Smoke on the Water (15 page)

The earth shook—the tree or the thunder? Perhaps both. Then the courtyard filled with lights and sound and people. Someone dragged me off Dr. Frasier, pinned my arms behind my back.

“What did you do?” Nurse Zoe yanked my arms up so high I saw stars, or maybe it was just the sizzle of lightning far too close.

“Stop.” The doctor's voice was hoarse. He held up a hand. One of the guards hauled him to his feet. He limped over and physically extricated me from Zoe's clutches. “You're bleeding.”

He wiped my chin. From the wash of red on his palm, I was bleeding a lot.

“I'll fill out the incident report,” Zoe said.

“What incident?” Dr. Frasier asked.

“She attacked you. You had to defend yourself.”

I didn't have to be psychic to understand the look she gave me. I was in for a rough time whenever she was around. Nothing new there. She hadn't been able to do much more than pinch and shove with Mary around. But Mary was gone.

“Willow did nothing but push me out of the way of that tree limb.”

Everyone stared at the limb that was more of a log. It had put a dent in the ground. It definitely would have put a dent in one or both of us.

Zoe didn't appear convinced. Neither did anyone else. I suppose the idea of me pushing Dr. Frasier was a bit far-fetched. But terror fuels adrenaline. It had certainly fueled me.

“Let's clean you up.” Dr. Frasier took my arm and led me inside.

I was a mess. Blood had dripped all over my shirt. My face was probably worse. He led me to his office, sat me on the couch, went into the nearby restroom and came back with a cloth. Then he knelt at my side and gently washed the blood from my face and neck.

I probably should have stopped him, but I'd started shaking. What if I hadn't remembered the future/past in time?

He took my trembling hands between his own. “You're like ice. Lie down.”

I shook my head.

“Doctor's orders. You're going into shock.” He glanced over his shoulder at the continued pandemonium in the hall. “Really, Willow, I don't have the time.”

“Time?” I echoed.

Worry haunted his face. “This is a secure psychiatric facility. Or at least it was before I took over. To lose the same patient twice isn't going to be good for me. As much as I'd like to sit here with you, I need to find Mary. Now.”

“It's not your fault.”

He urged me to lie down and covered me with a blanket. Then he smoothed my hair. “Who else's fault would it be?”

I couldn't tell him it was mine, but I could help him find her. “May I have a glass of water, please?”

“Of course.” He fetched it, handing it over without glancing at me at all.

Which only showed how distracted he was. I'm sure the fact that I
never
drank water by choice was very prominent in my file.

At first I saw nothing in the tiny bathroom-sized cup. I sipped and when the water hit my lacerated tongue it burned. A fleck of dried blood floated across the surface. It spread out, dissolved, became one with the water, and I saw a small town—different from the last one but similar enough to be in the same general area. A coffee shop—a woman and a man sat in the booth by the window. He was slim and blond; he had a goatee. She was the same long-haired woman I'd seen twice before.

Someone shot out of the darkness, ran up to the window, started hammering fists against the glass.

“Bitch-whore!” she screamed.

“Mary,” I said.

“What?” Dr. Frasier asked.

I dropped the cup. It soaked first the blanket and then me. “The restaurant is called Missy's Café.”

“What restaurant? Where?”

“Google it.” I pointed to his computer. “Quick. I'm not sure how much time you have.”

“Before what?” he asked, but he was already sitting at his desk and bringing up the search engine.

“Before Mary tries to kill her.”

He flicked a glance at me, then back at the screen. “Who?”

“That bitch-whore she keeps talking about? She found her.”

*   *   *

Sebastian located the restaurant through the wonder of Google in Carlton's Cave Township.

“That's forty miles from here,” he said. “There's no way she could be there yet. Even if she got a ride.”

“You need to hurry,” was all Willow said.

“She told you she was going there?” He typed in the Carlton's Cave PD, found the number, dialed.

“Whatever works.”

Sebastian frowned at her answer, but he didn't have time to ask “what the hell?” because the phone was picked up on the other end.

