Burden of Solace Read online

  She recognized it from a long-ago visit to a faux gypsy at a carnival. She had slipped into the sideshow tent, unobserved, hoping for some mystical encouragement to ease her early teenage angst. Incense had hung heavy in the air, but the table was unoccupied. The fortune teller was probably on a cigarette break. Unnerved and unwilling to try again later, she’d crept up to the table where a deck of dog-eared cards lay. With a tremor in her fingers she had drawn the top card, hoping for some sign that her young life was about to take some positive turn. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer. The Lovers, she silently willed as the card rested between two fingers. That nervous and lonely girl had opened her eyes and turned it over.

  And now, years and miles removed from that carnival, she held the same card in her hand. L’Étoile - The Star. The Warlock’s rich voice pulled her back to the present.

  “My breath was quick as I pulled out the thing I had taken and examined it. To my surprise, it was not the fat wallet I had sought, but a folded piece of parchment.”

  He had moved to another table, where someone selected another card. Cassie didn’t notice who they were. Her eyes were fixed on the card in her hand. The Star.

  “On the paper were the words, ‘You can be more than this.’ I stared at them, confused. Then I looked up to find the old man standing before me. He smiled and said, ‘When you are ready, you will find me.’ And then he vanished.”

  The mentalist stepped onto the stage, dropping the rest of the cards into a waste can as he went. He looked out across the audience and smiled.

  “I did find him, eventually, in the icy wastes of the Himalayan Mountains. But more about that later. For now, let me show you some of the skills taught to me in those snowy heights.”

  He turned to face the first table he had approached, to the man who had shuffled the deck and drawn first. “Daniel, your problem isn’t the golf clubs. Replacing them will solve nothing. She is the root of your unsettlement. Talk to her. Whether she says yes or no, only then can you be at peace.”

  The man who had shuffled looked at his card as if it held more answers. Or maybe he looked to it for courage. The mentalist looked next to the older couple, to the woman who clutched her card so tightly.

  “Madame, you worry for nothing. His eyes may wander - this is a thing that men do - but his heart, that will always belong to you.”

  The woman pressed the card to her breast, fighting back tears. Her companion reached out a hand, lifting her chin to face him. They embraced with a comfortable familiarity.

  Next, the Warlock looked to the two women who had refused to draw. One of them wore a wary look, as if afraid of what he might say.

  “The necklace is in a plastic bag taped behind the toilet tank, along with several rings and a bracelet. She doesn’t love you. And she knows your bank PIN. You should change that.”

  Cassie stared at her card and tried to imagine what he would say about her. She thought of all the failings in her life, the secret shames he might lay bare to these people. The card creased in her hands.

  “I am sorry. A mist has settled over the cards now. I could tell you what cards you hold, but that would be such a simple thing, a simple chicanery and not worthy of such an august assemblage.”

  Suddenly the cards, all of them throughout the gathering, flashed and disappeared into puffs of smoke. Cassie stared at her empty hands in wonder.

  “Now I require a volunteer. No need to worry - there will be no hypnotism, no one made to cluck like a chicken. I need someone to join me on the stage simply to prove that what I do is real. Who will assist me?”

  Ballantine nudged Cassie. “How about you?”

  Cassie withdrew her hands, now cardless, and pulled them into her lap. “No, I’m not much of a stage person. Being stared at by a crowd makes me nervous.”

  Ballantine leaned close. “I can’t imagine why. You’re the most beautiful woman here.”

  Cassie had never been comfortable in front of crowds, even small ones. Whether it was presentations in school or during rounds in her internship, she felt awkward with all those eyes boring into her. She’d had enough of that when she was nine. Which made it all the more a surprise when her hand shot up.

  The mentalist regarded her, a question in his eyes.

  “Do I have a helper?”

