I looked at the tablet again. It was from the vantage point of . . . my chair.
David?
“Smart boy, Haas. That David Prescott Kilpatrick is quite the character, isn’t he?” A smile nudged his lips and he dipped his chin in a scoff.
Prescott and David—the student who’d distracted me, who’d helped me . . . and whom I’d left with Steph and the girls—were one and the same? How had he . . . ?
“Come, you didn’t think the conductor would take a back seat throughout his masterpiece. He’s been there the whole time, even orchestrating a helicopter jump from the hospital to the armory.” Declan snuck a peek at the tablet, switched feeds, then showed it to me once more.
The camera was shaking, pointed at the ground, straight ahead, at the sky, then back to the ground, as if worn on the rim of someone’s glasses. This wasn’t from the vantage point of David in my home anymore. This was . . . the conductor, and he was somewhere outdoors among the countless evergreens. But where? Why?
“He’s going to do what he’s going to do. You can’t warn anyone, Haas. He’s covered all his bases. The only way you’re getting a message to Steph is driving there right now.” Declan looked over my shoulder. At Rosetta. She’d walked up right beside me, extending her hand toward the tablet.
“Give it to her,” I said.
He did.
Rosetta held the device close to her mouth. “Prescott. I know it’s you. Don’t hurt any more people.”
The visual on the tablet—someone running through woods—slowed for a moment, then picked up the pace again.
“I know you can hear me.” Her voice slipped, overcome with emotion. “Please, stop.”
The screen finally stopped moving. The conductor had pulled up and was slinging a large duffle bag off his shoulders. He dropped to a knee, slid a long rectangular box out of the bag, and unfastened three latches. Pulled open the top.
I cursed while Declan smiled.
Inside the case were three tube-shaped metal pieces. It was a weapon, a very large weapon that required assembly.
“Prescott,” Rosetta said into the tablet again. She then turned to me. “I don’t know what to do—”
Declan launched himself into me and Rosetta, smashing me to the ground. He threw punches wildly, pounding at my face. My gun and the tablet slid across the floor.
I threw him off and jumped to my feet, eyes blurry, scanning for the weapon. Declan was already on his feet.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted Rosetta running out of the room and up the staircase.
Declan rammed me against the wall. “Let’s go, university cop.”
I head-butted him, following quickly with a right jab. He tumbled back as I set my feet.
Before I knew it, his hand was reaching into one of the cupboards.
I charged him, then saw the sharp object coming out of the cupboard—a blade. He swung it at my face.
I bent back, evading the knife by a slice of air no larger than the blade.
Declan definitely had combat experience. He slashed again, another miss.
My back hit the wall, causing a searing pain that felt as though a lion had sunk its teeth into me. Declan sliced toward my stomach.
I dove toward the door, sliding on my back so I could keep my eyes on him. Not enough time to reach for my own blade.
Declan flipped the blade upside down and lunged straight toward my skull.
I gripped his plunging right hand with my left. I was stronger, but Declan had positional and dominant-hand advantage.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted my gun tucked against the desk.
Declan’s blade descended toward my left eye, inch by inch.
My right hand, pinned by Declan, was my only play. I shoved upward, tilting him off balance. Enough for me to tuck my right leg in and kick up.
The blow knocked Declan back to his feet and he stumbled backward. He grunted and steadied himself, eyes darting to the gun.
He ran for it—there was no way I’d beat him to it. I back-crawled through the film room door into the staircase landing area, kicked the door shut behind me.
Bullets split through the wood as if it were paper. I jumped to my feet and ran for the staircase.
The film room door burst open behind me. More bullets pinged at my feet as I twirled up the staircase.
Then the gun started clicking. He’d spent the clip.
I turned to face—
Declan’s blade whooshed by my nose and clanged behind me. He bulldozed me and we crashed onto the bottom three steps of the staircase. His fist smashed my jaw and forehead three times.
I grabbed him by his jacket, two fistfuls, and yanked him into the staircase, his head jamming between two steps unnaturally. I shoved him as hard as I could, trying to throw him off the stairs altogether, but his body didn’t budge.
And he screamed.
There was a loud crack.
Then all went silent.
I stood. Declan’s head had squeezed between the seventh and eighth steps at an awkward angle. He wasn’t moving.
I picked up the pistol to check if any rounds remained. None did, which meant I was weaponless again.
I hustled back to pick up the tablet and stare at the live footage.
My body tensed.
25
SUNDAY, 8:31 P.M.
I booked it up the stairs, through the closet, out the amphitheater doors, onto the heart of the campus, and into the hills overlooking Trenton University—all the while clutching the tablet.
The feed was still live, coming from a camera placed somewhere at the vantage point that simulated the conductor’s—David’s—own eyesight. He was pulling one of three large shells out of the duffle bag that also contained the weapon, which must have been assembled by now.
Icy rain began to fall.
“Sounds like you won, Haas, lucky you,” the conductor said. “But you’ve lost, too stupid to use the only leverage you had.” He shoved the first shell into what looked like a rocket launcher.
My throat tightened.
“Rosetta will come to see things my way. You, on the other hand, soon won’t have anything.”
