Nightlife

  Niko studied his fish glumly. "I think I have lost my appetite."

  Join the crowd, big brother.

  Chapter Eleven

  I'd kept the sweatshirt, Jesus, how many years now? Three? No, four. It had been almost four years since I'd come home, naked and vulnerable. I ran a hand over the worn material, faded with bleach spots here and there. It was barely more than a rag, held together by prayer and a few stubborn threads that refused to give up the ghost. Niko had tossed it in the garbage on more occasions than I could count, but I fished it back out every time. I talked big about not clinging to things; material possessions only slowed you down when you were on the run. You had to be ready to leave it all behind at a moment's notice. You had to lead a disposable life, and for the most part I stuck to that rule. Why this one sweatshirt was such an exception wasn't easy to understand.

  Maybe it was because it had been the first sign of normality in a suddenly strange and foreign world. While the greater part of me wasn't even aware I'd been gone, there'd been a tiny corner of my subconscious that had been all too in the know. It was the part that had me practically foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog when I'd reappeared. When Niko had gotten the clothes out of the trunk for me and helped me pull the sweatshirt on, it was like… like I was putting a human suit back on. It wasn't an exact fit, the shirt or the humanity, but I'd held on to both throughout the years with a desperately tight grip. The shirt reminded me—reminded me that I was home and reminded me there was at least a part of me that was human. Sometimes… hell, more often than not, I needed the reminder.

  There was another thing it brought to mind as well. It was what I'd worn the day I'd started running. And to bring things full circle, it would be what I was wearing the day I stopped. Stripping off the gray sweater I was wearing, I put on the sweatshirt. It was still too big. Niko always had been taller than I was. It was just one more thing for him to lord over me in the manner of all evil older brothers. I gave myself a halfhearted grin, but didn't succeed in cheering myself much. They say those who don't learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. What they don't say is what happens when you forget it totally. What did the Grendels have planned when they made me? Had I escaped from them or had they let me go? And if they had, why were they chasing one now? Could it be they weren't so much chasing me as keeping track of my location?

  A thousand questions and not one single goddamn answer. It got old, it really did. For every fear of what I would discover, there was an equally strong need to know, to finally know. Sucking in a deep breath, I blew it out and then stood. Leaving the bedroom, I joined Niko and Robin in our living room. "So, you ready to slap the whammy on me or what?" I asked with dark cheer.

  "You've decided, then." It was a calm statement of fact. Niko had resigned himself to the idea that in this instance I was the master of my fate and captain of my soul. I was sincerely hoping the metaphorical ship didn't go down, dragging its captain with it.

  "Yeah, I have." Crouching by the sofa where Niko sat, I let my hands dangle over my knees. "I feel pretty good about it, Cyrano. No worries, all right?"

  "Good" was an exaggeration, but I did feel determined.

  "Easier said than done," Niko said dryly. "But I'll take it under consideration. Still, I do feel somewhat better about it. I've been discussing the hypnotic procedure with Goodfellow."

  "Grilling me is more like it," Robin corrected with a wounded expression. "The Spanish Inquisition had nothing on your brother. Put him in a red smock and funny hat and he'd be employee of the month."

  "Regardless," Niko said pointedly, "as it stands now, I'm more confident in your abilities. I don't believe you'll turn Cal's mind into pudding."

  "Damning with faint praise. Is that only a motto to you or do you actually have it tattooed on your ass?" Resting his chin in his hand, he flashed a bright rapacious grin. "And if so, can I see?"

  "Whoa, don't even," I cautioned, holding up my hands as Niko threw me a look of sheer malevolence. "You're the one who called him. You have no one to blame but yourself." Pausing, I cocked my head and added with mock sincerity, "Oh, and your hot little tush of course."

  Niko shifted his attention back to Robin. "Exactly how long can you leave him under? Days, weeks, a decade or two?" Poor Nik, caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. I was damn glad I hadn't given voice to that particular thought. God only knew what kind of wordplay Goodfellow could've twisted that into.

  "Family, the gift that keeps on giving." Despite the cynical inflection Robin gave the words, I had a feeling the sentiment was genuine.

  "You don't have brothers?" I asked curiously. I remembered he said there were no female pucks, so there would be no sisters. "Lucky bastard." I elbowed Nik sharply.

