Speaking Evil

by Jason Parent

  Sam let out a breath when Michael didn’t begin to seize at the touch. Wainwright, however, wasn’t done with the boy. He snarled and grabbed the front of Michael’s shirt. “Let me ask you, boy. Is it true? Can you see the future?”

  Michael gaped at Sam, eyes widening.

  “What are you looking at her for?” Wainwright sneered. “I’m asking you. What’s the matter? Don’t have the balls to speak for yourself?”

  “I-I-I,” Michael sputtered, then faltered.

  “Leave him alone!”

  Wainwright let go of Michael’s shirt at Sam’s voice. “I’ve dabbled in the occult for many years, seen and done things that you wouldn’t even believe possible. So I have a uniquely open mind on the subject. But the people I collaborate with, they’ve engaged many so-called psychics, and none of them could even predict that I would kill them if they lied. So much for seeing the future.”

  “It...” Michael’s gaze fell to the floor. In a low voice, he said, “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Oh, so the boy does speak!” Wainwright raised his arms to the ceiling as if in exaltation. “Tell me, then. What did you see when I touched you?”

  Michael squinted, his face contorting as if he were in pain. “I saw you strangling her.” He turned to Sam. “I’m sorry, but it wasn’t here. It wasn’t now.”

  “Ho!” Wainwright’s head cocked back, and he chuckled. “So all I have to do to prove you a fraud is to kill her right here and now?” He glanced over at the doctor. “What do you think, Mira?”

  “You’d be losing a potentially valuable asset.” Dr. Horvat shook her head. “We would be losing one. She’d be an added layer of protection in allowing us to continue what we started here.”

  Wainwright rolled his eyes. “Oh, we have plenty of layers for that. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  The doctor rested a hand on her hip. “One of us needs to remain pragmatic.”

  “And that’s why I love—”

  “All you’d be doing is changing the future,” Michael said softly, “which doesn’t prove anything.”

  Wainwright leaned in closer to him. “What’s that?”

  Michael met his stare, the corner of his upper lip twitching. “I said, that wouldn’t prove a fucking thing! People who know what’s going to happen can change it.”

  Wainwright turned to Mira. “I like this kid. Did you know he swung at me with an ax?”

  “You might have mentioned it—”

  “A fucking ax! I’ve gotta say, that was a first, and I don’t think anyone else would have lived long enough to get a chance at a second try.” He shook his head. “Still, the language on someone so young.” Wainwright puckered his lips. “He’d be a more valuable asset if what he says is true, don’t you think? Any ideas on how to test it?”

  Dr. Horvat stared up then scrunched up her nose. “I could put him under, and we can find out what predictions he made that came true. A little research should be able to verify what he says. Of course, that assumes my serum is working.”

  “It’s working, honey!” Wainwright pecked her cheek. “Your serum is amazing, and you’re amazing!”

  Dr. Horvat smiled and blushed. She coughed and straightened her lab coat when she caught Sam staring.

  Wainwright tucked his gun in his pants then clapped. “All right. We’ll do that, then. We’ll keep Samantha alive until we know for sure, and if he’s lying, we’ll kill them both as gruesomely as possible.” He clapped again. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll send in a few squaws to help—”

  A woman wearing a nurse’s uniform nearly stumbled through the open doorway. “The agent and the boy...” she said through heaving breaths, her mouth twisted with worry. “We can’t find them.”

  “Really, Fran?” Wainwright dropped his hands and brushed his thighs, sighing loudly. “You had one job.”

  The woman shrank back at his stern tone, but Sam thought she detected a hint of a smile on his lips.

  “The Grand Chingon will not be pleased.” Wainwright said the words as if the Grand Chingon was part of some private joke. He shook his head and chuckled, somehow amused by the turn of events, a challenge presented in what to him seemed all some vile game.

  He shrugged. “Well, nothing short of an army is probably on its way then. Time to exit stage left.”

  “But my work...” Dr. Horvat crossed her arms and probably did what was as close to a pout an automaton like her could manufacture, looking instead as if she were sucking on a lime. “We’ve accomplished so much here.”

