Patient Darkness: Brooding City Series Book 2 (22 page)

“Come on,” he urged Sam. “We need to keep moving.”

“Kellogg is a psycho.”

Brennan nodded in agreement. “A psycho who
hopefully
thinks we’re dead. If he has the place under surveillance, though, he’ll spot us if we stick around. Plus, we don’t want Pascale to see us and start asking all the wrong questions.”

Sam stood slowly and contemplated the rain and soot that marred his clothes. “I just had these cleaned.”

“You can put it on my tab.”

They took off across the backyard and vaulted the metal fence at full speed. It wasn’t something he would have attempted several months ago, but Brennan had adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he jumped with youthful vigor into the shadowed alley.

Brennan heard sirens approaching, but their sound was echoed a dozen times over. It didn’t make sense to send so many fire engines to combat a single house fire. “Over there,” he said, pointing to the fire escape of a nearby building.

Sam took off at a sprint, jumped to grab the lowest rung, and leveraged his weight to pull down the raised ladder. They wasted no time in climbing up to the metal landing above, then ascending the stairs until they reached the roof. “What’re we doing up here, anyway?” Sam asked.

“Listen,” Brennan told him. In the distance, the alarm of more sirens wailed through the rain. He strained his eyes to see what his nose and ears were already indicating. After a few moments, Sam made a startled noise and pointed, and Brennan looked to where his finger indicated. Against the well-lit skyscrapers, the black smoke became easily visible. Brennan counted the sources.

Another dozen buildings—presumably all of Kellogg’s other residences—blazed like beacon fires in the night sky.

I don’t want
to be here.

The thought kept reverberating in her head, even after Alex had determined it wasn’t her own. It was late, she was tired, and yet she lay awake in bed with her brain on overdrive as she thought about solutions for her mother’s ailment. Every way she calculated, though, the answer remained the same: there was too little time and too much of it.

There simply weren’t enough hours in the coming months for her father to find a cure, to find a way to synthesize his own ability and transmit it to her, and yet each of those hours was another sixty minutes of unending agony for Stephanie Brüding.

Alex had glimpsed that pain for an instant, and it had driven her to wish for death. In that moment, she had understood what must be done. But how could she rationalize it to her father?

Her mother was no longer her mother. The body that was dying downstairs was just an empty shell; with the mind ravaged by the disease, her mother had ceased to exist long ago. Now, a breathing corpse waited to be relieved of its suffering. Stephanie’s body waited to be laid to rest.

She took shallow breaths in the dead of night, and each exhale sounded exponentially louder than it actually was in comparison to the silence of the rest of the house. Water trickled down the gutters that rimmed the house, and only a light rain remained of the deluge that had claimed the evening.

She isn’t the woman she used to be,
Alex reasoned with herself.
Your mother left a long time ago.

That’s still her body.

And it doesn’t even work! Who really benefits from keeping it alive? You and your father? Your sentimentality is torturing her
.

Alex rose quickly and sat by the window. She pressed her forehead against the glass and let the cool sensation calm her nerves. The dark thoughts slowly receded, but they didn’t fade entirely. More importantly, their reasoning was sound.

She didn’t want to put her mother through any more misery. Her father might find a cure, but that would still be many months away from testing, if it even worked at all.

“No,” Alex sighed softly, “this is something I need to do on my own.”

Silence enveloped her like a cloak as she stepped out into the hallway. Alex called up her memories of the past few days and sidestepped the weak portions of the floor. The boards stayed quiet beneath her feet as she made it to the banister and crept silently down the stairs. She kept to the outer edges of the steps, where the old wood would be least worn and creaky.

A low moan met her ears as she reached the ground floor. Alex turned her head instinctively, in the direction of her mother’s pained cry, but she needed something else first. Her feet carried her to the kitchen, and she took off one of the long black stockings that covered her feet and legs. The tiled floor was cold to the touch, but its brisk embrace kept her alert, so she welcomed it. Goosebumps climbed the right side of her body as she slid the stocking over her hand. There was no questioning her conviction now.

A wooden block held all of the sharp cooking utensils, and Alex slid a long, narrow slicing knife from its sheath.

