Hunting the Shadows Read online

  * * *

  There was a turbulent penumbra of shifting silhouettes in the network of J.C.’s mind. It flashed like lightning in the dark, highlighting the complex network of memories. Amy had been tempted more than once to escape the deep thrall of his thoughts. The fact that she was fighting not only against Ashton but herself meant that she ran more of a risk of overloading her system. Being in J.C.’s head had her on the edge of a shutdown, her energy already drained from the previous day in Testing.

  She’d been alerted to Ashton’s attack the moment he’d first slipped inside. The pain J.C. felt rippled through her, forcing her to double over as though someone had stabbed a knife through her own brain. The re-programming had begun. She could read that intent as sure as if he were in her own head. If Ashton was aware of her presence as she was of him, he didn’t give any indication of it.

  She kept her distance—just in case—hovering deep in J.C.’s subconscious as Ashton went through the memories. J.C. was her last hope. She couldn’t let the Enforcer ruin it by reconditioning the only ally she potentially had. She was going to have to copy the memories before he had the chance to manipulate them. Otherwise, the man she’d put her hopes in would be gone forever. Getting to all of J.C.’s memories before Ashton was going to be a race.

  Fear rippled through her stomach. If she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t do things properly, she could lose herself and merge her mind with his forever. She really didn’t need the added bonus of having his consciousness stuck inside her head as well.

  Unsure if it would work but needing to try something, Amy opened herself completely and immersed herself as deep as she could. Her mind worked like a computer’s network. As she reached for the files of his memories, her concentration wavered when fire burned across her temples. Ignoring it, she worked the psychic energy, using it to copy every last neuron of his subconscious.

  She gasped as his memories flooded her mind, darker than she anticipated. A rush of adrenaline pulsed through her body, her heart tripping at the intimacy created. His conscious felt like him. Safe and yet completely dangerous at the same time.

  If she let him, he would destroy her.

  She froze at that last thought before she remembered that she wasn’t done yet. Ashton had begun altering J.C.’s mind to be that of a perfect agent, completely loyal to the Council. A puppet who wouldn’t care about her or anyone else. He would be a prisoner within himself, locked deep in the code of the Council. She had to finish this.

  Amy lifted her hands, pressing her fingers to her temples as she rocked against the upload, the transfer burning the breath in her lungs until she thought she’d suffocate. There wasn’t enough oxygen. She lowered herself to the ground, pressing her forehead to the mattress of the bed. Her back arched against the electricity that settled at the base of her neck, the first tremble turning into a cramping spasm throughout her entire body.

  This was it.

  She’d done it. She’d copied his old memories.

  She fought to retreat. Faster and faster the images of his life filled her head, as though she’d lived it as well. Tears built, spilling free down her cheeks. Lifting a shaking hand, she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Her gaze shifted to the red smeared across it.

  Blood.

  She was overloading.

  There was no Amy. No J.C. It was as though they were one, their minds co-mingling as she fought to regain control of her body. He was strong, threatening to tear her apart from the inside. For one long second, her worst nightmare was coming true.

  She tried to focus her gaze and panicked when all color drained away, a sign that the break down was imminent. There was no stopping it.

  She closed her eyes and gave in to the dark.

  Chapter Five

  “I never asked you to tell me what could have happened. I asked for you to get me facts, Stefan. I want to know how this killer is subduing trained agents.” J.C. narrowed his gaze.

  “You would have to ask the victims then,” Stefan retorted, “because we have no answers.”

  “As your superior, I expect you to get me those answers. I don’t care if you agree with me or my methods, you’ll to do it without complaint.” He tapped a finger to his chin, sliding his attention toward the woman playing with her silver wrist cuff. “Ariadne? Stefan did bring up a good point. Why don’t we have a chat with the dead?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Ariadne blew black strands of her hair out of her face. “I can’t get a link to anyone. No one is willing to talk, not even the dead.”

  “It’s one thing to sit there and ask for answers, but another when we don’t have any.” Davan rose to his feet and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. “At this point, we’ve gone over every case file a hundred times. We’ve gone back to the crime scene. We’ve even tried communicating with the dead. We have nothing.”

  J.C. turned a bit too fast. His mind fuzzed over. Disoriented, he closed his eyes to get his bearings back before opening them again. He frowned, lifting a hand to his temple. He was forgetting something. Something important. What is it?

  “Darilynn, have you picked up any stray readings from the murder sites?”

  “I don’t think they are, that’s the thing. Murder sites, I mean.” Darilynn shrugged. “I should have gotten some kind of information. Anything. That I’m not picking up the slightest vibe tells me we only found the dump sites. There’d be violent impressions left behind if the victims died there, but there’s nothing like that.”

  He glanced down at her gloved fingers as she played with a pen, the skeleton print drawing his attention. “Anything found on the victims?”

  She readjusted the thick black-framed glasses on her nose. “Nothing. I’m telling you, J.C., it’s like someone neutralized any readings I could pick up and don’t even get me started on that. I have no idea how it could have been done. There’s nothing there for me to find. It’s freaking me out a little.”

