Patient Darkness: Brooding City Series Book 2 (15 page)

“Alex,” Benjamin called sharply, arresting her march out the door. “There is still the matter of directing Arthur Brennan toward our serial killer. Has he been made aware of the connection between the victims?”

“I’m working on it,” she said shortly.

Benjamin sighed and walked over, using his guiding cane more for show than function. “I will speak to him myself,” he said.

“I can handle this—”

“You have already proven yourself incapable of the task. You will arrange a meeting for us, and I will convince him of my sincerity.”

“How will you do that? He’s pretty high-strung, especially after he nearly died yesterday.”

“And whose doing was that?” Benjamin asked mildly. Alex remained silent. “He will know the truth of my words. Your only task now is to put us in the same room.”

“How do you know he will listen to me in the first place?”

“He trusts you. Was that not the point of your little exercise yesterday?”

Alex didn’t bother asking how he knew about the staged attack. “I only spoke to him telepathically. How do you expect me to do that now?”

“Recover quickly,” Benjamin commanded. “Lives depend on it, yours included.”

Bastard.

“When do you want the meet to happen?”

“As soon as possible.” Benjamin paused for a second. “Considering his current state, I can settle for noon. That should be sufficient time for the painkillers to take effect and mask his wounds.”

Alex stepped out into the hall. “You really think he’ll show?”

“He has every reason to,” Benjamin replied. “As I said, lives truly do depend on us, and his hero complex will allow for nothing less.”

High blood pressure
and an erratic heartbeat caused the hospital to insist that Brennan stay overnight.

Clara had gone home immediately after being discharged, and Brennan didn’t think he would be hearing from her anytime soon. The night had been pretty good up until the assault, though, and it was a shame that things could not have ended on a more normal note.

When he arrived back at his apartment, Brennan found Greg asleep on the couch with a packed overnight bag resting on the floor by his head. He smiled, feeling amused and slightly guilty that his nephew had been fully prepared to receive a text that was never forthcoming.

Brennan opened a kitchen drawer and retrieved the plain golden ring that lay inside.
One ring to rule them all,
he mused, slipping the wedding band back around his finger. It felt comfortable where it rested, like a piece of himself had been restored just by wearing it.

A small black box, rectangular and about the size of his palm, was nestled in the back corner of the drawer. Brennan stared at it for a long moment before shutting it away to the darkness again.

“G’morning, Uncle Arty,” Greg mumbled. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up on the couch. “How was
your
night?”

“Best date I’ve had in years,” Brennan replied dryly.

“Umm, what’s up with the sling? I’m familiar with rough sex, but this seems extreme.”

Brennan looked down at the arm that was braced against his chest. “That is actually a fascinating question.” He paused. “Wait, you’re familiar with—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re using protection, though, right?”

Greg smirked. “No need for a gun, Uncle Arty. My dates are less aggressive than yours, apparently.”

Brennan didn’t even know his nephew was sexually active, but he also didn’t care to think about it in too much detail. “How is the job search going?” he asked instead.

“I have a few irons in the fire.”

“Meaning?”

Greg sighed. “I’ll start looking today.”

“Good,” Brennan said, heading toward the bedroom. “I’m going to change out of these clothes, and then I’m meeting Sam uptown. Are you good to be on your own for today?”

“I could always use some extra cash for pizza or something.”

“Get a job,” Brennan guffawed, and he closed the bedroom door. He dropped his tattered suit jacket on the bed and slipped the loosened tie from around his neck. His right arm had recovered from its brief dislocation the night before, though his fingers worked stiffly as they undid the buttons of his white dress shirt. The other arm tingled as he gingerly shrugged out of his shirt and threaded his arm through its sleeve. Small burn marks traced along the outside of his arm, but they were not nearly as critical as he had previously believed. It was only at the doctor’s insistence that he even bothered to wear the sling. For now, though, he felt comfortable removing the harness from around his shoulder. Goosebumps rose on his skin as his arm was exposed to the open air.