Alex was a mute ghost as she padded half barefoot back to the most dangerous part of her mission. The hallway to her mother’s room was fraught with loose floorboards, any of which would willingly emit a haunting groan under the slightest bit of pressure. Alex removed her other stocking to keep her steps even, and trod carefully as she navigated the hornets’ nest of hardwood.

She had gleaned everything she needed to know from the minds of Sam and Detective Brennan. In each of the five previous murders, a knife from the victim’s own kitchen had been used as the weapon of choice. One fatal stab wound that severed the spine. The incisions were precise, so she would have to do it right the first time. There was no margin for error.

Her trusted memory served her well, and she stepped over the threshold of Stephanie’s room without incident. The weak cries of pain had only grown louder as she approached, and now she quite clearly heard the sound of sobbing. Alex peeked around the door frame and saw the woman weeping into her pillowcase.

Stephanie had removed the pillow and was now crying openly into the limp piece of fabric, using it like a tissue to dab her eyes and wipe her nose. The room was too dark for her to make out these details herself, and Alex feared she was dipping unconsciously back into Stephanie’s mind.

Keep your distance,
she reminded herself. Alex stepped further into the room, and Stephanie still showed no sign of being aware of her presence. It wasn’t until she sat on the edge of the bed that Alex earned any reaction from the dying woman. Red, watery eyes looked away from the pillowcase and stared up at her in wonder.

“Mom, are you there?” Alex asked.

Stephanie’s eyes held no recognition for her daughter. Her brow furrowed, a confused look passing over her face before it was replaced by a blank, complacent stare. In another instant, the vacant expression was replaced by a flashing grimace of pain. The tendons in her neck stood in sharp relief as she gritted her teeth in agony.

A dozen panicked, frustrated thoughts flew through Alex’s mind, all of them radiating from the shell that used to be her mother.

“It’s okay,” Alex murmured, shushing her quietly. She brushed the sweaty strands of flaxen hair from Stephanie’s face. A thought occurred to her as she calmed the woman down. “There now, that’s better. Would you like to see the fireflies?” She didn’t know if there were even any fireflies left this late in the season, but she figured it didn’t matter. When she had been alive, her mother had loved to watch the little lightning bugs flying around the yard under the pale moonlight. Perhaps there was still some sentiment of those precious moments lingering in what remained of her brain.

Stephanie nodded numbly. No smile graced her lips, but a calm seemed to descend over her features. Alex nodded encouragingly and slipped a helpful hand beneath the woman’s arm, gently lifting her from bed. Stephanie looked down as she eased out of bed. “You aren’t wearing any socks,” she commented. Apparently she didn’t feel the material of the stocking slipped over Alex’s arm.

“It’s actually quite warm,” Alex lied.

“Oh, is it? Well, all right, then.”

Alex fought the revulsion she felt at seeing how thin Stephanie had become. Her splotchy skin stretched over knobby bones that looked painfully arthritic. Her condition had accelerated all forms of decay, not just mental, and Alex knew that the basic impulse of pain was a difficult stimulus to ignore. Her mother had been lost when the disease had taken away all higher functions of the brain, and now this woman needed to be released from the crippled body she now inhabited.

“Here, stand with me by the window,” Alex said. “Isn’t this nice? Can you see the moon from here? Point it out for me.”

Stephanie’s eyes were weak, but it was impossible to miss the glowing orb peeking out from behind the passing storm clouds. Now, a childish smile spread across her face as she struggled to raise her arm and point. Suddenly, she turned her head and stared hard at Alex, confusion returning to her face. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“My name is Alex. I’m your daughter.”

Stephanie smiled at her, but her tone was patronizing. “I think I would recognize my own daughter,” she said. “You must be mistaken. Besides, that isn’t my little girl’s name.”

It was hard to describe the feeling that came with those words, but it hit Alex in the gut like a heavy fist. There was no remnant of her existence inside Stephanie’s mind, as if the last two and a half decades of her life had never happened. Not even her name lingered in the annals of the frail woman’s memories.

“Of course,” Alex said, shaken. “Don’t worry about it. Just keep looking at the fireflies. Do you see them out there?”

There were none, but Stephanie’s addled brain apparently provided the image anyway. “They’re beautiful,” she marveled, her eyes raptly focused on the dark yard outside. The light rain outside continued to drizzle, and its soft pitter-patter masked the slithering sound of the slicing knife sliding from its place in Alex’s back pocket.

