"I have been one acquainted with the night."
Robert Frost
***
He opened his eyes slowly and squinted painfully against the bright sun. He should have sunglasses - but he didn't. They were gone. He pushed up to a seated position and took mental inventory of himself and his surroundings. He had a sore spot on the back of his head, and his probing hand found a tender lump. No blood on his fingers, though. It hadn't broken the skin. Just knocked him out for a while, apparently. He had a headache, but not too bad, and his vision was perfectly clear, so he doubted there was a concussion. He looked at his right arm again. There was blood there, but not from his head. A red line, still oozing, ran down his forearm. Classic defense wound against a knife, a knife wielded by a left-handed attacker. He had been mugged, two of them, one in front, with a knife, the other sneaking up behind, to hit him over the head.
He looked around the alley. He was along a brick building at one side and was mostly hidden by a trash dumpster in front of him. The sounds of the uneasy city reached him, chaotic, horns honking, curses, policemen's whistles. He scrambled to his feet, reassured by the steadiness of the ground beneath him, the strength in his legs. Could have been much worse, he thought. People get mugged and come out with a lot more damage.
His head came up alertly and tilted slightly. New sounds split from the city rumble at the end of the alley. Running feet, young, light-bodied feet, coming toward him. Not running from high spirits, but running from fear. He stepped out suddenly, and the boy charging blindly down the alley ran straight into him. "Easy there." The soothing voice reached the child through his panic, and he looked up, recognizing a friend, feeling the calm strength in those hands. "What's wrong?"
"There's two men after me." The boy was probably about 10, with a thin face and lost eyes that went straight to his rescuer's heart. "They saw me buy a Coke. They wanted my money, but I ran."
More feet pounded down the alley. Two older teens came purposefully toward them, noting the reinforcements, but not caring. "Like I said, gimme your money. You, too, pops. Let's have it." The punk brandished a knife threateningly.
"I don't think you want to do that." The voice was calm, civil, but the blue eyes actually made the leader pause. His friend saw it.
"You scared, Jake?"
Denial flooded through every inch of Jake's frame. "Just giving them a chance to do it the easy way. Chance is over." The knife darted toward the pair.
Two young punks face-to-face was a totally different situation from more professional muggers, one in front, one behind. "I did warn you." He sidestepped and lunged at the same moment as the knife stabbed. His iron grip closed around Jake's hand, hitting the sensitive nerve points strategically. Jake crumpled to his knees with a gasp, the knife falling from nerveless fingers. His partner immediately turned and ran, his retreating footsteps echoing down the alley.
"I didn't mean nothing," Jake managed. The glare from the eyes almost hurt worse than the grip that paralyzed his hand. His captor put one foot across the knife, then, almost reluctantly, released his grip. Jake didn't care about the knife. He whipped around and bolted himself, breaking his partner's record for the alley dash on his way out.
The boy stood in open-mouthed admiration. "How'd you do that?"
"Basic anatomy. Put pressure on the right places, and it knocks the defiance out of anybody. I'll show you sometime, especially if you're going to be out on the streets alone." He held out his hand with a friendly grin. "What's your name?"
"Ben." They shook hands. "What's yours?"
The grin faded abruptly. "I . . . I don't know."
"What?" Ben was puzzled. His eyes suddenly followed the hand he had just taken, up to the arm. "You're hurt."
"I was mugged, I think. One in front with a knife - that's a classic defense wound - and one behind who hit me over the head."
Ben nodded wisely. "Sometimes you forget stuff when you're hit over the head. I've seen it in the movies. It comes back, though." His eyes went back to the cut, still bleeding slowly. "You aren't gonna die, are you?"
"From this? No way. It might need a few stitches, but it didn't hit anything major. And the bump on my head isn't even that bad."
"I've got a motel room close to here," Ben offered. "You could clean it up there. You did save me, you know. I should help you out."
"I probably ought to go to the police." He was surprised at the boy's instant reaction.
"We can't go to the police. I'm not supposed to have anything to do with them. Zack said." He dropped his new friend's hand and backed away. "I can't help you if you're going to the police."
He studied the boy curiously. Why did he suddenly feel that the kid needed his help? "Okay, we won't go to the police," he said. "On second thought, your motel room sounds like a great idea."
Ben relaxed and came closer again. "Fine, this way." He turned toward the far end of the alley, not the one heading for the main street.. "I'm starting to learn my way around, and I've only been here two days."
"So you're new to Miami?" Miami, he thought. Yes, he knew that this was Miami, even if it didn't sound right today. "What's a 10-year-old doing with a motel room?"
Ben's chin came up defiantly. "I'm 11. I'm just small for my age, Zack says."
"Sorry, 11. About that room . . . "
"Zack rented it. He's my brother. He's 17."
"Where are your parents?"
Tears welled up in Ben's eyes. "They died. Zack said we'd do better here in the city. He'll get a job. We'll get a place, too."
"You mean you're all alone?" That went straight to his heart with an intensity that stunned him. All alone. Yes, he knew that feeling. Absolutely. The details were gone, but the memory of what it felt like was there.
"No," said Ben, "I've got Zack. He's got me." His quivering chin betrayed him, though. Measuring himself and his brother against the largeness of the world, he did feel like they were alone. He fell silent.
The city felt totally wrong today, like a derailed train. He knew Miami's usual pulse, remembered that much, and this wasn't it. His gaze swept the first major street they crossed, and he instantly put it together. "There's no power."
Ben jumped on the diversion immediately. "Yeah, it went out last night. All over this part of the country. It's not just Florida."
"Do they know why?"
"No. I haven't got a radio, but I heard one a little while ago, up on the street. They're still trying to figure it out."
He frowned slightly, sorting the possibilities. "It can't be terrorism. There would have been an attack before now if it's been off all night. Lightning? Power surges? But the system is supposed to have safeguards. The scale is too large here. I can't think of a single cause that should create that far-reaching an effect."
"You talk funny sometimes, you know it? Here we are." They had arrived at a scruffy-looking motel, and Ben unlocked the door to the room. "The bathroom's in there, and I think I saw a first aid kit." He followed his friend into the bathroom, then back out to the bed next to the window, where the light was better, and watched, half repelled, half intrigued, as the cut was carefully cleaned and inspected.
"Classic defense wound," he said again. "Short bladed knife, probably a switchblade. And the attacker was left-handed. I was focused on him. I didn't know there was another one behind me." The bleeding had almost stopped, but the edges gaped slightly. "This really needs a few stitches."
