Thirst No. 3 (18 page)

“In the mouth,” she insists.

I cannot resist her command. No matter how much my will strives to say no, my mouth begins to open, and my hand steers the barrel of the Glock into my mouth. I feel the cold steel scratch the top of my teeth. My tongue tastes the residue of the gunpowder inside the barrel from the last time I fired the weapon. I don’t remember when that was, who I killed, but I know with a sickening certainty that this will be the last time I fire any gun. How ironic my long life should end in suicide.

“Oh, God!” I cry.

Shanti’s grin causes her face to tear open further. More blood spills out, like black oil from a cracked engine. “That’s a secret lesson the Array never had a chance to initiate you into.
There’s no God, Sita. He’s nothing but a childish illusion. There’s only power. The power over life and death.” She stops and giggles like a hysterical witch. “Now pull the trigger and die!”

For some reason, hearing the final instruction of my doom from the image of a child I know is devoted to God causes me to think of Krishna. It’s sad but true—in my life I’ve never known for sure if he was God. But like Yaksha once said, it didn’t really matter if he was God or not. God was just a word. Krishna was simply too powerful to disobey. And now that my life is about to end, I see him in a slightly different light, and I would have to say it doesn’t matter what we call him—he was just so loving, I have to love him in return.

If only I could say his name before I die. To die with Krishna’s name on my lips means I’ll go to him after I draw my final breath. That’s what the ancient scriptures promise. But the gun is stuck deep in my mouth, and I can’t speak. I can only think of him, and the dark blue light of his unfathomable gaze. Maybe death won’t be so bad if it means I will see him again.

I hear his mantra vibrate inside my soul.

Om Namo Bhagadvate Vasudevaya.

A wave of peace washes through my chest.

As if from far away, I hear myself coughing. Gagging.

I pull the trigger. The bullet explodes in a vision of blue light.

I die, I am dead. Yet I have not lost my vision of Krishna.

I open my eyes—I don’t remember closing them—and see I have shot out the TV. Somehow, I must have pulled the gun out of my mouth at the last second.

Brutran stands above me, her face creased with fear. A white trail of smoke rises from the tip of my fired weapon. She looks down, thinking she should grab it from me before I recover. Or else she considers reaching for another gun before I shoot her in the head. It’s odd, but suddenly her thoughts are crystal clear to me. Her protective veil has been ripped away.

Only I know the effect won’t last. Krishna promised me that I would have his grace, his protection, if I obeyed him. And even though I’ve gone against his word on more than one occasion, he has chosen to save me again. However, he helps those who help themselves, and I know I have to get out of this house as quickly as possible. Before the Array returns.

Standing, unsteady on my feet, I slip the gun in my belt.

I stare at Brutran, who’s pale as a ghost.

“Impossible,” she whispers.

“That I continue to live? Or that there could be a God?”

“Yes . . . Yes.”

My reply is strangely sympathetic. “I’ve pondered those two riddles all my life. For me, the answer is knowing that I’ll never know the answer. I have to take it on faith that both miracles are true. I suppose that’s why I’m still alive.” I pause. “And that’s why your Array can’t kill me.”

The woman appears resigned to death. She doesn’t grovel.

“Kill me then. I can’t stop you,” she says.

“Why did you try to murder me if you wanted my help?”

“I decided I could never trust you.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

“You’re right, you can’t trust me. I’ll probably kill you later, and you won’t stop me.” Turning, I head for the door. “Until then, leave my friends alone. Understand?”

She doesn’t speak but nods.

I suppose that will have to do.

I leave her as shaken as I feel.

At home, I have much to consider. Most of my thoughts focus on the cryptic comments Brutran made. It’s true the woman contradicted herself repeatedly. She’d say she didn’t know something and then talk about it minutes later. That didn’t matter much to me. That’s her way; she is by nature a manipulative bitch.

Ironically, the point that impressed me most about my meeting with Brutran—besides the attack of the Array itself—was her honesty. It was unfortunate I couldn’t read her thoughts, but I still have a truth sense without my telepathic gift. I know that most of what the woman said was accurate.

Yet I’m not sure if I understand what she meant.

