by A J Rivers
“No,” Dean says. “It’s him. All the other personal details are correct, and it’s linked to the other information about him I was able to find.”
“What other information?” I ask. “What were you able to find out about him?”
“He was born in Iowa, but you already knew that. He has an identical twin brother… “
“Knew that, too. All along I thought my father was an only child.”
“From everything I found about him, his early life was normal. Jonah and Ian participated in activities together; they did well in school. But in college, Jonah started to show some potentially alarming leanings. He’s got a rap sheet and was suspected of criminal activity, but they could never get a case on him. It looks like his relationship with Ian started to cool off quite a bit around then, but they were still spending time together and maintaining at least some connection immediately after college. Then things dropped off fairly dramatically about thirty years ago. I wasn’t able to find anything else that linked the two of them.”
“That’s not surprising, considering that would be right around the time Jonah raped my mother. I’m sure by then, my father had picked up on his brother’s obsession with his wife. That doesn’t make for good family ties. I don’t understand how you were able to find all this so quickly. I’ve looked into my father’s life and done everything I could to understand his background, and I didn’t find anything about his twin.”
“I looked up Ian too, and it was almost like it was scrubbed. You just didn’t know what to look for, so it was never there. But since Jonah was already dead, his records were left untouched. Somehow the two never made any official connection. That’s why you couldn’t find it.”
“So, what happened after that? Where did he end up?” I ask.
“This is where it starts to get a little interesting. Department of Corrections records show Jonah Griffin serving time for a few years, but obviously, it had nothing to do with the rape. He was convicted of criminal trespass, stalking, and weapons charges.”
“Who was he stalking?” I ask.
“The victim’s name was redacted. After that, there’s very little about him until the news of his death.”
“What do they say happened to him?”
“Crushed and burned in a horrific car accident outside Sherwood, Virginia.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Police have presumptively identified the remains found in the wreckage of an auto accident late Wednesday night as belonging to Jonah L. Griffin, thirty-two. Sources confirm the chase leading to the accident followed an attempted crime, but police declined to provide details.”
I scroll through the search results again and find another article, then another.
“They all say essentially the same thing,” I say. “There was a chase that led to a horrific accident, the body was burned and mangled beyond recognition, but since Jonah was the only person to have been seen getting into that car and was known to be driving it prior to the crash, they identified the body as him.”
“And issued him a death certificate,” Dean adds.
“But whose death were they actually certifying?” I ask. “It doesn’t just say that they assumed he was dead because of the damage to the vehicle. It specifically mentions remains. There was a body in that car.”
“And he just let them assume it was him so he could slip away.”
“Or that was his intention all along.” I stare at the article again, and the date jumps out at me. “This article was written on August twenty-ninth. It says the accident was on Wednesday.” I pull up a calendar and put in the year of the accident. “August twenty-sixth.”
Dean’s eyes get wide, and he moves closer to the edge of the cushion as if the realization is making it impossible for him to sit still.
“That’s the day before your mother went to get the morning after pill,” he says.
“The date he thought he and my mother conceived me, years before.”
Just the thought makes my stomach turn. That’s not a coincidence. Nothing this man does is by chance. He chose that day specifically, and the only reasoning that forms in my mind is sickening. I immediately dial Sam’s number.
“Who are you calling?” Dean asks.
“Sam. He’s the sheriff in Sherwood. He has access to the police records. Maybe he can tell us more about what happened that night.”
“Miss me already?” Sam asks when he picks up the phone.
“No. I mean, yes, I do. But that’s not why I’m calling,” I say.
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I promise you I will miss you a lot when I have the chance. Right now, I need your help.”
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice serious now.
“I need you to pull up a police report for me. August twenty-sixth, nineteen ninety-eight.”
“What kind of police report? What happened?”
“Dean did some research into my uncle Jonah Griffin and found out he was issued a death certificate,” I explain. “Supposedly he died in a car accident right outside Sherwood that night. Since we obviously know he didn’t actually die, I want to know what really happened. All the news articles I’ve been able to find essentially talked about there being a chase that went on, and they found a body in the wreck. But obviously, that couldn’t have been him. Apparently, he was involved in some sort of criminal activity that led to the crash, but the information was never released. I’m hoping it’s in the police report.”
“Absolutely, I’ll do what I can,” he replies. “Where are you going to be today?”
“Back at the hospital. I need to be there when Greg is awake so I can talk to him about everything. Hopefully, he’ll be on less medication today. I need more info about Leviathan and what he was doing with Jonah. If he can tell us where he was kept, we might be able to find Jonah without incident.”
Even as I say it, I know the chances of it actually working out that way are very slim. But I have to think that way. I have to balance my instincts with my training, hope for structure, and prepare for upheaval.
“I’ll call you when I find the file,” he says. “I know we already went over this, but please promise me you won’t do anything impulsive. Or at least if you’re going to, don’t do it without someone knowing what’s going on.”