  Cassie rose to her feet, not really sure why she was doing so. She’d done things in her youth, stupid things sometimes, to attract a boy. Were those old instincts taking the lead here? She’d caught herself almost flirting with a gray-clad exohuman a couple of days ago. Now this?

  The audience applauded politely. She was committed now. Gathering her dignity and courage, she walked onto the stage, taking the position the magician indicated.

  “Good evening, Mademoiselle Whelan. Are you enjoying yourself tonight?”

  Cassie was a little taken aback that the Frenchman knew her name, but she figured there were plenty of mundane ways he could have found that out. Wasn’t her name and photo on the hospital’s web site somewhere? She couldn’t remember at the moment.

  “Yes, very much. Thank you for asking, Mr. Leclair.”

  “Please, I am simply Etienne. I’m sure your companion appreciates that this first date is going well, non? I can tell you that he is looking forward to more of the same.”

  The audience laughed a little. Ballantine shrugged and smiled.

  “But your thoughts are of worry. There is a young girl. A patient? Yes. And you are concerned for her, but not for her health. She has lost her parents. Ah, yes, you have a great heart, Cassidy. There is also a man… No, two men. One you have known all your life and the other, the other you are trying to remember. You want to help them, but don’t know how.”

  Cassie looked down. She had the distinct feeling of standing naked on the stage, her innermost thoughts and feelings laid out for these strangers.

  “I apologize. I have made you uncomfortable. And I sense that you are not on this stage voluntarily. This is not in your nature, no. There is… something, another presence. It has touched you, it lingers...”

  The mentalist moved closer to her, lowering his head to catch her eyes. His voice seemed to drop to a whisper, but she was almost sure his lips didn’t move.

  “Yes. I see it. How strange. Perhaps I could...”

  She looked into his eyes and suddenly felt better, like she had been tired and now had gotten a second wind. She smiled.

  “I have no wish to inconvenience you further,” he announced. “Please, return to your seat.” Louder, to the crowd - “Please give your applause to my lovely assistant.”

  As the clapping started, he leaned close to her ear.

  “His name is Nate.” he whispered. “Nate Gorman.”

  CHAPTER 8

  No one was surprised to see Cassie in the hospital on her day off. It was actually more common than her staying away. There was always some patient she wanted to check on, some test results she was eager to read. It was the kind of thing her parents would have done, so expectations were high. Regardless, anything was better than sitting around her apartment. Today she wanted to see the little girl, Marissa. She wasn’t overly concerned about the girl’s recovery, but after learning that she had been orphaned by the shooting Cassie had made a point to visit her as often as she could. They still hadn’t located any of her family, so the child didn’t have anyone coming to see her. That was too sad for Cassie to bear.

  She grabbed the girl’s chart from the rack and tapped her knuckles softly on the door before pushing it open. To her surprise, Marissa had company, although it definitely wasn’t family. Guardian 175 stood at the foot of her bed, and a middle-aged black man in a rumpled suit sat in a side chair. She recognized the man as a police detective she had met a few years earlier but didn’t recall his name.

  One of them had brought a big stuffed tiger for little Marissa. She hugged it close, using its bulk to hide behind. Her little eyes peered over the toy’s head, turning to Cassie for an instant before returni
ng to the Guardian. Marissa hadn’t spoken since waking up in the ICU. Cassie had insisted on being the one to tell her about her father, and even that news hadn’t brought forth a word. Cassie had held her while silent tears flowed. Over the past couple of days, the crying had stopped but the silence remained.

  “Wow!” Cassie said. “Is that really Guardian 175? How cool is that?”

  Marissa looked to Cassie and nodded. Her head moved with a solemnity that was out of place on such a young body. Cassie hopped up on the bed to sit beside the piled pillows behind Marissa. The girl leaned ever so slightly against Cassie, still shielded behind her fuzzy bulwark. Cassie slipped an arm around her, narrowing her eyes at the exo.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I saw a guy at the mall once, dressed up like that. He said he was Guardian 175 too, but I think he was a fake. You know, like those Santas that stand outside of stores and ring a bell? How do we know you’re the real thing?”

