OUT THERE
Chapter Seventeen
"Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind,
Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,
Now slip, now slide, now move unseen,
Above, beneath, betwixt, between."
(Neil Gaiman, 'The Graveyard Book')
Five... six... seven... eight... nine pens in the pot on Mac's desk. Adam sat and stared at them, absorbed by the tiny reflections in their silver barrels.
"Adam."
"Yes, boss."
"Are you with me?"
"Yes, boss."
Gently, this time. "Are you sure?"
Adam lifted his eyes. "I'm good. You wanted to talk to me about something?"
Strange. Today, it was Mac who seemed unsettled - nervous, even. Meanwhile, Adam felt calm.
Four, five... six buttons on the boss's shirt, though the top one was open.
Mac leaned forward. Folding his arms, he rested them on the desk in front of him and frowned as he studied Adam. Like a piece of evidence...
"Your lab work this past week has been exemplary. In fact, I'm putting a note of commendation in your file for the break you gave us on the Jenkins case."
"Thanks, boss."
"I know you take this job seriously, Adam, but really - I've never seen you display so much focus." Mac threw in a question from left field. "How's your shoulder?"
"It's good. I don't need the painkillers any more." Truth was, Adam had dumped the whole bottle after that scene in the...
No.
Don't go there.
But the mind was a fickle thing and, already, he could recall the whoosh of his fist and the fiery adrenaline that was an unwanted gift from his father. Had the painkillers loosened his inhibitions? He couldn't be certain - and, even more importantly, he couldn't take the chance that it might happen again.
A tiny pulse began to twitch in his cheek. So much for feeling calm. He tried to slow it down, hating its intrusive presence.
One, two...
Three, four...
"Five," he burst out.
"Five?" Mac said, puzzled.
"Days without 'em now," Adam lied, trying not to look at the pile of unsolved cases on the edge of Mac's desk. All five of them.
"I'm glad to hear it. And you've had no... trouble?"
"Trouble?" Adam swallowed. Had he found out already? This was Mac, after all. He didn't think Richard had talked, but the boss-man's ability to know things was uncanny.
Not this time, however.
"Out there. When you're travelling to and from work? You don't feel like anyone's following you, for example?"
Laugh. Go on - just an easy chuckle.
The sound that came out was more of a squeak, but Adam continued bravely. "Nah. It's all good." Truth was, he spent every journey - every day, in fact - trying to perfect the art of being invisible. Adam the Ghost. If they don't see you, they can't hurt you...
And you can't hurt them.
He blocked the guilt and focussed on the people passing by Mac's window. One, two... three...
"I'm relieved to hear it." Mac stood up and came around the desk to stand beside him. Adam rose too. Was the conversation over? If so, it had been surprisingly painless.
Stella knocked on the glass door and Mac waved her in, before turning back. "Find Sheldon," he said. "I need you to go with him on a case. Body dump. You think you can handle it? Everyone else is tied up right now, and it might do you good to get out of here for a while. You know - fresh air?" He smiled, to let Adam know that he was joking. "The real world?"
"That's funny, boss." Adam almost stumbled over the chair in his haste to leave. Safely in the corridor, he moved past the window but lingered next to the wall, captured by the unexpected sound of his name being spoken aloud.
"I've never known Adam so quiet."
"Stella, he's been through a bad experience. You know how hard it is to bounce back from something like that."
"I do." Her voice was muffled, but heartfelt. "But Mac - it's Adam we're talking about; the man who takes 'bouncing back' to a whole new level. This feels different somehow."
There was a pause. Adam spent the time arguing with himself about the morality of listening in to other people's conversations - even if they were about him. Especially if they were about him. Before he could arrive at a conclusion, Mac went on.
"You think I don't know that? Talking to him just now... I'm not even sure he was with me."
"How's his work?"
"I can't fault it. Not in the lab, at any rate."
"Not in the lab. Wait - is that why you're sending him out on an easy run with Sheldon? To test him? And what if he fails?"
Adam's breath caught in his throat. He had overheard too much and suddenly he knew that he didn't want to hear Mac's answer, or anything else that his two colleagues had to say.
With a weary cast to his shoulders and a carefully blank expression, he shuffled away in search of Dr. Hawkes; just another lab tech in a white coat.
-xx-
The Avalanche moved steadily through the busy streets. Rush hour was always crazy, but Hawkes had a knack for picking the best routes. Adam closed his eyes and let the flick-flick-flick of the passing tail-lights play on his eyelids like a magic lantern. It was hypnotic. He could feel himself drifting off and he didn't even care.
"Adam."
"Yes, boss?"
A deep chuckle. "Thanks for that, but you don't have to call me 'boss'. 'Hawkes' will do. Or - you know what? - we're friends, aren't we? How about Sheldon?"
