Seizure Page 8

  Adrian knelt before one box and began unrolling a strip of packing tape from a dispenser. "I was just packing up the last of our things."

  "You're moving?" Kent asked.

  Adrian nodded. "This house has too many memories. I can't stay here without thinking of him. Vic provided well for me. I can buy a new house and live comfortably somewhere else. Maybe I'll go back home to Tucson."

  Kent got to his knees beside her. "Mind if I help?"

  "No, go right ahead. Victor's books still need to be put away."

  A stack of paperback novels waited beside an empty cardboard box. Kent gathered them up and began arranging them in the bottom of the box, one by one.

  "Adrian, I wanted to stop by to see if you needed anything, but I also wanted to ask you a few questions about Victor."

  She looked up. "Vic? Well, of course, but why?"

  "I'm just curious. Did Vic ever suffer from blackouts or fainting spells?"

  Adrian shook her head. "No, of course not."

  "Did he ever have a stroke or heart attack or an injury to the head?"

  "Nope."

  "Ever get brain surgery?"

  Adrian looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "No."

  "Do you know of any connection between Vic and a fashion model named Cindy Diamond?"

  Adrian stopped applying tape to the box she was working on. She fixed him with a hard glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Kent caught her expression. "Oh, no, no, I don't mean like that. It's just that...well, Diamond died a few days ago in a car crash in circumstances similar to Vic's. I'm just trying to understand how it could have happened, and I was hoping to shed some light on it. I was wondering if there was any relation between Vic and Diamond, something common to both of them like an illness or geographic location, that's all."

  She put down her tape. "Does this have anything to do with his death?"

  "I think so."

  She went back to taping her box shut, although at a slower pace. "Well, as far as I know, there is no link. Vic never mentioned meeting her. He didn't have any illnesses that I know of. I don't think there's any connection between them."

  "What about the Kachina High School in Arizona? Was Vic ever associated with it?"

  "Not that I know of. I don't think he'd ever been to Arizona. Why?"

  He realized she either hadn't heard about the accident or hadn't made the connection. He was about to tell her, then realized it wouldn't help her state of mind. There was no point in worrying her about it.

  Kent smiled. "No reason. It's a...client thing."

  She nodded. "Oh. Have you found anything on Victor's murder?"

  "I'm not sure. I have a theory, but I don't want to say anything until I'm absolutely sure. Is Vic's computer still around?"

  "Yes. It's in that box over there."

  "Mind if I take a look?"

  "Not at all." She gave him a knife to cut the tape off it with.

  He dug the blade into the tape, and unfolded the flaps to reveal the simple computer lying inside. He pulled out the monitor and stared at the screen. From the article he had read the previous night, he was certain that was where the cause of Morgan's death lay. But it appeared perfectly normal.

  "Adrian, could I borrow this for a while?" Kent asked.

  "Oh, sure. You can have it if you want. I was just going to erase the hard drive, then sell it or throw it out."

  "Thanks. I'll take care of it." He put the monitor back in its box, then sat down beside Adrian again.

  She sighed. "I just...I just don't know how I'm going to live without him. I was looking forward to his retirement. To finally spending some time with him, just the two of us, growing old together. Now he's gone, and I'll never be able to do all the things I wanted to do with him, see all the things I wanted to see with him. I'm all alone for the rest of my life."

  "I know it's hard," he said. "Believe me, I know. And I know it's a cliche to say that you'll get through this, and that he'll always be a part of you, but it's true in a lot of ways."

  She smiled at him. "Thanks, Kent."

  "No problem. Now let's get this stuff packed away."

  They went back to their work with a renewed vigor. All the contents of Victor's life fit neatly in boxes scattered around the room.

  * * *

  Sonya reclined in the back of the van, passing the time by doing leg lifts. There were two other men in the van with her, but she ignored them and they ignored her. They all had a job to do.

  One of them was armed with a parabolic ear that he aimed at Morgan's house. Every now and then, he murmured new information to his colleague, who wrote it down.

