Truth Engine by James Axler

Author:James Axler [Axler, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Speculative Fiction Suspense
ISBN: 9780373638710
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

SELA SINCLAIR THOUGHT she could hear a marching band. The muscular, dark-skinned woman was ex-air force, and she had seen her fair share of parades and marching bands.

This music was coming from nearby, she was sure. She could hear it distinctly enough, although it seemed to be muffled, like voices from another room or music from the apartment above her own. It was at its loudest when First Priest Dylan visited her. Did she like him?

She was lying down, she realized, lying on something hard and cold, her eyes closed. She had been sleeping through the parade.

Sela opened her eyes and looked out on darkness. No, not darkness—not quite. As her eyes adjusted she became aware of a faint red glow above her, a red like blood seeping into her vision.

She rolled a little, struggling to make her muscles move. Her arms had gone numb thanks to the cold surface she had been sleeping on, and what little warmth she generated seemed to be lost in the cold place she found herself.

It was a cave, she realized, looking about her. A cave deep underground. At least, she assumed it was underground, though there was no real way of telling.

Sela pushed herself up from the cold rock, bringing her knees close and hugging them as she sat up, feeling the freezing cold of the chamber bite at her as she moved. “Where’s the band?” she muttered, peering around.

The music was still coming to her, as if from close by, perhaps from another room within her old frat house.

“They don’t have frat houses in caves,” Sela whispered to herself as the band played on.

She pushed herself up, finding it was a struggle, given the way her body seemed so heavy just now. It was as if she had been drugged, she felt so weary.

They don’t have bands in caves, either, Sela reminded herself as she looked around the space, still trying to fathom where the music was emanating from.

Slowly, her movements appreciably strained as if she had aged forty years in a day, Sela Sinclair walked around the little cave, searching for a doorway. There was none.

“What the hell?” she asked, rubbing her palm against her head as the music played on. She stopped suddenly, pulling her hand away. There was something there, in her head.

Tentatively this time, Sela brought her hand up and placed her fingertips on her forehead at her hairline, running them slowly down toward her eyes. On the second try she found the bump, a small calluslike thing located almost dead center of her forehead, where the mythical third eye was shown in those old trippy hippie paintings she’d seen years ago. Still standing, she bent over and ran her fingers around her forehead, reassuring herself that this was the only lump she was carrying. There were bruises and cuts on her face, and she winced once or twice as she probed at them, but the thing on her forehead was different. It seemed to sit there, a hard lump beneath the skin, moving slightly to her touch as if floating on a bed of Jell-O.

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