The Strange Path (12 page)

Dorst’s expression became contrite. “I apologize for exacerbating your condition, dear Whiskey. I did not realize the levels of determination you exercise.” He bared his throat.

The pain in her head disrupted her focus, exhaustion seeping into her bones. “Okay. So?”

“It varies from person to person. Some see the past, others claim to see their future. Many see nothing, but experience auditory visions. Yet others can’t explain what they do or do not see. The experience is both subjective and personal, relevant to the individual involved.” He shrugged. “I can’t say much more than that.”

Whiskey nodded. She’d suspected something along those lines. While the vision she experienced had faded, the emotions remained strong. “So, was what I saw a memory or a figment of my imagination?”

“Do you remember it occurring?”

“I think so.” She rubbed her forehead with one hand. “I don’t know.”

“It’s possible it was a memory then. I assume it was from early childhood?”

“Yeah.”

Dorst, his face unusually somber, considered. “Then I would postulate that it was indeed a memory you experienced. Early childhood recollections fade by adulthood. The vagaries of the brain are what cause the occasional unearthing of such things. The process of the
Ñíri Kurám
interrupts the existing neural pathways in the brain, thereby causing a higher likelihood of old memories to rise to the fore.”

The fatigue in her body deepened. Unable to help herself, Whiskey lay on the bed, boots and all. The smell of jasmine and clean sheets lulled her, bringing back a ghost of the vision she’d experienced in her trance.

“You need rest. When you wake, you’ll feel much better.”

Her eyelids sagged, but she turned her head to look at him. “I saw you.”

Dorst sat frozen, his already pallid complexion lightening more. His Adam’s apple bobbed once. “Excuse me?”

“On the way to the restaurant, I thought of you and I remembered seeing you.” She rolled over onto her side to ease the ache in her neck. “We have met before. You looked about ten years younger, and had long brown hair. Did you use to work for social services in Oregon?”

He stared at her with intensity. After a moment his color returned. He cleared his throat, and blinked excessively.

“No.” He spoke in a quiet whisper, barely audible to her. “I did not.”

Whiskey frowned. “I’ll figure it out, yet.”

“I don’t doubt that you will.” Dorst stood and approached the bed. He untied her boots, and helped her out of them. “Sleep, Whiskey. Call me when you waken.”

She nodded, her eyes closing against her wishes. “I will.” She felt a hand stroke her hair.

The world again became dark, but this time it felt warm and comfortable.

Chapter Fourteen

Eyes closed, Whiskey drifted in that half-aware space between sleeping and waking, sluggish thoughts keeping her company. Memories of the early morning washed over her, jarring her with their rough texture—the strange sensations, heightened senses, Dorst’s arrival and subsequent assistance.

She cracked open one eye, vaguely pleased it didn’t hurt to see anymore. She lay on her side, one hand pillowing her cheek, a crimson dragon writhing silently on her arm. The curtains were drawn, so she didn’t know the time of day. Dorst must have closed them before he’d left. She rumbled incoherently and closed her eye. More awake than asleep, her mind kicked into gear. She scanned her body for any ill effects, relieved to note her headache and sickness were gone. Still, if she concentrated, she heard pedestrians walking outside, and hotel tenants enjoying the hourly rate. She also heard a muted thumping that didn’t have anything to do with the sexual escapades of her neighbors.
What is that?

When it appeared she wouldn’t be going back to sleep, she gave in to a bone-cracking stretch and yawned. Rolling onto her back, she sat up. She delicately walked around the subject of getting out of bed. No sickness met her appraisal. In fact, she felt hungry again.

Whiskey stood, and stumbled to the toilet. The pillar candle on the desk had burned halfway down. She caught her pale reflection in the bathroom mirror. Remembering vampire movies and the actors and actresses she’d seen, she wondered if she’d be just as colorless in the end.
Of course not, idiot. Look at Fiona’s crew. They’ve all been out in daylight.
Annoyed at her stupidity, she turned away from her visage.

