To watch.
No! Lizzie internally screamed, Nooo!
There was no stopping him.
Joe spooned right up against Lizzie. She couldn’t fight it; was unable to even scream. Joe wrapped his arms and legs around her and whispered into her ear.
“Oh, honey, how I love you…”
Lizzie grit her teeth — willed herself to die.
And I was ready to go with him? Go with him where?
Joe forced himself atop her. Forced apart her legs.
No! Oh, please, God, no. No-no-no-NO!
Joe entered her, and as much as she fought — or thought she fought — she could do nothing. She tensed her entire body. Blood trickled out her nose.
Joe worked her callously — hard and brutal — like she was a mere receptacle for his animalistic urges, rather than…
His wife.
Someone else entered the room.
“Are you going to give me what I need? Are you now ready?”
Black. Victor Black. In a robe. Hands on his hips.
Grinning his painful grin.
He undid his robe.
4
Travis approached the entrance to 4250. He hid in the nighttime shadows as long as possible… when he came upon the young girl. She was perhaps six years old and sat on the steps of the building. She sat under the security lighting, smiling and humming to herself. When the girl saw him, she jumped to her feet.
“Come on, we haven’t much time!” she said.
“Excuse me?” Travis said.
“Hurry!”
The girl led him into the building. When he saw the security guards at the front desk, his heart stopped — but the six year old continued to lead him along, past checkpoint personnel.
“But the—”
“They don’t matter anymore. Just come with us!”
Travis looked up ahead to find a handful of other awaiting children. They’d been playing hopscotch in the hallway, singing “Ring Around the Rosie,” a hopscotch grid drawn in chalk on the floor. But they dropped their chalk and stones and immediately joined in as they approached.
“Hurry!” they all chimed in, and together all funneled past the next security checkpoint, with its surveillance cameras and biometrics.
“But how — who are you?” Travis asked.
He was shushed.
The first little girl whispered, “Magic, it’s all magic, maaan…”
Stone-faced, Black stood behind the bank of computer equipment, monitoring Lizzie’s experience. He had to kill those dreams, get rid of whomever had been tracking him all these years… preventing him from attaining his rightful place in history. And this woman was key. She could lead him to where this most persistent gnat was. Once and for all. But her brain wave activity wasn’t looking promising. She was giving up, and he had to stave that off until she told him what he needed to cut this cancer out of his life. They all broke. It was only a matter of time. No one resisted forever.
Using his computer’s mouse, Black upped the program’s intensity. Into a microphone, he said, “Oh, baby, yeah… like that, oh, yeah… fuck me, fuck me, baby… harder, yeah, HARDER…”
He recited the words as if reading a newspaper article, both his face and voice emotionless. But he knew the effect his words had on her. He could see her responses on his displays… from the video feed of her face. She was falling for it. Hook, line, and dick.
She was his.
Cory Colbert wrapped up the remote viewing session with his monitor and went out to the hallway water fountain. As he bent over to take a sip, he mentally received:
Just that we had to get her. Waste no time. I’m headed there now. Need backup… someone to keep an eye out…
He bolted upright.
Another?
The next message hit: What about security?
Cory looked up and down the hallway. Empty.
Then came the final clip: Shoves us out in the open… nowhere to hide.
Be careful…
Trav? Gina? Cory mentally asked.
We’re here, Cory. It was Gina.
Both of us, Travis added.
What do you need?
To get into here. Travis sent a visual. We don’t know what we’re doing, but we’re going for it, anyway. Travis sent along their sense of urgency.
Great. This is going to hurt — someone’s going to die.
We need someone to divert Black, Travis sent. Lizzie’s being held. That Man With No Name feels her life is in grave danger. It’s now or never.
Okay.
Anyone else out?
Not yet.. I’m outta here, Cory sent, I’ll see what I can do.
Good luck, Travis and Gina sent.
* * *
Cory entered the front doors to building 4250, and, to his amazement, found the security desk unmanned. That shouldn’t be. He paused inside the entranceway, scanning the layout and cameras.
Highly uncomfortable. No alarms, no scurrying security. Something wasn’t right—
Hurry, someone sent.
A child?
The same voice continued, He’s strong… needs distraction. In the booth. You must delay him.
Okay, this was getting really weird. There were two security personnel, but, where were they? And the cameras… they still pointed toward the entrance… toward him.
Get moving! The little girl voice urged.
If they were on and manned, then he was already meat, and he had little time nor chance… but if those consoles were also absent, then perhaps he did have a chance—
Heart racing, Cory shot forward. At the next set of doors, and without thinking, he swiped his restricted area badge through the panel’s slot, typed in his PIN, and scanned his retina. Why would his access clearance and biometrics work here? They shouldn’t, but, before he could finish the thought, the light flashed green and he was in.
Blood continued to trickle from Lizzie’s nose, as she continued to fight her physical paralysis and Joe’s rape.
She was being raped by her husband!
With Black and another watching!
Why? How was this possible? This wasn’t Joe! Not the man she knew!
