Sleeping With Fear (15 page)

She thought she would have collapsed onto the ground otherwise.

"What did I do?" she asked, the thick, rusty sound of her own voice unfamiliar to her.

"You went white as a sheet," he said grimly, frowning down at her. "And cried out something I couldn't quite catch. By the time I got over here, you were shaking and-"

He lifted one hand and touched her cheek, showing her the wetness on the tips of his fingers. "-crying."

"Oh." She stared at the evidence of her tears. "I wonder why I did that. I was horrified, but-"

"Horrified by what? Riley, what the hell happened?"

She looked up at him, wishing she didn't feel so weak and drained, so utterly bewildered. "I-saw what happened here. At least, I think I did."

"The murder?"

"Yeah. Except…" She fought to think clearly. "Except it wasn't right. He hadn't been tortured beforehand. And blood couldn't have splashed the flat altar stone because there was something lying across it, covering it almost completely. And there was too much noise, someone would have heard. And it was…wrong. What they said, what they did. Wrong in too many ways."

"Riley, are you telling me you had some kind of vision?"

"I think so. I've never had one before, not like that, but some of the others on the team have talked about them and-and I think that's what it was. But it was wrong, Ash. The details were wrong. The whole ceremony was…was like something you'd see in a horror movie."

He seemed to understand what she meant. "Over the top? Exaggerated?"

"In a way. As if someone who didn't really know what Satanism was imagined how it must be. Or knew and wanted to-to twist it into something truly evil."

"Maybe one of those fringe groups you mentioned earlier?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe. It's nothing I've ever heard of, I know that much. An actual human sacrifice is about as evil as you can get; add that to a weird ceremony that includes getting drenched in a dying man's blood while you screw in a coffin, and-"

"Screw in a-Jesus, Riley."

"Believe me, it looked as horrifying as it sounds. And from what I heard, I gather the purpose of the ritual was to draw power from the sacrifice and the sex."

"Power to do what?"

"I have no idea. But there has to be some reason behind it, some need for supernatural power."

"Same as with the arson? Attempts to harness elemental energy?"

"Yeah, and a hell of a lot of it. I can't imagine why someone would need so much power, but-" She felt herself slump a little, and thought her energy reserves must be
really
low.

"Riley-"

"I'm fine, Ash. I'll be-"

Riley sat up in bed with a gasp, her heart racing. She almost immediately recognized her bedroom, quiet and lit only by moonlight filtering through the blinds on the windows. A quick look showed her Ash sleeping peacefully beside her.

The clock on the nightstand said it was 5:30 in the morning.

Oh, Christ.

She slipped from the bed, finding her sleep-shirt on the floor and putting it on with an icy sense of déjà vu.

It couldn't be happening again.

Not again.

She went into the living room and found the remote to turn on the TV, her hands shaking so much that just pressing the right small buttons on the device was a challenge.

CNN confirmed her fears. It was Thursday.

She'd lost more than eighteen hours this time.

R
iley tried to think and realized that her energy reserves were so drained she was literally swaying on her feet. She went into the kitchen and drank orange juice straight out of the carton, then ate two PowerBars, one right after the other, barely chewing them and not tasting them at all.

She had a terrifying sense of being completely out of control.

I'm not just losing time. I'm losing me.

She ate a third PowerBar and finished the juice while she waited for the coffeemaker to do its job, and by the time there was caffeine to join the calories, she felt steadier.

Physically, at least.

What's happening to me?

The last thing she remembered was the experience in the clearing and talking to Ash, briefly, afterward. She thought he had said something to her, asked her something, and then…

Here. Now.

There was no trigger she could recall, no definitive word or action she could point to as the cause of these…blackouts. One moment she had been having a perfectly ordinary conversation with someone-at least as ordinary as conversations could be in her line of work-and the next moment hours had passed.

Too many hours.

Riley carried her coffee to the table where her laptop was set up. Once again, it was obvious that she had been here, working, during at least some of the most recent missing time. But there was one difference from the previous day.

She had to enter a password to access her report.

She didn't remember setting that up but had no difficulty in deciding what the password had to be. Because it was always the same, a nonsense word from her childhood, the secret name of a mythical kingdom she had created as a little girl's escape from the rough-and-tumble world of older brothers and military bases and living all over the globe.

She typed in the word, unsurprised when it proved to be the correct one.

There were, it seemed, at least a few truths in her life she could hold on to.

What she couldn't figure out was why she had decided to password-protect her report. She hadn't when she first began the report.

Or maybe I did. Maybe I just don't remember that either.

She hoped the report itself would answer at least a few of her questions, but she found herself reading only details she actually remembered. Going to the sheriff's department, meeting with Jake, Leah, and Ash. Noting that she herself had asked Ash to join the investigation,
primarily
because she was afraid she might lose more time and needed someone she trusted to keep an eye on her.