  "No." He shook his head. "The fashion in which we procreate… no. There are no siblings, ever. Lucky…" The twist to his lips was as rueful as the green of his eyes was melancholy. "I guess that's one way of looking at it." Abruptly, he straightened and clapped his hands sharply. "Let's get this show on the road." Climbing out of the beat-up recliner, he motioned me toward it. "Have a seat."

  Taking my position cautiously, I was suddenly wary despite my best intentions. I caught Niko's gaze lingering on the faded sweatshirt. His lips parted, but in the end he said nothing about the shirt. What he did say was, "If you change your mind, Cal, at any time, simply speak up. Robin will stop immediately. Correct, Goodfellow?"

  "Right away," he promised promptly. "Hand to Zeus. Or Baal, God, Buddha, Amon-Ra. Take your pick." Sitting on the arm of the chair, he captured my eyes. "We'll start with a relaxation technique, and then we'll work on deepening the state. All of this is totally painless and probably even boring for you, Caliban. So get comfortable."

  "What? No shiny gold watch to swing in front of me?" I shifted nervously despite myself. Some big, bad monster killer I was.

  "No." Robin smiled reassuringly. All the teasing, provocation, and gleeful determination to annoy was gone. Here was a Robin as professional and empathetic as any doctor. Goodfellow was proving to have layers upon layers. "No watch. No amulet. I may have you focus on something in the room, but that's it. Are you ready?"

  My mouth went dry, but I nodded. "Nik, don't let him make me act like a chicken, okay?"

  "I won't." Niko squeezed my arm lightly, then tugged at my ear. "Not this time anyway."

  "Ready?" Robin repeated.

  "Yeah," I exhaled. "Let's do it."

  Robin leaned in closer. "Listen to my voice, Cal. That's all you have to do. Listen. It'll be the easiest, most simple thing you've ever done. Just listen."

  I did. I listened and the world went away.

  I woke up with a wall in front of me and the hardwood floor beneath me. It was as if no time had passed at all. One moment Robin was talking to me in a soothing, lulling voice while I sat in the chair, and the next I was… where was I? I blinked several times and my vision cleared. I was on the floor, curled up in the corner of the living room. On my knees, hands flat on the cool surface of the wall, I had my head jammed into the corner hard enough I felt the pressure like an ache. I sucked in a breath that burned my throat like acid. My throat was sore. Why was my throat sore?

  "Cal?"

  Niko's voice came from behind me. It was calm and controlled… on the surface. Underneath I heard something I hadn't heard in a long, long time, not since the night I'd come home: anguish. Nik… what was wrong with Nik? I managed to turn my head, my neck howling in protest. It was stiff, tight, locked into place like the rest of me. But I still managed to move enough that I could see Niko and Robin crouched behind me, several feet away. Both looked the worse for wear. Goodfellow had a bruise blooming on one cheekbone, a scrape on his chin, and his shirt half torn off. Niko had blood trickling down one side of his face from four parallel scratch marks, and several hanks of blond hair had been pulled from his braid to straggle loose. He had a hand outstretched toward me, patient and unmoving.

  "Nik?" My voice came out hoar
se and strained, all but gone.

  Niko sagged a bit, but his face remained placid and mild. "I'm right here, little brother. Everything's all right. We're home. Everything is fine."

  One hand dropped from the wall to land on the floor beside my leg. I watched it blankly, feeling numb, disconnected. "Fine? Oh. Okay." Even those few words had the pain flaring in my throat with the heat of a volcano. Ignoring that, I concentrated and managed to get my other hand down too. The fingers were blanched white from the grip they'd had on the wall. "My throat hurts." I looked up again at him and Robin. "Why does my throat hurt?"

  Robin turned the color of milk. His eyes dark holes in his white face, he scrambled to his feet and ran. Moments later we heard him retching in the bathroom. I tried for a smile for Niko. My lips refused to cooperate, barely twitching. "Something I said?"

  "I think he blames himself." Niko moved closer to me and, with hands fastened gently on to my shoulders, carefully eased me around. Then he pulled me into a hug so tight I felt my ribs creak. "He isn't alone."