I glanced at the tablet. The conductor was hoisting the launcher onto his shoulder. I was breathing hard, maneuvering up steep terrain and through trees, waiting for him to look up, give me a clue as to his location.
With a grunt, the conductor swung the launcher, along with the vision of the live feed, toward Trenton University. The campus shimmered under the lights of the gym and light posts surrounding the amphitheater, and his target became abundantly clear: the sky bridge. Filled with every person from the amphitheater and overflow gym seating.
“You know what’s better than extinguishing the will?” The conductor breathed heavily. He was sickeningly excited. “Giving it hope right before you light it up.”
Now that I had a sense of his location, I was in a full-on sprint through the hilly landscape, glimpsing at the tablet every few moments.
The conductor jerked his head back. Something had snatched his full attention. “No.” He cursed. “No, no.”
Cody and Alec had followed Janet’s lead and extended gestures of safety to people when they’d entered the sky bridge. Now they weren’t sure anyone was safe.
The string was responding to the conductor’s call, surrounding the sky bridge armed with far more deadly weapons than what Cody and the others had with them in the sky bridge—but not actually moving in to kill them.
And then there was the mutilated body in the room, which belonged to Jackson Renfroe.
“The guy had just done his first good deed in a decade.” Cody leaned down and closed the chief’s eyes.
The cause of death had to have been the device David had planted in him.
Alec grabbed his shoulder. “Cody?” The kid pointed to the amphitheater’s entrance into the sky bridge. “It’s Rosetta—she got through before the mob.”
“Where’s Haas?” Cody called to
her.
Rosetta ignored him, continuing to the scenic side of the sky bridge. She grabbed one of the cushy seats and dragged it flush against the window.
Cody cocked his head.
“Rosetta?” Alec said, jogging up to her.
Cody followed. “Where is he!”
She stepped on top of the chair and stared out the window—but didn’t respond.
“Get down, they might shoot,” Janet said.
“Is he in danger?” Cody said.
Rosetta shook her head. “I don’t know. They were fighting.”
“Who was fighting?” Cody asked.
“Shhhh.” Rosetta pointed to herself. “He might not shoot if he sees me.”
Cody looked out the glass into thickly wooded terrain and the darkness of night. “That’s not the most reassuring thing I’ve heard today.”
Alec turned to all the people huddled in the sky bridge. “Everyone over here, pronto!”
The people did as they were told, gathering behind Rosetta, some kneeling and some sitting.
“What are you doing?” Cody said.
“If he won’t shoot her, then it’s best we all stay close to her.”
Lightning flashed outside the window.
Cody surveyed the crowd and whispered to Alec, Janet, and Rosetta, “Stay alive.”
“Where are you going?” Alec said.
“To find my friend.”
“How are you going to get out?”
“Creatively.”
Rosetta turned away from the window for the first time. “Please, don’t kill Prescott.”
Cody looked at her as if she’d just asked him to rob an old woman. “You have any idea what he’s done?”
Rosetta lowered her head. “He’s . . . worth saving.”
Cody took a deep breath, jogged to the opposite side of the sky bridge, then smashed one of the windows with the blunt end of his weapon.
26
SUNDAY, 8:36 P.M.
Stephanie stepped into Markus’s living room, coffee mug in hand, and cracked a smile. Isabella must have swiped a couple of mugs from the kitchen and had an impromptu tea party with Tilly, because all the clues were there.
A glance down at her mug revealed her espresso was still steaming. She could feel herself trying to be normal, trying to wipe the previous twenty-four hours from her life. But deep down she knew the haunting memories were there, that a white-faced demon called the conductor had indeed kidnapped her and her daughters, and that they’d have to live with whichever memories chose to stick.
But at least they were safe.
Stephanie opened the drapes and stole a glance out the window. Two of the security peeps, Whalen and De’boer, were still covering the outside, while Hernandez was with the girls in the kitchen.
Where David had gone, she could only guess. He’d told her he needed air and that Whalen would escort him . . . but that had been nearly three hours ago, and Whalen had since confirmed that no such conversation with David had taken place. The lies made Stephanie’s stomach churn.
Tilly was sitting in a high chair and showing a bowl of Cheerios who was boss. Isabella, meanwhile, was showing Hernandez the importance of place setting, even though the spoon, fork, and knife she was using looked more like an attempt at stick art than proper table setting.
Hernandez was nodding politely and smiling, though, and Stephanie gave him a look of appreciation. “Want a break?” she said.
Hernandez nodded and excused himself to the restroom.
Stephanie sidled up next to Isabella. “Whatcha teaching these days, kid?”
“I was showing him the importance of forks over knives, just like you learned in your doc-u-man-tary.”
“Uh, that’s documentary. But yeah. You know what, nice work.”
Isabella, stacking one utensil on top of the other, continued as though she hadn’t heard a word. “To be healthy, you need to eat like this.”
Isabella’s face brightened, but Stephanie felt the life in hers drain. Her daughter looked so much like Declan. She’d forgotten just how much until he’d stopped by earlier. How had someone so perfect come from someone so tainted?
Even so—she looked at Isabella again—Stephanie wouldn’t take back anything. Her girls were her loves.
