Blindspots Read online

"Now," said Indra. "I suggest you get some rest during the ride. We are all going to need it."

  17.

  Daedalus

  Nestor paced, counting off steps in the small room, wringing his hands like an expectant father. A single mission-style lamp highlighted the room in a soft amber glow. He eyed the paintings on the walls, the quaint landscape scenes, the snow-capped peaks and cabins in the woods.

  He'd had enough of the snow and the cold. Enough of this frozen misery. Enough waiting. He still wore the same wet, chilled clothes, the socks, pants and sweatshirt he had been wearing for two days.

  This was intolerable. He stopped and glared at the door. Why weren't they coming? He was here, at the end of his quest. He had to see the woman, Monica; had to pry the secrets from her, one way or another. Or he would have to try with Jake. He--

  The doorknob turned and the door creaked. It opened slowly inward, agonizingly slow, as the shadows beyond stretched out to him.

  Nestor froze, turning toward the hazy figure outlined in the dark beyond the lamp's feeble reach. Someone, alone. Thin, so thin he almost wasn't sure anyone was there.

  "Nestor," came a whisper.

  His lips cracked, his mouth dried up. A bone-white hand emerged into the light, and without thinking, his own stretched out meet it. Fingers touched, grasped, and then he was gently, slowly, pulling her forward.

  A faceless woman, so thin and frail, yet composed and powerful. Ash-gold hair spilling down her face. He felt as if she held back her strength, and if she wanted to, she could tighten her grasp and shatter every bone in his hand. Her eyes – what he could make of them, were glossy-white and wrong somehow.

  "Nestor," she whispered again as the door eased shut. "Thank you for waiting." In a blink, she was pressed close to him. He gasped and his lungs cleared and he breathed in a cool, fresh scent like the freedom of death.

  "I-- I have come to destroy the Scourge…" He tried to form the last word but she placed a finger on his lips and his lips felt like they had turned to brittle parchment.

  "Ah yes, the Scourge."

  "Where… is it?"

  "I'll show you just how close it is."

  He choked, desert air whispering through his bone-dry teeth.

  "Just listen to my voice, Nestor."

  He nodded, eyes swimming in and out of focus.

  "Think of an hourglass."

  Nestor's breath lodged in his throat.

  "It's in a room, a vault – deep, deep in your soul. You are in the dark, heading there right now."

  "Is the Scourge down there?"

  "Yes, Nestor. Be patient, you're almost there."

  He shuddered as the blackness descended across his vision, everything else dimming – but not before he noticed that the paintings on the walls had changed, their colors more vibrant – and now they were populated. People standing outside the cabin, toiling up the mountain. People that seemed familiar. Some wore hiking gear that he remembered; others he recognized only by the pattern of blood splatters down their shirts. Dozens of them, standing in the wilderness, heads down. Throats slashed, eyes gouged out, punctures, slashes through their flesh.

  He had a moment to wonder how he could be seeing all this, when he felt someone's lips brushing against his neck, a breath in his ear, and then the room disappeared, replaced by near-darkness.

  "Are you seeing it?"

  "Yes, but I'm lost. I can't… So dark…"

  "Just wait… now, you should see a dim light ahead."

  "Yes, I see it."

  A hot breath across his cheek, and an echoing whisper: "Follow it."

  "I'm there," he said after gathering his courage and striding forward into that nether-realm, the world he knew had to be the entrance to Hell. Quick, confident steps ahead. This is it…

  "Are you there?"

  "Yes."

  Another tingling brush of her lips, followed by words – soothing, long-awaited words. Powerful words, syllables, phrases, echoing so deep, past his muscles, boring into his bones and drilling like a sonic charge through the wall of his spirit.

  He had backed up – or he had been pushed-- then lowered onto the bed. Still the whispers came, seeking, probing around in his soul until isolating one dark, occluded place, a lonely, secret place he never knew existed, a place as ancient as memory, existing long before Nestor Simms ever did.

  More words – strange sounds full of consonants. Resonating in power and fury.

