Speaking Evil

by Jason Parent

  Jimmy folded his hands and slouched. “Okay.” If the agent expected Jimmy to do his work for him, he was sadly mistaken. “Why am I here?”

  “Can I trust you, Jimmy? May I call you Jimmy?”

  “Yes. And I don’t know, can you?”

  “Right. Assuming you answered those questions in reverse order, I’ve gotta know I can trust you before I tell you what I have to say.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “When I say peoples’ lives might depend on it, people you know and may even care about, I am not just slinging bullshit.”

  This is serious. Jimmy sat up straighter. “All right.” Figuring he’d throw the agent a bone, he lowered his voice. “Well, your agent inside here trusted me enough to tell me his secret.”

  Agent Spinney’s eyebrows raised long enough for Jimmy to catch his surprise before he slipped back to his robotic government mode. “You see, Jimmy. That’s exactly the type of secret I wouldn’t want you to just leak to a stranger in a psych ward.”

  “Interview room.” Jimmy scoffed. “Anyway, this isn’t the first time we’ve met. You’re a friend of Detective Reilly’s, and she’s done right by me. At least, she’s always kept her word, and since she owes me less than nothing, I think that’s probably just about as much as I could ever expect from her.”

  “Good, you remember me, and I remember you trying to help that little boy. That took courage and showed character. A whole lot of it.” Agent Spinney tented his fingers. “What I’m going to ask you to do will take both. In addition, you help me out, and I will do everything in my power to make your stay in a place like this as short and as comfortable as possible.”

  “Mine and Tessa Masterson’s.”

  “What?” This time, Agent Spinney didn’t let his eyebrows fall.

  Jimmy surprised himself with the ask, which had sprung from his mouth without the slightest forethought. But now that the ask had been made, there was no going back. “Tessa Masterson and me. You make both our stays here as short and as comfortable as possible.”

  The agent smiled briefly, the skin under his eye twitching as the smile fell away. He extended his hand again. “Deal?”

  Jimmy shook it. “Deal. Now what do you want me to do?”

  “I have an agent in here. You might know him as—”

  “The Bandage Man. Yeah, I told you, we’ve met. Real friendly fella.”

  Agent Spinney didn’t ask how Jimmy knew his colleague. Instead, he curled back his lips and gritted his teeth. “I need you to get a message to him. I’d do it myself, but I’d blow his cover. Tell him they’ve got Sam and her boy somewhere in here. We need his help. Sam needs him.”

  Jimmy’s forehead crinkled like an accordion as he squinted at the table. “Sam and her boy? You mean Detective Reilly and Mikey, don’t you?”

  Agent Spinney hushed him.

  “Wait,” Jimmy said, lowering his voice. “How do you know this?”

  “I saw them being led into the building at gunpoint.”

  “And you just let that happen?” Jimmy’s nostrils flared. His muscles tightened as he leaned over the table, glaring.

  “I had another boy to protect and a police officer in need of saving, and they hadn’t seen me yet.” He huffed. “It’s complicated. And by the time I’d taken one of them out and convinced the officer to get the kid to safety and not to charge into the hospital with guns blazing, they’d sealed up the entrance they took Sam through. It’s like it was never there in the first place, a hidden door or...”

  When the agent trailed off, Jimmy snapped his fingers. “Who are they? What do they want?”

  “Honestly, probably the less you know, the better. Needless to say, they are bad people. Some of the worst. Their ringleader is like Hannibal Lecter, Darth Vader, and Richard Nixon all wrapped into one. Anyway, we don’t really have time to go into it. They could be anywhere in Brentworth, doing all sorts of nasty things to our friends.”

  “Or they could be long gone.”

  Agent Spinney stroked his chin. “It’s possible, but I don’t think so. I’ve been following their leader a long time, and the one advantage we have is his cockiness. He likes to let you get close, really close, just so he can show how much smarter than you he is.” He gritted his teeth. “No, they’re here. I’m sure of it. And by now, they must surely have noticed one of their own didn’t report back in last night.”

