The Man Who Walked in Darkness (Miles Franco #2) (Miles Franco Urban Fantasy) (22 page)

“They didn’t take kindly,” I finished for her.

“They had it all worked out. They already had their scapesheep—”

“Goat,” I said. “Scapegoat.”

“Sheep, goat, what does it matter? It was easy for them to make it look like Bohr had done it all. All their records were under his name. His own research used data Kowalski had gathered with his experiments. They’d planted evidence through his lab, his home, even on him. He could never get rid of it all. And they knew his politics wouldn’t get him any sympathizers.”

“Let me guess: he was one of those Legalize Marijuana activists.”

“He was a Stabilist. He thought he could use Earth’s stability to soothe the chaos in Heaven.”

I’d heard about those guys, but I always thought they were just bogeymen made up by politicians to scare the general public, like debt-ceilings and Communists. Changing the nature of a world wasn’t something to do lightly. I had my doubts that Heaven could even survive having a more logical reality forced on it. At the very least, all the flying cities would be destroyed, along with half the wildlife and some of the more M.C. Escher-esque geographical landmarks. There were downsides to living in a world governed by randomness, but the cure would almost certainly be worse than the disease.

“So you guys ran for it?” I asked.

Lucetta nodded. “Kowalski and his friends drove us into hiding. I’ve stayed with Bohr for years, following him everywhere.”

“I bet you won’t be following him anymore. Shooting his pals and busting me out probably got you crossed off the Christmas card list.”

“I didn’t see it for a long time, how much the exile damaged him. Bohr has always been eccentric, and the darkness came over him so gradually. But this, this murder and kidnapping…”

“Tell me something,” I said. “Did Bohr kill my friend? Did he poison her with the fluid from Tartarus?”

Lucetta shook her head slowly. “No. We haven’t been able to make our own Tunnel to Tartarus.”

I looked in her eyes and I believed her. Cross that name off my list.

She opened her mouth again. “But he would have if he could,” she said. “He’s not the same man anymore.”

“None of us are,” I said. “One last thing. The fluid. What does it do?”

“I do not know. Bohr, he refused to tell me. Refused to tell everyone. He just said it would change our fortunes.” She looked away. “I am sorry, Miles Franco.”

I sighed and settled back down. I was getting sleepy again. “S’okay. Thanks for saving my ass.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“That doesn’t make my ass any less grateful.”

Desmond emerged from his home and trotted back to the car, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He opened the door and glanced at the two of us, frowning slightly, then tossed the bag in next to me and started the car without a word.

The road became smoother the closer to the central city we got. When I got home I was going to sleep for a day. Then I was going to find out everything I could about Daniel Bohr and the Collective and Kowalski and everyone else I could tie into this mess. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Desmond for help.

The sky was growing dark by the time Desmond pulled up outside my apartment building. Lucetta hadn’t said another word and Desmond hadn’t even turned on the radio, so it wasn’t the friendliest trip ever. I sat up, wincing at the pain, and opened the car door. “Thanks for the getaway, Des.”

“Wait a minute.” He glanced at Lucetta. “I’ll just be a second.”

He jerked his head at me and got out of the car. I followed him to the steps outside my apartment building. Something in his expression told me I should wait for him to speak first.

“You know how long it took to get in contact with someone in the Collective, guy?” Des said after a while. “It took me weeks to turn Lucetta. She could’ve helped the cops break their whole ring.”

“Jesus, Des, I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Of course not. You never do anything on purpose, do you? Do you have any idea how messed up you look right now?”

I shrugged. “Sorry I don’t meet your aesthetic standards.”

“Vivian said you’re sick. Dying.”

Goddamn it. Why did everyone feel the need to gossip behind my back? “It’s nothing.”

“You need lessons in lying, guy. Seriously.”

“Leave it, Des.” I crossed my arms, ignoring the pain in my shoulder.

He brushed the hair out of his eyes. His mouth formed a tight line. “Don’t do this. Let me take you to the hospital. We’ll work this out together.”