“Carlton's Cave Police Department.”

“This is Dr. Sebastian Frasier from the Northern Wisconsin Mental Health Facility. One of our patients may be in your area. Perhaps headed to a restaurant called Missy's Café?”

“That's not a crime,” the dispatcher said.

“Not yet.” Sebastian couldn't believe he'd just said that. “If you could have an officer patrol there tonight, be on the lookout for an older woman, long gray hair, tan jumpsuit, slippers not shoes. Can't miss her.”

Especially if she put her hands around someone else's throat and started to squeeze.

“And if we find her?”

“Detain, please. I'm on my way.” He hung up as Willow swung her feet to the floor. “You should stay there until you feel less shaky. Would you like more water?”

Sebastian heard what he'd just said and frowned. Because of what she thought she saw in it, Willow only drank water to get rid of it. She never asked for it. Why had she tonight?

To find Mary. And she had. Or at least she thought she had. Who was he to throw stones? He was heading to Carlton's Cave because of her “vision.” But he had to do something.

What if Mary was actually there? He'd deal with that after he found her. He'd deal with calling Dr. Tronsted then too. Breaking with procedure again but why stop now?

“I'll come with you.” Willow stood, swayed.

“Not.”

“She'll behave better if I'm there.”

“Willow, I cannot take you out of here.”

Well, he could—in cuffs maybe—but he wasn't going to. He wasn't taking anyone. Willow because he didn't want to lose two patients in one night. And anyone else because he didn't want an audience if he got to Carlton's Cave and found nothing but locals.

He set his hand on her shoulder. “Just rest, okay?”

She tangled their fingers together. She wasn't as icy as she'd been a few moments ago, thank God.

“You need to be careful,” she said.

“If I have to I can sedate Mary.”

“I wasn't talking about Mary.”

A shadow flickered in the doorway. Zoe stared at their still-joined hands with an odd expression. Sebastian yanked his away.

“I had a call about Mary,” he said. “I'm going to check it out. Willow can lie down in here until she feels better.”

“I'm fine.”

She seemed pale. The remaining streaks of blood on her chin and lips only made it worse.

“You want some ice cream?”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Ice cream? I'm not five.”

“Sugar and fat would help.”

“Help what?” Zoe asked.

“Yeah, help what?” Willow echoed.

“Shock?”

“Are you asking if I'm in shock or if it helps shock?”

“Yes.”

She laughed. Zoe didn't.

“Why would she be in shock?”

Willow cast the nurse a narrow glance. “I'm not.”

Sebastian was uneasy about leaving. “You're sure you're—”

“Go.” Willow made a shooing motion. “Find Mary.”

He shooed.

An hour later—forty miles on county highways took longer to travel over than miles on just about anything else—he rolled into Carlton's Cave in the facility's minivan.

Small-town police departments were usually located on a side street. Less cost for the real estate than the main drag and room to expand if necessary, which it usually was. As he drove toward the first cross avenue, a sign halfway down on his right drew his attention.

MISSY'S CAFÉ
.

He slowed as he approached. Framed in the window sat a woman with long dark hair and a blond man. They were in earnest conversation, leaning toward each other, gesticulating.

Then a figure shot forward, pounding the glass with fists and shouting. He couldn't hear what. As the figure was undoubtedly Mary, he could imagine.

He threw the vehicle into park, leaping out just as a CCPD cruiser pulled up and the officer behind the wheel did the same. He reached Mary an instant before Sebastian did, shoving her against the window and cuffing her.

Mary continued to shriek about the bitch-whore. Sebastian tuned her out.

He expected the “bitch-whore” and her companion to come outside and see what was going on. He'd ask if either one of them knew Mary, though considering Mary, that wasn't a prerequisite for her flipping out. When no one joined them, Sebastian glanced inside.

The woman and the man were gone.

“Would you return to your vehicle, sir?” The police officer's question brought Sebastian back to the issue at hand.

