Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,159

that meant his brain was falling apart too.

You’re right about that, said the voice. You’re falling apart, Price. But I can help you.

“Maze?” Randall whispered softly. Now he recognized the voice. But he hadn’t heard from Maze in so long. In reality, it might not have been as long as it felt because it honestly felt like forever. There was a sour, iron-laden taste in his mouth. His nose felt like it was burning and he was so tired of not being able to see. There was a soup being boiled up in his belly, he was hearing physical sound at a strange delay, and he was cold. So cold.

He was miserable.

Allow me, the voice said.

Randall leaned back against the wall behind him and suddenly every discomfort that had been piling on his body layer upon layer disappeared. In quick succession, the pains and aches and bad tastes and loose teeth and nausea and exhaustion – everything – was alleviated. Until all at once, Randall Price was whole for the first time in weeks. It was the most wonderful feeling he had ever experienced, that cessation of pain.

He shuddered beneath the very real pleasure of an end to his suffering, and opened his eyes. Now his vision was crystal clear, and for the first time in days he realized he still wore his glasses. They were sitting crooked on his nose, but his vision had been so bad before, and his discomfort so strong, he had forgotten about them entirely.

Randall straightened them absently and sat back up, scooting to the edge of the bed to place his bare feet on the cold white floor. He looked down at those feet. His toes were straight, nails trimmed, the skin a good, healthy pink again. So Randall lifted his head and thought a question at his savior. Where are you?

I can’t appear in this room, Victor said. You will have to leave on your own. But once you’re past the wards, I can take over.

Randall thought about that. He looked at the single door in the room, wondering how the hell he was supposed to get through it.

It’s warded against people like me, said Maze. Not people like you.

You mean not humans, Randall reasoned. I see. He looked down at himself again, and suddenly – he really did see.

He saw it all. And he understood.

Maze… he thought. I didn’t actually survive when that plane crashed, did I?

There was a brief beat of silence in which the truth was ever increasingly plain. Then Maze said simply, No.

I didn’t think so. Randall took a deep breath, nodded to himself in a strange kind of acceptance, and then turned and knelt facing the bed. He knew the camera above the door was watching, and that if anyone was monitoring its feed, they would be able to tell immediately what he was doing if he wasn’t covert about it. Of course, they would be able to tell he was no longer decomposing too, if they looked closely enough.

Hence, he hoped that by turning his back to the camera as he was, they would only be able to see his clothing and his hair, which would hide the state of his body. He also hoped they would simply assume he was praying.

I can take care of the cameras, Victor offered helpfully. That made sense; the camera’s controls and viewscreen were outside the room, beyond the wards.

In the meantime, Randall bowed his head and focused on his task. As he thanked his lucky stars that he had read as many books as he had in his life, he set about sliding his wire-rimmed glasses off his face so he could turn the wires into a make-shift lock pick.

Amazingly, he could see with perfect clarity even without them.

He knew who he had to thank for this now. Thank you, he said, meaning it whole-heartedly.

The response came like a warm blessing in his mind. It’s my pleasure, said Victor.

*****

The man’s hair grew damp beneath Randall’s grip, and though it was an interesting change, it was not necessarily surprising. The man’s face was being left behind in a red line along the wall as Randall dragged it from one corner of the home to another. But the blood was counterproductive. His hold had to get tighter and tighter due to the fact that his victim was growing heavier and more slippery.

The man was clearly giving up the struggle, and as he did he became a dead weight in Randall’s insanely strong