There’s a fine difference between the two, and it’s a testament to the subtlety of Brutran’s mind that she was able to lead me on without revealing what I wanted to know. The woman’s
a master at dropping hints. She said enough to keep me wanting more, but not enough to betray her position.

Even though she tried to kill me, I still feel like she’s trying to recruit me to her cause. It’s possible she used the Array to test me. It was probably a test she figured I’d fail, but now that I’ve passed, she wants me even more. I sensed that as I left her house.

I’m pretty sure she’s going to test me again.

I dread the thought of the Array returning, especially now that I’m back home with Teri and Matt. I still don’t know what the damn thing is, whether it’s tied to Brutran’s presence or not. Do I have to be in the same room for her to psychically attack? Is she the channel through which the power comes? In the end, one thing worries me the most. . . .

Can the witch, at a distance, force me do something I don’t want to do?

I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid of the Array. It scares me worse than the assassin that came for me. At least he was a visible foe. True, he was a virtual superman, but he was alive, in a physical body that I could kill, and kill him I did. But my one-time resistance of the Array counts for nothing.

I know I didn’t damage it. Besides, it was only by an act of Krishna’s grace that I survived the initial attack. I have no doubt that if I had not thought of him at that last instant, I’d be dead now. Somehow, Krishna heard my prayer and answered.

The fact deepens my faith and my confusion. I remember,
in ancient India, how famous Krishna was for his mischievous nature. So he helped me ward off the Array this one time. It’s unlikely he’ll help me again. There’s one thing I’ve learned in my long life. You can’t count on grace; it doesn’t follow a schedule. I’d be a fool to think God’s going to keep saving my ass.

I can imagine Krishna laughing at me this instant.

It’s your problem, Sita. Deal with it.

I warned Brutran to leave Shanti and Lisa alone, but I doubt she’ll obey. Out of fear for their lives, I bring the women to Missouri and move them into a nearby condo. Shanti’s uncle protests his niece’s relocation until I explain that—besides being an FBI agent—I’m super wealthy and can afford to pay for reconstructive surgery on her face.

Lisa and Shanti form a tight bond. It’s Lisa who accompanies the girl on her trips to a superb clinic I’ve found in Memphis. Shanti’s doctors schedule a dozen preliminary surgeries, but cut the number in half when they see how fast she heals. Of course, they have no idea, nor does Shanti, that I often rub a diluted form of my blood on her face in the middle of the night when she’s asleep. There’s no chance it will change her into a vampire, but it might give her a chance at a normal life. Even I’m surprised when sight begins to return to her right eye.

Despite the care Lisa showers on Shanti, I find it difficult to keep our resident mathematician happy. I understand how the woman feels. She’s lost her boyfriend, she’s been uprooted
from her home, and she’s hiding from an enemy she’s not fully convinced will attack her. However, I know Brutran wants Lisa dead. I tell her that her boss told me so, but she only half believes me.

To calm her restlessness, she gets a part-time job tutoring math students at Truman College. She does so under her real name. I’ve dropped the whole hiding routine. I’m convinced Brutran knows exactly where we are and there’s no point in pretending otherwise. That’s not to say we won’t hit the road again in the future, if the need arises. For now I rely on Brutran’s fear of my ability to resist the Array to keep the woman at bay.

We’ve created a dangerous balance that can’t last.

A day will come when one of us will attack the other.

I hear from my sources that Joe Henderson of Fairfield, Iowa, is dead. His arm got caught in a machine that harvests corn and tore the limb off. He bled to death in his wife’s arms. The local authorities are convinced it was an accident. I beg to differ. To me, it’s another example of Brutran destroying an unnecessary tool.

Marko’s death is a reminder of the woman’s cruelty.

I ask Shanti to keep my FBI dealings secret from the others, and she does so without question. She’s not naive, she simply trusts me. I even tell Shanti my real name. Lisa’s another matter. She’s too intellectual to blindly follow someone else. I have to keep reminding her not to discuss IIC around Teri and Matt.

