At that instant, Gabe became aware of an odd, not totally unpleasant aroma that seemed to be coming from deep within his nose, and a corresponding taste on the back of his tongue. His body felt lighter and more responsive. Head down, he charged ahead, weaving when he managed to remember to do so. The two voices seemed far away now . . . the sound garbled and unclear. Ahead, the lights from across the river were blurred and in motion.

He was an athlete, an Olympian, sprinting ahead faster than he would ever have thought possible, his feet barely touching the ground. The terror at Ferendelli's apparent murder, and his own mortal fears, had all but vanished. He felt euphoric and was getting more so every second.

Suddenly the moonless night exploded in color—streaks of red and gold, orange and green and white, shot across the sky, then burst over the river like fireworks. Pinwheels of light, now with sound, skimmed across the top of the water.

There were no voices now, only the rich, even sounds of his breathing—in . . . out . . . in . . . out. He was flying—running on air. Invincible. He was Hercules . . . Batman . . . Indiana Jones. Splashing through the dark, chilly water, then diving ahead.

Even with his eyes shut tightly, the colors blazed, bathing the inside of his lids and warming them. Shooting down his throat and into his soul, the water was his home. He pulled through it effortlessly, drawing it in through his nose and spitting it out his mouth. He was a fish . . . a shark . . . Aquaman. He was immortal.

He was a god.

CHAPTER 49

Mister . . . hey, mister."

The words were an annoyance, penetrating the void, prodding at Gabe's consciousness until it finally responded.

"Hey, mister, wake up. Are you hurt? Are you drunk? Do you want my momma to call an ambulance?"

Heavy-lidded, Gabe groaned, rolled to his back, and blinked until his vision began to clear. The first thing he saw was the gray-blue sky of early morning. The second was the concerned face of the young black boy who was kneeling beside him. Fragment by fragment, shards of the nightmare with Ferendelli drifted into place.

"Wh-where am I?"

The boy, perhaps ten, had an expressive face that featured huge, dark eyes. He wore a thin navy blue windbreaker and a Redskins cap with the brim pulled forty-five degrees to one side.

"You're up against the fence in the vacant lot at the end of my street."

Gabe pushed himself up onto one elbow and began to take stock. His clothes were sodden and his shoes were gone, as well as his radio, cell phone, and wallet. The lot that the boy had described as vacant was hardly that. It was more the "before" in a commercial for urban neighborhood reclamation—strewn with junk, trash, and garbage. Halfway across to a row of ramshackle two-decker houses Gabe saw a squirrel-size rat scurry from one hiding place to another.

"Is this Anacostia?"