Vortex Page 8

  “Welcome to Mt. Shasta!” The waitress nearly sang the greeting. Her nametag read “Roz.”

  “Where ya from?”

  “The bay area,” Karen said.

  “Oh, I love San Francisco,” Roz said. “It’s a bee-yoo-tiful city to visit. But I wouldn’t want to live there. I’ve always been a small-town girl.”

  Still smiling, Gavin tried again. “We’d like to learn as much as we can about the town and the mountain. Is there someone around here who’d be able to answer some questions?”

  Roz winked. “You writin’ a book?”

  “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, we are,” Gavin said.

  “Get off my porch. You’re a writer?”

  “We both write. Mystery novels. We’re setting one here in Mt. Shasta and we just rented a place that—”

  Roz squealed like a little girl. “Oh, damn, I’ve gotta go get a coupla the others to come meet you! We got a lotta readers here. Of course, most of us read romances, but still, mystery writers! Be right back!”

  Karen leaned across the table and said quietly, “Wed better come up with a few titles, because you know they’re going to ask what we’ve written.”

  Roz returned with another waitress and the manager, a petite, fidgety woman in her thirties named Debra, who kept giggling as they talked. Karen and Gavin introduced themselves as Susan McGee and Peter King, and the next question came from Debra: “Are you related to Stephen King?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Gavin said.

  Karen chuckled and said, “Unfortunately, I didn’t find that out until after I married him.”

  Karen and Gavin got around to asking their question and they got three answers, none of which included August Mahler.

  An hour later, they walked through town, visited the shops and struck up conversations whenever possible, just as Burgess had suggested. They asked the same question of merchants and fellow customers: Do you know of someone who can talk with us about the history of Mt. Shasta? And none of them responded by saying, “August Mahler.” After spending a couple of hours walking from one end of town to another, visiting shops and two art galleries, they walked back to the SUV as it began to snow again.

  “Remind me again why we just did that?” Karen said as she fastened her seatbelt.

  “To establish the fact that we were asking around for someone who’s knowledgeable about the area.” He started the engine.

  Karen muttered. “I have a sinking feeling in my gut that it’s not going to matter.”

  “Maybe you’re psychic.”

  “Nah. Just having trouble digesting breakfast.”

  As he drove away from the curb, Gavin said, “Which one of us goes outside to look around if we can’t get Mahler to take us out there himself?”

  “I’ll go. This probably says something bad about me, but I always feel uncomfortable around old people.”

  “They remind you of your own mortality?”

  “No, they remind me of my paternal grandparents. I didn’t get along with them. At all. Two of the meanest people I’ve ever known.”

  They followed the MapQuest directions to the Mahler ranch outside of town. The state of the roads declined the closer they got. They went from a two lane road to a narrow road with no center line and riddled with potholes, then a dirt road that ended at the Mahler house.

  Pyk had no idea what drugs were, of course, but as he gradually regained consciousness, he was aware that something had been done to him, something that had made him sleep deeply. It also made waking up very difficult. He oozed slowly but steadily out of the blackness that had filled his head and became aware of sounds and voices around him. He could tell by the smells that it was the same room he’d been in all along and, without opening his eyes, he scanned it with his mind.

  He sensed Ryker, although he did not think of him by that name. He saw Ryker in his mind, saw his smile and heard his soothing voice. But he no longer trusted those things. Ryker was bad. Ryker was not truthful. He had deceived Pyk. And he had deceived Penny.

  Normally, he was filled with warmth when he visualized Penny because he liked her, felt safe with her and trusted her. But the image of Penny he saw now came from Ryker’s head, and it was soiled with Ryker’s emotions, which were dark... angry... sinister. Ryker held Penny responsible for what had happened. He wanted to find her, and Pyk knew that once Ryker found her, she would be hurt. She would be sent back to the place from which she’d come. Pyk had seen that place in Penny’s mind, had felt her feelings about it, and knew it was not a good place. He and Penny had planned to escape Ryker so she wouldn’t have to go back to that place and Pyk could get away from Ryker before he did something from which Pyk would be unable to recover. He wanted to make his way back home eventually. He knew he would be punished when he returned, but even with punishment, home was better than this place. It was familiar and safe. And his people were not cruel.

