Face Behind the Mask

by Leo King

  A rush of emotion she hadn’t felt since she was with Richie filled Sam’s heart. “Yes. So hang on, OK?”

  With a soft, weak smile, Meghan said, “OK.”

  There was a fisherman’s shack nearby, so Sam headed toward it to search for something to stop the bleeding. The weakness in her joints was so great, she had to lean on the pylons to walk. She was only a few feet away when Meghan asked, “Hey, are you really immortal?” Her voice was very weak.

  “Yeah. I am. I can’t die.”

  “Lucky you.”

  And then silence.

  “Don’t worry, Meghan. We’ll get through this, and…”

  But Sam felt that something was wrong. She turned around. Meghan was sitting there, still smiling softly, her eyes glazed over.

  Sam fell to her knees, tears pouring out as she crawled over to Meghan and shook her. “No, no, no! Come on, damn it! Don’t go! Don’t do this to me!”

  But it was too late. Meghan was already dead.

  Rocking back and forth, holding Meghan’s head to her chest, Sam cried out in agony, a long roar that carried years of frustration and pain. I can’t save anyone! Not Michael, Rodger, Richie, or even Meghan. Everyone I love keeps dying!

  She darted to the edge of the pier and puked into the water. Then she howled again. “What use is any of this?” The wooden pier cracked, parts of it crumbling.

  From above, the helicopter roared and a light shone down upon her. Sam stood up, leaning on one of the pylons. She felt weak. She felt cold. She felt like any moment could be her last.

  I can’t go on like this. I can’t live while everyone around me dies.

  “Sam!” Aucoin called out, signaling to the riverbank. “We’ll circle around and land. Just hold on.”

  Hold on? What a joke. It all ends the same way. People die because of me.

  She glanced back over her shoulder. The Mississippi River was dark, cold, and silent.

  Maybe if I go down there and can’t come back, the Baron will have to dig my grave.

  Then she looked back up at Aucoin and smiled, stepping back to the edge of the pier.

  His eyes widened. “Sam? Sam, what are you…”

  Take care, Kyle. I hope you find happiness someday.

  Spreading her arms, she leaned back.

  “Sam! NO!”

  Then Sam knew only darkness once more.

  Part Two

  Chapter 25

  Two Years Later

  Date: Sunday, April 16, 1995

  Time: 1:00 p.m.

  Location: Penthouse at 740 Park Avenue

  Manhattan, New York

  “Are you working late tonight, Gino?” Dixie asked as she lay Felicia on the floor, her daughter still groggily rubbing her face after waking from her nap.

  Her husband’s voice rang out from the speakerphone, as sexy as ever. “Unfortunately, yes. We start filming for the new season next week. I’ll be working late every night.”

  Upon hearing his voice, Felicia called out, “Daddy!”

  Dixie’s smile deepened as she gazed affectionately at the toddler, lightly tickling her little feet until she started giggling.

  Gino chuckled. “Hey, baby girl.”

  Felicia said, “Daddy,” again before rolling to her feet and toddling toward the table where the phone lay. She patted it repeatedly. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Fortunately, she kept missing the buttons.

  He continued to laugh. “Sounds like our girl is in a good mood.”

  “She is, indeed,” said Dixie, going to pick her daughter up. “And she misses her daddy. So don’t come home too late, Mr. Soap Opera Director.” In her arms, Felicia wiggled, wanting to get free and back to her father.

  “All right, my love. I’ll make it in for a late dinner.”

  “Thank you, honey.” She put Felicia into her high chair, laying out some animal crackers. At once, the toddler was distracted with consuming the snack.

  As things quieted, Gino cleared his throat. “Dixie, have you thought about Commissioner Bratton’s offer? For the job?”

  She sat down, her smile dwindling. “Not yet. While I’m not ready to retire, and ‘captain’ has a nice ring to it, I don’t think I’m suited to a desk job. I work best out in the field, solving cases.”