  He folded his hands in front of him and fixed Jimmy with an earnest, hopeful stare. “Sam and Michael need our help, Jimmy.” The agent’s hard features might as well have been chiseled in stone. “I’m counting on you. Michael’s counting on you.”

  “Woah, hold on a second.” Jimmy pushed away from the table. He shook his head. “This is crazy! If these people are as bad as you say they are and they’ve got innocent people for hostages, why don’t you call in the National Guard or the Army or whoever else you need to sweep through this place and take them all out?”

  Agent Spinney’s gaze fell, boring a hole in the table. “I can’t.” The agent seemed to deflate. “My colleagues won’t come, not without a confirmed sighting of my target. You could say my business here is... unsanctioned. And even if they did come, my guys would call Detective Reilly’s team and let them know what’s going down on their turf. But Detective Reilly’s guys are compromised. So calling them—”

  “Might get Mikey and the detective killed?”

  Agent Spinney nodded slowly. “Not might.” He collapsed into his chair, flopping over himself like a bouncy house that had been popped. “I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I saw any other way of getting Sam and Michael out alive. I know how this guy works. Any whiff we’re on to him, and he’ll kill them immediately, if not for any other reason than the sheer enjoyment of it all. Then he’ll disappear before we even get through the door.”

  Jimmy shivered then steeled himself against the fear threatening to take hold.

  Agent Spinney ran his fingers down his face. “If my man can’t find them fast enough, I’ll have to do just that, anyway—send in an army. He’s got three hours. We’ll have the place surrounded, the whole damn city blockaded, in less than two.”

  Jimmy took a deep breath. A chance to save Michael was a chance for redemption. He set his jaw and nodded. “Okay. Tell me everything I need to do.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Sam took a deep breath through the canvas-like material over her head. It clung to her face like a plastic bag as she sucked in air, only to balloon back out as she exhaled. She could make out a pixelated display of blacks and grays through the covering, darkest by the floor where everything below her knees sank into an abyss. Above, sun through a skylight cast shadows in a sparse room. Daytime? How long was I out? She recalled being prodded into a big garage, a sharp pain in her neck, then nothing.

  The outline of a figure stood only a few feet in front of her, the outline of their lower half spilling out like tentacles merging with a sea of black. The figure nodded. Rough hands dug under the collar, cinching the hood over her head. Jagged nails scraped over her skin. For a moment, the cinch tightened, and she couldn’t breathe, a jolt of panic sending an impulse into her arms. She tried to lash out, her panic heightening when she felt plastic biting into her wrists, her hands bound behind her. Panic gave way to pain as the hood was torn away from her head, scratching her lips and bending back her nose hard enough to make her tear up. The hood stung her scalp as it caught in her hair and was yanked free. The light dazzled her eyes, and she blinked rapidly as her vision adjusted. All the while, the figure—a woman—stood as motionless as a support column.

  Her eyes clearing, Sam glowered at the woman while subtly testing the binds around her wrists and ankles for any slack. Her captor stepped closer. The tall, Amazonian build was overtly muscular yet apex feminine, a match for only one person Sam knew—Dr. Mira Horvat. The doctor wore the same cigar store Indian mask as her cohorts, who stood somewhere behind Sam and—

  Michael grunted as an older gentleman wearing that same idiotic mas
k and a police uniform—a legitimate one, or at least a good copy, but not bearing all the call signs of a Fall River Police Department uniform—ripped off Michael’s hood. The man stepped backward, beyond her sight. She stared at Michael as his eyes fought to adjust, herself fighting to hold back the torrent of emotion that came with the sight of him in danger and the feeling of helplessness. She yearned to help him but was powerless to do so. Even as the skin beneath her eyes twitched with fear and rage, she clamped her jaw tightly shut and reminded herself she was no good to him if she didn’t keep it together.