“If I have to do anything even remotely risky, I’ll probably have my cousin with me.”
It’s the best way I can figure to slip the news into the conversation. Sam pauses.
“You got the results back.”
“Yes. Jonah is Dean’s father. Making him my cousin. He was so obsessed with my mother; he slept with the first woman who reminded him of her,” I tell him.
“That’s sick,” he says. “We need to find this guy. That’s not the kind of mind I want out on the streets.”
“Then let’s get him off them.”
When the conversation is over, I call up to the hospital and check on Greg. Confirming he’s awake and lucid, I finish getting ready, gather all the evidence I have of the bombing and Catch Me, and head for the hospital in the new rental car I had delivered this morning. My fingertips tingle with anticipation, waiting for my phone to ring so Sam can tell me what’s in that file.
Greg’s awake, looking a bit more lucid when I walk into his room. I’ve brought breakfast from the cafeteria, and his eyes light up.
“I don’t know how your eating schedule is now, but I figured you might like a little bit of a break from the trays they bring you. So, I brought up a couple of sausage and egg biscuits, some hashbrowns, and some real coffee. How does that sound?” I ask.
“Sounds fantastic,” he says.
“Good.”
I set the food down on the tray table beside him, and Dean carries the files and bags of materials over to the sofa. Greg’s eyes follow him.
“What’s all that?” he asks.
I follow his gaze and let out a breath.
“I wanted to show
you some things I uncovered while you were with Jonah and see if you could tell me anything about them,” I say. He looks away, his eyes focusing on his feet at the end of the bed rather than me. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re talking about Lotan,” he says, almost under his breath. “I’ve never heard his real name before.”
“Yes,” I tell him. He keeps staring, and I take a step closer to him. “Say it.”
Greg looks over at me.
“What?”
“Say it,” I repeat. “For two years, he forced you to call him by a title because he thinks he’s a god. Let me tell you something. In ancient mythology, Lotan wasn’t a god. He was a servant, a monster, and he was destroyed. You stood up to him. You survived him. Don’t stay chained to him now.”
“How do you know I stood up to him?” he asks.
“Because you’re sitting here right now. You made sure your name was written in that book. And you tried to leave me something at the bus station when it was bombed. He might have had you in captivity, but you overcame it as much as you could.”
Greg stares at me, and for the first time, I feel like we see each other. We’re not hiding behind each other or trying to find something in the other that isn’t there. For the first time, we’re looking at each other and seeing the real person standing there.
“What do you have on Jonah?” he asks.
My lips curve into a hint of a smile, and I give a single nod before going over to the couch to gather what I brought with me. Greg takes a plate of breakfast into his lap and Dean takes another, sitting in the chair across the bed from me. I leave my plate on the tray table so I can take bites in between going through the papers and pictures spread across the bed and my lap.
“First, I want to know what you have. What is Leviathan?” I ask.
“I don’t know exactly,” he says.
“You were in it for two years,” I point out incredulously.
“That’s the thing. I was there, but I wasn’t really in it. Not after the first few weeks, anyway. Jonah is cruel and deluded, but he’s brilliant. He has tight control over everyone around him. Nobody knows all the details except for him. Even the highest-ranking members are still kept in the dark about some things. There is a very strict hierarchy in the organization. You learn more as you move up. I was brought in higher in the rankings than the disposable pawns he uses essentially for filler, but I didn’t stay in his good favor long enough to gain his trust and learn more. What I do know is his philosophy. Jonah believes in the power of chaos. He thinks the world is sleeping. That most people never actually live. Chaos, fear, and destruction give energy and value to life, and promote power and influence.”
“Chaos. Tiamat,” Dean pipes up. “Remember? When we were trying to figure out what Martin was talking about when he was rambling about Lotan, we read about the Mesopotamian goddess that represented the chaos of creation.”
“There is also the tradition that Leviathan is the representation of destruction,” Greg says. “In Christianity, Leviathan is often used for the imagery of Satan and his destruction of everything. But he’s also referred to as the demon of envy.”
My eyes go to Dean.
“Can you think of anyone Jonah might have been envious of?” I ask.
Dean nods, the same link forming in his mind.
“Just like Leviathan means different things, it has different forms,” Greg continues. “Every member is devoted to the concept of chaos and power, but those are often different things. Jonah selects his followers carefully. Uses them for everything they have to offer. Some aid his pursuit of wealth, influence, or control with trafficking. I personally was involved with dealings with the drug cartels and weapons sales.”
“What about the others?” I ask.
“Some agents instigate chaos directly. Terrorist attacks. Staged destructions. Mass shootings. He plans the destruction, and they ensure it happens,” Greg tells me.
“Was he involved in the bombing of the bus station?” I ask. I reach down and pull out the files I have from the investigation. “I didn’t think you had anything to do with it.”
