Databyte (byte Series 6), page 8
I sipped the hot chocolate.
“You weren’t …?”
“No. She chose badly. I wasn’t alone. Kurt and I were sharing a room.”
“That’s what Lee means when he refers to you as Delta’s very own Christopher Chance?”
“I make a good target.”
“So I’ve witnessed.”
Mike’s tone change, I couldn’t explain it exactly, but it changed just enough that I noticed. “You and Kurt often share rooms?”
“Depends on the situation. There have been times when we’ve all been in the same room.” It’s a special kind of hell sharing a crappy motel room with the entire team. Snoring. Farting. Sleep talking. Hell.
Silence descended but not in an awkward way. It became clear after a few minutes that Mike wasn’t done with his questions.
“Tell me, while you were pretending to watch the movie, what were you really doing?” He sipped his drink. “This is probably a dangerous question, but what was happening in your head?”
“I thought only women asked that question.”
“Women ask it of men, knowing full well nothing is happening. I’m asking because you’re definitely not a guy and therefore you were thinking about something.”
Let’s not start messing about in my head.
“Maybe nothing was? Perhaps I was in stand-by mode.”
“You do realize I’m not buying bullshit tonight?”
I finished my hot chocolate.
“I’m not serving any ...”
He cleared his throat. “I think you might be.”
The hole grew, wobbled, and lightning flashed through the center, the storm moving in. A new weather forecast emerged, one with thunder, torrential rain, and hail. If I was a betting person I’d put money on at least one tornado and it might even be an F-4.
I gathered my wandering wits and shuffled them until they sat quietly in my hand. From the deck, I choose four cards and lay them in front of me. An owl, a scythe, a coffin, and a key. Now that was dark. I kept the images to myself.
“Hey, you still with me?” Mike’s words scattered the cards.
The images faded but the sense of doom remained.
“Maybe I was trying to figure out the best way to draw out your threat, while not getting myself arrested?”
He coughed and muttered, “Intense.”
“I heard that.”
“Did you come up with anything?”
Well, no, because I wasn’t really thinking about anything constructive. I knew that the images I’d seen pointed to a death but it seemed smart to keep that to myself. Good chance it would be my death, anyway.
And then I was saved by the bell. Not really a bell more a beep from the laptop. Something had finished.
We looked at each other for a second. To be more accurate I looked where I thought he was. Crap. It was now too late for any sort of preventative treatment.
“Ellie?”
“Mike?”
“You going to check the computer?”
“In a second.”
I’m just trying to clear my vision and push through the intensifying pain. It’s all good.
“Do stalkers usually employ drive-by shooting?”
Oh, okay, he’s worried.
“Hmm, see, that’s where it all falls over. Stalkers tend to be more personal in their contact and murder attempts.”
No one will forget John Lennon’s shooting.
“So they weren’t after me?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But I don’t think that was about you.”
Everything was swimming in and out of focus. I was about to show him what intense was, inadvertently. He was obviously not as fine about this stalker thing as Lee thought he would be.
“Lee said something about you being tracked and bugged before … how’d you handle it?”
Nerves? I wanted to nod but knew better. The white walls and beige curtains could end up decorated with the contents of my skull.
“It’s happened a couple of times. The first time was messy and very ugly. He almost had me. But I caught him. The second time, I was an annoyance who thwarted the plans of a couple of terrorists. They took offence. I shot one in the head. The other died in a desert.”
I may have smiled when I said that. Some memories are worth holding close, some remind us of all we were and still can be, and some simply bring pleasure. The deaths of the Abbasi brothers brought me more pleasure than maybe they should have.
“You’re very intense.”
“So you said earlier.”
“It still stands.” He stretched and then relaxed. “Do you always get them?”
“No, not always … but mostly.” Lightning flashed across my internal screen. I flinched. I really hate the thought of a criminal winning.
“Lee said once you never give up.”
“Bet he didn’t say it that nicely.”
“He did.”
Good to know.
“Why do you think someone has made those photos of you with the hand?”
Interesting subject change. It didn’t seem to be a cover for anything. I suspected he just didn’t want to think about someone so actively trying to end his life. Fair enough.
“I have no idea.”
“No demands, right? Isn’t that strange? Don’t people who create or use things like that usually have a purpose in mind, like extortion?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Good? Bad?”
I shrugged. I didn’t feel like answering his question aloud. Subject change coming right up.
“Is that TV working okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
That smacked of more trouble.
“Nothing. Must be tired I guess.” Without warning, the cup I held fell from my hand, bounced off my leg, and onto the floor.
Here comes that trouble now.
“I’ll get it,” Mike said. He stood up and walked around the bed to find the cup. I knew where he was, but I couldn’t see him. He moved away. Each footstep vibrated through my body, yet I knew he was light on his feet. Every nerve on edge, I waited to see what would happen next. Feeling started to return to my arm.
The television blared. Louder and louder. Flashing lights sent sharp barbs into my eyeballs. I felt around the bed until my fingers connected with the remote.