"Oh." He flushed at his mistake... and then worked his way through the rest of the doctor's cheerful speech. Unexpected. "Okay, thanks. Then I guess you can call me..."
"Adam. I know."
"Oh, yeah. Joke," he offered hopefully and went back to staring out of the window.
"Nearly there," Hawkes said, moments later.
Adam roused himself with an effort. More talking. Okay, he could do that. Why am I still so tired? he wondered obliquely. For the past week, he had struggled to create a steady routine - up early, sensible breakfast. Long day at work, come home, spend time with Elma. Sensible supper and then off to bed, so promptly that he found himself lying awake for hours before sleep took him. And yet...
And yet, he felt so weary that it was all he could do to concentrate on the simplest things these days. His focus - the subject of Mac's admiration - was really the outward sign of a pig-headed effort to hide his exhaustion and keep going at all costs. As if they could sense his weakness, the bad thoughts kept on trying to slip through his defences. He blocked them as well as he could. As for keeping a low profile, that was easy when your energy was slowly sinking through your sneakers and pooling on the floor around you.
Wait - go back. Hawkes had spoken. Adam turned around and saw a pair of dark eyes watching him.
"Shouldn't you be looking at the road?" he said.
"I can do both." As if to prove his statement, the doctor glanced ahead and then in the rear-view mirror before easing to a halt. "We're stuck in a queue - see?"
"What:? Oh, yes... I knew that." He sighed and let go, just a little. "Please don't stare at me, okay?"
To his credit, Hawkes didn't deny it. "Like I said, we're friends. I'm worried about you."
"Then you're not spying on me for Mac?" As soon as he said the words, Adam regretted them. Hawkes drew back as if he'd been stung. "You are!"
"No, Adam. All I'm doing here is driving us both to a crime scene. But..." Hawkes paused as if to consider the wisdom of his next remark. At last, he continued. "You do know that talking helps, right?"
"Of course. Because everyone shares at the crime lab these days," Adam said in a low voice. He turned his face back to the window. One... two... three yellow cabs in the queue beside them... "Sorry," he added. "That was uncalled for, okay? Yes, I know it does, Hawkes, but you don't need to worry. I'm fine. There's nothing to talk about."
"Sheldon," the doctor insisted.
"Sheldon." Whatever.
He peered through the centre of his own reflection. The old lady hobbling down the street looked exactly like Elma. Adam watched her struggle for a while. She had two heavy bags of shopping and a look of pained resignation on her face. People passed by, unseeing. As she stopped to adjust her load, Adam's heart contracted. Part of him wanted to leap out and help her; an urge so strong that his fingers actually brushed the handle - but just as they did so, the knot of traffic loosened and Hawkes pulled away. Adam sat back, feeling guilty and not really understanding why.
Two blocks later, they reached the crime scene. There was an officer waiting. He smiled at them both and the grin made his baby-face seem even wider.
"You're here," he said.
"New York's finest," Hawkes muttered in Adam's ear, clearly hoping for a chuckle and looking quite disappointed when he didn't get one.
"This way," the officer continued, oblivious. "Wallace," he added as he steered them down a narrow alley that split two dingy apartment blocks right down the middle. "That's me, okay?"
"Hawkes. And Ross. This your first scene, Wallace?"
Adam was happy for his colleague to do all the talking. As the high walls closed in around them, he tried to focus on the tread of his footsteps, the sound of his breathing - anything that would distract him from the scene itself. The alley was unfamiliar, and yet he knew it all too well. It had haunted his dreams for more than a week. He half-expected to see a small boy beside him, or a hooded figure watching from a distance. Instead, there was only Doctor Hawkes and the fresh-faced officer, Wallace.
"No, sir. I'm not a rookie, sir. What gave you that impression?"
Caught in the net of his own assumptions, Hawkes changed the subject quickly. "Just making small talk. So now - tell us about the body?"
"Homeless would be my guess. Died somewhere else and then dumped here. You can see that she's been dragged." Wallace halted and looked down. Adam followed his gaze and saw a sight that was so forlorn, it made him want to cry. He crouched beside her in the gloom and studied the pinched white cheeks; the long dark hair that was matted and tangled now but surely would have been this young woman's glory not so very long ago. Her clothes were well-made but worn at the seams. Her shoes were scuffed and dirty, and did not belong somehow. A random find or a trade, perhaps, when her own fell apart?
Her arms were raised above her head and twin lines scored the mud beyond her feet. Her legs were twisted and her neck was badly broken. A china doll, discarded. "I'm so sorry," Adam told her softly.
"Checking for track marks." Hawkes had settled down beside him, focussing his flashlight. The doctor's first act was to roll up her sleeves. More assumptions, Adam thought - yet there they were, a sad clue to her fate. This was a familiar story.