After he stepped out of the rest of his clothes, Brennan proceeded to the bathroom and turned the shower handle counterclockwise as far as it would go. Hot water filled the stall as steam started forming overhead. His mirror was almost completely obscured before Brennan stepped beneath the spray. He groaned as the water splashed against open cuts and ran in rivulets down his legs. His shoulders flexed almost involuntarily, exposing as much skin as possible to the scalding water. It stung a bit, especially when some landed on his wounded arm, but the pain it brought was strangely welcome. Brennan turned his head and let out another low moan as the stiff muscles in his neck started to loosen up under the water’s treatment.

Mmm, so your nephew had the right of it,
he heard suddenly.
You like it rough.

Brennan gripped the support bar in the shower stall as his feet slipped in surprise at hearing the voice again.
Who are you?
he demanded.

The woman who guided you to safety last night.

At least now he had a gender to work with.

Yes, I let that detail slip on purpose,
the woman added, answering his unspoken realization and follow-up question.
Benjamin wants to speak with you.

If he had been surprised before, now Brennan was floored—literally. His legs gave out, and he hissed in pain as his head slammed back against the ceramic wall.

“Uncle Arty?” Greg called from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

What did you say?
he asked.

Benjamin wishes to speak,
the woman repeated calmly.
Noon. He said you would know where.

Brennan lifted himself up in the tub and attempted to regain some measure of composure.
What makes Benjamin think that I want to talk to him? That I want to have
anything
to do with him?

There was a pause, and when the woman’s voice returned, it carried a sharp edge.
What makes you think this is up for negotiation?
she asked rhetorically.
This is much bigger than the two of us.

What are you talking about?

The serial killer.
Her blunt declaration sent shivers down Brennan’s spine, despite the warm water currently flattening his hair against his skull.
And you and Benjamin have history to resolve. He will see you at noon.

Hey! I didn’t agree to anything!

His outrage was met with silence, and he knew she had disappeared on him again.

“Uncle Arty?” Greg called again, knocking.

“I’m fine,” Brennan said aloud. “I just slipped, but it’s all good.”

“If you say so.” A minute later, he heard the living room television turn on.

Brennan remained sitting in the tub as hot water continued to spray the top of his head. A small waterfall cascaded from the incline of his forehead down to his chest as he contemplated the psychic savior’s words. His power told him that everything she had said was true, a fact which made him less eager to meet with Benjamin. If a monster like Benjamin was coming to him for help, there was something seriously dangerous afoot, something which he was just barely beginning to comprehend.

Death is coming to Odols.

The ominous prediction echoed in Brennan’s mind. Benjamin knew more about this string of deaths than anyone in the police department, he was sure of it now. He had known for
months
that this deadly game was set to unfold. As much as it pained him to admit, Brennan recognized that his old mentor—the traitorous bastard responsible for Mara’s death—was now his best hope for gaining momentum in his investigation.

With slow, labored movements, Brennan grasped the shower bar and pulled himself up to his feet. He shut off the water and grabbed a fresh towel from the nearby rack as droplets formed on the lines of his face and arms. He dried himself off with little regard for his injuries, once more drawing on the pain as a temporary distraction from his current predicament.

Brennan returned to his bedroom and flipped open the laptop that was sitting on the bed. His CopAFeel inbox was empty, as he had expected, and he gave up any hope that he would hear from Clara again. With a resigned sigh, he opened his email and saw a new message from Sam. His eyes scanned the page quickly, picking out the crucial information in between thick blocks of joking banter about his dinner date last night.

He reached for his pocket, but stopped when he remembered his phone had been destroyed the night before. Brennan wondered briefly if his replacement plan covered unforeseen car bombs and shootouts. He wrote a brief response message to Sam, then closed the laptop and went about gathering a fresh set of clothes to wear. He opened the bedroom door as he buttoned his shirt. “Hey, Greg?” he called.

“Yeah?”

“I have to go buy a new cell phone,” he said, emerging from the room. The sling somehow found itself left behind, and Brennan was not upset for its absence. “What are you going to do today?”

“Going to find a job,” Greg replied glumly, and he sighed loudly. “You don’t have to keep repeating yourself, I heard you the first time.”