  Ryker and the others with him were cruel. They had no good intentions. They were not his friends or Penny’s friends. And Ryker was planning to do something that would result in Penny being hurt.

  Pyk felt his chest tighten as anger rose up inside him, but he did not move. He decided to remain exactly as he was, as if he were still asleep. He feared if they knew he was awake, they would only make him sleep again. So he remained perfectly still and kept breathing with a slow rhythm as he decided how best to deal with them.

  He reached out further with his mind and passed through the walls of the shed in all directions to see what he could find.

  Gertie was sweeping in the kitchen when the knock came. It made her stiffen up for a moment, then she quickly recovered before Mama could notice and ask what was wrong.

  “I’ll get it,” she said to Mama, who was preparing Papa’s lunch. The kitchen was warm with the aroma of the chicken quarters cooking in the oven. A pot of vegetables steamed on the stove. Gertie leaned the broom against the wall and went to the front door. She opened it to find Karen and Gavin—or, rather, Susan McGee and Peter King. “Hello,” she said. The word sounded forced. She was afraid to reveal her familiarity with them because she heard Mamas footsteps coming toward her over the creaky wood floor. “Can I help you?” Gertie said.

  They smiled and Karen said, “We’re sorry to intrude but we’re looking for some information and we heard that Mr. Mahler might be able to help us.”

  “Mr. Mahler?” Mama said beside Gertie. She sounded suspicious because she was—Mama had always been suspicious of strangers. “Help you with what?”

  Gertie stood there and listened as they told Mama their cover story.

  When they were done, Mama’s eyebrows rose and her face softened. “Well. Writers. It’s very nice to meet you. Papa is due in for lunch in a little while, but if you’d like, I can call him in a bit early.”

  “If it’s not an imposition,” Karen said.

  “No, no,” Mama said as she stepped aside and beckoned them. “Come in. Let me take your coats.” She hung their coats on an expandable rack on the wall in the foyer. “I have coffee made. Would you like some?” She led them into the kitchen and seated them at the table, then gave them coffee. “Gertie, call Papa and tell him to come inside.”

  Gertie found the cell phone on the counter beside a stack of mail and called Papa. He sounded irritated but said he would come inside. She stood by the counter, afraid to speak because she feared she would say the wrong thing or give away the fact that she knew Karen and Gavin. She didn’t trust herself. So she listened as they made conversation with Mama and asked her about life in Mt. Shasta.

  Pyk slowly became more aware, more alert. His head cleared gradually, but he did not move or make a sound. Instead, he reached. His awareness spread out like a fog in all directions. It went around trees, over fences, along walls, searching, feeling. He sensed others and made his way toward them, through a wall, another wall....

  Four of them. Two stood and two sat and they made those blatting sounds these big, strange creatures made.
But he picked up something about them—three of them, anyway—something familiar and... pleasant.

  Penny. These creatures had some connection to Penny.

  He focused on the female who was sitting at the table drinking something, slipped inside her and found images of Penny, fresh memories of being with her.

  Pyk felt exhilarated by the knowledge that Penny was safe. He did not know where she was, but she had not been harmed, she had gotten away just as they had planned... just as he had intended to do.

  He explored the female further, sorted through her feelings, tried to make some sense of her thoughts. He found that Penny, wherever she was, was worried about him and afraid for him. He found that this female and her companion had come to learn things about the people in that building, the people who had made Pyk sleep so deeply and were holding him here in this ugly room. She had negative feelings about those people and when he probed deep enough, he found that she was even afraid of them. She and her companion had come to help.

  They were Penny’s friends... so they were his friends, too. If they had come to help him, he would help them.

  Then he felt a new presence he had not sensed before as it arrived outside—a dark and powerful presence....