"Overdose?" he asked. "Or maybe she was..." Attacked. Go on, say it. Hawkes was waiting patiently. Not fair - the man saw too much. Adam frowned and stood up stiffly. "Why don't I look round for trace?" he said. "I mean, you're the doctor here, right? Studying people is your thing." Studying them... spying on them...
"Good idea." If Hawkes knew what Adam was really thinking, he didn't show it. "Officer Wallace, if you could establish a perimeter?" He tossed him a roll of black and yellow tape. "Both ends of the alley, I suspect - though Ross will confirm that."
Stepping away from the body, Adam found an unobtrusive place to settle his kit. He popped the top and rooted around for his own flashlight. Then, steadily, he followed the drag marks from the victim all the way to the end of the alley. The sky was dark by now but here on the edge of the well-lit street, he would never have known it without glancing upwards. In front of him, people scurried to and fro. Some pointedly ignored him, but some tried to gawp as Wallace strung the tape from one building to the next; a gaudy gateway to a tragic scene.
"Wait," Adam told him. "Let me pass."
The drag lines ended where the dirt met the sidewalk, but Adam was thorough and, more to the point, victims didn't just drop into alleyways out of nowhere. Leaving the shadows, he planted his feet firmly, claiming his position as passers-by swerved to avoid him.
"I already checked before you came. There's no blood or footprints." Wallace was watching him, full of curiosity.
"Okay..." Adam murmured, barely listening. The empty space around him grew wider, as though he were trapped in an ever-expanding bubble. Starting low, he trained his flashlight on the weeds, the rolling litter, the concrete... was that a scuff-mark?
A scent stole over him like a memory, carried by the warm breath of the city; sharp and thick, like chemicals mixed with sweat.
Fear sent prickles chasing up and down his skin.
Adam looked up - and there they were in the distance; the dark figures that had been watching all along. He sprang to his feet, calling out to Wallace as he set off running. "Come on! Quick!"
Wallace hesitated for a second and then followed after him in a heavy, loping manner that had no speed or grace to it whatsoever. Adam's own pace was almost faster than his feet could cope with. Driven by an uncontrollable sense of urgency, he pelted along the street and wheeled around the corner. The two hooded figures were still so far ahead that he began to despair of catching them. "Useless," he groaned, between wrenching gasps for air. Neither Wallace nor he was equipped for this chase. In any other circumstance, it would have been laughable. Not today. Today, he felt like screaming.
A movie theatre loomed into view like a shining mirage. Crowds were already swelling at its doors, creating a blockage that made Adam's heart leap. Surely that would slow his quarry down?
But the very next moment, he stumbled to a halt in absolute shock.
They hadn't slowed down. They had disappeared completely.
Not by ducking into a sidestreet, or an open door. Not by diving into a random huddle of people. The two hooded figures had simply... ceased to be.
And now, for the first time, Adam truly began to doubt his sanity. He was chasing an illusion through the streets of Manhattan. Worse than that, he had dragged Wallace with him - which meant that he had a witness to his bewildered state of mind.
"Lost 'em?" Wallace panted, staggering towards him. "Who were we chasing, anyway?"
Adam couldn't answer. He stared at the crowd of movie-goers with a look of horror on his face.
"They go in there or something?" The officer seemed hopeful. "I could flash my badge. Initiate a search."
"No!" The word burst out of him and, at last, he turned around. "It's too late. I thought I saw... but maybe I didn't, okay...?"
"Maybe you didn't...?" Wallace began to sound a little uncomfortable. Part of that was due to his ragged breathing, but most of it was based on Adam's highly suspicious behaviour. "You're telling me this was some kind of a... what, a wild goose chase? I thought you CSI guys were too smart to jump at shadows."
That's what I did, he thought bleakly. Somehow, he had let his nightmares bleed out into reality, to the point where he couldn't tell one from the other. Am I dreaming now...?
"Crazy geek," the officer muttered. Adam flinched.
Running back was out of the question. Their spirits and their stamina were far too low. The nearer they trudged to the crime scene, the more Adam fell behind. If Hawkes was a spy for Mac - a theory he had only half-believed, but one that seemed like an absolute certainty now - then this little story could only have one outcome. They'll never let me out of the lab again, he sighed. A prison sentence.
Head low, he watched the cracks as his feet stepped over them. Why tempt fate? Bad luck was dogging him already; he certainly didn't need more.
He was vaguely aware of Wallace turning into the alleyway. Looking up, he saw that the street around them was much quieter now. So quiet, in fact, that the officer's sudden cry ricocheted off the walls and was multiplied tenfold.
"NYPD! Hey! Get off him!" Wallace yelled.
Adam froze.