Red button. Power. I pressed it, plunging the area in front of the bed into a dark silence.
“We’re done with the movie?” Mike asked, sitting back down.
“Done,” I replied, hoping I sounded normal. I needed the medicine in my bag. But my bag was all the way across the room by the television. It may as well be in Timbuktu. There was a horrible thing happening inside my head. Worse even than the hellish spikes driving into my head courtesy of a sledgehammer: an unwillingness to ask for help.
“Ellie, you okay?”
“Sure,” I replied, as a huge railroad cleat impaled the left side of my brain just above my eyeball. Instinctively my hand locked onto the source of the pain and clamped over my left eye.
“You should check the laptop. We might have some answers.”
“I can’t.”
“Headache?” And there he was, in front of me, blue eyes searching mine. I could see him if I moved my head from side to side – but that also made me feel sick.
“You don’t look so good.”
“But I feel so awesome.”
“We’ve had the bullshit discussion already,” Mike said. He hadn’t moved. He was still giving me one helluva scrutinizing look. And I’m intense. Uh huh.
Another stake drove into my head.
“Migraine, it’s nothing unusual. My bag ...” I pointed toward the beds. Kurt wouldn’t have brought me a bag without adding necessary medication to it.
“Okay.” He jumped off the bed.
His sudden movement confused my brain. Vomit rose. I struggled to keep the hot chocolate inside my stomach.
When he was in front of me again, he had my overnight bag. “Do you want to do this?”
“No.” I leaned back and closed my eyes.
“What am I looking for?”
“Demerol and, I can’t remember the name, but … anti-nausea pills. Check the packages for dosage.”
“Didn’t you have a bottle in your pocket earlier?”
“Yes.”
He searched through my bag and found what I needed. He also searched my jacket pockets and came up empty.
“I don’t know where it is,” he said.
“It must’ve fallen out of my pocket.”
Three white pills placed in my hand. In the other hand, a glass of water.
Someone whispered. I swallowed. Pain exploded. Sudden cold landed on my head. Cold. It almost felt good.
Pain. Ice. Cold. Less pain.
I heard whispered words that made no sense. The joy was I knew they’d make even less sense in about twenty minutes. I wanted to speak. Maybe I did. Mac moved closer. Mac?
“You’re not here.”
“Babe, neither are you. Tell him to call Kurt.”
“I’m okay.”
“Babe, you and okay parted company when the movie started. You need help. This hasn’t happened in months.”
“I’m fine. Got drugs on board. Fine.”
The ice started to soothe my ravaged brain. Soothing, but still Mac filled the darkness.
Another voice came in.
“Ellie, you still with me?”
Mike.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’ll be okay in a few minutes.” As soon as the words left my lips Mac started to fade. He shrugged and shook his head as he melted into the ceiling.
“What can I do?”
Unless magician was part of his skill set, I didn’t think he’d be able to do much.
“I need sleep, silence, and dark.”
Perhaps not in that order.
“Then sleep,” he said, pulling a blanket up over me.
Darkness crawled across the room. One by one the lights went out and all noise stopped. The dark pulled crazy thoughts together and made a collage of stupidity for me to view. Focusing on one dark square finally halted the images and the spinning.
Sometime later, a buzzing sound jolted me awake. My eyes pinged open but took some time to adjust to the shadows and strange surroundings. I rolled over trying to locate the source of the buzz. A groan escaped before I could stop it.
“Ellie,” Mike sounded sleepy.
“What buzzed?” I replied. He was close but I didn’t know where.
“I didn’t hear anything. What do you need?”
“More drugs,” I replied. “Ketamine if you have it.” I was half-joking.
“I have to turn on a light. Cover your eyes.”
I heard water running into a glass.
“Put your hand out.”
Four pills dropped into it.
“What are they?” I muttered.
“Two Advil and two Tylenol.”
“No Demerol?”
“Nope, it’s too soon.”
A flash of anger exploded within me. I threw the pills across the room.
“These won’t fuc’n work!”
“You can’t have Demerol. I’ll get you more ice.” He sounded calm, firm, and reasonable.
So goddamn reasonable.
Mike handed me a plastic bag of ice. “Here.”
I lay back down and put the ice on my head. The lights went out. A bed creaked. Mike must’ve lain down.
The cold seeped in, pushing the pain away. The next time consciousness taunted me I heard another voice and no buzzing. Mike, talking to someone, quietly, over by the table. I listened to the conversation and the new voice. He’d called Kurt.
Guess Lee gave him the phone numbers before he left us here. “What are you doing here?” I asked, propping myself up on one elbow, pretending I could see perfectly well without squinting against the light.
“You’re sick,” he replied.
“You broke protocol,” I responded. “I’ll live.”
Kurt strode across the room to the end of my bed. “This time,” he said. “I’m staying.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“I stay or I leave with all your pain medication.”
“What?”
“If I go ...”
“Yeah, I heard. ‘Why’ is what I meant to say.”
“Because you woke after an hour and a half and wanted more Demerol.”