  “I know, but…” There was always a “but” when they talked about this. “Don’t you think you’ve taken enough risks? Aren’t you ready to be safe?”

  There were a few loud voices on the other end of the line. Then he said, “Sorry, love. They need me on the set. It was so much easier when I was just writing these. We’ll talk more later. See you tonight?”

  “I’ll be here when you get home.” She hung up and for a long while stared silently out of the large, wall-length window overlooking Park Avenue.

  Gently, she stroked Felicia’s hair until her daughter said, “Cracker!” She was offering a cracker in the shape of a horse.

  With grin, Dixie leaned down and nipped it out of her daughter’s small hand. She gazed lovingly at her. With her blond baby hair having turned dark, and with her smooth pale skin, Felicia looked more like her father each day.

  “I wish you could have met him, honey. He was a good man.”

  It wasn’t something she and Gino discussed. Either he just accepted that their child hadn’t inherited his swarthy skin, or he was too much of a gentleman to ask uncomfortable questions. Regardless, she wished there was someone she could talk to about it, but there was no one. Sam had vanished two years ago, Aucoin’s whereabouts were unknown, and everyone else who had known Michael was dead.

  Dixie was just about to pick Felicia up when the phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she saw it was from Arkansas. “Huh? I don’t know anyone there.”

  A few rings later, the answering machine responded. Then a familiar voice spoke up.

  “Dixie? This is Dr. Lazarus. When you get this message, pl—”

  “I’m here!” Dixie said, slapping the speakerphone button so fast, Felicia jerked, sudden anxiety on her little face. Rushing back to her daughter, she rubbed her head reassuringly. “Sorry, honey.”

  Once Felicia had gone back to eating, Dixie said, “I’m here, Andre. You caught me feeding Felicia her afternoon snack.”

  Instantly, his voice warmed up from its usual professional tone. “Hello, there! And how is little Felicia?”

  “She’s fine. About to have a story read to her.”

  “Wonderful! I take it that your nanny is not there?”

  “Yes, today is Miss Abercrombie’s day off.” She had a hunch why he’d asked that. “I’m effectively alone, if you need to discuss something sensitive.”

  “Indeed, I do.” His voice grew serious. “Dixie, I hate to ask you for anything, especially after all you’ve done. But I need your help.”

  For a moment, her heart skipped a beat. “Is it Sam? Have you found her?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” he said. “There is no trace of her. But I require someone with your analytical mind to assist some colleagues of mine on another task.”

  “OK. What’s going on?” she asked, munching on a lion cracker offered by her daughter.

  “We’ve been tracing how Vincent came across the tkeeus. I believe we’ve discovered who introduced him to it.”

  Dixie swallowed. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. We believe that a member of the Knight Priory called the Oracle brought the tkeeus into the United States back in the 1960s. Before giving it to Vincent, the Oracle used it some other place. Unfortunately, the people who are investigating that other place—associates I’ve known for many years—have run into difficulties.”

  “And you’d like me to help them?”

  “I would.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “It is, but no more so than your experience with Hannah.”

  Again, Dixie grew silent. As boring as her life had become, it was safe. But I’m not ready to be safe, am I? Does that make me irresponsible?

  She look
ed down at Felicia, who was smiling up at her with eyes like jelly beans, her bowl of crackers empty. Picking her daughter up, she realized that if Michael were alive, he’d tell her it was illogical to risk her life when she had a child to raise. And she was certain Gino would say the same thing. She should probably sit this one out. Maybe in a few years, she could be useful again.

  But before she could speak, Dr. Lazarus said, “The people who need help are at Emory University in Atlanta.”

  That meant nothing to her. “OK, and?”

  “You don’t know? That is where Alexia LeBlanc attends school.”

  That made Dixie stop in her tracks. Oh, my God. Michael’s little sister! I’d forgotten about her.

  Suddenly, she had someone she could talk to about Felicia, about what had happened with Michael. Finally, she could get some closure.