Why had he had sex with that woman — who continued to watch and please herself?
Lizzie tried to scream, but nothing came out. Just blood and tears. Her mouth and throat burned from the goddamned perfume.
What had become of her husband?
The love of her life — turned evil? He toyed with her and she had no way to fight back.
She just wanted to die…
But this… this couldn’t possibly be her husband… Joe would never, ever do anything like this… he’d slit his own throat first—
Of course he wouldn’t do anything like this.
What was going on?
He bit her — he was biting her!
This couldn’t be Joe!
No — that wasn’t possible.
This wasn’t her Joe — couldn’t be!
Joe would never, ever — in a million lifetimes—
Something was wrong!
This wasn’t happening!
Lizzie renewed her efforts to free herself — to move. Will herself free. This was all a figment of her imagination — no, Black’s imagination — none of it was real.
None of it!
Joe stopped.
Lizzie held her breath. Was still unable to move.
Two sets of hands then roughly grabbed her and spun her around; repositioned her, face down on the bed.
“Oh, this is real, all right, my little princess,” Melissa whispered into Lizzie’s ear, as she repeatedly pressed her sweaty, floral-odored body into her, “and we’re going to show you just how fucking real it is…”
Melissa backed away, and Lizzie heard and felt her shifting around, behind her. She was doing something… it sounded like she was putting something on…
What was she doing? What was she doing?
Lizzie found she could finally move and
pushed herself up on all fours.
“You should have given me what I wanted,” Joe hissed, but it wasn’t Joe’s voice coming from Joe. It was another, blacker, voice. A voice Lizzie could never forget.
She lifted her head.
A naked Black positioned himself before her.
Melissa positioned herself behind her.
She was going to kill him.
She was going to rip his fucking black heart out…
Chapter Twenty-Five
1
The children hurried down the hallway and stairwells, leading Travis ever deeper into the dark, deserted recesses of building 4250. He’d lost track of how deep they’d gone, but it seemed three or four stories down. These kids apparently knew what they were doing and where they were going, and he dutifully followed. They finally spilled out into a hallway that spewed noise… like a TV or radio turned to an untuned station that showed nothing but snow, or spewed only white noise. His mind felt at odds with itself, as if one side of it was out of sync with the other.
He looked up.
Speakers.
There were speakers in the ceiling as well as set back into the topmost part of the hallway’s walls — on both sides — spaced out above about every ten feet. He’d seen ceiling speakers before, but not speakers set into the tops of walls. Speakers used to drown out stray audible electronic emissions so personnel in the area couldn’t pick up on whatever clandestine work was being carried on behind whatever doors these speakers guarded.
But what were these extra speakers set along the tops of walls?
Who put them there… what were their family lives like?
Were they overworked?
Tired?
Man, he could sleep for years—
Get your head back where it belongs!
Focus — focus!
Travis continued on. Thought back to the children. He finally remembered it… his previous association with them… sitting in the cafeteria, eating lunch… then finding everyone in the cafeteria gone, replaced with these überkindern…
Recalled… memories?
He wasn’t sure if these memories were his own… or another’s…
… but, about a trailer?… about having to constantly pick up toys scattered about the house… about talking to children in stores and restaurants that no one else could see… a room filled with children’s toys — but no children. These kids were helping them — him — out. Were somehow tied to this Lizzie woman…
Travis came upon a door.
Damn, it seemed so hard to focus!
It was your standard metal door at the end of a standard-looking utility hallway that branched off the main hallway. The door was labeled L5B03 and was hidden by stacks of boxes, pallets, and other camouflaging refuse, white noise also assaulting from above. A card reader was to the right of the door at slightly below eye level. A tiny green light glowed. But, Travis knew that on the other side of this door was anything but standard. He was actually afraid of what he’d find, though he knew this was his sole reason — his purpose — for being here. He could feel the pain that radiated from the other side of this door, was surprised by how it overcame him and actually brought tears — tears — to his eyes. He paused until the wave of pain and emotion passed.
Focus.
Travis also picked up that this wasn’t a standard room for what was going on inside it. It was supposed to be a storage room — a storage room that had recently been converted. He was in a remote, subterranean section of this building, specifically selected for temporary storage of
Elizabeth Gordon.
2
Cory wove his way throughout the maze of hallways and stairwells on the heels of these ghost children. They faded in and out of view, but lead him on they did. He’d never before been in this building, knew he didn’t have the required access, yet found himself within its very bowels. And all the while he passed not one person. It was unbearably creepy. Maybe all the security aspects of this building hadn’t yet been put into place… could be, it was new and still under
(yellow hard hat…?)
construction.
As he forged ahead, he picked up that the object of his mission was to run interference with a man who was the epitome of evil. Though he hurried and experienced a heightened sense of urgency, he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to meet up with the guy. He didn’t know how he was supposed to distract Black, didn’t have a good feeling about any of this, but accepted his role.
In this building someone was being tortured… so, he had little choice.
