Vision Page 4

  Lawrence also knew about her education. She hadn't used her comparative religion studies to delve more deeply into her “gift". She'd used them to protect herself—to find some way to control it. Not for Merrie the obscurities of ectoplasmic artforms, or the etheric darkness of oblique pentagons or magic. No—Merrie had found a way to live, without dwelling upon her body's preoccupation with death.

  He knocked, and Merrie answered the door herself. “Dusty okay?” she asked quickly.

  “Why?” Lawrence quipped. “Did he come calling?”

  She grinned in appreciation, then threw her arms around him, and gave him a spontaneous hug. “Glad you're here, Zar. Everybody's leaving in five.” She kissed the side of his cheek, then whispered in his ear, “I don't want to be alone, you see.”

  “What happens if you goof up? And everybody takes off to a better party?

  “There are no better parties,” she said confidently. “And if my public vanishes, I go out.” She gave him a kiss on the other cheek, then nestled against him. “Or else I call my Zar,” she murmured. She pulled back, to look him straight in the eye. “He's never failed me yet,” she said.

  * * * *

  Ren looked out over the arid landscape, but all she could see were skeletal paloverdes, saguaros, ocotillos, and a scattering of mesquite. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “I'm supposed to be checking for fungal damage.”

  “That white leftover certainly fits the bill,” Josh told her, pointing to an ocotillo. “That's damage, if I ever saw it.”

  She snorted. “I was hoping to see something a little more generalised—patterns of damage, that kind of thing. I'll have to check them close-up.”

  “One by one?” Josh asked, dismayed.

  “Do you complain like this when you get out your toothbrush and scrape for dinosaur rubble?”

  “Point taken. Watch yourself,” he warned. “There's a snake under that rock—and that one.” He pointed to a rock on her left. “Scorpion.”

  Ren moved back a little gingerly, until she was clear. “Safe now?”

  Josh nodded. “Far as I can tell. If it's so obvious there's no big fungal problem, then why are we here?”

  “I have to assume it's a serious request, Josh.” She admitted, “Makes me feel less used.”

  “Used for your brain, rather than your ‘brain'.” He indicated a large, flat rock. “Scorpions,” he said, with a mock shiver. “Lots of ‘em.” As he followed her around it, he asked, “What fungus is this, anyway?”

  “Fusarium oxysporum. A mycoherbicide used for biocontrol. It's been in development for years. Two-sided assault on the Colombian drug trade—against the coca plants, and the cash flow for insurgents. Not too nice for the locals, though.”

  He looked up quickly. “Why? Ups the violence?”

  “Fusariosis. People with immune deficiencies are susceptible to toxins in the fungus. Unfortunately, they've found poor diet can compromise the immune system into a susceptible state. In poverty-stricken areas it can be fatal.”

  Josh frowned. “How bad is it?”

  “Seventy-six percent mortality, in one study.”

  “Biowarfare.”

  “It could be viewed that way. They didn't tell me all this, just in case you're wondering. Once I knew what I was searching for, I looked up the rest.”

  “Why here?” Josh looked disparagingly at the miserably sparse plant numbers, somehow eking out a living in dust-dry soils. “I mean, far be it from me to forego a chance to dig, but...” His expression said it all.

  Ren shrugged. “Collateral damage? If they're having me look for it, it must mean some got away.” She grimaced. “I don't think they have too much to worry about. This isn't exactly fungus heaven.” Poking a finger warily between the spines of a saguaro, Ren added, “Even if it took out one, it'd take a bloody miracle to hit another susceptible host. I don't even know if it can affect cactus.”

  “That would have been a good thing to look up,” Josh said practically.

  “I wasn't exactly given much time—” she began.

  Josh just looked at her.

  She laughed. “Okay! I admit it! Once they told me what I was looking for I got so involved considering the possibilities that I didn't do all my homework. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “It'll do for a start.” Josh scanned from horizon to horizon. Pretty open ground. “This area used to be underwater. Did you know that?” He scanned the arid surface, searching for unusual features. He pointed to a distant lump of rock, reddish sandy soil, and scrubby creosote. “That one looks promising.”