Greg shakes his head.
“I didn’t. That wasn’t the plan. Jonah was furious when that happened. He sent hunters out to find the person responsible, but no one has been able to find them.”
“Why was he so angry?” Dean asks. “If he loves chaos so much, why would he be upset about something that destructive?”
“Because he didn’t control it. It wasn’t designed around his plan. And he was afraid for you, Emma. You’re the focus of everything.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Everything he does. Every attack, every plan, every destruction, he does it with you in mind.”
That makes my skin crawl. I push it aside, focusing on the question I’ve carried with me since I saw the footage of him.
“What did you give to the man at the information desk?” I ask. “The FBI has footage of you going into the station right before the blast.” I show him a still from the video. “You have a bag, and you put it in the locker. Then you go to the information desk. I know you gave them something for me.”
Greg nods.
“I wasn’t bringing something to the station. I was facilitating a pickup. One of Jonah’s connections left a payment for a shipment of guns in one of the lockers. It was my job to go to that locker, put the payment in the bag, then put that bag in a different locker. The plan was for it to be moved again later before finally being picked up. That’s the way he did everything, making sure he didn’t leave any straight lines to follow.”
“But you did leave something at the desk,” I say.
“I hoped someone would notice something. That there would be an investigation and the Bureau would be brought in. I tried to leave as many clues in as many places as I could. I knew you weren’t going to find all of them, but if you could find any of them, it would tell you I was alive and hopefully eventually lead you to him. I wanted to leave things you would know instantly were for you and from me, but that wouldn’t give too much away, so it didn’t create more danger.”
“What was that one?”
“A note saying I would be at the restaurant at nine,” he says.
We both let out soft, sad laughs.
“That would have done it,” I tell him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Where were you?” Dean asks. “Where did they keep you?”
“I don’t know,” Greg says. “Not exactly, anyway. Lotan—Jonah—made sure we never went the same route twice to the compound. It was another secret he kept from most members. At first, he had me convinced it was to protect the confidentiality of the undercover assignment. He told me the fewer details I knew at the beginning, the better. I would learn more as the job progressed. But once he realized I knew he wasn’t Ian and that something else was going on, it just became a matter of control.”
“But it was close?” I ask. “Around here somewhere?”
“It took probably an hour to get to where we stayed most of the time, but we rarely were in one place for long. He had us traveling all over.”
“How?” I ask. “How did you travel?”
“Jonah has a tremendous amount of influence. His network is huge. If it wasn’t for the sheer evil it’s allowed for; I’d say it was impressive. There was always a car or plane ready to take us wherever we needed to go. No documentation needed. Wherever we went, we stayed in houses, never hotels. There were always people ready to welcome him and do whatever he needed,” Greg explains.
“Alright. What can you tell us about his most trusted people? You said you were not his most trusted, but you were above others.”
“Yes,” he nods. “I was one of the ‘honored’, as he likes to describe it. I was brought in to listen to his rants about you and the life he was creating for you. In the beginning, he almost treated me like a friend, but really, he was trying to glean as much information from me as he possibly could. When he realized I wa
sn’t fully under his spell, he just tried to torture it out of me.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him.
“Don’t be. None of this is your fault. You couldn’t possibly have known what was happening. Besides, I thought I was getting involved in a critical undercover assignment that would bring down pervasive organized crime and terrorism. Maybe after everything I went through in there, that’s actually what I’m getting to do now.”
I nod.
“We’re going to find him. And we’re going to stop him.”
“I know you are,” he says.
“Does the name Martin Phillips mean anything to you?” Dean asks. “Did you know him when you were in there?”
“Martin?” Greg asks.
“He’s an orderly here at the hospital,” I explain. “Or at least, he was. He’s been taking care of you since you came in, but a couple of days ago, he drugged me and stuffed me in a body drawer in the morgue. Dean rescued me, and we realized Martin was missing. No one has seen him since, and the police investigation has come up with nothing. The only thing we were able to uncover is a video diary he made. He posted several videos on a private blog ranting completely incoherently about Lotan. That’s how we heard the name, to begin with. Did you know him?”
“None of us knew anybody by our actual names,” he says. “Just like Lotan, we were all called something different.”
“Did you get to decide what you were called?” I ask.
“No. Lotan chose it for us.”
“Of course he did,” Dean says.
The disgust in Dean’s voice is more pronounced now. Finding out his true paternity is crawling under his skin and digging into his soul. It’s chipping away at him, and I can only hope bringing an end to this will give him the vindication he needs.
I want to ask the question that’s on the very tip of my tongue, to find out what Jonah called Greg when he was under his power. But I stop myself. After everything he went through, the last thing Greg needs is to ever hear that name again. Whatever it was, it needs to stay wherever he pushed it until he wants to say it. Instead, I ask around it.