She ran water in the sink. Washing her face, she noted odd sensations along her skin. She slowed her movements, and picked up a bar of soap to lather her hands. The strangest sensations occurred as she washed—nerve endings screamed with a combination of joyful pain and exquisite pleasure, an eroticism that increased as her soapy hands slid across each other. She frowned, realizing that the strangeness wasn’t gone; it had merely become normal. Dorst had said she’d adapt. Would she always feel like this, or would it eventually fade? A close study of her reflection gave no solution. Whatever the answer, at least she didn’t hurt any more. In fact, it occurred to her that having sex with these new sensations would be quite the experience. She had an urge to search the cell phone for Cora’s number.

She snorted at the thought. She did
not
want to invite Fiona back into her life.

On a lark, she closed her eyes and concentrated. Someone sang in the next room over, tuneless lyrics partially drowned out by the running water of a shower. Below her feet she heard the expected grunts of fucking. She wrinkled her nose as she smelled the results of the liaison. As soon as she registered the distaste, the aroma faded. On the street, two bums argued over who could panhandle on which corner. Past the sounds of a bus, a telephone rang and someone answered. The caller received a canned answering machine response stating the open hours of the car wash.

That was across the street!
Whiskey’s eyelids snapped open. She stared at herself.

***

Leaving the hotel past midnight, Whiskey noted she’d been asleep for over fifteen hours. After several experiments, she came to the conclusion that the bizarre sensitivity continued, her hearing and sense of smell both sharpened beyond normal. Somehow, her mind had stumbled upon a method of control. Her ability to mute the sounds and aromas to manageable levels had become second nature while she slept.

Relieved as well as confused, she wandered along the sidewalk in thought, ignoring other pedestrians. Even at this hour, there were plenty of people on the streets. Testing her newfound abilities, she looked up at an office building, zeroing in on a third-floor window with a light on. She tilted her head to one side, listening intently.

A pleased smile crossed her face as she heard a man on the phone with his wife, explaining why he hadn’t come home yet. She heard the wife on the other end of the line, bitching about another dinner ruined because of his job. A louder, closer sound overlapped his voice, one of rustling cloth and a zipper.  Raising her eyebrows at an almost indistinct moan, she chuckled. The man hastily hung up the phone, complaining to his companion that his wife might have overheard. A gasp cut off his arguments. Whiskey shook her head, wondering how long it would be before the unknown person had both their clothes off. The muted thumping that permeated everything increased in tempo. She grinned, pulling her attention back from their adultery, and resumed walking.

She’d solved the question of the thumping noises, realizing they were heartbeats. It made an odd sort of sense; if her hearing had increased to such levels, surely she’d be able to hear the heartbeat of people nearby. By extension, the pace of the beat gave a fair indication of how much exertion a person experienced without having to see them.

The cell phone sat silent in her pocket. She’d told Dorst she’d call when she woke up, but she didn’t want to be around anyone. Despite her hotel bill being paid for several more hours, she’d chosen to leave the premises for the night. Her newfound abilities beckoned her. Besides, next time she wanted to be where she could immediately crash, thus avoiding the unpleasantness of the aftereffects. She shivered at the memory of her migraine.

What would happen next time? Would other senses become sharper or would the meditation affect the ones already attuned? She weighed the temptation against her last session. It had taken nearly a full day to recover. Would that be repeated? She didn’t have the money to remain at a hotel for another night. Dorst had already paid for an extra evening and, while she couldn’t shake the impulsive trust she’d placed in him, she didn’t like being beholden to anyone. If she made another attempt, it would have to be on her terms and somewhere safe. She’d need a place to sleep.

A niggling worry gnawed at the desire. What would she see this time, more of the same? If anything, the thought of having another dream as intense as the last filled her with dread. She didn’t want more memories of what she’d lost. Gaining further abilities didn’t warrant the suffering. It wasn’t worth it. Maybe she should stop now, let nature take its course. Both Daniel and Dorst had said that the
Ñíri Kurám
occurred on its own over several years when a Sanguire was left to his or her own devices.

What do I want?