  The one with the ear, whose name was Jason, said, "They're still talking about the old man. Not talking about the epilepsy anymore, but it doesn't look good."

  "Yeah," his partner, Stewart, said. "I think the boss was right."

  Sonya lowered her leg, examining the swollen calves as she said, "Hey, guys? Shut up and do your job."

  The two men glanced at each other, then went back to work.

  A few seconds later, the driver started the van. "He's coming out."

  Sonya sat up to look out of the window in the back. There was their target, Kent Reynolds, walking down the front walk. He climbed into the back of a taxi, which backed out of the driveway, then set off down the road.

  Stewart waited a few seconds for another car to pass, then pulled out into the road, using the second car as cover.

  Sonya drew her cell phone from her pocket and dialed a number in Los Angeles. She waited a few seconds before someone picked up on the other end.

  "Your report," Weaver said.

  "It doesn't look good," Sonya murmured. "The target just left Morgan's house. Spent an hour talking about him and the conversation started with epilepsy."

  "I was afraid of this," Weaver said. "He knows too much already. Where is he going now?"

  Sonya glanced up at Jason in the passenger seat, who was consulting a map. He flashed three fingers at her.

  "We're not sure for certain," Sonya said, "but he's headed in the general direction of a friend of his. We checked her out. Janet Bourne, a computer programmer and consultant. Kent's known her for years."

  "Interesting."

  "Want us to take him out?"

  "Not just yet. There's still a chance that he could be thrown off the track. Besides, we're planning something that should keep him out of our hair for good. Perhaps without need of your services. Just stay close to him, and stay out of sight."

  "Yes, sir."

  Weaver hung up. Sonya slipped the phone into her pocket again, then leaned forward to peer through the forward windshield. They watched Reynolds' cab turn a corner.

  Sonya flexed a bicep, feeling it bulge under the sleeve of her coat. She was hoping this would be over soon. She couldn't wait to get back to Los Angeles.

  * * *

  When he banged on Janet's door at seven o'clock in the morning, Kent felt like his story was ready to be told to another human being. She would either agree with him or laugh out loud, but she wouldn't ignore it. He had decided to tell Janet, because she was the only one who hadn't brushed away his theory about Morgan's murder. In that sense, Janet was the only one he trusted.

  Janet opened the door in jeans and a Garfield T-shirt, rubbing her eyes, and squinting out at him through the cold wind. "Kent? What's up?"

  "I've got something, Jan," he said. "It's real big. I gotta talk to you."

  Janet nodded and backed out of the doorway for Kent to walk inside.

  Bacon sizzled on a skillet, filling the apartment with its aroma. In Janet's "office," a bat-winged old woman was frozen in a position of flying towards a computer screen. Janet plopped down in front of the computer and took hold of the joystick bolted to the table.

  "This better be good," Janet said. "I'm only three harpies away from reaching the Underworld."

  She hit the Enter key, and the game sprang back to life. The bat-creature
swooped down at her as Janet's sword flashed at it.

  Kent carried a folder on top of the large cardboard box he had taken from Morgan's house. He set the box down, opened the folder, and began laying out the various articles and clippings he had assembled over the previous night. "You play Odyssey, too?"

  "Everybody plays Odyssey," she said without looking away from the screen. "It's fun, it's addictive, it's exciting, and it's free."

  "You know, that's the part I don't get," Kent said. "Why would anyone just give a game this popular away?"

  "You can download the game for free, but you can buy bonus items like more powerful weapons. That's where they make their real money. And it works. I just bought me a Hades Fork for ninety-nine cents this afternoon."

  Kent squinted at the monitor. "What are those things?"

  She hacked at a bat-creature with her virtual weapon. "Harpies. Mythical creatures of Greek mythology believed to plague those with guilty consciences. Also take three sword attacks to kill."

  "Okay, look, this is really important. It's about Morgan."

