Devil's Advocate (The X-Files: Origins #2)(43)

Dana looked down at her hands, at her fingers twisting and knotting together in her lap. She could hear her father’s voice in her head; it was easy to imagine his anger and his disappointment. Telling him about this might snap that fragile line that tethered her to him. She twisted around and looked at the clock.

“Beyond Beyond is open,” she said. “Let’s go over there. We can have tea and talk about it.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s okay, you go on without me. I’m not much in the mood for an astral journey or a cup of stinkweed tea.”

“It’s not like that,” protested Dana, though she knew it pretty much was like that. “We should go talk to Corinda. And my sister is probably there, too. I need to tell them all this stuff.”

Ethan looked at his watch. “I … can’t,” he said. “I have a mountain of homework.”

“Are you serious?”

He looked wretched. “Yes, I am. I’ve got a paper to write for history that I should have started three days ago. If I don’t hand it in tomorrow, I could drop to an A-minus. Besides…”

“What?”

“This ESP stuff can’t put a criminal behind bars. I mean, I know that it’s a thing, but you can’t measure it or rely on it the way you can with hard science.” Ethan looked uncomfortable. “I don’t even know what to think about this, Dana. This is all so much, y’know? Mass murders and religious cults and psychic visions? It’s … it’s…” He stopped and shook his head.

“Believe me, Ethan, I understand. I’m weirded out, too. More than you because this is happening to me.”

“Hey, I know, and I didn’t mean to say that you were…”

He fished for the right word and couldn’t come up with it. Dana smiled and touched his arm. “No, I get it. It’s cool. I mean, it’s not cool, but we’re cool.”

He looked relieved. “Listen, I believe you even if I don’t understand it.”

Dana said, “Hmmm. That actually gives me an idea. I need to go ask someone who might understand this stuff.”

“Who?” asked Ethan.

She did not explain. Dana folded the drawings and took a step toward the stairs, but Ethan caught her arm.

“Look, Dana, if you’re pissed at me,” he said gently, “I’m sorry.”

She gave him a small smile. “I’m not mad. Not at you, anyway. I’m scared about this stuff, and I’m absolutely furious that someone is doing this. I’m confused, and I hate being confused. There has to be an answer, and you said it—we don’t really know what we’re doing. We can’t go to anyone in authority with this because, first, you’ll be grounded forever for showing this stuff to me. Second, your uncle Frank could lose his job. And third, they’d never believe us. You know I’m right.”

“Okay, but who can we talk to?”

“Not ‘we,’ Ethan. Me. I have a friend who might be able to look places no one else can. Maybe she can lead us to the evidence you want.”

He paused. “Who?”

“Corinda Howell. She owns—”

“Beyond Beyond,” he finished for her. “She’s that nutty psychic lady, right?” Ethan stood his ground for five seconds. Then he sighed, nodded, and stepped aside. “Call me?” he asked. “Let me know what she says?”

Dana paused, nodded. “Sure.”

She lingered at the foot of the stairs. Both of them started to say something, stopped. The moment held and then stretched, and Dana felt that something was supposed to happen, but she didn’t know what it was. Ethan seemed to think so, too, but his smile was turning into a plastic mask that looked as awkward as her own face felt. Was he starting to lean forward a little?

“Um … see you,” she said, stepping back nervously.

“Sure. Um,” he murmured. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

She stood there a moment longer and then turned and hurried up the stairs, certain that her face was bright red. A man in a black suit was coming down the steps and stood aside to let her pass. She barely registered him.

Had that almost been a kiss?

Yes.

Maybe.

She didn’t know.

If it was, she’d screwed it up.

“Idiot,” she told herself.

She thought about Ethan’s smile for blocks and blocks.





CHAPTER 40

Craiger, Maryland 5:31 P.M.

Clouds covered the sky, and it was already getting dark. The streetlights came on early, and Dana kept to the lighted side of Main Street, avoiding the open black mouths of alleys. A homeless man was squatting in one alleyway under a shelter made of moldy cardboard, rags, and splintered boards. He held out a cup, and although in daylight Dana would have stopped and given him some coins, tonight she said, “I’m sorry,” and hurried on. The man yelled something as she passed, and she was half a block away before her mind translated it from his wine-soaked guttural.

“God protect you.”

It stopped her and she turned, looking back. The man sat with his face in his hands, rocking forward and back.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Then she turned and hurried toward the lighted storefront two blocks away that was Beyond Beyond.