  “We’ll find you a new lab and fresh lab rats tout suite, my dear.” Wainwright ogled Sam and Michael, his excitement exuding through his pores. A glistening near the corner of his mouth might have been drool. “But first, we have to take care of the supporting cast.” He drew a Mad Max­-caliber blade from a sheath at his hip. The knife had teeth more jagged than a crocodile’s, with spikes jutting out of it at odd angles—crafted more to look savage than for any practical use. Sam wondered if it was anything like the sacrificial weapon he’d used to remove the hearts of his victims all those years ago, nothing more than a silly movie prop sharpened to work like the real thing.

  Silly or savage, Wainwright’s intent for it remained the same. Sam raised her arms in front of her and hoped her training would come instinctively as she executed her defense.

  A man, face covered in bandages, stepped behind the nurse as silently as a cat on the prowl. “Don’t move.”

  The man pressed something into her back, and she yelped as she arched away from him. A red-headed boy in pajamas stood in the doorway behind him.

  “Jimmy!” Michael shouted, his whole face shining with fresh hope.

  Sam put an arm out to hold him at bay. The man appeared to be armed and had not made his intentions known. He wore sweats similar to Jimmy’s, so he may just have been another patient at Brentworth, but whose side he was on and how he’d gotten a weapon, Sam couldn’t know.

  In a scratchy voice, louder and somehow familiar, he said. “Agent Matthew Pike, FBI. You’re all under arrest.” He slid what he held over the nurse’s shoulder—Sam knew a Glock when she saw one—and pointed it at Wainwright. “Anyone moves, and I shoot you first.”

  Sam scrutinized the eyes behind the bandages, a cold metallic blue that reminded her of clear water on the verge of freezing. She knew those eyes, tried to remember where she’d seen them. Frank must have brought Agent Pike along on the Wainwright ride when he’d stolen her partner away from her. Perhaps that was the reason her mind was invoking images of Bruce.

  The agent flexed and curled his fingers around the Glock’s grip. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this, Wainwright.” His index finger twitched over the trigger. His breaths came shorter, quicker. “There’s no way I’m letting you get away this time.”

  “Shoot him!” Jimmy urged from the threshold. “Before it’s too late.”

  The agent’s hand shook. His jaw worked back and forth underneath the bandages as if he were mulling over his next action. Sam knew some men who wore the badge would think themselves heroic for taking a shot at someone as evil as Wainwright, think they’d be doing the world a favor, and Sam wasn’t so sure she disagreed with that line of thought. But this man had a stronger moral code—Sam could see him caught between the hate in his words and eyes and the uncertainty and hesitation in his posture. The man who claimed to be FBI was suffering some deep, internal conflict.

  Jimmy stepped forward, hand out. “Give me the gun. I’ll do it.”

  For the first time, Wainwright’s face lost a bit of color, and his shit-eating grin fell away. However well he’d thought he had things under control, the killer had evidently not considered Jimmy. And Jimmy, poised and steady, looked like he could easily do what the agent could not.

  “I said stay behind me, kid.” Agent Pike snarled. “I’m not like him. I can’t just... Anyway, he needs to answer some questions. The boy? The inside man?” His voice cracked as he shouted. “It’s over
, Wainwright. No more games. Tell me everything!”

  Wainwright’s hands rose. “I could, but I’m not sure you’d like the answers I have to give.”

  Agent Pike roared and threw the nurse aside. He charged at Wainwright with the ferocity of a bear, clobbering the killer with the butt of his gun about the head, over and over again. Wainwright squealed, dropped his weapon, and crouched with arms up to shield the blows.

  After ten or eleven strikes, the agent at last relented. Breaths heaved in and out of his chest, which pulsated like a heart. Wainwright had managed to fend off half the strikes with his forearms, but his hair was matted in places where the skin had split, and his right eye was swollen closed. With one hand planted on the floor and the other draped over his knee, he glanced up at his lover, raising his unbloodied eyebrow. “Well?”

  “Oh, shit!” Jimmy hurried to Pike’s side.

  Her voice calm and monotone, Dr. Horvat said, “Four little Indians up on a spree.”

