by CJ Lyons
Leah didn’t trust her words. All she could do in the face of Jessica’s tsunami of fury was shake her head. There were no weapons in the room she could use, other than playing to Jessica’s emotions. Keep her focus on me, she thought, keep Brody here, away from Emily.
“After you saved Brody, after he left the hospital, he killed my husband. Because of you, my Gordan is dead.” Jessica’s voice rose then fell until the last word was barely a whisper. Her shoulders slumped as if she’d exhausted herself with her outburst.
“I didn’t…” Leah trailed off, at a loss to find words capable of untangling the snarled knot of Jessica’s warped logic.
“I watched Brody kill my husband. Helpless. Powerless.” Jessica took a deep breath and straightened, her posture ramrod, unforgiving. “Now you get to watch as everything you love is taken away. Forever.”
Leah stared at Brody. There had to be a human component buried beneath the drugs and pain. One that she could maybe use to get to Emily, save her. “Brody, you don’t want to hurt Emily. She’s just a little kid, like your Charlie.”
A strangled grunt emerged from Brody and one finger twitched, curling as if trying to make a fist. Leah took that as a good sign—maybe his mind was free even if Jessica still had control of his body.
“He won’t listen to you. He can’t.” Jessica smiled at Brody—more than a smile, a triumphant grin of delight. “He can’t disobey.”
Leah watched, assessing her options—she couldn’t run and leave Emily behind, and she couldn’t fight Jessica without getting shot, which would also leave Emily unprotected.
“Why are you doing this?” She directed her words to Brody, remembering how kind he’d been to Emily. “Is she threatening Charlie?”
He remained motionless and expressionless, held in the thrall of whatever commands Jessica had given him.
Jessica laughed and Leah turned back to her. “You’re both idiots. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
She stepped forward, tapped the drug infusion pump. “Took me months to rebuild his mind—poor thing was so lost, his memories fragmented after you brought him back from the dead. Permanent brain damage. Was like a lost child, shuffling in a haze through a world he barely comprehended.” She turned to smile at Leah. “Until I gave him new memories, built him a new world inside his mind. One that I control.”
“You brainwashed him?” She remembered what Jessica had said about her work for the military—this was what she’d meant. Not helping people find peace, but reshaping their reality, until they were under her control. “How?”
“Gordie’s neurostimulation tech combined with my own unique drug cocktail. Including some synthetic scopolamine.” Jessica acted as if she deserved the Nobel prize.
A wave of bile overcame Leah—she’d let Jessica use a form of that same tech on Emily. She’d even left Emily alone with Jessica. “You didn’t—Emily?”
“No, dear.” Jessica’s tone turned pitying, enjoying Leah’s pain. “Not yet, anyway. But let me show you what she can expect.” Her thumb caressed the screen and Brody grimaced in pain, every muscle rigid. Jessica stood back, appraising her work.
“I lied,” she whispered to Brody. “There’s no saving your son. What you see now is the truth.”
She clicked the tablet and the TV lit up, but it wasn’t the view from before. This time it was a video loop, only a few seconds long, taken from a car’s dashboard. A residential block on a steep hill. The sound of the car’s engine revving, then a young woman appeared, stepping off the curb, an infant’s car seat swinging from her hand. The car sped toward them, hitting them without warning, the noise of the impact heart-wrenching. The camera angle didn’t show the bloody results, but somehow that made it worse. Then there was silence, followed by a woman’s laughter echoing from inside the car. The whole thing was maybe six seconds long, looping over and over as Leah stared.
“Charlie and his mother were the first ones I killed.” Jessica leaned in, hovering intimately close to Brody, her voice low, almost seductive. “But of course, I couldn’t tell you. Had to give you something to care about, something to believe in—something I could threaten if you tried to disobey.”
Brody stood frozen, unblinking as the carnage of his family’s destruction played out on the screen. Not even that horror could break Jessica’s control over him.
“It’s time,” Jessica said, turning back to Leah. “Shall we begin with your mother or your daughter? You’ve seen what Brody can do with a hatchet. It’s nothing compared to his work with a knife.”