  I’ll have to get Miss Abercrombie to cover full-time, and Gino will be worried, but…

  Before she even realized it, she said, “Count me in, Andre.”

  “Wonderful!” he said. “I’ll arrange everything. I’ll also send you what we know about the Knight Priory, especially on members like the Oracle, Miss Saucier, and Dr. Kindley. Thank you so much, Dixie. I promise to make it up to you.”

  After he disconnected, Dixie stood there for a while, absently rocking Felicia back and forth until the toddler leaned against her, nuzzling affectionately.

  Did I make a mistake? Should I do this?

  She walked to the window and gazed out over the Manhattan skyline. As peaceful as her life was, she wasn’t happy. She needed to be useful again.

  Her thoughts turned to Alexia. Michael’s little sister. The one person he’d loved more than anyone else. She had known the girl through her brother and knew her to be as headstrong as he had been. A bit of a tomboy, too, from what she recalled.

  Dixie kissed the top of Felicia’s head.

  I wonder what kind of woman she’s grown into?

  The Scent of Fear

  (Alexia LeBlanc’s Story)

  Chapter 26

  Postcard from New York

  Date: Friday, April 21, 1995

  Time: 2:00 p.m.

  Location: School of Medicine

  Emory University, Atlanta, Georgia

  Alexia LeBlanc didn’t consider parties, dancing, or clubbing to be a good time, even though all her friends claimed a woman with her figure should. Loud music, alcohol, and charming boys did nothing to excite her. Instead, what she found stimulating were martial arts, fencing, good books, and lengthy lectures. And nothing titillated her more than when Professor Templeton, her forensics pathology instructor, went over recent tragedies like the Oklahoma City bombing.

  “So, as you can see from the aerial photos, the blast at the Murrah Federal Building caused massive damage to its structure. Now, we know from early reports that several thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate were used, but what can we tell by looking at the picture?” Pointing at the projected photographs, Templeton, who was only five feet tall with a receding hairline and always a tweed suit, looked around the auditorium from behind his Coke-bottle glasses.

  Alexia, who was sucking thoughtfully on her pen cap, raised her hand. She was sure she knew the answer.

  “Yes, Miss LeBlanc,” he said.

  She stretched her jaw, clicking it. “The destruction, while heavy, isn’t spread out. If you detonated several thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate, the radius would have been immense, but there would have been significantly less structural damage.”

  A nearby student who looked like his study guide was a Playboy spoke up. “Huh? Do you mean that something other than aluminum nitrate was used?”

  Every word he spoke made her cringe. “Ammonium nitrate, you dolt!” she exclaimed. “No, of course not. Look at the photos. They tell the entire story!”

  There was a general murmur in class as Templeton nodded. “Miss LeBlanc is correct. The photographs almost always tell what happened. Now, Alexia, what do the photographs tell you?”

  She spun her pen around. It helped her think. “The bomb was created as a shaped charge, directing the blast directly into the structure, in order to cause the highest possible level of damage.”

  He smiled proudly. “Exactly, Miss LeBlanc, good job! So while the FBI hunts for the culprits, likely a fundamentalist terrorist group, we can be certain that these are absolutely not amateurs. We can—”

  “I don’t think that’s accurate at all,” she interrupted.

  His brow tightened into a familiar wrinkle. “What do you mean?”

  Most of the class was now looking at her, but she didn’t care. As she continued twirling her pen, she mentally laid out a roadmap of the evidence. She had her theory a few moments later. “The blast is not just controlled, it’s too controlled. There’s no hate or rage in this crime. No passion, no pathos. There’s only cold and emotionless conviction. That’s not the work of an extremist. They were making a statement, simple as that.”

  Templeton cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that’s good and all, but—”

  She interrupted again. “I’m not done. The bombing date is suspicious, too.”

  “As in?”

  Closing her eyes, she thought back to April from two years ago, recalling a headline that had stuck with her. “The date coincides with the two-year anniversary of the Branch-Davidian compound fire in Waco, Texas. So you have the cold, calculated destruction of a federal building two years after federal agents purportedly botched a standoff that resulted in dozens of deaths. It’s possible the two events are connected.”