  The agent froze. The doctor’s words, nonsensical as they seemed, had stilled the bandaged-faced man right down to the tremor in his trigger finger. He stared blankly forward, Glock still raised as Jimmy chopped it from his hand. The gun spiraled and clattered onto the floor. Sam and Jimmy started for it, but the sound of a gunshot froze everyone in place. Sam whipped around to face the shooter.

  Wainwright dropped his arms to his sides, knife hanging loosely in one hand, a freshly fired pistol in the other. His wicked grin had returned despite his injuries. “I could do this the easy way, or—” He pointed the gun at Sam, the agent, and finally Jimmy. “Who the fuck are you, kid?”

  Jimmy said nothing. He slowly raised his hands.

  Wainwright took a deep breath and tilted his head, wheels spinning. “It doesn’t matter, except now you’ve gotten yourself into something you probably wish you’d stayed out of. I was going to kill those two”—he pointed at Sam then Michael—“or use them then kill them just to further fuck with you and your bumbling FBI agent friend. But this? This is too good an opportunity to pass up! I couldn’t have asked for a more amusing scenario than what you’ve hand-fed me.”

  He handed the gun to Dr. Horvat. “Honey, would you be so kind as to clean up the mess should our favorite Fall River detective fail? By now, good ol’ Frank’s gotta have the building surrounded. I’m going to make sure our escape route hasn’t been compromised.”

  He hesitated as a boy called to dinner who wanted nothing more than to stay and play. “I do so hope he lives, though. Such a wonderful plaything he’s been! But lately, things have been just a little too easy. Perhaps it’s time to kill off some of the mice in the maze. Oh ho! Imagine his face when he realizes we made him kill his own partner?” He kissed the doctor’s cheek. “I’ll want details!”

  Dr. Horvat scowled, the gun hanging from her limp-wristed grip as if she found its feel distasteful. As far as Sam could see, she was both the brains and the stability behind the duo, yet for some reason, she’d decided to play second fiddle in his mad opus and did as she was told.

  “Fran,” he called, waving the nurse to his side. “You’re with me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Just as Fran stepped up to him, he jabbed his knife into her stomach. He twisted it as he pulled it back. The squelch it made as it slid out of her belly turned Sam’s stomach. Other than a slight umph, the nurse made no other sound. She slowly dropped to her knees, hands clutching the front of her uniform as blood seeped between her fingers. To Sam’s right, Michael gurgled, his face porcelain white.

  “Just saving the Grand Poobah or whoever some effort.” Wainwright waved his hand flippantly. “Ah, who am I kidding? I just really needed to stab somebody.” He waggled his fingers, turning his back on the dying woman. “Ta-ta.”

  As he exited, he shouted cheerfully, “Kill them, Bruce! Kill them all!”

  CHAPTER 28

  “Four little Indians up on a spree.” Agent Pike thrust his arms around Jimmy as he and Sam scrambled for the gun. “One got fuddled and then there were three.”

  With her hand on her hip and cheek pinched, Dr. Horvat watched the action unfold with disinterest. She raised her pistol slowly to fire on whoever came up with the weapon. With Jimmy held back, Sam became her target. And with Francine dying on the floor and Wainwright gone, that left no eyes on Michael.

  Did Jimmy come to save us? He had so many questions, though it did seem like he and Sam had gained at least one ally. And they were all fighting to survive, while he just stood there doing nothing. He seized his chance and charged.

  A second later, he skidded over the dirty floor, Dr. Horvat’s backhand knocking him aside and emblazing his ear. He pushed himself up, a little dazed but pissed and primed for another attack. But before he could get to his feet, the doctor had him by the hair and was bashing the butt of her pistol against his ear. “Do you know what this setback will cost me?”

  The sound of her voice was muffled on one side, replaced by a soft but persistent ringing. He staggered to his left, suddenly off-balance, dizziness and shakiness overpowering his pain.

  He was no match for the strong tug on his scalp, which kept him standing. “Hold still, child,” Dr. Horvat grunted. “Carter may like his games, but I have no time for this.”

  “Let him go!” Sam shouted from the far wall. She held the gun out in front of her in a two-handed grip, just like she’d taught him. But the business end of the Glock seemed to be pointed directly at Michael.

