“Yeah.” Ralph crossed the lobby and opened the door. “Loring’s got some theories about using light along with drugs as therapy.”
North slipped him a card. “We’ve got a lot of questions about Loring. If you feel like answering a few, call the number on this card. I’ll meet you anywhere you choose. My client is willing to pay for information.”
“You mean the woman named Marge?” Ralph snorted. “I know who she is. She doesn’t have a dime to her name. She was living on the streets of Seattle when she was picked up and brought here.”
“Marge just came into a large inheritance,” North said. “Trust me, money is not an object.”
Ralph scowled. “What’s this about Marge getting an inheritance? And what’s that got to do with Dr. Loring?”
“Sorry,” North said. “Can’t discuss the details. Client confidentiality. I’m sure you understand. But if you want to chat about Delbridge Loring, be sure to get in touch. We’ll be staying in town tonight.”
He followed Sierra outside. The door closed behind them. The sound of heavy bolts sliding into place could be heard. Neither of them spoke until they were on the other side of the big gates.
“Ralph knows who Marge is,” Sierra observed.
“Garraway knows, too. But he’s not concerned with Marge’s welfare. Loring is the one he’s worried about.”
They got back into the SUV. North fired up the engine and drove out of the parking lot.
“Are we really going to spend the night in town instead of driving back to Seattle?” Sierra asked.
“Yes,” North said.
“Because you expect Ralph to call?”
“That would definitely be a plus,” North said. “But the main reason we’re staying overnight is so that I can get a look inside Loring’s house.”
“Putting aside the pesky legalities of breaking and entering, I would like to point out that we have no idea where Loring lives.”
“It’s a small town, Sierra. Everyone in the area will know where Loring lives. What’s more, he’s not from around here. He’s an outsider working at the psychiatric hospital a few miles up the road.”
“So?”
“The locals won’t feel any obligation to protect him. Someone will be happy to tell us where he lives.”
Sierra sat quietly for a while, watching the narrow road that wound through the trees.
“That patient, Carl, could see our auras,” she said at last.
“Yes.”
“He said our energy fields looked like Loring’s. Different colors but equally strong.”
“Which tells us something very interesting about Loring,” North said. “He’s got some high-end talent.”
Sierra folded her arms very tightly beneath her breasts. She did not take her eyes off the road.
“Carl thinks we’re all monsters,” she said.
“Only a real monster would run experiments on a helpless street person like Marge. I’ll call Victor and give him an update.”
CHAPTER 19
Victor Arganbright entered the Halcyon Manor hospital room first, making introductions with lightning speed.
“Lily, Chandler, this is Allegra Raines and her husband, Byron Raines. They are the parents of Sierra Raines, who is currently helping North locate the artifact that we need to try to reverse the damage to your aura, Chandler.”
Lily was sitting by the bed, holding Chandler’s hand while she read the newspaper to him in an effort to maintain some sense of normality. She put the paper aside and got to her feet.
“Thank you for coming all this way,” she said to Allegra. “We appreciate your kindness.”
Allegra smiled a wistful, understanding smile. “But you don’t think there’s much I can do to help. You may be right, but we won’t know until I try.”
Lily did not know quite what she had been expecting—a couple of aging neohippies who played at living a back-to-the-land, meditation-and-yoga lifestyle in an intentional community, perhaps.
At first glance, Allegra and Byron Raines fit the image she’d had in mind. Allegra wore her graying, shoulder-length hair in a casual twist at the back of her head. No makeup. Her dress was loose and flowy and definitely homemade. Clunky sandals and a small backpack completed the outfit.
Byron’s hair was a little too long and a little too shaggy. He wore easy-fitting denim trousers, a plaid flannel shirt and low, scuffed boots. A pair of old-fashioned round spectacles was perched on his forceful nose. He looked like a cross between an eccentric academic and a farmer.
“The doctors are afraid the damage to my husband’s aura is continuing,” Lily said. She squeezed Chandler’s hand. “We are willing to try anything.”
“Let me see what I can do,” Allegra said.
Lily felt energy rise in the atmosphere. Allegra moved to the other side of the bed and placed her fingertips on Chandler’s forehead.
She was silent for a long time. Lily knew she was viewing Chandler’s aura. She would no doubt sense the rising tide of panic that Chandler was working so hard to control.
And then Allegra began to sing. Softly at first and then with increasing power. Lily had anticipated a guitar and folk music. Maybe a soothing lullaby. Possibly a meditation chant or a religious hymn.
What she got was a full-throated coloratura soprano. The music resonated through the small space, filling it with power. The paranormal vibe shivered through the waves of energy, raising the hair on the back of Lily’s neck and thrilling her senses.
Lily realized she was receiving only the backwash of the song. Allegra’s focus was on Chandler. She kept her physical connection with him as she launched into a fierce aria that sent shock waves through the room.