Carefully, she placed one covered hand on Stephanie’s shoulder and shifted into a more solid stance. While Stephanie watched the faux fireflies, Alex steadied the blade in her grip.
One chance
, she reminded herself. It needed to conform to the pattern to look legitimate. Alex took a deep breath and thrust her arm forward.

The white bathrobe and the thin skin beneath parted smoothly under the pressure of the knife. Stephanie’s mouth opened in a wide circle of shock, though Alex imagined the pain couldn’t be any worse than what she had been experiencing for the last few years. To be safe, though, Alex covered the woman’s mouth with her free hand. Stephanie’s surprised gasps came out muffled, nearly inaudible.

“There now, that’s better,” Alex whispered. Blood spilled from the wound, something she hadn’t anticipated, but it was thankfully absorbed by the fabric of the stocking around her knife hand. Its twin slid slightly on the floor as she removed the knife and gently eased Stephanie to the ground. The woman looked content, and it was obvious that she was being freed of her pain with each beat of her struggling heart.

Alex took a risk and extended her psychic probe. This time, she was not met with a wave of panic or agony, but rather a deep sense of complacent understanding. She stared into the eyes of the woman who had once held her mother’s soul, watching as they fluttered to a close.

Thank you.

The thought came through with perfect clarity, and Alex’s heart swelled. She had helped someone free herself from pain. It didn’t matter that the risk was enormous that she might be caught during the act. She had survived the ordeal, and now that it was over, there was only one logical explanation for the police to believe.

It was another senseless murder, just one in a string committed by the now-infamous Odols serial killer…

A total of
thirty-eight men, women, and children had perished in the flames.

Brennan stared at the final tally with a sickening mixture of pity and disgust roiling in his stomach. Only three members of the police department had been caught in the fire traps, but the timed nature of their assaults meant that fire companies had been suddenly stretched beyond their limits trying to fight a dozen simultaneous blazes. It took the better part of the night to put an end to the chaos, and by the end of the night, thirty-five civilian lives had been lost.

Thirty-six
, he amended, bringing the total body count to thirty-nine. Another body had been reported earlier this morning, one which matched Levi Kellogg’s modus operandi. Stab wound to the back, a quick death, murder weapon taken from the victim’s own household. It seemed that Kellogg used the incendiary diversion to continue his streak of precise assassinations. Now that he had been seen, though, there was no doubt in Brennan’s mind as to who the next victim would be. And with the noose tightening around his throat, Kellogg wouldn’t give them the luxury of two weeks’ time before the next attack.

A yawn forced its way from his mouth, and Brennan hid it behind a hand as inconspicuously as he could. He and the rest of the force were sitting together in the large conference room while Bishop, Pascale, and Jun stood at the front, coordinating the discussion of how they should proceed.

“I’m telling you, Jun and I weren’t even at the apartment yet when it blew,” Pascale was saying. In every other case, it had been the officers on scene who set off Kellogg’s devices. Nobody yet knew that Sam and Brennan had been present downtown. “No other bodies were discovered at the scene, though. So what set it off?”

Brennan felt Pascale’s stare land on him as he asked that last question. He feigned another yawn and kept his eyes trained elsewhere.

“It could’ve been a damn cat, for all that it matters now,” Bishop argued. “Kellogg knows that we’re onto him, and he’s clearly escalating in response. Last night’s fires are proof of that.”

Pascale scowled and addressed the whole room. “Who is he targeting? We need to establish a pattern if we’re going to have any chance of catching him. Come on, people, I’m open to any ideas.”

“He killed three of our own last night,” one of the officers said. “Maybe he’s attacking law enforcement.”

Jun shook his head. “We have to assume that last night was an anomaly. Every murder for the past three months has appeared random, but they must be linked somehow.” His eyes darted to Brennan before glancing away again. “The explosives were meant exclusively for us, which means he thought we were getting close enough to be a threat.”

Pascale pointed to an image projected onto the large white screen behind him. “These red spots indicate the locations of the bombs that went off last night. The yellow dots are the locations of where the bodies of the murder victims were found. As you know, each victim’s body was found
inside
their own home.”