“I didn’t know it was only an hour and a half ...”
“My point exactly, if Mike hadn’t woken up you might have taken more ...”
We stared at each other. No one willing to look away and neither of us wanted to finish his sentence.
Then all of a sudden my mouth kicked in. “It was a legitimate mistake. Nothing more.”
“Same result.”
True.
“Now what?”
“Now I think we should all get some sleep,” Kurt replied. “Mike, bed. I’ll wake you in two hours. We’ll sleep in shifts. One of us needs to be awake at all times.”
A horrible thought entered my head and swam around before exploding from my mouth. “Am I on suicide watch?”
“No, you are not,” Kurt said with slow deliberation. “My being here has potentially compromised your location. Sleeping in shifts is for Mike’s security.” He left the bit about my security out.
I didn’t respond, instead I lay down, closed my eyes, and wished those words back. I knew it was too late. The idea was out, they both heard it. Now they’d both be thinking it. Or at least Kurt would. He was there when Carla …
He was there.
Intense. Maybe I have good reasons to be intense. Pretty sure I used to be fun.
Nine
Lady In Red
The room phone rang twice then stopped. It rang once and stopped. Then again twice.
Lee.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I have the bag. You ready to adopt a new identity?”
“Hell, yes.” And all of a sudden, everything looked brighter. One night trapped in a hotel and I’m climbing the walls. That did not bode well for a low key off-the-radar existence. “I have another request. It might not be easy.”
“Shoot.”
“I need you to go to my house and bring me a wig from the closet in my room. There are four human hair curly auburn wigs on the shelf, and they’re dated. Get the most recent one, that’s the one I wore last time I was Laura.” They were different lengths but all the same color and a similar hair style.
“Okay. Cross your fingers that Owen hasn’t got agents outside your house.”
“I need that wig.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
I hung up. Kurt opened an eye and looked at me from the chair next to the bed.
“Who was it?”
“Lee. He’s running an errand for me then coming over.”
“I heard. Hope he brings breakfast, too.”
“Didn’t say.”
“How you feeling?”
“Okay,” I said.
“Let’s keep it that way. Where’s your synergy?”
“I don’t know. It was in my pocket yesterday.”
“Spare bottles?”
“Of course.” But they weren’t so helpful now. “One in my desk drawer at work and one in my nightstand at home.”
“How long does it take to get here from Le’Esscience?”
“Five days.”
“I’ll order more and have it sent to my place,” Kurt said.
“This isn’t going to go on for another five days ...”
He didn’t reply.
“Kurt, call Lee. Ask him to bring the bottle of synergy from my nightstand.” Five days was too long to wait.
Kurt made the call and Mike rolled over in his bed and stretched.
“Morning,” he said, yawning.
“Morning,” I replied. “Sleep well?” My eyes watered as I yawned.
“Yeah, every few hours.”
“Go back to sleep, there’s nothing happening here.”
Kurt lifted the laptop off the floor.
“Did you check this last night?” he asked.
“No, we got sidetracked,” I said.
Mike headed for the bathroom while Kurt and I peered at the screen.
“You got six matches on that tattoo,” Kurt said.
I would have asked him to print the list but there was no printer in the hotel room. Mike came back and sat on his bed. He looked tired. I figured that was my fault.
“What about the identikit picture?” I asked.
“That narrowed it down some, three matches,” Kurt replied.
“Let me guess, those three all have the same or a similar tattoo on their inner wrist?”
“Yes. Current addresses put one in Oregon, one in New York and one in Pasadena,” Kurt said.
“Read out their names. You listening, Mike?”
“Uh huh,” he replied.
“Kim Smith, China Caldwell, Nancy Trevgard,” Kurt said. “Any of them familiar?”
Mike shook his head. “Sorry, no. Can I see pictures?”
Kurt walked over to Mike’s bed with the laptop. He showed him each photo.
“That one, she asked for the autograph,” he said pointing to the picture of China Caldwell. “I feel like we might have met before?”
Kurt and I smiled at each other. She was the one who looked the most like Tara, Lee’s girlfriend. It definitely wasn’t Tara. I figured Mike would have recognized his brother’s girlfriend. Did I really think Tara could be involved or did that theory manifest because I’d spent too many years with “trust no one” as my battle cry?
“Clarify that, Mike. Have you met the woman before?” I asked.
He studied the picture. “No, I haven’t. I thought she looked familiar in that photograph but in person she wasn’t.”
“How well do you know Tara Sutherland?”
“Lee’s girlfriend? We’ve only met once and that was in the hospital when Lee was wounded,” Mike said.
A stressful time all round.
“Did you get on?” I asked.
“Didn’t have time to find out. Haven’t seen her since. Lee talks about her sometimes. He seems happy.” Mike shrugged. “We lead busy lives on different coasts.”
“This China Caldwell woman bears a resemblance to Tara,” Kurt told him. “It’s definitely not her but there is a similarity.”
Mike smiled. “Ah, I see.”
