Every Storm Breaks (Reachers Book 3)

by L E Fitzpatrick

  “You've got the parts to get the machine working,” she said to Jan. “If we fix it, we can save him.”

  Darcy let out a desperate gasp. “Redemption, it's all we have left. You must tell them, Rachel. You must stay with him.”

  Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a smile. “I can save you. John and Charlie will be—”

  “Let me go,” he said, his voice clearer, stronger. “They're coming for you. Let me go, and get out of here. Otherwise it will all have been for nothing.”

  He grabbed her more firmly, his cloudy eyes suddenly full of conviction. This man had saved countless Reachers. He'd dedicated his life to fighting against the Institute. And now he was willing to die here, in the middle of nowhere, a prisoner of a madman and a lost girl. Ending the fight early was not acceptable. Rachel turned to Jan for help, but he had moved away, deciding instead to stand at the window.

  “He's right. You need to go, Rachel. What they are planning… I won't be able to stop them when they come.”

  “When who come?”

  Jan pressed his hand on the pane. “I can't control it for much longer. I can't make it stop. I've done things, Rachel. Such terrible, terrible things. Father Darcy is going, and without him I will be lost.”

  When he turned to face her, his eyes were wide and frightened. What had brought him to this place? Why was he here, keeping a dying man alive?

  She was still holding Darcy. A sudden stillness came over his body. He was gone. The instant had come too quickly. She'd wanted to say something, to give him forgiveness, or comfort, anything but silence. His hand on hers was lifeless, his eyes closed and at peace. She pushed away a stray tear and made to cover his body.

  “He's gone,” she said.

  Jan closed his own eyes. “He asked me to kill him, but I couldn't. The others….” He shook his head. “I couldn't let him go. I tried to save him.”

  “I believe you. But you're still sick, Jan,” she told him. “You're not right. And you need treatment.”

  “I tried to kill myself,” he whispered. “I tried, but he won't let me. Now they won't let me, and he wants to work with them. Darcy was helping! He kept him quiet.” He screamed, kicking at the wall.

  Rachel frowned, trying to understand what he meant. She put her hand on his shoulder. “You have to fight him, Jan. You have to stay in control.”

  “How? He's a Reacher! How can I beat anything that powerful?”

  “You have to try.” She drew him close. “I can help you. I can fight him with you. Do you know what I am?”

  “You're like him.”

  She shook her head. “I'm like you. Give me your hand. I'll help you.”

  “It's too late.”

  Maybe he was right. But she couldn't give up. Not yet. Someone had to be saved.

  * * *

  The man beside Mark had duped him and made him look like an idiot in front of everyone Mark respected. A year ago he had stood in Mark's apartment, claiming to be a government agent and offering him the opportunity of a lifetime. It had cost Mark everything. And now he sat there, fidgeting anxiously and watching the door of a remote cottage as though he had done nothing wrong. He cared for Rachel, that much was obvious, but was he the one Rachel had left him for?

  “You set me up,” Mark said.

  The singer frowned and then rolled his eyes. “Listen, darling, I appreciate you have some misguided score to settle, but now's not really the time. If we make it out of here alive, I'll let you throw the first punch, how's that?”

  “Are you sleeping with her?”

  “With who?”

  “With Rachel?”

  The singer started to laugh, his cocky, deep voice churning up the atmosphere of the car. Mark couldn't help it, he wanted to kill the bastard.

  “Well, are you?”

  “What if I am? She's a grown-up. She can do what and whom she likes.” He turned back to the door. “And, as you can see, she does.”

  There was noise from the road ahead, a burst of machinery churning up the track.

  “What the fuck is….” The singer got out of the car. Two vehicles were coming, their black-tinted windows unmistakably government. He turned back to Mark, his eyes full of accusation. “Who did you call back in Blackwater?”

  Mark didn't answer. He'd done his job. He wasn't going to apologise for abiding by the law.

  Roxy grabbed him, making to hit him, but released him at the last minute. “You stupid twat. What have you done?” The singer unclenched his fist, opened the door, and started running.

  He made it into the house as the cars pulled up. Mark watched from the driver's seat. Three armed men climbed out of the first vehicle, and then he saw Agent Stone get out of the second. The sudden urge to be at her side was overwhelming. Let Rachel see, let her see how I have moved on. He got out, meeting Agent Stone in the driveway by the house. She smiled at him, her ruby lips full of promises and temptation.

  29

  Charlie didn't remember his parents. There were faces—men and women that could have been more than just passing strangers—but no one he could ever call family. Not until Sol. Charlie had lived on the streets, he was sharp and smart and already using his powers. But he was lonely too. As grown-up as he had to be to survive, he was still a child longing for a home. And Sol offered one.

  At first, his new life was perfect. The group he travelled with swelled with Reacher enthusiasts, all eager to tend to him. His belly was always full, his wishes always granted. Being the second-strongest in the group elevated him above all but Sol, and, being a child, he could only see this as good fortune.

  Sol had always been an imposing, commanding man. He saw everything. Knew everything. Every struggle Charlie had with his powers Sol could help him overcome. When Charlie had questions, Sol had answers. So much of what Charlie was had been instigated by Sol, whether the old man intended it or not. He had taught Charlie to be strong and smart. But above all else, he taught Charlie fanatic determination.

