The invictus, p.12
The Invictus, page 12
“I can see this isn’t a game to you, Walsh. At the same time, there’s still a lot I’m getting used to with you. How about this? Let’s you and I continue to work through questions we both have, continue to ease into things. You need to know that I get what you’re saying. For guys who put on the uniform, whether it’s the one I did in the military or the one you and I wear now, I know that the people who will literally bleed for it are few and far between. For that, you’ve got my respect and that of the force.”
“And I’d do it again today, without hesitation.”
“No question. I hear the sense of purpose you feel in this job. And you’ve earned some trust by being straight with me today. I appreciate it. I can imagine that both you and your cousin have been through hardship. Maybe even call it trauma, like the Bishop guy said.”
Trauma. There was that word again. Michael had used it too. It echoed in Danny’s brain.
“That Bishop guy had some interesting things to say about trauma and its effects, didn’t he?” Danny said.
“You think?” Mason replied. “Maybe. Call me still a skeptic about that guy. He’s actually down in one of the conference rooms today talking to some of our guys from counterterrorism.”
Danny perked up. “Really?”
“Yeah, I thought you knew that he was scheduled back in today.”
“Oh, I had something come up.” The truth was that he had blown off the meeting to give himself time to digest the mind-blowing download he’d received in the church.
“Well, he’s been down there for a good amount of time already.”
As if on cue, Bishop appeared on the floor, flanked again by two younger men. They made their way across the room and headed toward the doors.
“Please excuse me, Lieutenant, but I’m going to try to catch him real quick,” Danny said. He hastily stood, grabbed his cane, and strode past his boss.
“Sure, knock yourself out,” Mason said to Danny’s back.
Danny met the group just as they were about to exit.
“Excuse me. Mr. Bishop?”
“Ah, yes. Detective . . . ?” Bishop raised his eyebrows and slowly nodded his head.
“Walsh.”
“Right, of course.”
The two young men accompanying Bishop stood by his side, alert but expressionless.
“Sir, may I ask you a quick question?” Danny started hesitantly. “The last time you were here, you said a couple of things that clicked with me. The comments you made about how trauma can affect people.”
“Oh, of course.” Bishop’s face showed concern as he took in Danny’s prosthetic and cane.
“No, this isn’t about me. It’s about my cousin. He’s been through a lot, and he’s become a pretty exceptional person because of it, I think. I’m just trying to understand him.”
“You seem like you’ve been through some things as well.”
“Yeah, but he’s part of the reason of why I’m even here. I owe him.”
“Interesting.” Bishop’s brow furrowed and the wrinkles on his head deepened. “We have somewhere we need to be currently, but if you give me your card, I can see about making some time to reach out to you.”
Danny fumbled inside his jacket pocket and retrieved a business card. “I appreciate any time you could spare.” He held out his business card to Bishop, but one of the younger men quickly snatched it from his fingers.
“That’ll be enough,” Bishop said, his eyes flashing. The interception had clearly annoyed him, and the younger man gingerly handed the card over.
“Detective Daniel Walsh, then. I’ll endeavor to reach out to you soon,” Bishop repeated.
“I appreciate it.”
“Certainly, Detective. By the looks of it, considering your sacrifice, it is the least I can do.”
Without further comment, Bishop exited through the doors, handing his visitor badge to security as he left.
Just then, one of the desk officers approached Mason with an armful of folders. Without taking his eyes off Danny, Mason hailed him. “Can you help me get a lunch scheduled with Eric Hammond? He works down in administration at the Daley Center.”
“Sure, Chief. How soon are you looking?”
“As soon as you can make it happen.”
Danny drummed his fingers on the table at Santori’s restaurant as he waited for Craig to arrive. He had reserved a secluded room at the back of the restaurant, which was his and Craig’s preferred spot. Doing so was easy, given the history Danny had of coming here and knowing the owner— Arturo Santori or ‘Artie’—for so long.
He glanced down at his watch. It was 6:05 p.m. Craig was only a few minutes late, but Danny was antsy. He had an array of developments to discuss, most importantly his conversation with Michael in the church.
His anticipation was also grounded in the knowledge that Lauren was supposed to join them around seven, which didn’t leave much time. Danny had to make the most of it before Lauren showed up.
Santori walked back to check on Danny.
“He has not yet arrived,” said Artie.
“Okay, but when he does—”
“I know, Daniel. Bring him here straightaway. I will be sure to do that.” Though he was at least in his early seventies, Artie embodied the sprightly energy of someone half his age.
“Thanks, Artie.”
For years, Danny had been a frequent customer in his restaurant. Artie had witnessed his rise to prominence in the detective ranks. He had also watched him struggle after suffering serious injuries in the line of duty. Of everyone who had known Danny before and after the nightmare with the serial killer, Artie had remained most constant, his respect for and deference to Danny unchanged.
“It will be good to see you and Craig together at the table again. Always good when the two of you can share a meal together.” He beamed, then turned and headed toward the front of the restaurant.