  Chapter Eleven

  Gertie heard Papa stomping the snow off his boots on the back porch.

  “Papa’s here,” she said. She stood by the counter in the kitchen and had been silent as Mama talked to their guests. She stepped toward the table and said, “Would you like a bite to eat? Mama made some pumpkin bread yesterday.”

  “Nothing for me, thank you,” Karen said. “We had breakfast not long ago and it didn’t sit well with me.”

  Gavin said, “I didn’t eat much of my breakfast because my eggs were runny and my hash browns were undercooked, so yes, I’d love some.”

  Gertie took her time getting the pumpkin bread because it gave her something to do with her hands while she watched and listened to the others.

  Papa came into the kitchen mumbling to himself about an early winter, then turned to Mama and said, “A new vehicle just drove in. Never seen it before. How many people do they need back there for that—”

  Mama gestured to Karen and Gavin as she touched a finger to her lips, signaling Papa not to talk about the lab outside. She introduced him to their guests and told him why they had come.

  “Your lunch will be ready in a few minutes,” Mama said. “Sit down and talk to them.”

  Gertie sliced a small loaf of Mamas pumpkin bread and arranged the pieces on a plate.

  As always, Papa was slightly withdrawn around strangers, a little cautious. He said, “It will be rude for me to eat if you don’t.” He said to Mama, “You have enough for everyone?”

  “No, that’s not necessary, Mr. Mahler,” Gavin said. “We’re sorry to have come at lunch time, but that’s just how it worked out. If you don’t mind talking with us while you eat, we’d be very grateful.”

  Gertie put a few pats of butter and a butterknife on the plate with the sliced pumpkin bread and took it to the table. Gavin thanked her.

  Papa pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “What is it you’d like to talk about again?”

  “We’re very interested in everything we can learn about this town and the mountain,” Karen said. “We’ve done quite a bit of reading, but now were interested in talking to people who’ve lived here for a while. You’ve been here... how long, Mr. Mahler?”

  “We came in 1954,” he said. “From Germany. A little village called Lambsheim.”

  Gertie slowly cleaned up the little mess she’d made on the counter as Papa told the story of their trip to America. Shed heard it a thousand times.

  Ryker smiled as Marjorie Wickham got out of the white van. He’d hurried out of the lab to greet her as soon as he’d been told she was coming up the drive.

  “We would have gotten here sooner if it weren’t for the weather,” she said. She looked like an ideal grandmother, the kind who spent a lot of time outdoors working in the garden. Her wrinkled skin was tan, her white hair a curly mess. She was a tough old broad Ryker had met several times before in his dealings with Aquino Academy and he always enjoyed her company.

  He followed her around the front of the van to the other side.

  Marjorie said, “I’ve brought you a fine young man named Stewart Shelby. He’s 12, a level four telepath and a level three ESPer. A moody kid, but talented.” She opened the passenger-side door. “Come on out and meet Mr. Ryker, Stewart.”

  A short, stocky boy with a thick head of blond hair came out of the van. He glared up at Ryker with a round face that looked angry, as if he had just been punished for something. “Hello, Stewart,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

  Stewart said nothing, just continued to glare.

  To Marjorie, Ryker said, “Level four was the best you could do? Penny is a level five. A level four hunting for a level five... I don’t know, it doesn’t sound too promising.”

  “Penny’s the best we’ve got and our other two level fives were unavailable. Don’t worry, Stewart is very good. Part of the reason for Stewart’s level four status is his bad attitude.” She looked down at the boy. “Isn’t that right, Stewart? But that’s not going to be a problem here, is it?”

  The boy didn’t look at her.

  “Is it, Stewart?” she said sternly.

  He shook his head slowly.

  “Well, come on into the motorhome,” Ryker said, “and I’ll explain the situation to you. It’s nice and warm in there.”

  “That’s good to know,” Marjorie said. She put a hand on Stewart’s shoulder and turned him around to follow Ryker. “The heater in the van is pretty weak and I’m freezin’ my tits off.”