"We can't go to anybody, I told you. No police. No hospitals. Zack said they'd split us up if anyone knew. Then I would be alone." Ben's voice was desperate. "Can't you just tape it together or something?"
He studied the cut. "I can try." He used the small roll of medical tape to run a few circles clear around his forearm, pulling the gash together. Not ideal first aid, but it seemed to hold, and the edges lined up again. He studied it for a minute, then added a gauze pad across the length of the cut and taped it down. He opened and closed his fingers, testing. No tendon or nerve damage. Just a simple cut. "I think it might hold, at that."
"You could go to a hospital by yourself," said Ben, "but I can't go. I promised Zack. No one can know."
"I think it's fine." He didn't want to leave the kid. Not just because he was the one familiar face now, but some deeper instinct warned him that something wasn't right here, that Ben needed help even more than he himself did. "Now, let's see what we can figure out about me." He had a set of keys in his pocket but nothing else. "The muggers must have taken my wallet. I know I had sunglasses, too." Something else was missing as well, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Something usually as much a part of him as his wallet, but the memory, like the reality, had been stolen. He picked up the keys, looking at them. The key ring had a flat ebony disk on it with a silver H in the middle.
"H," mused Ben. "Maybe that's your initial or something. Sound familiar?"
H. "In a way. It's familiar, but it's not quite right." He ran it through his mind, his head tilted slightly again. H. Yes, he knew that, but it was incomplete. What was the rest? He was grasping at shadows, and the effort of trying to remember was bringing back the headache. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lump on the back of his head again, using his left hand, the unbandaged one.
"You okay?" Ben's voice was worried.
"Just got a headache. Not surprising. I don't think I'm really hurt." He took his hand away from the back of his head, then paused as the gold glittered in the light. "I'm married." He turned the ring on his finger, trying to remember her name. Her face. Anything. Again, he could remember the feeling, like he could remember being alone. A totally different feeling, though. Warm like sunlight, internal sunlight, running through his veins, full of radiant power. Yes, he still knew her soul. But all of the details were lost. He closed his eyes again.
"H?" The eyes came open instantly, responding automatically to the name. "Why don't you lie down a while? You look a little odd."
"I'm fine," he insisted, and was caught up again in the familiarity of it. He had used that line before, he was sure. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn't hurt to lie down a bit. He was exhausted suddenly. He glanced at his watch. The muggers must have been interrupted; they hadn't taken the watch or his ring. Only 9:00 AM. Why did he feel like he had been up all night? "On second thought, maybe I will."
"Maybe you can dream it back," Ben suggested. "It happens that way sometimes. In the movies, anyway."
"Maybe so." Maybe he would dream of his wife, the woman of golden sunlight. Maybe he could see her face. He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. H, he thought hazily. He had responded automatically. Yes, that was familiar. But he knew suddenly that she didn't call him that. What did she call him? What did he call her? She would be worried about him. But the boy needed help; he was more sure of that every minute. He tried to send a mental message toward her, through whatever connection they shared. I'm fine, he thought. I'll find my way back to you. But I have to help Ben, too. His consciousness dissolved into shadows. Golden shadows.
Ben sat in the chair in the room, watching his new friend. His mind was running through a different set of questions. What am I going to tell Zack? Did he find a job? Biggest of all were the questions he wouldn't - couldn't - let himself ask. What if we can't make it like he says? What's going to happen to us then? Eventually, though, he fell asleep himself, resting in the presence of someone strong and capable, sleeping soundly for the first time since he and Zack had run away.
***
"Thank you. Let me know if anything does turn up." Calleigh broke the phone connection to the last hospital on her list and just sat there for a second. No hospital or clinic in the city had seen any patient whose description came even close. And even without ID, Horatio was memorable. She was sure he hadn't been overlooked. No, he really wasn't at any of those places. It was now 1:00 PM, six hours since he had jogged away from her and been swallowed up whole by the city. No innocent explanation was possible any longer, even if it had been earlier. That left only two possibilities (actually three, but her mind refused to consider the third one). Either he had been captured by Hagen or some other criminal, or he was hurt but could not get to help. What a choice. She wasn't sure which one frightened her more. She looked at the picture on his desk from their honeymoon again. He had told her that Niagara Falls was like love - driving, powerful, unstoppable. I won't stop either, she told herself fiercely. I will find him. She stood up with a surge of determination and jumped when her cell phone rang. Then she stared at it for a second, afraid of what it might want to tell her. It rang again, and she hit the button, annoyed with herself for the delay. "Calleigh Caine."
"Calleigh, it's Adele." A voice full of warm sympathy, but also underlying excitement. Definite excitement. "I've found somebody who saw Horatio this morning."
"When? Where? Who?" The questions fired out so fast that the words tangled.
"About 7:30, he says. One of the officers on emergency duty this morning, directing traffic. He's off at the moment. I woke him up calling, in fact. But he definitely remembers him, says they talked for a while. I'm on my way over to his house. Meet me in the garage in five minutes."
Calleigh let out the breath she had been holding. "Thanks, Adele. I'm on my way." She practically ran out of the office, still worried but elated, too. 7:30. They had cut 30 minutes out of that blank space. And the more they whittled at it, the closer they would come to finding him. She nearly ran over Speed in the hall.
"Any news?"
"Some. Adele's found an officer who saw him at 7:30. We're going over to talk to him now."
"Good luck. Let me know." She was already gone. She hadn't asked if he wanted to come, but Speed had an idea of his own he wanted to follow. He headed into the lab purposefully, missing the comforting hum of all their machines. Still, all he needed to analyze this evidence was his cell phone. It was Horatio's cell phone that started him thinking. If it had been taken by the people who had taken him, of course they wouldn't answer incoming calls, but a top model cell phone was too valuable to toss away lightly, especially in a blackout. They might have made calls out on it, using it for free minutes. This was Speed's kind of lead, small but significant details which could lead straight to the people who had H. He wasn't as good as Calleigh with people or as good as Horatio at seeing the big picture, but he could chew every ounce of value out of individual clues. If anyone had made a call on that phone since 7:00, he would find out who they called, and that could lead back to who they were. He looked up the number for the phone company, getting far enough out of the blackout to talk to someone with a working database.