“No.”

“Miles…”

“I said no. You can’t help me. I have to finish this. Go home.”

Over on the sidewalk, a pigeon cooed. The last rays of sunlight dipped below the skyline. And Desmond’s fist collided with my face.

My jaw didn’t dislocate this time, but the pain still tore through my cheek and sent me reeling backward. I stumbled and fell, landing ass-first on the concrete. I was too stunned to do anything but swear.

“Son of a bitch!” I rubbed my chin and stared up at Desmond. He loomed over me, the skin grazed over one of his knuckles.

“You stupid, selfish piece of shit,” he said, his voice trembling to match his hands. “Fuck everyone, huh? Fuck me, fuck Vivian, fuck Tania. You wanna die? Then go die. Just don’t pull us down with you.” He threw up his hands and turned his back. “I’m done.”

I watched, still in a daze, as he walked back to the car and climbed in. Lucetta glanced at me through the window, but I couldn’t read her expression. Then my friend started his car and pulled away.

I sat on the sidewalk for a few minutes. I didn’t think. I didn’t feel. I was already a ghost. For the first time since this began, I wanted to see Claudia. Even if she was a hallucination, even if she was a manifestation of my guilt, she’d become a sort of comfort. But she was nowhere to be seen. I was alone.

The streetlights came on, casting an orange glow across the twenty-year-old cars that lined the street. A couple of pedestrians hurried past, glancing at me out of the corners of their eyes, but no one stopped to talk. Even the stray cats seemed wary of me.

Time to get up, Miles.
I planted my hands on the ground and pushed myself to my feet. The handcuff bracelet jingled as I moved. Everything swayed like I’d had too much to drink, and something bubbled in the depths of my gut. I fished my keys out of my pocket and slowly made my way inside. With a deep breath, I started up the nine flights of stairs to my apartment. No one met me on the way. A handful of empty beer bottles sat huddled in the corner of the stairwell on the fifth floor, like they were taking a rest before they made the last journey to the summit. I kept going.

I was a zombie by the time I hit the ninth floor. The world slid in and out of focus. Someone had made gray soup out of my brains. I didn’t even feel scared when I realized the door to my apartment was ajar.

My hands went to my pockets and came to rest on the nearly empty bottle of Kemia. Probably pointless. Hell, I didn’t think I even had the energy to open another Pin Hole right now. But old habits, and all that.

I nudged the door open with my foot. It creaked on its hinges. A warm breeze blew over me. The window on the far side of the apartment was open, the curtains dancing in the wind. There was enough light seeping in to illuminate the carnage, but I flipped on the light switch anyway.

I could only conclude that the place had been hit by a herd of wild bulls with bombs strapped to them. My TV lay on the floor with a hole in the screen, spewing glass across the room. Someone had taken a knife to my couch and turned it inside out. The only thing on my wall—a poster from the horror flick
Army of Darkness
, complete with the chainsaw-armed Ash and a buxom love interest—was torn in half, the bulk of it curled up on the floor. About the only thing I could see that was still upright was my fishbowl. Munsey and Frank swam around in little circles, seemingly unconcerned by the invasion of their home. I envied them.

Going room-to-room didn’t take long, because my bedroom and bathroom were the only things in my apartment that could reasonably be called rooms. The window by the fire escape was shattered. I could make out where shoes had ground little fragments of glass into the carpet. The mattress of my bed was sliced open, with the springs exposed. Whoever had come had really gone to town on the place. But now, there was no one left but me.

I stared around, dumbfounded. Who’d done this? Vandals? Kids? Yeah, right. My luck wasn’t that good. Was this just another message? They hadn’t stolen…

My gaze flicked to my set of drawers. The invaders had pulled out all the drawers and upended them across the room, but the hole wasn’t exposed. Maybe…

I put my good shoulder against the dresser and shoved. The dresser seemed heavier than it had been before, even with no drawers in it. I heaved again, and it scraped along the carpet. There. I dropped to my knees and stuck my hand in the hole in the drywall.
Come on
.

