Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) (33 page)

Lucy came back the next morning. In the interim Doug had eaten a small portion of solid food and had managed to sit up in his bed
, propped against pillows. He looked down at his body in disgust, seeing that he’d lost a significant amount of weight. His upper body was wrapped in bandages so he had no way of assessing how much damage had been done by the bullets. He sighed in defeat, understanding that it would take him months of rehabilitation to get back to where he was before the shooting. Damn, he needed to be strong
now.
Not months from now. He had to find Annie. He had to make things right.

Between the kind nurse, Donna Sanchez and Dr.
Parsons, Doug had learned that the first bullet had punctured his abdomen and gone through his stomach. Then it had contacted a rib exiting through the back and had shattered, sending lead and bone shrapnel into his lungs and spleen. The damage had been extensive. The subsequent surgeries to remove shrapnel had been tricky but were successfully accomplished. The second bullet had entered his left chest just above the heart, missed arteries and had gone straight through his lung where it exited just below the shoulder blade. The lung had collapsed, leaving him on an artificial breathing apparatus and in a coma for nearly six weeks, and only yesterday—after his vitals had improved dramatically—had he been taken off the critical list and his condition upgraded to stable. Doug had always had good instincts and in his conversations with the nurse and the doctor he’d felt there was something more to his condition and recovery that remained unspoken. He sensed it in body language and in the subtle way eyes were averted whenever his questions became too pointed.

Doug had a multitude of questions that did not relate to the state of his health, but neither Dr.
Parsons nor Nurse Sanchez could or would answer them. He was told that Dr. Ferguson would be joining him presently and that she was the only one who could address his concerns.

Frustrated, Doug waited for Lucy’s return, watching news television as he did so. Although the crash had happened more than
six weeks ago, it was still a main topic in the headlines. It had been a terrible tragedy, claiming the lives of two-hundred and thirty-six people. The possibility that it had been a terrorist attack was now the main thrust of the investigation. FAA investigators were still combing the rural Allegany Mountain site trying to piece it all together. The destruction had been so complete that there was little identifiable at the crash site, therefore few obvious clues.

There was one tantalizing nugget that had surfaced elsewhere, however, and the news-hungry media had pounced on it like vultures on carrion. It seemed that a male passenger had been pulled off an earlier flight after some sort of incident, and had subsequently been cleared and given passage on the doomed flight. For national security reasons the individual’s identity was being withheld. The press was hungry for fresh details, but the government was not talking.

When Lucy entered the room the report was just ending. She could tell by the look of shock on Doug’s face that he’d been watching the headlines.

“What’s going on?” he said. “Are they going to blame me for that?”

“I see you’re feeling better,” Lucy smiled sheepishly. She pulled a chair over next to the bed, sat down, and crossed one smooth, tanned leg over the other.

“I want answers!” Doug demanded. “No more bull. I want to know what’s going on
. Now!”

“Okay,” Lucy said. “I guess you deserve that.”

“Let’s begin with you. Who the hell are you?”

“I told you the truth. The Brotherhood of the Order is an organization that studies and observes paranormal phenomena. But mostly we study human beings with extraordinary abilities.”

The memory fragment in Doug’s mind swelled again and he was close to remembering something important, but it quickly receded and he was left with just a dull ache, and more questions than answers. “Why haven’t I ever heard of you?”

“Because we work in secret. Ours is a very old society, founded in the
thirteenth century by a renegade group of Jesuit scholars who had begun questioning what they were being taught. They knew that miracles happened; they just weren’t convinced that all miracles were the work of God. Some came from darker places and conveyed much darker intentions. The reason we are secret is because of the world in which we live. If our existence was made public, governments would interfere and try to regulate us. In the beginning the only law was Vatican law and heresy was punishable by death. Now we have to deal with governments—distasteful as it is—most of which are shaped by ideological tenets. The world is filled with spoilers who would try to prevent us from objectively doing our research. In order to be objective our studies need to be completely unbiased and unstained by special interest. That’s why we live and work in secrecy.”

Doug glanced down at Lucy’s bare legs then quickly averted his eyes. “So how do you fit into it?”

“I’m just an employee. I do a job, that’s all. The Order employs many people in a variety of fields.”

Doug relaxed a little but he was still having trouble wrapping his
sluggish brain around the mystery of this woman. “Listen, sorry I snapped at you. Guess I should be thanking you for saving my life, huh?” He shaped a wan smile.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lucy said. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“So, your organization has been keeping an eye on me.”

Lucy nodded. “Since you were a child. We know what you’ve suffered,
but we’ve always kept our distance, even when everyone else was scheming to get their hands on you.”

“So why am I lying in this bed recovering from gunshot wounds?”