  She immediately hit the button on her computer to pause the game, and turned to face him. "Lay it on me."

  He sighed. "Okay, it's like this. For the last few days, I've noticed some things. Cases of people dying of epileptic seizures while working on computers, almost none of whom had histories of epilepsy. Just like Morgan."

  "Uh-huh," Janet said.

  "You know, like that thing with the kids in that high school at Arizona."

  She winced. "Yeah, that was horrible."

  "It sure was. But I did a little checking. I found out that the same thing has been happening all over the world. People are dying of epileptic seizures with no trace of poison, and no history of epilepsy. And they all used computers before they died. You see what I'm getting at?"

  She nodded. "Yeah. You're saying what happened to Morgan is happening to all sorts of people. And the connection is the computer. Somehow, computers are giving people seizures."

  "Right," he said. "So I'm thinking, how? How is this happening? Then I come across this article in Science."

  Kent held up the article he had printed out from his computer. "It's about a thing they call VGRS. Video-Game-Related Seizure. And it explains everything."

  She leaned forward. "Go for it."

  "Okay, kids were getting epileptic seizures when they played Nintendo, but these kids didn't have a history of seizures. So a bunch of scientists got together and discovered that the games themselves were causing seizures. They discovered that certain patterns of light created by certain video games will trigger epileptic attacks in people who don't suffer seizures anywhere else.

  "But it's not just in videogames. For example, one night in 1997, seven hundred Japanese children ended up in the hospital, because they all had seizures while watching a Pokémon cartoon. Turned out a four second rocket-launch sequence with flashing red and blue colors triggered seizures in all of them."

  Janet blinked and spread her hands. "So what're you saying? That Morgan and all the others had this VGRS thing?"

  "There's the wrinkle," Kent said. "The article said only a small percentage of the population suffers this type of photosensitive epilepsy. It's supposedly caused by an aberration in the brain, a sensitivity to light that causes electrical misfires. But a whole roomful of kids died of this. All thirty-five of them. The odds of everyone in that room having a VGRS is off the scale."

  "So what's it mean?"

  He lowered the papers in his hands to study them. "I don't know. But at least it's an explanation. Something on these computers is killing people, and it's related to VGRS. I need to find out what and how."

  Janet nodded. "So Morgan's death wasn't a weird accident, after all."

  "Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. But I have to know. There's an epileptic research institute in Seattle, Washington that does work on VGRS. My case group is working for a company in Seattle, and Wayne was going down there to interview their upper-management personnel. I talked Wayne into letting me take the job, so I'll be flying down in his place. I should have time to check out the Institute. But I need your help."

  "Okay, where do I come in?"

  He opened the cardboard box he had lugged in, displaying Morgan's ancient PC. "I'd like you to take a look at Morgan's computer. See if you can find anything unusual about the monitor, the operating system, anything at all that might explain why Morgan had a VGRS."

  Janet shrugged. "Okay, but it would help if I knew what to look for. I'm a programmer, not a computer technician."

  "I know, but I wouldn't trust anyone else with this. And I don't know anyone else experienced with computers who wouldn't laugh in my face about what I'm thinking."

  She began dragging the computer's monitor out of the box, untangling wires with her fingers. "Okay, I'll see what I can do, but I make no promises."

  "That's all I ask. Thanks. I really appreciate this."

  Janet carried the computer to her corner office, where she began digging out tools from her desk. "No problem. I could use a hobby."

  She turned and smiled at him as he left. Kent lingered in the doorway to return the smile, thinking how beautiful she looked, and walked out.

  As he rode down to Gaines and Company, he thought about what he had learned from Morgan's wife, Adrian. Morgan had never had a stroke, brain injury, or any of the other causes of seizures late in life. This still didn't rule out the possibility of Morgan's seizures being natural, but it did cast it in doubt. Kent felt like he was getting close to something bigger. There was a nagging at the back of his mind that seemed to betray a larger idea, something that he could only register in his subconscious.