My fingers touched plastic. They hadn’t found it. Something let go of my chest, and I could breathe again. I pulled out the plastic container and opened it. The fluid still sloshed about inside, swirling like something halfway between liquid and gas.

“Is this what you’re after, you sons of bitches?” I murmured. No one answered.

I couldn’t leave it here. They’d come back, sooner or later. I tucked the container under my arm and made my way to the bathroom. Paper and glass and plastic crunched beneath my shoes as I walked. But light-headedness hit me again. My intestines slithered and squirmed like a pit of snakes. The room swayed, and I collapsed to my side. Bile spilled up the back of my throat.

I managed to crawl to the toilet bowl before my insides clenched and the contents of my stomach came roaring out my mouth. Acid burned my nose. It felt like someone was trying to push my eyes out from the inside. Vomit splashed into the toilet water. I had a moment’s reprieve before the stench hit me and I was hurling again.

It was worse than anything I’d had from too much beer and whiskey. For one thing, I was sober, but there was something else. It was like my soul was trying to escape a failing body. But every time a new wave swept over me, only acid and half-digested food got out. No, not just that. I blinked away the water pooling in my eyes and saw the streaks of dark red against the white toilet bowl. Blood.

Slowly—I’m talking glacial speeds—the nausea subsided, and I was left feeling even more drained than before. I closed my eyes. I wanted to curl up on the tiles and rest, or sleep, or die, whatever happened first. There wasn’t any point doing anything else. Tartarus had poisoned me, and there was no antidote. I was already dead. I just needed to stop walking around.

But when I opened my eyes, Claudia was crouching beside me. She was wearing the same dress she’d been wearing in my dream, right down to the hoop earrings. She smiled at me.

“Jesus Christ,” I said, with my mouth smooshed against the floor. “You’re like the world’s most persistent stray dog. I can’t even quit now?”

She shook her head.

I sighed. “You’re a bad influence. I should tell Desmond it’s your fault I keep getting into this crap.”

I grabbed hold of the toilet and hauled myself up. It would’ve taken less energy to KO an elephant. The bathroom still swayed, but if I kept my legs spread and braced myself against the sink, I could manage. I flushed away the blood-streaked vomit and washed out my mouth with water.

Then I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and I nearly started spewing again. At first, I thought some hideous, skeletal figure had crept into the apartment and hidden behind the mirror. But no, that was me. Even if my skin had turned a bluish-gray hue and my eyes were sunken in their sockets, that was me. Little red spiderwebs grew in patches beneath the skin of my face and hands. Dried blood had accumulated around my wounded ear, and I’d picked up a whole host of new scrapes and bruises. My jaw was swollen where Stretch had dislocated it. I looked worse than Penny Coleman had on her deathbed.

But it
was
me. I tried to convince myself of that.

Maybe I wasn’t so wrong when I was on the floor. I needed to sleep. And I’d just have to pray that I woke up again. But I couldn’t stay here. I doubted I’d wake up for anything short of gunfire, and by then it would be too late if someone came back. And besides, my bed and couch were destroyed. I needed a friend.

I reached into my pocket, found my phone, and scrolled through my pitiful range of contacts until Desmond’s name came up. But I couldn’t make the call. His voice went through my head again.
You stupid, selfish piece of shit
.

I sighed and pressed my forehead against the mirror. There had to be someone else. Someone that didn’t quite loathe me yet.

I touched the broken handcuff bracelet and sighed again. There was no choice. I dialed the number for the taxi company.

She opened the door of apartment 402 wearing a purple dressing gown. It clung to all her curves, but not even that aroused anything in me.

“Miles?” Vivian said. “What…?”

I leaned against the doorframe. It was the only thing keeping me upright. I clutched the white container to my chest. “I need a place to crash. Please. I’m so tired.”