  As he sat in the car heading back to Blackwater, dark clouds twisting overhead, Charlie wondered how much he had managed to imprint on Lilly in her six short years. When he was a boy he was told to practice with his powers; he was taught to fight, to steal, to survive. Lilly knew none of those things. He had been so intent on her having a normal childhood, he had left her defenceless.

  He was a bad father. Just like Sol, in the end. All Sol had cared about was controlling his empire, and all Charlie cared about was pulling off the next job. He brought a new life into a broken world without a second thought, even as his pregnant wife sobbed into her pillow each night. He moved his family across the country, through conflicts, in the worst possible conditions, just so he could make that all-important play. He had a lot to answer for, but he would make it up to her. Whatever the cost, he would redeem himself somehow.

  They reached the bypass back to Blackwater. The road there had flooded overnight, but their original vehicle sat on the other side of a ford, seemingly undamaged. John waded across first to check the vehicle hadn't been booby-trapped in any way. It wasn't uncommon for bandits to lure in unsuspecting travellers. Charlie covered him from their stolen car, watching John's cautiousness with envy. If he'd been more like his brother, how different would his life be?

  When John waved the all-clear, Charlie did a final unproductive sweep of the vehicle and went to join him. He toyed with the paper Sol had given him as took his first step through the muddy water. Then it hit him. The Institute had his little girl. The thought wasn't original, or even surprising, and yet his body succumbed. He had seen his wife butchered, he had watched their house burn, but he never saw them take Lilly. And, although he knew where she was, there was always the possibility he was wrong. Until now.

  He reached the edge of the water and he was crying. It had taken two years to arrive at this moment. What kind of man was he? He was supposed to be someone who could do anything, but all he did was turn to drugs and self-loathing. Indulgence at th
e expense of his baby girl. His knees buckled, and he started to fall forward. He was expecting water; instead he hit his brother's chest.

  John was supporting him. Just like always: his brother, his rock. Part of Charlie was influenced by Sol, but a much bigger part came from John. Having someone to look after, someone so dangerous and yet so vulnerable, changed Charlie. The day he met John was the day everything fell into place. Silently, his brother led him to their car, pushed him inside, and then took the driver's seat. But instead of starting the engine and pretending Charlie's breakdown hadn't happened, he waited.

  Charlie passed John the paper. It was safer out of his hands. “I'm a terrible person,” he said.

  John regarded him with an unusual look, something close to empathy. But he didn't say anything.

  “We were never even supposed to get free. Why the hell did I think I could start a family?” He stared at his brother.

  He used to think John was missing out not settling down. But now he understood. There was no settling. They couldn't have normal lives. They couldn't have anything, because the Institute would take it away.

  “I think I wanted Sarah and Lilly to spite them. Those Institute bastards. I brought them into our lives, and I didn't even think about the danger. I just wanted to get the Institute back. Everything, everything has been about getting back at them.”

  John sighed. “I know.”

  “I let them down. I let down the people I was supposed to protect.”

  His biggest fear had been to go back to that place. To know Lilly was there, to have evidence, was too much. How would she cope? How could she possibly survive there? He looked at his brother, remembering the years they had spent under needles and scalpels. They had got out because they were together. But what bound them together had been unique. The others in the experiment all failed.

  “You and Rachel,” Charlie said hesitantly. “Is it the same with you two as it is with us?” Since leaving the laboratories, there had been something that connected the brothers beyond either of their comprehension. It was like telepathy but unlike any Reacher ability Charlie had come across. He preferred to think of it as a knowingness. “Do you feel anything with her?”

  “Nothing.” John's face softened. “It's not the same. What about you?”

  “Only the Reacher connection. I can't feel her when we're apart like I can with you. And I don't get an idea what she's going to do before she does it. Although, in fairness, you managed to catch me by surprise today, so maybe I'm losing my edge.”

  “No. I've been practising blocking you out.”

  Charlie turned to his brother, hurt and horrified. “What? Why?”

  “I couldn't shoot Sol with you knowing.”

  He had a point. “How long have you been planning that move?”

  “Since the day we broke out.” He meant of the Institute, the day they cemented their relationship, their partnership.

  “You never said.”

  “Funny, that.”

  Charlie pulled out his phone, trying to get some signal. “It was risky. If the shot was off—”

  “When has my shot ever been off?” John challenged.

  Charlie . “I guess we're still the Institute's biggest success story, then. Do you think they've continued doing those things?”

  “Maybe. But there were twelve subjects. It only worked with us. Even then, not in the way they wanted it.”

  John was right. Whatever the Institute were trying to create, John and Charlie became something far different than the monstrosity they had planned.

  John started the car and hit the road.

  “How long before we make it back to Blackwater?”

  “Couple of hours,” John said—and that was with him driving like a maniac.

  “Sol took Darcy,” John said. “He took him to use as bait for us.”

  The sky grumbled. “You know this means we can't go after him.”

