Miller's steel eyes blinked. "You're apologizing to him? You're the Oculus, he's… he's…"
Obviously Miller was at a loss as to who the Oculus—Jack figured that was what the "0" stood for—thought Jack was. He wasn't alone.
The guru never took his black eyes off Jack.
"Nevertheless, Mister Miller, I am apologizing."
Jack didn't know what to make of this guy. The Oculus, whatever that meant, had an imperturbable, celestial air about him. He wasn't just plain old laid-back, he was Dilaudid-with-a-Jack-Daniei's-chaser laid-back.
"Please release him."
As the two behind let go of his arms, Jack decided this guy might not be so bad. The first thing he did was rub his chest where three soldering irons were at work.
"You're going to let him walk?" Davis said.
"If he wishes."
Jack rose. "I wish."
He had to get out of here before his scars burst into flame.
The Oculus raised his hand. "But not until you and I have had a chat."
Jack rubbed his scars again.
"Maybe I'm not in a talking mood."
Miller cocked one of his Belgian-block fists. "I can fix that."
The Oculus was watching Jack, his eight-ball eyes fixed on his chest.
"The scars are burning, aren't they." It wasn't a question.
How did he know about the scars? On other occasions certain people had seemed to be able to look through his shirt and see them, but those folks had been on the wrong side.
What side was the Oculus on?
"We can't let him go," Miller said. "He knows too much. He's found Home. He'll lead others—"
"No, he won't."
Miller's face reddened. "You can guarantee that?"
Not once had the Oculus's gaze shifted from Jack. "Yes. Because you see before you the Heir."
The hush that followed was absolute except for the ticks of water moving through the heating pipes.
Something about the word, its implications, and the uppercase H Jack sensed in the pronunciation, sent a sour chime echoing through his head.
Miller recovered first. "Bullshit!"
"Tradition has it that the Heir will bear the scars of the Otherness when he makes his presence known." The Oculus's black eyes fixed on Jack's. "Show them. Let them see your scars."
Jack shook his head. "I don't think so."
He'd been assessing his position during the blather. Six guys—all yenigeri, he guessed—plus the Oculus formed a rough circle around him. No, wait. One more hovering on the fringe: Zeklos. But he had a suitcase in his hand and didn't look engaged.
How to get out of here…
The Oculus looked like a powder puff, but the others… the way they moved, the way the two who had been holding his arms remained behind him, blocking his way to the door, spoke of training and professionalism.
He could try, but his chances of getting past them and to the street were slim. And then if the door was locked…
"I am not giving an order," the Oculus said, "I am making a request. Please show them your scars."
Jack couldn't read those onyx eyes, but he sensed something in the tone that said, It's important that you do this.
Well, why not? Probably feel good to get some cool air against the heat.
"Okay. Since you put it that way."
He pulled off the Jets jacket and threw it on the chair. He untucked and unbuttoned his flannel shirt but didn't take it off. Instead he pulled up his T-shirt.
Everyone stared. Someone gasped, someone said "Jeez," someone said "Holy shit."
Jack looked down and repressed a gasp of his own. He'd never seen the scars so red.
"Mister Tucci," the Oculus said. "Please dim the lights."
A dark-haired yeniceri walked to the wall next to the door and turned a rheostat. As the overhead lights faded, Jack watched his scars.
They began to glow a dull, ember red. What the—?
He heard Davis say, "I'll… be… damned."
Jack's sentiments exactly. It was this place. Had to be. But what here could cause this?
He heard a sound and looked up to see Zeklos's openmouthed stare. He'd dropped his suitcase.
"Thank you, Mister Tucci," the Oculus said. "That will be fine."
As the lights came up, the glow faded. But the burning remained as strong as before.
Jack pulled down his T-shirt. He went to button up his outer shirt but quit after trying the first button. Didn't want to put his shaking fingers on display.
"Somebody want to tell me what the hell is going on?"
The Oculus smiled. "I shall be more than happy to, Mister…?"
Jack hesitated, then figured what the hell.
"Jack… just Jack."
"Very well, Jack. We shall adjourn to my quarters and—"
"Just a goddamn minute," Miller said. "No way we're going to let him get you alone."
"I have nothing to fear from this man."
"I'm not so sure about that. He waltzes in here—"
Jack had had about enough of Miller. "You call that waltzing? Who taught you to dance—Godzilla?"
Someone snickered. Miller threw a glare past Jack's shoulder, then turned to the Oculus.
"It's our job to keep you safe. And until I'm convinced you're safe with a guy caught sneaking around Home carrying a couple of nines, I'm his Siamese twin."
"I agree," Davis said. "Dangerous enough to allow you alone with him, but Diana's up there too. Too risky."
"Very well. You both may come along if you wish."
Davis nodded. "We wish. But I want to know one thing first: What made those scars?"
The Oculus raised his right hand and raked the air before Jack's chest with his index, middle, and ring fingers.
"A rakosh."
"Oh, come on!" Davis said. "They don't exist."
The Oculus turned to him. "Common knowledge in the outside world says we don't either."
"But I thought they were just bogeymen the Twins made up to scare us when we were kids."
The Twins? The words rocked Jack.
"Oh, they are quite real. Or at least they were." Back to Jack. "Are you responsible for their disappearance?"
"All but one."
Another hush.
Finally the Oculus nodded. "I see. I've sensed one somewhere to the south. And only the man who killed them would know that one still lives." He turned and started walking away to Jack's left. "Come. We'll be more comfortable in my quarters."
"I've got a lot of questions," Jack said.
"And I have the answers… at least most of them."
Jack wanted to hear those answers—maybe he'd finally connected with someone who didn't speak in riddles and non sequiturs—so he followed.
Davis and Miller tagged along.
8
The Oculus's second-floor office was spacious but spare. Despite the open space, it had a mausoleum feel. Maybe because of the bricked-up windows. He seated himself behind a desk and pointed toward a padded swivel chair opposite.
Miller and Davis stationed themselves behind and to either side of Jack, standing like soldiers at parade rest. Jack's head and neck still ached, but his scars didn't burn so much. Were they getting used to the place?
The Oculus leaned back and steepled his fingers. His black eyes fixed on Jack.
"Now… Jack. Tell me all about yourself."
Yeah, that'll happen, he thought. Right after Steely Dan does a Christmas album.
"I'm just a guy who's been in the wrong place at the wrong time now and then. I thought you were going to answer my questions."
"Very well. Ask away."
Jack leaned forward. "Who the hell are you people?" He jerked his thumbs over his shoulders. "How did these guys know what was going down in that basement, and why did they care? What—?"