He tried not to think about it.
When Courtney put on her runners and started lacing them up, he took notice. ‘Going back to school on a Pro Day – wow, you are dedicated.’
‘I have other things to do.’
‘Like rehab,’ he reminded her.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, Dad, I’m going to my appointment, okay? God, you’re always riding me. What, does it make you happy or something?’
‘What would make me happy is if you would stop skipping your therapy sessions. You need them.’
‘And I’m going!’
Striker nodded. ‘Good. Say hi to Annalisa for me. And get her to check out your braces again, make sure they’re the right level.’
Courtney’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. ‘They’re crutches, Dad, okay? Crutches – not braces. I keep telling you that.’
‘Crutches, braces – it makes no difference.’
‘It makes a difference to me,’ she said, and her eyes suddenly looked wet.
Striker saw this, and he felt his heart clench. ‘I’m sorry, Pumpkin, I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘You never mean to do anything.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.
Courtney offered no reply. She finished tying her laces, then stood back up. When she reached the door, she opened it and stepped outside without saying goodbye.
‘I can drive you,’ he said.
She looked back at him and her blue eyes were ice. ‘Why don’t you drive yourself, Dad. Take a trip down Sensitivity Street. Might do you some good.’
‘Courtney—’
She slammed the door behind her and was gone.
For a moment, Striker considered going after her, but then reconsidered. It would do no good. In fact, it would probably only make things worse. Courtney was just like her mother; when she got into one of her moods, nothing would fix it but time and space. And now he wondered what he’d done to set her off this time. He went over their conversation in his head, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong, then finally gave up. His hand hurt. His head hurt. And he was damn tired.
In the medicine cabinet was some Extra Strength Tylenol he’d bought for Courtney last year. It was old, probably past its due date, but he took some anyway. Then his mind returned to work, like it always did. He plucked his cell from his pocket and read the screen in hopes of finding voicemail.
There was none.
It pained him. Larisa was still out there somewhere, and here he was, taken off the road – forced from the job on injury reserve. He could have fought the issue, battled the doctor and Laroche, but then they would have been forced to fill out the Compensation Board forms right there and then. And once that was done, no one got back on the road without seeing the specialist.
The way it was now – so long as the forms were not filled out – Striker could play with it.
The thought pinballed around in his head as he sat there, trying to relax but not managing it. Too much had happened, and too much still had to be investigated. Mandy and Sarah. Larisa Logan and Billy Mercury. Drs Ostermann and Richter. Mapleview and Riverglen. And then there was the whole EvenHealth programme and the SILC sessions.
There was just so damn much – and that was outside of the problems he had with Courtney and Felicia. The more he thought about it, the more his head hurt. He leaned back on the couch, closed his eyes, and tried to clear his mind.
It was only one o’clock in the afternoon, and already it seemed like a long, hard day.
Fifty
When the front door swung open and a cold draught of winter air blew inside the den, Striker opened his eyes. How much time had passed, he wasn’t sure. He felt halfway between wakefulness and sleep. He sat up on the couch, took his feet off the table, and stretched. Standing at the entrance to the den was Felicia. Her long dark hair was brushed back over her shoulder, and her warm eyes were fixated on him.
‘Feel free to let yourself in,’ he said.
‘You were supposed to wait for me at the hospital.’
‘Had to leave. Nurses kept hitting on me. You would have flown into a jealous rage.’
‘You could at least have phoned me.’ She closed the door and walked into the room. ‘How’s your hand?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Fine. Sure. Just like everything else.’ She threw her coat on the chair, then shivered as if cold. She walked across the den, her dress shoes clicking on the hardwood surface, and sat down next to him. She kicked off her shoes, grabbed the blanket from the corner of the couch and wrapped it around herself.
‘It’s one-thirty in the afternoon and it feels like midnight,’ she said. ‘Crank the fire, will you? It’s freezing in here.’
Striker got up and turned the dial to High. Then he went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. He warmed a couple of mugs as the brew percolated, then added some cream and sugar to each one. When it was done, he filled both mugs and brought them to the den.
‘Here.’ He handed her one.
She took it. ‘Thanks. You’re a dream.’
‘A nightmare?’
Felicia ignored the comment. She looked at the bandage covering his hand and wrist. ‘What degree of burn?’
‘Second.’ When Felicia made a face, Striker added, ‘We’re lucky that’s all it is, we could’ve died in there.’
She said nothing back, but her dark eyes took on a distant look. ‘Well, at least Mercury’s being institutionalized,’ she finally said. ‘And we can put an end to all this.’
Striker made an unhappy sound. ‘I’m not so sure we can.’
‘Why not?’
He put down his mug and turned on the couch to face her. ‘The psychology is all wrong.’
‘And since when did you get your doctorate?’
‘Don’t got to be a doctor to figure this one out, Feleesh. Think about it. You read the first message he sent. The game is on, and all that shit. He was basically challenging us, taunting us. Very direct and logical.’
‘So?’
‘So, the next thing we know he’s putting stuff on MyShrine, and it’s all crazy-ass shit. Stuff about the war in Afghanistan and demons and him being the Hammer of God – it’s all paranoid delusions.’
‘Which shows he’s been spiralling out of control.’
‘Fine. Then tell me, how does a guy who’s spiralling out of control maintain enough logic and sanity to lure us into a trap like that? Make no mistake about it – that was set for us, and Sarah Rose was the bait. Those cameras were meant for our deaths, too. There couldn’t have been a better location for it – almost as if he somehow directed Sarah Rose to be there.’
‘Directed?’ Felicia smiled at him. ‘I think you’re giving this guy too much credit.’
‘Am I? There was only one way in and out of that place, Feleesh, and the moment we went in, he trapped us. Ten-inch screws. A solid oak door. Combustible material to accelerate the fire. And through it all he was recording us – does that sound like a man who’s so delusional? Who’s seeing demons everywhere?’
‘He’s a soldier, Jacob. He’s broken from the war.’
‘I don’t buy it. If he came after us, shooting like a madman, fine. But not like this. And that’s to say nothing about the injections. Who knows what he’s been pumping into his victims.’
‘You’re assuming they were injected,’ she said. ‘We have no proof of that yet. No tox tests back. No syringes left on scene. Just a strange mark on Mandy Gill’s neck.’
‘And Sarah Rose’s, too.’
She gave him a tender look. ‘Are you sure about that, Jacob? One hundred per cent sure? The place was dim as hell, and there was a haze in the air, too. Not to mention how distended her body was – she’d been there for over a day, for sure. Maybe two. Then the fire starts and all hell breaks loose. We never really had a chance to assess the body properly.’