“Kellogg is making a statement with these murders,” Bishop added. “He believes he can reach anyone, at any time. The overlap of these areas, however, suggests that he was only comfortable operating within a certain radius.”

“The time between murders also indicates that he took his time to stalk each victim and learn their daily routines,” Pascale said. He clicked forward in the presentation, bringing up a picture of an older woman lying on a hardwood floor. A dark pool surrounded her torso, and a bloodied knife was on the floor nearby. “This is Stephanie Brüding,” he said, clicking through close-ups of her face and body. “It seems Kellogg used our tactical strike as an excuse to go outside his radius. This happened almost five
miles
outside the city limits.”

Brennan watched the uniformed officers’ reactions as that news sunk in. Kellogg was loose, no longer bound by the fragile social contract he had made by establishing his two-week routine. The previous murders had taken place all over the city, but at least they could be assigned as uptown, downtown, east, or west. This woman’s death, far outside the city, changed the whole game.

“He knew we were getting close, so he changed his pattern,” Agent Jun said. “We need to regroup and assume he
isn’t
going to give us two weeks to respond to these latest attacks.”

“So what’s the plan?” Brennan asked. A few heads turned to look at the erstwhile outcast detective.

Pascale paused before responding. “We’ve already sent Kellogg’s photo to be disseminated among the major news networks. There’s a hotline being set up to receive reports of sightings, and you will all be broken off into teams to canvass the city neighborhood by neighborhood.” He clicked the remote in his hand, and the presentation screen went black. “Lieutenant Bishop will give you your assignments. That is all.”

The agent left without another glance, with Agent Jun following just a few steps behind.

Brennan stood to leave, but Bishop waved a hand at him, beckoning him toward her. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

“Whatever you need, Lieutenant.”

Bishop scowled. “None of that, Brennan. We’re friends.”

“Are we? Because the way you’ve been acting the past couple weeks had me fooled.”

“Now you’re just being childish,” Bishop argued, but her face softened. “Those FBI agents came here for you, but they aren’t telling me what it’s all about.”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Brennan said darkly. “Pascale mentioned my father specifically before he sent me home yesterday.”

“That would make sense…so you think they’re worried you’ll turn out like him?”

“He did some pretty awful things when he was around. Like father, like son, I guess.”

Bishop placed a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re a good man, Brennan. I didn’t know your father, obviously, but I do know you. Pascale will have to suck it up and deal with the fact that you’re on board.”

Brennan stared at her for a moment. “Does this mean you
want
me to work the case now?”

“It seems I have no choice,” she sighed. “I was trying to protect you from Pascale and Jun while they were sniffing around the department, but what was it you said to Wally? ‘All hands on deck’? We need that now.” Bishop glanced around to make sure nobody was listening in on their conversation. “And one more thing, Brennan…I haven’t properly thanked you for coming to rescue me from Leviathan. I know it has been a couple months, and we haven’t talked about it since then, but maybe that’s for the best.”

He frowned. “Why do you say that?”

Bishop’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Now might be a good time for you to use those contacts of yours again.”

Brennan thought about how Greg had used one of the Leviathan patches to receive his vision. It had been a risky move, and even though it had paid off in the end, there was no way he could risk Fracturing his nephew by attempting it a second time.

“That might prove to be difficult,” he told Bishop.

“Don’t you dare get all coy on me now, Brennan. I swear to God, I will have your badge if you hold back from me now.”

“What happened to us being friends?”

She sighed. “That’s dependent on us being open and honest with each other, especially when it comes to catching a serial killer. Seriously, I don’t know why you
wouldn’t
want to use…well, whoever it is, to help us.”

A flash of insight came to mind, and Brennan realized that he
did
have somebody he could go to without endangering Greg’s sanity. “Fine, Bishop, I’ll give them a call. But only because there are no other options.”

Bishop held her hands up and shrugged. “That works for me,” she said, continuing to stare at him expectantly.

He coughed. “I, uh, kind of need privacy for this sort of call. Permission to go back to my apartment, Lieutenant?”

She dismissed him with the wave of her hand as she turned back around to give the uniformed officers their assignments. Brennan quickly slipped out of the conference room and down the stairs, taking care not to meet any inquisitive glances in his direction as he plowed through the lobby doors. When he unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside, he stopped short at the sight of the tall woman he found inside.

