173

Lind closed his eyes and tried to focus, conscious of every sound in the room. He could hear Caity breathing from where she sat, facing him, on a chair by the TV set. He could hear the toilet running in the bathroom, and trucks speeding past on the highway outside.

The motel room was dark. The bed was soft and comfortable. The whole place was as quiet as could be. He’d fallen asleep in louder situations than this. Brighter. He’d slept practically standing up in an ice-cold shower with a full pot of coffee running through him. This should be easy.

But it wasn’t. Lind kept seeing the attacker. The look on his face as he’d strangled Caity Sherman. The bruises on her neck. The ragged sound she’d made when he’d thrown her against the wall. When he’d turned to come after Lind.

Lind tried to steady his breathing. Listened to the rush of traffic and tried to clear his mind. He waited. Nothing happened. “It’s not working,” he said, opening his eyes. “I can’t fall asleep.”

Caity frowned in the dim light. “It’s a bad idea,” she said. “I told you we should go to the cops.”

Lind shook his head and lay back again. “No cops.”

Caity didn’t say anything. He heard her stand up, felt her weight on the bed as she lay down beside him. She hesitated a moment, and then wrapped her arm around him. Lind stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“Hush,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

Lind started to protest. She shushed him. He forced himself to close his eyes and felt her warmth close to his body, her hand tracing paths on his arm. He listened to her breathing and the sound was hypnotic. He felt himself slipping away.

Then he was under.

HE WAS IN THE DESERT. Riding in the Humvee, headed out on patrol. Showtime in the driver’s seat. Mini-Me and Slowpoke in the back. Hang Ten in the turret. Everyone laughing, Showtime saying something about Hang Ten’s Hawaiian girlfriend. It was loud in the Humvee. It was bright and hot outside. The big truck jostled over the bumpy terrain. Lind sat in the shotgun seat and stared out the window at the desert. Let the truck carry him along.

This isn’t the right vision. This isn’t where you need to be. You need to keep moving. You need to get out of here.

The convoy slowed to enter the city. Lind stared out the window at the suspicious-eyed men who watched the Humvee pass. Soon, he knew, one of them would push down on a detonator button. Soon the whole world would explode. He didn’t want to be here when it did.

Lind forced himself to close his eyes. Steadied his breathing and tried to drown out the noise of the truck. Tried to picture the hotel room and Caity, and gradually the rumble of the Humvee’s engine faded away.

Lind opened his eyes again. Heard screaming. The drone of more engines. He looked around and found he was lying down. Realized he was aboard the army transport plane. Still not right.

Someone screamed again. The plane jostled with turbulence, and the screaming intensified. The engines roared. Lind closed his eyes. Get me out of here.

“Hello there.”

Lind opened his eyes. Quickly closed them again as his heart jolted up-tempo. The man was there, smiling down at him under that blue baseball cap. He saw Lind’s expression and laughed.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’m a friend of yours, soldier.”

Lind looked around. Saw blue sky, heard traffic in the distance, the whir of automatic doors sliding open and closed behind him. He was outside a hospital. The veterans’ hospital.

“It’s a big day for you,” the man told him. “We’re taking you home. What do you think of that?”

Lind stared at the man. Who are you? his mind screamed. Tell me who you are. His body wouldn’t respond. He couldn’t make himself speak.

Lind followed the man down the sidewalk toward a waiting Cadillac. The man helped him into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt, grinning at him the whole time. Then he circled around to the driver’s-side door.

This was where the vision usually ended. Lind had climbed into this Cadillac a thousand times in his dreams. He’d never before seen where the Cadillac took him. Today had to be different.

Lind forced his eyes to stay open. He fought off the blackness that encroached like a blanket, the panic that lurked just beyond. Every moment he stayed in the dream, the panic got worse, the blackness more inviting. Lind fought it off, desperate. He gripped the armrests and made himself focus. He thought about the people he’d killed, and the man who’d made him do it. He thought of Caity Sherman, waiting for him in the motel room. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay conscious. The blackness came for him. The panic clawed at his mind like a wave.

Then, all at once, it receded. The blackness disappeared. The panic was gone. Lind sat in the passenger seat of the Cadillac as the man pulled away from the curb. He watched the road. Watched the man. Looked for any sign, any clue. He clung to the vision and searched its edges for something, anything that could help him.

Then he saw.