Chapter 12 Mercy Whitaker
12 MERCY WHITAKER
In her dreams, Dr. Horn sat in the corner of the room.
He asked her questions. Repeatedly. That patient, tight-lipped smile of his. After a few questions, though, his face would shift into the carved-stone features of Devlin Albright. Mercy found that dream version of him achingly handsome. But then his face would melt into Nance’s softer features. And then the medic who died. A rotation of freckles and bruises and lips and chins that would blur until Mercy opened her eyes again. Her mother was there.
The two of them hadn’t been on good terms in years. Ever since Mercy’s grandmother passed away. They’d had a terrible argument right before the funeral. Her mother had pressed in on her, demanding and suffocating, and Mercy had refused to help her. No matter how many times she’d explained the situation, her mother—consumed by grief—hadn’t been able to accept the answer. The bickering got so bad that her father had stepped in. When he took Mercy’s side, her parents’ relationship had begun to unravel. A few years later they separated. Mercy hadn’t felt guilty about it. Her mother had behaved like a petulant child.
In the dream, Mercy’s mother was speaking with Dr. Horn. That was how she knew she was dreaming. Her mother never visited the hospital. Not once had she come in for a glimpse of how her daughter’s life had unfolded over the past five years. It had to be a dream—in spite of how realistic the colors all looked. How textured and vibrant. Her eyes would fixate on a specific item in the room, trying to assess its reality, and that was when everything faded.
Back to darkness.
“Mercy? You have to eat, my sweet.”
Now the face belonged to her father. Another impossibility. He never came within pecking distance of her mother. The two had not spoken in years. His voice urged her again.
“Go on. Have a bite to eat.”
Mercy felt something in her hand. She frowned down. Pudding. Her hand was in pudding. Cold, mushy, disgusting. A chill ran the length of her spine. She held the hand up for inspection. There were dark streaks. Not unlike blood…
“Get it off! Get it off of me!”
Her father rushed forward. Mercy saw the world fill in around him. She was at Safe Harbor. She could see the small bird emblem, with its protective wing outstretched. She was seated upright, with pillows on either side for stabilization. Her father held her tenderly by the wrist, wiping the streaks away from her upturned palm. When he finished, he set the tray back on her bedside table.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was just trying to be helpful. Mercy? Is that you, sweetie?”
She nodded. Her throat felt raw. She signaled. There was a pitcher nearby. Her father hastily poured water into a cup. Mercy drank. One cup after another after another. Only after she’d drained half the pitcher did her mind connect this small detail back to what had happened.
Water. The disease is in the water! That’s how it spreads….
Horrified, she threw the cup. It narrowly missed her father’s head, striking the wall at the far end of the room. The door opened. Her mother peeked inside. She was not a figment of Mercy’s imagination after all. Her parents were actually in the same room for once.
“What happened?” her mother asked.
“I don’t know,” her father whispered back. “She just threw it.”
“I’m sorry,” Mercy said. “It’s just… the disease. The disease is in the water. That’s how they’re planning to spread it. The water isn’t safe.”
Her parents exchanged glances. Mercy felt a surge of annoyance.
“What? The two of you don’t speak for years and now you can read each other’s minds?”
Her father snorted. Her mother, of course, did not smile.
“You’ve woken up several times,” her father explained. “Every time, you seem to forget that you’ve talked to us before. It’s like you’re drifting in and out. Water has been a common theme.”
Mercy nodded. A mistake. She felt a small spike at her temples. Her mind was very sluggishly attempting to link pieces of memory back together. Water. She remembered the water.
And Devlin.
She had reached for him at the last moment. Then reached for the candle. Shit. Wait. Was that how it had happened? It helped to go back. The two of them had been at a water treatment facility. They had discovered a body inside. A girl. Murdered. Holt had arrived and he’d attempted to kill them both. Devlin had been stabbed. Poisoned. Mercy… was going to save him. She had intended to bring him home, because she was the only one who could save him if he died. Her stunted fingers began to itch wildly. Her stomach twisted with pain.
