Changer (Athanor) (20 page)

“Nor I,” adds the Changer.

“Damn,” Arthur says.  “Anson A. Kridd just phoned.  Frankly, I was hoping Eddie could deal with him.”

“Have Anson call back,” Vera suggests.  “We heard on the radio that there was a major accident at the Big I.  Eddie’s probably tied up there.  Or I can talk with Anson for you.”

“No, I can handle the Spider.”

Arthur retreats into his office.

Lovern is staring into the tea leaves in his cup.

“Call Eddie,” he says to Vera.

“What?”

“Call Eddie,” Lovern repeats.  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Vera cocks an eyebrow but picking up another line, dials the number of Eddie’s car phone.

“No answer,” she says, surprised.  “Maybe he isn’t finished at the pawnshop.”

“Maybe.”

Looking quizzically at Lovern, the Changer starts removing his clothing, remembers Vera, and heads to his room.

“I’m flying over to the Big-I,” he calls.  “Omens are not to be dismissed lightly.”

“There are accidents there all the time!” Vera protests.

There is no answer.  A few moments later, a large black raven flies out of the Changer’s suite.  It croaks once and is gone.

The Changer is not completely certain why he had felt so compelled to follow up on Lovern’s “bad feeling.”  Certainly there is no great affection between himself and the wizard—indeed, he tends to distrust Lovern rather than otherwise.  Despite such thoughts, he continues to fly toward the Big I.

It is easy enough to find, coming as it does at the intersection of two highways.  Today, it would be difficult to miss, for traffic is snarled out from it in all directions.

He has to circle twice before he is absolutely certain that one of the cars below is Eddie’s.  The front end is crumpled against the rear of a tractor trailer.  Two other vehicles—a pickup truck and a minivan—are also mixed into the pileup.  The pickup has smashed into the back of Eddie’s sedan and the minivan nose first into the concrete shoulder barrier.

Emergency workers are feverishly trying cut through the driver’s side door to get to where Eddie slumps against the wheel.  The Changer takes this as a hopeful sign.  Certainly they would not be working so hard if Eddie were already dead.  There must at least be some doubt.

Elsewhere in the chaos, others are helping the driver of the pickup from his vehicle.  Blood courses from his ruined nose, but he seems to be walking on his own.  The woman from the minivan leans heavily on a police officer, her hand covering one eye.

The man who had been driving the tractor trailer apparently has suffered nothing worse than a head cut.  Holding a compress to his forehead, he is giving a statement to a police officer.  The Changer perches on the cab of the truck to eavesdrop.

“I told you, Officer,” the man says in a Texas accent.  “He sped up into me!”

“One of the witnesses claims that you suddenly changed lanes without warning.”

The truck driver, confident that no one will be able to gainsay him, shakes his head, then winces.

“I signaled, Officer,” he says self-righteously,  “Besides, how could anyone miss something the size of my rig?”

The police officer grunts.  Obviously, he is far from won over by the driver’s protestations.

With the rolling stride that marks the raven from the crow, the Changer walks to the back of the tractor trailer.  The emergency workers have cut Eddie free now.  He looks pretty bad—blood gushing down his forehead from a wide gash, eyes swelling shut, lips bruised and purple.

Ironic that both Lovern and the Changer have escaped death traps and that Eddie has been felled merely by accident.

Or was it an accident?

The idea excites the Changer so much that he hops from foot to foot.  Perhaps Eddie’s accident was not at all accidental.  Only he will know the truth.

Impulsively, the Changer decides to follow Arthur’s knight to the hospital and be on hand to question him as soon as he comes around.  In his evidently critical condition, Eddie will certainly be refused visitors.  However, no administration that has ever been designed could keep the Changer out when he is determined to get in.

When the ambulance departs, the Changer follows.  In the congested traffic, raven wings easily pace the vehicle.  As Eddie is being unloaded, the Changer lands and shifts into a field mouse.  Running as fast as his tiny legs can carry him, he slips onto the gurney and hides between the padding and the frame.

Heart beating more rapidly than he had recalled was possible, the Changer trembles: waiting, listening, terrified as only a mouse can be.

In his motel room, Sven Trout listens to the radio, waiting impatiently for the traffic report.  When the block of music ends, an obnoxiously cheerful DJ segues into commercials.  Sven listens to an ad for auto insurance, a concert appearance by a rock star whose popularity waned a decade before, a local restaurant, and a casino.  At last the traffic report comes:

“Watch out for the Big I,” a woman says over the sound of thudding helicopter blades.  “There’s been a collision between a tractor trailer and several other vehicles that’s slowing down everything for miles in all directions.  Emergency workers are on the scene now, but the congestion won’t be eased until long after rush hour.  Alternate routes strongly recommended…”

She goes on to talk about other tie-ups, but Sven is certain with that peculiar sixth sense that is his own that this first accident is the one he wants.  Initially, he feels quite cheerful, then doubt sets in.

What if Eddie wasn’t killed?  Sven doesn’t fancy talking to his allies and hearing their scorn if once again he has narrowly missed his goal.  He waits for the earliest news broadcast.  Fortunately, the wreck is a top news story.