  “No, no, you don’t want to go out there now,” Mr. Mahler said, shaking his head. “It’s very cold and... the snow.”

  Karen looked at Gavin and saw him give her a glance. It was his second attempt to get Mahler to give them a tour of his property, and Gavin had decided it wasn’t going to happen. So now he was giving her the signal to go out there whenever she felt comfortable doing so.

  Mahler didn’t pay much attention to her. He talked to Gavin and occasionally glanced at her. Even when she asked him a question, he directed his response to Gavin. She was just a woman. Why should he take her seriously? Karen’s grandfather had been the same way. He expected women to stay in the kitchen and speak only when spoken to.

  Mahler was a tall, rawboned man with shaggy white hair that was thinning on top and weathered skin that looked like leather. He spoke slowly and with a German accent that no doubt had faded over the years.

  While Mahler and Gavin talked, Karen looked around the kitchen. Mrs. Mahler was bent over, taking the chicken out of the oven. Gertie was drying her hands on a dishtowel, but was watching Karen from the corner of her eye.

  Karen waited for a pause in the conversation, then said, “Excuse me, could I use your bathroom?”

  “Oh, certainly,” Mrs. Mahler said. She pointed. “Right through that door, you turn right and go down the hall. Third door on the left.”

  “Thank you.” Karen stood and left the kitchen. It would look a little odd if she went back to the foyer and got her coat to go to the bathroom, so she went down the hall without it. At the other end was a room with a door that had a square window in the top half. The window looked outside.

  Karen passed the bathroom and went into the room at the end of the hall. It held a washer and dryer, a large, deep sink, a shelf of detergents, bleach, fabric softeners and stain removers. She went to the door and looked out the window at the covered porch in back. She went out, closed the door, crossed the porch and stepped outside.

  It was still snowing and Karen’s breath fogged in front of her face with each exhalation. The wool sweater she wore was not enough to hold off the freezing cold, but she decided she would survive. She saw the low white building some distance from the back of the house. Two motorhomes, a white van and some cars were parke
d near it.

  “Hello, Mr. Ryker,” she muttered to herself. Then she started in that direction.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the motorhome, Ryker watched as Stewart held a hairbrush that had belonged to Penny. The boy squinted and frowned at it as he ran his fingertips over it. Ryker stood with Marjorie at the far end of the home, by the door to the bathroom.

  “He’ll be able to locate her,” Marjorie whispered. “Have you got people to get to her when he does?”

  “This little town is full of my people. They’re all on call day and night for whatever comes up. They’ll get to her immediately.”

  As they watched, Stewart seemed to become distracted. He lifted his gaze from the brush and his eyes darted around. “What’s wrong?” Ryker whispered.

  Marjorie frowned and shook her head. “Something’s bothering him.” She walked over to the boy and said, “Stewart? What’s the matter?”

  He looked up at her and said, without hesitation, “Someone’s here. Someone who knows where she is.”

  “Here?” Ryker said, stepping over to them. “At this ranch?”

  Still frowning, Stewart nodded. “A man and a woman.”

  “How do they know her?” Ryker asked.

  “They don’t know her. Not really. But... they’ve met her. Recently. They’re here... for other reasons.”

  Ryker began to feel a tightness deep in his abdomen. “Other reasons? What other reasons?”

  Stewart closed his eyes a moment and his frown deepened. He was just a boy, but Ryker suspected deep lines would soon be etched into his forehead from all the frowning he did.

  “I’m... not sure,” Stewart said. “But it’s related to... to you. And what you’re doing here.”

  Marjorie turned to Ryker. “Would you like him to focus on this for the time being?”

  “Yes.”

  “Continue, Stewart. Who are these people and what do they want?”

  Stewart set the hairbrush aside on the couch and closed his eyes. “They’re not together right now,” he said, his voice almost dropping to a whisper. “The man is in the house and... the woman... she’s nearby. Coming this way. She’s watching. Right now.”