Black Page 23

  Gains sat up a bit. This evasiveness wasn’t like Bob. Something was up, not only in his voice but in this mention of the narrowly defeated bill Merton had introduced two years earlier when he was a senator. It was up again, with some alterations and his name still attached. The bill would impose strict restrictions on the flood of new vaccines hitting the market by demanding they pass a comprehensive battery of tests. Two years had passed since his youngest daughter, Corina, had died of autoimmune disease after mistakenly being administered a new AIDS vaccine. The FDA had approved the vaccine. Gains had successfully had it barred, but other vaccines were entering the market every month, and the casualties were mounting.

  “If you don’t spit it out, I’m going to send some muscle over there to force it out of you,” he said. It was something he could say only to a man like Bob, the locker room cutup who’d once owned the best three-point shot in college ball. They all knew Merton Gains would go out of his way to step over an ant if it wandered onto the sidewalk.

  “I’ll remember to keep my door locked,” Bob said. He sighed. “I got a strange call a couple of days ago from a man who called himself Thomas Hunter. He—”

  “The same Thomas Hunter from the situation in Bangkok?” Gains asked. The incident had fallen in his lap earlier today. An American citizen identified as Thomas Hunter from flight records had kidnapped Monique de Raison and another unidentified woman in the lobby of the Sheraton. The French were up in arms, the Thais were demanding intervention, even the stock market had reacted. Raison Pharmaceutical wasn’t exactly unknown. The timing couldn’t have been worse—they’d just announced their new vaccine.

  In Gains’s mind, the timing was about right.

  “Yes, I think it could be,” Bob said.

  “He called you? When?”

  “A few days ago. From Denver. He said that the Raison Vaccine would mutate into a deadly virus and wipe out half the world’s population. Nut-case stuff.”

  Not necessarily. “Okay, so we have a nut case who’s managed to wing his way over to Thailand and kidnap the daughter of Jacques de Raison. That much the world already knows. He say anything else?”

  “Actually, yes. I didn’t think about it until I saw his name today on the wires. Like you said: a nut case, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, he told me that the winner of the Kentucky Derby was Joy Flyer.”

  “So? Wasn’t the Derby three days ago?”

  “Yes. But he called me before the race. He got the information from his dreams, the same place he learned that the Raison Vaccine—”

  “He actually told you the name of the winner before the race?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Crazy, I know.”

  Gains looked out the side window. Couldn’t see a thing past the streams of water sliding down the glass. He’d heard of some crazy things in his time, but this was shaping up for prime bar talk.

  “Did you place a bet?”

  “Unfortunately, I put the call out of my mind until today, when I saw his name again. But I did some checking. His sister, Kara Hunter, won over $300,000 on the race. They were in Atlanta where they made a bit of a scene at the CDC.”

  Something definitely wasn’t right here. “So we have two nut cases. I haven’t seen her profile.”

  “She’s a nurse. Graduated with honors. Sharp gal, from what I can see. Not your typical nut case.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking this kid knows something.”

  “I’m just saying he said he knew about Joy Flyer, and he did. And he says he knows something about this Raison Vaccine. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Okay, Bob. Suffice it to say that Thomas Hunter is thoroughly deluded—the street corners of America are filled with similar types, usually of the variety who carry signs and rant loudly about the end of the world. This is good. At least we have motivation. You’re right, though, this needs to get to the CIA and the FBI. Have you written it up?”

  “In my hand.”

  “Then get it out. The profilers will have a heyday with this. Fax me a copy, will you?”

  “Will do.”

  “And do me a favor. If he calls again, ask him who’s winning the NBA championship.”

  That got a chuckle.

  Gains folded his phone and crossed his legs. And what if Thomas Hunter did know something other than who would win the Kentucky Derby? Impossible, of course, but then so was knowing who would win the Kentucky Derby.

  Hunter had flown out of Atlanta. The headquarters for the CDC were in Atlanta. That would make sense. Hunter thinks a virus is about to ravage the world, he goes to the CDC, and when they grin at his preposterous claims, he goes straight to the source of the so-called virus.

  Bangkok.

  Interesting. A true-blue nut case. Certifiable.

  Then again, how often did lunacy win you $300,000 at the horse track?

  22

  Thomas.”

  A sweet voice. Calling his name. Like honey. Thomas.

  “Thomas, wake up.”

  A woman’s voice. Her hand was on his cheek. He was waking, but he wasn’t sure if he was really awake yet. The hand on his cheek could be part of a dream. For a moment, he let it be a dream.

  He relished that dream. This was Monique’s hand on his cheek. The strong-headed French woman who’d been horrified that he might actually die. Thomas! she’d cried. Thomas!

  No, no. This wasn’t Monique. This was Rachelle. Yes, that was better. Rachelle was kneeling beside him, caressing his cheek with her hand. Leaning over him, whispering his name. Thomas. Her lips were reaching out to touch his lips. Time to wake the handsome prince.

  “Thomas?”

  He jerked his eyes open. Blue sky. Waterfall. Rachelle.

  He gasped and sat up. He was still on the beach where he’d fallen asleep during the night. He glanced around. No animals were in sight. No Roush. Only Rachelle.

