Ghost of a Smile (27 page)

“What is it?” said Latimer. “What's happening? Why was she making that God-awful noise?”

“I don't know,” said JC. “Nothing happened . . . Kim? Kim, sweetie, what is it? What's upsetting you . . . Kim, look at me!”

Kim finally forced her eyes open but didn't look at JC. She only had eyes for Chimera House, staring at the tall building as though it was the entrance to Hell itself. JC looked, too, but it all seemed perfectly ordinary to him. Everything was as it should be. He could see silhouettes of the Institute people outlined against brightly lit windows, going about their business.

“It's not over,” said Kim. “It's not finished. Not yet.”

“What do you mean?” said Latimer. “Is it the New People? You said they were gone.”

“They are gone,” JC said impatiently. “We all saw them move on . . . Kim, did you . . . hear something?”

Kim looked at him for the first time, her pale features still slack with shock. “You didn't hear that? You didn't hear anything?”

“I didn't hear a damned thing,” said Melody. “Except you, screaming fit to burst my eardrums.” She looked at Happy, and he shrugged quickly.

“Don't look at me. I'm not picking up anything. If this night was any quieter, it would be tucked up in bed with a nice cup of hot milk.”

“It sounded . . . like the roar of some great Beast,” Kim said slowly. “Nothing human in it, not in intent, or emotion. Just this great roar, of anger and hatred and defiance . . . and evil. An ancient evil, beyond anything human.”

Happy's head snapped round, and he stared at Chimera House with wide, shocked eyes. His face screwed up with pain, and he bent over suddenly, as though he'd been hit, and hit hard. He made soft grunting, moaning sounds. Melody moved quickly in beside him but had enough sense not to touch him.

“What is it, Happy? Are you hearing something now?”

“He's killing them,” said Happy, forcing the words out between harsh gasps of strained breathing. “He's killing them all! He's going back and forth in the building, killing everyone he finds. Get them out! Get everyone out of there!”

Latimer moved in close, to glare right into his face. “Talk to me, Happy. I need to know what's happening. Concentrate! Follow your training! Find your focus and tell me what the hell is going on inside that building!”

Happy swallowed hard and bit down on his moans, fighting to regain his self-control. He made himself straighten up, by sheer effort of will, though his hands still clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“They're all dead,” he said flatly. “Everyone on the upper floors. He killed them all. I heard their terror, their dying screams. He's working his way down through the building, floor by floor, killing everyone he finds. And loving every moment of it.”

Latimer glared at JC. “You missed something. Some monster, some hidden killer . . . You told me it was safe to send my people in there! But you left something hidden in some secret place, waiting for its chance because you didn't do your job properly!”

“That's bullshit, and you know it!” said JC, giving the Boss glare for glare. “Your own psychics told you the place was clean!”

“We didn't miss anything,” Happy said flatly. “This is something new.”

JC deliberately turned his back on Latimer, to face Happy. “Human? Alive? Dead? What?”

“Yes. No. I don't know!” Happy wiped the sweat from his face with the back of one shaking hand. “There's something new in there, and it's big and powerful . . . Trying to See it is like staring into a spotlight. Its presence is hitting me so hard, I can hardly think straight, barely keep it outside my head . . . It's a man . . . but it's so much more than a man! And there's something very familiar about it . . .”

They were all looking at Chimera House by then. Latimer took out her cell phone and tried to raise someone, anyone, on the upper floors of the building, but no-one answered. She put the phone away and gave a series of quiet orders to the commander in charge of her security people. They moved quickly forward to form a semicircle facing the building, guns at the ready. Everyone else left, clearing the area, followed by all the other vehicles, and the ambulance. Kim hovered beside JC, fading in and out as her concentration wavered under the onslaught of so many unpleasant emotions. Happy was still breathing hard but was as back in control as he ever was. Melody looked briefly at her instruments but stuck with Happy, for the moment. Every time she saw him wince, she knew he was hearing someone die.