***
Officer Clark sat on the couch in his living room next to his wife, and Adele took the armchair across from him. Calleigh, too restless to sit anywhere, paced in barely restrained hope and worry. "I was directing traffic in the intersection when he came up. 7:30 on the nose, by his watch, actually. I asked him what time it was, because my watch had stopped, and he stopped running and stood there with me for a minute. Talking about the blackout and the night and such. He was absolutely fine then, seemed like himself."
"Which intersection?" Adele wrote it down in her notebook, and Calleigh figured distances. A good long run, in excellent time. In fact, Horatio would have had enough of a run at that point that he would be thinking about turning around, especially since he should have been at CSI at 9:00.
"Which way did he go when he left you?" she asked. "Back the way he came?"
Clark hesitated. "No, he went east."
East? He had come from the south, heading north. She could understand continuing or going back, but why on earth would he change course entirely? "Are you sure?"
"Positive. He went east. In fact, it was odd. That's what he said himself."
"That something was odd?" Adele took over the questioning again.
"Right. He'd just said he'd be heading back, had to get ready for work. Just then, one of the citizens came up to me. You know, the ones who think that you should personally have all the answers and that things are inconveniencing them more than anyone. So she was lighting into me, and H started to turn around and just melt off, leave me to it." He grinned in remembrance. He'd resented it, and in Horatio's position, he would have done the same thing. "Right as he turned away, he checked, and then he said, `That's odd. He shouldn't be here.' I was tied up with the lady, trying not to be rude, you know, but I looked around out of the corner of my eye. Couldn't see anything strange myself, but he headed off east. That's the last I saw of him."
"How did he say it?" Adele asked. "What tone?"
"Like he was talking to himself. Curious. Not really worried, but curious."
"And you have no idea what he saw?" Calleigh hoped the answer would change.
"No. Sorry I'm not more help." Clark looked tired, and Calleigh suddenly remembered he, like the rest of them, was working emergency shifts around the clock. He had interrupted his few hours of sleep, though, to talk to them.
"You have helped, a lot," she said. "Thank you."
"I hope you find him."
"We will," promised Adele. "We'll let you get back to sleep now. Thank you again." They left the house and got back into Adele's car. She didn't start it right away, though. "What do you think?" she asked Calleigh.
Calleigh frowned in concentration. "I don't think it was Hagen he saw. I just can't imagine Horatio seeing him unexpectedly, loose on the street, and only calling it odd. And he was standing right next to an officer. He would have said something."
Adele nodded. "That's how I see it. Maybe one of the others? There were three other prisoners who escaped. Maybe someone he'd seen before but just a small-time criminal."
"Hagen still could have been around a corner."
"Could have, but he's more a loner. I think he'd split off, even if the other three stuck together. And the whole thing had to be pure coincidence. Not a trap. Who could have known H would be there just then?"
"Let's go look at that intersection," said Calleigh. Adele started the car and pulled out.
"Maybe he saw someone but wasn't sure if he should be in jail still. He knows a lot more criminals by sight than he knows exact sentence dates for. Especially if it wasn't one of his cases."
"Maybe," said Calleigh. "It had to be someone he didn't really think was a threat, though. He's independent, but he's not stupid. Standing right next to an officer, he would have called for help if he thought he needed it." She stared at the road, willing it to move by faster. "This once, he must have been wrong, though." Adele took one hand off the wheel to give Calleigh's wrist a light squeeze, then focused on the road again.
***
John Hagen sat in his own rented scruffy motel room (rented under a false name, of course), thinking out his strategy. The blackout was a godsend, enabling his escape, then restricting the media that could have made his freedom very short. Hagen had been a cop himself for many years, enough to know what would happen. The looting, the vandalism, all of it was a perfect diversion from one man who only wanted one thing. And from the sound of things on the radio, things weren't likely to return to normal until after the weekend.
The shock of the last several months had changed him. The guards had kept him separated from the main population, but jail had still been an education for Hagen. The claustrophobic tightening of his throat every time he heard a door slam into its lock, the pure indignity of having to face the contempt he saw in the guards' eyes, the sudden shift from building his own private (very private) retirement fund, as he thought of it, to a bare cell. And on top of all that, bail had been denied, and the DA refused to plea bargain. Horatio had turned his entire effort toward decoding Chaz's notebook, and Hagen found himself with very little unique information to offer. Between Horatio, the notebook, and several other crooks facing their own trials who lined up to strike plea bargains against him, there wasn't enough left for Hagen to make a deal with. For months, he had sat there with nothing else to think of except revenge.
He had heard of the wedding through the grapevine. So Horatio now not only had put him away, but he had Calleigh. Hagen had wanted Calleigh himself, as much as he wanted any woman, but she had done the unforgivable. She hadn't needed him. On the Kerner case, she had politely, almost condescendingly accepted his bodyguard efforts, then shaken him off and taken Kerner down herself. Hagen was used to women being impressed by him. He wanted a woman to admire him. Calleigh had been not cold but, worse, indifferent. She wasn't indifferent to Horatio, though. Hagen had seen the look in her eyes when he tried to warn her against Horatio, heard the tone in her voice every time she mentioned his name.
They had beaten him. Both of them. She had beaten his pride, and Horatio had beaten his freedom and authority. Hagen, facing full charges, including attempted homicide and several counts of accessory to homicide related to his life as a bad cop, knew that he faced a sentence stretching decades. His life was over. The lawyer had assured him they would win, that the evidence could be gotten around, that he could break Horatio on the stand, but Hagen knew better. Horatio would win, like he always had won. Hagen could never commit suicide, not directly, anyway, but he would rather die than spend decades in prison. Prison would be even worse than the holding jail. And then the blackout had come, the heaven-sent opportunity.
He would take advantage of it. Even if he failed, he would make sure he died in the attempt. And if he was successful, his crimes would jump straight onto the capital list, and his life would end in months with the knowledge of sweet revenge, not dragged out through years surrounded by steel bars and the contempt of those who once called him a friend. Lifting a few wallets had given him money, and the money had given him means. Hagen made a vow to himself as he sat in his motel room cleaning his newly acquired gun and plotting exactly how to kill Horatio and Calleigh. For them, this blackout would be permanent.
***
Zack, 17, desperately afraid and desperately trying to hide it, paused in the parking lot of the motel, giving himself a minute to put on some confidence to show Ben. Today hadn't been a good day job hunting. The blackout was too much of a disruption. Zack knew he would need more money soon, though; his savings would only take them so far. The only thing to sell would be his car. He gave it a pat on the fender. Just a beat up old Pinto, but his parents had given it to him for his 16th birthday. His parents. His mind instantly slammed that door, refusing to go there. He would hate losing the car. But for Ben, if he had to, he would sell it. He would take care of his brother. It was all up to him now.