There was movement at the observation window. Lily turned her head and saw that a small crowd of medical personnel had gathered there. The power of the music had reached out into the hallway.
Allegra sang as if she were creating a thunderstorm with the energy of her talent. When she finally stopped she was drenched in sweat. Her eyes were hot. It was clear that the effort had pushed her close to exhaustion.
Byron moved forward and put a supportive arm around her. She sagged against him.
There was a stunned silence in the space. The crowd at the window stared, openmouthed.
Victor was the first one to speak.
“I’m not a great aura reader,” he said. “But Chandler looks a little stronger.”
Lily tightened her grip on Chandler’s hand and opened her senses. Hope bloomed deep inside her.
“A lot stronger,” she whispered.
One of the doctors walked through the doorway.
“I’m a damned good aura reader,” he announced. “I can tell you that Mr. Chastain’s aura has stabilized, at least for now. The damaged bands are still in bad shape, but the deterioration has halted.” He looked at Allegra. “Any idea how long the effects will last?”
Allegra raised her head from Byron’s shoulder. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never dealt with a case like this one.” She looked at Lily. “Byron and I will stay here in Vegas until your son and our daughter arrive with the artifact. In the meantime I’m going to get something to eat and some rest.”
“Yes, of course,” Lily said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Allegra smiled. “It’s what I do. If your husband’s situation starts to deteriorate again, call me immediately. I will try more therapy.”
The doctor looked at Allegra. “When you’ve had some rest, would you be willing to examine a couple of other patients here at Halcyon Manor?”
“Yes,” Allegra said. “I just need time to recover.”
“I understand,” the doctor said. “Thank you.”
Lily watched Byron guide Allegra out of the room. When the door closed behind the pair she turned to Chandler.
/> “It’s going to be all right,” she said. “North will be here soon, and he’ll have the artifact.”
She felt a whisper of energy and knew that Chandler understood. She also sensed that his panic had receded. He was calm now. It was as if he was in a more peaceful, meditative state. That alone was a very great gift.
“Thank you, Allegra,” Lily whispered.
CHAPTER 20
Looks like Loring left town in a hurry,” Sierra said. “There are still a lot of clothes in his closet and there are dirty dishes in the sink.”
It was after midnight and it was raining again. Another wave of storms had moved in off the Pacific. She and North were standing in the second bedroom of the rustic cabin that Loring had rented from the owner of the town’s small grocery store. It was obvious the doctor had used the room as a home office. There was a desk near the window. A couple of file cabinets stood against one wall.
North had been right about one thing, she reflected. The locals were only too happy to talk about the creepy doctor who worked at the insane asylum a couple of miles out of town. The owner of the inn had been especially informative.
It turned out that everyone in the area had been shocked and alarmed when the Riverview Psychiatric Hospital had opened a year earlier. But there was nothing the town could do to prevent the trust that owned the mansion from selling it to the shadowy medical corporation headed by Dr. Garraway. When the first patients arrived, everyone in town had purchased new locks for their doors. Those who didn’t already own guns bought them and kept them handy.
The innkeeper admitted that there had been no problems from the patients at Riverview, although there had been rumors that a few had escaped. It’s the orderlies who make people nervous around here. Tough-looking bunch. Keep to themselves for the most part, though. They sleep at the hospital.
“You start on the file cabinets,” North said. “I’ll take the desk.”
Sierra glanced at him. His mood had undergone a distinct change after the phone call from Victor Arganbright informing him that Allegra Raines had stabilized Chandler Chastain’s aura. In doing so she had bought everyone involved some time. North was still focused, intense and determined to move as quickly as possible, but she sensed he was able to think more coolly and logically now that he knew his father was no longer deteriorating.
She crossed the room to the nearest file drawer. “It’s locked. Needs a key.”
“Yeah?”
North took three strides to the file cabinet, grabbed the metal handle and yanked. Hard. Sierra heard something metallic snap. The drawer popped open.
“Okay, that works,” she said.
North went back to the desk.
She started flipping through folders.
“What have you got there?” North asked. “Patient records, by any chance?”
“Yes, but the names on the folders appear to be coded,” she said. “The sex and age of the individual are on each label, though. I’ll concentrate on the files for female subjects. What are you finding?”
“A lot of charts and graphs.” North whistled softly. “Loring was conducting experiments involving crystal-generated paranormal light.”
“Light is everywhere in this case.”
“Yes. Judging by these scientific logs, Loring knows a lot about the subject.”
“We are seeing a pattern, aren’t we?” Sierra said.
“Yeah.”
“You know this is illegal as hell.”
“So is conducting experiments on people like Marge.”
“True. On another topic, do you think it’s weird that Loring kept so many files in paper form instead of on a computer?”
“No. People who are conducting unauthorized paranormal research are usually paranoid about keeping their records in digital form,” North said. “Sooner or later they end up online.”
“And the Foundation is always watching?”
