Possession (18 page)

There was a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and
into the eyes of an old man. “Don’t be afraid. She’s speaking in tongues.”

“Speaking in tongues?” The girl’s body was shaking
harder now. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. It’s not painful. It’s a divine gift.
A gift given directly from the angels.” The old man had a mop in his other
hand, and a bucket sat by his feet. He was one of the daytime janitors. I
realized I had passed him a few times in the hallway. The way he had his head
cocked to one side, the look on his face… I suddenly got the impression he was
listening to what she was saying. Did he understand the gibberish coming out of
her mouth?

“Do you understand what she’s saying?” I asked.

He nodded his head. “I have the gift of
interpretation. Many in my family do.” He listened intently to what she was
saying, and then spoke. “There’s hope. All is not lost; you must believe in
yourself. You must remember, at all costs, who you are. Don’t despair—where
there’s darkness, there’s also light. You just have to look for it, to find the
light, which will be hard, especially when all seems lost.”

The girl suddenly stilled, and the words stopped.
Her eyes came back into focus and both her hands gripped the table’s edge. A
look of panic filled her face. “What happened?” she whispered.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She didn’t say anything; instead she looked around
the room and then back at me.

The old man moved closer to the table. He bent
down, and his hands moved quickly, scooping up the runes and placing them back
in the bag. With one swift movement he dropped the bag back into my lap. “Best
if they don’t see you doing divination. That sort of thing is frowned on in
here.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw Caroline heading
across the room toward us. I shoved the pouch into my pocket and gave the old
man a smile. “Thanks.”

“Name’s Charlie. My sister is one of your kind.”

“A healer?”

Without answering, he took a step away from me, lowered
the mop, and started moving it across the surface of the floor. An amused smile
spread across his face.

Caroline ignored the janitor, walked straight over
to the girl sitting across from me, and demanded, “Wendy, how did you get out?”

The girl looked up at the nurse. “They let me
out.”

“Did you cut yourself?” the nurse asked, grabbing
the girl’s arm. She pulled up the girl’s sleeve and I saw long, faint, white
lines crisscrossing her forearm.

The girl jerked her arm away. “No. I’ve been
good.”

The nurse gestured to the girl—Wendy—and
me. “The two of you had better come with me.”

I got up out of the chair and reluctantly followed
her. The last thing I needed was to be dragged into Dr. Barton’s office. My
next therapy session wasn’t until tomorrow afternoon. If everything went well
and I kept myself out of trouble, we would escape tonight and I would never
have to see the good doctor again.

Wendy followed close behind me. Her head was bowed
down, and her body language was that of a beaten puppy dog. I’d never seen her
before today, but the nurse seemed to know her well.

I slowed down a bit and matched my stride to hers.
“Have you been here long?” I whispered.

She didn’t raise her head, but answered in a soft
voice. “A year.”

“I’ve never seen you in the cafeteria or the
common room.”

“I’ve been away for a while. They kept me in a
room for a couple months. A room with padded walls.”

I’d been in one of those rooms before, but I’d
eventually been let out. “You’ve
been locked
in solitary for a couple
months
?”

She didn’t answer, but instead looked up at me. I
hadn’t noticed her eyes before—they were the color of caramel. I wanted
to ask her what she’d done to be put in here in the first place. But was there
a nice way to ask the mentally unstable why they were in an asylum?
She was left in a padded room for a couple
months.
I shuddered at the thought. Twenty-four hours was almost more than
I could handle.

To my surprise, the nurse stopped in front of the
cafeteria. It was the last thing I expected. I’d been sure she was marching us
to Barton’s office. She pushed open the swinging doors and gestured for us to
go inside. The cafeteria staff was hustling, getting ready for the morning
rush.

The nurse pointed to the nearest table and commanded,
“Sit down and stay here until they start serving breakfast.”

We both stood there, staring at her. After a few
seconds, Wendy slid into a chair.

