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41
I felt an inexplicable admiration for Joseph as I walked him out to his bike. I hadn't spent much time with healers, and I knew that their training was mostly for healing in the Rest, in Aphter, not here. Still, he had a different feel about him than the warrior types with whom I had associated. I was reminded, as we walked in silence, how Dad used to tell me, "You think like a healer, Simon." He always said it when I tried his patience, and I always took it as chastisement. Now? Now I wasn't sure how to take it.
"You have helped me more than you know for now," Joseph said as he grabbed his helmet. "I want you to know that."
"I'm glad if I could help, though I can't imagine what mission the Order has assigned to you that could have been helped by that," I nodded back toward the house.
"And yet you have helped me." He smiled.
"Can you tell me what your mission is?" I asked him plainly.
"No," he said. "I cannot."
"Can you tell me who sent you to me?"
"No one sent me to you," he said. "Coming to you was my decision. I did not expect to find everything I found, so I know I was guided in my choice."
"Guided by whom?" I asked.
"Tell me, Brother," he said, strapping on the helmet and lifting his leg to straddle and settle onto the bike, "who sent the Whim to you?"
I shrugged. "I don't know."
"Then it is a mystery," he said. He smiled and, with a nod and a blast of the engine, he was gone. I watched him and thought about our conversation as he disappeared down the street. His words kept echoing in my head. "Would we be right this time? Would we win?" Why did he ask me that? I couldn't be sure of his training, but he must have been taught, as I was, that these were things we never discussed except in secure places. And even then, most things were left unsaid. It seemed almost profane to discuss these things so openly. "Would we be right this time?" Of course we would. Damn, Joseph. You're a healer. You know the ravages of restlessness on the dead. It had been three thousand years. Three thousand years. I couldn't begin to imagine the suffering of the Host, and I couldn't imagine a system of right and wrong that would condemn people for rescuing their own from such torture. Three thousand years.
I put my hand to my chest, flat against it, and forced myself to calm. These concerns were too great for today. Today there was a little girl who needed her mother. That was something I could fathom. That was something I could understand. Hopefully, that was something I could repair.
As I walked back to the house, I went over the next steps in my mind. I needed to get some things from my place and make sure it was in order. I needed to do that first. I walked into the house and headed for Sam's room. The door was closed, so I knocked.
"Come in," said Sam. I opened the door and saw them playing cards on bed.
"What's the game?" I asked.
"Poker," said Amy.
"Texas Hold 'Em," said Sam. "This girl's a hustler, Simon. She's been hanging around the wrong sorts of people for too long." Amy smiled and looked over at me.
"You take her for everything she has, Amy," I said. "Joseph is gone." I nodded at Sam.
"Good," she said, and she laid her cards on the bed. "So, what's next, Simon?"
"Well," I said, "I want to find out about this Romeo guy."
"Romeo Martini?" Sam asked.
"No, Romeo di Marti," said Amy. "Right?" She looked over at me.
"Right," I said. "First, though, I think I should run to my place real quick and get a couple of things."
"Can I go?" Amy asked, laying her cards down.
"Well," I said, "I'm just afraid that our friend from last night might still be lurking around. I feel like I should check it out first." I looked at Sam for support.
"Amy, you cannot go over there," Sam said. "That was the most scared I have ever been in my life, thank you very much," she directed the last part at me. "Stay here with me and Simon will come right back."
"But," Amy said, "I feel like we're not doing anything?" She started to tear up. "I feel like we should be looking for her."
"We are, and we will," I said, "but we don't even know where to look." I walked over closer to her.
"Maybe we should call the police," Sam said, looking at me. "This has gone on long enough, don't you think?"
"What are we going to tell them?" I asked. "We'll be their prime suspects."
"No," said Amy. "I can tell them what happened." She seemed to think it was a good idea.
"Look," I sighed, "if we don't know anything more before morning, we'll call the police first thing in the morning. I promise. What do you say?"
Sam clenched her teeth. She did not like the idea, but she waited to see what Amy would say.
"Okay," Amy whispered. "But I want to come with you to your place. I don't want to just stay here."
"No," Sam snapped. "You cannot go over there, Amy. I'm serious. You have to stay with me. We'll do whatever you want."
Amy looked at Sam. She didn't say anything, but you could see the resignation in her shoulders.
"Thanks, Sam," I whispered. She didn't even look at me.
I walked quickly from the house and got into the car. All the way over, I imagined scenarios in which I encountered the man from last night. I wasn't too worried about it, I knew I could take him one way or the other, but I was really hoping to get in and out quickly. I especially wanted to get the GPS phones. I'd feel better if Amy had one so I could keep track of her when we were separated. I thought about trying to fix the door, but it would depend how broken it was. I didn't get a good look at it last night.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I scanned for the dark sedan. It was nowhere to be seen. The neighbor's van was in my parking place, as usual, so I pulled into an empty one near the dumpster. I scanned the parking lot again when I got out, but I saw nothing unusual. I walked quickly from the car, up the stairs and around to the broken door. It was still wide open.
I looked around when I walked in. Other than the broken door, everything seemed in order. I walked through into the kitchen and the bathroom. Everything okay. I walked back in and looked at the door on the floor. The hinges were still in the wall, ripped out of the cheap, hollow, wooden structure. There would be no quick fixing it. I'd have to prop it up and leave it like that for now.
Walking over to the desk, I found it still locked. I snatched my keys from my pocket and felt for the little desk key. Turning the lock and sliding out the drawer, I saw that everything was still there. I saw the GPS phones and the car charger for them at the back of the drawer. I grabbed them and threw them into the deep pockets of my coat.
That was when I felt the presence. I felt hairs raise on the back of my neck. My training took over. I did nothing to betray my senses. I slid the drawer closed and locked it. Mentally, I went into a deep state of listening, breathing slowly and moving very slowly and quietly. Returning the keys to my pocket, I drew fished in one of the inner pockets for the stone sliver I kept there. I palmed it and slipped it out of my hand. As soon as it was out, I heard the voice, very faint, over to my left.
"Over here, Simon," it said. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. Moving the stone chip to shine in the direction from which the voice had come, I saw the faint ghosting spectre of a man sitting on the couch. I recognized him immediately.
"Sheriff Wayne?"
There was a desk key on his chain? A few chapters ago he only had a house key and a Chev key. - Proofreader's note. :-)
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Doh! Reading my writing with such care can only lead to frustration. I'd recommend a much looser approach. Maybe read it while watching your favorite TV show. Or while driving. It's better with that level of attention to detail, I fear.
Good catch! I should do something about that.
By the way, since we're proofreading, Chevy has a "Y" on the end. :)
Hello, Talena.
Posted by: Talena | March 15, 2007 at 22:55