  “Do you remember?” she asked.

  He did remember. The lake. Diving deep. Ecstasy. It still lingered here on the sound of the waterfall.

  “Yes. I’m beginning to remember,” he said. “What time is it?”

  “Midday. The others are preparing.”

  He also remembered the Crossing and Teeleh’s claim that he’d crash-landed. “They’re preparing for what?”

  “For the Gathering tonight.” She said it as though he should know this.

  “Of course.” He looked at the lucent waters that stretched across the lake, tempted to swim again. Could he just dive in anytime he wanted to? He pushed himself to his knees. “Actually, I don’t remember everything just yet.”

  “What don’t you remember?”

  “Well . . . I don’t know. If I knew, I would remember. But I think I understand the Great Romance. It’s about Elyon.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes.”

  “It’s about choosing and rescuing and winning love because that’s what Elyon does.”

  “Yes!” she cried.

  “And it’s something we do because we are like Elyon in that way.”

  “You’re saying that you want to choose me?”

  “I am?”

  She arched a brow. “And now you’re trying to be tricky about it by pretending that you’re not. But really you’re desperate for my love, and you want me to be desperate for your love.”

  He knew that she was exactly right. It was the first time he could admit it to himself, but hearing her say it, Tom knew that he was falling in love with this woman who knelt by him on the banks of the lake. He was meant to woo her, but she was wooing him.

  She was waiting for him to say something.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Rachelle jumped to her feet. “Come!”

  He pushed himself up and brushed the sand from his seat. “What should we do?”

  “We should walk through the forest,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I will help you remember.”

  “Remember the forest?”
>
  They started up the slope. “I was thinking other thoughts. But that would be nice too.”

  She turned back and stopped. “What is that?”

  He followed her eyes and saw it clearly. A large blotch of red discolored the white sand where he’d slept.

  Blood.

  He blinked. His dream? The fight in the hotel flashed through his mind.

  No, it couldn’t be. It was only a dream. He had no wounds.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I swam through some red waters in the lake, maybe from that?”

  “You never know what will happen with Elyon,” she said. “Only that it will be wonderful. Come.”

  They left the lake. But the red stain on the sand lingered in Tom’s mind. There was the possibility, however remote, that he was different from Rachelle. That he really wasn’t from here. That Rachelle was falling in love with someone who wasn’t what he seemed.

  That Teeleh was right.

  An hour later the thought was gone.

  They walked and laughed, and Rachelle toyed with his mind in lovely ways that only strengthened his resolve to win her. Very slowly they began to set aside the charade and embrace something deeper.

  She showed him three new combat moves Tanis had shown her, two aerial and one from a prone position, in the event one fell while fighting, she said. He managed them all, but never with the same precision she demonstrated. Once she had to catch him when he toppled off balance toward her.

  She had rescued him. He found it immensely appealing.

  He immediately returned the favor by fighting off a hundred phantom Shataiki, sweeping her from her feet in the process. Unlike Tanis and Palus, he did not fall. It was quite a feat, and he began to feel very good about himself.

  Rachelle sauntered beside him, hands clasped behind her back, lost in thought.

  “Tell me more about your dreams,” she said without looking at him.

  “They’re nothing. Nonsense.”

  “Oh? That’s not what Tanis thinks. I want to know more. How real are they?”

  Tanis was talking about his dreams? The last thing on Earth Tom wanted to do right now was discuss his dreams. Particularly with Rachelle. But he couldn’t very well lie to her. “They seem real enough. But they’re the histories. A totally different reality.”

  “Yes, so You’ve said. So it’s like you’re really living in the histories?”

  “When I’m dreaming? Yes.”

  “And what do you think of this place” —she motioned to the trees—“in your dreams?”

  It was the worst question she could have asked. “Actually, when I’m dreaming it’s like I’m there, not here.”

  “But when you’re there, do you remember this place?”

  “Sure. It’s . . . it’s like a dream.”

  She nodded. “So I’m like a dream?”

  “You’re not a dream.” Tom could feel himself sinking. “You’re walking right beside me, and I have chosen you.”

  “I’m not sure I like these dreams of yours.”

  “And neither do I.”

  “You have a mother and a father in these dreams?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have a full life, with memories and passions and all that makes us human?”

  This was positively not good.

  She stopped on the path when he didn’t respond. “What are you doing in your dreams?”

  He had to tell her at some point. She’d forced the issue now. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes. I want to know everything.”

  Tom paced, thinking of the best way to put it so that she could understand. “I’m living in the histories, before the Great Deception, trying to stop the Raison Strain. Trust me, it’s a horrible thing, Rachelle. It’s so real! Like I’m really there, and all of this here is a dream! I know it’s not, of course, but when I’m there, I also know that is real.” Was this a good way to put it? Somehow he doubted there was a good way to put it.

  He continued before she could ask another question. Better that he control the direction of his confession.

  “And yes, I have a full history in my dreams. Memories, a family, the full textures of real life.”

  “That’s absurd,” she said. “You’ve created a fantasy world with as much detail as the real one. Even more because in your dreams you haven’t lost your memories. You have your own history there, but here you don’t .Is that it?”