Before Danny’s anxiety could resurface, Artie reappeared with Craig in tow.
“And look, Daniel. As soon as I return to the front, Eccolo! Craig has arrived.”
Artie nodded politely to Danny as Craig slipped past him and into the small room.
“Thanks, Artie. Good seeing you again, young man,” Craig said. Artie smiled, waved his hand dismissively at Craig’s joke, and then left them to settle in.
Danny rose with a wide grin to greet Craig. The two men embraced, clapping each other on the back.
“Man, it’s been too long. You’re getting strong!” Danny said.
“It’s been, like, two weeks. You’re talking like we haven’t met up in a year,” Craig said.
“I know. But it seems like there’s been a lot going on. So tell me. What’s up?”
They settled into their seats. A server came by to pour water. They exchanged pleasantries.
When they were alone again, Craig asked, “Are you sure you wanna talk here?”
“Yeah. No one will get seated in the back while we’re here. I asked Artie to make sure.”
“Okay then,” Craig said. “Things have been moving along. You know, I’ve been making progress. It’s been going well with getting ready for classes to start, working the martial arts—” “I’m not asking about that stuff,” Danny interrupted. “I mean, yeah. That’s great.” He lowered his voice. “But I mean the other things. I’m a detective, and I know it’s hard to work on a mystery without clues. It seems like you’ve got a few clues that you haven’t shared with me yet.”
Craig took a sip of his water. “You’ve got a good sense for things. Right after we talked on the phone last week, a couple of things happened on the way to aikido and during one of my sessions.”
“And?” Danny perked up.
“Let’s just say I had an injury that spontaneously healed.”
“Right. You said you thought your instructor broke your arm. That ability you have to heal quickly—hell, instantly—is back,” Danny concluded.
The conversation paused as Danny surveyed his cousin. He could sense that Craig was still withholding something.
Craig smiled, confirming as much.
“Give it up,” Danny said. “Dude, we’ve been wondering why your powers hadn’t returned for like two years now. If there’s more than just your arm healing then spill it.”
“Well, there’s been a few other things. Remember those dreams I used to have about my dad? I had another dream that was kind of similar. I tried to talk to Lauren about it, but then we got into an argument, and I haven’t really explored it since.”
Danny’s eyes widened. “Go on,” he said. “So anyway . . . this dream was about Emma,” Craig said.
“Emma? Really.”
“Are you okay with hearing about it?”
“For sure,” Danny said. Remembering his slain girlfriend always hurt, but nothing was going to change that, and he wanted to see where Craig was going with this dream.
“Okay, then, if you say so. It was weird. The dream lasted just a few moments. But she was crying, or at least I think it was her. She appeared to be in my room in my old apartment. Remember that box of memorabilia I had?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Craig thought back to when he first withdrew a letter from the box. It was typewritten and yellowed, dated 1917, and was a letter of condolence written to his great-grandfather. It had come from some group or organization, written very respectfully and solemnly. But it had referenced death as a relentless enemy that pursued them. It closed with a signature, written with quill, and embossed at the bottom with the letters C–O–I.
“You mean the one that had the creepy letter in it that was addressed to your granddad?”
Craig nodded. “Well, a box was sitting next to Emma in the dream, and it looked like that box. When I got closer to her, it didn’t look like she had been crying after all. But she was mad.”
“Mad at who? You?”
“Sure seemed like it,” Craig said. “She kept saying stuff like, ‘Are you really going to walk away?’ She told me I was supposed to protect someone. She accused me of turning my back on something or someone, but I’m not really sure. Then she got up and walked through the wall. Just like that.”
“She walked through a wall,” Danny repeated.
“Yeah. And then she was gone.”
Danny squinted and shook his head. “Well, that’s pretty bizarre.”
“I know, right?”
Danny held his tongue for a moment, trying to process the dream’s meaning.
“But, hey,” Craig said. “You said some things were new with you. How’s work? Have you been able to get back in the groove?”
“Uh, yeah, some,” Danny said. But his mind was preoccupied with the mysteries they had been chasing for so long. “Things are getting there. I got to question this twitchy informant at the precinct. And there was something odd about him, or at least there was a strange coincidence. He had a tattoo on his arm. It was more of a brand, really.”
“A brand?”
“Like where you take a hot iron and burn a symbol or something into the skin. It’s a gang thing.”
Craig’s face contorted in disgust.
“Anyway, how about this for a coincidence? The brand on his arm was three letters: C, O, I.”
Craig’s eyes widened. “The same letters that were written on the letter to my grandfather!”
“Yeah. So naturally, I wanted to look into that. But then someone let him out of the interrogation room when my back was turned. I was really pissed. I was going to find him and ask about the letters, but he turned up dead a few days later. And I think what I was able to get out of him might have been what got him killed. That made me even more determined to investigate, and I tried to pull you into the crime scene to see if you could do another re-creation.”
“But you never told me you wanted my help,” Craig interjected.
“Because my new lieutenant wouldn’t let me reach out to you. In fact, he ordered me to hang up the phone when I tried to call you. Anyway, I think he has some ideas about the things we used to do together at crime scenes, though I don’t know where he got ’em.”