There was a burst of gunfire from the lobby. Chattering bullets, shouted orders, jagged screams suddenly cut off. The security people tensed but held their positions. Everyone strained their eyes, but none of them could see what was happening in the lobby. All the glass had suddenly become opaque. And then, suddenly, all the windows were spattered with crimson, thick blood sliding down their insides. The gunfire died away and stopped. Latimer looked at Happy, who shook his head sickly. Latimer beckoned to the commander, and he hurried over.

“Send half your people to join the established perimeter,” she said crisply. “Tell them no-one gets in or out until I say otherwise, in person. And no—I don't care who they are, or who they say they are. I want this whole area sealed off until we know for sure what we're dealing with. Contact Institute Headquarters, and have them send every special force and field agent they can find. They're to reinforce the perimeter, but not come in until I say so. When you've done that, take the rest of your people and secure the situation inside that lobby. You are authorised to shoot the shit out of anything you see. Go.”

The commander nodded quickly, and moved off to follow Latimer's orders quietly and efficiently. JC and his people stood close together, shivering in the cold, gusting wind. They all watched silently at the commander led his people towards the now-entirely-quiet lobby. Latimer glared at Happy.

“Happy Jack Palmer! Look at me!”

Happy looked at her. His face was still slack with shock. “You don't have to shout. I'm not deaf.”

“I need to know what you're hearing,” said Latimer. “What's going on in the lobby, right now? Who or what is killing my people?”

“They're all dead now,” Happy said dully. “Everyone in the building. Bullets couldn't stop him. They never stood a chance, any of them.”

“What about the other field team? Can you reach their telepath?”

“You're not listening to me! They're all dead, all of them! Including your precious Jeremy Diego, Monica Odini, and Ivar ap Owen! Your legendary A team, the best you had, your most experienced field team, were nothing to him! He killed them as easily as you would swat a fly. All their power, all their weapons, all their legendary experience, didn't make a damned bit of difference. I heard Monica crying out to me with her mind, trying to reach me . . . but he wouldn't let her. He . . . walked right over them. They didn't even slow him down.”

Latimer actually looked shocked, for the first time. “But . . . Diego was one of my best! I would have trusted him to deal with anything! What the hell is going on in there . . .”

“All the training in the world won't help,” said Happy, almost dreamily. “Something bad has come here, to teach us a lesson. To teach us our proper place in the scheme of things.”

“You're still listening in, aren't you, Happy?” JC said quietly. “Is it the New People? Are they back?”

“No,” said Happy. “It's not them. Look. There he is.”

He gestured at the lobby door with a shaking hand, and they all turned to look. The commander held up one hand as the door opened, and his men froze in place, guns trained on the door. The door swung open, and a man stepped out into the night. One man, walking unsteadily because most of his bones were broken, because he was dead. Robert Patterson. His once-splendid clothes were tattered and torn, and soaked with blood. It dripped thickly from him, leaving a messy trail back into the lobby. It was far too much blood for it to have been only his—too much, and too fresh. He carried the marks of his murders on him. Some of it fell in thick drips from his clenched fists.

His body had been broken and shattered by the long fall and sudden impact that had killed him. Every time he moved, the sound of splintered bones scraping against each other came clearly across the quiet. Broken limbs and broken back, broken neck and smashed head. His right eye had been pushed forward, straining half out of its socket, so that he seemed to stare at them all with a fierce, manic gaze. He was grinning widely.

“Robert Patterson,” said Happy. “He died and came back from the dead. And he's brought something back with him.”

Latimer called out to the dead man, and he stopped and turned to look at her. His neck made sickening grinding noises.

“Robert!” said Latimer. “Robert, it's me, Catherine! They said you were dead! What's happened to you, Robert?”

He looked at her, still grinning his humourless grin. He didn't move, and he didn't answer her. JC stepped in beside Latimer.