It suddenly occurred to him that Ben might have heard the car pull up and wonder what was keeping him. Zack pasted on a false smile and opened the door, then stopped dead. He didn't see Ben, but a strange man was stretched out full length on the bed. Zack looked at the number on the room door, checking. Yes, this was it. Where had this man come from, and where had Ben gone?
He closed the door and walked across the worn carpet for a closer look, trying to be quiet. The man never stirred. Tall, lean, and wiry, with a face that was a roadmap of character. Who the hell was this?
Ben, in the chair with its back to the door, shifted in his sleep, and Zack spotted him with relief. He studied his brother for a minute. He's lost some weight, he thought. Worrying too much. I've got to take better care of him. Squaring his shoulders, Zack made a new vow to take charge. Starting now. He turned back to the intruder and hit him lightly on the shoulder, ready to kick him out of their room and out of their lives. Whoever he was, they didn't need him.
Zack never totally understood the next sequence of events. One minute he was on his feet, waking up this stranger, the next he was pinned on the bed himself, held captive by two blue lasers that scanned him. He barely felt the hands for the eyes.
"H!" Ben bolted out of his chair. "Let him go, H. It's okay. This is Zack."
The man backed off instantly, and the laser light flickered and died. Zack stayed where he was for a second, then slowly sat up, still keeping a wary eye on the stranger. "I'm sorry," the redhead said, in a quiet, deep voice. "You startled me, waking me up like that."
Zack looked him up and down. This man was the same one who had been asleep on the bed. The man of a few seconds ago, the one who had pinned him with no more effort than swatting a fly, had disappeared. And that was almost more frightening than if he had stayed. Zack was caught off guard, wondering which one he would have to deal with. "My fault," he admitted finally. "I wasn't thinking." He swung his legs over to the floor. "Who are you?"
The blue eyes unfocused, looking far past him. "I don't know," came the answer finally.
"Didn't you remember anything sleeping?" asked Ben.
"A few bits, but not my name." He knew now that his wife really did have golden hair, but he hadn't been able to see the face. Her voice on the edges of the dreams had been familiar, an easy Southern drawl, but he hadn't quite been able to make the words out. It was the center of his dreams that shook him, though. Explosions, murders, bodies, bombs, weapons, in graphic detail. What kind of life had he led, to know so much detail about destruction? It went far beyond anything he had picked up from movies and books.
"Are you feeling better, at least?"
He smiled at Ben, a warm smile that somehow relaxed Zack a bit, too. "Yes, I am. Much better. You're right; I did need some down time."
Zack sorted through this conversation. "You don't remember who you are?" The stranger shook his head. "How did you get here?"
"I brought him," Ben said. "I found him this morning. He saved me from getting mugged." He told the morning's adventure, and Zack felt himself warming up to the man a bit. He returned the smile from earlier.
"Thanks for helping Ben. H, did you say?"
"That's from the keys." He pulled them out of his pocket and handed them over. Zack looked at the keys, not the disk.
"Those aren't all house and car keys. I wonder what they go to. Serious locks on something."
"When I find out, I'll let you know." They smiled at each other again. This man did not seem condescending to him, unlike most of the people Zack had talked to lately. He felt himself relax slightly for the first time in days. Suddenly, he jumped up and retrieved the bag he had dropped by the door.
"Anybody hungry? Here's the best we can get in no-prepare food. Also a flashlight and batteries, for later."
"Any news on the blackout?" asked H.
"Just theories. They say it will probably be Monday before everyone is back on. They're still deciding what happened." Zack pulled out the contents of the sack with a flourish, feeling almost light-hearted suddenly. "Meanwhile, we have peanut butter and a whole loaf of bread. And bottled water." All of them were hungry, and they quickly worked through a stack of sandwiches.
"How much cash do we have left, Zack?" Ben's voice was anxious.
"Plenty. And I'll get a job, too, as soon as this blackout is over. We'll be fine." Ben still looked worried, though, and H saw it.
"I'm not helping out much," he apologized. "I've got even less money than you do." Ben giggled, and Zack looked at him gratefully.
"Maybe we can find your wallet," said Ben hopefully. "We'd know who you are then, too. There's lots of stuff you can find on the street. Look what I've got, just in two days." He started emptying his various pockets, revealing money, string, a pocket knife, a black notebook, a calculator, a magazine, and a pair of sunglasses (not the missing ones).
"Ben, I wish you wouldn't wander around the streets while I'm out," said Zack. "Anything could happen to you out there."
"H is going to show me how to defend myself. Aren't you, H? H?" He suddenly realized that his new friend wasn't paying attention. His head had come up and tilted slightly, listening. In the next instant, he stood up and went to the window, pressing himself flat against the wall, looking through the gap at the edge of the curtain. Even while they had been talking, his mind was automatically registering details, soaking up the surroundings. People coming and going to the motel rooms, distant car horns, and a car that drove by slowly but did not stop. Twice, at brief intervals. The same car, with a slightly squeaky fan belt.
"H?" Zack was puzzled, too.
"Be quiet a minute," he said. The voice wasn't sharp, but the authority set the conversation on a different level. Zack and Ben instantly became serious. Everyone waited. Finally, here came the car again, driving by slowly. Two people in it, noting the cars, hesitating at the Pinto, looking toward the room. Toward -this- room. Drug gang members. He was certain of it, even though he couldn't remember where he'd learned so much about drug gang members. Staking out this room while waiting for reinforcements, circling the block to try to avoid suspicion that a parked car would raise. When the rest of the gang arrived, when the traffic grew less and it started to get dark, they would take action. He wondered which of the three of them they were after and why. Could be any one of them, even Ben the scavenger. Who could know what he had seen, not realizing the significance, out on the streets? Zack might have seen something, too. And he himself could be a rival gang member for all he knew. That might explain his extensive knowledge of illegal activity. One thing was clear, though. One of the three of them was in danger. And until he was certain it wasn't the boys, he couldn't abandon them. Not even to try to find his wife again. He turned back to Zack, and the laser light in his eyes had ignited again, a low but steady stream. "Give me the car keys," he said. "We're getting out of this room, now." Zack looked at him for a minute, then, without question, handed over the keys to the Pinto.
