Mystical Love (86 page)

“Out slumming today, Sonny? Or are you just making your yearly charity visit to crippled shut-ins?” His gaze traveled to the man standing on her right. “No, this must be for the paparazzi. I see you've brought an entourage.”

Logan's hand flew out. “I'm no reporter, Sykes. I'm a colleague of Sonny's—Logan Reed.”

“Can we come in and talk, Foster?” Sonny asked. “It's important.”

“Nothing a Blake could ever say to me would be important,” he stated. He grabbed the doorknob, attempting to shut the door in their faces. However, he found Logan's foot lodged firmly against the bottom edge. A sour grimace gripped his lips, and he rolled the chair back a few paces. “You've appeased your conscience for the year by coming here, Sonny. Now tell your young man to get his foot out from my door, or I'll call the security gate and have you ejected!”

When Logan's foot remained against the doorjamb, Sykes swung the wheelchair around, rolling himself down the hallway away from them. Logan stepped across the threshold, following the rolling chair and issuing a statement of his own.

“We've come to talk about David Blake's murder.”

The wheelchair whirled around, banging into the wall and almost toppling the old man. His gaze stabbed Logan's as he clutched the wall.

“David Blake has been murdered?”

“Yesterday morning.”

The wheelchair swung about again, continuing its trek towards the back of the house. “I warned David he'd never get away with it.”

Stunned by the pronouncement, Sonny could only stare at the disappearing shadow.

“Get away with what?” Logan asked, following the chair.

Sonny's gaze latched on to Logan's retreating form, and she stepped inside, using the short walk down the hallway to calm her rattled nerves. Entering the back patio area, she tuned in to the raised voices.

“Your history with David Blake means nothing to me, Sykes.”

“Good,” he retorted. “For you couldn't begin to understand what my history with him was.”

Sonny stepped out onto the patio, eager to halt the confrontation. “I never knew you and Daddy attended college together. Why didn't you tell me?”

“It served no purpose. We were young and stupid then. Besides, I don't discuss those days anymore. The past is the past, and it needs to stay there.”

“But it isn't staying there,” Sonny said. “Daddy is dead, and no one knows why. If there's any chance you know who killed him, you must give us the name.”

“And be the one killed this time? In my own house?” Sykes shot back. “I'm smarter than that.”

“Lieutenant Cutter can send officers to protect you,” Sonny said. “There won't be any more accidents.”

He looked at her hard, a twisted smile curving his lips, and Sonny sank down in the nearest chair, her legs giving out beneath her. “My God, you think I had something to do with your accident! For heaven's sake, why have you kept silent all these months instead of confronting me? Why?”

“If I had divulged what I knew, you'd be visiting my grave instead of my house. But then again, perhaps you have an ulterior motive for coming here today. To silence me at last?” His gaze swung to Logan. “You don't look like a hit man, but then again, I didn't look like that kind of man, either, when I was your age.”

“I'm no assassin, Sykes,” Logan stated. “Sonny and I have come about Pandora.”

“Did you now? What an interesting notion.”

“Stow the old-man-in-a-wheelchair crap. I don't like it,” Logan said.

Foster gave a gleeful chuckle at the threat, fussing with the brake on his chair. “Don't like it much myself, either.” He swiveled in his chair to face Sonny, who attempted to put her best game face on. “So, you found out about Pandora. David must've been in dire straits to involve you. Must have been a shock to learn your whole life has been nothing but a pack of lies, eh?”

Sonny barely managed to stifle a choking gasp. What the hell was he talking about? Her life, a lie?

Logan didn't seem to be stunned by the question. “Her face is a dead giveaway, Sykes. Surely you see that? She hasn't quite gotten used to the idea yet.”

“She will—once the attempts on her life start.”

“They already ha-have,” Sonny stuttered.

Sykes chuckled again, rolling his chair to within inches of her own. His gaze scoured her face as if under a microscope. “At first there'll be nosebleeds. It's meant to prepare your brain for the worst kind of pain.”

Sonny's breath evaporated quickly. “My God, what are you saying? That I've been poisoned?”