The nurse gave me a narrow look.
I need to stay out of trouble,
I
reminded myself. I nodded, letting her know I heard her command, and slowly sat
down. I watched the nurse walk out of the room and wondered at our sudden good
fortune. How had we escaped the doctor’s office? “The staff is tough in here.”

“It’s not as bad as the last place I was admitted.”

Her answered surprised me. “You’ve been in an
asylum before?”

She rubbed her wrist. I don’t think she even
realized she was doing it. “A few times.”

We sat in silence for a while, watching the
cafeteria staff get ready. I was so caught up in my thoughts of escape that I
actually jumped when Wendy spoke.

“She’s not dead.”

“Who’s not dead?”

“Your friend, the old woman.” Wendy pointed toward
my waistband. “The person you’re holding the runes for. She’s alive.”

“How do you know?” I demanded.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I saw it, when I
touched the runes. I saw her. She’s in one of the padded rooms. She’s in
restraints. Mad as hell, but alive.”

Mildred’s alive! The killer didn’t get her. But
then…how did her keys and runes end up in a pool of blood on my bed? I looked
back at Wendy. She had said she saw that Mildred was in a padded room. She must
have had a vision, like Andrew. “You’re a reader.” It wasn’t a question.

She didn’t say anything—instead those
caramel eyes bored into mine. When she finally did speak, all the friendliness
was gone from her voice. “You lied to me. You’re not a healer.”

Her tone took me by surprise. She’d seemed broken,
beaten down, but now there was an undertone of determination in her voice. “I
was
a healer.” I didn’t want to talk
about that part of my life. The one where I had a family, had been happy, and
had a future to look forward to. It was too painful to think of it. Here and
now was all that mattered. And what I needed to do next to survive.

Wendy’s eyes suddenly became unfocused. She stared
over my shoulder and said in a soft voice, “I see you surrounded by a phoenix
and flames…” And then her eyes focused on me again, and she said in a shocked
voice, “You’re a death dealer!”

I nodded my head. “I am.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“It’s a long story.” And it was. One that I didn’t
want to retell, especially not to a complete stranger. Andrew had said that
people were uncomfortable around his kind, and now I knew why. This girl seemed
to pick up thoughts directly from my head. I’d been taught at a young age how
to defend my thoughts and keep a mental barrier, but those types of barriers were
no good against a true reader. Andrew had suggested I get a pouch for
protection. I liked the idea more and more. But I wouldn’t need it, not after
tonight—Luke and I would be gone, free of this place and the people in
it.

Wendy grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my
flesh. “You’re going to try and escape.”

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed, looking around the
room. The last thing I needed was someone announcing my escape to a room full
of hospital staff.

Her hands were still on me. “You won’t get the
freedom you so desire.”

“What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer. She let go of my arm. I had a
sudden strong desire to get up from the table and move far away from her, but
I’d promised the nurse I wouldn’t leave, and I couldn’t afford to bring down her
wrath if she came back.

“You know it’s not really polite to pick people’s
brains. Don’t your people have
rules
about that kind of thing?” My voice was scornful.

Wendy gave me a half smile. “I’ve never been fond
of rules.”

“I would appreciate it if you stayed out of my
head.” This time I was the one with steel in my voice. I was done playing
games.

Those golden-brown eyes just stared at me.

I decided to change the subject. “Do you know
which room Mildred’s in?” I’d promised Mildred that I wouldn’t leave her behind,
and if I could help it, I wouldn’t go back on my word.

Wendy shook her head.

“Can’t you use your powers…your mojo to hone in on
exactly where she is?”

Wendy shook her head again.

“So, yes, you can read my thoughts when it suits
you, but no, you can’t help me track down my friend.” I gave her a hard stare. “I
have to say, I’m not terribly impressed with your gift—”

She interrupted me. “It’s not a gift—it’s a
curse.”

To the
people around you.
I didn’t say it out loud, but that didn’t mean she
couldn’t hear it. Can she read everything I’m thinking, or just random thoughts
floating across my brain? “Can you hear what I’m thinking now?”

She frowned. “It doesn’t work like that.”

I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin in
my hands. “We have time to kill before breakfast, so tell me…how does it work?”