Well, I called that one. Dammit.

Riley winced when she reached the end of that very brief "report." Because it ended quite abruptly with:

Returned to the murder scene with Ash. Experienced a highly unusual variation of clairvoyance I can only describe as some kind of vision. Extreme black rites, possibly genuine but darker and more twisted than any I've ever heard about. I was unable to positively identify any of the individuals participating in it, though the purpose of the ritual was, clearly, to gain power.

But for what? I don't know. I hate to admit that my mind is still affected by the Taser attack, but it must be, because thinking clearly is still difficult, sometimes impossible. One moment I'm certain of something, someone, and in the next I find myself doubting, questioning, worrying.

I don't understand. Something is happening to me, has happened, something more than the Taser attack. The only possibility I can think of, incredible as it sounds, is-

"Shit," Riley muttered.

The entry broke off, presumably because she'd been interrupted. And for whatever reason, she had never finished that sentence, never noted whatever possibility it was that had occurred to her.

Now she couldn't remember what it had been.

If it had been.

"Oh, Christ, I'm losing my mind." She put her hands up and rubbed her face slowly. Trying to think. Trying to understand.

"I was going to ask if you were feeling better, but I guess not."

Riley put her hands down, automatically touching the laptop's keyboard in a macro command that would instantly bring up an innocuous screen saver. The motion was so smooth and practiced that she doubted Ash had even noticed.

I'm doubting him now? Why?

"'Morning," she said, vaguely surprised that her voice sounded so normal. Even a chameleon had her limits, and Riley suspected she had reached hers days ago. At least.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you're up early," Ash said as he joined her at the table. He bent down and kissed her lightly. "But last night I had the impression you were going to sleep for a week. Or three."

"I…just needed a little rest."

"You needed a lot of rest. And still do." He frowned slightly as he studied her.

"I know I look like hell," she managed, suddenly realizing she hadn't even bothered to run her fingers through her hair in her bolt from the bedroom.

"You never look like hell. But you do look worried."

"I
am
worried." She drew a breath. "Ash, I've had another blackout."

"What?"

She nodded. "I don't remember anything after having that vision yesterday morning in the clearing. That's more than eighteen hours this time."

Ash pulled out the chair beside hers and sat down. He was still frowning. "Riley-"

"I thought I might have written more down in the report, but it's just what I remember anyway. Meeting with Jake and Leah in the conference room at the sheriff's department, talking. Then the two of us going to the crime scene so I could try to pick up something. And having that weird vision. Ash, I don't have visions, not like that one, and I don't understand it. I don't understand what's happening to me. Jesus, I don't even know if I've checked in with Bishop-"

"Riley."
He reached over and covered one of her restless hands with his. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to tell you-" She broke off abruptly, really looking at his expression, and felt a chilly wave sweep over her. "Yesterday," she managed. "Yesterday morning. I told you about the attack on Sunday night."

He nodded. "Yeah, you told me about that."

"And-the blackouts? The missing time?"

Ash's fingers tightened around hers. "Honey, you never said anything about blackouts or missing time. This is the first I've heard of any of that."

It was still early, just before eight, and Riley sat curled in one of the comfortable big wicker chairs on the deck of her rental, hoping the bright sunshine of the warming day would do something about the coldness inside her.

A hot shower hadn't helped, nor had one of Ash's excellent breakfasts. Not that she had noticed what she was eating; it was merely fuel to provide the energy she so desperately needed.

And she wasn't even sure that was still working.

She stared at the ocean, her gaze occasionally roaming as she absently watched more than a dozen of the island's dog owners taking their pets for a last run before the "dog curfew" that kept them off the beach during most of the day.

Such a nice, pleasant summer morning, filled with nice, pleasant activities. Normal activities. Normal people. She doubted any of
them
was watching the world as they knew it spinning out of control.

"Here." Ash sat down in the chair beside hers, handing her a large mug of coffee. "Even in the sun, you're still shivering."

"Thanks." Riley sipped the coffee for a few minutes, aware that he was watching her, waiting. Finally, she sighed and turned a bit in the chair to face him. "So. Where had we gotten to?"

"We had gone over the meeting at the sheriff's department yesterday morning. You seem to remember all that clearly."

She nodded.

"Okay. And I gather you remember most of the conversation between us afterward, about why you'd asked me to get involved officially in the investigation. That was when you finally told me about the attack on Sunday night. That it had affected your memory a little and your senses a lot. You said you wanted someone you could trust to keep an eye on you in case the attack had caused more damage than you already knew about."

Riley sorted through what "memories" she had, wondering again which knowledge or seeming knowledge she could trust. "I didn't tell you I had forgotten most of the last three weeks?"

