Dr. St. Cross sat in his home office wearing a phone headset and numbly shifting his wheelchair back and forth by the wheels. His jade eyes were fixed on the large glass aquarium across the room, in which several brightly colored snakes slid noiselessly over a tangle of branches. The music coming through the headset was painfully monotonous, but he patiently waited.
“American Sentience Movement, how may I help you?” a voice said finally.
“Intern Jack Stickney, please,” the shrink requested.
“Hold please.”
The music resumed briefly, then the line clicked, and Stickney answered.
The psychiatrist spoke briskly: “Jack, it’s Dr. St. Cross from Saint Michael Hospital.”
“Oh. Hello, Doc.” The intern on the line sounded less than thrilled.
“I wonder if you could tell me where Chester Williams is. I can’t seem to contact him; he’s out of town, I’m told.”
“Yes, he’s out of town. He will check his messages when he gets back.”
“You couldn’t just tell me where he is?”
“Why in the world would I do that?”
“C’mon Jack, you know why I’m calling. I can’t seem to get in touch with Dr. deTarlo either, and it’s urgent.”
“It would have to be extremely urgent.”
“Oh it is. It’s in regards to their patient.”
“Their patient.” If Jack knew what St. Cross was talking about, he was doing a good job of sounding clueless.
“Look, it’s no secret that Kelly Road got a green light. I just need to talk with deTarlo or Chester as soon as possible.”
Jack sighed a long, heavy sigh. He sounded very put out, but he always did. St. Cross had been in contact with this particular intern several times over the last year in his mission to bring Aidriel to the attention of the organization’s lead Passerist. Finally, Jack had given in and written a report about the case, which he sent to Williams, who had read and dismissed it. Ever since, Stickney didn’t bother to hide his annoyance when the psychiatrist continued to call him.
St. Cross could hear Jack tapping his keyboard and making soft affirmations to himself while he looked for information. It surprised the shrink that the intern didn’t know immediately where Kelly Road was located.
“How’s your internship going, by the way?” St. Cross asked in a friendly tone.
“Could be better.”
“Oh, I apologize, but my offer to show you around the Psychology Center will have to be postponed indefinitely.”
“Oh?”
“I had an accident and find myself confined to a chair on wheels.”
“A car accident?”
“No.”
“You couldn’t reach anyone at Kelly Road ’cause they aren’t there anymore.”
St. Cross was simultaneously surprised and concerned.
“Where are they?”
“The most current status says they’re in Ohio, traveling northwest by car. The itinerary appears to be to meet the jet in Cleveland.”
“They’re on the move, then.”
“Yes.”
“Is there any way to get a message to them?”
“If it’s a very urgent message, I can have it sent to Williams’s personal cell, though he won’t like it if it’s not important.”
“It is important.”
“Go ahead.”
“Tell him St. Cross wants his patient back.”
Jack hung up on him. In an uncharacteristic display of anger, the psychiatrist flung away his headset and slammed his fist down on his desk.
Chester and deTarlo’s yelling match awakened Aidriel from a sound sleep, and he found himself in a bed at a fancy hotel; the name The Pen Ryn was embroidered above the silhouette of a White House–esque building emblazoned on the decorative pillows around his head. He ached all over, but his first thought was how strange it was that he was quite used to awakening in foreign places. It was usually a hospital, though, which was very unlike a suite like this.
The Passerist and the psychologist were standing on either side of the little dining table by the kitchenette, apparently oblivious to the effect they were having on anyone else in the room.
“I’m putting my license on the line,” deTarlo snapped. “It was impossibly difficult to keep local rescue from getting involved.”
“It’s a moot point,” replied Williams, visibly harried. “No one wants to go any further. I’m not prepared to offer them the money they’d require to stay on.”
“Then you think we should cut our losses and leave.”
Chester paused with his mouth open, his brow bent in a thoughtful frown. He ran a hand through the back of his short blond hair, the knuckles of the other resting in a fist against the tabletop.
“Look,” Ana began, her voice softened to try and convince him. “I’ve thought of this possibility, and the best thing we can do is press on. We can’t just cut the whole thing loose.”
“Whole thing?” Chester retorted. “This is a dangerous mess that is spiraling out of control.”