He didn't answer, turning back to Logan instead. “You've obviously seen the nosebleeds.”

“I would be a poor friend if I didn't.”

His cackle came again, but more twisted this time. “You've got the look of Meta Corps about you. I can tell a Meta Corps bastard a mile away.” His gaze wandered back to Sonny. “I've always admired your talent, Sonny, always hoped I'd experience it in person.” His gaze drifted back to Logan. “Who sent you here?”

“David Blake did.”

Sonny's gaze tripped from Foster to Logan. He made it sound as if her father had ordered them to come and quiz Foster. Would Foster take the bait? She studied the wizened face. No, he was smarter than that, and extremely bitter. He'd go on toying with them.

“How much is the information worth to you?” he asked, sending a searing glance Logan's way. Sonny sucked in her breath. Good Lord, he intended to extort payment from them. Logan's hand hit his back pocket, and Sonny saw a checkbook appear a second later.

“Name your price, Sykes.”

Sonny bolted from her chair. “Stop this! You can't seriously think I'm going to let you buy the Pandora DVD from him, do you?” She clutched Logan's wrist. “We'll find it some other way. I'll endure ten nosebleeds at a time if I have to. We've gotten this far. We'll get the rest of the way on our own.” She swiveled on her toes, facing Foster head-on. “I'll not pay you a dime, do you hear? You'll have to sell the DVD to some other fool!” She spun on her heels. “We are leaving right now, Logan, and it's not up for discussion!”

An autocratic growl sliced the air. “Sit down, dammit!”

Intimidated by the command, Sonny dropped into the nearest chair and fixed her gaze on Foster.

“How much do you really know?” he asked.

The question was thrown at Logan, and Sonny wished it had been thrown at her. That way, she could've thrown it back in his face with an ugly “go to hell” rebuttal.

“That something catastrophic happened to Sonny when she was nine or ten.”

Floored, Sonny's head whipped around. How had Logan deduced something so bizarre from such a simple question? Another silence descended, and then the wheelchair returned to its original position.

“I congratulate you, Detective. You've figured out in a few short days what no one has discovered in twenty years. How did you figure it out?”

“From Sonny. She's been envisioning the same therapy session over and over in the last day. She can't tell me whether the session is from the past or the present, but I'm guessing it's a combination of both, since Sonny assures me that it's possible for her to see both at the same time. Besides, criminals aren't very original when it comes to committing crimes. They figure if it works once and they didn't get caught, why not keep trying it.”

“What tipped you off to me?”

“Before he died, David Blake programmed the word ‘Pandora' into his computer and left it for Sonny. Once we accessed the program, we found three clues linked to Pandora. You were second on the list.”

“And the first?

“A photo of a young girl, which, in my humble opinion, puts the time frame back when Sonny was ten—at the time her mother took her own life.”

“A lucky guess,” Foster stated.

“Hardly a guess, especially since the young girl's photo bears a striking resemblance to Sonny. It made me wonder whether the puzzle could be that simple. Your sister was killed the same day, wasn't she?”

The wheelchair rocked on its frame. “You've aroused my curiosity, Detective, but we both know that question isn't the one that needs answering. So what do you really want to know?”

“Why David Blake had to be murdered.”

Foster gave a fractured snort. “Ask Sonny. She knows.”

“Me?” Sonny squeaked. “I don't know a thing.”

“And you don't have empathic powers, either, do you? Don't use that Blake snobbery on me.”

“But I don't know anything,” Sonny stressed. “I'm in the dark, I swear it.”

Foster snickered at Logan. “She pretends she doesn't know who she really is, but she has to know. Her empathic powers are so unique that she must've caught a glimpse of the truth during one of her visions. She's chosen to repress it—like all the others.”

“What
others
?” Logan asked.

“The first patients used in The Pandora Project. There were twelve in all.”

Sonny's eyes suddenly welled with tears. “Dear God! That's the link,” she said, glancing at Logan. “The twelve girls belong to the Tarot cards we've been looking at. They're all dead—except for me.” Her glance returned to Foster. “I've never ‘seen' anything at all from that time. What am I supposed to have seen?”