The problem is, all five of us have become friends. The situation has its positive and negative sides. It’s nice to have a family of sorts around me. For the first time in ages, I don’t feel lonely. I love listening to Matt’s music, staring at his magnificent body. Just as I enjoy sharing in Teri’s dream of going to the Olympics. Plus it brings me incredible happiness to see Shanti’s face healing. Even hard-to-handle Lisa is a welcome addition. Besides being a math genius, she has a sharp wit. Fortunately, I’m the only one who notices the major crush she has on Matt.

But how can I blame Lisa? I’m in the same boat.

He’s so damn handsome, and talented, and charismatic. Other than his stubbornness, he’s practically perfect. But if he knows about the effect he has on us poor lovesick girls, he’s a master at playing dumb. He just goes about his business, writing music, playing his nightly gigs, taking care of Teri. One afternoon, on the spur of the moment, I swing by their place and catch them making love. I’m amazed at how jealous I feel.

He’s a big help to Teri when she hits the track. He times each 400-meter and 200-meter interval she runs, and records her progress in a daily diary. When she finishes working out, he always gives her a long massage, carefully kneading out any cramps, so she can recover faster and train even harder the next day.

Yet he cannot give her the edge that I can.

Should I give her my blood or not?

I debate the matter furiously.

The NCAA championships, a prelude to the Olympic trials, arrive soon. They’re in Chicago, and we all travel to watch Teri run the metric mile, the 1500-meter race. Shanti’s in between surgeries and feeling sore, but the night before we leave for Chicago I rub an extra dose of blood on her incisions, and she awakens without pain and decides to accompany us.

Giving Shanti a few drops of my blood is an act of mercy. It aids her recovery and frees her of the majority of her suffering. Simply by gazing at her as she lies in bed, I make sure she remains asleep while I administer my blood.

But to substantially improve Teri’s mile time, I’ll have to put my blood directly inside her veins. I can do this without her knowledge by hypnotizing her, as long as Matt is not around. However, I struggle over the morality of the act. Teri wouldn’t want to win by cheating. I’ve heard her harsh words against those who use steroids to improve their times. Yet I feel too much like her mom to let her go down in miserable defeat.

I decide to do nothing until after the NCAA finals. If she does badly there, I tell myself, she doesn’t deserve to make the team. Of course, I lie to myself better than most people.

Teri fails to win the race. Indeed, she’s lucky to finish third against the best college students in the country. Since she’s just a freshman, her coach is happy with her performance, and we all congratulate her as we gather around and admire her medal.
But I can see the look of disappointment in her eyes. Later, that night, she comes to my hotel room to talk. She comes alone. She says Matt is asleep.

“You should be sleeping after such a hard race,” I say.

She plops down on my bed and sighs. “I suck.”

“You ran your best time under enormous pressure. How can you say you suck?”

She rubs her weary legs. “Because even the winner of today’s race, Nell Sharp, isn’t going to make the Olympic team. At the trials there’s going to be half a dozen women who can beat her. Along with yours truly.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“The clock doesn’t lie. I ran as hard as I could and didn’t break 4:25. It’ll probably take 4:12 to win the Olympics.”

“That fast?”

“Yeah. It’s going to take a world record.”

Teri wants the gold medal. I see that now. Making the team isn’t good enough for her. Unfortunately, right now making the team’s a pretty stiff proposition. I cross the room and sit beside her on the bed. At moments like this, I feel so close to her it’s difficult not to hug her. Running a hand through her lovely blond hair—which looks and feels so much like my own—I stare deep into her blue eyes.

“How much do you want it?” I ask.

“What?”

“You know.”

“The gold medal? I’d give anything to win.”

“But you wouldn’t cheat?”

“Are you talking about steroids?”

“Something else. Something secret.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t even tell me. I don’t want to know. A medal would mean nothing to me if I knew I’d cheated to get it.”

I admire her integrity. But it’s ironic—as she swears she’ll never cheat, it makes me more determined than ever that she win. Adding power to my gaze, I speak in a soothing tone.

“You’re exhausted. Let’s talk in the morning. Right now, you need to rest.” Her eyes suddenly grow heavy—she struggles to keep them open. “Just close your eyes and lie down. Sleep.”

Teri is asleep before her head hits the mattress.