  “Not for fungus.”

  Josh had a glint in his eyes. “I'm not looking for fungus.”

  “If a stegosaurus seeps out of the sand, I'll let you know.” Ren followed him down off the rocks then said, “Go for it, Josh. You might never get this ‘opportunity’ again.” She looked around at the heat waves rising off the dried sand and sighed. “I'll just be strolling through, checking leaves and stems.”

  “Watch your pit stops.”

  “Peeping Tomases?”

  Josh grinned. “That's Peeping Joshes, and I wouldn't have felt the need to warn you. Rattlesnakes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Has to do with ambient temperature. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, they prefer a little shade. I'd hate to see you get a bite in the backside.”

  “Glad you know the desert. Thanks.”

  “See you at the Plesiosaur.” Josh set off determinedly for his lump of dirt in the distance.

  “Don't let the mirages bite!” Ren yelled, turning back to the ocotillo and pulling out her magnifying lens. She focussed it carefully on the leaf, then made a note in her PDA. She yelped when her specimen caught fire.

  Her phone buzzed. “Did I hear a distant cry of dismay?”

  She twisted to look at him and gave him a big thumbs up. “Just set my leaf on fire.”

  His chuckle sounded like hissy static in the phone. “That's what Dusty said you do for him—and here, I didn't believe him.”

  * * * *

  “What about your nights?”

  “You mean, when I run out of money?”

  He looked slightly shocked at that, and Merrie chuckled. “I don't mean whores, Zar,” she laughed. “Male or otherwise. I meant when I'm broke, and there's no more food or entertainment.”

  He saw the sadness in her eyes and knew this was one of the rare times she'd truly let down her guard.

  “My nights are indescribably terrifying.”

  He put an arm around her, and she leaned back into it. They were on the couch and he knew damn well this wasn't professional behaviour, but he damn well didn't care. In defiance of his ethics, he tightened his grip, a glint in his eyes. Ethics be hanged...

  She went on, trying to explain. “They're just people, but I'm selective about the people who enter my house.”

  “Didn't you say they turned up anyway? Came to your parties?”

  She shrugged, and he unconsciously brushed his lips across the top of her head.

  “But the stats are against them. They're outnumbered by the living, even if it's only one extra.” She took his hand. “It's when they get me alone...” Her voice tapered off.

  “What? What do they do?”

  “Angry, Zar?” she asked, smiling up at him. “Don't be. Not all people are ‘nice', and even if they are, certain situations can set them off.”

  “The bully syndrome.”

  “Is that a real syndrome, or are you talking down to me?”

  He grinned. “Talking down to you. Keeping it simple, so even you can understand.”

  She laughed appreciatively.

  “Tell me why they bully you.”

  “Because I'm so open they use me, but then they see me as the living's greatest wimp, because I'm so easy to circumvent. Even nice people watch violence, Zar—and get a thrill out of it, too. Very few will stand up to a bully in school. Most will decide he's on the winning side and go with him inste
ad.”

  But, Lawrence had latched on to her mention of violence. “What kind of violence? Poltergeist activity?” He glanced around the room, searching for signs of damage. It looked as it always did: colourful, full of lovely, glitteringly gaudy fairy hangings, crystals, flowers, fluffy cushions, and cheerful furnishings. So vital. So Merrie. He smiled.

  Her next words knocked the smile right off his face.

  She sat forward and lifted her shirt. There was heavy bruising across her rib cage, and when she pulled up her sleeve, he could see what looked like a bite mark. She wouldn't look at him, but he knew there'd be terror in her eyes. “H-He attacked me last night, when I was asleep.” A sob escaped, and she scrunched up her fists. He knew she was angry with herself for that sob, that sign of weakness. It took her a moment to regain control, and he didn't say anything.

