“Yes, she’s done wrong but her intentions were always good. Despite the unimaginable torment he put her through; she still tried to find right. If that means nothing to you…then maybe you don’t love her after all.”
“Maybe I don’t,” he whispers softly.
She stares at him—at the sorrow and pain and longing that no amount of effort could ever hide. “I don’t believe that,” she says, “And neither do you. You looked for her all this time when no one else believed she was still alive. You never gave up hope because you love her.
“Well she’s here now and she needs your help.” Wendy turns away saying, “The only question remaining is what are you going to do about it?”
Fiona’s damage is obvious in toppled trees, overturned bins, cracked or broken windows, and the drenched ground.
Standing resolutely in the vertical hatch of the T-shaped courtyard, Ryan Heath stares up at the eye of the beast while rivulets of mud cover his ankles.
The air is preternaturally calm now after such violence, but he can feel the electricity pulling at him as the quiet of the eye promises to move on. Looking skyward he swears he could see the madness of the eye wall approaching in the dark of the night.
He’s about to let loose a primal scream when he hears a door closing. With his one good eye he scans his surroundings and easily spots the man in the bright colored shirt surveying the damage.
Leering ravenously at him, Ryan silently removes a straight razor from his pocket as he creeps toward him.
The man’s attention is riveted to the sky and the swath of destruction around him. He is oblivious to the fact that he is being hunted by a superior predator.
As he comes up behind him, Ryan smiles and purposefully steps on a branch that cracks under his foot. He’s thrilled by how the noise causes his prey to immediately freeze—all the while knowing that it is already too late.
Grabbing him by the left arm he twists it back behind him and places the razor to his throat. The trapped man gasps and the shocked exhalation delights Ryan.
He places his fleshy lips next to the man’s right ear as he whispers, “Sed libera nos a malo.”
Afraid to even move a muscle, his quarry mumbles a strained, “What?”
Ryan presses the razor tighter to his throat drawing a thin line of blood under his bobbing Adam’s apple. “If I let you live,” Ryan hisses, “Will you bring the others to me?”
Eyes wide with fright, the man quickly stutters, “Y-yes…I-I will.”
Ryan lets go of his left arm while keeping the razor flush against his throat. Staying close to his ear, he murmurs a lone dread word: “Liar.”
With catlike quickness he plunges a knife into the man’s lower back several times before he drops to the soggy ground. As he goes down the razor is drawn across his throat cutting it open.
Standing over his prey, the rage flares up in Ryan and in a vicious motion he stabs him again and again and again. The knife slides in and out in a fury of blows that puncture organs and turn his flesh to pulp; but with his throat slit the most he can muster is a weak gurgle before his life drains away.
Kneeling over him, covered in his blood, Ryan glares balefully at the darkened cafeteria.
“Has anyone seen Clay?”
Looking up at Wendy, Cole answers, “He said he was going to the washroom.”
Walking out from under the mezzanine Caleb asks, “How long ago?”
With a shrug Cole concedes, “I…I don’t know. Twenty minutes I guess.”
Turning to face the hallway Caleb weighs his options. As he does a flash of lightning illuminates the courtyard for just a second. But it’s long enough for him to believe that he saw something out there.
The crash of thunder follows close behind—vibrating the ground beneath his feet. “I’m going to go look for him.”
Joining the conversation Jeremy squeals, “You can’t! You can’t leave us here unprotected!”
Caleb watches him twitch nervously and tries to offer some reassurance, “I’ll be back soon. It’s probably nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing with George!” Jeremy pleads, “You can’t leave us here like this!”
Wendy screaming silences them all.
Spinning toward her Caleb implores, “What is it?”
“I…” she points to the courtyard saying, “I saw…him.”
Snapping his fingers at Cole, Caleb instructs, “Your Maglite—shine it out there.”
Doing as he’s told Cole moves closer to the cafeteria window and shines his light through the hallway to just touch the darkness beyond. An involuntary gasp passes his lips as his light crosses over the macabre scene.
Clay’s bloodied body has been positioned in the bare branches of a broken tree; his slit throat gaping open at them in a grisly rendition of a rictus grin. Where his clothes are not torn they are sanguine from his wounds.
“Oh…God,” Jeremy panics.
“Clay,” Wendy cries as Caleb puts an arm around her shoulders, supporting her as her knees weaken.
Frightened, Jeremy says, “I have…I have to get out of here.”
“You can’t go anywhere,” Caleb says to him as Wendy cries in his arms. “The eye is passing over us; the storm is going to get worse.”
“I’d rather take my chances with the hurricane!” Jeremy shrieks, “He’s picking us off one by one. We stay here and we’ll all end up dead!”
“Calm down Jeremy,” Cole interjects, “Caleb is right.”
“I don’t need to calm down!” His breathing suggests otherwise as he bleats, “I need to get out of here while I still can.”
“Listen to me Jeremy,” Caleb says, “You’re safe here.”
“Safe like George and Ling and Clay were?”
Feeling the eyes of the room on him, Caleb takes a deep breath before announcing, “As long as we stay together we’ll be fine. Heath is a coward—he won’t take on a group of this size. He waits until you’re alone.
