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"You know, you're no longer allowed to visit here, Owen," Lucius advised me. We were in the Appleton parking lot, getting ready to leave. "Every time you do, we lose patients. At this rate you'll put us out of business in no time."
"I'm really sorry. . . ."
"I'm seriously thinking of having a restraining order drawn up," the doctor said with grave sternness. I suddenly felt like I was going to puke. He thumped me on the arm. "Ha. I'm just kidding, boy. Relax. It comes with the business."
Joan shook her head. "Forgive my husband. His idea of humor's a little skewed." Her sprained wrist had already been wrapped. She held it up. "But then again, I just took some Lortabs, so everything seems a little funny."
"Seriously, I wish we would have known about poor Carlos sooner. We kept him alive for all these years, when all we were doing was prolonging his suffering."
"You did the best you could," I responded. "There's no way you could have known."
"No medical textbook I know of has an entry for what crawled out of his head, I'm afraid," Lucius answered, "unless we write it ourselves. Maybe now you understand why when it comes to interviewing survivors, Joan and I can be a little . . ."
"Pushy?" I interjected.
"One way to look at it, I suppose," he chuckled. "Listen, I do want to help you. When Marty Hood first joined MHI, I did one of those pushy interviews. Here's the file. Maybe something in there will come in handy."
I took it from him. "Isn't this like privileged information?"
He smiled. "My Hippocratic Oath goes out the window when you sign up to help the Old Ones. I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire."
Holly joined us. "We're ready to go. We took the body down to the basement like you asked. None of the other patients saw us."
"Good, good . . ." Joan said. "Thank you, dear."
Lucius smiled sadly. "This place was built eighty years ago to house tuberculosis patients. We have an excellent crematorium. Morbid, yet so very effective. Necessary, given the things that poor man was exposed to. Don't worry, we'll say a few words over him."
"Thank you for your help," I told them sincerely.
"We're always here to help, and we only ask one thing . . ." Joan said. Agent Franks, apparently tired of our good-byes, began to honk the horn. She groaned. "Don't ever bring that man onto our property, ever again."
"Deal. I don't like him, don't trust him, and the sooner we're done with this, the sooner I can get rid of him."
"Hmm . . . Franks is obnoxious. How many people can you fit in that crematorium at one time?" Holly batted her eyes innocently. We all looked at her. "What?"
"Anything helpful?" Holly asked.
I handed the file across to the back seat so she could see it. "Well, Doctor Nelson figured Hood was driven, obsessed with success, and couldn't tolerate failure. As a boy, he was deeply traumatized by watching his parents' deaths, and was fixated on preventing that kind of thing from happening to others."
"Sounds like a pretty typical Hunter," Trip said.
"Yeah, I suppose." Fanatical and traumatized by something and doing their best to protect the world. "Hell, I bet he fit right in."
"Except for this part where Doc says that Hood had a genius-level intellect. No offense, but I'd say most of us don't set the bar that high," Holly pointed out.
Trip responded. "I went to college."
"I took an IQ test once. It said I'm all sorts of smartified," I joked.
"Okay, so Trip got through school by catching footballs and you beat up some nerds for a certificate. But according to this file, this Hood guy's brain is wired like Stephen Hawking . . . Like an evil Albert Einstein or something. This is one smart dude we're talking about, with real obsession problems, and now he's locked onto you."
"He's smart, but I'm no slouch," I said. Franks snorted. Man, I hate him.
"Just because nobody will play against you in Trivial Pursuit anymore doesn't mean you're a match for this guy, Z," Holly pointed out.
"That's just because Julie's always on his team, and she knows all the artsy questions," Trip muttered.
Holly continued. "What I'm getting at is that we've underestimated this guy. When we first learned about him, we thought we were just facing another bad guy, another monster. But this one's different. He's a former Hunter, so he already knows how we roll. He's patient enough to fake his death and plot craziness for decades. This man outwitted Earl Harbinger and all the Shacklefords, all while right under their noses the whole time. We already knew about the cult, but we've underestimated their leader. The idea of a spy inside MHI seemed stupid to me at first, but this Hood's some sort of chess master, and he's thinking ahead. This man will not stop and he'll pull out all the stops. We've got a lot bigger problem on our hands than we thought."
She was right. The car was quiet while I mulled that over.
"What do you think, Franks?" Holly asked. I was surprised that she would actually try to involve him.
Franks had to have realized by now that I had somehow read Carlos' mind, but he didn't indicate that he cared one way or the other. He was quiet for a long time, shaded eyes staring out the window. "I'm not paid to think."
"Helpful, ain't he?"
Franks turned forward. "But . . . I doubt you're ruthless enough to survive." He went back to the window.
We drove the rest of the way in silence.