Ash frowned. "No, that's not what you said. You didn't remember the attack or the hours before it happened. You didn't remember why you had gone out or where you had gone that night. That's what you told me. That's all you told me."

"Oh."

"Riley, are you saying now that you didn't remember
anything
about the last few weeks?"

"Bits and pieces, but-" She sighed. "Dammit, in my head we've had this conversation before. I didn't remember us, but once you touched me I knew we were lovers, I felt what was between us, and that was the one thing in this whole damn screwy situation I was sure of. So don't get pissed that I was faking my way through our relationship, because I
wasn't,
not in any way that counted. Fumbling a little, I'll grant you. But not faking."

"You were…very convincing," he said finally.

"Now, see, you're getting pissed again. Please don't make me repeat the speech about how I was affected by what happened to me on Sunday night and how it left me scrambling to catch up on
everything,
not just us."

Dryly, he said, "Sorry, but I wasn't there the first time."

"Yes, you were." Riley shook her head. "At least that's the way I remember it. Damn, it was-is-so real in my mind. I don't understand this. Any of it."

Ash eyed her thoughtfully. "Well, you're still shaking a bit, but you also seem to be taking this very calmly."

She didn't bother to explain that in the SCU, one learned to handle unexpected things thrown at one without warning.

Or else one washed out of the SCU. Rather quickly.

Instead, all she said was, "I'm not calm, I'm numb. Big difference."

"Riley, maybe you should go back to Quantico."

"No." The response came instantly, without thought, and as soon as she heard herself say it Riley felt the rightness of it, the certainty. She wasn't sure of much, but she was absolutely certain she had to stay the course here. It went against logic and reason, to say nothing of all her training, but it was what she felt.

And how can I trust what I feel any more than what I think? Is this genuine instinct fighting its way through all the bewilderment of lost memories and unreliable senses, or just bloody-minded determination not to quit before the job is done?

It could have been either. Or neither.

Ash reclaimed her attention, saying, "Look, we both know-or at least I hope you know-that I do
not
want you to leave. I've been gathering all the arguments I can think of for you to transfer down here, maybe work out of the Charleston FBI field office. But you'd said you were considering taking a full six weeks off, so I thought I had a bit more time to make my case."

Momentarily distracted-not surprisingly, considering the current state of her mind-Riley said, "Six weeks? I said I was thinking of staying-what is it now?-another two weeks?"

He nodded. "Saturday, you'll have been here four weeks."

"That doesn't make sense either," she murmured. By the previous Sunday night, she had to have known that Bishop and the rest of the team were all but overwhelmed with cases; she might not have checked in with him, but it was her habit to keep tabs on the unit wherever she was, and she couldn't imagine a situation in which she would have been contemplating an extension of her "vacation" knowing how thinly stretched the SCU resources were.

"Thanks a lot," Ash said.

Riley shook her head. "It has nothing to do with us. Bishop's current investigation is a serial killer on the rampage in Boston, making the national news on a daily basis, and I would have known the other teams were just as busy; the SCU is strained to its absolute limits right now. It wouldn't have been in character for me to decide to stay here on what was supposed to be a minor
and
unofficial investigation."

"Minor?"

"In the general scheme of things, sure. At least until what happened on Sunday. To that point, all we really had in the way of violence were a couple of instances of arson, property damage; nobody got hurt, and that wasn't something Jake and his people needed my help to investigate. Why would I have stayed here knowing I was badly needed elsewhere? Unless…"

Ash was watching her intently. "Unless?"

"Unless I knew that, however unthreatening the situation looked on the surface, Gordon's instincts were right and there was something very dangerous going on here. You're sure everything I was telling you pointed to-"

"‘No big deal,' I think were your exact words." He frowned. "Although if your…performance…since Sunday is anything to go by, you could have been telling me that while believing the opposite, and I'd never have known. Apparently."

She sighed. "I knew we were going to have to have this conversation again."

"Riley-"

"Ash, I can't apologize for not confiding in you during those first weeks because I'm not sure there was anything
to
confide. Or if there was, why I decided to keep it to myself. And since waking up on Monday I've spent most of my time just trying to figure out if my mind and senses will ever get back to something I fondly call normal. I'm sorry if you're pissed. I'm sorry if you're hurt. But put yourself in my place for just a minute and think about it. If you had no idea why you had done something uncharacteristic-why you had done a
lot
of things that were uncharacteristic-how quick would you be to push aside all your doubts and confide everything to the woman unexpectedly sharing your bed?"

After a long moment, he sighed and nodded. "Okay, point taken."

"Thank you." Half to herself, she muttered, "I just wish I could be sure we won't be repeating all this tomorrow. The term ‘déjà vu' has taken on a whole new meaning for me."