Immortal Flame (5 page)

Peter stepped out, shut the Hummer door, and watched Dante speed off into the night. He got along well enough with his friend, but Peter needed to get to work. Alone. First item on the agenda was to flush out his assignment. Second, sink the hungry knife blade into the next assignment and hold out hope it was his Meaningful Kill. Last but not least, avoid thinking about a certain lovely doctor. Easy enough.

Groaning as he hefted the duffel bag, he was reminded that, despite being not completely human, he still felt aches and pains like any old man. After nearly a hundred years, even someone with Peter's strength needed time and rest to recover.

Allison grimaced against the cold wind biting through her thin scrub pants and pulled her jacket tight. She hurried into Wally's Diner in downtown La Grande. A renovated train depot, Wally's had the best breakfast in town. She and her sister met for breakfast one Saturday every month. No matter how tired she felt, she never missed this time. After their father's death years ago, Sarah had been her only support, and Allison had never forgotten that.

“Hi, Al.” Her older sister's head bobbed from a booth next to the windows, her light brown hair brushing her shoulders.

“Hey, Sarah. Been waiting long?”

“No, just got here. Spring break's this week and Quincy's already stir crazy. Her father gets to entertain her until a play date at noon. He's helping her pick an outfit.” Sarah raised her eyebrows. “It's good for him to stay up on the latest fashions for six-year-old girls.”

“I can imagine. By the time they're finished, everything will be out of the closet.”

“And not a thing to wear.”

Ah, her brother-in-law officiating her niece's impromptu fashion show. Allison smiled. Quincy turned her tough, cop father into a pile of mush every time.

Chuckling, they gave their breakfast orders to the waitress. Allison eased back into the vinyl booth as her neck and shoulder muscles relaxed.

“Bad night in the ER?”

Allison took her hair out of its clip and then pulled the hair off of her shoulders. “Yeah, not great, that's for sure.”

“Another vision?”

“Worst one yet.” She rubbed her hand on her pant leg.

“It wasn't but a month ago you had your last one. They're coming closer together. And they're worse? What happened?”

“EMS brought this man into the ER, bad wreck off the interstate. The guy's totally unconscious, on a backboard, seems like maybe he's had internal injuries and possible head trauma. Very bad.”

The waitress brought over their drinks.

Sarah wrapped both hands around her steaming coffee cup and leaned forward.

Allison inhaled the aroma from her mug. “I go to examine him and notice a little tingle in my fingertips, weird vibrations coming through the gloves. I try not to think about it and keep working on the guy. After he comes back from the CAT scan, he wakes right up … like goes from a Glasgow Coma Scale of three to perfectly fine in under an hour.”

“Is that normal?”

“No. Actually, I've never seen anyone recover that fast.” She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. “So he jumps up, I grab him, and,
boom
, a vision.”

“What'd you see?” Sarah sipped her coffee. “Besides the usual.”

Her sister didn't meet her eyes.

Allison stared at the steam coming from her drink. “This one was different. It was all death, but not the guy's death, or at least I don't think so. This vision was like a bizarre horror flick with dead people everywhere. I was
inside
the vision this time. Shaking hands with a scary man surrounded by smoke. Then I killed people with a knife, or the patient did. Every time I close my eyes, the horrible images are right there. If I can't figure out how to forget what I saw, I think I'll lose my mind.”

Sarah placed a hand on Allison's arm. At first Allison tensed, then finally relaxed with a deep sigh when she did not receive a vision of her sister's death. Maybe one day Allison wouldn't live in fear. One day.

The waitress set steaming breakfast plates in front of them. The crispy bacon and cheese omelet served as a sad reminder of weekend family breakfasts twenty years ago.

“What do you think it all means?” her sister asked.

Allison cut off a corner of toast with her fork. “I wish I knew. I guess he's a dead man. They all die, everyone whose vision I see. But I witnessed all these other deaths, too. Maybe the patient killed all those people. Maybe I tapped into his subconscious because of the head injury. I don't know. All I know is that I won't be able to sleep. The visions were worse than any nightmare I could imagine.”

