Seemingly without being aware of it, she reached up a hand to rub the nape of her neck, her unusual blue eyes remaining fixed on his face. “There are even some people who claim that if we can ever learn how to . . . understand, really understand energy, we’ll find that it really does make up most of our universe. Even, perhaps, that part of us we choose to call our souls.”
For just an instant, Archer was tempted to follow that interesting tangent—at least, he hoped it was a tangent—but then he shook off the temptation. Carefully, he said, “I’ve never heard of energy influencing people to kill.”
“We have,” Hollis said simply. She appeared to realize she was rubbing her neck, and stopped, clasping her hands together on the table before her with a fleeting frown.
“Some of that weird and crazy you mentioned?”
She nodded. “Up until now, what we’ve seen has been . . . relatively minor. People manipulating energy to affect other people. Generally one-on-one.”
Archer blinked. “That’s possible?”
“Very possible. There are scientists studying it all over the world, with various . . . implications in mind. But actual cases we’ve had to deal with have been, as I said, relatively minor.”
“And what’s here isn’t minor.”
“Definitely not. We’re talking about energy capable of affecting the thoughts and actions of human beings. People’s minds are not that easily influenced, at least not directly, not like this. Not to do something so drastic and horrific as kill, especially kill family. But the energy that appears to be trapped in this valley is very unusual, as I said. And becoming stronger, more intense. It’s likely to affect a great many people as it does that. With luck, most of the effects will be minor: temper tantrums, fist fights, arguments. If we’re not so lucky, more people are going to die.”
Since Archer appeared stunned, DeMarco spoke up then to say, “We believe it’s what’s also disrupting radios and cell service; that’s a common enough occurrence with any spike in electricity, any energy surge. As you said, even sunspots can affect communications. Affecting electrical equipment takes a stronger surge, a more intense energy field. The most sensitive and sophisticated would be affected first. Like computer equipment.”
“First?” Archer said uneasily.
“We’re afraid the intensifying energy could have an increasing and even cumulative effect on equipment. And on people, as Hollis said.”
“This is nuts.” He shook his head. “Not weird or crazy, just nuts. Insane.”
Quietly, Hollis said, “More insane than Sam Bowers blowing his brains out this morning for no apparent reason? More insane than Leslie Gardner slaughtering her family—and then just going to sleep?”
Archer stared at her.
“There are more things in heaven and earth,” she murmured. Then she added in a stronger voice, “The Special Crimes Unit has encountered a lot of weird and crazy, as we’ve told you. That’s one of the reasons the unit was formed, one of the reasons the FBI, not known for fanciful beliefs, far less insane ones, was convinced the unit was necessary.”
That reminder of something official and solid he could understand and hold on to seemed to steady Archer.
“The FBI. Right. So—how does law enforcement fight something like . . . energy?”
“It depends on the source, but generally energy is fought with a different kind of energy, stronger or more focused, maybe more under control. In our case, it’s fought by law enforcement officers and others who understand energy and who have been trained to use their abilities to deal with it.”
“Their abilities?” He felt himself going adrift again.
Hollis glanced around the table, at her partner, at Galen, and lastly at Chief Deputy Katie Cole, who was studying her thumbnail very intently. Hollis smiled faintly, ruefully, then met Archer’s suspicious gaze directly.
“We in the SCU have a lot of tools in our investigative toolbox,” she told him calmly. “We’ve all been well trained. So we have the usual law enforcement skill with weapons and observation and interrogation techniques. Defensive driving. Knowledge of law. Some of us are profilers. Most of us, really. We have some . . . fairly esoteric skills for cops. Reese is a pilot. I’m an artist. We can both pick a lock with a certain amount of skill, and Galen can disarm most security systems—in the dark.”
Archer looked at the other two very calm men, frowning, then back at Hollis. “Okay,” he said slowly.
Her smile widened just a bit at his wariness. “We’re cops, bottom line, just like you. We were all trained by the FBI, standard Bureau training as a solid base, and if we have more unusual tools for the toolbox than most agents, it’s because our unit chief saw the potential years ago, and decided there was talent being wasted. So he went out and found us. People with abilities that could help investigate crimes and catch criminals, of course, as well as abilities to deal with things most cops or federal agents were never trained to deal with.”
Archer zeroed in. “Unusual tools. Exactly what sort of unusual tools are you talking about? Specifically?”
Hollis sent a pained glance toward her partner. “I don’t dance around a subject well, do I?”
“Not your strong suit,” he agreed with a faint smile.
“Agent—” Archer began.
“Hollis. We’re very informal. Though if you forget names, Agent is fine too.” Her glance sort of lifted away from him suddenly and seemed to be fixed on something in the distance, the very blue eyes going even brighter, almost luminous, narrowing. “We don’t mind,” she added absently.
“Okay, then. Hollis, what the hell are you talking about?” His voice might have been a bit sharper than he’d intended.
She blinked, looked at him, then smiled. “Sorry. Things are about to get even crazier, so I couldn’t really dance around it even if it were my strong suit. Sheriff, the Special Crimes Unit is made up, mostly, of psychics. We’re all cops, we’re all trained, we’re all experienced, and we’ve been working with law enforcement agencies all over the country, particularly here in the southeast, for quite a few years now.”
Archer opened his mouth, but Hollis went on before he could say a word.
“You talked to our unit chief, Special Agent Bishop; if you want to call him back he can furnish you with a list of references as long as your arm, other sheriffs and chiefs of police and detectives, city cops and county cops and state cops, quite a number of them within a few hundred or so miles of Prosperity, all of whom will be happy to furnish testimonials or just talk to you awhile about their own experiences with . . . strange and crazy.”
After a long moment, Archer said slowly, “I always heard my grandmother had the Sight. Never knew her, though.”
“We’ve found that sort of knowledge or awareness common, in these mountains especially,” Hollis said. “They’re old mountains, and people have been here a long time. Long enough to accept that . . . there are more things in heaven and earth than they teach us about in school.”
After another long moment, Archer said with commendable calm, “You didn’t really change the subject with all this, did you? It’s still about—energy.”
“It’s still about energy.” She frowned briefly, then said, “I hate parlor tricks, but . . . Any minute now one of your deputies is going to come rushing in here to tell you that two more people have been killed. Inexplicably. Horribly. Strangely.”
“How do you know that?”
“I felt it. Just a few minutes ago. Two people dead. And . . . a killer you’ll find inexplicable.”
Archer opened his mouth, beginning to look angry, but was prevented from saying what he obviously wanted to when a deputy rushed in, face white, and burst out with words that tumbled over themselves in a hurry to get out.
“Sheriff—we’ve got another one. At least it has to be— In that new development on the outskirts of town. A real estate agent shot and killed the couple he was showing a house to. A neighbor heard the shots and went to see and—and the guy’s just sitting on the front porch, smiling. Like nothing happened. The couple is dead in the kitchen. The real estate guy’s gun is on the kitchen counter. And—and he’s just sitting on the front porch. Smiling.”
NINE