Robert Frost
***
He opened his eyes slowly and squinted painfully against the bright sun. He should have sunglasses - but he didn't. They were gone. He pushed up to a seated position and took mental inventory of himself and his surroundings. He had a sore spot on the back of his head, and his probing hand found a tender lump. No blood on his fingers, though. It hadn't broken the skin. Just knocked him out for a while, apparently. He had a headache, but not too bad, and his vision was perfectly clear, so he doubted there was a concussion. He looked at his right arm again. There was blood there, but not from his head. A red line, still oozing, ran down his forearm. Classic defense wound against a knife, a knife wielded by a left-handed attacker. He had been mugged, two of them, one in front, with a knife, the other sneaking up behind, to hit him over the head.
He looked around the alley. He was along a brick building at one side and was mostly hidden by a trash dumpster in front of him. The sounds of the uneasy city reached him, chaotic, horns honking, curses, policemen's whistles. He scrambled to his feet, reassured by the steadiness of the ground beneath him, the strength in his legs. Could have been much worse, he thought. People get mugged and come out with a lot more damage.
His head came up alertly and tilted slightly. New sounds split from the city rumble at the end of the alley. Running feet, young, light-bodied feet, coming toward him. Not running from high spirits, but running from fear. He stepped out suddenly, and the boy charging blindly down the alley ran straight into him. "Easy there." The soothing voice reached the child through his panic, and he looked up, recognizing a friend, feeling the calm strength in those hands. "What's wrong?"
"There's two men after me." The boy was probably about 10, with a thin face and lost eyes that went straight to his rescuer's heart. "They saw me buy a Coke. They wanted my money, but I ran."
More feet pounded down the alley. Two older teens came purposefully toward them, noting the reinforcements, but not caring. "Like I said, gimme your money. You, too, pops. Let's have it." The punk brandished a knife threateningly.
"I don't think you want to do that." The voice was calm, civil, but the blue eyes actually made the leader pause. His friend saw it.
"You scared, Jake?"
Denial flooded through every inch of Jake's frame. "Just giving them a chance to do it the easy way. Chance is over." The knife darted toward the pair.
Two young punks face-to-face was a totally different situation from more professional muggers, one in front, one behind. "I did warn you." He sidestepped and lunged at the same moment as the knife stabbed. His iron grip closed around Jake's hand, hitting the sensitive nerve points strategically. Jake crumpled to his knees with a gasp, the knife falling from nerveless fingers. His partner immediately turned and ran, his retreating footsteps echoing down the alley.
"I didn't mean nothing," Jake managed. The glare from the eyes almost hurt worse than the grip that paralyzed his hand. His captor put one foot across the knife, then, almost reluctantly, released his grip. Jake didn't care about the knife. He whipped around and bolted himself, breaking his partner's record for the alley dash on his way out.
The boy stood in open-mouthed admiration. "How'd you do that?"
"Basic anatomy. Put pressure on the right places, and it knocks the defiance out of anybody. I'll show you sometime, especially if you're going to be out on the streets alone." He held out his hand with a friendly grin. "What's your name?"
"Ben." They shook hands. "What's yours?"
The grin faded abruptly. "I . . . I don't know."
"What?" Ben was puzzled. His eyes suddenly followed the hand he had just taken, up to the arm. "You're hurt."
"I was mugged, I think. One in front with a knife - that's a classic defense wound - and one behind who hit me over the head."
Ben nodded wisely. "Sometimes you forget stuff when you're hit over the head. I've seen it in the movies. It comes back, though." His eyes went back to the cut, still bleeding slowly. "You aren't gonna die, are you?"
"From this? No way. It might need a few stitches, but it didn't hit anything major. And the bump on my head isn't even that bad."
"I've got a motel room close to here," Ben offered. "You could clean it up there. You did save me, you know. I should help you out."
"I probably ought to go to the police." He was surprised at the boy's instant reaction.
"We can't go to the police. I'm not supposed to have anything to do with them. Zack said." He dropped his new friend's hand and backed away. "I can't help you if you're going to the police."
He studied the boy curiously. Why did he suddenly feel that the kid needed his help? "Okay, we won't go to the police," he said. "On second thought, your motel room sounds like a great idea."
Ben relaxed and came closer again. "Fine, this way." He turned toward the far end of the alley, not the one heading for the main street.. "I'm starting to learn my way around, and I've only been here two days."
"So you're new to Miami?" Miami, he thought. Yes, he knew that this was Miami, even if it didn't sound right today. "What's a 10-year-old doing with a motel room?"
Ben's chin came up defiantly. "I'm 11. I'm just small for my age, Zack says."
"Sorry, 11. About that room . . . "
"Zack rented it. He's my brother. He's 17."
"Where are your parents?"
Tears welled up in Ben's eyes. "They died. Zack said we'd do better here in the city. He'll get a job. We'll get a place, too."
"You mean you're all alone?" That went straight to his heart with an intensity that stunned him. All alone. Yes, he knew that feeling. Absolutely. The details were gone, but the memory of what it felt like was there.
"No," said Ben, "I've got Zack. He's got me." His quivering chin betrayed him, though. Measuring himself and his brother against the largeness of the world, he did feel like they were alone. He fell silent.
The city felt totally wrong today, like a derailed train. He knew Miami's usual pulse, remembered that much, and this wasn't it. His gaze swept the first major street they crossed, and he instantly put it together. "There's no power."
Ben jumped on the diversion immediately. "Yeah, it went out last night. All over this part of the country. It's not just Florida."
"Do they know why?"
"No. I haven't got a radio, but I heard one a little while ago, up on the street. They're still trying to figure it out."
He frowned slightly, sorting the possibilities. "It can't be terrorism. There would have been an attack before now if it's been off all night. Lightning? Power surges? But the system is supposed to have safeguards. The scale is too large here. I can't think of a single cause that should create that far-reaching an effect."
"You talk funny sometimes, you know it? Here we are." They had arrived at a scruffy-looking motel, and Ben unlocked the door to the room. "The bathroom's in there, and I think I saw a first aid kit." He followed his friend into the bathroom, then back out to the bed next to the window, where the light was better, and watched, half repelled, half intrigued, as the cut was carefully cleaned and inspected.
"Classic defense wound," he said again. "Short bladed knife, probably a switchblade. And the attacker was left-handed. I was focused on him. I didn't know there was another one behind me." The bleeding had almost stopped, but the edges gaped slightly. "This really needs a few stitches."