  “Exactly!”

  “It’s preposterous!”

  “I can hardly stand it. It’s maddening. Just before you woke me up by the lake, I was fighting a man who was intent on killing me. I think he did kill me! Three shots with a gun to the body.” He tapped his chest.

  “Really? A gun? Some kind of fanciful weapon, I assume. And why were you fighting this man?”

  Tom spoke without thinking. “He was trying to capture Monique.”

  “Monique. A woman?”

  “A woman who means nothing to me!” No, that wasn’t completely honest. “Not in a romantic way.”

  “You’re in love with another woman in your dreams?”

  “Of course not. Not at all. Her name is Monique de Raison, and she may be the key to stopping the Raison Strain. I’m helping her because she may help me save the world, not because she’s beautiful. I can’t just ignore her because you don’t want me dreaming about her.”

  Too much information.

  He was sure he saw a flash in Rachelle’s eyes. Jealousy obviously was a sentiment that flowed from Elyon’s veins. “You talk as if your dreams are more important than reality. Do you doubt that any of this is real?” She swept her hand to indicate the forest again. “That I am real? That our romance is real?”

  “Never. Only when I’m dreaming.”

  He had to stop before he lost her completely.

  Rachelle stared at him for a long time. He decided to keep his mouth shut. It was doing him no favors. She crossed her arms and looked away.

  “I don’t like these dreams of yours, Thomas Hunter. I really wish that you would stop them.”

  “I’m sure they will stop. I don’t like them either.”

  “You are here. With me. I watched you sleep on the shores of the lake just an hour ago. Believe me when I say you weren’t fighting a man, and you weren’t killed. Your body was here! If I’d pinched you, you would have woken.”

  “That’s right. And there was no Monique. It’s just a dream, I know. I’m here. With you.”

  Her features softened. “Maybe your dreams are nothing more than a fascinating discovery. But I’m not sure how I feel about your dreaming of another woman when I’m in your arms. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Rachelle didn’t seem completely satisfied. “Other than trying to save the world, what do you do in the histories?”

  “Well . . . I think I’m a writer. Though not a very good one, I’m afraid.”

  “A storyteller! You’re a storyteller. Maybe that’s why you’re dreaming. You’ve hit your head, lost your memory, and forgotten how to tell stories like you did in your own village. But your subconscious hasn’t forgotten. You’re making up a grand story in your dreams!”

  She just could be right. In fact, more likely than not.

  “Maybe. What is Tanis saying?”

  “That he and you might be successful in mounting an expedition to the black forest using information from your dreams of the histories. I think it’s just a storyteller’s fantasy, but he’s quite excited.”

  Alarm spread through Tom’s mind. Clearly Michal’s warning hadn’t affected Tanis.

  “He said that?”

  “Yes. If I hadn’t insisted on coming to the lake alone to find you when Michal told us you were here, he would have come too. He says that he has some new ideas to share with you.”

  Tom made a mental note to avoid the man until he sorted this out.

  “I’m glad you came alone,” he said.

  “So am I.”

  “A
nd I’ll try not to dream.”

  “Or better, dream of me.”

  The gathering that night washed away any fears and doubts lingering in Tom’s mind. They swept up the path to the lake, silent during the last half of the fifteen-minute trek. Tom ran onto a patch of white sand on the right side of the lake. He absently realized that the red blotch was gone.

  As far as memory permitted, this was his first Gathering.

  A warm mist from the waterfall already floated across the group. Many of the people were already prone on the sand, their hands outstretched toward the thundering water.

  Tom fell to his knees, heart pounding with anticipation. It had been too long, far too long. A warm mist suddenly hit his face. His vision exploded with a red fireball and he gasped, sucking more of the mist into his lungs.

  Elyon.

  He was aware of the wetness tickling his tongue. The sweetest taste of sugar laced with a hint of cherry flooded his mouth. He swallowed. The aroma of gardenia blossoms mushroomed in his nostrils.

  Ever so gently, Elyon’s water engulfed him, careful not to overpower his mind. But deliberately.

  The red fireball suddenly melted into a river of deep blue that flowed into the base of Tom’s skull and wound its way down his spine, caressing each nerve. Intense pleasure shot down every nerve path to Tom’s extremities. He dropped to his belly, body shaking in earnest.

  Elyon.

  The waterfall’s pounding increased in intensity, and the mist fell steadily on his back as he lay prostrate. His mind reeled under the power of this Creator, who spoke with sights and colors and smells and emotions.

  Then the first note fell on his ears. Flew past his ears and bit into his mind. A low note, lower than the throaty roar of a million tons of fuel thundering from a rocket’s base. The rumbling tone shot up an octave, rose to a forte, and began etching a melody in Tom’s skull. He could hear no words, only music. A single melody at first, but then joined by another melody, entirely unique yet in harmony with the first. The first caressed his ears; the second laughed. And a third melody joined the first two, screaming in pleasure. And then a fourth and a fifth, until Tom heard a hundred melodies streaming through his mind, each one unique, each one distinct.

  All together not more than a single note from Elyon.