Hunting the Shadows Page 9

  See it.

  “Don’t dwell and think about everything that can go wrong. Do that on your own time.” His voice was a little rough.

  For a moment, Drake did nothing. Then it happened. The pen began to lift, shaky at first but it steadied and began to head toward J.C.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. Please.”

  Amy’s voice sounded desperate. He frowned, but continued to watch the ascent of the pen. “Are you ok?” he asked.

  When the pen began to dip, J.C. held his breath. It twisted, doing quick elaborate movements before it clattered to the floor.

  “I need a second. I need to…”

  Did Amy know she was broadcasting?

  He removed the cloth and then the electrodes. “Ok, kid, you’re done for the day. I’m scheduling another appointment so make sure you’re rested.” He ruffled the boy’s mop of black hair and watched him race out of the lab.

  J.C. reached down to retrieve the pen that had rolled under his chair. The moment his fingertips touched the smooth plastic, she was there again.

  “I will… I… I will do anything.”

  Anything? What would she do and why?

  When she continued to ignore any attempt at communication, J.C. rushed out of the lab toward Medical, his footsteps echoing down the hall. When he got there, he found her bed empty. “Where are you?”

  Dark. It was dark and damp, the air hot against his skin, despite the coolness of rock and brick.

  J.C. followed her thoughts. He gripped hold of that thin thread, tracking it down into the basement to the Crypt and a specific cell designed for sensory deprivation—a cell they termed the Abyss.

  He broke into a sweat as the past assaulted him. Drying his palms onto his thighs, he took another step, forcing the air into his lungs.

  J.C. edged through the labyrinth of the rooms. When he found her, she was on her knees in the dark, her cheeks wet with tears. “Amy?”

  He reached out, hesitated, then clasped his hand over her shoulder and gave her a light shake. She screamed and jerked away from his touch. He’d never seen someone in so much pain who wasn’t bleeding profusely. She writhed on the hard floor, slapping at her skin as though something was crawling over her. Biting her.

  Rats. The distant memory made him swallow hard. There’d been so many of them, at least a dozen. They hadn’t been the well-kept lab rat variety either, but the matted fur, gnarled teeth kind that lived in sewers. Rats that went to the extreme to survive. They’d crawled all over him, getting tangled in his hair and clawing at his skin.

  The nauseating smell of rotting garbage and maggot infested flesh was still so strong that J.C. gagged and fought the bile that rose into his throat. He closed his eyes tight, counting to ten until the feeling subsided.

  “Amy.” He touched her cheek, tipping her white face up. Those dark eyes seemed to look right through him. “It’s not real. None of it is.”

  He gripped her face with his fingertips, forcing her to feel him there, hoping that his presence would pull her out. She hadn’t sleepwalked down here, but had been following a mental path…a memory. His.

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stroked her hair. Caleigh had enjoyed every moment of the torture. It was more than the whipping and the hallucinations of the rats. She knew his every nightmare and had made sure to make them real.

  Amy shuddered, going limp in his lap. It was finally over. He felt something like relief when she began to come around, her lashes fluttering before they lifted. She surfaced with a wheezing gasp, automatically recoiling from him.

  She wrapped her arms around her waist, rocking herself back and forth. He wanted to touch her—his fingers tingling with the urge to—but he kept his hands clenched at his sides as he watched her try to regain control.

  “It’s done. It’s over.” When she continued to shake, he did the only thing he could think to do. Despite her fighting him, J.C. wrapped her in his arms and pulled her against him. He shoved into her mind and thought about northern lights and the play of color in a dark sky, overlooking the river.

  Her breathing evened. She pushed away and when she looked up, he noticed that it hadn’t been tears staining her cheeks, but blood. Shit. He had to get her into the safety zone before she overloaded.

  “They tortured him.” Her voice was a whisper as she shuddered and shook. “Beatings until he was bloodied… Rats…”

  He relived it constantly in his nightmares.

  J.C. glanced around the small room, from the stained floors to nail marks that scored one wall. The room was designed to block out any kind of stimulation. Locked in the dark, unable to see or hear, he’d simply lost contact with the world.

  He’d resorted to doing things no one should ever have to, just to feel something. And when they lifted those physical stimulation barriers, the shock came. And the terror. Because, with his body not used to any stimulation, they subjected him to an onslaught of sights, sounds and touches. The cold felt like fire. The hot…like nothing he’d ever felt before. He’d wanted out, would have done or said anything to get them to stop and leave him alone. When the beatings started, he’d been ready to pass out. By the end, he wanted nothing more than for those barriers to be up again.

  He’d spent over three months down here. He’d been eighteen.

  J.C. said nothing. Anything he could have said locked in his throat. Instead, he lowered his face, pressing his cheek against the top of her head and was surprised and touched when she placed her hand on his.

  “They tortured the person who was placed down here… How could he survive?”

  He pressed his lips together because he knew all too well how a person could and it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. Not here, where it’d happened. “Tell me what you remember before this.”