"We can't go to anybody, I told you. No police. No hospitals. Zack said they'd split us up if anyone knew. Then I would be alone." Ben's voice was desperate. "Can't you just tape it together or something?"
He studied the cut. "I can try." He used the small roll of medical tape to run a few circles clear around his forearm, pulling the gash together. Not ideal first aid, but it seemed to hold, and the edges lined up again. He studied it for a minute, then added a gauze pad across the length of the cut and taped it down. He opened and closed his fingers, testing. No tendon or nerve damage. Just a simple cut. "I think it might hold, at that."
"You could go to a hospital by yourself," said Ben, "but I can't go. I promised Zack. No one can know."
"I think it's fine." He didn't want to leave the kid. Not just because he was the one familiar face now, but some deeper instinct warned him that something wasn't right here, that Ben needed help even more than he himself did. "Now, let's see what we can figure out about me." He had a set of keys in his pocket but nothing else. "The muggers must have taken my wallet. I know I had sunglasses, too." Something else was missing as well, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Something usually as much a part of him as his wallet, but the memory, like the reality, had been stolen. He picked up the keys, looking at them. The key ring had a flat ebony disk on it with a silver H in the middle.
"H," mused Ben. "Maybe that's your initial or something. Sound familiar?"
H. "In a way. It's familiar, but it's not quite right." He ran it through his mind, his head tilted slightly again. H. Yes, he knew that, but it was incomplete. What was the rest? He was grasping at shadows, and the effort of trying to remember was bringing back the headache. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lump on the back of his head again, using his left hand, the unbandaged one.
"You okay?" Ben's voice was worried.
"Just got a headache. Not surprising. I don't think I'm really hurt." He took his hand away from the back of his head, then paused as the gold glittered in the light. "I'm married." He turned the ring on his finger, trying to remember her name. Her face. Anything. Again, he could remember the feeling, like he could remember being alone. A totally different feeling, though. Warm like sunlight, internal sunlight, running through his veins, full of radiant power. Yes, he still knew her soul. But all of the details were lost. He closed his eyes again.
"H?" The eyes came open instantly, responding automatically to the name. "Why don't you lie down a while? You look a little odd."
"I'm fine," he insisted, and was caught up again in the familiarity of it. He had used that line before, he was sure. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn't hurt to lie down a bit. He was exhausted suddenly. He glanced at his watch. The muggers must have been interrupted; they hadn't taken the watch or his ring. Only 9:00 AM. Why did he feel like he had been up all night? "On second thought, maybe I will."
"Maybe you can dream it back," Ben suggested. "It happens that way sometimes. In the movies, anyway."
"Maybe so." Maybe he would dream of his wife, the woman of golden sunlight. Maybe he could see her face. He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. H, he thought hazily. He had responded automatically. Yes, that was familiar. But he knew suddenly that she didn't call him that. What did she call him? What did he call her? She would be worried about him. But the boy needed help; he was more sure of that every minute. He tried to send a mental message toward her, through whatever connection they shared. I'm fine, he thought. I'll find my way back to you. But I have to help Ben, too. His consciousness dissolved into shadows. Golden shadows.
Ben sat in the chair in the room, watching his new friend. His mind was running through a different set of questions. What am I going to tell Zack? Did he find a job? Biggest of all were the questions he wouldn't - couldn't - let himself ask. What if we can't make it like he says? What's going to happen to us then? Eventually, though, he fell asleep himself, resting in the presence of someone strong and capable, sleeping soundly for the first time since he and Zack had run away.
***
"Thank you. Let me know if anything does turn up." Calleigh broke the phone connection to the last hospital on her list and just sat there for a second. No hospital or clinic in the city had seen any patient whose description came even close. And even without ID, Horatio was memorable. She was sure he hadn't been overlooked. No, he really wasn't at any of those places. It was now 1:00 PM, six hours since he had jogged away from her and been swallowed up whole by the city. No innocent explanation was possible any longer, even if it had been earlier. That left only two possibilities (actually three, but her mind refused to consider the third one). Either he had been captured by Hagen or some other criminal, or he was hurt but could not get to help. What a choice. She wasn't sure which one frightened her more. She looked at the picture on his desk from their honeymoon again. He had told her that Niagara Falls was like love - driving, powerful, unstoppable. I won't stop either, she told herself fiercely. I will find him. She stood up with a surge of determination and jumped when her cell phone rang. Then she stared at it for a second, afraid of what it might want to tell her. It rang again, and she hit the button, annoyed with herself for the delay. "Calleigh Caine."
"Calleigh, it's Adele." A voice full of warm sympathy, but also underlying excitement. Definite excitement. "I've found somebody who saw Horatio this morning."
"When? Where? Who?" The questions fired out so fast that the words tangled.
"About 7:30, he says. One of the officers on emergency duty this morning, directing traffic. He's off at the moment. I woke him up calling, in fact. But he definitely remembers him, says they talked for a while. I'm on my way over to his house. Meet me in the garage in five minutes."
Calleigh let out the breath she had been holding. "Thanks, Adele. I'm on my way." She practically ran out of the office, still worried but elated, too. 7:30. They had cut 30 minutes out of that blank space. And the more they whittled at it, the closer they would come to finding him. She nearly ran over Speed in the hall.
"Any news?"
"Some. Adele's found an officer who saw him at 7:30. We're going over to talk to him now."
"Good luck. Let me know." She was already gone. She hadn't asked if he wanted to come, but Speed had an idea of his own he wanted to follow. He headed into the lab purposefully, missing the comforting hum of all their machines. Still, all he needed to analyze this evidence was his cell phone. It was Horatio's cell phone that started him thinking. If it had been taken by the people who had taken him, of course they wouldn't answer incoming calls, but a top model cell phone was too valuable to toss away lightly, especially in a blackout. They might have made calls out on it, using it for free minutes. This was Speed's kind of lead, small but significant details which could lead straight to the people who had H. He wasn't as good as Calleigh with people or as good as Horatio at seeing the big picture, but he could chew every ounce of value out of individual clues. If anyone had made a call on that phone since 7:00, he would find out who they called, and that could lead back to who they were. He looked up the number for the phone company, getting far enough out of the blackout to talk to someone with a working database.