“Wow, that’s tough. But I thought things were getting better for you on the job.”
“Oh, they are. But I’ve still got some ground to make up there. That part is on me.” Danny shook his head as if to clear it. Their discussion had taken a detour. He redirected. “Back to those abilities returning—the spontaneous healing, the dreams. I mean, it’s not totally new. It’s happened before. But does anything feel different about it this time?”
“Hmmm, not that I can think of.” Craig seemed uncomfortable. “You told me you wanted to know when it started happening again. And you seemed to somehow know it was. So now I’m telling you. But why the preoccupation with how it made me feel?”
“I don’t know. I’m just thinking about why your abilities are coming back now, and I wonder if maybe it’s happening by design in some way. Are you up for something like that being true?” Danny lifted his chin as he spoke.
“What are you getting at?” Craig asked suspiciously.
“What I’m getting at is whatever that thing was in the church was real. Same with the others like it. And if we go down this path again, I guess I want to make sure we’re ready for where it might lead—and what it might mean.”
“I know,” Craig said. “You’re always talking about understanding these supernatural things as unfinished business for us. And that was really a pull for me, helped me think about how everything might fit together. But now I’ve got other things that are primary in my life: I’m getting more fit, and things have been pretty good with Lauren. Heck, I even get to go back to school without worrying about how to pay for it.”
“That was quite a stroke of luck,” Danny agreed. “You and I never did talk about how that came about, the trust fund your dad had left for you. Kinda weird that it took so long to find its way to you.”
“I know, but why do we have to try to explain it? Can’t you just let me enjoy it? Can’t I be happy that I’ve learned something positive about my dad, something he thought of and planned ahead for, something I can remember about him other than his death?”
Danny furrowed his brow but let Craig keep talking.
“Maybe I don’t want to raise my hand and volunteer anymore, not for anything like the ass-beating we got from the Tourist in Iowa at least.”
“Maybe you don’t have a choice, Craig,” Danny said quietly.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Sounds like you know, or think you know, more about this than you’ve let on, Detective. So that’s why you were so eager to see me tonight.”
Craig smiled. Danny did not. His jaw was set and his gaze steady.
“Tell me again about everything you can do with your hands,” Danny said.
Craig crossed his arms. “Hold up. Now I feel like I’m being interrogated.”
“It’s called ‘tactile transference,’ isn’t that right?”
“Yes, that’s the name for it. And believe it or not, I talked to Dr. Burris about it, and she actually seemed helpful for once. Why are you pushing me about my hands?”
“There just seems to be something pretty important about your abilities. I don’t think you can stop it this time, Craig. I don’t think you can turn it off just because you’ve got some good things going on. And I wouldn’t want to let you stop it even if you could. Don’t you think it must mean something that you can do this thing that nobody else can do?”
“I understand what you’re saying, but . . .” Craig’s voice trailed off.
Danny pressed his point. “People were killed by the Tourist, Craig. Good people. All in an effort to draw you out in the open and put an end to you and the powers you have. I gotta believe that there’s more you’re supposed to do with them. The people who died played a part in this path we’re on. Now we need to be ready to play our part.”
“We. You said it again. How come it’s we?”
“No one succeeds alone in tackling something big. Not you, not me. And definitely not with something as big as this.”
Their server approached the table. Danny waved him off brusquely.
Craig rubbed his face and the stubble that dotted it. The intensity of this conversation seemed to be wearing on him. “Look, Danny, where’s this coming from? You’ve been acting weird.”
Danny ignored him. “Has anything else happened other than the dreams and the healing thing?”
“No, already. I told you I had some updates for you and now you know.” Craig opened his palms as if that’s all he had to offer. “So how about it’s your turn? How about catching me up on what you’ve been so coy about.”
Danny scanned the room. “When’s Lauren getting here? What I’ve got is gonna take a minute.”
Craig flashed a surprised look. “Now you’ve got my attention.” His eyes widened. “So?”
Danny took a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay . . . what I’m about to tell you remains between you and me, you got that?”
“Of course,” Craig said.
“I stumbled upon a guy and got to talking to him in a church.”
“In a church,” Craig repeated.
Danny nodded. “Do you remember when we were in that hospital in Iowa, and we talked about where your path might lead and if you were prepared for that. You said you were. Is that still the case, after your powers had gone cold for so long? Because if you are, I have some new info.”
“You’re sounding like Lauren with the finding-a-purpose-in-life stuff. Can we just slow down for a minute?”
“I sound that like her, huh? How much does she know anyway?”
“Not all of it yet,” Craig said, his voice low, his eyes cast downward. He fiddled with his fork.
“Why not? Don’t you trust her?”
“Not completely.”
Danny was puzzled at Craig’s response but didn’t want the conversation to stall. “I’m going to guess that you probably haven’t told Lauren about shooting the surges of force out of your hands. What’s kept you from opening up about that?”
Craig remained silent, not having an answer.