  “I was asleep…”

  J.C. lifted his head and stroked damp strands from her forehead. “You sleepwalked?”

  She nodded and glanced down at the hospital gown that was bunched around her thighs. She smoothed the fabric back down over her knees, but not before he caught a glimpse of that vibrant puckered flesh of the scar. “They were memories.”

  He wasn’t going to admit what he knew. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. Somehow she’d created a connection between them that was letting her dip into his nightmares. He’d spent years building strong walls around his memories to forget and this tiny woman was tearing down every defense he had.

  He let silence come between them and simply smoothed a hand over her hair, feeling a jolt of heat when she pressed her cheek against the side of his throat. Stunned with the depth of intimacy, he didn’t move away, but curled his arm back around her waist and held her close.

  Chapter Nine

  Who does the bitch think she is?

  The disjointed thought pierced through the darkness.

  It was as though he hadn’t eaten in days. Weeks. He was on the verge of starving, his body threatening to shut down soon. Now.

  He saw judgment in Teresa’s eyes as she looked at him. She was like Leila.

  Amy tried to crawl away, a scream building when J.C. held her to the floor. She shuddered violently, even as she batted at his hands. It was as though something feral were breaking loose within her, something dark, claws fully extended.

  She pulled away to draw in breath as her muscles locked. The first convulsion slammed her head back against the ground, the second stealing the air from her lungs. J.C.’s hands touched her, firm as they wrapped around her waist, pulling her up against his body.

  So warm.

  Teresa’s blood was hot against his skin. Air bubbled in the deep cut along her jugular as she drowned in her own liquids, her unseeing eyes wide and desperate. There was nothing she could do now but die. The feel of her slipping away made him giddy—her life energy flooding
his system and infusing his cells.

  Bright colors spilled into his vision, chasing the black and white away. He felt alive, emotions not as dull as they had been. The marks were visible, his signature sliding through all the blood, a sticky reminder that no one could fight him and win.

  “Stay with me.” J.C. refused to let her go, even when the seizure hit. She felt him and it was more than a physical sense of her body pressed to his. He was in her mind, the demand for compliance trapping her into the now, buffering the worst of the attack and chasing her from the killer’s head.

  “Please.” Her tongue felt thick. Pressing numb lips together, Amy threw up every defense she had.

  J.C. lifted her effortlessly. She could do nothing but hold on, swallowing the frantic need to get away. As he carried her through the halls, she ignored the people that stared and turned her face into his shoulder. She stayed like that, locked in his embrace the entire way to Medical.

  When she shuddered, J.C. lowered her to a bed, holding her down as she fought against him.

  “Easy,” he whispered. “Use your shields. You need to get them up.”

  It didn’t matter what she did. Her shields were laughable at best. The most she could hope for was that the seizures wouldn’t damage her brain too much.

  When she opened her eyes, his stare locked on hers, the intensity stealing what breath she had.

  “If you die,” J.C. growled softly in her ear, “the killer gets away, damn it. Fight back.”

  He gripped her when the next seizure struck. Electricity sizzled the neurons in her brain and for a moment, her vision blurred as her mind initiated the beginning stages of shutting down. A mouth came down on hers, breathing into her. J.C. She froze, unable to think past his mouth. Oxygen infused her brain and she felt a rush of energy, a hum as though someone had pulled a switch on a generator.

  “J.C.,” she began. “There’s something you need to kn—”

  “You will not die.” His declaration made her shiver.

  Unconsciously, Amy reached for him and the angle of his mouth changed. It softened and she felt a tug within her stomach as he forced air again into her lungs. Before she could think he’d lifted himself off her again and she blinked back the floating lights in front of her.

  The weakness surprised her. She focused on breathing and not on the heaviness of her lashes.

  “What happened?” Mackenzie’s voice added to the others in her head, drawing closer. “J.C., keep her on her side.”

  Amy rolled her eyes over toward the doctor’s approach. Soft, warm hands touched her face, fingertips brushing through her hair. J.C. settled on the mattress, guiding her onto her side alongside him. His hold offered not only comfort but strength.

  “How long has she been like this?”

  “Fifteen minutes. She’s been in and out,” J.C. answered. His voice was distant.

  “Her system can’t handle being out. She’s crashing,” Mackenzie muttered. “I warned you, J.C. She shouldn’t have left Medical. I never gave you approval to take her from my care.”

  Amy took another breath, heard it rattle out. J.C.’s hand squeezed her shoulder.

  She felt his temper spike before she heard it in his voice. “I didn’t take her out. She snuck out on her own.”

  The sharp tearing of his emotion through her defenses shocked her. Amy cried out, rocking back as the force of it brought on another seizing fit. The woman didn’t wait for permission. Before Amy could throw up any kinds of barriers, the doctor’s psychic energy shoved them aside and blinding hot lightning shot through her body.

  “I need to tell you something about the killer.” She whimpered as mental cramps tore her breath away. Turning, Amy pressed her face toward him, gripping his arms tightly. This wasn’t new. She knew what it was like to have her body react beyond her control. But never before had someone held her, holding her close as they waited it out.

