Missing Lynx (36 page)

Striker got on his phone and told someone to bring Miriam Laugherty to my house
now
. He didn’t care if she needed to be hogtied and brought in at gunpoint.

Striker looked right into Gater’s eyes. He embodied everything that was good and right in this world… in my world.

Gater said out loud, “Lynx, we’re looking for you. Your phone  pinged from southern Florida. A contact down there says word is you were taken out of the country by a drug mule. Can you tell us anything about how or where they took you?”

I breathed in and asked for help sending information to Gater. I pictured an airplane, and as I spoke the word, I willed Gater to understand. But he didn’t. He got nothing but a stress headache. Then Striker repeated Gater’s words. Then Gater said them in his head – all right, he screamed them in his head. Yow!

They got nothing from me.

Striker looked directly into Gater’s eyes and spoke clearly. “Lexi, Iniquus has told us that finding you is a priority. We have every resource to find you, and we’re using them, believe me. Gater said that you had pulled out some of the files from Spyder’s storage area – that you had made a link to one of the men in Sylanos’s network. We can’t find that file, so we don’t know what connection you made.” Striker scrubbed an exasperated hand over his face. “We don’t have any way to contact Spyder. He was taken off-grid by our client. They’re refusing to let us contact him or show us the Sylanos information. Only you and Spyder know what’s going on with this Marcos Sylanos guy.” Striker squatted in front of Gater and looked deeply into our eyes. “And, Lexi, I don’t think this has anything to do with Sylanos. Two weeks before your kidnapping, he was shot and killed accidentally by one of his men.” Striker cleared his throat and shifted to a chair. I could tell this was awkward for him – like he was acting in a play… or I was playing with his paradigms.

“We got a video of you today.” Striker stopped. Violent emotions stormed behind his eyes. God, this was painful to watch – for Gater and for me.

“You looked like you’re holding up as best you can,” he finally said, his voice was raw. “There was little we could get from it…just you in an empty room with a newspaper. A Mexican paper. If they’re smart — and they have been acting smart up until now — then they brought in the paper to throw off our search. My guess is you’re not in Mexico.” Striker stopped and gave me time to try to convey…something.

I tried. I tried to say it, to picture it, to visualize a traffic signal with red and green lights…

Gater felt me struggle to communicate. He was overrun with the feeling of powerlessness – flashes of the time I was tortured as Anyushka crossed his memory. Guilt for not being able to help me then, guilt for not stopping the kidnapping, guilt for not helping me now, guilt upon guilt until he could hardly stand it – he dammed his emotions behind a stoic face. Jeezus.
I’m so sorry to do this to you, Gater.

“I’ll wait for Miriam to get here to ask you questions,” Striker said. “Your pups are doing fine. They miss you – we all do. We need you to stay strong.” He paused, then whispered, “
I
need you to stay strong.”

Striker told me random things about my neighbors and work – the kinds of things people would ask about if they had been away for a long time. It was nice to hear him talking to me. To see him through Gater’s eyes. He was balm for my heart.

  Blaze burst through the backdoor, propelling Miriam forward with a tight grip on her arm. Miriam – dressed in her pajamas and tennis shoes – didn’t look happy.

“What in heaven’s name is going on?” Miriam demanded.

“Ms. Laugherty, I’m so sorry to meet you this way, but this is an unusual set of circumstances. I’m about to brief you on highly classified information. I need your professional word that this is all to remain in your confidence.”

“And this pertains to?” Miriam had her arms crossed tightly over her chest and tapped a ticked-off foot on the ceramic tile.

“Lexi Rueben Sobado,” Striker replied.

“Lexi?” Miriam stopped and looked around. “She’s here in the ether now, isn’t she?”

“We believe so, yes, ma’am,” Striker said.

Miriam’s face tensed, pulling her nostrils wide. “That girl’s in bad trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Striker said. He took a few minutes to lay out what had happened to me to the best of his ability. Then, Gater told her how he came to be aware of my presence.

Miriam looked right into Gater’s eyes and said, “Lexi-girl, it’s up to you. You’re going to have to try out different ways and try on different people. Start with me.” Then she sat down and waited.

I pulled away from Gater’s body.