“Yes, but it’s not just the Foundation that makes them nervous. They’re afraid of the Puppets, too. Those conspiracy crazies are always combing the Internet looking for hints of secret paranormal research.”
“Those of us in the go-between business try to be careful not to leave footprints online, too,” she said. “Lot of weirdos out there.”
North looked up, frowning. “You’re in a dangerous line of work.”
“You’re a cleaner. You have no room to talk.”
“I’ve had training. I’ve got the Foundation behind me. That’s a lot of backup. Go-betweens operate alone. All it takes is one bad client and you find yourself in real trouble.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Famous last words,” North said. “Are you planning to work as a go-between for the rest of your life?”
“You want to know my five-year plan?”
“Got one?”
“No, unfortunately. Still trying to hear my calling.”
“I’ll be looking for a new career soon, too.” There was a grim edge to the words.
“Think you’ll stay with the Foundation?” she asked.
“Victor and Lucas will find a place for me if I want it. Maybe training cleaners in the basics of investigation techniques. But I won’t feel comfortable there after I lose my talent. You want to know the truth? I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do next and I don’t like to think about it.”
“Believe me, I understand. You’re talking to someone who has screwed up every job she’s ever had.”
“Yeah, there was a note about the auction house scandal in your file.”
“Don’t believe everything you read in a Foundation file,” Sierra said.
“I don’t. And for the record, you haven’t screwed up your current job. According to Victor you’re one of the Vault’s best agents.”
“That’s nice to hear, but I don’t get a lot of satisfaction out of delivering hot objects to obsessive collectors. It’s just a job. I’ll admit it gets exciting once in a while. The night before I met you, a client pulled a gun on me.”
“Shit.” North looked up, mirrored glasses glinting in the shadows. “Are you serious?”
She flipped through the file she had removed from the drawer. “I don’t make jokes when it comes to guns. Here’s the conclusion I have recently arrived at: I am willing to risk my neck for a really good cause, but damned if I want to do it just to deliver hot artifacts to collectors.”
“Sounds like a sensible career decision.” North paused. “I can’t help but remember that last night someone tried to blast our senses with some kind of light grenade. You could have been seriously injured or killed.”
“But for a good cause. We’re trying to save your dad’s life here.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“So what?”
“Sierra—”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get my bill.” She scanned the handwritten notes in the file she was examining. Excitement shot through her. “I think I may have something here. Listen to this. ‘Female patient. Homeless. No known family. Strong aura reader. She is clearly delusional. Convinced she is the subject of experiments conducted by extraterrestrials. Refuses to cooperate in the experiments. I am convinced she has enough talent to operate the devices, but she pretends she can’t sense the energy. Will try the new hypnotic drug.’”
“Think that’s Marge’s file?” North asked.
“There’s no photo and no name but the age and gender are right. Also the nature of her delusions.” Sierra flipped to the final page of notes. “Yes, this must be Marge’s file. Here’s the final note. ‘Subject escaped her cell during the night. A search of the grounds was conducted but no trace of her was found. Garraway is convinced that she hiked out through the woods and either fell off the cliffs or caught a ride from a passing car. R
egardless, she doesn’t know enough to do any damage. No one will believe her story.’”
“Could be Marge, all right,” North said. “I found an interesting file, too. Bring those records over here and spread them out on the desk. I’m going to take photos of everything and send them to Victor and Lucas.”
Sierra crossed the room and arranged the papers from Marge’s file on the desk. North put several printouts down, too. She glanced at them.
“Newspaper articles?” she said. “Why are they important? Oh, wow.” She read the first paragraph of one of the pieces. “‘Stenson Rancourt, director of a private foundation headquartered in the Los Angeles area, and his son, Harlan, were killed in an explosion early this morning. The cause of the blast is under investigation, but authorities suspect a gas leak.’”
The rest of the printouts were obituary notices and business articles detailing the abrupt closure of the Los Angeles–based headquarters of a vaguely described charitable foundation. The date was five years earlier.
North took out his phone and began snapping photos of the printouts. “Dr. Loring was not only conducting paranormal experiments on unwilling subjects but also appears to be at least slightly obsessed with the Rancourts.”
Sierra caught her breath. “The family that ran the Foundation before Victor Arganbright took over.”
“Victor and Lucas are going to be very interested in this.”
“Why would Loring keep information about the Rancourts in his desk drawer?”
North tucked his phone into the pocket of his jacket. “Victor took control of the Foundation in what a lot of people politely refer to as a hostile takeover.”
“Got news for you—that’s common knowledge among those of us in the paranormal community. My parents told me the Rancourts made millions while they were in charge of the Foundation. People who got in their way had a habit of turning up dead or disappearing. Stenson Rancourt and his son would not have stepped down willingly.”
“No,” North said.
Sierra cleared her throat. “You know, there have always been rumors that the takeover engineered by Victor Arganbright and Lucas Pine was a lot more hostile than the average corporate takeover.”