  Then, something at last he could understand: "Open the door…"

  "Yes…"

  "Step inside…"

  "I'm in…" Nestor gasped, and his rolled-back eyes were opposing mirrors of Alexa's as his inner vision beheld the source of all his pain. "An hourglass…" He almost choked on the words, his chest heaving as he saw the lone object hanging suspended in the dark, glimmering with a crimson radiance.

  "Break it, Nestor! Do it now…"

  In his mind, he watched himself move with purpose, with power. Here it was, right here, diabolically lodged in the very core of his soul. And now he understood at last…

  This woman, his savior, had led him to it, made him face the nearly unbearable truth: that he himself carried the Scourge. A blur of motion, and he swept the hourglass up in his huge hands, then hurled it against the far wall.

  It shattered into a hundred shards that hung poised with the sand crystals for several seconds – and then everything scattered as if blown by the wind into the resurging darkness.

  He shuddered, trembled and relaxed.

  "You're free, Nestor. Open your eyes."

  He did, and then he took a breath – a clear, open breath. And he saw – saw the face above his. The sharp, witch-like hair falling over her eyes, slicing, tickling his skin. The slim lips, the high elfish cheekbones and the blazing opaque eyes – turned away from his own, as if refusing even this minor aspect of intimacy.

  Suddenly he became aware of himself, rock-hard beneath her, and her hands moving, adjusting, freeing, and then he was inside her, and she was smiling, her tongue darting snakelike into his suddenly wet mouth.

  "Free," she whispered, slamming her hips down upon him. "Free… You can see again."

  "The Scourge…" he stammered, getting the words in between her fierce kisses, the biting, almost tearing snaps at his neck. "It was in me all along, but you've taken it away."

  "Oh yes."

  "All those people I killed…"

  "It wasn't you. And now you're free. Free of the past, free of demons and ghosts alike."

  "Who are you? An angel?"

  She smiled. "An angel… I like that."

  He grunted and the room continued to spin, faster this time as he felt her nails digging into the flesh of his back, scraping his spine, and he had the abrupt, certain fear that she would sink her teeth into his neck and rip out his jugular in the height of her passion.

  He exploded within her, a blinding crescendo of pain and pleasure. And just as quick, as if disgusted with herself, she was off him, backing away, into the shadows.

  Nestor's pulse subsided, his breathing relaxed. And then he heard her silky voice. "You're special, Nestor. Different from the others. And because of your… talents, I would ask of you a favor."

  "But those things I did…" He held his head, and a crimson montage of faceless, writhing victims flashed in his mind.

  "Yes, I know you feel the need to atone. Trust in me, and I will give you the opportunity for redemption."

  Nestor swallowed, tasting a gritty residue. He looked down and saw himself, vulnerable, exposed, yet paralyzed still in the aftermath of an experience too exquisite to believe. One he might just have to reconcile as a dream.

  "I am yours," Nestor whispered. "What can I do?"

  "There are others," she said, gliding back toward the door. "Others with the Scourge."

  "Monica. Jake."

  "Yes, and two others. They too, must be cured. Exorcised."

  "Like… what you just did to me?"

  A chuckle. "
No, no. You were special. The others can be freed by my voice alone. But you… I came to you tonight because I believe you can help me. The Scourge is strong, it seeks to evade me even now, when I'm so close. There are others here who seek to defend it, hide it from me, to keep me from my sacred duty."

  "No…" His heart lurched again, pounding. Anger suddenly boiled in his veins.

  "Yes, Nestor. Listen carefully. I need you."

  "But you have other strong men – I've seen them."

  "They lack your skills, skills you have proven on your journey here. Your single-mindedness. And besides, my other assistants… will not be with me for much longer. You will now be my eyes and ears. The others – those with the Scourge – go to them, act as one of them. Get them to trust you. And come back to me when you have learned what I need to know."

  Nestor sat up, suddenly finding the strength. He fumbled with his zipper, then staggered forward and dropped to his knees as she retreated completely into the shadows.

