San Francisco Legacy House
Kat's waltz drifted into the kitchen from the distant drawing room. Rachel
paused for a moment as she heard the strains from die Fledermaus. Taking a sip of
her coffee, she smiled, then continued to argue her point. "William, if you don't do
something, you are going to be naming a new precept for this House within the
week," she said. "Derek's heart simply cannot keep functioning around that thing
that's in there... whatever it is. You've got to order him back to the hospital to have
the surgery."
Standing at the window with his hands shoved in his pants pockets, William
Sloan watched a sail boat run before the distant swells. The day was low and gray,
like his mood. "I can't do that, doctor," he said as he turned to face the group
seated around the table. "God knows... I wish I could, but I can't."
"But you were going to order him to the hospital for tests," said Alex with a
hint of desperation.
"Yes," the precept agreed, "when I could tell him to take the tests or face the
consequences of a reprimand or censure. How do I tell a man who is knowingly
looking death square in the face that if he doesn't obey my orders he'll receive a
demerit in the Council's grade book? I hardly think that concerns him at the
moment."
"Then what does concern him?" Rachel asked. "I'm a psychiatrist, but I
don't understand the mentality. Derek's a fighter... surgery is a way for him to
fight."
Sitting at the end of the table, Nick looked up from his sports page. "This is
his way of fighting," he quietly said. "Don't you see? He's meeting death here and
now on his own terms... not cut to pieces and drugged senseless, or plugged into a
bunch of machines that don't prolong living, but only prolong dying." Turning the
page of his paper, he glanced toward the elder precept. Their eyes met for a
moment in understanding before Sloan turned back toward the window, and his
own memories.
Suddenly, the pager-like device, clipped to Rachel's belt chirped a series of
frantic beeps. "It's Derek!" said the doctor, jumping to her feet as her chair toppled
backwards. She dashed for the door with everyone close behind.
* * *
Nick was the first to reach the main staircase and was halfway to the landing
before he realized that Derek was standing there before him, resting against the
corner post. "Derek!" he said, tripping up the remaining steps.
"Where's the fire?" asked the precept as the others arrived close on the
younger man's heels.
"You're the fire," said Nick harshly. "Rachel's alarm went off. We thought
you were in trouble."
"You mean?... I see...." His eyebrow rose in understanding. "You have me
bugged."
"Actually... it's the monitors that are bugged," Rachel explained as she
slowly climbed the stairs. "When you removed the pulse sensor and the EKG leads,
it alerted my pager to a cessation of heartbeat... cardiac arrest? Nick... help our
precept back to bed, please," she ordered as she pushed her hair off her face and
her sleeves back up to where they belonged.
Everyone immediately saw Derek's hackles rise, even as his hand, which
clutched a piece of paper, flitted toward his chest. He lowered his head to drive his
focus inward. Nick reached for his elbow as the older man swayed slightly.
"Dammit! Nick," Derek said quietly, without raising his head or opening his
eyes. "Back off!... Everyone."
The former SEAL dropped his hand and stepped away to lean against the
railing, but his eyes never left his friend's strained face.
Alex grasped Sloan's cardigan as he began to climb the stairs. She could feel the
precept's angry concern as strongly as if it had been an explosive shock wave.
"Guys," she whispered. She shook her head no as three pairs of eyes turned toward
her. With her hand she gestured for them to wait. Now was not the moment to
harangue Derek or even touch him. His entire concentration was focused on
quelling the racing flutter in his chest. She could feel it in her own, and if it
frightened her, what must he be enduring?
They waited and watched in silence. Suddenly, with a deep sigh and a small
half-smile, Derek raised his head. All saw the beads of perspiration that dotted his
forehead. "There," he said finally. "I'm sorry. My 'frightened bird' and I had to
have a discussion," he explained with a breathless chuckle. "My comparison for
Kat... a trapped, frightened bird... quite accurate.