Leah’s body moved before she could make a conscious decision. She lunged toward Jessica, but before she made it halfway across the room, Jessica aimed the pistol at Leah’s heart. “Stop.”
Leah obeyed. Even if Jessica was a poor shot, there was no way she could miss at this distance. From the other woman’s stance and unwavering hand, she had a feeling Jessica was very practiced with the pistol.
“That’s a good girl.” An alarm sounded like a doorbell on Jessica’s tablet. She glanced at it, lips pressed in consideration, then touched a button. “Company.”
A few moments later the sound of pounding footsteps echoed from the front room. Leah turned to face the newcomer, hope thrilling through her. Was it Jericho?
No. It was Radcliffe. He had a gun as well. Relief flooded over Leah. “Thank God you’re here,” she gushed. “They killed my husband.”
Nobody moved. Then Radcliffe nodded to Jessica and lowered his pistol. “I told you, you were sloppy. Giving him your son’s motorcycle? Helping Broderick get out of prison early. Not to mention the drug cocktail you used on Ian Wright. Same as in your DARPA research. Took me all of an hour to figure out it had to be you. But I can only cover up so much; the cops are on the way. Grab the proof of concept and your research. We’re out of here.”
“No. I’m not ready. Besides, the police will believe exactly what I want them to believe. That Leah coerced Brody to kill her husband. I even left them evidence—a photo,” Jessica said, speaking as if Leah wasn’t right there. “When she and Brody vanish, the cops will add two and two, get five, and I’ll be free to continue mine and Gordie’s work.”
“Work?” Leah yelled and suddenly she had everyone’s attention—except Brody, who still stood frozen, awaiting Jessica’s next command. “In the name of research, you had my husband murdered? You kidnapped my mother and daughter?”
“Not research. Revenge.”
Leah turned to Radcliffe. “She’s holding them hostage, said she’s going to have Brody kill them.”
“Call it a signing bonus.” Jessica beamed at Radcliffe, but he merely appeared exasperated.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going along with hurting a child. We’re out of time,” he told her. “Put away the gun. We’re leaving. Now.”
“No,” Jessica told him. “You need to buy me more time. She needs to feel what I did, she needs to pay—”
“Lady, I said, grab your shit and let’s go.” The words cracked like a whip, but Jessica merely smirked.
“This project is too valuable—I’m too valuable. The research is all here, inside my head. Your bosses will want you to do as I say, let me finish. Then you can have everything, my research and Gordie’s. I don’t care what you do with it. As long as I get to see the people who stole Gordie from me suffer like I have.”
Radcliffe frowned at that, seemed to be actually considering giving into Jessica’s demands.
“What do you want from me?” Leah realized the government agent might not be her ally. She tried to think of any words that would convince Jessica to let Emily go, unharmed. Then she realized there was only one thing that would satisfy Jessica’s pain, her need for retribution. “Take me with you, you’ll have all the time in the world to make me suffer. Just leave Emily and Ruby. Safe and alive.”
Jessica’s eyes gleamed as she considered Leah’s offer.
“We don’t have time for this,” Radcliffe argued. “Let’s go. Now.”
Radcliffe raised his weapon, aiming at Jessica. “Lady, I’ve had all I’m going to take from you—”
“Shut up. Do as you’re told and help me finish this.” Her tone sounded bored, as if instructing someone unwilling to listen to simple logic.
All Leah could think was how absolutely insane this woman was. How was she going to save Emily and Ruby? They were obviously in a wine cellar, and Brody had come from the rear of the house; the entrance must be there.
Jessica whispered something too soft for Leah to hear and thumbed her tablet. Brody grabbed Leah’s arm, raising his knife in his other hand and pressing it against her jugular, ignoring Radcliffe’s gun as the DIA man whirled to face him.
Radcliffe seemed more than intimidated by Brody; he actually stepped back as if afraid. The expression on his face was a mix of disgust and repulsion. The two men faced each other in silence, the only sound the huffing of Radcliffe’s breath.
“Give me your gun,” Jessica commanded.
