Waking Lazarus by T. L. Hines Page A

interested in the work of the Hunter.
    Pavlov had trained his dogs to salivate at the sound of a dinner bell; he had gone further and trained his own mind to shear itself into two separate entities by simple will.
    Obviously, some remedial work was needed. A bit of negative reinforcement.
    His behavior modification system was homemade. One of a kind, his own design. Simple enough to build with some parts from the local hardware store, along with a little knowledge of electricity.
    He clenched his teeth, then threw the switch and embraced the current. The machine had been integral to becoming . The machine would make sure he would keep becoming .
    The leak would be plugged.

14
    SAVING
    Jude opened the door to the Red Lodge Cafe, then hurried inside. It was just rolling into dinner hour, and the place had more people in it than he had ever seen. Of course, Jude was usually here when he knew other people wouldn’t be.
    He scanned the cafe, looking for her. Behind the counter a gray-haired waitress poured a cup of coffee for a grizzled man sitting at the counter. Out of the kitchen bounced a large, middle-aged waitress, bearing a couple specials of the day.
    Those were the only two. She wasn’t here.
    He moved to the counter and flagged down the woman pouring coffee. She shuffled over and looked at him with watery eyes.
    ‘‘Last night I was in here. And there was a young waitress, about twenty years old or so, with short blond hair.’’
    ‘‘Ginny?’’
    ‘‘Yeah, Ginny. Is she here?’’
    ‘‘Wish she was, buddy. She called in sick.’’
    Jude’s stomach greeted the news uneasily. ‘‘Do you have her address or something? Some way I can reach her?’’
    ‘‘Yes,’’ the woman answered, then stood staring at him.
    ‘‘Can I have it?’’
    ‘‘You think I’m going to give some pretty young thing’s address to any wacko who happens to walk in off the street?’’
    Jude nodded. ‘‘I totally agree. It’s just . . .’’ He leaned closer. ‘‘It’s just, I think she might be in danger.’’
    ‘‘Especially if I tell a freak like you how to find her. Beat it.’’
    ‘‘No, no, really.’’ He stopped. ‘‘Maybe you could come with me. Or someone else who works here. Someone.’’
    The waitress studied his face a moment. ‘‘What makes you think she’s in trouble?’’
    He sighed, shook his head. ‘‘It’s not a story you’d want to hear right now. Could we just go? If she’s fine, no harm done. But if tomorrow rolls around and something’s happened to her, you’ll think about this moment the rest of your life.’’
    She continued to look at him, considering. Finally, without taking her eyes from his face, she shouted to the other waitress. ‘‘Brandy, can you cover for me for about fifteen minutes?’’
    Brandy stopped in mid-step. ‘‘It’s rush hour here, Linda!’’
    ‘‘Then rush a little more. I’ll be right back.’’
    Brandy banged through the doors into the kitchen with a huff. Linda, the gray-haired waitress, dug under the counter and retrieved a purse, then looked back at Jude again. ‘‘I just want you to know,’’ she said as she opened the top of her purse and let him peer inside. Jude saw the glint of a small-caliber revolver and nodded his head. ‘‘Don’t do anything that’s gonna make me open this purse. Understand?’’ Jude nodded again.
    She took off her apron and headed for the door without waiting for Jude.
    He caught up with Linda—who was quick on her feet—about halfway down the block. ‘‘How far?’’ he asked.
    ‘‘Just a couple of blocks,’’ she said. ‘‘I swear, if I find out you’re some kind of stalker or something, I will personally castrate you with a butter knife.’’
    ‘‘Understood.’’
    They rounded the corner and cut through an alley, then came to an old house in the middle of the street. ‘‘She’s in the basement apartment,’’ Linda said as she went down the small flight of steps to a