“If I don’t say it over and over, then I know you will keep putting it off,” Brennan countered. “Just looking out for you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t. I’ve got this.” Greg cocked his head, and his frustration seemed momentarily replaced by curiosity. “What happened to your
old
cell phone?”

“It got blown up,” Brennan said simply. He grinned in response to his nephew’s puzzled look. “I can’t explain, I have to meet someone soon, and I’d like to get the phone shopping out of the way before then.”

“Meeting Sam?”

Brennan shook his head. “A contact about the case I’m working,” he hedged.

“Oh. Cool. Have fun!”

Oh yes,
Brennan thought.
Oodles of fun.

ф ф ф

It was very
nearly noon when Brennan emerged from the phone store. The customer service rep very patiently explained that his service plan did not, in fact, cover incendiary bombs and covert assassination plots. She said all of this with a smile on her face, and Brennan realized she thought he was joking. Since he didn’t have a better excuse he could give her, he was forced to buy a new phone at full retail price.

He purchased a newspaper from a man in a stall and boarded the shuttle to uptown. It was less crowded in the middle of the day, and few eyes met his as he sought out a secluded corner to sit down. He had roughly fifteen minutes before the shuttle would arrive at his rendezvous with Sam, but that was more than enough time to first meet with Benjamin.

Brennan slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses that he had brought from home and opened the newspaper to a particularly lengthy article on government spying. Next to the main article were a half dozen editorials on the subject, and Brennan figured an interested reader could easily spend a quarter hour reading the same open pages.

After one last glance around to confirm nobody was watching, Brennan promptly fell asleep.

Falling asleep on demand was one of the simplest skills he had acquired from his previous occupation. It was a necessity of the job; there was never any certainty of when a target would fall asleep, so Brennan and the other Sleepers needed to be capable of infiltrating the unconscious mind at the drop of a hat.

Slumber for a Sleeper was different, though. Instead of darkness for several hours followed by a series of intense hallucinations, all of which would be forgotten within seconds of waking up, Brennan entered a state of acute awareness and control even as the waking world slipped away.

In his mind, Brennan saw a beach that stretched endlessly to what he considered the north, east, and west. Calm ocean waves lapped lightly at the southern shore, and he dipped his bare feet into the water before returning to the warm sands littered with scattered seashells. All around him, on the shore and in the surf, rested rocks of varying sizes. Each one represented a sleeping individual, a mind that could be tapped into by a Sleeper. Some were massive boulders that cast wide shadows on the sand; others were small pebbles that fit easily between two fingers.

The Sleeperscape appeared differently to everyone, and Brennan was pleased that his presented itself as an idyllic beach. He hoped it spoke volumes about the state of his mind, even if his daily life was populated by criminals and liars.

“An interesting arrangement,” said a sudden voice.

Brennan spun around to see Benjamin approaching him from the distance, his form wavering like a mirage in the heat. Even from a distance, though, his voice carried perfectly well, as if he were standing by Brennan’s side. His steps carried him farther and faster than they should have, as if he were on one of the moving walkways used in long airport corridors. Within seconds, he casually strolled several hundred yards.

“I do not believe I have ever frequented your ‘scape before,” the old man commented, looking around with those curious, blind eyes. His skin looked like dried parchment stretched thinly over his bones. “Interesting, indeed.”

“You asked for this meeting,” Brennan said sharply. “What do you want?”

“Straight to business, then. You always did have little patience for the niceties.”

“You’re testing that patience right now,” he growled.

Benjamin’s cheeks flushed, but he bit back whatever heated response had risen to the surface. “Straight to business,” he repeated. “I did not kill your wife.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I urge you to stop listening with your ears and start listening with your power.” Benjamin reached forward faster than Brennan could react, and the old Sleeper placed a finger above his heart. “Listen to my words,” he said, “and know them to be true.”

Something reverberated within Brennan, like a gong rung firmly in the distance, and he felt his body tremble to the core. A tingle rose up his spine like a climbing vine, shooting tendrils out across his back as it reached the base of his skull. The sensation suddenly exploded outward, unfurling like a set of massive wings.