Radcliffe glanced at Leah, his bravado crumpling, and slowly lowered his gun to the floor, kicking it across the hardwood to Jessica, who scooped it up. Brody’s grip was bruising, but it was the blade against her throat that held Leah frozen, unable to fight back as much as she wanted to. She was Emily’s only hope; she just had to wait and watch for an opening that wouldn’t end up with all of them dead.
Jessica glanced up from her tablet, her eyes dilated with excitement as she met Leah’s gaze. “Let’s go pay your daughter a visit.” Then she smiled at Brody.
Forty-Four
Brody’s mind fragmented into more pieces than the kaleidoscope he’d given Charlie for Christmas. Shattered slivers sliced into view then spun away into oblivion. Dr. Jessica, her face warped like a blond gargoyle; the room smelling of woodsmoke and sweaty fear. The knife in his hand gleaming like a mirror. Leah, her face the only one in focus, so sad, so afraid, he wanted to step in front of her, protect her.
Pain surged through Brody, his limbs moving as if they had a life of their own. His fingers clenched soft flesh—Leah’s. The other doctor. The other mother. The other wife… the widow. All Brody’s fault. No—not Brody’s fault. He’d had no choice; it was the only way to save Charlie.
But he’d failed. The bloody nightmares hadn’t been dreams at all—they’d been real. The dream, the golden haloed dream that had saved him from the pain, that had been Charlie. Only a dream.
This time the pain was of his own creation as he howled with rage and sorrow, yet was unable to make a sound. The most Brody could do was create a tiny whimper, a dog whipped past caring enough to want to live. He would have passed that point a long time ago—if not for Charlie.
Charlie was gone.
He’d killed a man, destroyed a family for a dream, a wish. Make-believe. False hope of a life worth living. How could he have done that?
For Charlie. He’d do anything for Charlie.
Tears seeped from his eyes, but he couldn’t raise a hand to wipe them away. They made the world seem blurry—almost as blurry as his memories were. The only thing that had felt real was Charlie, the sound of his laughter, the feeling of his weight against Brody’s chest, snoring his little boy snores, smelling of bubblegum soap and pajamas fresh from the dryer. The rest of Brody’s life, the rest of the whole damned world blurred into nothingness compared to Charlie.
As he marched Leah through the kitchen to the door leading to the wine cellar, his chest ached so bad he thought it might burst from the pain. Charlie… his son’s name screamed through his brain, echoing, until it faded into oblivion.
Silent, he waited as Jessica unlocked the heavy door, swinging it open so he could pass through, forcing Leah down the steep stone steps. Down, down, down to an ice-cold hell where there was no sunlight, no laughter, only tears.
Her daughter’s tears. The little girl Brody had once made laugh. So long ago. Leah would do anything to save her, even sacrifice her own life. He could feel that truth in the way her muscles tensed as she examined the stone walls, her gaze like a bird flitting from one possible escape route to another before slumping in defeat.
“Help me.” Her whisper was for his ears only, undercutting his own mental screams of anguish. “Please. You loved your little boy—I know you loved Charlie. Please help me save Emily.”
Was she real? Maybe this was all a dream? If so, then what he’d done to the man, that was a dream as well, wasn’t real. What a relief that would be… but this time Brody couldn’t convince himself, not with memories seeping through the crumbling walls Jessica had built to hold them back. The man was real. The way he’d cried and screamed and fought to save his little girl.
Her little girl.
“Please.”
He’d tried to fight back so many times—but he’d been shackled by more than pain, by fear of what would happen to Charlie.
Charlie was dead. The thought hammered through his brain, a coffin lid slamming shut for the final time.
Charlie was dead. He hadn’t saved him. Charlie was dead.
Because of him.
Forty-Five
Luka pushed the SUV to its limits as he drove through near white-out conditions. Then, less than a mile from Jessica Kern’s home, the storm eased off. Like the eye of a hurricane, the winds vanished and the clouds opened up to reveal a panorama of stars shining above the snow glistening undisturbed on the road ahead.