“I don't think that is Patterson any more, Boss,” he said carefully. “Or at least, not the Patterson you knew. Happy, talk to me . . . what's going on inside that dead man's head?”

“He's not alone in there,” said Happy. “He's hardly there at all. More like a memory, now, pressed down and supplanted by something else. Someone else has . . . moved in and taken over. Riding him.”

“And that's what killed everyone?” said Melody. “One dead man, with a rider in his head?”

“He's not like any dead man we've ever encountered,” said Happy. “Not a zombie, not any kind of lich . . . Whatever's riding Patterson has suffused his body with so much power, it's a wonder the world is able to bear his presence. This is far more than a simple possession. This is a Power, walking unfettered in the world.”

“I don't care what it is,” said Latimer. “It's killed my people. No-one gets away with that.” She nodded quickly to the commander. “Blessed and cursed bullets, half and half. Take that thing down.”

The commander nodded easily and turned to his men. He didn't seem too bothered at the idea of shooting Patterson. JC wondered briefly if perhaps the commander had known Patterson, before. The commander moved easily among his people. His voice was calm, professional, assured. “Target dead ahead. Put him down.”

The security people all opened fire at once, and the quiet night was filled with the roar of massed gunfire. Bullets pounded into Patterson, over and over again, and he stood there and took it. Every single bullet hit him, not one miss, and none of them did him any harm. The dead body soaked up the punishment, and the horrid smile on the dead face didn't waver in the least. He didn't even rock on his feet under the multiple impacts. The bullets made holes in his flesh, but that was all they did. He felt no pain, took no injury. The occasional head shots blasted the back of his skull away, blowing out long streams of grey and pink brains, but his awful gaze never wavered. He was dead, and there was nothing more the guns could do to him.

The gunfire died slowly away, as one by one guns ran out of ammunition. The security people lowered their weapons. The echoes died away, and Patterson was still standing. The security men looked at each other and muttered uneasily; but not one of them retreated. The commander opened his mouth to give new orders, but he never got to say them because Patterson was already off and moving. He raced forward with inhuman, unnatural speed, arms and legs moving without grace or efficiency. Shattered bones in his arms and legs made harsh protesting sounds as the possessing will drove them on. Patterson hit the commander first. One punch ripped the man's head right off, and Patterson was already moving on before the body hit the ground. He was in and among the security people in a moment, striking them down with closed fists, breaking their necks and clubbing them down, ripping out throats with clawlike fingers. Most of them didn't even have time to scream before they died. He tore arms out of their sockets with inhuman strength, his dead fingers sinking deep into mortal flesh, laughing silently as blood sprayed over him. He crushed skulls and punched out hearts, and stalked over fallen bodies to get to those who remained. None of them ran. They fought him with gunbutts and knives and bare hands; and none of it did any good.

It was all over very quickly. In the end, Patterson stood alone, surrounded by the dead, with fresh blood dripping from his hands. He laughed soundlessly. And then he turned to look at Catherine Latimer.

He nodded cheerfully to her, and she stared back at him with stiff, frozen features. Patterson took a step towards her, and JC, Melody, and Happy immediately moved forward, putting themselves between their Boss and the dead man. Latimer started to say something, then stopped herself. They were following their training. Patterson studied them all thoughtfully.

“Who are you?” said JC.

Patterson stood very still, not breathing hard, not breathing at all. He nodded slowly to JC, still smiling his wide, wide smile, as though this was the finest thing ever, the most fun he'd ever had.

“You'd know my name if I said it,” the dead man said in a breathy, scratchy voice. “So I won't say it.”

The voice grated on everyone's nerves. It was only breath, moving over vocal cords. Nothing human in it at all.

“All right,” said JC. “Let's try an easier one. What do you want?”

“I will kill you all,” said the dead man. “And you can't stop me. You should never have come here. You should never have interfered.”

“I hate to be picky about this, oh high-and-mighty dead person,” said JC, “but you brought us here. Or at least Patterson did, presumably on your orders.”