       “That wasn’t us, Doug. We only wanted to protect you. And we almost failed this time.”

Doug frowned. “How much do you actually know about me?”

“Considerable. What we don’t understand is why you’ve been . . . quiet for so long.”

“Quiet?”

“Your mind. Your sight.”

Doug’s eyes drew down on Lucy. “What
is going on?”

“We know that your sight reawakened on the morning your house was destroyed.”

“Who are you people?” Doug exploded. “How the hell do you know these things?”

“Please, Doug, you have to stay calm. It is in our interest to know these things.”

“Do you have a goddamn tap on my mind?”

“If you think we’re the only ones watching you, then think again.”

Doug shook his head, as if he was trying to remove cobwebs from his brain. He sank back into his pillows with a weary sigh. “I’m still not all here yet,” he said. “There’s stuff missing.”

Lucy laid a delicate hand on Doug’s arm. Gooseflesh rose beneath her touch and he felt a quick moment of embarrassment. Lucy sensed it and drew her hand
away.

“I know,” she said. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Be patient. The memories will return in time.”

Lucy’s optimism was infectious and it made Doug feel better. How could he not believe her? How could he not trust her? She seemed so familiar to him; the smile, the sincerity in her voice, all of it together helping to set his mind at ease, even as he lay here at her mercy, a prisoner of her will and whim. The thought was a little unsettling.

“How about this,” he said. “You tell me what you know about me, and if I can remember and you’re wrong I’ll correct you.”

“Fair enough,” Lucy said, “but I’m not sure you’re strong enough for this.”

“Please?”

“Be warned,” she said in a voice that tried to be stern but failed. “If I think it’s too much for you I’ll stop. I just got you back. I don’t intend to lose you again.”

Doug agreed.

Lucy said, “We know that occasionally throughout your life you’ve foreseen certain events before they’ve occurred, usually tragic events, such as the crash six weeks ago. You have some sort of second sight.”

“I’m cursed,” Doug said.

Lucy shook her head. “No,” she said adamantly. “Being cursed is too simple an explanation for what you have.”

“There’s this . . . thing that sometimes accompanies my spells,” Doug said. “Like it’s in my mind but somehow more real. I don’t know, I can’t explain it. It even talks to me sometimes. Or I think it does. I saw it for the first time on the day Tommy Ricker broke my nose. It did terrible things to their babysitter and her boyfriend. And I think it took Tommy and
Savannah.” Doug hesitated. “Do know about that?”

Lucy nodded. “We’ve been trying to isolate it for years.”

Doug stared at Lucy in astonishment. “Isolate it?” he said.

“Our organization has been keeping tabs on this creature since the f
ourteenth century. It’s one of the reasons we exist.”

Doug was nearly bowled over with a strange species of relief. That he was not alone in his knowledge of the
Collector was like having a tremendous weight lifted from his heart. “It’s real then?”

“You know it’s real, Doug. You’ve seen it. You’ve communicated with it. You’re witness to its atrocities.”

Doug heaved a weary sigh. “I think some part of me has always believed that thing was a figment of my imagination and that I was somehow responsible for all the terrible things that happened.”

“No,” Lucy said. “You were
not responsible. We believe your mind is open to areas other minds can’t even begin to grasp. We don’t know why that is so. We may never know. It might have been there from birth and the bone shard triggered it, or it might have been triggered solely by that incident. Being able to see this . . . creature, to know of its existence is a rare gift. To know its intentions is even rarer and quite valuable in the right hands.”

“But what is it? Do you know?”

Lucy avoided Doug’s gaze and he knew that she was about to lie to him. “I want the truth,” he said, his voice hard.

Lucy ran a frustrated hand through her long silky hair. “Listen, Doug, I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Lucy sighed
. “Okay,” she said. “We don’t believe it’s of this earth. There’s a lot of speculation about what it is and where it came from. Some believe it to be a member of an alien species. Others theorize that it came through a portal from another dimension or alternate universe. Religious fanatics are convinced it’s some sort of fallen angel.”

Doug stared speechless.

“I told you, Doug.”

“A
lien? Fallen angel?”

Lucy nodded.

“So in other words, you’re just guessing. You don’t actually know what it is.”

“That’s right. It’s some sort of invader that defies all human laws and no one knows what it is or where it came from. We do know that it’s real.”

“Why is it that I’m the only one who sees it?”

“You’re not.”

“Who else sees it, then?”

“There have been quite a few in
human history. Most are long dead. As far as we know there are only two other people alive who have seen the demon.”

“Who are they?”

“Édouard De Roché and his daughter Annie.”

“No,” Doug said. “You’re lying.” His face had gone ashen and his breathing was laborious. “That can’t be true. Why? How?”