“… but when I ported, he wasn’t with me. He… he didn’t travel through the waxways. The only reason he wouldn’t travel through the waxways… is if he was dead.”
Mercy finally realized she had been speaking aloud. These weren’t just thoughts. The words were tumbling out into the open air. Her parents exchanged another concerned glance.
“You’ve said all this before, dear. About Devlin. You keep figuring out that he’s dead.”
Mercy frowned. “Nance. He was one of them. He almost stopped me from porting.”
Her parents exchanged a glance.
“You’ve brought this Nance character up a lot as well,” her father whispered.
One link connected to another connected to another. Her thoughts ran ahead of her like a chain spell. She recalled the disease and all its symptoms. How fast it spread to the farms. The town that had been named Running Hills. Someone intentionally spreading a disease.
“I’ve said all of this already?”
Her parents nodded.
“To who?”
“You’ve said it to us,” her mother said. “To the nurses. The doctors. The paladins who came to investigate. You’ve told pretty much anyone who’s walked into the room. It’s like your father said. You drift in and out.”
“Devlin’s dead,” Mercy said stubbornly. “He was killed. Someone has to investigate.”
A nod from her mother. “Oh, Mercy. The paladins took your claim very seriously. They look after their own. When they heard what you said, they sent a full company to Running Hills. Less than an hour after you ported. They found a lot of sick people up there, but when they visited the water treatment facility…”
Mercy nodded. No pain this time.
“They found them. The bodies.”
“No, my sweet.” Her father’s voice sounded so infuriatingly patient. “They didn’t find any bodies at all. Devlin wasn’t there. They did… there were townspeople who claimed you’d sent him away. A few people claimed they heard you fighting. About what happened when you dated.”
Fury pulsed to life inside her. “That’s not true. That didn’t happen.”
“Mercy.” Her mother looked exhausted by the conversation. As if this were all a grand inconvenience to her. “The paladins investigated everything. They couldn’t find anyone named Nance. There was no sign of Devlin. Dr. Horn is worried about you. We’re all so worried. This… this is like before. Remember the story with your cousins? You always said you rescued them….”
Her anger multiplied. A deep and terrible rage.
“Mother, I did rescue them. You know that.”
“I know what you told us, but those boys… they were never the same after. Then there was what happened to your friend at Balmerick. Come on, honey. You have to admit that this kind of drama follows you. It’s not normal. I’m worried. We’re all worried.”
Mercy’s fingers itched again. Her fury had grown with every word. Bright to the point of blinding. She had not imagined the events that had unfolded in Running Hills. She could remember the sight of Holt’s face caved in. The wound in Devlin’s side. The girl’s body and those terrible mutilations. It was all real. She’d seen it with her own eyes.
“You didn’t believe me,” Mercy said. “But you came to me after grandmother’s funeral….”
Her mother’s voice sharpened. “Do not go there.”
The two of them stared each other down. As always, her father intervened.
“Look. Mercy. We believe you. We do. We just want you to feel better. That’s all. Your mind is recovering from trauma. Dr. Horn agrees. We just need you to… rest. Recover from this.”
Her mother’s tone. Her father’s placating. It was all too much. She knew there was nothing she could do from a hospital bed. She’d have to show them her journal. All her notations. If necessary, she’d go back to Running Hills and walk them through what happened. She didn’t know how Nance had moved the bodies that fast but she’d figure it out.
Determined, she swung her legs over one side of the bed. Her parents both started to protest before she felt it. A sharp tug at both wrists. Magical binding appeared. Activated as she attempted to leave the proximity of her bed. They normally reserved these spells—these particular hospital rooms—for dangerous or unstable patients. Mercy stared down in horror.
“What the hell is this? Why am I bound?”
Her father looked away in shame. Too weak to speak the truth. Her mother had always been far better at delivering a blow. “Because you are a suspect, dear.”