  Because, she wasn't the only one fighting for control. Her “Zar” had just been swept with a nearly overwhelming urge to do violence to whomever, or whatever, had harmed her.

  He guessed it was the next admission that had really crushed her, though—even more than a singular entity's decision to violate her. Lawrence knew how she loved people, and surrounded herself not only for protection, but enjoyment. She worked hard at happiness for others, and in return, people flocked to her.

  How could they resist?

  She was used to being liked, and though she could admit to aberrance in an individual, she expected something different from the majority. Some sign of friendship, maybe even support against a challenge. Apparently, last night she'd found neither, and he guessed she'd been trying all day to make excuses for them. To rationalise away her terror. Hence, the “greatest wimp” and “winning side” comments. Now, she sighed, her expression dismal as she showed him her back, and the scratch marks there. He could barely hear her when she whispered, “The worst of it was, the others were all cheering him on.”

  * * * *

  Her phone buzzed again, and Ren jumped. She'd been concentrating so hard she'd tuned out everything else. “Yeah?” she asked distractedly.

  “Are you drinking your water?”

  “No.”

  “Well, get on it. Heat stroke's a killer.”

  Ren lifted her head, to stare blankly at the distant horizon. “That's not why you called,” she said. “Do you need me?”

  “I think so,” Josh told her. “I'm beginning to realise why they needed us both.”

  She stuffed her specimens into her bag; moving rapidly while she held the phone in place with her shoulder. “Want I should use the earpiece, so I can stay on-line?” She zipped the pack and slung it over one shoulder, then started jogging in Josh's direction.

  “Better not waste the battery,” Josh warned.

  “Wait!” she puffed. “Why?”

  “Why not waste the battery? You stupid, Woman?”

  “No!” she panted impatiently. “Why the two of us? For back-up?”

  “No-o,” he said slowly. “Triangulation.”

  * * * *

  “You won't be alone tonight.” It was a statement. Lawrence Valterzar had seen a lot in the last six years. Cheery furnishings and bright knickknacks grew shadows in the night, creating their own sense of threat. Reds bled into black. Darkness travelled. In Merrie's case, the air around her took form.

  He recalled the near-desperation with which Dustin had confronted his illness. He'd heard his words, as he thrashed in delirium. They'd let Erik “come out", because he'd arrived almost before they'd realised what he was doing. His theatrics had diminished his usefulness to them, but had done a lot to enhance the “psychic” image, so they'd let him go. Dustin wouldn't find it that easy. He was a cripple, who was bound by the complexities of his own mind. As much as he might find it abhorrent to rely on someone else, he'd always have to have someone there, to bail him out.

  Lawrence wondered what they'd do to convince him. He still remembered the time they'd nearly shattered Ren. He'd been newer then, but it had still seemed like overkill for refusal. Nothing had been said, but he'd known, much as Ren had, that it was a setup. The difference was, he'd still been naive. He'd only figured it out after-the-fact. After Ren had already suffered through it.

  That incident had made him question everything. Paranoia in the making. When James Wickham's “accident” with the rocks had triggered a call for psychiatric intervention, why had he been summoned? He had his own practice, and although he was listed on-call for the hospital, his name was way down the list. Had everyone else been busy? Or had there been a specific reason for the call—to him?

  Now, as he found himself peering around Merrie's apartment, he recalled some of the horror stories he'd seen. Could she be living over some ancient graveyard? Had someone set it up so her gift was “active"?

  He was lost in his thoughts when Merrie nudged him. They were still on the sofa, and he knew he had a decision to make. He wasn't about to leave her, but he didn't want to be just one more person to use her, either. It wouldn't be like that, but she'd never be sure, and he guessed she'd take any out he offered if it could see her through the night without fear.

  “I'm never ‘alone', Zar. That's the problem.” She admitted, “I'd walk the streets before I'd let him at me again.”

  She didn't have to translate. She wasn't talking about a casual stroll—she'd go whoring, if that's what it took, to keep herself from being alone.

  Lawrence's lips curved in a smile. “That won't be necessary,” he said. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, staring at the curve of her lips.

