Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [26]
“But if you’re wrong, you aren’t hurt,” Evans said.
I looked at him. “If I’m wrong, then no harm, no foul. If everybody’s looking in the wrong direction, me, the cops, the Feds, everybody, then this is going to keep on happening.” I looked down at the man on the bed. “That will hurt.”
“Why? Why will it hurt you?”
“Because we’re the good guys, and whoever or whatever is doing this, is the bad guy. Good is supposed to triumph over evil, Doctor Evans, or what’s a Heaven for?”
“You’re Christian?”
I nodded.
“I didn’t think you could be Christian and raise zombies.”
“Surprise,” I said.
He nodded, though I wasn’t sure what he was agreeing with. “Do you need to see the others, or is this enough?”
“You can cover him back up, but yeah, I should at least look at the others. If I don’t, then I’ll wonder if I missed something by not looking.”
“No one else has made it all the way around the room without having to leave, and that includes me the first time I walked in here.” He was walking to the next bed as he spoke. I followed behind, not happy to be there, but feeling better. I could do this if I just concentrated on solving the crime and shoved my empathy in a tight dark box. At that moment sympathy was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
The second man was almost identical to the first except for height and eye color. Blue eyes this time, and I had to look away. If I locked gazes with any of them, they’d become people, and I’d run screaming.
The third bed was different. The wounds on the chest seemed different somehow, and when Doctor Evans rolled the sheet over the groin, I realized it was a woman. My gaze went back to her chest where something had ripped away her breasts. Her eyes rolled wildly, mouth opening and closing, making small sounds, and I saw for the first time why no one was talking. The tongue was just a ruined stump, rolling like a butchered worm in that lipless, skinless opening.
Heat washed over me in a rush. The room swam. I couldn’t breathe. The mask molded itself to my open, gaping mouth. I turned and went for the doors. I walked slowly. I didn’t run, but if I didn’t get out of there I was going to lose what little I had in my stomach or maybe faint. Of the two, I think I preferred throwing up. Doctor Evans pressed the pad that opened the door without a word. The doors opened, and I went through.
Ben the nurse turned to me, mask hastily held in place with a gloved hand. When the doors shut behind me, he let the mask drop. “You all right?”
I shook my head, not trusting my voice. I jerked the mask off my face and still couldn’t seem to get enough air. It was too quiet in the little room. The only sound the soft hush of the air whooshing in, recycling. The small movement of cloth as Ben moved towards me. I needed noise, human voices. I needed out of there.
I jerked the plastic thingie off my head. My hair fell around my shoulders, brushed my face. I still couldn’t get enough air. “I’m sorry,” I said, and my voice sounded distant. “I’ll be back.” I opened the outer door and escaped.
7
THE HALL FELT COOLER, though I knew it wasn’t. I leaned beside the closed door, eyes closed, breathing in great draughts of air. The corridor was full of noise after that silent hissing room. People walking, moving, and Lieutenant Marks’ voice, “Not so fucking tough after all, eh, Ms. Blake.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was sitting in the chair that had probably been brought up for the uniform guarding the door. The uniformed officer was nowhere to be seen. Only Edward leaned against the far wall, hands behind his back. He was watching my face, watching me, as if he’d memorize my fear. “I made it