Part 5 (1/2)
Les, she thought instantly. Not Maurice. He might have access to the cold locker, but the old man had not been near the lab today. He had spent the afternoon fis.h.i.+ng and babysitting Ismail. Les was the one she had seen coming out of the cold locker.
Les had touched the body.
It wasn't a crime, and it shouldn't have bothered Jenny. But it did. She attempted to arrange her hand as Les might have, trying to understand what he had been doing. It wasn't a simple touch-like some kid poking a dead bird to see if it moved. The angle was wrong for that. It was as though he had been trying to turn her head.
Jenny began to do just that-and heard a scratching sound behind her. She flinched, heart in her throat, and whirled around.
It was Maurice, peering at her through the gla.s.s in the locker door. Brow furrowed, eyes narrow with concern. A moment later she heard a beep, and the lock opened.
”I was looking for you,” he said, walking in and shutting the door behind him. ”When you weren't in your room, I got worried.”
”Worried.”
”I had a bad dream,” Maurice said vaguely, but Jenny straightened, giving him a questioning look. He made a disgusted sound and waved his hand through the air. ”No, I don't know what it meant. Made no sense. Just . . . water. And you, drowning.”
”Not a premonition, then.”
”Didn't say that.” He gave her a hard look. ”I've had an uneasy sense of things for days now, sweet pea. Got worse today after you came back from that long dive of yours.”
Jenny tried to smile, but both the headache and the dead woman conspired against her. She swallowed hard, and muttered, ”I found something that won't make you feel better. Look what I pulled out of the woman.”
She handed him the plastic bag, and the old man held it beneath the light, staring hard at the bullet. He said nothing for a long time.
”SPP1M,” he finally muttered.
”Four shots to the left of her stomach.”
”She was murdered, then.” Maurice drew in a ragged breath. ”The fishermen-”
”Makes no sense. You'll agree if you think about it.”
He went quiet again, but after several minutes-during which time Jenny leaned against the cold wall, trying not to pa.s.s out from her headache-he nodded slowly. ”Theories?”
Jenny forced her jaw to relax. ”There's a reason why these creatures are considered myth. They're impossible to find. So what would it take to get close enough to shoot one? Let alone cut one up?”
”The Consortium is the only group I know of that hunts nonhumans. But they usually want their targets alive.” Maurice fingered the bullet through the plastic bag. ”I need to check our guns.”
The same thought had crossed her mind. ”Les was in here earlier. Unless you've got a thing for corpses now, I think he was handling the body.” She felt dirty saying the words, like she was a kid tattling tales.
Maurice gazed down at the woman's face. His hand, again, traced the sign of the cross over his chest. ”That doesn't sit well with you.”
”No. I don't know why. I trust him.”
”As much as you trust anyone.” Maurice smiled humorlessly. ”He told me you rejected him. Again.”
Jenny blew out her breath. ”Les needs to keep his mouth shut.”
”Won't argue with that.” The old man flashed her a crooked, far more genuine, smile-though it faded quickly. ”He was in my dream, too.”
”Yeah?” Jenny closed her eyes, bowing her head to rub her neck. She felt something warm and slippery. When she drew back her hand, there was blood on her fingers.
She swayed. Maurice hissed between his teeth, and spun her around.
”f.u.c.k,” he said.
”W-what?” Jenny asked, dazed.
”There's blood running down your neck. I can't see . . .” His fingers pushed roughly into her hair at the base of her skull. And froze.
”Oh, my G.o.d,” he whispered.
”Maurice,” she rasped, and then winced as the pain suddenly changed-feeling more like teeth digging into her skull rather than some vague vascular ache.
”There's something attached to you,” he said, and dragged her toward the door. In moments he had her out in the lab. Drawers began sliding open before he even approached the workstation, and a tweezers and scalpel floated upward, jerkily-as though caught on invisible fis.h.i.+ng lines. Maurice s.n.a.t.c.hed them out of the air, muttering to himself.
”Uh, no,” Jenny said, pointing to the blade.
”You didn't see what I just did.”
”Then give me a mirror.” When he didn't move fast enough, Jenny blew past him out of the lab, racing down the hall toward her cabin. She slammed into her bathroom, nearly yanking the drawer entirely out of the cabinet as she pawed through Band-Aids, lotions, tampons-down to the bottom, where she kept the makeup she sometimes wore when she went ash.o.r.e. She snapped open a compact and twisted around, trying to make out the back of her head reflected in the larger wall mirror.
Hard, at first. Her hair was thick, tangled. All she could see was blood, trickling down her neck. But then Maurice loomed over her, and reached around to part her hair in the back. His hands were rough, trembling, and his breath smelled like beer.
She saw the color green, first-and thought it must be her imagination. Not just any green, but a pale sea-green turquoise that reminded her of the clear waters in some island lagoon. She reached around, fumbling, and touched the thing. It was the size of her thumbnail, flat, hard as sh.e.l.l-smooth, even slick-and hot to the touch.
Jenny swayed and took a deep breath. ”It looks . . . it looks like an echinoderm. A sand dollar. It has . . . it has a similar rigid external skeleton.”
”Looks like it's sucking your blood,” Maurice muttered, and turned her around. ”Makes it a parasite to me.”
Jenny normally resisted cla.s.sifying anything without a detailed a.n.a.lysis, but in this case she was willing to make an exception-of the oh-s.h.i.+t variety. She could really feel its teeth now-digging deeper into her.
”When I was in the water . . . I thought something touched the back of my neck. I told myself it was my imagination. I didn't feel a bite, or anything. Just . . . a headache. I've had a headache ever since.”
Maurice didn't say a word. He tilted the back of her head toward the light. He did not need to tell her to hold still.
He tried the tweezers first. Jenny felt him trying to angle them under the organism, but she could tell without looking that there was no s.p.a.ce between the edges and her flesh.
”You're going to have to cut it out,” she snapped, knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the counter. But all he did was mutter angrily, forcing her head down. She felt the moment he finally managed to pierce her skin and get a grip on the thing-but the pain that hit her seconds later felt like an explosion consuming the entire length of her spine. She seized, breath stolen, unable to scream, her vision wiped out in a cloud of white light.
When Jenny could finally see again, the world was twisted, upside down. Wrong angles.
She was on the floor, her cheek pressed to the tile. Maurice crouched beside her, holding something soft against the back of her neck. There was a ringing sound in her ears, and her entire spine-and skull-throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
She exhaled slowly. Wiggled her toes and fingers. Swallowed, and opened and closed her eyes. Not paralyzed, then. But it felt as though she should be.
”Maurice,” she breathed.
”You need a hospital,” he murmured raggedly. ”I thought . . . I thought it would come right off like a tick, but when I yanked I saw . . . tendrils of something . . . linking it to your body. Your reaction-”
”Still attached?” interrupted Jenny hoa.r.s.ely.