"Alex... I have some research to keep you busy," he said as he handed the
rumpled piece of paper to Rachel, who passed it down to her friend. "This letter
was waiting for me.... It's dated April thirtieth. Read it aloud, please."
Nick caught the flicker of Sloan's eye and moved in to steady Derek, who
accepted the support without objection, but otherwise remained rooted in place.
"Derek... back to bed," William ordered.
"When I'm ready," was the unwavering reply. "Alex?"
The young woman glanced at Rachel, then at the senior precept, who nodded
his grudging consent. She began to read:
My dear Dr. Rayne:
I have received a warning through the Navaho grapevine that a
'skinwalker', a witch, has his sights set on my life, and perhaps yours,
as well. Doubtless he will use 'corpse poison,' a favored technique. It
seems that we greatly inconvenienced him when you determined that
the plate was from a looted site. The man who sold it to me was
arrested and many more looted and stolen items were found in his
home. That night he was found dead in his jail cell of unknown causes.
The existence of this extremely powerful 'skinwalker' has been
rumored for many years. Everyone is frightened. No one knows
anything. If you should need help, seek out Lila Lolotse at Old Oraibi.
She is very powerful and she now owes you. Some of the items
retrieved from the thief's house were from her family's 'medicine'
bundle, which was stolen about five years ago. For me I fear it is too
late.
Sam Begay
"I've believed for some time that my various problems were somehow tied to
my trip to Santa Fe," explained Derek between breaths, "but I couldn't put the
pieces together. My dreams have been full of spirits, wolves, fire, and red rocks, but
nothing made sense and I couldn't reach any deeper. It wasn't until this... and Kat's
dream," he added wearily.
"Kat's dream?" Sloan asked.
"I'll tell you about it later," said Rachel.
Alex tucked the letter in her sweater pocket, then gathered up her long loose skirt
and started up the stairs. "I'll check on this Lila Lolotse, Navaho
magic, and whatever else comes to mind.... Shouldn't take long," she added as she
brushed her hand across the precept's shoulders. She clung to her world as it
began to reel, but continued on without pause.
Derek reached out for her arm, but felt her flinch. He quickly let go. "Do
that," he said, "but check on Sam Begay, too. See if you can sense anything from
the letter. I've tried, but I can't use my 'Sight'.... It seems to terrify my 'bird'." A
whimsical smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think it's from Begay.
The handwriting is similar, but it doesn't 'feel' like him. There's a letter from him
in the Luna files... with a handwritten P.S..... Find out what you can."
He was fading rapidly, but knew he had to finish, then make it back
upstairs on his own two feet. He also knew that what he was about to say was
going to cause a volcanic eruption. "Nick...," Derek said firmly as he struggled to
put every bit of force and strength he still possessed into his voice. "Get the
chopper in shape. We're leaving for Arizona as soon as we have enough to go on.
Alex... let me know as soon as you find anything," he added.
To his astonishment, there was no eruption... yet. Slowly, he took a deep
breath and turned to gaze up the staircase, which suddenly looked very long.
William slipped to his friend's other side. He knew from the lack of objection
or retort that the momentary bravado had passed. "Doctor... I think your patient is
ready to surrender to your kind attentions."
* * *
Once Sloan and Nick had helped Derek settle into his mountain of pillows,
Rachel began rewiring her patient... her victim, in Derek's mind.
"Kat's playing very well," he commented. "When I can hear her over that beeping device, that is."
"Give me your left hand," the doctor demanded. "You're not diverting me."
"No," replied the precept, placing his hand beneath his right arm.
"You have to have this IV," Rachel retorted. "Now quit playing games. I'm
not in the mood for it. This can feed the solution into your system much more
evenly than I can with injections.... We discussed it all... remember?"
"Can't you put all this junk on one hand?" Derek asked in irritation as he
pulled the oxygen tube below his chin.
Tearing two strips of surgical tape off the roll, Nick exchanged an amused
glance with Sloan as they watched Rachel lunge for the suddenly available left
hand.
"Ow," Derek cried as the doctor inserted the IV needle into his vein.
