Read Between The Lines

Chapter 6: Reading Between The Lines

"Well," the Blutbad chuckled, "I might have something. You've heard of the Arabian Nights, haven't you?"

"Arabian Nights?" Nick echoed for Hank's benefit. "Yeah—wait, don't tell me Scheherazade was one!"

"Apparently so."

"But wasn't her objective not to get killed?"

"Or maybe it was control over the Sultan. The longer she kept telling her stories, the more the Bücherwurm could eat and eat—"

"Yeah, okay, I get the picture!" Nick was having memories of that first evening with Harper, and he didn't much appreciate it. "So Scheherazade—is this any indication of how a Kinderphantasie operates?"

"There must be one place that connects everyone, that people just keep coming back to."

"As a matter of fact," Nick admitted, "there's a bookstore on 23rd that seemed to be everyone's go-to place."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, but here's the catch: it's run by two Genio Innocuo."

"That's weird! And all the books came from there?"

"Yeah, except—" Nick checked the list. "Ah, at least one of the copies of the Poe stories came from Multnomah Library." He blinked and smacked himself on the forehead when he realized what he had just said. "A library! People have to return books as well as check them out, of course!"

"That sounds more than likely," Monroe agreed.

"Thanks, Monroe," Nick said, "I have to go return a book."

Nick was almost bursting with confidence as he pulled onto the Morrison Bridge. He'd get to the library, walk up to the front desk, and watch for any sign of a woge as he handed in one of the infected books. He glanced at it, sitting on the passenger seat in the brown envelope, so innocently. He wondered if more than one person could get a worm from reading the exact same book as a victim. Something about it made him not want to try. Something...

Nick squinted ahead. It looked like someone had pulled up onto the curb just before the Naito offramp. He pulled up behind it. The silver Buick was abandoned. Who would leave their car in the middle of a bridge? Nick looked around but saw no one. The cars continued to whiz past. He tried the doors; they were unlocked. Searching the glove compartment, he pulled out the registration.

"George Brinkley," he read, "Okay, George," Nick muttered to himself, "Where did you go?"

Nick was careful to stay on the narrow curb as he followed George's likely path down the bridge. He went twenty paces and saw a lone figure—braced outside the railing!

"George?" Nick called, running toward him. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Hank.

"Just listen," he barked, "I've got a jumper on the west side of the Morrison Bridge, just before the off-ramp. I need some backup now!"

As he got closer, Nick discovered that George seemed to be muttering something.

"Father...kids...no father...cast..."

"George?" he tried to soothe the agitated man, "I'm Nick Burkhart, I'm a detective and I'm here to help you." Recognition kicked in, and Nick knew that this was the same man he'd seen in New Renaissance just the day before!

"Gone! All gone—lost! Swept...flood tides...Abyss...lost shells—"

"George," Nick tried to reach for George's hand, but the man shied away and let go. He was weeping now. Nick at last heard sirens as his backup approached. "What is lost?" he asked.

George finally looked up at Nick. His eyes had that same emptiness that told Nick of the presence of a Bookworm. Slowly, George pulled his hands off the railing as Hank and Franco arrived—on the far side of the bridge.

"I'm lost!" George whispered frantically, letting go and leaning back over empty space.

"No!" Nick reached after him, but only managed to slow the man's descent. George hit the ground at the same time Franco and the cops arrived at that spot.

Franco called it in. "I need an ambulance on the Naito Parkway, northwest of the Morrison Bridge!"

Hank joined Nick as they walked together down to the parkway to control traffic and survey the scene. "So, another victim?"

Nick sighed, "Yep; only get this," he turned to face his partner. "That man," he pointed toward Brinkley, whom the police were trying to stabilize till the ambulance got there, "came into the store yesterday, and didn't buy the book."

Hank frowned. "Didn't?"

Nick shrugged, "I don't even think he cracked the spine before they refused to sell it to him."

"How do we know it's a Bookworm, then?"

"Hank," Nick huffed, "I saw it in his eyes! They were completely empty, like Joyce's had been. He's infected all right."

By now Nick and Hank had reached the group. George Brinkley was secured on the gurney, and the paramedics prepared to load him onto the ambulance.

Quickly, Nick palmed his vial of gedankewasser and popped the cork with his fingers. He surreptitiously splashed a small amount in George's right ear. Instantly, a bright foam appeared, and Nick was rewarded with the sight of a cloudy, lumpy liquid—almost like a large amount of pus—seeping from George's ear as they loaded the gurney.

Nick saw that Hank watched him the whole time.

"What's that?" Hank asked, pointing to the vial Nick slipped back into his pocket.

"A cure," Nick answered. "George is going to be fine. All the doctors will have to worry about is the injuries from his fall. Meanwhile," Nick mounted the ramp to return to his car. "I think I need to visit some old friends." He turned back to Hank, "Care to join me after you finish here?"

Hank nodded, "Will do."

Nick started the car and continued across the bridge, full of keen determination. He only hoped that his theory was correct, and he could catch the culprit in the act.

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