  J.C. stepped up to the whiteboard and, with an erasable marker, drew a line from the first victim found to the next until he’d connected all of the names. The marker squeaked as it inked a thick red line like a trail of blood. “This killer is taking out highly trained individuals, both males and females. Of course he wouldn’t leave traces behind for you to pick up. That’d be stupid and he’s anything but.”

  “Or plain lucky,” Cameron murmured, looking up from a file. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched his jean clad legs out in front of him. “If you ask me, we need to check out all the surveillance tapes again. There has to be something on one of them that we missed.”

  Stefan shook his head. “That would take forever. Years. We can’t wait that long.”

  “No, Cameron’s right.” Something had to have been caught. J.C. looked over at Cameron who was currently twisting small balls of flame through his fingers. “You and Stefan have video duty. I want anything suspicious noted. First victim was found nine years ago. Start around then.”

  “Like hell. I should be running this task force. Not you.” Stefan stepped forward, fisted hands lowered to his sides. “I’m not going to sit and watch videos that have already been combed through. You’re not my superior, you egotistical asshole.”

  “You don’t have to like it, but you will do what I say.” J.C. moved forward, going toe to toe with the man. “Have a problem? Take it up with your father.”

  “This isn’t over,” Stefan growled.

  “Actually, it is. Do you really want to risk subordination, Gurvitch?”

  “You might want to stop spreading everyone’s time so thin by going after every non-existent piece of evidence. When the killer goes after you, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.” The door slammed shut as Stefan stormed out.

  A headache cracked across his forehead. “Anyone else have something to add to Stefan’s as
sessment? If so, do it now.”

  “He’s right you know.” Mackenzie met his stare as she rose to her feet. “If there was anything on those videos, we’d have found it by now.”

  He reached for a stack of files and the photos, laying them out on the conference table before him. At the last one, he frowned. Leila. He should feel something about her, about her death, but he didn’t. Shrugging the confusion off, he looked around the room. “Perhaps we never noticed it because we weren’t looking for anything suspicious before. Want to pick up where Stefan left off before his temper tantrum?”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Mackenzie, go. If I need you I’ll find you in Medical. We aren’t going to agree on this. Stefan is wrong and so are you.”

  “You don—”

  “Stop it, the two of you!” Ajay slapped her hands on the table. “The Psychic Vampire is out there and he’s not going to wait while you guys figure out what you’re doing. Right now, he probably already knows who he’s targeting next. We don’t have the time for you three to bicker like little kids who haven’t had their naps.”

  “Ajay—” Mackenzie began.

  “No,” she interrupted again. “I’m tired of your fighting. After we find this monster you can fight. Right now, we need to focus. Sit back down, please.”

  Although she rolled her eyes, Mackenzie slid back into her chair.

  “Ajay’s right.” Rick propped his arm behind his head. “Once the killer’s been caught, you can take my brother out back and challenge him. Beat yourselves to bloody messes if it’ll make the two of you feel any better, but right now, we have other problems to deal with.”

  J.C. slanted a glare to the other Gurvitch in the room. “What are you doing here? You’re not an agent.”

  “You mean even though I know the secret handshake and have the tattoo, I’m not allowed to join the big boys?” The man smiled and flashed the tattoo at his wrist. “I’m being helpful and honestly, you need all the help you can get. You can’t afford to tell me to get lost.”

  “Whatever.” J.C. reached for the marker again and moved over to the whiteboards. “Why would anyone use obsidian on a knife?”

  Ajay frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “The killer uses a knife edged with obsidian. Is there’s any significance to it?” The memory of the knife flitted a moment, slamming up against a wall. As much as he tried, he couldn’t remember how he knew. He just did.

  “That’s not in any report.” Darilynn frowned.

  J.C. shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

  Rick leaned forward. “Obsidian is used to ward off negative energy. People wear it to protect themselves.”

  To protect against those with psychic abilities? “Find me documentation on obsidian and its known uses,” J.C. said. “Moving on, what do we know about the victims?”

  Darilynn glanced toward the board. “Throats are all cut. To make sure the victim didn’t make a sound?”

  “Duct taping the victim’s mouth would have achieved that as well.” Rick reached for some papers. “Sounds more like a ritual. Or he’s treating them like farm animals sent off to the slaughterhouse. The victims mean nothing to him personally.”

  J.C. nodded at that assessment. “What about the burn mark on their skin?”

  Cameron furrowed a brow. “Elemental possibly. Someone with control of fire or electricity.”

  “Anyone know how many psychics are here with that ability?” J.C. asked.

  “Ten counting me,” Cameron murmured. “Two who only have the ability to manipulate fire. I can tell you now though, most wouldn’t be capable of these murders. Five of them are children.”

  “That doesn’t rule you out,” J.C. said flatly. “Go back to your room, Cameron. We’ll deal with you later.”

  “You know he couldn’t have done it, right?”

  J.C. looked over at Rick. “No, actually, I don’t. Hell, you could be the killer for all I know. We don’t know anything about the identity of this monster. He could be anyone. If I suspected you, you’d be off the case like Cameron.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “Good. What else about the victims?” He looked toward Darilynn.