“What would you suggest we do? We have to keep going.”
“Do you want to drive him, then? No one else does!”
“I said I would,” cut in Dreamer, who was lying on the couch in the sitting area, her elbow bent over her face to shield her eyes. The television was on at a low volume, the channel set at some sensational biography show about a garage band that had been struck by lightning during an outdoor concert.
“Oh yeah, you will.” Ana laughed aloud, and Dreamer moved her arm to give the psychologist a dirty look.
“If she wants to, let her,” Williams said dismissively. “No one else will. Literally everyone we specifically hired for this has hightailed it for the hills, and with good reason.”
“Everyone but me,” pointed out deTarlo.
“Do I suddenly not exist?” asked Dreamer, getting up to approach them. “I said I would drive him. If I have to, I’ll rent my own car and pay for my own gas. We’ve come this far; I’ll go all the way.”
The shrink shook her head so vehemently, her usually flawless updo flopped loose. Williams arched his eyebrow at them both.
“What are you again?” he asked Dreamer.
“Besides a person? A phlebotomist.”
“Right. I don’t have a clue why he was so insistent you come along, but we appeased him. Doesn’t make you irreplaceable or anything.”
Dreamer narrowed her eyes but didn’t take the bait to start a personal argument.
“What is the big deal here, anyway?” she asked. “I said I’d drive him, and neither of you are willing to take a chance for someone else. Just throw money at it, maybe it’ll go away. I’m actually kind of surprised you even came along to see him off.”
In one swift movement, Chester stepped toward her and slapped her across the face.
“Watch your attitude, you snide little!—”
Aidriel collided with Chester with enough force to drive the latter into the table.
“Screw you and your self-righteous club,” Aidriel spat.
Dreamer did not react to the blow besides lowering her blazing eyes. She was used to taking such harsh treatment without responding emotionally; hitting had been the favorite anger outlet for a former guardian of hers, and he had not been tolerant of reciprocation of any sort.
“Knock it off!” ordered deTarlo, hushing them all. “I am still in charge here; listen to me. Dreamer will drive Aidriel to the ‘dead zone,’ and Chet and I will follow behind in a separate vehicle.”
“What ‘dead zone’?” Aidriel asked crossly, massaging his aching right shoulder.
“There is a place in Iowa that is thought to be a natural dead area to Passers,” Ana explained impatiently. “That’s where we were taking you.”
Aidriel grimaced and felt the tender bruise on the back of his head.
“Why am I being taken anywhere?” he demanded. “Why don’t we just go home to Fort Wayne?”
DeTarlo smiled slightly.
“Maybe you should read consent forms before you sign them,” she retorted snarkily. “You agreed in writing to be dependent upon our judgment until the completion of our study.”
“I thought the study was over.”
“The study isn’t over until a substantiated conclusion can be drawn in reference to your claims that the Passers are attacking you.”
“You already had your proof.”
“There weren’t any Passers at the ambulance crash when we got there.”
“You got your proof in the Bird Cage.”
“I would be willing to show you my table and hypothesis if you insist,” the shrink answered patronizingly. “It clearly outlines required conclusions necessary to publish this study, including the cause behind the attacks.”
“Ask the Passers, then,” Dreamer cut in, having recovered from the shock of the slap. “Don’t you think if he knew the cause, we wouldn’t be here?”
“What the hell do you think I’ve been spending my time doing?” snapped Chester. “I don’t know if you noticed, girl, but the Passers have been noticeably MIA from the start of this whole thing, except for, of course, when they’re mucking things up.”
Dreamer flashed a disappointed half-smile but didn’t reply.
Aidriel sat down on the arm of one of the two easy chairs in the room to rest his aching legs. He was manifestly weary and sighed silently, his gaze drifting to the floor in thought. His hand moved involuntarily up to feel his throat, where the injuries caused by his attempt to end his life had faded away. As his fingers closed slightly around his neck, he recalled vividly the sensation of the rope tightening. It had burned his skin and lungs, but the blackness was beautiful. Suffocation was a miserable way to go, and he had felt it both before and since the hanging.