“If we stay here—as a group—until Fiona passes we’ll be safe. So from now on, no one leaves the cafeteria for any reason.” Nodding to Cole he says, “Turn the light off Cole. Let’s all just try to relax.”
Leading Wendy away from the horrors of the courtyard he can hear the winds beginning to howl again—a lonely coil ensnaring them all.
Chapter 43
Over the tumult of his thoughts, Caleb is unable to rest. A condition he imagines is plaguing his companions as well. Outside the winds are roaring again—heightening his sense of isolation.
Ling is gone. Covering his eyes with his palm he remembers happier times with her. Like shortly after Tai-an was born and he joined their happy family for dinner one evening. She was so delighted that night, being all motherly. And proud, she was so proud of her little bundle of joy.
And now she’s gone.
The reality seems inconceivable.
The lights overhead flicker and seem to shake from the ferocity of Fiona’s wrath. It’ll be a miracle if they stay on until dawn.
“Caleb.”
Raising his head he sees Lynne standing just under the shadow of the mezzanine. Turning away he says, “Go back to the stage Lynne.”
“I was,” she kicks the toe of her shoe nervously against the tile floor saying, “I was hoping we could talk.”
“And I was hoping we wouldn’t,” Caleb sharply replies, “Go back across the room.”
“All right,” she allows with a meek nod of her head, “Just know that I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” Caleb whirls on her saying, “Just don’t. You can’t apologize for this—for what you’ve done.”
Staring at him she recognizes the hurt expressed in his words and on his face. Silently she turns away before he adds, “Tell me why?”
Turning back she feels a tear racing down her cheek and just leaves it as she answers, “I told you why.”
“No,” Caleb shakes his head, “You told me what he said but why did you believe it? The woman I knew—the one I f
ell in love with—would never have done this. She wouldn’t have taken a life no matter what. God Lynne, just what did he do to you?”
Blinking away tears she sniffles, “What if he didn’t do anything to me? What if this is just who I am?”
After an awkward pause Caleb declares, “I don’t believe that.”
“Why not?” she cries. “My grandfather sexually abused my mother as a child. My mother committed suicide. Her brother—my uncle—murdered their parents and how many others since then. Crazy is in my blood; it was only a matter of time.”
“No,” Caleb stands up and steps toward her, “That isn’t how it works. Murder isn’t something you inherit; no matter what he’s told you. It’s a choice you make. A choice you didn’t have to make.”
Looking at him she asks softly, “And now that I have; can you still love me?”
Taken aback by the question, Caleb staggers slightly before saying, “I can’t answer that right now.”
“Please,” she begs, “It’s OK if you can’t; I’ll understand. I just need to know.”
His breath catches in his throat as tears start to form behind his eyes. Lowering his head a moment he tries to remain composed. He wants to be angry. He wants to hate her for what she did to Ling. He wants to…but his heart won’t let him.
But still he cannot find the words she wants to hear.
“It’s not as simple as that,” he states, “What you’ve done…Ling and Nick…I don’t know that we can be together anymore. Understand that you’re going to have to answer for your role in this.”
“I know,” she replies, “And I will. Just promise me it isn’t for naught. Promise me you won’t go after him.”
“Why?” Caleb asks with a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.
“I may have already lost you Caleb but,” she weeps, “I don’t want him to kill you and if you go after him he will.”
“So sure of that are you?”
“You don’t know him,” she protests, “All these months chasing him and you still don’t know him. I know what he’s capable of. I know you’re hurt. If you face him like this—he will kill you.
“We are—all of us—nothing more than rats in his maze. He knows this place front to back. And of all of us Caleb, you are the prize he covets the most.
“Please promise me you’ll stay here until the storm passes and then let someone else bring him in. Please.”
Thunder crashes overhead just then, drowning out all other sounds. As it recedes Caleb says while patting the gun in his belt, “Don’t worry about me Lynne; he may have an issue with using guns but I don’t. I see him and he won’t have the chance to get the drop on me—that I will promise you.”
Teardrops falling from her eyelashes, she turns and walks away fearing she has failed and he is already lost.
“What do you think is really going on here?”
Dumping the contents of another locker onto the floor, Jeffrey Frazier glances across the hallway to his fellow soldier Glen Watkins. Seeing him do the same he asks, “What are you talking about?”
“I get why they want us to find that flash drive,” Watkins elaborates, “But nobody’s saying anything about all the disappearances and now we find out some serial killer is stalking the island.”
Running his hand over his fade haircut, Frazier stares down the length of his flat nose at his panicking and suddenly pasty white partner. “There a question in there?”
Pausing in his work Watkins asks, “Do you think the brass knew about the Toymaker being here?”
Clanging another locker door shut Frazier replies in a low timbre, “Does it really matter now? The only thing you should be concerned with is finding that flash drive.”
“You really think it’s here?” Watkins asks raising a dubious eyebrow.
“I think it better be.” Frazier heads around the corner of the hallway saying “Keep looking.”