  “Nothing. We found no alien traces of fabric that could have come from the assailant’s clothing. The blood found on the victims was their own.”

  “What can we assume about the killer?”

  “That he’s controlling. Hence the ritualistic way of the kill.” She flipped through her notepad. “Possibly does it for the thrill. What better challenge than someone who is specially trained in psychic warfare?”

  Ariadne leaned forward in her seat, tapping an open page of the file. “Also, look at these dates. He stopped for two years. Why? The hunting ground hasn’t changed. Why start again?”

  “He could have been locked up.” J.C. moved over toward the computer and ran a search of all the agents incarcerated but now released. He ran through the list quickly, sorting them out by ability until one name popped out. “And we have a name. Ryzak, Tristan. He’s an electrokinetic. The dates match up.”

  “I’m going with.” Rick was already closing his files. “I know Tristan. He was a patient of mine once.”

  J.C. nodded. “All right, Rick, you’re with me. The rest of you, find me proof. If it’s him, I want this bastard to fry.”

  J.C. was already headed for the door with Rick behind him. They ran down the halls. According to the system, Tristan had logged into his quarters within the last five minutes in the south wing, third floor.

  “What’s the plan?”

  He threw his weight against the corridor door, taking the stairs two by two. Behind him, Rick started to lag, breath puffing from his lungs. “We bring him in for questioning. I want this done right.”

  “What was he incarcerated for?”

  “Shouldn’t you know? He was your patient.”

  Rick shook his head. “I stopped treating him awhile ago when I handed him off to another scientist.”

  “The file didn’t say much. He attacked some guards about two years ago and was just released for good behavior. The timing fits enough to bring him in for questioning.” They passed the second floor and kept going up.

  At the third landing, he pushed the door open. Tristan’s room was the second one on the left. He waited by the door until Rick got there, counting down from three on his fingers. At one, he kicked the door in. Rick moved in with his gun drawn.

  “Tristan Ryzak, you’re coming with us.”

  Tristan was a pale, gaunt man. His gaze flicked from Rick to J.C., then back again to Rick. He licked his lips. “I…no, no, no. I won’t go back. You can’t make me.”

  “You’re being investigated for the murder of nine specialized agents.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I saw nothing. I swear.” Tristan began to pace, whispering to himself. “You promised! You said no more. I’m safe here. You said I was safe.”

  “He’s obviously deranged,” Rick murmured.

  J.C. watched Tristan become more agitated and could only agree. He reached forward, but Tristan jerked free with a cry of horror. Before J.C. could get to him again he’d twisted away.

  “Come on, Tristan. It’s time to go.”

  “No!”

  J.C. acted too slowly. Before he could do anything, electricity sizzled through the air. Blue sparks moved beneath Tristan’s skin and then suddenly, he dropped to the ground, seizures violently shaking his body. J.C. dropped to his knees, pressing two fingers to find the man’s pulse, but nothing could be done.

  Their number one suspect had killed himself.

  * * *

  Amy woke from the sticky web of darkness, struggling to separate her consciousness from J.C.’s memories. They were a weight,
a presence that shifted every time she moved to isolate them. Jagged shards slashed at the edge of her mind, trying to imbed deep into the network of her brain. She couldn’t let them in. She would never survive.

  The splinters of J.C.’s memories pierced into her shields, threatening to tear them down. At the crack of her defenses, the world closed in, spilling into her head before she could react. Amy twisted, closing her eyes tight against the screams only she could hear.

  Reaching for her pillow, she pulled it over her head, burrowing herself into the thin blankets on the bed, anything to try and block some of the stimuli. There was nothing she could do. Nothing but lie there as her mind fractured.

  Breathing carefully, she pressed her fingers to her sweat dampened temples as J.C.’s memories breached the flimsy walls of her defenses. She felt trapped, unable to escape the confines of her own mind. There was no Amy during these moments, only a ghost of who she was.

  She whimpered as the pressure built, the strain too much. She didn’t know how she could handle more when it suddenly went quiet. The memories stopped and her mind settled, giving her room to breathe and think. She didn’t feel J.C.’s consciousness anymore.

  Silence.

  Mind numbing, shocking silence. No voices. No stray thoughts. No emotions. Nothing. The echo of it reverberated within her. She’d never felt this…there had always been someone. Ever since she could remember, there had always been another’s voice in her mind or something to distinguish that she was not alone. But there was nothing now. For the first time she felt completely and utterly alone.

  Dizziness swam through her head, her skin feeling too tight, her vision blurring as pain stabbed at her brain.

  Blood dripped down her face and lifting her hand, Amy brushed her fingers over her cheeks, horrified when her fingertips came back red. She pushed herself off the bed, unfolding her legs so fast that the room spun. She closed her eyes, focused past the head-rush and hurried to the window. Her reflection stared back.

  Her complexion was pale, beads of blood trailing down the side of her neck from her right ear. In the reflection, a shadow of a man stood behind her, the door to her room wide open. She shied away from the image in the window and took a stumbling step, only to press against the solid weight of him.