  This brought up the question of why Kent was pursuing something so remote. He guessed it was because there didn't seem to be anyone else doing it. If Morgan had been murdered, Kent just couldn't sit around and let his killer go free. And if there was another cause, Kent needed to find out what it was, for his own peace of mind.

  But he also wondered if there was another reason. His wife's killer had been sentenced the day before. He still hadn't felt any better about Sharon's death. Maybe he was chasing after Morgan's death in order to make up for that. Maybe, deep down, Kent felt that stopping Morgan's murderer would bring him the satisfaction he lost from Sharon's.

  He shook his head. He hated psychoanalysis. There was no larger scheme at work here. He saw a problem, so he was trying to fix it. That's what he was trained to do as a management consultant. It was as simple as that.

  He forced himself to stop thinking about it.

  He spent the rest of the day hard at work, trying not to think about Morgan's death at all. Wayne watched him closely, but by the end of the day, seemed satisfied that Kent was normal again.

  He himself kept an eye on Rick Bentley, his prime suspect. Rick laughed and joked, walked through the building doing his job, gathering information for his client. If he was a cold-blooded murderer, Kent couldn't tell by looking at him. But Kent supposed that was the point. He certainly didn't look upset about Morgan's death.

  A pall seemed to have fallen over everyone else at Gaines and Company. It was as if the company was a machine that had lost a vital component, and everyone was trying to keep the machine running without it.

  He worked late to make up for his recent early absences. By the time he left for home, it was almost midnight. Kent walked into a dark house with only his footsteps as his companion. He headed upstairs, ignoring the kitchen for now. He had work to do.

  He first went to his den, where he logged onto Travelocity to buy a ticket on the next available flight to Seattle. It was expensive at this late stage, but Kent managed to get a round-trip ticket.

  With that done, he went to his bedroom to pack. He was dismayed when he realized that he had no idea how to do it.

  When Sharon was alive, she had taken care of everything from housekeeping to finances. When she was killed, he was left with an eleven-year-old boy to take care of and
a house to be maintained. He was ashamed to discover how little he knew about taking care of himself. He couldn't cook, do laundry, or even write a check. Sharon had done it all for him. He had learned it all in a very short time, and was still trying to adjust.

  He had never been a frequent traveler, and whenever he had needed to pack, it was always Sharon who did it for him. But she was gone, and he was face-to-face with another task he had never prepared for.

  It took him a half-hour just to find the suitcases, only to discover at the last minute that they were on the top shelf of his closet. He opened a small one out on his bed to stare at its empty depths.

  Packing. Couldn't be that hard. He was only leaving for one day. All he had to do was figure out what he'd need.

  Underwear, of course. And maybe his toothbrush. He wondered if he should stay overnight or come straight home after one day. In that case, he wouldn't need that much. A fresh shirt. Kent wondered if he should dress casually or formal. After all, he was going to see someone fairly important; Doctor Reginald Allen, head of the Northwest Institute. Formal was probably the way to go. But he wouldn't be dressed formally all the time. He'd need casual clothes. Fine. Both.

  Should he pack warm or cold clothes? What was the weather in Seattle? Kent didn't know. He'd heard it rained a lot there, though. Just in case, he stuffed in a raincoat and Totes umbrella.

  He took down one of his suits along with a set of jeans and a T-shirt. He laid them flat in his suitcase, then stepped back to look at it. They took up a lot of room. But there was no helping that. He went to his bathroom to get his toothbrush.

  He came out to see someone standing in the doorway of the bedroom. It was his son, Troy.

  Troy glared at him, his head tilted forward a little to cast a shadow over his eyes. "Packing?"

  Kent stuffed his toothbrush into his suitcase. "That's right."

  "Going on a trip." It wasn't a question.

  "Yeah." Kent realized he needed toothpaste as well. He went back into the bathroom. When he came out, Troy still stood in the doorway.

  "Where you going?" Troy asked.