  She learned what she could about her own binds by studying his. Michael’s wrists were zip-tied together through the back of an aluminum folding chair, his ankles strapped to the chair’s legs. The chair itself did not seem to be held in place by anything other than Michael’s weight. Assuming the same was true for hers, she might be able to slide the chair up and out of the binds around her ankles if she leaned forward and shifted her weight onto her feet.

  She glanced at the floor, a sprawling area of hard cement. If she fell forward onto her knees—or worse, her face—she might have more severe pains to complain about. Black patches stained the floor. They looked slick, oily, the light reflecting purplish, swirly patterns here and there on their surfaces. An insect or spider walked stilt-legged over the ridges in the poorly poured concrete, dragging something in its wake. The walls were bare, save for cobwebs and a few rusty old tools that might have looked menacing as torture devices if they didn’t appear as though they’d crumble to dust at the slightest touch.

  Above was just the one light, hanging from a high ceiling in a protective, bullet-shaped metal cage. Beyond it, a flat ceiling with tracks that appeared to be for rollers, doors that opened vertically. Sam wondered if she was in an abandoned ambulance port or perhaps a loading bay from back when Brentworth was Fall River’s only hospital. If that were the case, the parking lot and freedom were right outside, just beyond a single wall.

  As she looked back at Michael, Sam’s heart sank again. She teetered on the edge of despair despite what that would do to their chances. He was watching her closely. His body trembled, but he kept quiet, trying to be brave. His eyes remained dry, wide and unblinking, as his chin quivered. He winced when she looked back at him, having probably seen the terror in her own eyes, the hopelessness she was trying to fight.

  Dr. Horvat stepped forward, flicking the tip of a syringe Sam hadn’t seen before. “Thanks for waking, Detective Reilly. We are all very busy. That said, I want you to know that none of this is personal.” She made no attempt to disguise her voice or remove her accent. She put her free hand on her hip. “At least, not for me.”

  “Why are you doing this, Horvat?” Sam spat. “What have I or Michael ever done to you?”

  Dr. Horvat lifted her mask and propped it on the top of her head. She smiled softly, sadly even. “It is regrettable. Your boy—he is a means to an end. I’m just a simple scientist, content to continue my work with those at my disposal. And you could be so much help to me, to the world even. I must admit, having someone as strong-willed as you will be the true test of my formula, but the boy, a shame, really.” She clicked her teeth and shook her head. “It leaves... how do you say it in America? A bad taste? I’d let him go if I could, but...”

  Sam leaned forward, her fight draining. “Then please, let him go. If it’s me you want, you have me. Just... just let him go. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “That’s just the thing, Detective.” Dr. Horvat stepped forward, her expression soft, even compassionate. There was a flicker of doubt flashing behind her eyes, hesitation before she could take another step, followed by almost sad resolve. She sighed, closed the distance between them, and aimed the needle at Sam’s neck. “You will do whatever I want.”

  “No.”

  A man’s voice spoke from somewhere behind her. Footsteps approached, heavy-heeled shoes clomping on the cement. A tall man with dark hair cropped close to his skull and pale skin stepped into view, his nose slightly upturned. The expensive, tailored shirt and designer jeans went with his clean, preppy look, and at once she knew who he was and who he’d pretended to be. “She’ll do whatever I want.”

  “Curtis?” Sam cursed. “And I thought you actually might be one of the good guys. Some detective I am.”

  “I really wouldn’t know about Curtis,” the man said. He turned to the doctor. “Honey, have we enlisted him yet?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Though his cheekbones were higher and his skin bleached somehow, his slightly widened eyes shimmered with a zeal that could not be altered or counterfeited. Wondering how she could have been so easily duped, she thought back to all the photos she’d seen on Bruce’s wall, in the case folders, and in Frank’s countless computer files. So much was different but his eyes—those hadn’t changed a bit. The eyes of a monster. She was looking at Carter Wainwright.

  The realization must have shown on her face. The man offered her a slow clap. “It looks like you’ve got it all figured out. Bravo! It’s nice to be recognized and to be able to play with my food directly. Friends, accomplices, whatever—they’re all well and good, but things are always done best when you do them yourself, don’t you think?”