But there was something liberating about dangling like that, being washed out into the sea of death, suspended, instead of curled up on the floor. When he had lost his sight before blacking out entirely, Aidriel had felt as if he were a part of the sky, floating free. There was nothing and no one around to press in and imprison him, only a total lack of boundaries, like the swirling of the winds. He hated being smothered, and that was how he was feeling now.
The urge to run returned, like when he had sensed the Passers converging on the Bird Cage. These people were just as bloodthirsty and unreasonable as the spirits. And he had signed his freedom away without considering how much worse it was than being on his own. It suddenly dawned on him, however, that he was not entirely helpless; he needed only to sign something else.
The others had waited with patient curiosity while Aidriel mused, and they looked on expectantly when he once more found his feet.
“Dr. deTarlo, could I speak with you in private?” he asked, his voice calm and soft. Dreamer and Chester exchanged a surprised look but did not comment.
“We’ll see about a car,” stated Williams. Dreamer pursed her lips in disappointment, but reluctantly followed the Passerist out of the room, the red shape of his handprint still visible on her cheek.
Williams’s security staff and assistant were set up in an adjoining suite, waiting at his beck and call. Chester paused in the open doorway, thoughtfully regarding the men at their busy work.
“Nearest car rental,” he requested of his slim assistant, who typed and clicked hurriedly on his laptop for a minute or two before telling Williams the address.
“Would you like for me to set up a rental?” the assistant asked, his hand hovering at the ready over his mouse.
“It’s within walking distance, yes? I’ll go there myself. I need to get out of here for a while.”
“Just six blocks, on Annie’s Street.” The assistant quickly entered the address into a GPS device and handed it over to Chester. For several moments, the Passerist examined the map and route on the touch screen without speaking. Dreamer noticed one of the security staff was peering outside through binoculars from behind the moleskin curtains on the farthest of the windows, reminding her of a spy flick.
“Alright,” Chester said when he was satisfied with the information he had gleaned. He gathered a few things from a table near the door. Stepping out, Williams gestured for Dreamer to come. She hesitated, but realized it was within his power to block her from seeing Aidriel, even if she punished the unacceptable way he had treated her by quitting.
In the elevator, they stared silently forward, she caressing her stinging cheek, he pulling a knit cap down over his hair and zipping up his jacket. He looked at her thoughtfully and saw the mark on her face, but did not apologize.
“You’ll get a raise,” he said nonchalantly, as if that was all required to avoid a lawsuit. “A substantial one. And a car or something.”
Dreamer furrowed her brow unhappily, opening her mouth to reply but checking herself. If she had to turn the other cheek to hang on to her part in this, she would. She could be tolerant. They were coming back to her now, the things she’d heard about Chester’s famous temper. She’d just have to tread more carefully from now on.
They passed through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk, Williams glancing at the GPS and turning left, slipping sunglasses on simultaneously. Dreamer took a few quick hop-steps to catch up and walk beside him. She winced at the pain in her limbs that the swift movement caused, and wished she had taken more painkillers before they left. The bruising effects of the ambulance crash were still very present to her nerves.
On the outside The Pen Ryn looked nothing like the building printed as its logo; it was high and grand and surveyed the surrounding city center with gleaming window eyes, but was only a rectangular skyscraper. It was not the tallest building in the area, but the muted stonework was impressive from the front, nothing like the nondescript cement wall that filled the view from the parking garage at the rear. Looking up and back over her shoulder at it, Dreamer got the awed sense of being little and inexperienced in a major city. While Fort Wayne was not a small town, the phlebotomist had not traveled much, and was largely impressed by her surroundings. She impulsively wanted to express her wide-eyed interest to Williams, but he was clearly unmoved by the sights.
For the first block neither spoke, and they pretended to be oblivious to the presence of the other. Chester looked around continuously, and Dreamer saw that he was looking at the faces of all the spirits nearby. He even looked for seconds at a time at what appeared to her to be nothing at all, though she assumed he could see the invisible spirits. Her Passer was nowhere to be seen.
“What did it look like?” Dreamer asked finally, turning sideways to avoid a woman with a stroller coming in the opposite direction.
“What did what look like?” responded Williams, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
“The attack in the Bird Cage.”
“It looked like a mob of Passers beating someone to death.”