“She’s left me,” Gater said. Beetle and Bella went over and stared at Miriam. Miriam had opened herself to me; I slid easily into her skin. I tried again to send messages. I begged for her to help me. She sat there with her eyes closed and her palms open.

Finally, she said out loud, “Lexi, I feel you tickling at the edges of my consciousness. Your dogs seem to think you’re here with me now. Like I said, I can sense you, but I can’t read you. I think you should go back into your body before you wear yourself out. I’ll do a remote recovery from my end. Here’s the plan, if you can travel at this time, we’ll be back in this kitchen tomorrow night.”

I dejectedly slipped back into my body – that had laid empty on the wooden shelf in my Honduran prison cell – and fell immediately into an exhausted sleep.

Thirty-Eight

O
utside, the night shifted to dawn. I dreamed of an African fire circle. I sat in front of Grandmother Sybil as she braided my hair, humming a comforting tune.

“Grandmother, I’m trying so hard. I want to go home. I want to be with Striker. I miss him.” I whined.

“You are becoming a good hunter – following the right tracks. You must continue this path. Do you remember when you helped the young girl and her baby?” There was a rustle in the bush nearby – a form crouched. I thought I caught the glitter of leopard eyes watching me.

“Do you see that, child?” Grandmother whispered under her breath.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Remember that while you hunt, you too are being hunted. Be wise. Be careful.”

How could this get much worse?
I wondered, almost thankful for the depression that muffled and muted my anxiety.

Grandmother must have heard my thoughts. “No! You will not fall prey to your emotions. You are a fighter! A warrior! Now focus. What did you discover? What gift were you given?”

“That’s a good question,” I thought as I woke up. What was the gift? I gave up my regular rituals for the day, except for sending Reiki to Grandma Oatmeal and Elicia. Instead, I sat on my shelf with my tweezers and plucked the hairs off my legs. What did I learn? I went over the Brennon/Anyushka case again, and again, trying to focus on the finer points, trying to sift through the various details searching for unintended consequences. I was surprised when Drunk showed up to take me to exercise. I had lost track of time as I often did when I puzzled a case.

A storm blew green and purple to the east, swelling as it moved in. The dogs fretted nervously. As thunder shook the sky, they lunged, barking and snarling at some of the prisoners. The guards laughed. I imagined these men would think it a great sport if the dogs pulled away from them and attacked. I decided to test my relationship with the dogs that I’d diligently built day after day.

“Calm. Leave it,” I commanded in my mind. The dogs swung their heads to look at me and paced at their handlers feet, dropping their heads and panting. The handlers tried to rile them back up to no avail – even with another crash of thunder. I pushed harder. “Sit,” I thought. They sat. I turned to hide my grin, thrilled. In my mind, I praised the dogs and rewarded them with soothing energy.  

Suddenly, the rain hit with such velocity that each drop stung and bruised. We prisoners stood exposed in the yard, pummeled by the onslaught while the guards relaxed under an overhang, smoking. My sopping wet clothes offered no protection; I crossed my arms over my head and screwed my eyes tightly closed. The men laughed at our misery. As the church bells chimed three o’clock, Drunk hailed me to the door. As I ran to reach him, the mud sucked at my shoes and splattering my jeans.

Up in my cell, the floor had flooded from the rain pouring through my open window. The wind wolf-howled. Stripping myself naked, I hung my clothes on the sink and dried myself on one of my sheets. Chilled to the bone, I wrapped myself, shivering violently, in the scratchy wool blanket and balled up on the far end of the shelf where the rain couldn’t reach me.

When dinner came, I didn’t budge.

Elicia looked in the window. “Saint Blanca, come and eat,” she called to me. I looked at her with feverish eyes and dropped my throbbing head back on the pillow.

“Saint Blanca, you must eat. You will not get better if you do not eat.”

I didn’t respond. My head clanged, my sore muscles felt like I had been beaten violently, fever diffused off my skin, making me broil and shiver. Elicia sighed and left. Left without the healing energy that I offered her each day, to walk back home through this horrible storm. And what would she find there for all of her work and compassion? An empty cupboard, an ailing mother, and a dying son. Life sucked.

Several days passed before my head stopped pounding. I had a deep bronchial cough, and I saved all of my healing work for myself. It was Sunday. I only knew that by the church bells calling the believers to prayer. I washed myself as best I could with cold water and my ever dwindling soap. I dressed in my clothes and accepted the gray glue from Grandma Oatmeal.