  Sam shook her head and looked away, hope a distant memory. With the exception of Officer Reynolds and one or two others, people kidnapped by Wainwright were generally never seen alive again. Worse, their bodies evidenced all sorts of horrors enacted upon them while the hearts were still beating. Death would come slow and hard.

  “Why?” she muttered under her breath, tearing as she thought only for Michael.

  “Maybe I wanted to see if you were as good an adversary as your former partner. That man would go to amazing lengths!” Wainwright laughed, showing off his two rows of long pearly teeth. “Given your current predicament, however, it would appear not.”

  He laughed again, then took Dr. Horvat’s free hand and twirled her as if they were on a dance floor. The doctor blushed and tucked in her blouse when he let her go.

  “Or maybe I just have a flair for the dramatic.” Wainwright waggled a finger in front of Sam’s face. “Relax, Detective. Not everything is about you, you know?”

  He turned and stepped toward Michael, who flinched at his approach. “And who do we have here?”

  Sam lurched forward, rattling her chair. “If you touch him, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, Detective?” Wainwright sneered at her through gritted teeth, eyes sharp as daggers, stabbing into her courage and bursting it with a pop. He squeezed her neck, his fingers pressing deep, nails like shovels into graveyard dirt. Sam writhed, trying the squirm away from the pain. But as quickly as his rage had exploded, he released her. A calmness settled over him as if he’d always been the picture of serenity. Wainwright glided over to Michael.

  “Ah, yes, I remember you now.” He ruffled Michael’s hair as the boy jerked in his seat, then tapped Dr. Horvat on the arm. “You remember, dear? He was the kid I told you about—the one who stopped me from getting her the first time.”

  The killer tugged on his chin and smiled as if he and Michael were old pals. “The way you swung that ax back then, you were definitely trying to take my head off!”

  He turned from his victim to Dr. Horvat then wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in close. He kissed her with a vibrancy that might have been passionate if not for the fact he was a sadistic psychopath.

  What is she, his mad scientist lover? But Dr. Horvat didn’t seem mad. Maybe she could be reasoned with. Sam was grasping at straws, but she had to try something. When the moment is right. She fought back her tears. If it ever comes.

  As Wainwright kissed Horvat, he groped in the pocket of her lab coat. She kept the needle in her hand tilted away from her lover’s shoulder. When they finally stopped their unnecessary display, the killer faced Sam and Michael, holding a syringe of his own. Dr. Horvat straightened her coat and adjusted the mask on the top of her head.

&n
bsp; Wainwright prodded the needle’s point under Michael’s chin, forcing the boy to look up into his eyes. “You should have let me have her, kid. You probably wouldn’t be here today if you had.”

  Cold sweat dripped down Sam’s brow. Wainwright’s fingers were dangerously close to touching Michael’s skin, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

  “Soooo, you each get a needle. The good doctor will give you hers, Detective Reilly, a nice little concoction she invented that includes sodium thiopental, midazolam, a little ar—oops, that’s proprietary information, actually. Let’s just say that her chemical expertise combined with hypnosis has yielded some rather amazing results.”

  He raised his arms in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Personally, I like gaining a following the old-fashioned way. You know, with charm and charisma. But since Texas, I just haven’t felt like my old self. C’est la vie.”

  He brushed back Sam’s hair. She snapped at his fingers with her teeth.

  Scowling, he backhanded her. “Knock it off!”

  Stars appeared before Sam’s eyes, blackness in the peripherals.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Wainwright said, tapping her face gently. “I’ve waited long enough to add you to the team, and I’m not a patient man. The first dose already put you out for hours, but if the doctor says it’s necessary, so be it.” He leered at her, his eyes scanning her every curve. “But don’t worry. No one touched you while you were out. We’re all gentlemen here, and my wonderful woman wouldn’t have approved.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, since Ten is in jail and Eight is dead—” He raised an eyebrow at Dr. Horvat. “Is it Eight who’s dead or Seven? Eight? Seven?”