"Serves you right," she said, snatching the tape from Nick's fingers. "You
can't really think you're going to Arizona.... Your heart won't take it. Now put the
damned air hose back where it belongs... before I put a tube somewhere you really
won't like it." The doctor straightened with a sigh, then reached for her bag. "I'm
going to give you a light tranquilizer. It'll relax you and help you sleep."
"I don't want to sleep... or drift off into 'painted pony' land," said Derek. "I
need to think."
"You need to rest," Rachel snapped.
Sloan stepped closer to be bed. "Can we hold off on that a few minutes?" he
asked. "Since your precept is up to playing truant schoolboy, he's up to talking to
me.
"Derek... tell me about Santa Fe," he firmly requested as he looked down
into his friend's pale face. "What happened there?"
"Not much," he replied. "Pretty mundane... except for the flu."
William reached for a chair and pulled it closer to the bed. "Take me through
it, step by step," he said as he straddled the chair and rested his arms upon its back.
"I flew into Albuquerque, rented a car, drove up to Santa Fe," Derek
explained. "I hit some snow flurries and got in a bit later than planned, so I went
straight to Sam Begay's shop. I took a look at the artifact and verified that it was
almost identical to an item in the collection, which had come from Hovenweep. He
called the authorities. I waited and gave my statement that it was, in all likelihood, a
looted object. Then I went to the hotel, ordered room service, ate while I went
through an investment prospectus and some Legacy files that you had forwarded for
consultation. I caught the ten o'clock news and went to bed."
"Keep going," said Sloan, never taking his eyes from his Derek's face.
Nick slid onto the edge of the bed, while Rachel watched through her lashes
as she carefully filled a syringe from a small bottle. She could tell that Derek's excursion and now this "committee"
meeting was taking its toll.
The precept eyed the object in the her hands with distaste. "I had a dream,"
he continued. "I can't remember what it was, but it woke me up.... I was freezing....
The room was freezing. I took a hot shower, then called the concierge to come up
and fix the heat. Oh... and I ordered some coffee and aspirin from room service. He
brought those and some assorted breakfast items that I hadn't ordered. I know
when he first came that he thought I was crazy because the hotel has a central
heating and air system... all rooms either have heat or all rooms have air
conditioning.... But, when he walked in, the cold air was blowing away." Derek
paused to cough and catch his breath. His chest was feeling heavy.
"Water?" asked Sloan, reaching for the glass on the night stand.
Derek shook his head no. Water wouldn't help a lack of breath.
"Gentlemen," said Rachel, "I think it's time our precept gets some rest."
"No," Derek responded. "William's right.... The key might be in here
somewhere. You need to hear this. I'm OK... I promise." After a moment he
continued. "There were no other rooms to be had, so he brought me a space heater
and I huddled in front of it until I figured a cafe would be open. By that time the flu
had set in... and... perhaps, an allergic reaction. The fan had blasted dust all over
the place.... I remember because the concierge apologized for it."
Nick glanced toward Rachel as Derek laid his head back and sank into his
pillows. He could read the anxiety in her eyes and hands. He felt a helplessness that
verged on physical pain.
Sloan waited, then prompted his friend, "So, you went to look for a cafe?"
Derek looked at the Ruling Precept, but did not raise his head. "Yes," he
said. "I cut through the gardens... out the back way to a path. I ended up just off the
plaza at a place called 'Irene's'... nice lady... ex-actress, but a native to the Old
Town... good cold concoction. She might be one to talk to... a gold mine of gossip."
"What then? Did you meet anyone besides the concierge and this Irene?"
William asked.
"No," Derek responded, then frowned in thought. "Yes... I did. What with
the cold air and the flu, I got winded and had to stop to catch my breath. A cop
stopped... thought I was drunk.... But before...." He hesitated and pulled the oxygen
tube away from his face.
"Derek... leave it alone," Rachel ordered in that no-nonsense tone that only
mothers can manage.
The glint of a smile crept across his face as he put the cannula back in place.