  Bewildered, I patted him awkwardly on the back. "Nik, what happened?" The colors were beginning to seep back into my surroundings; I was losing that peculiar distance. "How'd I get down here?"

  Sitting up, Niko released me and swiped an absent hand across his face, smearing the blood. "Ah, damn." Carelessly pulling his shirtsleeve over the heel of his hand, he mopped the blood from his face. It was one of the most uncharacteristic things I'd ever seen my obsessively clean brother do.

  The blood under my short fingernails caught my eye. Fresh. Red. And I had a pretty good guess whose blood it was. "What'd we learn?" I swallowed thickly. "From the hypnosis? What the hell did we learn?" That was worth this, I finished in my head.

  "Nothing." He stood and reached down to grasp my wrist to help me to my feet. "It didn't work, Cal, simple as that."

  Simple as that? Robin was in the bathroom praying to the porcelain god, both he and Niko looked like they'd had the shit beaten out of them, I'd been trying to burrow my way to China via a living room corner, and it was as simple as that? I didn't think so. "What'd I say?" I insisted, unsteady enough to grab a handful of Niko's shirt to stay on my feet. "When I was under, what did I say?"

  "You didn't—" He stopped, tightened his lips, and then tried again. "You didn't say anything, Cal. Not a word, I promise you." Urging me toward the couch, he gave me a soft push down. "Sit down. I'll get you something for your throat."

  My throat. If I hadn't been talking, why was it so sore? It struck me then, hard and dirty. Screaming. I must've been screaming. And from the ripped sensation of my throat, I must've been screaming my guts out. As Niko headed to the kitchen, I heard Robin beside me, voice soft and hesitant. "Caliban?" I turned to see him standing beside the sofa. His face was damp from where he'd splashed water on it, beads of moisture sparkling in his hair. "I'm sorry," he said, still pale. "I thought I could… I thought… I'm sorry."

  "What happened?" I asked barely above a whisper. Niko wasn't going to tell me, but maybe Goodfellow would.

  "You…" Robin shook his head. "What happened to you is best left forgotten. You weren't… coherent. Whatever they did far overshadows any ability I have of letting you reexperience it with any range of distance. I'm sorry I ever convinced you and Niko otherwise." He raked a hand through his hair. "And if I can't do it, Cal, it can't be done. Never… never let anyone else try. It was almost impossible to bring you back. Others might not be able to."

  Before I could question him further, not that I had any idea what I would say, Niko descended on me with a cup of steaming tea. "Drink," he ordered. "It has honey, loquat syrup, and garlic. It should soothe your throat."

  "Or put me in the grave." I wrinkled my nose but gave in and took a sip. When it came to Niko's herbal remedies, there was no escape. He'd picked up more than martial arts in the string of dojos he'd frequented over the years. Choking down another swallow, I stated flatly, "I hurt you guys, didn't I? What did I do?"

  "Not a thing," Niko instantly denied. "We just got in your way. All you wanted to do was escape. You didn't intentionally raise a hand to us. Cal, you didn't even know who we were. You didn't know who you were either. You didn't know anything. None of it was on purpose."

  "Yeah?" I studied the golden brown liquid in the cup and then finished it. Handing Niko the cup, I said lightly, "All better." My throat maybe, but everything else was far from all better. I think everyone in the room knew that.

  Robin broke the long silence with a grim comment. "I need a drink."

  "I think we all need a drink," Niko agreed. Yet another un-Niko-like turn of events. Niko have a beer? The world truly was coming to an end… or had done so only minutes ago. And Niko and Robin had been forced to watch it.

  I was the lucky one; I'd slept through it.

  Chapter Twelve

  It's strange how a familiar place can be so comforting, even if that place is a run-down bar. You would think that as much time as I spent in that hole-in-the-wall while working, it would be the last place I'd want to be in my off time. Yet here we were. The three of us, blank faces over roiling emotions, walked through the door and headed straight for the bar. The tables, parked in the corners of the room, seemed too shadowed. Too isolated. As little as I liked having my back to the entire room, I liked the thought of sitting immersed in darkness even less.

  It was still early enough that we were among a very select group of hard-core alcoholics. I slapped a hand on the bar to get Meredith's attention. "Hey, Merry, hose us down, would ya?"

