounded a lot like Morlun. "Pay attention, Dex."

Then Dex answered in his own voice, toneless and quiet. "Yes, Morlun."

His voice changed back to that echo of the An-cient's. "The usual arrangements are in place? A private suite?"

'Yes, Morton."

"Security has been notified that I wish privacy?"

"Yes, Morlun."

"You are armed?"

"Yes, Morlun."

"You have checked the locks?"

"Yes, Morlun."

"The windows?"

"Yes, Morlun."

"The outer cameras are in place?"

"Yes, Morlun."

"The new locks to my chamber door are installed?"

"Yes, Morlun."

"Give me the keys."

Dex held out his hand, his eyes focused on nothing, as if dropping something. "Yes, Morlun."

"You will remain on guard outside my door."

"Yes, Morlun."

"If the security measures are disturbed, by anything whatsoever, however small, you are to make me aware of it at once. If any unauthorized persons appear, you are to slay them."

"Yes, Morlun."

Silence fell. Oliver looked more than a little uncomfortable. The bruisers were creeped out. Heck, even Felicia had that narrow-eyed, casual stare she got when she put her poker face on.

Dex hadn't simply been sharing a memory. He'd been all but reliving it. For him, it had been almost as real in replay as in real life. God, what torture, to remember every twisted detail experienced under the thumb of a thing like Morlun.

"Eidetic memory," I said quietly. "And then some."

Dex opened his flat, lifeless eyes and shrugged a shoulder. "It's why he chose me. It made me more useful to him."

"I take it he would bring victims back to a prepared location," I said.

"Yes. It wasn't difficult for him. He was charming, when he needed to be."

"Must have been the cravat," I said. "Did he always use additional security forces?"

"Yes. Sometimes hired bodyguards. Sometimes hotel or resort security. Sometimes he would use underworld muscle."

I nodded. "Sounds like he shut even you away."

"Yes. Morlun never wanted to be disturbed while he fed."

While he fed… Blast it, the answer was there. It was in there somewhere, so close I could taste it. I had what I needed, but for the life of me, I couldn't piece it together. Literally. It was like working out a badly tangled cord—if I could just find one end and get it out of the first stubborn knot, I was sure the rest would be workable.

"Dex," I said quietly. "Thank you."

"Will that help?" he asked, his voice again surging with smoldering rage. The sudden shift in tone made the bruisers tense up. "Will it help you kill them?"

"It might."

"Don't hesitate," he snarled. "Don't think twice. Kill them."

"Dex," I said. "You need to calm down, man. You don't want to—"

"You have no idea!" he shouted. There was spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth as his breathing became labored again. "You don't know the things I saw. You must kill them. Kill them.

Kill them all!"

He snapped on the last phrase, screaming and thrashing. The bruisers piled onto him, telling him to relax. Dex fought with more strength than I would have given him credit for, howling up a storm as he did. I felt a little bit sick. Dex had been hanging on by a thread, and all my questions hadn't done anything to make his situation less precarious.

"He's getting a little worked up," Oliver noted quietly. "Do you have any further need of him?"

"Spidey?" Felicia asked.

"I'm good," I said.

She nodded while the bruisers subdued Dex. They were careful about it, not using any more force than they had to while holding him down to prevent him from harming himself or others.

"Perhaps we should step outside," Oliver suggested.

"Good idea. Spider?"

I went out first, crouching on the roof of the van as Felicia and Oliver exited and closed the door. The noise from the van cut out at once, but I knew that inside Dex was still struggling, because the van was rocking back and forth.

I bit my lip beneath the mask, looked at Felicia, and asked, "He going to be okay?"

"Relax. They won't hurt him," Felicia said quietly.

"Unless he forces them to," Oliver contradicted her. "That young man is clearly disturbed and dangerous."

"They won't hurt him," Felicia said again, louder.

Oliver glanced at her, sighed, and then drew a cell phone from a pocket and stepped a few feet away to make a call.

"I'll see to it," Felicia said quietly.

"Dex suffered," I said quietly. "Maybe a lot more than I thought he had. He needs help. Not getting dragged off to be interrogated in the middle of the night." He probably hadn't needed to be banned from New York on pain of torment and death, either. Granted, I hadn't exactly been in a state of perfect clarity after my marathon beating from Morlun, but all the same. I hadn't seen Dex as another of Morlun's victims. Maybe I should have. It made me feel bad, that I'd added to his suffering by dragging him here.

Except that I hadn't.

I frowned. "Why didn't you just make a phone call, instead of bringing him here?"

"They were fairly close," Felicia said. "We thought it would be best for you to see him in person. He wasn't exactly the soul of cooperation."

I nodded, feeling my lips purse thoughtfully. "I need to make a call," I said. Then I turned to Oliver, as he lowered the phone and turned back to us. "Can I borrow your phone?"

Most people wouldn't have seen it, but Felicia froze in place for a tiny moment, her head tilting a fraction to one side in interest.

"Hmm?" Oliver said. "Oh, certainly. How often does one get to lend a phone to a superhero?" He offered it up to me.

"Thanks," I said. I reached down from the van's roof and took the phone from him.

"I'm impressed, Oliver," Felicia was saying behind me. "This was quick work, even for you."

"I was well motivated," Oliver replied. ''Whatever I can do to help one of New York's most colorful heroes."

Felicia smiled widely. "Two of them."

"Yes, two. Of course."

My, but Oliver had a neat phone. It had all kinds of things in it, a full PDA among them. People seem to take security much more lightly when it comes to PDAs, for some reason. Maybe it's because they're always kept safely tucked in a pocket. I opened Oliver's e-mail. Then I looked at his call logs.

The PDA beeped a whole lot while I did, and Oliver noticed it. "Hey," he said. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" He came over and reached up as if to take the PDA out of my hands. Like that was going to happen. I held it maybe six inches out of his reach and kept going. "Give me that!"

The incoming calls all had neat identifying tags on them—except for one, which was quite conspicuously blank. I checked the outgoing calls. Ditto. Oliver kept everything neatly labeled—except for a single phone number. I dialed that one, and told Oliver, 'You got an e-mail, by the way. Your offshore bank confirms a money transfer with a bunch of zeros, Oliver."

The phone rang once, and then Mortia's voice spoke. "Do you have the cat? The spider?"

"Tick tock, Mortia," I told her in a cheerful voice. "Don't be late for our appointment."

I hung up the phone and tilted my head at Oliver. "Thanks, bud. All done. Hey, Felicia, where'd you get your phone?"

"From the company…" she said, after a moment. Then she corrected herself "From Oliver."

"His has a GPS built into it," I said. "Betcha yours does, too. And on a completely unrelated note, do you remember how we were wondering how Mortia and company found us back at the apartment? Any thoughts on how that happened?"

Oliver stood frozen for a moment. Then the traitor bolted.