"You know...," he said suddenly, "when I was on the path, I thought I was being
followed, but it was a stray dog."
"Are you sure?" Sloan asked.
"I saw something in the shadows that looked like an animal... too big for a
cat... didn't move like a raccoon or opossum," Derek explained as he envisioned
that dark, wooded path. "But... it was odd... I suppose there could have been
someone...." He shook his head and cursed the vagueness of his memory.
"What then?"
"I talked to Irene... she fixed me her cold remedy... and showed me the
newspaper account of the arrest. I tried to eat... then I went up to the roof and sat in
the sun for a while. After that I headed back for my car at the hotel. I drove to
Albuquerque and caught my plane."
"Didn't you stop at that church?" said Nick.
"The Loretto Chapel... yes," Derek added tiredly. "It felt good in there, but
something... a voice... I can't remember."
"That's enough," said Rachel as she stepped forward to empty her syringe
into the intravenous solution.
Sloan reached over to touch Nick's shoulder, then nodded toward the door.
Rachel saw the gesture, closed her bag, and followed the younger man into the
hallway. "It'll take a few minutes to kick in," she said before she closed the door
behind her.
"And what's happened since?" he asked. "How have you really felt?"
Derek remained silent, debating how much to reveal.
"No games... no jousting," William said quietly when there was no response,
"just the truth."
Derek sighed. "Like shit," he confessed as he rubbed his hand across his
aching eyes. "Fatigue, and beyond fatigue... no breath... dizziness... can't eat...
headaches... chills... like the Hong Kong flu... remember that? But it won't go
away. Dreams of fire and chants... an eagle... teeth... blood... a lightning struck tree
on a cliff... the chapel with shattering stained glass. All just fragments that get
blasted apart then jumbled into some sort of insane jigsaw puzzle. Nothing makes
sense... brain won't work," he said through an increasing drowsiness.
"I'm surprised you can tell." Sloan chuckled without really feeling the humor.
However, he achieved his purpose as a smile flitted across his friend's lips. Slowly,
William pushed himself up, returned his chair to its proper place, then walked over
to sit on the edge of the bed. Studying his ring, he said softly, "I think you should
listen to Rachel. Let them do the surgery.... See what's in there."
"I won't have my chest opened again," Derek responded. "It's not much fun,
as I recall."
"This trip scares the hell out of me," admitted the senior precept, still without
looking at his friend. "You're not up to it... and we both know it," he said, finally
looking at Derek.
"I won't lie in this bed waiting to die.... I have to fight for my life... and if I
am going to die, I'd rather be out there doing what I do, than lying here or in some
hospital."
"I understand, but wouldn't surgery be fighting?"
"The thing in there is cold and hard, but it feels and responds like something
alive. When I've probed it and when Kat touched it with her mind, it defended
itself. I think, if I had surgery, it would kill me before the first incision," Derek said
flatly. "Don't worry, William, I'll find the strength from somewhere.... I always
have, haven't I?.... Trust me.... Are you in?"
William let out an exhausted, mirthless chuckle. "I seem to remember a time
or two when you've come up on the short end of the stick.... Of course, I'm in. I
wouldn't miss it... but do me a favor... sleep on it. Then I'll back whatever decision
you make."
Derek nodded as he drifted off. "...so cold," he mumbled, "...if I could
lie down for just a little while."
Rising, the Ruling Precept sadly glanced at the monitor with its erratic
green line and irregular beeps. "I know," he whispered as he tucked the
blankets around his friend's shoulders.
With a sickness in the pit of his stomach, Sloan walked over to check each
window and close the brocade drapes. As he paused to look out
across the lawn to the gray waters beyond, his eye caught movement in the swaying
top of a cedar tree. He squinted, trying to make out what it was. It was so large...
too large for a crow or a hawk, and the gulls couldn't perch. Damn, he was getting
old. His distance sight was going. He rubbed his eyes and tried again. "It's a
damned eagle," he marveled. "Boy, are you lost."
