“Gestalt?”
“Organized body of moving parts. Hive mind would be another description. The troglodyte would be free to enslave an endless amount of thralls that would act in unison to its command, like a hive of murderous insects. The thralls eventually experience a reverse effect, where their physical bodies begin deteriorating.”
“What do you mean — like zombies?”
“That’s close enough. Thralls are mentally subjugated, their normal cerebral functions overridden by the chemical infusion from the troglodyte. To give you an idea of what such an infection might resemble, I’ll tell you about the last time a troglodyte’s infiltration went unchecked. Think Europe in the year 1346.”
Steve closed his eyes, trying to focus on why the year seemed so familiar. “That was when the Black Death began. Some seventy-five to two hundred million people wiped out in a few short years.” His eyes snapped open. “You’re trying to tell me these troglodyte creatures were around way back then?”
“I can’t explain everything to you right now. All you need to know is that you’re in the middle of a conflict unconstrained by time. 1346, 1587, 1908, or right now — it’s all relative when it comes to the perception of the Others. Their existence is non-linear, each conflict a microcosm of their ultimate agenda. Just like the troglodyte seeks a host body, their civilization seeks a host world. They keep attacking until they achieve their goal, and their chances of success improve with every attempt.”
He gave Steve a sharp glance. “You’re connected to the troglodyte’s current thrall. The killer has been infected and enslaved to do the troglodyte’s bidding. Somehow you’re linked, seeing through the thrall’s eyes. Anything strange happen to you in the last few months?”
“To me? No.” Steve froze when the thought struck him so painfully he nearly gasped. “But Sheila…my wife vanished three months ago.”
Muted light danced in Guy’s eyes. “The first murder was nearly three months ago.”
Steve’s throat tightened. “Do you think…the thrall killed my wife? Is that why I’m having those dreams?”
“No.” Guy’s face and voice were completely devoid of empathy. “I think the thrall is your wife.”
Steve’s entire world shattered.
The precinct was still buzzing, full of moving bodies. Most had been up all night. It took a lot of work to cover a scene so gruesome, especially when the top brass were breathing down their necks. Even worse were the inclusion of dark-suited FBI agents, who basically just wanted to sequester everything the department had gathered.
Quinn crossed her arms. Inwardly, she knew it was a defensive gesture. She’d been trained to recognize physical cues and ticks, to zero in on what lay behind a poker face or a reticent suspect. But she never liked dealing with the Feds, especially when they arrived to nonchalantly take over a loaded investigation like the current one.
Special agent Dylan Plumm seemed to read Quinn’s mind. She was tall and willowy, with her dark hair pulled back in a tidy ponytail. Her dark eyes studied Quinn in a way that made her surprisingly uncomfortable. It was as if Agent Plumm already knew everything about Quinn, and was just waiting for Quinn to confirm her knowledge.
“I know you don’t like being taken off the case, Detective. But in view of the events surrounding these murders, I’m sure you can understand why this is a federal issue now.”
“Maybe I’d be more forthcoming if you’d tell me what’s going on. I know you guys have info you’re not sharing.”
To her surprise, Plumm nodded. “This is strictly off the record, understand?”
Quinn smiled. “More than you know.”
“Very well. You believe these murders are caused by some type of weapon, is that right?”
“Well, yeah. You guys don’t?”
“No. We believe it to be the result of an infection.”
Quinn tried to steel the shock that rattled her to the core. “You’re telling me we’re about to have an outbreak of exploding bodies?”
“Not yet, at least. But it appears someone is definitely trying to start a pandemic. These murders are trials, we believe. Early testing reveals no residue of any known contaminations. So we think the killer is trying to perfect his contagion on a single individual before releasing it in a much more crowded environment. Think of what would happen if it was discharged in the air system of a downtown building, for instance. Or a crowded nightclub. Or a parade.”
Quinn repressed a shudder, uncomfortably aware of her proximity to the earlier scene. Her skin prickled. Am I infected? How would I know?
Plumm again seemed to guess what Quinn was thinking. “As I said, Detective — we’re confident no live virus or contaminants were active at the crime scene. You’ll be fine.”
Quinn couldn’t help a sigh of relief. She glance up at Agent Plumm. “I’ve seen you before. On television, when the flour mill exploded a few months back. Now the place is completely sealed off, like some kind of biological hazard was released. Is this related to that case?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Detective.”
“Well, I guess the case is yours now, anyway. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Detective.” Agent Plumm pulled a card from her pocket and offered it. “If you can think of anything that we might need to know, please give me a call. I’d value any input you’d like to offer.”
Plumm was lost in the swarm of frantic suits and uniforms before Quinn could answer.
“Hey, Quinn — check this out.” Keith waved her over from his cramped cubicle.
“Feed from the ATM cam?”
“Yeah.” Keith’s expression was definitely worried. “Gets weird, though.”
She sighed. “Well, it’s been that kind of night.”
“Ok, here’s what we got.” He pointed to a distant shot of a lonely street. “Approximate time of the killing. Camera angle didn’t cover the alley at all.”
“Okay…so why are you showing me this?”
He sped up the feed. In a short while, the entire view was filled with emergency vehicles, officers, and medical workers.
“Keith.”
“What?”
“We were there, remember?”
He gave her a hurt look. “I know that. But remember the agent that had the wallet? The one you couldn’t find after?”
“What about him?”
He tapped the screen. “I think that’s him.”
She peered closer at the average-looking figure in a FBI jacket. “Shot’s no good. His face is too blurred to see.”
“That’s the thing. It’s always blurred.”
“What?”
He forwarded the film, then reversed it. “I told you it was weird. If was just a second or two I’d blame it on lighting or something, but look — everyone else’s faces are clear. Only his is blurred.” He glanced up at her. “Like on purpose.”
“That is weird.”
“Yeah.”
She pulled the card Agent Plumm had given her, tapping it with her fingers. Should I call her back? Probably not. Dude is one of hers. Could be masked from surveillance on purpose. That doesn’t make any sense, though. Why would someone be using some high-tech digital smokescreen if he already had access to FBI info? Unless…
She gasped. “He could be the killer.”
Keith gave her a dubious sidelong glance. “What — the ‘return to the scene of the crime’ cliché? Why would any sane person take that kind of risk?”
He looked down when his computer dinged. “Okay, just got another lead. The guy walks off the camera’s view, but there’s a traffic cam not far away. I requested the feed.”