“Did the guy know what you saw?”

“Oddly, yes, I think so. I hit the floor because the vision was so intense. When he helped me up, he asked
what
I was.” And his eyes had bored right into her soul. “Then he wanted to know what I'd seen. Spooky. In the past, the other person has always been oblivious to the fact that I'm getting a vision. They sense nothing.”

“That's strange. Think you'll see him again?” Sarah tapped her chin.

“I don't think he's from around here.” Allison chewed a bite of the buttery toast. “So, no, I expect he's long gone, especially given how much he wanted to get out of the ER. You know what's kind of strange? There's a faint echo of something different in my mind. Like someone whispering across the room. I can barely hear the words.”

“You ever had that before?”

“Not that I recall, no.” She sighed.

“Well, do you think you should've told him what you saw?”

A lump formed in her throat. “No, I never want to tell anyone what I see.” Allison nibbled on her bacon. “I told Dad and it ruined our entire lives.”

“That wasn't your fault, Al.” The topic was familiar yet they trod lightly.

“It's my fault he died.” Out the window, the pale blue sky peeked from between the early spring clouds. Allison couldn't enjoy the view. “That's what Mom kept telling me, especially when she got into the pills.”

Her mother had said that and much more. Not only did her mother blame Allison for her father's death, she reinforced what a defective human being Allison had become. Despite Allison's efforts to help her mother, the woman who had given birth and raised her had then demoralized her. Ripped away Allison's hope in her own humanity. For a short while, she thought her name was “freak” because her mother had used the term so often. The damage was precise, cruel, and long-lasting. So far, her mother's predictions that Allison would never have a loving family of her own had come true.

Sarah cleared her throat. “Take it from your family member who didn't have a nervous breakdown. You didn't cause Dad's death. Not even close. You reported what you saw.” She sipped her coffee. “Anyway, it doesn't sound like you'll be seeing this guy again. I'd try and let this one go.”

Around the painful lump in her throat, Allison managed to choke down a breakfast that had lost all flavor. All she wanted in this world was to be rid of her useless, sick power. She wanted a normal life, to love a normal man, and maybe have a family. But that wasn't going to happen as long as she continued in her role as the angel of death.

After leaving Wally's, she drove north out of town to the base of a low mountain and pulled into the garage of her one-story craftsman home. Even home didn't produce the usual peaceful feeling.

When she entered the house, Ivy, her massive, fawn-colored dog, came careening around the kitchen, knocking one barstool over in her haste to reach Allison. Hugging the enormous dog's head to her hip, she petted her behind the ears and avoided getting thwacked by her whip-like tail, which oscillated at a ridiculously high rate. A mix between Great Dane and Golden Retriever, Ivy had no clue what destructive power she wielded. Although Ivy was friendly, she also scared away bears outside the house and made for an intimidating running partner.

An unexpected chill ran down Allison's back as she considered who or what could hide in the forest without her knowledge. Unbidden, the image of Peter Blackstone's intense face loomed in her mind, followed by that faint sense of him. Rubbing her chilled arms, she recalled his promise to see her again and her stomach flopped. Once the prickly sensation abated, she righted the kitchen stool. She wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, but Ivy picked up her leash in her mouth and, with a pitiful expression worthy of an Oscar, dropped it at Allison's feet. Ivy knew how to work her over hard.

“All right, Ivy. I can go a few miles today.” She clipped on Ivy's leash and headed into the late March morning, led by her happy, giant dog. Even a pleasant stroll in the crisp air didn't distract her from dwelling on a certain patient's dark eyes.

• • •

After walking to the car dealership Saturday morning, Peter purchased a used pickup truck. His mood had gone from foul to downright nasty. He'd been up all night, wanting to go back to the ER and see Allie. That weird, whispering sense of her continued as well, just beyond his range of hearing.