My pants were enormous on me. I had to hold them up to walk. Elicia tried to give me huge amounts of rice and beans, but I was having trouble forcing any food past my lips. I was deeply depressed. I knew I needed to fight this; but my depression was sapping my energy and will.

I thought about Master Wang and his wife, Snow Bird. I always thought that Snow Bird’s mom must have sensed her baby’s spirit, before she was even born, in order to have bestowed such a perfect name on her daughter. Snow Bird Wang had been small and delicate. She had a vulnerability about her that reminded me of an unsheltered bird in a winter’s storm, perched on an icicle-laden branch, feathers puffed out to insulate against the assault. The little I knew about the Wangs’ story – what they were willing to share – made me wonder how such a vulnerable creature could possibly have survived the storms of her life. One thing I did know was that when Master Wang was by her side, Snow Bird was at peace.

Peace…I decided to go and spend the day with Striker. I needed a little peace. I would leave my body and just be with him. It might exhaust me, but it might just be the best medicine.

I found Striker in his office. It was lunch time, and Gater came in with a tray of sandwiches. He had my girls with him. They plopped down at the men’s feet and closed their eyes. The sandwiches were delicious – roasted vegetables and grilled chicken with melted cheese. The act of biting into something that needed to be chewed… So many tastes on Striker’s tongue. . . Oh, so good. He swallowed way too soon, I wanted the experience to last. Instead, he put the sandwich aside and gulped from his mug. Striker drank his coffee black – which I detested.

Gater stared at Striker and me.

Disconcerted, Striker shot Gater a warning glance. “What the hell, Gater? Cut it out.”

“Yes, sir,” Gater replied. He kept staring.

“Stop!” Striker barked. Wow. His nerves were wound tight. I didn’t like this – Peace? What was I thinking? Striker was antithetical to peace.

“Sir, do you remember last week, when the dogs brought me Lexi’s picture, and I thought I could feel her with me?”

“Is she here? Can you feel her?” Striker jumped to his feet. Hope radiated through him.

“I think she’s with you. Can you feel her?”

Striker stilled. He scanned his body and his emotions, straining to feel me. “No. I can’t,” he muttered.

We looked at the dogs, lolling on the ground. “You said that the dogs had come over and whined at you when you felt her with you. Wouldn’t they do that now if Lexi were here with me?” Striker asked.

“I don’t know, sir. I don’t think it were wishful thinking. I’m pretty sure she’s here right now. I can see a shimmer on you. I know what Lexi was talking about now. You look like you’re standing in a heat mirage – sort of pulsing and blurred.”

Striker’s frustration levels were through the roof. It was hard to be in his body. Too hard. Too painful. I left him and slid into Gater. Gater froze. Beetle and Bella lifted their heads and locked their focus on us. It was an “ah-ha” moment. Striker didn’t feel me. Miriam, with all her expertise, barely felt me. But Gater. . .my mind sprang back to the Brennon case when I couldn’t go into my recuperative trance. The gift that I had been given from helping Anyushka had come when I needed to heal. Gater had held me in place; he had power. We had a psychic connection.

“Sir,” Gater whispered, “she’s with me now. She moved from you to me.”

Beetle and Bella sat at attention. Striker yanked his phone out, calling Miriam. He quickly explained what had happened.

“Lexi, sweetheart.” I heard Miriam’s voice over the speaker phone. “If you’re here, you know how worried everyone is. You know that everything that can be done is being done. Every night we’ve been going to your kitchen in case you tried to make contact – none of us could feel you. I’ve been doing remote searches to get any information possible that might help your team, but you know that I work with the imprints of things that have happened, and all I could get from you was ‘red van,’ a jumble of letters — maybe ‘OIL?’ And ‘airplane.’ My thought is that you probably weren’t conscious during your extraction. Or maybe you were unclear about what was going on. I’m told you had a bag over your head.” Miriam’s voice stumbled. “So there weren’t many imprints for me to find. I’ll keep looking, though. I’m not giving up. I’m sorry I haven’t been much help.” Miriam cleared her throat. “Striker thinks you’ve been taken out of the country. We need to know where you’ve gone. You must find a way to communicate that to us.”