***
Officer Clark sat on the couch in his living room next to his wife, and Adele took the armchair across from him. Calleigh, too restless to sit anywhere, paced in barely restrained hope and worry. "I was directing traffic in the intersection when he came up. 7:30 on the nose, by his watch, actually. I asked him what time it was, because my watch had stopped, and he stopped running and stood there with me for a minute. Talking about the blackout and the night and such. He was absolutely fine then, seemed like himself."
"Which intersection?" Adele wrote it down in her notebook, and Calleigh figured distances. A good long run, in excellent time. In fact, Horatio would have had enough of a run at that point that he would be thinking about turning around, especially since he should have been at CSI at 9:00.
"Which way did he go when he left you?" she asked. "Back the way he came?"
Clark hesitated. "No, he went east."
East? He had come from the south, heading north. She could understand continuing or going back, but why on earth would he change course entirely? "Are you sure?"
"Positive. He went east. In fact, it was odd. That's what he said himself."
"That something was odd?" Adele took over the questioning again.
"Right. He'd just said he'd be heading back, had to get ready for work. Just then, one of the citizens came up to me. You know, the ones who think that you should personally have all the answers and that things are inconveniencing them more than anyone. So she was lighting into me, and H started to turn around and just melt off, leave me to it." He grinned in remembrance. He'd resented it, and in Horatio's position, he would have done the same thing. "Right as he turned away, he checked, and then he said, `That's odd. He shouldn't be here.' I was tied up with the lady, trying not to be rude, you know, but I looked around out of the corner of my eye. Couldn't see anything strange myself, but he headed off east. That's the last I saw of him."
"How did he say it?" Adele asked. "What tone?"
"Like he was talking to himself. Curious. Not really worried, but curious."
"And you have no idea what he saw?" Calleigh hoped the answer would change.
"No. Sorry I'm not more help." Clark looked tired, and Calleigh suddenly remembered he, like the rest of them, was working emergency shifts around the clock. He had interrupted his few hours of sleep, though, to talk to them.
"You have helped, a lot," she said. "Thank you."
"I hope you find him."
"We will," promised Adele. "We'll let you get back to sleep now. Thank you again." They left the house and got back into Adele's car. She didn't start it right away, though. "What do you think?" she asked Calleigh.
Calleigh frowned in concentration. "I don't think it was Hagen he saw. I just can't imagine Horatio seeing him unexpectedly, loose on the street, and only calling it odd. And he was standing right next to an officer. He would have said something."
Adele nodded. "That's how I see it. Maybe one of the others? There were three other prisoners who escaped. Maybe someone he'd seen before but just a small-time criminal."
"Hagen still could have been around a corner."
"Could have, but he's more a loner. I think he'd split off, even if the other three stuck together. And the whole thing had to be pure coincidence. Not a trap. Who could have known H would be there just then?"
"Let's go look at that intersection," said Calleigh. Adele started the car and pulled out.
"Maybe he saw someone but wasn't sure if he should be in jail still. He knows a lot more criminals by sight than he knows exact sentence dates for. Especially if it wasn't one of his cases."
"Maybe," said Calleigh. "It had to be someone he didn't really think was a threat, though. He's independent, but he's not stupid. Standing right next to an officer, he would have called for help if he thought he needed it." She stared at the road, willing it to move by faster. "This once, he must have been wrong, though." Adele took one hand off the wheel to give Calleigh's wrist a light squeeze, then focused on the road again.
***
John Hagen sat in his own rented scruffy motel room (rented under a false name, of course), thinking out his strategy. The blackout was a godsend, enabling his escape, then restricting the media that could have made his freedom very short. Hagen had been a cop himself for many years, enough to know what would happen. The looting, the vandalism, all of it was a perfect diversion from one man who only wanted one thing. And from the sound of things on the radio, things weren't likely to return to normal until after the weekend.
The shock of the last several months had changed him. The guards had kept him separated from the main population, but jail had still been an education for Hagen. The claustrophobic tightening of his throat every time he heard a door slam into its lock, the pure indignity of having to face the contempt he saw in the guards' eyes, the sudden shift from building his own private (very private) retirement fund, as he thought of it, to a bare cell. And on top of all that, bail had been denied, and the DA refused to plea bargain. Horatio had turned his entire effort toward decoding Chaz's notebook, and Hagen found himself with very little unique information to offer. Between Horatio, the notebook, and several other crooks facing their own trials who lined up to strike plea bargains against him, there wasn't enough left for Hagen to make a deal with. For months, he had sat there with nothing else to think of except revenge.
He had heard of the wedding through the grapevine. So Horatio now not only had put him away, but he had Calleigh. Hagen had wanted Calleigh himself, as much as he wanted any woman, but she had done the unforgivable. She hadn't needed him. On the Kerner case, she had politely, almost condescendingly accepted his bodyguard efforts, then shaken him off and taken Kerner down herself. Hagen was used to women being impressed by him. He wanted a woman to admire him. Calleigh had been not cold but, worse, indifferent. She wasn't indifferent to Horatio, though. Hagen had seen the look in her eyes when he tried to warn her against Horatio, heard the tone in her voice every time she mentioned his name.
They had beaten him. Both of them. She had beaten his pride, and Horatio had beaten his freedom and authority. Hagen, facing full charges, including attempted homicide and several counts of accessory to homicide related to his life as a bad cop, knew that he faced a sentence stretching decades. His life was over. The lawyer had assured him they would win, that the evidence could be gotten around, that he could break Horatio on the stand, but Hagen knew better. Horatio would win, like he always had won. Hagen could never commit suicide, not directly, anyway, but he would rather die than spend decades in prison. Prison would be even worse than the holding jail. And then the blackout had come, the heaven-sent opportunity.
He would take advantage of it. Even if he failed, he would make sure he died in the attempt. And if he was successful, his crimes would jump straight onto the capital list, and his life would end in months with the knowledge of sweet revenge, not dragged out through years surrounded by steel bars and the contempt of those who once called him a friend. Lifting a few wallets had given him money, and the money had given him means. Hagen made a vow to himself as he sat in his motel room cleaning his newly acquired gun and plotting exactly how to kill Horatio and Calleigh. For them, this blackout would be permanent.
***
Zack, 17, desperately afraid and desperately trying to hide it, paused in the parking lot of the motel, giving himself a minute to put on some confidence to show Ben. Today hadn't been a good day job hunting. The blackout was too much of a disruption. Zack knew he would need more money soon, though; his savings would only take them so far. The only thing to sell would be his car. He gave it a pat on the fender. Just a beat up old Pinto, but his parents had given it to him for his 16th birthday. His parents. His mind instantly slammed that door, refusing to go there. He would hate losing the car. But for Ben, if he had to, he would sell it. He would take care of his brother. It was all up to him now.
