Mad Powers (Tapped In) (7 page)

As I lay there, I thought about future implications. How others could manipulate circumstances with this same ability, my ability. I needed to be careful. And what about me? I obviously had ties to a military background, perhaps a special forces unit—martial arts seemed second nature to me. Also, I was educated, apparently, and had a good range of diverse knowledge at my disposal. Speaking one, perhaps several foreign languages, electrical engineering know-how, and analytically-inclined enough to break down the factors that had contributed to a major traffic accident. But none of it brought me any closer to my identity. I rubbed my eyes. My head throbbed—it had been too long since I last
tapped in. So I got up, found my shoes and headed off towards the bathroom. I’d done a quick check earlier and discovered there was a sliding window high up on a wall in the ladies’ bathroom. Since this seemed to be a men-only shelter, with the exception of Malinda and a few younger volunteers, I felt fairly confident I’d be able to get in and out without being noticed.

Now, looking up at the window, I wondered if I could even squeeze through it. It would be a tight fit. I took several running steps, jumped up and caught the edge of the window sill. Precariously perched there, I reached over and slid open the window—then, with a bit of squirming, I was able to crawl through and jump down to the parking lot behind the mission. I could see several cars, probably Ken’s and Malinda’s, or perhaps those of the volunteers. My first impulse was to simply climb up one of the utility poles I’d spotted earlier, but, upon closer scrutiny, rungs for hand-climbing the pole, if they were there at all, rarely went above the lower hanging cables provided for basic telephone company maintenance.

Reaching the top of a pole for the more dangerous high-voltage cables typically required a special cherry picker-type utility truck. But an idea was forming in my head. I headed east, crossed over Sycamore Avenue, and thirty yards later was in the back parking lot of a Motel 6. The good thing about motels is that they’re always open. The other good thing is they need ample electricity to power hundreds of TV sets, coffee makers, industrial-sized water heaters, and high-capacity kitchen equipment. No light industrial or residential connection for this building. No, they’d need a full 30,000-volt utility hook up.

I barely made it to the motel’s back entrance. Halfway across the parking lot, more intense withdrawal symptoms descended on me—headache, nausea, and a case of the shakes so bad walking became problematic. I needed to tap in, and quickly.
What was it now, 28 hours?
Other than being unconscious in the hospital, I hadn’t gone this long without tapping in since the accident. Even my vision was beginning to fail. Somewhat relieved, I made it to the back door. It was locked.
Crap!
Walking away, I heard it open behind me.

A short Hispanic woman, wearing a gray and black uniform, peered out at me. “You lock yourself out?”

“Yeah, came out here for a quick smoke; didn't realize the door would lock behind me,” I replied, with as sincere a smile as I could muster. She opened the door wide and I scrambled by her and a cart filled with large bath towels, toilet paper rolls, shampoo bottles and bed linens. I had no idea where the electric utility room would be, so I set out to do some exploring.

The motel had two floors with two separate wings. It made sense the room would be on the bottom floor somewhere. I found it in the other wing, around the corner of the front lobby. As expected, it was locked. I didn't think I’d have the same good fortune of finding the key in a nearby broom closet as I had at the hospital. I backtracked to a room I’d noticed holding several vending machines and a big ice-maker. I hadn’t really thought what I’d do next … First of all, I needed some change. I checked under both vending machines and found a dime and two quarters towards the back of the second machine. I had to lie down on my stomach and reach with my fingertips.

“Can I help you?” It was the same maid standing behind me, and by her furrowed brow she was tiring of me—obviously, I was one of those troublesome guests who made life miserable for everyone. "You drop monies on floor?"

“Yeah, I wanted to buy a Coke.” The creases in her brow deepened. She pulled her pocket open at the front of her skirt, inspected the contents, and pulled out three quarters. Before I had a chance to remove my arm from beneath the vending machine, she had placed the coins next to me on the floor—with a
huff
she was gone. “Thank you!” I yelled after her. I wasn’t completely confident that the next aspect of my plan would even work. I did a quick check of both directions down the hall—all clear. I popped the tab on the Coke, cupped one hand beneath an open wall outlet and carefully poured in half the liquid. Nothing. Half the Coke remained. I tried again … Bingo. With an audible
clunk
, the little room went dark, the fan on the ice-machine went quiet, and the vending machines clicked off. I’d tripped the breaker.

Using my hand, I did my best to wipe away the messy coke remnants from the wall and floor. I told myself it wasn’t all that noticeable. A quick trip back down the hall and around the corner, and I was in front of the reception counter. An ample-bellied man, wearing a white button-down shirt, a gray and black vest, and a large bundle of keys hanging from the right side of his belt, greeted me with a smile. “Good evening, sir, my name is Benny. How can I be of help?”

“Evening, Benny,” I said, not looking all that happy. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear this time of night, but the vending machines down the hall are not working. Matter of fact, the lights are out in there as well.”

“Let’s take a look,” he said with good humor. Perhaps it was the most exciting thing to happen all day. I followed Benny back to the little room where he scrutinized the vending machines and the ice-maker. He flicked the switch on and off several times. The overhead lights didn’t flicker on. “Well, you’re right. Electricity is out in this room. Why don’t you go back to your room and we’ll get this fixed by morning.” Benny must have seen the disappointment on my face.

“Hankering for a Coke, huh? Well, maybe it’s a simple fix—let’s see if I can just flip the breaker.”

Back down the hall, Benny used one of his many keys to open the utility door. I was close on his heels, but fortunately he didn’t seem to mind. Inside the utility room, Benny went right to the center cabinet. I stayed back and felt for the door handle behind me, releasing the button so the door wouldn’t auto-lock again. At the same time, Benny, with a “Yep, that’s the problem …” flipped the appropriate breaker. I held the door open and then followed him back down the hall where we did a quick check of the vending machines. “Here you go, sir. Everything is up and running. Enjoy your cold refreshment.”

