The Forbidden Trilogy(163)

The house smelled of desperation and hopelessness, but hadn't begun to stink of death. That would happen soon enough. Still, a house whose occupant lay dead inside had a certain feel to it, an emptiness and sadness that a vacant house didn't have. Drake didn't want to walk back in, but he had to. Toby needed him.

He argued with himself that this didn't concern him—wasn't his business. But despite his fall into darkness, Drake couldn't turn his back and walk away—no matter how strong the urge.

Toby reminded Drake of himself as a child—lost, alone, abandoned by the world. If Drake hadn't found Father Patrick, who knows what he would have become? He laughed sardonically at the thought when he realized the truth.

This. I would have become what I am right now.

Thinking of the old priest pushed him into action. He shoved open the door that no longer had a handle or latch, and entered the misery of this family's life. When he went back into the bedroom, he half expected to see Toby still and lifeless again. He didn't expect to find him gone.

The dead woman lay alone on the stained mattress, arm lying limp to her side.

"Toby, are you here?" Drake searched the small house quickly. No Toby.

What the hell? Where could he have gone?

Nothing looked disturbed. In fact, the bed still had an impression where the boy had lain. He reached his hand out to touch the mattress, but jerked back in surprise when his hand touched something that wasn't there.

As if in reaction to being touched, the air shimmered and Toby's body appeared where Drake's hand had been. The boy sighed and his eyelids fluttered, trying to open.

Drake's jaw opened in shock. Toby had survived because he did have a para-power, and his mother clearly hadn't. This created a whole new problem for them both. If the boy kept flickering in and out like that, there was no way Drake could explain any of this. What would he tell the paramedics when they arrived? Should he lie about his involvement? He certainly had no intention of copping to illicit drug use—a one-way ticket to jail.

His choices didn't look promising, with no money, no identification, no address. He was a nobody in the system, a lost soul too far off the radar for anyone to care, but a prime suspect to pin a death and almost-death on. If they tested his system, what would they find? Would he test positive for drugs?

Toby's breathing steadied and he stayed visible, which relieved Drake. The waiting sent him pacing the house looking for something to distract him. He couldn't help the boy, or his mom. He considered moving Toby. Waking up wrapped in the arms of his dead mother was probably a harmful experience for a kid, worthy of some serious therapy.

With that decided, Drake easily lifted the underweight boy and carried him to the living room, and set him on the shabby couch. Drake sat next to him, watching his chest move up and down rhythmically. The couch faced a small, old fashioned television that probably didn't work, but Drake figured it was worth a try. He needed a distraction. What was taking them so long, anyways? This zip code probably didn't rate high on the response time charts—the city of lost souls and nameless faces.

He clicked the ancient relic on and smiled when it actually got a signal, but his pleasure was short lived when he realized it only got one channel, which currently featured a news story that Drake almost ignored, until he saw a picture flash on the screen of a vial with crystal blue liquid in it. They were talking about the drug.

Drake turned it up and sat back down to watch. The newscaster was live on the scene of a wealthy home, with a Chanel-wearing woman crying into a handkerchief. "My boy, he just went crazy. He started throwing things at us, things he couldn't possibly have lifted on his own. I don't understand what's going on. Then, he just disappeared. Someone took my baby!"

It flashed to another scene, with another woman sobbing. She looked angry and sad. "My girl died, and lots of others have died as well, and the ones who have... side effects... they go missing. But if they aren't blond and white, this country doesn't give a crap. One white kid goes missing and the media suddenly pays attention. What about the dozens of kids on our streets who have died or been kidnapped. Why has no one paid attention before?"

Sirens blaring in the distance alerted Drake to the paramedics. He turned the television off and filed the new story in the back of his mind for later review. Now, he had to focus on his own story, and on not getting in trouble.

When the paramedics arrived with two police officers, Drake knew he had little chance of escaping this situation unscathed. They came in armed, weapons in hand, and uncompromisingly antagonistic against Drake.

"Put your hands on your head and turn around, now!"

Drake bristled at their tone and the implications, but he followed their orders. "Officer, I'm the one who called you. I found this kid being beaten up by some drug dealers, and I cut in to save him. Then he ran off. I was worried about his health after taking such a beating, so I followed him. By the time I got here, his mom was dead and he was barely breathing. It looks like they took some drugs of some kind. I called you immediately."