  He glanced at the paintings, but saw they were once again unpopulated. Barren mountaintops, empty landscapes. His soul felt just as empty. But it was a good empty, a cleansing empty.

  He was free.

  He bowed his head as the door opened.

  "I am yours."

  18.

  Daedalus – 7 A.M.

  Alexa convened the meeting in her office. She positioned herself with Atticus Sterling hanging on the wall at her back. She knew his painted face looked on in anticipation, although she also felt his recrimination. His disgust at what she had just done.

  She felt disgusted too. Revolted the few times she'd had to do that in the past eight years, but… Wasn't it wise to use all the resources at one's disposal, all the powers in one's arsenal in the pursuit of such a goal? But she shook off the feeling. In a few more days, possibly as soon as hours, this would all be over.

  Then she could start again. Fresh, clean. Virginal and pure. Everything would be different, and it was impossible – against all odds, really – that it could be any worse next time.

  Three large-screen monitors were each displaying an eight-way split, with different faces appearing in each. All of the sixteen men and women were marked with similar tattoos on their necks. Inside her office, Critchwell and Stoltz stood with Ursula on one side of the desk, and Maria Eduardo and Dominic Greiner stood on the other. She could feel their presences, and in some cases, she could smell them – their perfume, or in Critchwell's case, that repugnant Polo aftershave, lingering after two days still without a shower. She had kept them all busy. Especially in the past week, but busy enough during the past eight years.

  "The wait is almost over, my friends. Our task almost complete." She spoke calmly, forcefully to the ceiling, her arms at her side. "For those of you in the field, your work is done, and you have my eternal gratitude. We have four of the Six here, and the two I had feared lost have been located." She nodded to the middle screen, where she knew Edmund Vrees was watching, accepting her acknowledgement. He'd done good work, tapping his contacts at Homeland Security, keeping a lookout for a pair of passport flags.

  "Indra has been accounted for. And a woman fitting the description of Kaitlin Abrams was aboard Indra's private flight from Heathrow, which landed in Boston just an hour ago. Our sources confirm they took a chartered Hummer and made it to the Interstate heading west." She beamed at the room. "Heading here."

  A rumble of satisfaction broke out in the room. "We have only to wait and greet them at the door." She turned to face the back wall, the portrait of Dr. Sterling, Sr.

  "You have all done a tremendous job, and each of you will get your promised reward." She pointed to her left, along the wall, where two cardboard boxes sat. "The champagne is here for my team, and in the field, each of you have your prepared vials. Mix it with the champagne and raise your glasses. It's time. Time for those of you outside of Daedalus. Very soon, we will all be together, but for now…"

  Murmurs among the others on the intercom; in the room, excited whispers.

  Alexa spun around with cat-like quickness. Her hair was coming undone after a lame attempt to fix it following Nestor's… conversion. It fell over her face, her glossy eyes shining through the dark glasses. "You may raise your glasses in celebration. Drink, and fly to your predecessors in eternity. We shall reunite very soon."

  The five members of her local team came forward and stood close around Alexa, hands in their pockets as they watched their brothers and sisters on the monitors. Watched them pour something into their celebratory glasses. Pour, and then raise their glasses.

  Each one had a glazed look in their eyes, an afterglow of an immense passion that had left them drained, susceptible and compliant. The people on the monitors toasted each other, bowed to Alexa.

  And drank.

  Everyone in Alexa's office hung their heads as one by one, the faces in the monitors contorted, eyes turned white, tongues lolled and blood spilled from their noses; they dropped from view, or collapsed back in their chairs. After another minute, the screens sparked and went black.

  Alexa sighed. "It is done."

  Inwardly, she smiled. They were fools to believe she'd share the secret with them. Sure, she had gone tinkering in their minds, but never to the extent necessary for what they wanted. Never as deep as with the Six.

  No, where she was going next, she'd go alone. Much better that way, or else such power and knowledge would need to be shared. And that was simply not acceptable.

  What was the point of Godhood if it had to be shared, even a little?

  "Do not fear," she said to those around her, holding the hands of the two closest. "Your time will come. Do your jobs today. Find and subdue Indra and Kaitlin. Keep the others from leaving."