She opened the fridge. BRAT diet, wasn’t it? That’s what you ate when your stomach was upset by nearly losing your daughters, your boyfriend, and your own life in the span of twenty-four hours. She tapped cinnamon on top of applesauce, then moved to the cupboards for rice and bread.
As she turned back to the table, BRAT foods piled in her arms, Whalen appeared in the pathway from the living room to the kitchen and dining area. “Whoa, put a little more trumpet into your approach next time and a little less Hannibal Lecter.” She pressed one hand to her heart while continuing to balance the food in her arms. “Outdoor scenery finally bore you?”
That’s when she spotted the knife in his right hand.
27
SUNDAY, 8:44 P.M.
Rosetta. She hadn’t run away from my scuffle with Declan. She’d run straight into danger to protect innocent people from the conductor, hadn’t she? I could hear it in his voice. She’d planted herself directly in front of whatever destruction he’d premeditated.
Suddenly, through the vantage point of the tablet, the conductor turned to his side, startled. He was hearing my approach. I was getting close.
The conductor brought his hand to the camera mounted on him and killed the feed. A gust of wind pelted my face with freezing rain.
I continued forward on the balls of my feet.
“Best approach gentlemanly, Markus.”
There. I could see him now, in the dim light of the moon and the glow from his phone, rocket launcher on the ground beside him. But why?
“One click, that’s all it takes—and she dies.” He grinned. “No more lives for you or her.”
I stepped lightly into the clearing that served as the conductor’s nest, the area no larger than a single-car garage. My hands were up. I didn’t have a gun anyway—just the knife in my boot.
“Well, isn’t this perfect, just me and the incredible Mr. Haas.” Only now the conductor wasn’t the conductor. All the white makeup was gone. Before me was David Prescott Kilpatrick.
Seeing him not as the white-faced demon but as a man with a name evoked a strange compassion in me, and I hated it. “Why, David?”
“That’s beautiful—and weak,” he said. “You see me as human now, hmm? Your compassion makes you so . . . dull.”
I let my gaze fall away from him and turned toward the sky bridge in the distance, then to the rocket launcher at David’s feet, then back to the sky bridge. And smiled.
David’s lips went flat. “Secrets don’t make friends. Something to share?”
“Yeah,” I said, allowing a grin. “I actually do.” I whistled as if surprised. “Who’d have thunk it?”
“You want to riddle now, play games?” David held up his phone, reminding me of what he could do.
I tried to ignore the threat. I’d chosen my plan of attack and needed to stick to it if I were to protect all involved. “Love,” I said. “Out of every way I imagined you losing your grasp on the string, love wasn’t one of them.”
“My string, not the. My.”
“Yours? You sure? It seems all you’ve done, after all this meticulous research and brilliant manipulation”—I glanced at the sky bridge once more—“is stuff people in a glass box so you can kill them. Cody used to do the same thing when he was a boy—to spiders, I think. Simple manipulation, really.” I shook my head and squinted, turning back to him. “No, this isn’t your string.” I pointed to where I imagined Rosetta was standing in the sky bridge but kept my eyes on David. “In fact, I’d say it’s her string, considering she’s calling the shots.”
“You’re under my control, just like every other minion, fearing not a man but the fire and brimstone of a god himself. I control them, just as I’ve spun you like
yarn from the beginning. And could have killed you at any time.”
I dropped my act. “Your plans of grandeur are going to pot because the very thing you created has come to kill you.”
David started to speak, but I cut him off, speaking even louder. “Janet faked the explosions. Alec and Cody disposed of your bombs. Rosetta is standing in that sky bridge, looking directly at you, standing between you and any semblance of control or power. Or at least that’s what your face is saying. So look at her. She is the string. She has the power. You control nothing.” I flicked my hand in his direction. “Know what that means?”
He stared deeply into my eyes.
“You’re . . . not . . . my God.”
It was slight, but David’s lips trembled. He drew a pistol with his free hand, shaking his head. “True power,” he said, aiming, “is just unending contingencies.”
He pulled the trigger.
Pain bit at my right leg as the bullet pierced into my thigh. I dropped to the ground and pursed my lips, willing my eyes not to clamp shut.
“So much control left to go around.” David strode toward me. Shot my other leg.
I cried out.
“Like you, you fascinating menace. I’m losing because of you, but it’s not over. Not at all. You think this is just a madman’s fantasy. How small and foreseeable your mind.” He shot my left arm.
I felt my veins expand all over my body as I fought against shock.
“See this?” David showed me his cell and laughed. On the screen was a picture of Stephanie, lifeless, with blood on her skull. “I banished her to the afterlife long before you got here.”
Pain. Not from the bullets. Deep, guttural pain twisted my stomach, burning with poisonous fire inside of me.
David leaned forward and whispered into my ear. I wasn’t quite sure what he said because reality seemed to have slowed to a crawl, blurring and muffling all sensory detail.
He dropped his handgun and withdrew two shiny objects from his pockets, sliding each of them over his fingers and forearms. Spikes appeared to be extending out of them. He pulled me into a sitting position, surprisingly strong, and smashed my face inward.
The String Page 24