  His fingers curled in her hair, a much needed distraction. As Mackenzie raced against time, J.C.’s touch was appreciated. The doctor would be able to stop the cracks of her mind from widening but she wasn’t going to be able to heal them completely. The seizures would keep happening until they brought her back to the psych ward. It would only get worst.

  “J.C., I need you to listen to me.”

  He shook his head, his jaw tightening with stubbornness. She gave in to the urge, reaching up to press her palm against his face.

  “Amy, whatever it is can wait. Try to relax. We need to get you stable.”

  Black crept into her vision as her brain shut down. The last thing she heard before she crashed was J.C.’s curse and the feel of his arms holding her close, his body pressed deliciously to hers.

  * * *

  Amy didn’t know how long she’d been out, but when she woke she was laying in a bed. Turning on her side, she looked down at the piles of textbooks on the floor. Some were even being used as a makeshift end table for an alarm clock. It made her smile. She reached down, flipping through the pages of a microbiology text, then trailed her gaze across the room to an old mahogany desk covered in files. Apparently, J.C. brought his work home with him.

  She’d seen his room in his memories.

  Why was she here?

  Amy lifted her head when the door opened, her neck and shoulders so stiff that she winced and rubbed a hand at the muscles there. J.C. stepped into the room, his gaze sharp as he assessed her. She didn’t want to know what he saw. She hadn’t even run a brush through her hair.

  “I’ve rigged my quarters to block out brain waves, or at least as much as possible. I figured you’d be more comfortable out of Medical.” What he didn’t say—but she heard loud and clear—was that it was easier to watch her here. He settled on the edge of the bed, his gaze roaming over her again, lingering on the tattoo at her wrist. She dropped her hand into her lap, hiding the ugly mark. “How’s the head?”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond. Everything felt normal. There were still the voices…still the emotions, but they weren’t intense enough to cause a brain meltdown. She disregarded his question. “What happened?”

  “You passed out. Mackenzie was able to stabilize your condition. While you rested in Medical, I hooked everything up here, then transferred you over. You’ve been out for six hours.”

  Her memory was still a bit fuzzy, but she remembered J.C. carrying her, and the way he’d held her close and waited out the seizures. Her cheeks burned at that thought, then the heat seeped out, leaving her face numb when she remembered the woman…Teresa. Teresa was dead, another victim she hadn’t been able to save.

  Fingers snapped in front of her face. Amy blinked, frowning. “What?”

  “Where’d you go?”

  She shook her head, pushing her fingers through the front strands of her hair so that they hooked behind her ears. ”J.C., he killed again. A woman named Teresa. She’s dead.”

  He said nothing. She couldn’t read him, his eyes blank.

  Then they changed and the amber darkened. The muscles in his arms bunched tight and beneath his shirt she saw the defined ridges of restrained strength.

  “I tried to tell you.” She knew what he was capable of and a tremble of fear slid through her. Averting her gaze, Amy picked at the edge of the blanket. “He’s feeding off his victims’ life energy. He needs to. Otherwise he can’t feel. He’s starving to death and there’s nothing food can do to help.”

  “Life?”

  She nodded bleakly. “Normal people have two sources of energy running through them—life and soul. The soul is separate. It’s where all the memories are contained, everything that makes a person who they are. The life is that spark that keeps the heart beating. Think of it like a battery. Once it’s out, our bodies fail and our soul is free.”

  “Normal people? We don’t have two?”

&nb
sp; “No, we have three kinds. In addition to life and soul, we have the added bonus of psychic energy.”

  “What else?”

  “I don’t know.” She pressed her fingertips above her eyebrows and rubbed. “I had other things going on at the time. Like not dying.”

  “Try, Amy. Can you identify where they were?”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  “Inside or out?” His palms covered her cheeks, giving her no choice but to look at him. “I need more information.”

  Amy knew he did, but he made it difficult to think when he was touching her. “She was inside the Centre.” She closed her eyes to try and visualize it and remembered the feel of water against her skin and the cold tiles under her feet as the killer stepped inside the shower room. “He attacked her while she was taking a shower in the gym. She tried to fight but fell and hit her head on the drain.”

  So much blood.

  She shivered. J.C.’s hands slid away. At the loss of his warmth, she opened her eyes. He reached for a cell phone from his pocket and directed instructions into it for someone to check all the gyms for evidence of an attack.

  “Ajay and Davan are going to do the rounds. If they find anything, they’ll call me.”

  She nodded, then asked quietly, “What will become of me?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll do what I can to help you.” J.C. didn’t sugar-coat the truth. It wasn’t his way to lie to protect her feelings when the truth could be a lot worse. After having lies force-fed all her life, she found him surprisingly refreshing. “Now answer my earlier question, how are you feeling?”

  Tired. Sore. As though she’d been through Testing all day. “Okay.”

  “Liar.” J.C. reached forward, and tipped her face up. “Want to try answering that again? I can almost feel your headache and I’m not an empath.”