She looked uncomfortable at my scrutiny. “I can
see images and sometimes words pop into my head. I can see more when the
emotions are strong, especially when people are upset.”

And I thought I had it bad talking to the dead. No
wonder Andrew had so many problems. I tried to imagine the sudden blast of
thoughts and images coming at me from a dozen people. “Can you turn it off?”

“No.”

“So you hear a rush of voices from everyone in a
room at the same time?” Andrew said there were too many coming at him at once,
that they crowded in on him.

“I usually pick up on one person at a time.”

I wondered,
How
can she do that, but Andrew can’t? She must have a lot more power and control.

She suddenly asked, “Who's Andrew?”

She was picking my brain, and it was starting to
make my skin crawl. How soon could I get a protection pouch? “Andrew is a
checker buddy. He’s like you, but he can’t control it.”

“I’ve heard of those who can’t. It’s a small
number of people who get overwhelmed with the curse.”

A small number, and she talks like she’s not one
of them. She’s not in here because she’s a reader… My eyes went to her wrist.
She was rubbing it again.

A cool breeze went by my arms. I straightened up. I
could tell we were not alone, but Wendy didn’t seem to notice. “Can you feel
the dead?” I asked.

Her eyes darted around the room. “No. I can only
hear the living.”

“
Help us
…”
the words whispered in my ear.

“Is the killer here now, amongst the living?” I
spoke out loud. Wendy’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

There was no answer. The spirits had to know who
the killer was. If I could just get them to speak and tell me all they knew…

“You can talk to the dead,” Wendy said out loud. It
wasn’t a question
;
it was a statement.

I nodded my head. “I can.”

She looked over her shoulder and back at me.
“There’s a spirit here?”

“There was.”

“Who are you looking for?”

“A killer.”

“A killer who’s possessing someone?” Her eyes got
wide.

“That’s what I think. I think a man who murdered
people but then died twenty years ago is back now, killing people in here. He’s
taking their hearts.”

Wendy gasped at my words. Her hands went to her
throat. “I’ve seen beating hearts in my visions. I’ve seen people crying out in
pain.”

“The wacko’s been killing and making it look like
suicide or murder. The staff doesn’t realize what’s going on, but I think I
know who he is.”

“Who is he?” A male voice asked from behind me. I
recognized the voice and turned. Dean stood a few feet from us. He had a cut on
his lip.

My heart leaped at seeing him.
Not him
, I reminded myself.
Luke
. Luke was somewhere in there,
waiting to get out. “Are you okay?”

He joined us at the table. “A little worse for
wear, but I’ll live. A few of the orderlies tackled me.” He put his fingers to
his bottom lip and winced as he touched it. “They slammed my face into the
floor. Other than that, they didn’t hurt me.”

“How come you aren’t locked up?”

“My mom is coming to visit today. They want to
treat me right since she’s paying a hefty sum so I’d be given special attention.
It’s something I reminded them of when they threatened to put me in restraints.”
He looked over at Wendy. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Wendy. She’s a reader.” I looked at her
curiously as he closed the distance between them—the jury was still out
on whether she would be a friend or not, but she was definitely one of the more
interesting people I had met in my stay here.

He held his hand out to her. “Pleased to meet
you.”

Wendy didn’t move. She went perfectly still, and
an odd expression came over her face. She turned to me abruptly and hissed,
“What have you done? He’s a walker!”

“A what?” I asked.

Dean pulled his hand back. “A walker. Someone
who’s possessed.”

Wendy looked like she was ready to bolt from the
table.

I put my hand out and grabbed her hand. “The
killer is not inside Dean.” I could tell by her expression she didn’t believe
me. “No, it’s not him. The killer—his name’s Henry
Weatherton
—is
inside Dr. Barton.”

Dean looked shocked. “Whoa, did I miss something? Dr.
Barton is possessed?”

I kept hold of Wendy’s hand and looked over at
him. “I think so. It makes sense with the drawing of the tattoo we found in his
office.” The more I thought of it, the more I was convinced it was true.