Possession (37 page)

I sat on a cement bench beside a little triangle of lawn and closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the sun warm me. It was three o’clock on Independence Day but I didn’t feel particularly celebratory or patriotic. I especially felt no connection to James Purlis’s idea of patriotism, which had moved him to do horrible things not for his country’s sake but for the government and some twisted idea about worldly power. Surely that wasn’t what “love of country” was supposed to be?

If some act is wrong it is simply wrong, no matter who tells you to do it or for what grand motive. It seemed to me that a true patriot and decent human being rejects doing wrong and puts the ideals on which the country is founded ahead of the directives of government bureaucrats. If the government is off the rails, you don’t keep on riding the train to destruction—you certainly don’t push it there on your own; you start hauling the other way as hard as you can. That was what Quinton was doing, quietly and without any help or recognition, trying to pull things back toward that delicate state of balance. It was a strange and huge undertaking, but whether I approved of his Don Quixote way of going at it or not, I had to let him do it. Where would I be if Purlis’s ideas won? Branded a monster—a nonhuman with no rights—and put in a cage to be experimented on? That flew in the face of what I’d always taken for granted here—all that high-flown Founding Fathers business about people being inherently free and self-determined, endowed with rights just because they
were
human. I shuddered, imagining the alternative—the end result of what Purlis would do, starting first in Europe and then back here.

As loony as it sounded, it meant I had to do a Don Quixote act myself and dismantle this conspiracy of ghosts. I turned my mind to that, trying not to dwell on my own bizarre and complicated family problems instead of the more immediate situation. I only hoped Hazzard and Limos would hold off tonight until Carlos was available. I thought it was likely that they would, since the ghosts would be exhausted from their exertions the previous night and, although Limos and Hazzard were also drawing strength through the rest of the patients’ families, their energy would be low for a while after their last effort. If they were going to have the strength to do something drastic to the Great Wheel, it would probably be after dark, but I didn’t know how long after sunset they would come.

And I still needed to talk to Levi Westman.

I got up and walked on, banishing the sense that I was taking on more than I could manage. I probably was, but I didn’t feel there was an alternative to trying. And I didn’t have time to formulate a better plan. I’d just have to make the one I had work.

I walked into the building and had no trouble getting up to Jordan Delamar’s room. It was a holiday, so I wasn’t surprised to find Westman sitting next to Delamar’s bed once again. He had the television on, but wasn’t paying any attention to it. Instead, he was bending over to study Delamar’s arm.

“Hello,” I said from the doorway.

Westman jerked upright and turned around, eyes wide. He relaxed when he saw me. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah, just me. How’s Jordy today?”

He shook his head, looking worried. “I’m not sure. He’s restless and the . . . rash is pretty bad today.” He motioned me in and pointed at the welts on Delamar’s arm. “What is that?” he whispered.

I looked at the angry red lines that ran from the edge of the pajama sleeve Westman had pushed up to the shoulder all the way into Delamar’s palm where a Ferris wheel had been scribed. Along the arm what looked like clouds boiled and rushed toward the wheel. The coils of the clouds looked disturbingly like anguished faces. Westman lifted the other sleeve to reveal another picture—this one stylized waves with tumbling tops that looked uncomfortably like teeth also facing toward the palm. There was the number ten in this palm. If he had cradled his hands together, the clouds and water would have been converging on the tiny wheel at ten. I didn’t need to be very clever to figure that one out.

My expression clearly revealed my dismay. Westman stared at me as if on the verge of tears. “What is it?”

Here was another of those times I debated whether I should lie, but as I needed his help, I thought it would be better not to. “I . . . it’s a sort of warning.”

“About what? Is something going to happen to Jordy?”

“Something is going to happen to a lot of people, including Jordy,” I said. From what Carlos had said about the effect of being forced out of their bodies, I knew there had already been damage done to the living souls of Delamar, Sterling, and Goss. I doubted that they would be able to just slip back into place while the ghosts were busy doing the bidding of Hazzard and Limos. They might even be dragged along and destroyed by the psychic carnage that would reign over the Great Wheel if I couldn’t stop this horrifying plan.