  With a trap set for them, walking into it would take careful planning and caution. They didn't have time to second-guess Sol, and Darcy would rather die than see them captured. The only way to outwit Sol was to not play. Charlie knew it. John knew it. But it didn't mean either was happy about it.

  “He will forgive us.”

  “He always forgives us. It's his job.” It was his nature too. No matter what Charlie or John did, Darcy had always been there.

  The road ahead widened. They were nearing civilisation again. With it would come investigation and, shortly after, answers. Charlie felt himself growing anxious. His daughter was still a small child when she was taken. Her personality was still forming. She had traits, sayings, hobbies, feelings, but she was in transition, establishing her identity in the world. What had the theft of her freedom done to her?

  He looked at his brother and then at himself. They were survivors, but no longer fit for a normal life. Was Lilly's fate destined to be the same? He was a streetwise kid when the Institute got him, she was still a fragile young child. Was it even possible that she would have survived for so long in their laboratories? He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the pressure in the air pressing down on his head.

  He turned away. “You don't remember anything before the Institute.”

  “Maybe there wasn't anything.” John pressed his lips together. Despite the years of freedom, it was still difficult for them to talk about their time spent incarcerated. Charlie at least had his pre-Institute history to fall back on, but John had nothing but experiments and pain.

  “Do you really think that?”

  John said nothing.

  “You're not from that place.”

  “I'm not from anywhere else.” John flashed him a challenging look.

  “Does it even matter? The Institute have spent a lifetime trying to work out what Reachers are and where we come from. They cut us open, electrocute us, try to turn us into something useful. When most Reachers I know just want to be normal. We're not normal. I'm not a normal Reacher, you're not a normal guy. But we wouldn't have done the things we've done if we were. We are more than that place. We always have been.”

  “Then Lilly will be too.”

  “If she's alive.”

  “And if she's not?”

  Charlie took a deep breath. “Then she'll be at peace, and we will take down the whole goddamn organisation in retribution.”

  * * *

  When they reached the yard, the air was oppressively hot. The brothers got out of the car and surveyed the eerily quiet lot. Charlie had at least expected Rachel to be standing at the gate, ready with a practiced scowl and cold shoulder after being left behind. But the yard was empty. Not even a trail of cigarette butts marking Roxy's daily perambulation. Charlie moved towards the workshop. Something was banging against the metal wall. He glanced at John. His brother was already in position, gun drawn, focus sharp. Charlie swiped his hand and the door opened. John went in first.

  Charlie covered his brother, keeping his weapon trained on the door. In seconds, John was backing out. He was shaking his head, his eyes wide in horror. Charlie's heart plummeted.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Something fucked up.” John put his gun away. “Really fucking fucked up.”

  Charlie made to go in himself when John stopped him.

  “Trust me, don't.”

  Moments later, Jay poked his head outside. His T-shirt was on backwards, his long hair loose and tangled. Hannah was behind him, adjusting her overalls, flushed and breathless. Charlie scowled, then shuddered. “Wait, were you two…?”

  “It was disgusting,” John stated. “Don't talk about it. Ever.”

  “Screw you, John,” Jay snapped. “You could have knocked.”

  “I want to gouge my fucking eyes out,” John growled. “Next time, lock the goddamn door.”

  Charlie had too many questions, but none of this was important. His focus moved from Hannah to Jay, trying to judge which of these new lovers was in a position to help him. And then it dawned on him. “Where
are Rachel and Roxy?”

  “Eh, they went after the priest,” Jay said.

  “They did what?” John growled.

  “This Reacher girl showed up in the yard picking up medicom parts. Rachel went after her, and Roxy followed. Seemed to think she was connected to the priest. Haven't seen them since this morning. They went on foot, though. Can't have got far.”

  “Shit!” Charlie kicked the side of the shed. He looked at his brother, a feeling of desperation suddenly taking him.

  “I guess we are walking straight into a fucking ambush, then,” John said.

  30

  Sitting on the dusty floor holding Jan's hand, Rachel could feel the turmoil inside him. His head was a violent mess, and the deeper she went, the harder it became to separate the good man from the monster he was becoming. The illness was spreading, mutating into something vicious and evil and permanent. Huge chunks of his brain had already been lost, consumed, devoured. As he gripped her hands tighter, she could see his desperation at the destruction he had already caused, but also a growing hunger for more. She tried to push against the sinister being with her own mind, and she felt the tension between them thicken. Whatever the darkness was, it wouldn't be denied or delayed. She couldn't stop it.

  “Rachel! Rach! We've got to get out of here. The motherfucking, pig-wanking son of a bitch sold us out!”

  It took a moment for her to register Roxy's voice. She blinked, coming back to the room somewhat disorientated. Jan gave her a sad smile. She had failed, and they both knew it. She turned to Roxy, trying to process why he was panicking. “What are you talking about?”

  He pointed frantically to the window. Rachel dusted down her jeans as she got up. Their car was still there, abandoned with the driver's door left open. But behind it were two other vehicles: black, ominous, threatening. Armed men were getting out, edging closer to the perimeter. She found Mark amongst them. He stood beside a woman, his eyes glassy and unlike him. This was all wrong.