“A suspect of what ? You just told me there aren’t any bodies. I reported three people killed—and your response was that no one died. You’re acting like I imagined everything. So tell me, what could I possibly be suspected of doing?!”
“Devlin is missing,” her mother answered. “He never returned to Kathor. You arrived at the waxway station covered in his blood, Mercy. You also have been describing someone else murdering him to anyone who would listen. The paladins believed… you might be conflating the stories. Subconsciously hiding what happened through… through a fiction you’ve created. Mercy, it’s just us here. No one else. You can tell us the truth. If something happened out there, you can tell us.”
Mercy couldn’t help testing the bindings. There was no give to them at all. The magic bit into her wrists like teeth. She felt a spike of claustrophobia before remembering the magic was built around a proximity charm. It would deactivate if she remained where she was supposed to be. She leaned back against the pillows, settling into the center of the hospital bed, and the bindings vanished from sight. It was a shame, really. Because right now she would have loved to strangle the condescending woman standing across the room from her.
Nance Forester had outmaneuvered her. Even her parents were half-convinced of her guilt. She was trying to figure out some way to exonerate herself. “My journal. It has all of the notes I took. About the town. About the disease. I took notes about Nance in there.”
They shook their heads sadly.
“There was no journal with you,” her mother said. “Not when you ported.”
Damn it, Mercy thought. I left my notes in our room. If Nance got rid of the bodies, he would have disposed of the journal, too. Her mind was still tracing back through their final conversation. Picking over the details of what he’d said. There had been so much specificity to his questions. He’d asked her if she heard the echo, which meant he expected an echo. That detail linked to another. What had he called Running Hills?
“It was a trial run,” Mercy said. “He didn’t think I would escape. That’s the only reason he told me anything. He thought I was as good as dead. He… he called Running Hills a trial run. That means they’re planning to do it again. The target would be…”
Her parents traded glances again. She knew how she sounded. Like some kind of deranged conspiracy theorist. But the pieces were lining up now. There was only one logical target. All the towns to the north were identical to Running Hills. A scatter of farms. Small populations. If you were performing a trial, you’d first attempt it on a small scale—then you’d know what to expect on a larger one. There was only one city that fit the profile.
“Kathor. The target is Kathor. I need to speak with Brightsword. We have to send paladins to check every facility that feeds water to the city. There’s still time. We can stop this. It’s not too late.”
Neither of them would meet her eye. She saw hope slipping away. Her father stood just in reach. Close enough that she could slide her hand into his without setting off the proximity spell. That small touch brought her father’s eyes up to hers.
“Father. I’m telling you the truth. I’ve never had a good imagination. You know that.”
He smiled through his heartbreak. “That’s true. You’re not the creative one in the family.”
Her mother remained unmoved. “Briar. She’s sick. Our baby girl is sick. It’s been going on like this for a month now. We can’t just…”
All Mercy’s pulsing anger went cold. She blinked rapidly, as if that might be enough to reset her mind so that she could hear her mother correctly. That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be.
“What did you just say?”
“I said that you are sick, Mercy. I won’t pretend otherwise. You are unwell.”
“Not that. How long? How long did you say I’ve been here?”
Her father squeezed her gently. “It’s been… over twenty days. Longer maybe.”
Mercy sank back into her pillows. Her hand slipped out of her father’s grasp. The room was spinning. Maybe the entire world was spinning. Over twenty days. I’ve been here for over twenty days.
“Get the paladins.”
When her parents didn’t move, Mercy reached for the food tray. She flung it at her mother. It struck the poor woman’s shoulder, knocking her back into the wall. Mercy followed that with a rage-filled scream. The outburst rattled them both. Forced them into a terrified retreat.
She did not care.
They were running out of time. If they didn’t act now—it would be too late. The people she’d vowed to protect were vulnerable. Nance—and whoever he was working with—could already have infiltrated the city. She would not fail in her duty to the city.
A plague is coming.