Dark Guardian

A measure of doubt crept into her mind. If the clinic had only attempted to cure Ross and hadn’t worsened his already-devastating condition, then there was nothing for her to expose. Still, the Trayborne Foundation had set up a trust fund for him. Why would they do something like that if they had no guilt in making him worse?

The glow of headlights in front of her came up so fast that she barely had time to slam on her brakes and pull the steering wheel hard to the right.

A black Jaguar whipped past on the left.

Olivia glanced in her rearview mirror and saw his brake lights come on in the mist.

It made sense that Jack Trayborne would show up here. It was, after all, his facility.

But she couldn’t let him identify her.

Stepping down on the gas pedal, she launched forward, keeping the car in between the trees that lined both sides of the road. Had he seen her car well enough to identify it?

He would certainly be asking questions about who had started the fire. Just the memory of watching the blaze erupt with no one around made her skin crawl. Maybe it had been started by spontaneous combustion? Maybe there were oily rags in the corner? But no matter how hard she tried to explain away what she’d seen tonight, she couldn’t.

Something strange was going on at the Black’s Cove Clinic. Something terrifying and otherworldly. Something she didn’t want to believe.

Not even for a moment.

OLIVIA SAT IN ONE of a dozen Internet cubicles in the Black’s Cove Community Library.

Her hands shook as she typed the letters NPQ into the search engine and pressed Enter.

The screen filled with possible matches. One by one she scanned them, eliminating each result until her gaze settled on one interpretation of the acronym.

Neuro Pathway Quotient…Neuro Pathway Quotient.

She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew enough about brain injuries to know it destroyed neuro pathways.

She clicked on the link and an article about the subject popped up on screen. It had been included as reference material in a medical research paper dated May 1999. The copyright on the source paper was 1979, pre-Internet.

A rush of excitement charged through her. The copyright holder was Martin J. Trayborne, the patriarch of the Black’s Cove Clinic. Jack Trayborne’s grandfather.

Olivia selected the print option and sent the request. In the background, she heard the laser printer fire up as she scanned the article.

A lot of medical jargon filled the page, but a single paragraph caught her attention.

I have managed to isolate the protein responsible for the formation of new neuro pathways. I am hopeful that this discovery will result in the formation of new attachments within the patient’s injured brain, rewiring and resetting the synapses.

Was this why her parents had brought Ross to the clinic? For some sort of miracle cure? It was a heroic effort, but obviously, it had failed. She swallowed and sat back in her chair. If Ross was used as a human guinea pig, were there others?

Was there any way to get at the Foundation’s financial records? If Ross had a trust account, then maybe others had been established, as well.

A loud screech interrupted Olivia’s thoughts.

She spun around in the swivel chair, her brain trying to process what her eyes were seeing.

Paper shot out of the holding tray on the printer, like fast balls off a pitcher’s glove.

The librarian scrambled, trying to shut off the kamikaze machine.

Olivia stood up and rushed to help. Finding the power cord plugged into the floor, she pulled it. The printer ground to a stop.

What on earth was happening? she wondered as she turned back to her computer cube, only to find her screen and every other monitor had gone black.

“Oh my, there must have been a power surge of some sort,” the librarian said as she crawled around on the floor picking up the paper.

“Has this ever happened before?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Olivia knelt next to the flustered woman and helped her scoot the sheets into a pile.

“I was printing out an article I found on the Internet. Did you happen to see it?”

“No,” she continued to work the mess into a neat stack. “Everything here is blank.”

Olivia placed the last piece of paper on the stack and stood up. Glancing around the library, she studied the two lone patrons. A young teenaged girl and a middleaged woman. Neither of them looked like a would-be printer-monger and Internet saboteur.

This freaky episode was too much like what she’d experienced in the basement of the clinic. Otherworldly.

“Thanks. I’ll come back when the Internet is up.”

The librarian tucked a stray strand of gray hair back behind her ear and nodded. “Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome.” She exited the single-story library building and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Scanning the street in both directions, she half expected to see Jack Trayborne’s distinctive car, but it wasn’t there. How was it he always seemed to be nearby when things got weird?

Maybe it was time to poke the tiger.

She watched an older gentleman move toward her on the sidewalk.

“Excuse me, sir.”

He stopped, a polite smile on his mouth. “Yes, can I help you?”

“I need directions. Can you tell me where I might find Jack Trayborne’s home?”

His smile vanished. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know where he lives.” The man hurried away, leaving her amused.

Surely someone like Jack Trayborne was well-known in the community his family established. She’d almost bet everyone in town knew who he was and where he lived.

“Excuse me.” She stopped an elderly woman with a shopping bag on her arm. “Can you tell me where I might find Jack Trayborne’s home?”

The woman shook her head and picked up her pace in an effort to get away.

His address wasn’t listed in the phone book; she’d already checked. Maybe she could find out where he lived through the hotel?

About to give up, she spotted a young woman pushing a stroller along the sidewalk. It was worth another try.