It suddenly occurred to him that Ben might have heard the car pull up and wonder what was keeping him. Zack pasted on a false smile and opened the door, then stopped dead. He didn't see Ben, but a strange man was stretched out full length on the bed. Zack looked at the number on the room door, checking. Yes, this was it. Where had this man come from, and where had Ben gone?
He closed the door and walked across the worn carpet for a closer look, trying to be quiet. The man never stirred. Tall, lean, and wiry, with a face that was a roadmap of character. Who the hell was this?
Ben, in the chair with its back to the door, shifted in his sleep, and Zack spotted him with relief. He studied his brother for a minute. He's lost some weight, he thought. Worrying too much. I've got to take better care of him. Squaring his shoulders, Zack made a new vow to take charge. Starting now. He turned back to the intruder and hit him lightly on the shoulder, ready to kick him out of their room and out of their lives. Whoever he was, they didn't need him.
Zack never totally understood the next sequence of events. One minute he was on his feet, waking up this stranger, the next he was pinned on the bed himself, held captive by two blue lasers that scanned him. He barely felt the hands for the eyes.
"H!" Ben bolted out of his chair. "Let him go, H. It's okay. This is Zack."
The man backed off instantly, and the laser light flickered and died. Zack stayed where he was for a second, then slowly sat up, still keeping a wary eye on the stranger. "I'm sorry," the redhead said, in a quiet, deep voice. "You startled me, waking me up like that."
Zack looked him up and down. This man was the same one who had been asleep on the bed. The man of a few seconds ago, the one who had pinned him with no more effort than swatting a fly, had disappeared. And that was almost more frightening than if he had stayed. Zack was caught off guard, wondering which one he would have to deal with. "My fault," he admitted finally. "I wasn't thinking." He swung his legs over to the floor. "Who are you?"
The blue eyes unfocused, looking far past him. "I don't know," came the answer finally.
"Didn't you remember anything sleeping?" asked Ben.
"A few bits, but not my name." He knew now that his wife really did have golden hair, but he hadn't been able to see the face. Her voice on the edges of the dreams had been familiar, an easy Southern drawl, but he hadn't quite been able to make the words out. It was the center of his dreams that shook him, though. Explosions, murders, bodies, bombs, weapons, in graphic detail. What kind of life had he led, to know so much detail about destruction? It went far beyond anything he had picked up from movies and books.
"Are you feeling better, at least?"
He smiled at Ben, a warm smile that somehow relaxed Zack a bit, too. "Yes, I am. Much better. You're right; I did need some down time."
Zack sorted through this conversation. "You don't remember who you are?" The stranger shook his head. "How did you get here?"
"I brought him," Ben said. "I found him this morning. He saved me from getting mugged." He told the morning's adventure, and Zack felt himself warming up to the man a bit. He returned the smile from earlier.
"Thanks for helping Ben. H, did you say?"
"That's from the keys." He pulled them out of his pocket and handed them over. Zack looked at the keys, not the disk.
"Those aren't all house and car keys. I wonder what they go to. Serious locks on something."
"When I find out, I'll let you know." They smiled at each other again. This man did not seem condescending to him, unlike most of the people Zack had talked to lately. He felt himself relax slightly for the first time in days. Suddenly, he jumped up and retrieved the bag he had dropped by the door.
"Anybody hungry? Here's the best we can get in no-prepare food. Also a flashlight and batteries, for later."
"Any news on the blackout?" asked H.
"Just theories. They say it will probably be Monday before everyone is back on. They're still deciding what happened." Zack pulled out the contents of the sack with a flourish, feeling almost light-hearted suddenly. "Meanwhile, we have peanut butter and a whole loaf of bread. And bottled water." All of them were hungry, and they quickly worked through a stack of sandwiches.
"How much cash do we have left, Zack?" Ben's voice was anxious.
"Plenty. And I'll get a job, too, as soon as this blackout is over. We'll be fine." Ben still looked worried, though, and H saw it.
"I'm not helping out much," he apologized. "I've got even less money than you do." Ben giggled, and Zack looked at him gratefully.
"Maybe we can find your wallet," said Ben hopefully. "We'd know who you are then, too. There's lots of stuff you can find on the street. Look what I've got, just in two days." He started emptying his various pockets, revealing money, string, a pocket knife, a black notebook, a calculator, a magazine, and a pair of sunglasses (not the missing ones).
"Ben, I wish you wouldn't wander around the streets while I'm out," said Zack. "Anything could happen to you out there."
"H is going to show me how to defend myself. Aren't you, H? H?" He suddenly realized that his new friend wasn't paying attention. His head had come up and tilted slightly, listening. In the next instant, he stood up and went to the window, pressing himself flat against the wall, looking through the gap at the edge of the curtain. Even while they had been talking, his mind was automatically registering details, soaking up the surroundings. People coming and going to the motel rooms, distant car horns, and a car that drove by slowly but did not stop. Twice, at brief intervals. The same car, with a slightly squeaky fan belt.
"H?" Zack was puzzled, too.
"Be quiet a minute," he said. The voice wasn't sharp, but the authority set the conversation on a different level. Zack and Ben instantly became serious. Everyone waited. Finally, here came the car again, driving by slowly. Two people in it, noting the cars, hesitating at the Pinto, looking toward the room. Toward -this- room. Drug gang members. He was certain of it, even though he couldn't remember where he'd learned so much about drug gang members. Staking out this room while waiting for reinforcements, circling the block to try to avoid suspicion that a parked car would raise. When the rest of the gang arrived, when the traffic grew less and it started to get dark, they would take action. He wondered which of the three of them they were after and why. Could be any one of them, even Ben the scavenger. Who could know what he had seen, not realizing the significance, out on the streets? Zack might have seen something, too. And he himself could be a rival gang member for all he knew. That might explain his extensive knowledge of illegal activity. One thing was clear, though. One of the three of them was in danger. And until he was certain it wasn't the boys, he couldn't abandon them. Not even to try to find his wife again. He turned back to Zack, and the laser light in his eyes had ignited again, a low but steady stream. "Give me the car keys," he said. "We're getting out of this room, now." Zack looked at him for a minute, then, without question, handed over the keys to the Pinto.