  Hard, hot metal pressed into his temple. Dr. Horvat crouched and pressed her breasts against his back, the feel of them making Michael blush despite his peril. Her breath tickled the hairs on his neck and sounded like a hurricane in his damaged ear. As he stared at Sam and her gun, he immediately understood the doctor’s intentions—she was using him as a shield.

  “Shoot her, Sam.” He hoped he’d sounded more confident than he felt. He knew he was shaking and hoped Sam—or Jimmy, for that matter—didn’t see it. But Jimmy was facing his own problems, his arms pinned inside a wiry-armed bear hug, the agent’s muscles taut as he squeezed the life out of the boy. Jimmy thrashed and sucked in air, but the agent seemed immune to Jimmy’s constant kicking, his eyes glazed over as if he were lost in a daydream.

  If I had just stayed out of the way. A tear ran down Michael’s cheek as he chided himself for ruining Sam’s clean shot, preventing her from doing her job and saving them all. Even when he tried to help, he just made things worse. He was such an idiot, a loser, and was always going to be a loser. He closed his eyes, pushing out fresh tears, no longer knowing who he wanted Sam to hit. “Just do it, Sam.”

  Sam raised her arms, gun pointing at the ceiling. “Wait. Just... wait.” She crouched and placed the gun on the floor, then slowly stood back up. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Dr. Horvat trained her gun on Sam. “Sadly, I do. Believe me, I wish I didn’t, but I do.” She roared out her frustration. “And he knew I would have to.”

  “You could walk away. Just lock us in here and leave.” Sam took a step forward. “You don’t have to kill us, or at least not the boy.” Her voice cracked. “Not Michael... please.”

  Without the gun, Sam was a sitting duck. “Please,” Michael whimpered. “I really do have visions. I can help you, help him. Just let her and Jimmy go, and I’ll do everything you want.”

  “I’m sorry, child,” Dr. Horvat said softly. “I’m afraid there’s no getting around it. You’ve both seen too much. The detective will never stop coming after me, never let me do my work in peace, much like that persistent agent over there.” She flicked the gun toward Agent Pike, who was still squeezing the life out of a poor wheezing Jimmy.

  “He’s just using you, you know.” Sam groaned. “You’re an intelligent woman. You must see that!”

  “We both have our uses. My interests in him are purely scientific and economical... well, mostly, anyway. A woman has her needs, and Carter is nothing if not exciting.” Dr. Horvat let out a long exhale. “I’m sorr
y, Detective. Not so much about you, but for the boy. My hard work is intended to help people, not harm them. But if it’s any consolation, my contributions to society will, in the end, far outweigh any harm I may have caused.”

  “Wait! Let’s talk about—”

  “Play it again, Sam,” the doctor uttered in that same calm robotic voice she’d used when she’d spoken to Agent Pike.

  Sam frowned, squinted, then blinked a half dozen times. “What?”

  Dr. Horvat growled. She repeated the phrase more loudly.

  “She’s trying to brainwash—”

  A hand clamped over Michael’s mouth. Sam’s forehead grooved. Her head cocked, and she shook it as if she were trying to get water out of her ear. Then she took a step forward. Straightening, she stared unblinking at the doctor like an obedient dog awaiting a command.

  Dr. Horvat snickered. “You’re faking. You think I don’t know when a subject is under?” Her arm slid across Michael’s throat. “I do not have time for this!”

  “Don’t hurt her!” a familiar voice shouted. Someone hurled herself from the doorway just as Dr. Horvat snapped out her arm to fire at Sam. Michael bit into the doctor’s sleeve, teeth clamping through the thin fabric of her top. The gun went off as he, the doctor, and the stranger tumbled to the ground in a rolling mass of limbs.

  Michael struggled to his feet. As Michael pressed his palm against the floor, something wet coated his skin. Rising, he glanced at the red liquid dripping from his plastic glove, then held his breath as he hastily checked himself for wounds.

  “Freeze!” Sam said, looking more herself and standing only a few feet away. She stared intently at Dr. Horvat. Nodding over her shoulder to the agent who was still crushing the life out of Jimmy, she said, “Drop the gun and make him stop.”

  Dr. Horvat, still holding her gun at her side, smiled insincerely, her brain working behind that sinister grin. She was weighing her options while Jimmy was dying.