Dreamer wanted more details, but couldn’t think of how to ask.
“Why do you think the Passers didn’t stick around after the ambulance crashed?” she inquired instead.
“You got me. It’s as if they do strange things like that just to throw us, so we don’t know what to expect.”
Up ahead, Williams’s Passer, Rod, appeared from around a corner and stopped to wait on the sidewalk, exchanging nods of greeting with Chester and falling into step beside them.
“My friend,” Rod greeted in the manner that Passers used only when speaking to their living companion.
“Where have you been?” asked Williams.
“Wandering.” It was what Passers always said when they were asked their whereabouts.
“I can speak plainly about your ‘patient’ while I am far from him,” Rod continued after a moment. “My deepest desire since first I clapped eyes on him has been to harm him. Even now, it requires my strongest resolve not to run to where he is and attack.”
“Why’s that?” Chester asked calmly. Rod appeared to exhale slowly and shrug, its face grim and resolute. Dreamer watched the Passer tensely, wondering if it would do as it said.
“Something about him inspires the purest, hottest of hatreds,” the ghost explained. “All control is lost in the instinct to cause him pain.”
Dreamer glared at the Passer, but wasn’t noticed.
The spirits were, for all intents and purposes, humans without bodies. While they were often plagued by the pain of their demise, they could also feel other emotions and were influenced by conversation. They could not fly or travel from one place to another any faster than they could run, and she was pretty sure they were not often, if ever, seen in any type of vehicle while it was moving. Their range of vision and knowledge was only as broad as their experiences, but they had an uncanny sense of what would happen next. Because of this sense, they often affected the outcome of future events.
Though she was not old enough to have seen the beginning of the Sentience, Dreamer had learned of it in her history education at school, and had seen videos online and on television. She had witnessed the records of the greatest kindnesses the Passers had done, including showing engineers the flaws in trains and airplanes, warning about impending floods and fires, and even guiding lost travelers out of the wilderness. Everyone had experienced a lifesaving intervention by a Passer at some time in their life. Dreamer’s was when she was ten and was on a camping trip with her Girl Scout troop. She still had nightmares about the bear.
“This trip makes me miss the protests,” Chester commented bitterly, breaking a brief silence.
“You’d rather be cussed at and have stuff thrown at you?” Dreamer asked him. Williams shrugged his shoulders but smirked.
“What exactly is the upset now, anyway?” asked the phleb. “I haven’t been keeping informed.”
“Overpopulation,” Chester answered. “People seem to think that Passers are preventing too many deaths, and that the world is becoming overpopulated.”
“Is that true?”
“Of course not. Passers prevent such a small amount of accidents, it isn’t making much difference. People still die of natural causes and illnesses, suicides have increased, and many accidental deaths are because people are less cautious. They think that because Passers can see what is coming, that they’ll prevent every death. If there is no warning, people think there must be no danger.”
“Doesn’t that tie in with why the Passers are here?”
“In what way do you mean?”
“I mean the belief that Passers aren’t supposed to be here. The Sentience was an extreme imbalance in the spiritual planes, most likely an accidental one that the Passers took advantage of, and there aren’t supposed to be so many of them. Ghosts used to be mostly oblivious to living people, but now they are controlling and try to bend the real world to how they want it. It’s unnatural how the dead hold so much sway over the living. The rate or manner in which people are dying is directly affected by the ghosts and is only increasing their number. The Passers are power-hungry.”
As she spoke, she glanced distrustfully at Rod, but the spirit did not appear to be listening.
“That’s a popular view on things.” Chester’s tone kept his opinion about her statement ambiguous.
“It’s kind of the only view that makes sense,” Dreamer pointed out. “Aidriel could really be a poster child for it. If the naysayers heard about him, they’d have a perfect example to support their hatred for the Passers and their intrusion.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Williams’s voice steeled almost threateningly. “That would be a bad thing for A.S.M.”
“How would deTarlo’s report about Aidriel affect the protests, then?”
Chester made a face and stuffed his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders as he walked.
“That was a part of our contract,” he said. “In exchange for using the Bird Cage, she had to sign an agreement that the study would not be published for at least eighteen months.”
“And what did you plan to do with Aidriel when the study was completed?”