  "When will you attend to Monica and Jake?" Ursula asked.

  Alexa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Now."

  19.

  Daedalus, 7:30 A.M.

  Jake awoke to an insistent knocking at his door. Groggy, he rose and met Dr. Gabriel Sterling outside.

  "Where's Nestor Simms?" Gabriel asked, his eyes shifting to the hallway cameras as he spoke.

  "Dunno," Jake replied, yawning. "The big guy is a little odd, and… well, despite the fact that I can actually see his face, let's just say I'm glad we didn't have to share a bunk."

  "You can see him," Gabriel asked, "really see his face, visualize it, rationalize the features?"

  Jake nodded. "The whole shebang. And that woman on the news, too. They're the only ones."

  "Ever?"

  "Ever. My whole life."

  "And Nestor – he had the same reaction to you?"

  "Exactly."

  Gabriel nodded, as if checking off a box on a questionnaire. "Okay, listen. We need to talk. You, Nestor and I. He's not in his room, so let's go check the cafeteria – they opened at seven. Maybe he was hungry."

  "I know I am," Jake said, and had to stop himself from making a crack about prison food. He forgot, only the woman he had spoken to – Alexa – knew about him; this doctor might just as easily recognize his name from the news and turn him in.

  Jake had to hold back all his questions until they made it down the stairs, crossed the lobby and entered a large room with diners in several lines gathering around the food stations, a coffee area and a drink machine. He followed the doctor to a small table in the back where they found Nestor leaning forward, arms folded, staring down at a cup of steaming coffee. He seemed at peace, remarkably relaxed, Jake thought, compared to his agitation last night. At the table, Jake had to pause and marvel again at how Nestor's face seemed so perfectly resolved, the details fixed in acute clarity.

  Gabriel cleared his throat, reached over and shook the man's reluctantly-offered hand. "Nestor Simms? Good morning. I'm Dr. Gabriel Sterling. And obviously you've met Jake Griffith…"

  "Sure have," Nestor said, smiling.

  "Just yesterday," said Jake. "But I'm hoping you can help us remember where we've met before that, cuz nothing make
s a shit's worth of sense anymore. Not since I saw Monica Gilman's picture on the news – and then saw Nestor on the road last night."

  Gabriel took a seat, and Jake did the same. "I'm sorry to say, I'm as much in the dark right now as you, but I can tell you that you're both special in some way. We need to try to determine why you all can see each other. But I'm afraid the process won't be easy, or quick. And unfortunately, we don't have much time." Gabriel glanced around nervously, and Jake noticed that his attention lingered near the entrance to the cafeteria, at the large bald man standing there as if on guard. The same one from last night – at that strange basement door.

  "Unless either of you are different, you probably don't remember ever being here, or…"

  "It's weirdly familiar somehow," Jake said. "That's why I took a little tour last night."

  Gabriel stiffened. "You what?"

  "Sorry, but this is a sinister little place you got here, doc. Especially the basement."

  "You've been down there?"

  "Didn't get too far," said Jake. "WWF-type guy – that's him at the door – turned me back around." He frowned, studying the doctor's reaction. "I take it you haven't spent much time down there either? They don't let you in that room in the back?"

  "No." Gabriel said, and merely shook his head. "Okay, listen. Here's what I know, and feel free to stop me at any time. There are four of you so far. The two of you, plus a patient who… died a few hours ago. Monica--"

  "--Gilman," Nestor said, perking up. He leaned forward on his big arms. "Where is this woman? I came looking for her, expecting her. Why isn't she here?"

  Gabriel lowered his voice. "She's hidden away. For now. And that's what we need to talk about. I believe you're all in danger. The other patient I talked about? His name was Franklin Baynes."

  Jake cleared his throat. "You said he died last night?"

  "Yes. Look, we don't have much time. A woman named Alexa Pearl runs this facility."

  "I spoke to her before… before I left Florida," Jake said. "But this morning, when you introduced yourself – I figured you were the head honcho."