  She finished stacking glasses and moved over in front of us to lean suggestively on the counter. Her skintight, baby-doll T-shirt had a neckline low enough to display the produce far and wide. "Cal, Niko, who's your new friend?"

  I should've known. Merry had probably smelled Robin coming five blocks away. New meat. Ding-ding-ding. Of course, it could be interesting. Two predators coming together. We could lay bets on who would get gobbled up first. "Oh, sorry. Meredith, this is Robin… er… Rob Fellows," I introduced less than smoothly.

  She leaned further, the twins teetering precariously inside their cotton prison. "Nice to meet you, Rob," she murmured with a throaty purr. "Very nice indeed."

  Goodfellow gave her only a shadow of his usual leer, the glance at her overflowing breasts barely lustful. "Not as nice as it is to meet you, my fairy princess. Especially as there is so much of you to meet."

  It was almost disturbing, his lack of enthusiasm. This was not the Goodfellow we'd come to know and vaguely tolerate. "Merry, this man needs a drink and fast," I ordered with dark cheer. "Before we lose him altogether."

  "We certainly don't want that, do we?" With a practiced and flirtatious flip of her hair she took our choice of poison. She was so enamored of Robin that she didn't even blink at Niko ordering a beer. Granted, it was an imported one, but it was alcoholic and it still gave me a shock to see Niko taking a pull from the bottle.

  "No glass?" I touched my bottle to his with a clink. "You barbarian."

  "I have every expectation the bottle is cleaner than any glass here," he said with lofty disdain. I couldn't argue with that. I'd washed some of those glasses.

  Robin didn't bother with warming up, but instead skipped right to the hard stuff: Scotch straight up. No rocks, no water, hell, barely even a glass. I swapped amused glances with Niko as we watched him go. He'd said Homer had almost drunk him under the table. I didn't believe that for a second. The man, to use the term loosely, could drink. Within an hour he had all but drained the bar dry and wore out Meredith trying to keep up with his demands for more drinks. More people had started to trickle in and she was looking more frazzled with each new customer and every wave of Robin's hand followed by a caroled "Another round, fairy princess!"

  Goodfellow was waiting for his latest drink when he finally started to list on his stool. His head ended up on Niko's shoulder, his nose buried in the long blond fall of my brother's hair. The braid was history, courtesy of my freak-ou
t. Robin inhaled and murmured, "Your hair smells good, like warm summer sun."

  Niko sighed patiently and shifted him back up onto his stool. Not one to give up so easily, he immediately listed to the other side and took a nosedive in some woman's shoulder-length brown curls. "Your hair smells good," he repeated happily. "Like warm summer sun."

  "On that note." Niko stood and stretched. "It's your turn to babysit." He moved off toward the back of the bar and the bathrooms.

  Robin used the opportunity to plop down on the deserted barstool. Pillowing his head on his arms, he studied me with half-lidded, sleepy eyes. "Hello," he said solemnly.

  The alcohol fumes from his breath alone would give you a contact buzz. I snorted, "Hello yourself, Loman."

  "You all right?" Robin's sly, sarcastic mouth was turned down with no hint of its normal irreverent twist.

  He was worried, sincerely worried and obviously just as sincerely sorry for what had happened. I had a feeling Goodfellow wasn't used to being wrong. What had happened had really thrown him for a loop, even more so than it had me. In some ways I was relieved it hadn't worked. That probably made me one helluva coward. We hadn't gotten the information we'd hoped for. In fact we hadn't gotten anything except a sore throat and a few bruises. Considering I'd based a lot of hopes on what we'd find out, you'd think I'd be more disappointed. But in the end I think I'd been afraid what I would remember would change me for good and not necessarily for the better.

  "I'm all right," I assured him. "I don't remember a thing. Which is about par for the course for me, huh?"

  "I'm not so sure you don't have the right idea there." Exhaling, he closed his eyes. "Wish I could forget." Then he straightened, sat up, opened his eyes, and shed the self-pity instantly. "Do you think you'll leave, then? Since we didn't find out anything, I'm sure your brother will be determined to hie for the hills."

  I shrugged and took a swallow of my second beer. "Nik's got my best interests at heart, the stubborn bastard. Still, I want to stay. I'm tired of running." Setting the bottle down, I added without much optimism, "I'll talk to him, but Nik is Nik."