Opening another locker Watkins rummages through the empty plastic wrappers and soda cans, mingled with worn looking textbooks—nothing even close to resembling a flash drive in the lot.
Slamming the door shut he curses, “This is so fucking pointless.” Over his shoulder he hollers as he opens another locker, “You having any luck Jeff?”
Silence greets his query.
Slowly turning around he looks down the long corridor only sparsely lit by flickering lights. “Jeff?” he calls out, “You there man?” Only the storm and his own voice echo back to him.
“Come on man,” he chuckles anxiously, “This isn’t funny. Where the hell are you?”
Just then he hears wheels rolling across the floor and quickly shines his Maglite into the gloom. Along the floor he watches as a Matchbox car rolls along before coming to a stop against one wall.
“Oh shit,” he swears, dropping his Maglite as he runs for his life.
“What the hell is taking those two so long?” Slade snarls at no one in particular.
He’s pacing the floor at the base of the southwest staircase. As he does this, Cummings sits stoically on the second step watching him.
From where they are they can witness the ravages of the storm—water splattered on the glass doors giving way to darkness beyond. Off to their right a few feet is the library and the corridor that leads back to the cafeteria.
“You needn’t worry about them,” Cummings counsels.
“That right,” Slade snorts derisively, “And why is that?”
“It’s no longer your problem.”
Something in his tone causes Slade to stop his pacing and turn to face him. A crack of lightning backlights him and reveals the nickel-plated pistol that Cummings has trained on him.
“Don’t,” Cummings cautions when he sees Slade thinking about drawing his own weapon. “You’re not that fast.”
Sneering Slade says, “So this is it then huh?”
“We both knew it would come to this, it was just a matter of which one of us would do it.”
“Then what are you waiting for old man?”
“I knew from the moment I met you that you were going to cause me trouble. You mercenary types,” Cummings scorns, “No loyalty.”
Coldly he pulls the trigger shooting Slade once in the head. The flare of the shot illuminates the red mist enveloping the mercenary’s skull as he crumples to the floor. The report drowning out the approaching sound of hurried footsteps leaving him surprised when Watkins appears in the door of the hallway, out of breath and clearly frightened.
Doing his best to ignore the Major’s bloody remains he stares over at Cummings reporting, “Frazier is missing sir. The Toymaker has him.”
“Then it is no longer safe for us here,” Cummings grins at him, “Let’s rejoin the others.”
He motions for him to lead the way. As he does he must step around the spreading puddle of blood and brain matter. Entering the opposite corridor, Cummings follows him.
After only four steps he raises his pistol and squeezes off another shot hitting Watkins in the back of the head. His body falls forward against the library window leaving a crimson trail running down the glass.
“Sorry,” Cummings says unfeelingly while he holsters his weapon, “Nothing personal you understand; you just have the worst timing.”
Strolling back toward the others he begins whistling Down by the River low in his throat.
Chapter 44
“I want answers.”
Standing before his father seated on the steps of the stage, Hong does his best to look formidable. In truth, it is a pitiful attempt. Given the revelations of this night he is barely hanging on by a thread.
Loosening his necktie, Jing coolly replies, “I thought you had all the answers Hong; you certainly didn’t hesitate to share what you think you know with everyone here.”
“I was trying to help you.”
“Help me?” Jing scoffs, “How? How is revealing what was shared with you in confidence helpful?”
“I didn’t believe you were a monster Dad,” Hon
g shakes his head, “But I should’ve known better.”
“Such a child,” Jing demeans him.
“Tell me why?”
“Why?” Jing raises his eyebrows as he repeats, “Why what?”
“Why did you…kill Felicia? You knew how I felt about her; do I really mean nothing at all to you?”
With an exasperated sigh Jing explains, “She may not have been a terrorist Hong but she did steal the samples of X1. That act broke the vow of silence you all agreed to and sealed her fate. Since she could no longer be trusted, I had no other choice.”
“You had no other choice?” Hong repeats in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself? You could’ve told me and I would’ve talked to her. She wouldn’t have betrayed me.”
“Don’t be naïve,” Jing admonishes, “That’s a chance not worth taking.”
“Well who made it your choice?” Hong’s voice rises slightly, “This was our discovery. You were supposed to help us. Instead you go off and kill the woman I love and my best friend to protect what—money?! God…how I wish we had never found X1.”
Shaking his head Jing says, “You never did understand the concept of value did you Hong?”
“Why did you kill Amir? He was out of it; he wasn’t going to say anything. Damn it Dad why?”
“It’s very simple Hong; he knew too much to be left out there.”
“Then why not kill me too?” Hong demands, “Why the charade about second chances and loving me? Why didn’t you just arrange an accident for me as well?”
Pushing his shoulders back, Jing straightens his posture as he looks upon his only son. After a moment’s pause he answers spitefully, “You know after everything, it would’ve been easier had I done that.
“It has simply been exhausting work pretending with you Hong. Guiding you along—holding your hand over every little detail as you snivel about your feelings. But you are my son, disappointing as that is to me, and for the sake of your mother’s memory I decided to play it the way I did. Mistakenly, I now see.”
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