Chapter One Hundred Twenty

Two weeks later . . .

Corin stared at the hospital room ceiling and wondered if life was worth living, if the benefits of existence outweighed the costs. She didn’t question merely the purpose of her life, but that of all life in general. All the pain. All the suffering. Was there a point to any of it?

She had survived, true. She had refused to die and had won the day. The police had rescued Sammy and the rest of Derrick’s harem from the compound, after Mr. Dantonio had contacted animal control agents about humanely tranquilizing the compound’s four-legged praetorian guard. Her little sister now occupied the hospital room’s other bed, having suffered no physical harm but enough psychological damage that it took her three days to speak. Sometimes, Sammy still seemed to be walking in a sort of sick fugue state, but Corin refused to let herself succumb to a similar melancholia.

She had nearly lost the baby during her own struggle for survival, but through some twisted miracle, the Gladiator’s seed still clung to life. It was young enough that abortion was on the table, and she couldn’t see herself raising a child conceived in such a dark place. But terminating the pregnancy and choosing whether or not a baby deserved to exist seemed too close to something Dr. Derrick would have done. Adoption perhaps. Childbirth couldn’t be any worse than what she’d already been through.

And she hated to admit it, but she was starting to enjoy a little pain.

A voice like honey said, “I hear you’re getting a new foot, kiddo.”

With a small smile, she pressed the button to raise her bed. Baxter Kincaid stood in the entrance to her hospital room, another arrangement of flowers in his arms. He wore a Pink Floyd T-shirt and camouflage shorts, topped off with his trilby hat and mane of curly golden hair. One of the many bright spots of the past two weeks had been the frequent visits from various members of the team who helped locate the Gladstone compound, especially Detective Ferrera and Baxter.

“You didn’t have to bring me more flowers, Mr. Kincaid.”

“I’m sorry, young lady, but due to some copyright exclusions they have legally removed the mister from out in front of my name. I’m just the Bax, man. Plus, I feel like I should come bearing gifts more often, not just for you but for everyone in general. Which brings me back to my question. Are you receiving a special gift soon?”

Thinking of the prosthetic, Corin looked down at her blankets and the fall of the fabric where her foot should have been. It was strange; she could still feel it. There were moments when she was able to forget.

She said, “You heard right. The Director of the Shepherd Organization stopped by yesterday and said that he had a connection at DARPA who had secured a cutting edge prosthetic for me.”

“It’s good to have friends in high places. You’re going to be back on your feet in no time.”

Corin felt the teardrops growing heavy behind her lids. “I don’t know that I’ll ever find the strength to stand again.”

As he placed the flowers on a side table beside an array of other gift-shop purchases, Baxter said, “I don’t buy that for a second. Kid as tough as you will be doing triathlons a year from now.”

Changing the subject before her thoughts could venture into dangerous territory, she said, “Detective Ferrera was here earlier. She told me that you used to be her partner in the homicide division. I asked why you quit to become a PI, but she didn’t have an answer.”

“Was there a question for me in there somewhere?”

“I’m asking. Why?”

Baxter cocked an eyebrow and said, “I heard you broke off your engagement. Same question to you.”

“The girl Blake wanted to marry died out there in the woods. And the girl who came back in her place doesn’t want to marry someone like Blake. Your turn.”

Pulling over a chair, Baxter said, “I left the SFPD because I was racking up too many debts I could never pay back.”

“Like gambling debts?”

“No, more like debts of honor. Too many victims whose killers didn’t meet justice. Too many families who didn’t find closure. The brass were happy with passing a fifty percent clearance rate. Some cases we couldn’t solve. Some we solved but didn’t have the evidence to prosecute, which is basically the same as not knowing who did it at all. I saw a better alternative and struck out on my own.”

“Did you ever kill anyone on the job, Mr. Kincaid?”

“That’s a rather bold question.”

“I’ve learned that life’s too short not to be who you really are and not say what’s really on your mind. I’ve kept my mouth shut long enough.”

“Just curious, but why do you want to know?”

“Is there any kind of client confidentiality with private investigators?”

“Well, you’re not actually my client. And no, I’m licensed with the state of California and governed by the Private Investigators Act, which means I’m duty bound to report any criminal activity past or present to the proper authorities.”

“So if I told you about something I had done in the past that was illegal, you’d have to tell the cops?”

“That’s right. But if you told me about some hypothetical situation, just a mental exercise, then I’d simply assume you were seeking wisdom from an elder.”

“Okay, I think.” She paused and considered how to phrase her question. “Hypothetically speaking, if an older sibling had taken lives in the past in order to protect her sister, would she be any better than Derrick and his demented brother? I mean, how do you put a value on life? How do you justify killing, no matter the circumstance? Is that older sister any better than the Gladstone brothers?”

Baxter’s expression grew serious. “Define better. It’s not about who we are or what we’ve done, but rather who we choose to be. Transcending our own sinful natures is a road we can’t walk alone.”

“I don’t have the energy for a God talk right now, Mr. Kincaid. So just let me guess, your particular religion or church is the right one with all the answers?”

“I don’t believe in religions. I believe in relationships. And I personally feel that I’ve learned how to form a relationship with the Source of everything—to commune with the one uncreated being who resides beyond space and time.”

“I don’t know if I believe in all that.”

“Neil deGrasse Tyson—you believe in him, right?—once said, ‘The atoms of our bodies are traceable to stars that manufactured them in their cores and exploded these enriched ingredients across our galaxy, billions of years ago. We are atomically connected to all atoms in the universe. We are not figuratively, but literally, stardust.’”

“What does that have to do with God?”

“We all have stardust in us. The light of the Universe. Tyson is an agnostic, and so that may not be the same kind of cool to him as it is to me. But the more I learn about science, the more I’m secured in my faith. I hear him saying that we are in the universe, but the Universe is also in us. We all hold the light of the source of creation. That’s a scientific fact. We just need to open ourselves up to it. Surrender to it. Let your let shine, baby girl. You just have to lower your defenses and pick up what the Universe is laying down.”

“What about tsunamis, earthquakes, disease? How can a loving ‘Universe’ allow all that to happen?”

“Let me answer that quandary with another. Where does your hope come from, Corin?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Would you like to?”

She shook her head in confusion. “Like to what?”

“Understand the question.”

“I guess so.”

“How much time do you have?”

Corin slowly glanced around the room for effect, sat up in her bed, and replied, “I’m not going anywhere for a long time.”

With a grin, Baxter pulled out his cell phone, activated a recording app, and placed the device between them. She arched her brows, and he said, “Do you mind if I record this conversation? You know, for posterity purposes. I have a feeling I may say some pretty cool shiznit.”

~~*~~