All of his injuries had healed overnight, as expected. Only residual fatigue remained, and that symptom should be gone by evening.

He wanted to leave town. He wanted to be anything but the killer he was. Who cared what Dante said? This … existence … was no life.

Driving around town, Peter scanned the area halfheartedly. He saw no one suspicious, only pleasant folks running errands, going to work, performing mundane activities. It was entirely possible that Dante left him here to cool his heels so he could take all the credit for the Boise assignment. Then again, the instructions seemed to come from the big boss, and Peter couldn't argue with that kind of mandate.

In another life, Peter might have lived in a place like La Grande. According to the information at the hotel, the small college town had started as an agricultural hub; gold and silver mines in the late 1800s caused a boom. Above the hospital to the west were ridges of low mountains that gave way to central Oregon's high desert, and across a valley to the east rose the higher Wallowa Mountains. He'd love to hide forever in a place like that.

Who was he fooling? He could never hide. Not for long.

He breathed in the clean, crisp air as he wound through a residential area. Inviting porches and backyard jungle gyms conjured images of family. He'd come close to having a family years ago. So close.

And what about Allie? He'd tortured himself last night, thinking of her in his arms, protecting her. From what?

People like me
.

The horror and disgust in her eyes when she'd touched him pretty much summed up his entire existence. But shame … now that was a new emotion. He hadn't experienced anything other than anger for more years than he could count.

Whatever she had done, Allie had woken something inside of him with her touch. And what about their connection? He had a weird echo in his mind, like a weak radio signal bleeding through a stronger one. He couldn't make out details, but the tingly sensation felt like … her. He wanted more of that connection. More of her.

Since Claire, he hadn't been with another woman. Guilt stopped him every time. Only when he'd connected with Allie had he experienced attraction once more.

He braked at an intersection. As he glanced up the cross street, a movement caught his eye.

A stocky man with a crew cut and wearing a leather jacket glared at Peter. The man picked at his head with a finger and glanced around, as if on alert. He pulled the jacket collar up, hunched his shoulders, and stared at Peter with narrowed eyes. Then the man jumped in a car and sped away. With his stalker's sense on high alert, Peter turned down the street and focused on the man. The car disappeared in the dense residential area, but Peter kept searching. Something wasn't right. Was this man the next kill? The Meaningful Kill?

He fought the impulse to run after the target. Although being an Indebted meant that Peter could move almost faster than a human eye could follow, that speed—and his strength—had finite limits. Best to complete his recovery from the accident and avoid drawing any attention by staying in the truck.

Over the next several hours, he scoured neighborhoods, determined to find the man. He kept driving well into the night, dark thoughts his only companions.

By the time he pulled into the hotel parking lot after a long day of finding nothing, his frustration level had risen to a new high. He couldn't keep doing this … job. He had always hated what he had to do, but after seeing the horror in Allie's eyes, he despised how his life had spiraled into this ugliness.

She represented possibilities and hope—two things he neither deserved nor wanted to consider.

Peter's current grim existence baffled him. Wasn't it only yesterday that he'd become this unhuman contract killer and mere hours ago that he made the ultimate sacrifice? In reality, it had been more than seventy years. All for what purpose? Nothing.

There was one person who could help him, one person who'd ever completed his contract for the boss man. One tale of success in anyone's memory.

Barnaby.

Peter shoved the plastic card into the hotel room's door lock and walked straight to his computer. He pulled up an encrypted file. If Jerahmeel knew he had this number, Peter would be worse than dead. Thumbing on his cell phone, he dialed.

“Barnaby? It's Peter.”

A male answered, his cracked voice quavering. “Well, hello, my boy! Please speak up. My hearing isn't overly good.”

Peter dropped onto the stiff sofa bed. “I need some advice.”

“Oh, ho, I have plenty of opinions. Mayhap not informed ones, but I have them.”

Peter smiled as Barnaby's accent slid back and forth between contemporary English and the English of his Elizabethan youth. “I met a human who has some … interesting abilities.”