I thanked him and turned my attention to the variety of soft drinks behind the glass—not wanting him to see my quickly worsening physical condition. In fact, I was ready to black out. A minute later, I made it back to the unlocked utility room. Dizzy, I nearly lost my balance. Bent over with my hands on my knees, I took several deep breaths. I had to get better at this
tapping in
process … and not wait so damn long next time.

The high-voltage cables were encased in large, four-inch pipes coming up from the concrete floor. I instinctively knew which pipe to go to. I sat down on the floor, Indian-yoga style, leaned forward and unceremoniously placed my throbbing head against the cool metal pipe. I tapped in almost immediately. The warmth and familiar music filled my consciousness. My body shuddered with relief as waves of blue energy pulsed and flowed through my skull and into my mind. As grateful as I felt for the pain relief, the inflowing energy too seemed to welcome me to stay, to merge with its infinite intelligence—to become one with it. I was lost in the moment—oblivious to anything but the energy coursing through my mind and body. Oblivious that Benny was back and standing behind me.

Chapter 10

Harland kept his eyes on the hospital
’
s main entrance. He didn
’
t recognize the young nurse at first. She had changed out of her scrubs into dark leggings and a long sweater-shirt. She looked a bit tired, but still wore a smile on that small, pretty face. Harland could see why Chandler would be attracted to her.
 

He caught his own reflection from the car window he was hiding behind. The expression
death warmed over
came to mind. His skin looked sallow and yellow under the dim parking lot fluorescents. His hand, and halfway up his arm, was a color combination of black, blue and some green. He curled his fingers into a fist and immediately regretted it as spikes of pain shot all the way up his arm and into his shoulder. Hours earlier he had found his clothes, stolen another patient
’
s shoes, and made his way out of the hospital. It was ill-advised to leave at this early stage of recovery, but in his business, staying hot on someone
’
s trail was often the difference between success and failure. Chandler had been close enough to touch
—
so close. The thought of killing him, seeing him struggle to stay alive, made this next course of business necessary. Unpleasant, yes, but necessary.

He watched as she made her way across the parking lot to her car. Only then did she stop and dig through her purse for her keys. If women only knew how this one act could impact their lives, or subsequent deaths.

Jill had retrieved her keys and was slinging her purse strap back over her shoulder. Harland was upon her from behind. His lips were at her ear.

“
Do not scream
—
do not try to run. I will kill you if you do not do exactly as I ask.
”

“
Oh my God, oh my God, please, please, please, don
’
t hurt me,
”
she cried, her voice barely audible. She pulled her crossed arms in tight to her chest.

“
Ouch!
”

“
What you
’
re feeling in the small of your back is a knife. By now you are also feeling the warmth of your own blood flowing down your legs.
”

“
Oh no. Please. You don
’
t need to hurt me. Just tell me what you want. I have some cash. Take my credit cards.
”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her eyes searched frantically for someone else in the parking lot
—
someone who could help.

“
Open the door, Jill.
”

Harland saw her hand shake as she pressed the unlock button on her key fob. With his left hand he took hold of her wrist and got in the car
—
pulling her in behind him as he positioned himself onto the passenger seat.

“
Start the car.
”

She did what Harland commanded and, with a quick glance, saw his face.

“
Why are you doing this? You don
’
t have to
—”

“
Listen to me carefully. Stay calm and answer a few simple questions, and you won
’
t be hurt.
”

“
But why do this? I would have
—”

“
Stop talking. You are a chatty little thing, aren
’
t you? That was a rhetorical question. Just drive, I
’
ll guide you.
”

“
Oh my god, I
’
m bleeding. I
’
m sitting in a pool of my own blood. I need to stop the bleeding.
”

“
We
’
ll attend to that soon, just drive for now. If you want to live, drive now!
”

Jill
’
s eyes were drawn toward the metallic object in Harland
’
s hand, which shone dimly. A scalpel. She started the car, put it in reverse, and backed out.

“
Good girl. Now, pull forward and make a left at the stop sign.
”

Jill
’
s rapid breathing had fogged the windshield. She used her hand to wipe the glass.

“
Please let me go. It
’
s Peter, right?
”

“
My name is not important. I want to talk to you about your friend Rob.
”

Harland watched Jill. He needed to see her reaction. And there it was. Harland wouldn
’
t have thought it possible, but she was now even more frightened than she had been.

“
Where was Rob going? When he left the hospital, where did he say he was going?
”

Jill was driving on the main road now. Harland realized he had misjudged her fright. He studied her face in the dim light. Her expression was no longer one of panic and desperation. No
…
now it was one of resolve.

He directed her to turn right at the next stop sign.

“
Where are you taking me?
”

“
I
’
m taking you to a place we can be alone. One where we won
’
t be disturbed. Someplace dark. And, frankly, where your screams will go unheard.
”

Good
, he thought, the panic in her eyes had returned. He couldn
’
t work with her if she wasn
’
t terrified. She needed to be desperate. She swiped the mist from the glass again. Then, uncontrollably, started to cry again.

They drove in silence for a while. Harland stared out the side window. They
’
d driven into a more industrial part of town, which was run down, graffiti covering the sides of buildings and on the sidewalks. Several empty lots, home to abandoned cars and piles of rubbish, added to the feeling of desolation. The streets were empty, and what few street lamps worked were so sporadically placed as to be rendered useless.

“
Pull over, Jill. I think this will be just fine, right here.
”
Off to their left was a chain-linked fence
—
beyond that, a concrete culvert.