“You know,” Ray said after checking in with Krichek via radio—cell reception was nonexistent up here even in the best of weather. “If Broderick is delusional enough to create an imaginary son, then he’s the perfect foil for Wright. She’s probably manipulating him.”
Luka shook his head. “No. I still don’t buy it.”
“You’re forgetting the picture we found on Wright’s phone. It wasn’t a selfie—someone was there with Broderick.”
“Doesn’t mean it was Leah. There’s something we’re missing. I just can’t put my finger on it.” Luka steered them onto Kern’s private drive, but a pair of massive steel gates blocked their path. He tried the intercom twice. No reply. He climbed out of the car and waved to the security camera. Its light blinked red; it seemed to be working. Then he tried the intercom one last time. Still nothing and there was no override he could find.
“What’s our play?” Ray asked as he joined Luka. “We still don’t have a warrant.”
“There’s a child in there. And no one is answering repeated attempts to contact them in order to verify her safety.”
“Sounds like exigent circumstances to me. I’ll radio McKinley for backup.”
Luka strode to the rear of SUV and opened the back hatch. He grabbed flashlights for both of them along with tactical vests. There was a shotgun and ammo—he handed those off to Ray, keeping only his Glock.
“We’re not waiting for McKinley,” Ray said as he checked the Remington’s ammo.
Luka didn’t bother with an answer, instead pivoting on his heel and striding to the gate. The newer section over the drive had steel struts too closely placed for them to get through, but there was no way Kern could have replaced all of the original fencing surrounding the entire estate. He remembered coming here as a kid for a school trip. The mansion had been cool, but what had really impressed him was the cavernous basement with its labyrinth of tunnels. He and his friends had evaded their chaperones and spent half a day exploring down there. As he plowed through the half foot of snow, stumbling against the brush buried beneath, finally reaching the old wrought-iron fence surrounding the property, he wondered if Tanya had ever been here.
Ignoring the snow that fell into his shoes, he shoved the thought aside. It felt as if he was shoving his little sister away, abandoning her, like he had at lunch. Damn it, he needed to focus. Lives were at stake with every choice he made. He walked along the ancient original fence until he found what he’d been looking for: a section rusted out, partially collapsed, leaving a wide enough sp
ace for him and Ray to climb through.
They exited the wooded area, then crossed through a section of shrubs, heading back to the flatter drive where they could move faster. There Luka spotted two sets of tire tracks. One set almost buried in snow, the other fresh and from a larger vehicle like an SUV.
Luka drew his weapon and quickened his pace, jogging up the road, the lights of the huge house beckoning to him. He slowed once he spied Leah’s truck parked out front, used it for cover to reach the porch. Luka sidled to the front doors and Ray joined him. The left-hand door was ajar, a sketch of snow blown over the threshold, melting on the foyer floor, a man’s boot prints visible against the white marble.
Not good.
Forty-Six
Brody and Leah led the way down the stairs to the cellar, followed by Radcliffe, and finally Jessica. As soon as they began their descent Leah felt suddenly claustrophobic. The walls were stone and so close together that she could reach her hands and brush both sides without straightening her arms. Brody kept prodding her along, but he no longer held her arm and he’d lowered his knife. Because she had nowhere else to go once they reached the bottom?
She whispered to Brody, pleading, her words masked by their proximity and the fact that Jessica kept pausing to fiddle with her tablet, turning lights on ahead of them and nudging Radcliffe with her pistol as they rounded one landing after another.
“The man who built this house was a mining engineer, owned most of the coal pits around here,” Jessica said, sounding more like a chirpy tour guide than a deranged killer. “He was constantly afraid of his workers rising up against him, so he built escape routes, turned his basement into a labyrinth. Came in handy during the Civil War, I’m told.”
Leah reached the final landing at the bottom of the stairs. The air smelled different down here, damp with minerals. Beyond her was only darkness until Jessica joined them and used her tablet to turn on the lights, revealing a vast stone-walled room with several tunnels leading off it. The walls were lined with shelves designed to hold wine, while in the center a surgical light had been hung over a dental chair outfitted with heavy-duty restraints. Tables with surgical equipment and special monitors flanked the chair.