  Not ethical, Valterzar.

  “My Zar,” she said, rubbing her hand against his chest.

  To hell with it. “Or maybe it will—” He bent his head and kissed her, and then just kept kissing her. He started with her mouth, then nibbled and kissed down her jaw, and the line of her neck. Damn, she tasted good!

  Merrie was breathing heavily now; her eyes dilated. But she pushed him away—holding him off with a trembling hand. He had to know. It wouldn't be fair if he didn't know. “He-He won't like it,” she whispered. Her eyes were wet now—fierce with wanting him, but not prepared to have him go in defenceless. “He'll fight you—”

  She averted her head and stood up, on shaky legs—taking a few steps to widen the distance between them. It hurt her to say this. She'd wanted him to love her for so long. Longer than the eternity she sometimes glimpsed in the shadows. Now, he was willing, and she couldn't let him—because it wouldn't be right. She took a shuddery breath and forced a smile. “I didn't tell you, just so you'd—” She shook her head, unable to finish.

  “I know you didn't.” He could read her so clearly. She wanted so much to do the right thing. It went beyond any fears of karmic requital. It was her innate decency, coming to the fore.

  He moved over to her slowly. “There are ‘things’ I can stop,” he told her. “Rockfalls, for one. Who knows what else?”

  “Things you can stop?” she whispered. Her arms were around his neck now, as his lips moved with that irresistible nibble along her neck.

  “Many things,” he murmured, picking her up, and burying his face for a moment in her breasts. “But this—”

  He kissed her long and hard, then gave her a half-smile as he kicked open her bedroom door.

  “—isn't one of them.”

  * * * *

  “So much better to be on this side of things for a change,” someone said.

  Dustin opened his eyes. “How'd you know I wasn't asleep?”

  “I'm an expert at feigning sleep. Anything to avoid discerning eyes—after one of my ‘episodes'.”

  Dustin smiled. “Expert at feigning everything.”

  “Heard you refused ‘The Dainler's’ help. The way he tells it, he hung out here, suffering from champagne and limo deprivation, while you insisted on healing naturally.” James Wickham grinned. “Made it sound as though you tortured him.”

  “Have to admit, though, it was good to see him when I woke up. Just like the old day
s.” Dusty grinned at James. “Been to any good ‘rock and roll’ parties lately?”

  “Aren't we snide. It's obvious how much you have things under control.” James’ voice lowered dramatically. “Don't know if I can trust you, even now...”

  “Look who's talking! When you tell someone you live a ‘stone's throw’ away, you really mean it!”

  James burst out laughing. “Never could hold onto it when you were around, Dusty.” He plunked down in the chair, and some of the amusement faded from his voice. “They want us to do a job together.” At Dusty's expression, James said, “Believe me, I understand how you feel. I'm so dependent on the fuckers I can barely screw myself—”

  It was Dusty's turn to laugh. “What do they want? A ‘fresh’ sample of Cretaceous granite? If it's dinosaurs, I'm not going to sit there while you fling rocks in their faces—”

  “Rocks aren't my only forte,” James argued. “Just what I'm famous for.” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, and his feet up on the bed. “It's all very innocent. Supposedly, they need a 3D animation of an eruption. I'm the expert on all things geological, and you're the graphics man. To get the feel, we're getting an all-expenses paid trip to some remote, volcanically active island. Remote from here, anyway.”

  “Isolated,” Dusty commented.

  James nodded. “Very. The trip's short-term—just to give us the ‘feel’ of fire and brimstone. The problem is, they know it's a trek I'd kill for.”

  “And they need to find out whether I'm still in the fold. Valterzar coming along?”

  James shook his head. “Zar's—” he began.

  Dustin looked at him strangely.

  “Merrie's word,” he explained.

  Dusty nodded. “Ah-h.”

  James grinned. “Anyway, Zar's been standing up to them. Had it from Merrie.”

  “She's getting pretty chummy with him, isn't she?”