My fears surely showed on my face. Westman looked panicked as he said, “Why? Why Jordy?”

“It’s not because he’s Jordy; it’s because he’s been . . . occupied by ghosts. And the ghosts are tied to this event. If it goes off as someone plans, a lot of people will die, and the ghosts will be burned up like fuel.”

“Jordy’s not dead. He’s not a ghost.”

I was relieved that he seemed to have no problem with the concept of ghosts and possession, but it was a lot to swallow anyhow, and the news didn’t get better. “No, he’s still here, but . . . without control of his body, he’s not really anchored anymore and he may not be able to resist being taken along in this storm.” I pointed at the clouds of faces. Then I looked at Westman. Did he believe me? It certainly sounded crazy.

He peered at me with narrowed eyes, his lips pursing and unpursing as he thought about what I’d said. But remarkably, he didn’t reject it or me. “You’re saying that this . . . this stuff that’s been happening to Jordy is ghosts, trying to warn us about something. This event? Whatever it is.”

I nodded, giving the smallest of mental pushes to incline him to believe what I was saying. It was cheating and I felt bad about it, but I needed his cooperation and understanding. Was that as bad as what Quinton’s dad did? Not in degree but in kind? I wasn’t sure, but I hoped it wasn’t. I couldn’t claim to have no agenda, but I did think mine was better than Purlis’s.

“Crazy,” Westman said. He sat down, shaking his head. “I’d say it couldn’t be true, but I’ve sat here every day since . . . I don’t even know when anymore, and watched this stuff happening, these words showing up on his skin, this restlessness, the helplessness . . . and I know he’s begging for help, but I can’t seem to give it to him. And you come along and say it’s ghosts. And I don’t even think that’s impossible anymore. But how can I do this? How can I keep on sitting here and watching this when it’s not even my Jordy there, reaching out?”

“But it is, in a way. It’s not just because Jordan is injured, but because he allows them to come through him,” I said. I didn’t really know if this was true, but I hoped it was. “He may have had no choice originally, but I think he wants this to end as much as they do, so he lets them come. Look at how clear this is. This writing isn’t even like it was a day or two ago—it’s stronger and more fluid. We need to help him.”

“What am I supposed to do? I’ve already done everything!” Westman said, his voice thick with frustration and mental anguish.

“I have a plan. It is going to sound totally nuts, but I believe it will work.”

Westman gazed at me as if I’d promised him the earth and heaven, too. “What is it? What do I do?”

“You come to a séance tonight.”

He pulled back from me, scowling. “Séance?”

“If there are ghosts, doesn’t it make sense that a séance is the way to talk to them, to force them to let go of Jordan and change their plans?”

“I . . . I guess,” he said with a conflicted shrug.

“This message on his arms,” I said, carefully pointing to the whole stream of information leading to his two upturned palms, “appears to say that two forces will converge on this object at ten o’clock. That’s my best guess and it fits with information I’ve had from other sources. This event could kill hundreds of people. And we can stop it if you will come and help me and the other families of these patients to talk to the ghosts. Please.”

He seemed dazed and exhausted, blinking at me as if he didn’t quite see me. “Family,” he murmured. “I wish . . . we had a family. Were a family. This . . . this is killing me, to be cut off from him and from being together by such incomprehensible things, such wild insanity I can’t conceive or contain.” A tear escaped from his eye and rolled down his cheek. “You have me at your mercy. I can’t fight anymore. I’ll try anything. Tell me where to be and when and I’ll be there.”

I felt no elation, only hollow pain at his complete lack of resistance. The situation had broken him and anyone could have used him to their own ends at this point. I hated what I was doing to him and I had to do it. If it worked, maybe he’d get his lover back. I hoped that would be the case and despaired that it might not. And time felt so short, so very short. . . .

“It will be nine o’clock,” I guessed, judging from the number in Delamar’s left palm and giving us an hour to reach into the Grey and put a halt to this before the situation became too dire to stop. “I’ll call you and tell you where in Seattle. Can you work with that?”