“He’s interested in something of yours, Doug, something of yours and Annie’s.”

In that moment Doug knew exactly what it was that the demon wanted. In that moment everything in Doug’s life became clear.

“Why is he interested in our child?” Doug asked.

“
We don’t know. We believe he knows something about the human race that no one else knows and somehow your child is important to that equation. You were targeted. And so was Annie.”

“Oh, Christ,” Doug said, “That would mean that our meeting wasn’t an accident. It would mean that the whole thing was set up, that De Roché wanted me and Annie to get together.”

“No, he never wanted that, Doug,” Lucy said. “That part’s true. His hate for you is real. It was a question of need. You and Annie were the combination needed to deliver the right child. You see, a long time ago the Collector made a deal with De Roché, but now De Roché is trying to betray him. It seems now he wants to change the rules.”

“I cannot allow you to do anything that might jeopardize the health of your child,” Greta
told Annie.

Annie snorted
out a petulant laugh. “Is that so?
”

Greta stared icily. “Yes, that’s so.”

“I’ll do what I damn well please.”

“Your father has instructed me—”

“I don’t care what he told you!” Annie turned on the woman, her eyes bright with fury. “Tell him if he wishes to hand out instructions he can come in here and do it himself. He wanted me here, and now he doesn’t even bother to interact with me. Well go, tell him. I’ll not take instructions from his whore.”

Greta’s hard stare only deepened.

Annie was dressed in white shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt and she’d been busy clearing the furniture from the center of the east wing floor of her father’s house when Greta came into the room. She was now on her knees rolling up the carpet.

“Why on earth are you doing that?
” Greta asked.

“I don’t want to get paint on it,” Annie replied.

“Paint?” Greta said, clearly stymied.

“Not that it’s any of your business but I’ve decided to paint.”

“You want to . . . paint?” Greta said. “The contractors were here less than six months ago—”

Annie shook her head in irritation. “I’m an artist,” she said, even as the look of confusion deepened on Greta’s dark visage. “Oh, I forgot, my father doesn’t recognize that aspect of his only child’s
existence so he probably never mentioned it.”

“Artist?” Greta said, as though she’d never heard the word before.

“That’s right,” Annie said, getting to her feet and brushing her dusty hands together. “I paint pictures.”

“Pictures? Pictures of
what?”
For some reason Greta could not wrap her brain around what Annie was telling her.

“Anything I
goddamn well please.”

“You don’t have to be crude.”

Over the course of the past several months Annie’s dislike for Greta had deepened into something akin to hate. It wasn’t any one particular thing that caused the emotions in her; it was a combination of things, she decided. First, it was obvious to Annie by now that Greta was sleeping with her father, probably had been since long before her mother had been killed. But that wasn’t the whole thing. Who her father chose to sleep with was his business. She just wished he could have waited until her mother’s bones were cold in the grave before he became so obvious. But more than that, it was the greedy way Greta looked at her pregnant belly, which was now starting to show splendidly. And it was the way in which she doted over her, trying to make her eat and exercise, like some demented coach from hell.

“How long have you been doing this . . . this . . . painting thing?” Greta asked, as if she hoped it might be just a
passing fancy.

“Since I was a child,” Annie said.

“Oh, I see. And it’s something you plan on continuing?”

“Do you think I just sit around the house all day long like a spoiled little rich bitch while my husband works to support
us?”

“This is something you’re serious about then?”

“This is something I’ve always been serious about,” Annie told the woman. “I have works at several New York galleries. Actually I have a show scheduled.”

“Oh, dear
me,” Greta fussed. “Not before the baby’s born I hope.”

“Yes,” Annie replied. “In September, actually.”

“You’re not still thinking about doing it, are you?”

“I most certainly am,” Annie said, becoming more irritated by the
second. “My husband’s dead and I’m not just going to wither up and fade away. I plan on living my life.”

“We’ll see about this
.” Greta turned and marched out of the room. When she was gone Annie continued with the business of making the room paint proof, covering the furniture and spreading a sheet of thin canvas on the floor. When that was accomplished she began sorting through the paints and brushes she’d had delivered several days ago. She would not let Greta, or her father, or anyone, for that matter, sway her in her resolve to continue with her work. She knew she’d never stop grieving for Doug, but realized that grief was a debilitating emotion and she would no longer allow it to control her life. She needed to think, she needed to plan her next move, which was her inevitable escape from the bounds of this wicked place. How she could have let herself once again come under her father’s spell she could not adequately say. She knew now that the future of her child, and probably her own future was in jeopardy, and what better way to think than to work. Yes, she would work, and think, and get strong, and plan her strategy. And when the time came she would run for her life and for the life of her child.