“I'm Dr. Frasier. I called earlier about Mary.” He indicated the struggling woman in cuffs.

“Great.” The man stepped back, and Mary tried to run off. He pushed her against the wall again. “I don't think she wants to go with you.”

Sebastian bit back the
no kidding
that rose to his lips. “Can you put her in the van?”

“I can try.” The guy looked doubtful. Mary was giving him a lot of trouble.

“Hold on.” Sebastian went to the vehicle, which would have been in traffic, if there was traffic. The only car that passed in either direction was a bright yellow Jaguar with tinted windows, which caught his attention not only because of its glaring uselessness in northern Wisconsin but because of the ostentatious color. Although, if the thing went bumper deep in a snowbank, which was a given sometime soon, it wouldn't be hard to spot.

Sebastian retrieved the sedation he'd brought along and returned to the officer and his charge.

Mary tried to bite both of them when he used it, but it worked fast. The fellow was able to lead her to the van, strap her in, remove the cuffs. Sebastian thanked him and drove away.

Mary had calmed, but she was still conscious. Sebastian wasn't sure how long either one would last.

“How'd you get out, Mary?”

“Same's last time.”

“And how was that?”

“Transportation.”

Star Trek
again. He wasn't surprised.

“He will burn them all.”

As Mary had been screaming about a “bitch-whore” Sebastian was curious. “Who's he?”

“Brand, then burn. It's what he does.”

Considering what he'd learned about the murder of the Gilletts, that was disturbing. How could she know? According to Hardy, the branding part of the program had been withheld from the media.

Might Mary have been involved in the couple's deaths? No. She'd been in the facility at the time, and she hadn't yet “transported” out. But maybe someone inside had committed the murders or told Mary who had. Or maybe Willow had shared her vision with Mary as well.

“Who brands and burns, Mary?”

“Roland.”

Roland was the name of the voice that told Mary to do bad things. As Roland had been talking to Mary for over a decade, Sebastian had to consider that Mary's answers tonight were more Mary-variety gibberish.

Unless Roland was real.

 

Chapter 11

“I know what you're up to.”

I'd been watching Dr. Frasier make his way down the hall toward the exit. He stopped and spoke with one of the other doctors, then a guard.

I met Zoe's gaze. “Wish I did.”

“You think if you fuck him he'll let you out?”

“Excuse me?”

“I won't excuse you.” She grabbed my upper arm and hauled me out of the office. “He deserves better. He deserves—”

“What's going on here?”

Peggy was back. I was ecstatic, and not because of Zoe. It might land me in solitary, but I knew how to handle her.

“Mary's gone again.” Zoe continued to hold on to me.

Peggy's gaze flicked to mine, then down to Zoe's too-tight grip. “What does that have to do with Willow?”

“I don't know. But I'm sure it's something.”

“I'll take over from here, Zoe.”

Zoe's fingers tightened. I refused to wince. It was what she wanted. Since Peggy was waiting, Zoe released me, but she'd be back. I'd be ready.

Peggy kept her eyes on the nurse as she joined the others. “Is she behaving badly, Willow?”

“No.” I knew better than to point fingers. If Zoe were reprimanded, I'd bear the brunt of her fury. The only way to deal with bullies was to be a bigger bully. Been there, done that. Was pretty good at it.

“Hmm.”

Peggy didn't believe me. Imagine that?

“How did Mary get out?”

“Wow, déjà vu,” I said.

“Don't be a smartass. Was it the spell?”

“Really?”

“Willow, did you do the transportation spell?”

“No.” I lifted my arm. “Hand to God.” We hadn't gotten that far.

“I wonder if I should call her son?”

“The one she tried to kill?”

“He's the only one she has.”

“What's he going to do?”

“True.” Peggy let out a breath. “He's in Afghanistan anyway.”

“By choice?”

“Marine.”

Good.
I'd been a little worried about Mary's son. But if he was a marine, he might just be able to take her.

“How was your visit with your granddaughter?” I asked.

“Great.”

“Bet you're thrilled to be back.”