Seeing her tears, Logan crossed the small space between them and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Have a heart, Sykes. Can't you see Sonny has no recollection of Pandora? Tell us what you know. Let me be the one to put the pieces together. If you help, I can find the person who really put you in that chair.”

The old man's gaze flew to the wall over Sonny's left shoulder, and she knew he was deciding whether to put his faith in Logan's words. Could he be convinced her shock and dismay were real? She didn't know. She only hoped he'd give her a chance to prove it.

His gaze finally swung her way, and Sonny felt her stomach do a rapid somersault. He was going to divulge the truth, and it was going to be bad. She bit her lower lip, trying to maintain a stoic face; however, she found herself glancing up at Logan with an anxious look instead. His return glance was as comforting as the hand that lightly squeezed her shoulder.

“Who's your mother, girl?”

The question startled Sonny, and her gaze shot back to the wheelchair.

“M-m-marion Blake,” she stammered. “Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone knows the lie,” Foster corrected her. “You've been Sonny Blake only since you were ten.”

“Ten?”

He ignored her blackened scowl. “There is no Sonny Blake, at least not in human form. She exists only on paper.”

“Pa-paper?”

Logan ignored her stammer, focusing on Foster. “Why? And how?”

“The why should be obvious, but the how? The how was cleverly done.” Foster gave them his full attention. “Imagine twelve orphans, bought and paid for in the name of science—”

“This is nonsense,” Sonny interrupted. “I remember my childhood—where the family went on vacations, birthday parties … How could I remember all that and not have been born Sonny Blake?”

The wheelchair rolled closer to her, and Sonny pulled back in alarm. It took all her strength to keep a choking sob at bay as Foster muttered softly, “Enter Pandora—a hypnotherapy program so radical that to simply call it ‘brainwashing' is to insult its very nature.”

Sonny studied the frail hands caressing the chair handles and marveled at how natural he made his explanation sound. As if altering the memories of children was a common, everyday occurrence.

“If I'm not Sonny Blake, who am I?”

“You're Amanda King. Your real birth certificate was destroyed long ago.”

“I have a birth certificate in my vault—Sonia Blake is in my vault,” Sonny whispered. Foster's lips pursed tighter. “Why destroy my birth certificate?” Sonny asked.

“To keep anyone from ever discovering that The Pandora Project worked. You see, the therapy was remarkable. It was done with nothing more than the use of a green-colored door.”

“Green door?” The question was uttered by Logan and Sonny simultaneously, and Foster gave them a suspicious squint.

“Yes. This small trigger sent the patient through the door and into a full-scale opening of the memory pathways. New memories were then laid inside, and when the patient woke, there was no memory of the shift. Each therapy session instilled more of the new memories and less of the old. By the time the shift was completed, the memory sensors were in place and could not be reversed. Or so we thought.”

“We?”

“You don't think I thought this up all by myself?” Foster said. “I was hired. I hold degrees in psychiatry, psychology, and hypnotherapy, and, like those evil little sprites Pandora let loose in the world, I have the ability and know-how to reprogram the human mind and take it places it's never been.”

“You learned the technique when you disappeared from The Sanctuary and remained off the grid for years,” Logan guessed. “That's what got left off your resume when Lieutenant Cutter did a background check on you. He could never put his finger on why the background facts felt off, but I can. The Meta Corps Agency was built on the backs of an elite team of paranormal scientists called Para-Corps.”

“Three teams—to be exact,” Foster corrected him.

“Which were you?”

“Research.” He paused, and Sonny sensed he wasn't going to divulge any more information to them without assurance that they would stay mum on what they heard.

“Come clean, Sykes,” Logan demanded. “This may be the only chance you get to tell your side of the story.”

Foster settled back against the chair and sighed. His gaze scoured Sonny's face again. “I want you to know that I never guessed the memory switch would give birth to empathic talents. If I had, I would've fought like hell to decimate the project.”