  Leaning on the projector as if this situation were routine, Templeton frowned. “What do you think this is, Miss LeBlanc?”

  Annoyed murmurs about “Awesome Alexia” started rising from the other students.

  She absently nibbled on her pen cap. The answer seemed obvious. “Only one or two people did this, and they’d have knowledge of demolitions. They’re either military or ex-military, maybe a Gulf War veteran. They consider themselves at war with the United States government. They’d be psychologically unstable, perhaps a sociopath, and… and…”

  She trailed off, going deeper into thought and trying to profile the bombers.

  The same male student from earlier called out in a sing-song manner, “And what? What? We’re waiting for you to solve the crime, Lexi!”

  Snickering rose around her. Without looking, she threw the pen at him. It whizzed right by his nose. “Don’t ever call me Lexi, you dick.”

  “Shit! Forget Awesome Alexia. More like Angry Alexia!” He scooted away. Several other students muttered in disdain.

  Then the campus bell rang, signaling the end of class. Everyone got up and started shuffling out.

  Templeton tried to speak above the clamor of their departure. “OK, class. Remember that Monday is when we start preparing for the semester final. Also, if you’re leaving campus this weekend, remember to stay in groups. The Druid Hills police are still searching for those students who vanished. And finally, don’t forget that this Sunday is a special medical lecture by visiting New York University professor Mathi—”

  But the class was already empty. He sighed, his shoulders sagging.

  Alexia felt a sinking in her stomach. She had promised him she’d try to not take over the lecture again. But just like before, she had gotten so caught up in solving the puzzle that she had forgotten she was in class. The ill feeling increased as she realized she wasn’t living up to the values taught by her faith. By sinning in pride, I am rejecting His love.

  Mentally berating herself, she headed down to him. He stopped stuffing his portfolio. His disappointed expression was as prominent as his Brut aftershave.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I know said I wouldn’t, but…”

  Templeton closed his briefcase. “But you did. And you lost your temper again. You know you’re on permanent probation for what you did during your first year.”

  She looked down, her ears on fire.

&n
bsp; “Look, Alexia, you’re quite possibly the most gifted student I have ever had. But the sooner you realize that no one can ever do it all alone, the sooner you start accepting the help of others, the sooner you’ll find where you truly belong.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, still flushed. Pride was the sin she fought against every day. It was also the sin that had taken away the person she loved the most.

  Templeton, having gathered his belongings, threw on his jacket. “Anyway, you usually end your theories with a profile. Do you have one this time?”

  His question pulled her from her brooding thoughts. “I would look for one or two men, ex-military with a general discharge and possibly a Bronze Star or Purple Heart. They’d have a grudge against the current administration and would have been outspoken against the Branch-Davidian compound incident. That’s all I’ve got.”

  With a chuckle, he patted her shoulder. “Well, like always, you’re probably pretty close. Have a good weekend, Alexia. Hope to see you at the lecture on Sunday. I think you’ll appreciate Professor Mathias. He’s renowned for his study in psychology, especially the fight-versus-flight phenomenon. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  The thought of a lecture from a famed professor made her tingle. “I’ll be there so long as Serge doesn’t have me wrapped up in practice. Championships are coming up soon.”

  Templeton shot her a thumbs-up and then headed off. “And remember to watch that temper. You’re supposed to be Awesome Alexia, not Angry Alexia.”

  As he left, she gripped the silver, cross-shaped locket that always dangled around her neck, savoring its coolness against her skin. She clicked it open and gazed upon the picture of the handsome man inside—someone she loved very much, but whose pride had led to his death. And his death had torn her family asunder.

  Michael. Brother. I miss you.

  A few minutes later, Alexia was heading across Emory. It was the afternoon, and the campus was alive with activity. Students were lounging around the quad, groups of guys were playing football in an open field, and a band was playing a charity concert at one of the amphitheaters.