Building 4250 appeared to be another setup for remote viewing like the one they — he, Gina, Travis and the rest — used, but newer and not yet completely populated with occupants nor offices. Above ground, it was smaller than their older, circa sixties building, but that didn’t mean it was any less of a labyrinth. People at JFKC referred to these kinds of buildings as “icebergs.” Not much above ground, but a world of secrets beneath.
But why and how was each security checkpoint deserted? How had he just been able to waltz on through each and every one of them?
None of this made any sense. But he followed his group’s lead. He had to get to Black. Had to prevent him from—
Cory came to an abrupt halt before a control-room door. It had all the appropriate declarations that this was a secure area, proper authorizations were required — and that the use of deadly force was authorized.
Use of Deadly Force Authorized.
He looked up to the camera staring down at him. To the cipher lock and card reader to the right of the door. He reached out to the door… and quietly pulled it open. Cory registered the muted “click” the door’s lock made as it disengaged for him.
The interior of the room was dimly lit, and though he recognized the basic layout, it did differ from the more-familiar control-room layout of their own remote-viewing compartments elsewhere on the compound. All lights were off except at the far end of the room, behind a glass — sound-proofed — enclosure that sectioned off the area he was in. It was there that he saw the dark silhouette seated at the console, back to him.
Black.
He had a unique “signature” when sensed — was hunched over and talking, quite probably into a microphone. Intent and focused on his actions.
Cory quietly closed the door behind him and immediately crouched down. He carefully navigated his way toward Black. As he wove closer, he still couldn’t make out any words through the soundproofed barrier. He tried to tune into him, but his mind seemed to constantly wonder… to mowing lawns… running high school track… his first lay… his second…
Black.
He was being misdirected.
So, just what the hell was he supposed to do, now?
Kill him?
He’d never killed anyone before, but at this stage of the game it appeared the logical conclusion.
Good Lord, what the hell had they gotten themselves into?
Had to remain focused. Something inside him edged him inexorably forward.
This man was secretly torturing another somewhere within this building, and that… that was wrong. Had to be stopped. Any hesitation on his part needed to be immediately squelched. He looked for anything that could be used as a weapon. Geez, not even a pair of scissors. In the low light, Cory’s hand came down upon a three-hole punch on a console. Okay, not exactly James Bond, but… it was heavy and solid… and could easily pack a deadly wallop if wielded correctly.
Cory paused as he picked it up.
This was it.
Was he actually going to intentionally harm another?
That’s what the government had trained into its soldiers and operatives.
A job.
This was no different.
Expendability.
It was just more personal. Though an ex-soldier, he’d killed from afar, sanctioned by his government. Here, there would be no such “distance”… no sending in of ordnance, no such sanctions.
This would
be up close and personal. Hand to hand. The worst kind of fighting. The most brutal.
Cory was suddenly sick to his stomach.
He’d have to whack him from behind — if he was lucky. He was sure it wasn’t like anything portrayed in the movies, and wondered just how much force was actually needed to knock a man out — that was, after all, all he really needed to do — just knock him out. Intercept and interdict. Stall. Get him off that woman.
He just needed to take the spring out of this guy’s step.
Cory inhaled deeply, hefted his three-hole punch… and advanced.
Willed himself to be healthy and strong. To — at all costs — get the job done.
The glass enclosure also had a door. Cory reached out for it. Damn. How was he supposed to—
He grabbed the handle… and it also opened soundlessly, impossibly quiet. Cory grimaced. This whole affair had an intense dream-like quality to it. How was any of this supposed to be possible? And, really, how could he possibly expect to have gotten this far… to be in here… with possibly the most dangerous man on the planet?
He had to stop thinking… and act. Needed to focus.
There it was… the opened door… the intently focused Black sitting at the console and speaking into a microphone. His back was to him and he was completely unaware of the fate that awaited him. Black’s low-spoken voice was flat and unemotional. Lifeless, one could say. Cory entered the glass enclosure, three-hole punch at the ready. He was an easy fifteen feet from Black, who, in his still unemotional voice, continued speaking into the microphone: “Oh, this is real, all right, my little princess, and we’re going to show you just how fucking real it all is…”
Black’s words sent shivers down Cory’s spine.
In a crouched position, hands shaking, Cory readied the three-hole punch. Steeled himself.
This was not going to end well.
Cory quietly stole up behind Black. As he stood there for just a moment, he noted a small pile of CDs on the console before Black. Six of them. Labeled. Gina’s name was on top.
Just as Black uttered “You should have given me what I wanted,” and much to his own surprise, Cory sprang into action.
Black calmly spun around in his swivel chair.
As casually as reaching for coffee from the community coffee pot and to Cory’s utter disbelief, Black swung around with an already positioned nine millimeter. The muzzle flashed just as Cory attacked. The round hit him square in the gut. It had a powerful kick — like a baseball bat to the belly — but he already had forward momentum. At the same time he was shot, Cory swung the three-hole punch… but Black had leaned back, away from the blow. Cory had only managed to clip Black’s hand, instead, dislodging the SIG from his grip.
Psychic Page 26