“Rush-hour traffic was hopelessly snarled earlier this evening,” the neatly coiffed anchorman announces, “when a tractor trailer and a passenger vehicle collided on westbound I-40, at the Big I.  Miraculously, no one in any of the four vehicles involved in the accident was killed.”

A video clip of rescue workers removing an unconscious Eddie from his sedan runs as the anchorman continues his narration.

“All involved were taken to an area hospital for observation.  One man remains in the intensive care unit in critical condition.”

The announcer looks up and smiles.  The clip behind him changes to one of girls jumping around a basketball court.  “Elsewhere in the news, the Lady Lobos are doing well!  Stay with us for…”

Sven slams his thumb down on the remote, cutting off the commentary.  He cannot tolerate another failure.  Eddie is almost certainly the patient in Intensive Care.  Very well.  He will pay him a visit.  It doesn’t need to be long, nor even in private.

He wonders if Arthur will be there.  No matter, he can fool that stodgy bureaucrat—he’s done so before.  It will be harder if Lovern is also there, but Sven is willing to bet that the hospital will be restricting visitors.  Perhaps there will be no one there at all.  Perhaps Arthur will be nervously pacing in the waiting room while his undeclared rival neatly ends the life of his staunchest supporter.

Chuckling, his good mood restored, Sven contemplates his strategy.  A shapeshift will be helpful, that, a tidy white dress, and a badge.  He wishes that he had more time to design his costume, but as soon as Eddie is declared out of danger (which almost certainly will happen more rapidly than the doctors expect), Arthur will have him transferred home.  In any case, Sven has faith in his acting abilities—deception is as natural to him as breathing.

He is humming as he tries on his new shape.  After a few phone calls, he heads out the door.  First a quick stop at a department store, then off to the hospital.

Sven looks around the hospital’s neatly tiled environs with satisfaction.  He had experienced no difficulty getting into the place, even into the Intensive Care Unit.  Of course, he has made certain that he looks as if he belongs.

For one, he is no longer a youthful, flame-haired male.  He has altered his shape to that of a kind-faced, somewhat over-weight, Hispanic woman, her permed hair drawn back into a neat knot.  The relaxed dress code in the hospital has helped him to blend in as well.  

No longer do nurses wear the stiffly starched white uniforms that recalled a nun’s habit.  Instead, neat white skirts or pants are topped with pastel blouses identical to what he had just purchased.  His/her costume is completed by a clipboard and an intent, slightly vague expression.

No one questions her as she walks briskly down a corridor, glancing at the nameplates, apparently on an errand for some doctor.  Crisis is replaced by fresh crisis in these white corridors; no one has time to worry about a helpful stranger.

Sven locates Eddie’s room after several attempts.  Waiting until the understaffed nurses’ station is busy with calls, she slips through the open door.  Hooked into monitors and an IV drip, Eddie rests unconscious on a hospital bed.  He is alone.

Efficiently, Sven draws the privacy curtain, trusting that no one passing by outside will wonder.  Then she considers what her next move should be.  She must be careful.  If the monitors are unhooked, an alarm will go off at the nurses’ station: the same applies to any slow attempt at suffocation.

In the hazardous waste trash disposal, Sven finds a hypodermic syringe, needle still intact.  It is the work of moments to draw some air.  A large air bubble into one of Eddie’s major arteries and death should be quite prompt.

Humming, she selects the right spot.

“What are you doing?” says a male voice immediately behind Sven.  At the same moment, the hand holding the needle is hauled back.  Sven is forced to drop the syringe.

Sven cannot turn, but she can feel the warmth of a large body behind her.  The arm that had forced the syringe away is now pinning her right arm to her torso.  The other has twisted her left arm behind her.

Immobilized, Sven considers the question that had been put to her.  “No particular good, if the truth must be known.  Who are you?”

A deep-chested laugh comes from her captor.  “I believe that only I am in the position to make such demands.  Who are
you
?”

Sven has managed to catch a distorted reflection of her captor in the metal tube holding up the IV.  It is male, dark-haired.  She suspects the Changer.

“You’re naked!” she squeals indignantly, not daring raise her voice too loud, but hoping to be overheard nonetheless.

“So I am.  I am also stronger than you and have you in a rather awkward position.  Tell me who you are!”

Sven rejoices that she had added perfume to her disguise.  This, combined with the restrictions of a human nose, is clearly keeping the Changer from making an absolute identification.  Still, the longer she is his captive, the more likely he will be to figure her out.

“I’m your worst nightmare,” Sven says, and shapes a hissing rattlesnake that surges out of the woman’s clothes.

The other shifts instantly (it must be the Changer, damn his eyes!), becoming a mongoose that seizes the rattler before it can coil to strike.  Sven shifts into a komodo dragon and lunges for Eddie.  Unfortunately, he has underestimated his size.  

The komodo dragon is swift, but short, and his heavy tail lashes out, knocking one of the monitors to the ground.  Alarms go off.  Shouts come from the direction of the nurses’ station.