  Marissa’s eyes flicked back and forth between her doctor and her personal hero.

  The Guardian held out his hands, palms up.

  “Would you like a demonstration? I could pick up the bed. Or smash something.”

  “Please don’t,” Cassie said. “Everything in here is pretty expensive.”

  He nodded, a nervous ducking of his head, and looked around the room.

  “How about if Detective Walsh shot me with his service revolver? I’m invulnerable, you know - bullet-proof.”

  Marissa stiffened and ducked lower behind the tiger. Cassie shot the Guardian a scathing look. How the hell can he be so insensitive? The detective raised an eyebrow. At least he realized how stupid the suggestion was, even as a joke.

  “I don’t think so,” Walsh said. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork a cop has to fill out when he fires his weapon?”

  The Guardian’s hands came up, defensive as the depth of his blunder came to him. He picked up the metal clipboard with Marissa’s chart that Cassie had laid on the bed.

  “Okay, okay. Bad idea. I get it. How about this?”

  With a flourish, he bent the clipboard into a crisp ninety-degree angle. He held it out for Marissa to examine. Her eyes never left him, ignoring the twisted board. Cassie snatched it from his hand.

  “I was going to suggest that you show her how you can fly. But hey, destroying hospital property works too.”

  The helmet sagged under the weight of her disapproval. Cassie had to suppress a laugh. Since the Warlock had reminded her of the Guardian’s real name, her memories of Nate Gorman had been easier to recall. Those recollections reminded her that this man had been a nerd of the third order. She remembered marveling then at how such a brilliant mind could be so inept at simple conversation.

  The detective broke the tension. “Maybe you could take Marissa for a flight? Would that be okay, Dr. Whelan?”

  “Once she’s well enough, obviously.” The Guardian looked to Cassie, caution shading his voice.

  Cassie looked to Marissa. There was a glimmer of life in her eyes. The idea of flying had struck some spark in her.

  “Now that would be pretty cool,” Cassie said. “Would you like that, Marissa?”

  The girl’s head nodded, with more energy than before. Maybe some ‘hero therapy’ was what this little one needed, something extraordinary to start healing the wounds that Cassie couldn’t operate on.

  Cassie flipped through the chart on the wrecked clipboard. “Then we’ll have to see what we can do about getting you out of here soon, so you can go do that.”

  The Guardian came to stand beside Marissa’s bed. He took her hand. Cassie was struck by the gentle touch of those hands that could punch through steel.

  “Now, that means you have to be especially good and do everything Dr. Cassie and the other doctors and nurses tell you. That way you can get well fast and we can go for our little date in the sky. Deal?”

  Marissa nodded, emphatic this time. Then a minor miracle happened. She spoke, a froggy little rasp in her throat.

  “Okay.”

  Cassie felt a little catch in her own throat. Nate chucked Marissa’s chin, a playful gesture that tugged the corners of her lips up ever so slightly, then he turned to leave. Walsh stayed seated.

  “I’ll stay a little longer. My wife is stopping by for a bit. She thought Marissa might want to play some games to pass the time. Andrea’s been at loose ends since our daughter went off to college.”

  “Tell her I said ‘hi’, Bill. Dr. Whelan, it was a pleasure seeing you again.”

  Cassie now remembered the circumstances when she had met Detective Walsh. It was during the same series of industrial accidents that brought Nate’s father in with shrapnel next to his heart. Walsh had been investigating what turned out to be sabotage on that project. He had even arrested Nate for it, but the charges were eventually dropped. Cassie’s memories of the incident were vague beyond that point, but apparently the two men had managed to put it all behind them.

  Cassie turned and followed the Guardian out of the room. “Be right back,” she told Marissa before closing the door.

  “Actually,” she said to the exo, “I wanted to talk to you about something. If you have a moment.”