He nodded. “I’ll do it.”

I got his phone number and extracted his listless promise to answer when I called. He let me take photos of the message on Delamar’s skin for reference. When I left, he was staring down at Delamar, slow tears falling down his face. He didn’t even notice my departure.

TWENTY-THREE

_F
rustration and a dull-edged
panic sawed at my nerves. Time seemed both too short and too long. I’d returned to the Land Rover and was sitting in the front seat, trying to think of where I could assemble this séance when Lily Goss called to say she’d persuaded Stymak to do it. He hadn’t been pleased, but for her, he’d agreed. She was also working on the location, but had had no luck with such short notice for something that needed such a degree of privacy. She had already thought of her own place and rejected it for fear of injuring Julianne or upsetting Wrothen. I agreed that wouldn’t do.

I thought that we’d want to be near the waterfront if possible and reluctantly suggested my office. The area would still be busy, but more of the crowd would gravitate to the docks once night fell. The fireworks were set to begin at ten—which would ensure that the Great Wheel was fully packed with tourists willing to pay for the best, if fleeting, view. I hoped it wouldn’t begin with the wrong sort of bang.

And now things began to move fast—it all had to come together in less than five hours on a major holiday, within blocks of the waterfront and all those oblivious revelers—and what had seemed like a wasteland of empty time became an obstacle race. Lily and I arranged for her to get Stymak and his equipment to my office by eight. I made phone calls to Olivia and Westman, quick calls telling them where to be, when, and how to get there and trying to allay their fears. I rushed to rearrange my office, find more chairs, move my computer to a safer location, and make room for the shrine.

I left a message for Carlos, certain that he’d have no problem showing up on time, but still fearing he wouldn’t, since the sun wouldn’t be properly down until after nine. Then I paged Quinton and paced around in nervous anticipation until he finally called me back.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

I tried not to sound like the ball of nerves that I was. “Hey, yourself. How’s your dad?”

“Apparently he’ll live. What’s up at your end?”

“Oh, you know: Carlos and I get to hold an emergency meeting with the families this evening at my office. I’m there now rearranging things. I don’t have room for the computer so I’m probably going to move it”—I paused, worried that Purlis’s minions might be listening in—“to that other storage unit we visited, just to keep it from being smashed to hell and gone if anything goes awry.”

“Sounds like a pain in the ass. Why your office?”

“I couldn’t think of any other place close enough to the waterfront that we could secure on such short notice. Major holiday and all that jazz.”

“Cameron couldn’t have come up with something?”

I stopped. “I actually hadn’t thought of that. But I’m not sure I’d want to do this in any space that was not really under my control, if you follow my thinking.”

“Yeah, it’s probably best to avoid the entanglements of other people’s agendas.”

“I’m thinking the same thing. Anyhow . . . no one’s trying to kill me today, so this might be easier than I think.”

Quinton laughed. “Don’t be too sure. Do you think you can get any help from Solis with the waterfront problem?”

“No. The only thing I could ask would be that he shut down the Great Wheel, but unless there’s a bomb threat, that’s not going to fly. Not today. And one thing I won’t do is call in a false report—that’s just a little too much since I know I couldn’t dodge it and I’d lose my license at best. Or end up in jail. And then how could I run away with you to Europe?”

He paused, his silence weighty in spite of my teasing tone. “Would you do that?”

“What? Call in the report anyway? No.”

“I meant would you follow me to Europe?”

I scowled at the phone. “Follow? Hell no. I’d be right beside you all the way. You’re—” I found myself without the right word. “Everything” seemed a bit heavy and “mine” too possessive, but both were true.

The silence hung there, stretching, until he said, “Yeah. I feel the same way about you.”

My heart bumped around unevenly in my chest, knocking on my ribs and blundering into my throat.

“Do you want me there . . . tonight?” he asked.

I struggled with it, but I said, “Want and need aren’t the same. I always want you with me. But tonight I think you need to be somewhere else, don’t you?”

He was quiet for a second, then said, “Following the family footsteps—at a discreet distance. But it’s not what I
want
.”