Strawberry blonde hair fell to the bottoms of her shoulder blades. She held a framed picture in one hand, and the expression on her face was one of mixed curiosity and amusement. Her head turned to face Brennan as he entered. Trouble was promised by the gleam in her eye and the curl of her lips.

“Who are you?” Brennan demanded.

“You don’t recognize me?” she asked, her tone plaintive even as she continued smiling. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place where he had heard it before.

His hand drifted to the holster at his waist. “No, but you seem to know who I am. I don’t appreciate having strangers barge into my house.”

But it’s hardly a house, now, is it?

Brennan flinched at the sound of her voice in his head, and he realized why it seemed familiar.

The grin on the woman’s face widened. “Ah, there it is,” she said. “Took you long enough, little hamster, but I see your wheel is finally turning.”

“You’re the woman from the other night!”

She snapped her fingers. “Exactamundo.” Her impression of Sam was eerily on the money.

“And you obviously know my friend,” Brennan continued. “I take it you’re the mystery woman he has been seeing?”

“We should get you a puzzle book, because you are connecting dots all over the place today.”

Brennan frowned. She seemed amused, and he suddenly felt as if he were being toyed with, like a cat batting around a captured mouse.

The woman smiled dangerously. “I
did
call you a hamster, so the rodent imagery certainly fits.”

His hand still hadn’t left the holster. “Who are you?”

She held her palms out in a placating gesture. “No need to fear me, Detective. I’m here to offer my services.”

“Who
are
you?” he asked more forcefully.

“My name is Alex Brüding,” she said, taking a step forward. “I see you recognize the name now.”

“Brüding…your mother was the most recent victim.” Brennan let his hand drop to his side. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I don’t see why you broke into—”

“That man—Kellogg—could be coming for any of us next. You and I both know the kind of people he is targeting.”

Brennan nodded. “I was about to call Benjamin, but you’ll do.”

“You sure know how to make a girl feel wanted,” Alex said, and this time her complaint sounded genuine.

“I, um…sorry?” He felt uncomfortable apologizing to the woman who had broken into his apartment. “I could use a mind-reader. But shouldn’t you be home right now?”

“I don’t feel safe there,” Alex said, crossing her arms. A less observant eye wouldn’t have noticed that she was cradling herself ever so slightly.

Truth.

“Besides,” she continued, “if I can’t be protected in my own home, what’s to keep Kellogg from coming after me next? I would rather take the fight to him than wait for a knife to find my back. I can’t stand by and do nothing.” Alex took a step closer. “Please, I need this.”

Brennan nodded, deeply impressed. “All right, then, you’re on the team.”

“Team Sleeper…I like it.”

“That’s not what—”

Alex tapped her temple. “You were thinking it, not me.”

“Hmm.” Brennan looked around the apartment and voiced the question he had been holding. “Where is my nephew?”

“I haven’t seen him,” she replied, which was confirmed by Brennan’s power. “He’s probably looking for a job, like you told him to.”

“Stop reading my thoughts,” Brennan said sternly.

Alex grinned. “I was running out of reading material anyway.”

In spite of himself, Brennan felt his mouth returning her smile. This woman had saved his life and had put him in contact with Benjamin so the truth of his wife’s murder could be revealed. Everything was running against them now, and Brennan knew it was just the calm before the storm, but it felt incredibly good to have something to smile about.

“Seriously, though, I’m sure he is fine,” Alex said. “You have to focus on the priority here, which is stopping Kellogg.”

Brennan breathed out slowly. Kellogg had killed Ms. Brüding’s mother and had seen Brennan’s face. It seemed likely that either he or the telepath would be the next one chosen to die, so if Greg wasn’t near them when shit hit the fan, that was a good thing, wasn’t it?

“
I
think it’s a good thing, but that’s just me.”

“And I thought I told you to stay out of my head.”

“Old habits,” Alex said, shrugging as she contemplated the picture frame again. “Your wife was beautiful. It seems we’ve both lost someone we loved.”

Brennan took the framed photo from her hands and placed it back on its shelf. “You’ll learn to accept it with time.”