  Nate stopped and leaned against the wall. It seemed like he was trying a little too hard to act casual. It was amusing to realize that he was still as awkward and shy beneath the imposing helmet as he had been before his transformation.

  The Warlock’s revelation had unlocked her memories of him, of Nate Gorman. He had been an engineer when she met him, working on some sort of research project that was being plagued by accidents. She’d only met him briefly when he rushed in with his father in cardiac arrest. She recalled him as kind of handsome and more than a little shy in that awkward way that really smart boys often were.

  “Are you and Detective Walsh here because Marissa is still in danger? I was told that her attacker killed himself.”

  The helmet shook slowly. It was still more than a little unnerving to see herself reflected back. Maybe one day they could have a conversation without that barrier.

  “No, nothing like that. We’re here for the same reason you are, I think. She’s just so... alone. Nobody should have to lie in a hospital bed without visitors. Don’t tell him I told you this, but this whole thing with Marissa is really bothering Bill. I think he sees a bit of his own daughter in her, and he thinks about what it might have been like for her if he had died on the job. That’s what happened to his father when he was only a little older than Marissa.”

  Cassie saw the earlier awkwardness evaporate as he spoke of the detective. It seemed like there was a deep friendship between these two men. Not having someone like that in her own life, she felt a flush of envy.

  “But, to answer your question, no, we don’t think anyone will come after Marissa. She wasn’t the target of the attack. They were after her father and she had the bad luck of getting in the way. But the shooting is related to a string of murder-suicides with a really strange pattern. All of the shooters appear to have been controlled somehow, forced to shoot specific people they had never met, and then kill themselves.”

  The hair on the back of Cassie’s neck stood up. Controlled. Forced. Nate must have caught something in her reaction. His head tilted, an unspoken question.

  “This may be nothing. It’s just, I had something… strange happen to me last night. I don’t know.”

  The helmet nodded once, encouraging her to continue. God, she wished he would take that damn thing off. Scars or not, it was really annoying to have a conversation with your own reflection looking down on you.

  “I was on a date last night, and we went to see a show, a mentalist. Well, I say it was a date, but I wasn’t sure it really was. I mean, I dressed nice and all, but honestly, it was what I had in my closet. It was kind of last minute. Did I mention it was a first date? No kiss at the door. It was all a little weird, especially after the thing with the mentalist.”

  Shut the fuck UP! Her inner voice
tried desperately to override her mouth. She gave her head a little shake, trying to get her brain back on track.

  “Oh yeah, the mentalist. He’s a Frenchman, billed as ‘The Warlock’. He asked for a volunteer to come up on stage, and I did. Except I didn’t really want to. Let me rephrase that. I didn’t want to, period. But I did it anyway.”

  The Guardian shrugged. “Dates are like Halloween. We dress up and become somebody else. We say and do things we wouldn’t normally say and do, pretending to be the best versions of ourselves. Are you sure you weren’t just trying to impress your date?”

  “No, this was like someone else was operating my body. I raised my hand, stood up, and walked up on stage. I hate being in front of a crowd, always have, but there I was. And he knew things about me, and what I had been thinking. It was beyond weird.”

  The Guardian was quiet for a moment before speaking. “You said it was a mentalist show, mind-reading. We have been thinking that this might be the work of an unregistered exohuman. Can you give me a name and where he was performing?”

  Cassie pulled a notepad and pen from her jacket pocket, but Nate held up a hand.

  “I don’t exactly have pockets in this getup. Can you send it to me by text message?”

  Cassie pulled out her phone and he rattled off a string of digits that he said would send messages straight to the systems built into his helmet. She typed up the information and hit ‘send.’

  “Great. I’ll see what I can dig up about this Warlock guy. Walsh can go talk to him too. I’ll let you know if we turn up anything.”

  He started to leave, and then stopped, his head half-turned back to her. He paused for a long second.