Flashing across her mind’s eye, she saw the woman from her nightmares smiling across a table at her, verdant eyes bright. Whiskey hadn’t seen this scene before. She swallowed, mouth dry as she stopped dead in her tracks, smelling a seductive spicy odor beneath delicate perfume.
I’m smelling a dream?
Her body responded to the scent of its own accord, a gentle pulse of arousal flickering in her belly. 

“Whassa matter, honey? You lose yer little friends?”

She shook her head, regaining her mental balance as she glanced at an old-timer leering at her from the corner. Her nose filled with the ripe scent of old urine and dust and sweat. She gave him a thorough once-over before sneering as he rubbed his crotch in lewd suggestion. “Fuck off,”  she said, walking away.

“Yeah? Fuck off yourself, bitch!” he called after her, not following.

***

Whiskey decided to head to the U District. The verbal sparring with the old-timer had reminded her that after midnight wasn’t the best time for a street kid to be downtown. She had a few dollars left in her pocket, but didn’t want to waste it on bus fare. Food was more important.
Should have accepted those bus tickets and food vouchers from the padre.
She could call Dorst, but she still wasn’t ready to see him. Besides, he’d acted pretty weird when she’d admitted to remembering him. She needed the time to process his response.

Though she’d come this way a few nights before, she paid more attention to her surroundings, playing with her new senses. She wondered if Paul and his friends had recuperated enough from Fiona’s attack to consider retaliation. Whiskey hadn’t had anything to do with them getting their asses kicked, but she’d be the one to pay the price if they found her. Some other homeless kid might run into him first, and receive the beating reserved for her. School
was
still in session. Maybe they’d had a three-day weekend from school. Tonight was Sunday. They couldn’t be out cruising for trouble at this hour.
Yeah, you thought that on Thursday when they grabbed you. Better hope it isn’t a four-day weekend.

She made certain to use her newfound senses as she walked.

Finding a fast-food restaurant, she ordered and paid for something to eat. Rather than sit in a brightly lit dining room where anyone passing by could see her, she left and ate on foot. As she walked, she drifted through the business district and into an industrial region. Quieter here, her sharpened ears picked up the sound of vagrants and occasional cars on the nearby streets. Crushing the wrapper of her burrito, she tossed it in the general direction of a Dumpster. She heard the paper bounce off the rim, and scuttle down the side. A rat scrabbled away from the sound, dashing down the gutter. She smelled water, Lake Union only a half mile away. Boat launches and fishing businesses loomed ahead, with a smattering of nice waterfront homes interspersed between them. Once she crossed the bridge, she’d be in the U District and home. Her shoulders relaxed at the thought.

Whiskey heard the motorcycles before she saw them. Several smooth engines drifted in her direction. They’d started ahead, and to her right where the residential area began. She dismissed the sound, knowing that Paul and his friends had borrowed a parent’s car. If they’d had their own wheels before, they wouldn’t have been in a sedan when they attacked her. When the cycles were a couple of blocks away and nearing her position, she focused more attention upon them. Headlights rounded a corner ahead, five of them. Two bikes had double occupants, each with a scantily clad man and woman. The rest held a single rider each. Most had face-covering helmets, except for two riders with spiky mohawks. She barely registered long red hair beneath the helmet of one as that motorcycle pulled to the side of the street beside her.
Shit.

All of the vehicles came to a stop. Whiskey recognized Manuel and Bronwyn by their tattoos, and Zebediah and Alphonse from their hairstyles. Seconds later, they took off again, leaving Fiona, Cora and Daniel behind.

Fiona swept off the helmet. “My little
lamma
. What a surprise to see you here.” She put down the kickstand on her vehicle.

“Whiskey!” Cora jumped from the back of Daniel’s Triumph. She removed her helmet, setting it on the motorcycle seat before rushing toward her. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you so.” She slipped into Whiskey’s arms, and gave her a long welcoming kiss.

When Whiskey could breathe again, she said, “I’ve been a little busy.”

“Yes, you have.” Fiona had left the motorcycle. She circled Whiskey. “Your
Baruñal
has begun guiding you along the path of the
Ñíri Kurám
.” She completed her circuit, smile wide as she regarded her. “And how is
Sañur Gasum
Dorst?”