“I see.” His expression said he didn’t see, not at all, but mixed with the puzzlement was relief. “I must say I did not see any signs in him earlier of the sort of disturbance that could have led to today’s actions. No symptoms of mania or schizophrenia, no rage, no terrible grievance that might erupt in indiscriminate violence. I had wondered at my lack of perception.”
“You weren’t responsible in any way for what happened today. Not even in the vague ‘I should have known’ sort of way.”
He looked down as if embarrassed. After a moment he nodded slightly. “Yes. Thank you. I must still ask you to keep your questions brief. Ten minutes at most, and I will be present to monitor his condition.”
“I’d assumed you would be.” That’s why she’d felt free to tell him as much as she had. He was going to hear it anyway.
He started moving again, headed for the door at the end of the hall. “Perhaps your visit will not be as stressful for him as I had thought, however.”
Lily couldn’t assure him of that. She needed Hodge to remember, and remembering had pushed Meacham over his personal edge. “We’ll see. I will have to . . .” She stopped, staring at the neatly lettered sign taped to the door leading to ICU: no GIFTED persons allowed beyond this point. “What the hell?”
“The sign? It’s a new policy. The hospital board fears the disruption that magic might bring to delicate equipment.”
Lily reached out, ripped the sign off, and handed it to Patel. “Tell them they’d do better to fear the lawsuits that prejudice might bring to their delicate hospital.”
He blinked. “But this isn’t a matter of prejudice. Magic can affect some of our instruments. We lost several patients at the Turning. Mr. Hodge’s malfunctioning pacemaker proves that magic and technology do not mix well.”
“There’s a problem with raw magic, loose magic. The magic in someone with a Gift isn’t loose, dammit. And we don’t know what Hodge is an example of, but his pacemaker quit because of death magic, not because someone’s Gift leaked on him.”
“Unless we can guarantee that Gifted persons will not accidentally expose our patients to risk—”
“Guess what. You’ve probably got Gifted people in there right now, as patients or staff or both. You do still treat the Gifted, don’t you? Had any problems with your tech? We can find out for sure in a few seconds—as soon as you step through that door. We’ll see if you make the equipment turn wonky.”
“Me?” His voice rose. “I’m not—you’re mistaken.”
“You. A minor Gift, admittedly, but I bet you never lose your car keys.” She shoved the door open and stepped through.
How about that? Turned out some rules were real easy for her to break.
IT was a good thing Dr. Patel had told her Hodge was doing okay. She wouldn’t have guessed it to look at him.
Franklin Hodge had a long face, deeply grooved, with short salt-and-pepper hair curled tightly against his skull. His skin was that rare shade that looks almost black, unlike most people of African descent, who come in so many hues of brown. At the moment he was ashy, grayed out by a tricky heartbeat.
Or by memory. “Mr. Hodge,” Lily said softly, “I’m Agent Lily Yu with the FBI. I need to ask you some questions. I’m going to record our conversation.” She set the recorder on his bedside table.
He turned his head away without speaking.
“I need to know what happened to you. I need to keep it from happening to anyone else.”
Slowly his head turned back toward her. His eyes were dull. “What do you mean?”
“Did it happen today? Or yesterday, or the day before?”
His throat moved as he swallowed. “You know. You know what it is, what did that to me.” One large, pink-palmed hand groped toward her.
Lily had to force herself to take that reaching hand. The slimy prickle of death magic was much less than it had been earlier—fading, but still present. “I need you to describe it for me.”
“I was tidying up the kitchen. I like things tidy. I was washing the coffeepot and then all at once . . . it was like winter came inside me and froze me and I was just watching. Watching myself holding that pot, and the water still running. I was so cold. I couldn’t move.” He licked his lips. “For the longest time all I could do was stand there and see that coffeepot. I couldn’t blink or look away. I couldn’t do one thing. Then I saw my hand stretch out and shut off the water.” He shuddered. “I saw it, but I didn’t do it.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am, it was. I . . . for a bit I just moved around the house, or my body moved and my mind went along. I had no choice in that. Then I started thinking about my gun.” The hand Lily held trembled. “Only it didn’t really feel like me thinking. More like something goosed me somehow and made me think about it, where it was and all. And once I did . . . once I did . . .”
“What happened?”
“My body turned itself around and tried to hurry. Stupid of it. I’ve got a bum knee. It gave out and I fell and banged it. Hurt like blazes, but that was okay, that would have been fine, if I could’ve just made myself blink. But all I could do was lie there, and for a second, just a second, it seemed like I heard someone. Like someone felt sorry for me, being old and hurting. I thought maybe God wanted to help me. I prayed so hard . . .” His eyes sheened with moisture. He blinked. “So hard, but it didn’t help. After a bit my body stood itself back up a bit and went . . . went to get my gun.”
“What time did you wash out your coffeepot, Mr. Hodge?”
“’Bout nine thirty. The doctor here doesn’t want me to drink coffee anymore, but I like a couple cups in the morning. I don’t have but two cups, though.”
Lily took him through the rest of the morning’s events, circling away when he grew agitated, asking about his contacts in the last four days, his knowledge of magic, any connection to Roy Don Meacham. He blinked a lot, she noticed. Not as much as Meacham, but more than was normal.
She circled back again to that morning, what he remembered, what he’d experienced. “You didn’t hear a voice telling you what to do? Or have thoughts in your head that didn’t seem to come from you?”
“No. No, it wasn’t like that. I just watched while my body did what it did. I couldn’t make it stop.” His eyes watered again and his voice shook. “Couldn’t make it stop.”
“Agent Yu,” Doctor Patel said, “I’m afraid your ten minutes are over.”
“Did you feel anything different? Were your sensations the same?”
Patel moved closer, to stand on the other side of the bed from Lily. “I must ask you to leave now.”
“S’okay, Doctor,” Hodge said, but his voice was growing weak. “I want to tell her . . . just the cold.”
“When?”
“The whole time. I got chilled right away, but not bad, and it kept getting colder, right up until . . .”
“Yes?”
A tear spilled down one grooved cheek. “Right up till my body started killing people. Then the cold went away. Then I was warm.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hodge.” She shut off the recorder. “Ah—are your eyes bothering you?”
“Didn’t blink enough,” he said softly. “When my body was running things, it didn’t blink enough. Left my eyes sore.”
Dr. Patel’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You must tell me these things, Mr. Hodge. I will see you get some drops.”
Lily slid the recorder back in her tote and took something else out. “I brought something from your house. I hoped it might bring you some comfort.”
When he saw what she held, he smiled—a small, weary smile, maybe, but there was an easing around his eyes and in the worn lines of his face. “My Maisie’s Bible. Yes, ma’am, that is a comfort. Thank you. Ma’am?”