by Debra Webb
Blinding light shattered all thought, pain arced inside his skull. He leaned against the smooth granite counter, the feel of the powdery residue used for gathering prints gritty beneath his palms. He closed his eyes and looked inward, surrendering to the pull... to the voices and images.
Her hand shook, then closed around the handle of the knife. Tell me. No! Another hand, this one larger…male…withdrew a hypodermic needle from a jacket pocket. Tell me or I’ll use this.
Pain sliced through his chest. The knife slid deep, clipping the atrium wall. He crumpled to the floor. Shock and disbelief rendered him speechless for those final moments as blood filled the thoracic cavity around his quivering heart. She peered down at him, then collapsed to her knees. Sobbing hysterically, she tried to pull the knife out, but her efforts only made matters worse. He could feel the life force draining away, bathing his heart and lungs, seeping around the sharp, stainless steel blade of the knife, soaking into his shirt.
Who would carry on with his work? No one else understood... his grandfather had warned him. Had told him that the world would never comprehend such beautiful, perfect work.
Paul jerked back from the darkness. He gulped in massive amounts of air, fighting the urge to vomit. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Calm the hell down. Let it go.
That was always the hardest part... turning loose. It grabbed him, sucked him into a vortex of sensory perceptions, lights, sounds, images. His mind and body absorbed the energy that hung in the air long after the event. Bits and pieces of positively charged ions floating about, waiting to be noticed. All one needed was the heightened senses to pick up on them. The constant hum of elevated perception was always there with Paul. Most of the time he refused to see or hear any of it. Pushed it away. But it was there just the same. Waiting.
He exhaled a heavy breath and mopped his brow with the back of his hand. He never got used to this. No matter how often it happened. It was like a waking nightmare. A blip in neuron transmission that went a-freaking-wry.
He dusted his powder-coated palms together and forced his attention back to the search. He avoided looking at the blood stained tile as he moved through the kitchen. Eventually he returned to the hall. If there was a basement, then where the hell was the door leading to it? He opened the one beneath the staircase and discovered a coat closet. He swore and started to close the door. Something in his peripheral vision snagged his attention. He opened the door wide and stepped inside, parting the mass of coats and jackets.
“Well, hello,” he muttered. A pocket door, designed to slide into the wall, and painted to match, lay beyond the array of outerwear. Paul flipped the light switch next to the door and peered down the stairs. A perfect place for a storm shelter.
The narrow stairs descended for six steps, there was a landing and a left angle where six more steps led to the basement floor. Bright fluorescent lights shone from overhead. A large L-shaped metal desk occupied a corner. Along one wall was a long table with open files spread atop it. Metal filing cabinets lined the rest of the wall space. Karl Manning’s private work files. The ones he dared not keep at the office.
“So this is where you kept your secrets.” Maybe Manning had kept his secrets too well. Otherwise Paul felt confident the chief and his pals would have cleared out this place already. This could be what they needed.
Anticipation zinged through him, had his heart thundering. First, he surveyed the open files on the tabletop. Several times he noticed the word “Gemini Series.” Each time, the chill already permeating his skin went a little deeper. One heading in particular captured his attention as he thumbed through a stack of manila folders. He flipped back to it. Cannibalism in the Womb. The file was filled with what appeared to be detailed studies but it was the page right up front that held his attention the longest.
One of the strangest instances of the vanishing twin
within the womb is twin cannibalism, in which the
surviving twin literally ingests, or absorbs the
remains of a dead twin in the uterus...
What had these bastards been up to?
Jill lingered at the door of her sister’s home office. She wondered vaguely if Paul had found the basement or Karl’s work files. She swiped her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Going through Kate’s room, the one she’d shared with her husband, had been tough. But just looking through the doorway into Cody’s room had torn her apart. His toys and stuffed animals were everywhere. Pictures chronicling his growth and accomplishments decorated the walls. She wept for long minutes. And then she prayed. Prayed with all her heart that somehow Cody was still alive as Paul suspected…that Kate really had taken him some place safe. And if he wasn’t, she prayed that her sister had not done this unthinkable thing.
Okay, suck it up, she told herself. She had to look for clues, anything, that might give some reason for all that had happened. Or some hint as to where Kate would take Cody if she had hidden him away. The moment she entered the only room left on the second floor, she knew it was here, in Kate’s office, hobby room, whatever, that Jill felt the closest to her sister. She looked at all the lovely pictures Kate had taken. As a young girl she’d dreamed of being a photojournalist for National Geographic or Discovery, but college, MedTech and Karl had changed all that. Still, Kate had documented their lives quite beautifully. Each photograph was carefully labeled in her neat handwriting.
Cody’s first trip to the beach.
Karl at work.
Catching fireflies.
Each label was simple and self-explanatory with only one look at the photograph. Jill smiled, admiring the life that had so pleased her sister until just a few days ago. On one wall were photographs of places Kate had found interesting or pleasing to her critical eye. Jill’s breath caught when she recognized several as having been taken at one of the villages nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. As girls they’d heard the lore about the people who lived there and who refused to change their primitive ways of life and blend in with the rest of society. Kate had always sworn she would learn about them one day. It looked as if she had and that made Jill happy. The final photograph of the village caused her heart to stumble. The simple label at the bottom read: A Safe Place.
I took him to a safe place.
The doorbell chimed.
Jill jumped, her breath catching.
She snatched the matted photograph from the wall and hurried to a window on the front side of the house to see who had rung the bell. She fully expected to see the chief’s cruiser. But the only car out front was Paul’s SUV.
A neighbor, she decided. Someone who wanted to be sure that nothing was amiss. Jill took a deep breath and forced herself to walk, not run, down the stairs. She would be calm and cool. No one knew she wasn’t supposed to be here, except the chief, of course.
Paul stood at the entrance to the formal living room, just clear of the front door looking into the entry hall. Though the glass in the door was textured for privacy, anyone outside would see movement beyond the glass.
“Female,” he whispered.
He must have checked from a front window. Jill nodded and moved toward the door. Paul eased out of sight.
Still clutching the photograph, Jill swiped her sweating right palm on her slacks and reached for the door. She twisted the knob and pulled it open, plastering a smile into place. The nanny from the Radcliff home stared back at her.
The young woman’s eyes widened. “Kate, is that you?”
Jill almost corrected her... but then nodded.
“I was afraid someone was snooping around over here.” Suspicion slipped into her expression. “When did you get out of the hospital?”
“This morning,” Jill lied. “I’m so glad to be home.” The expression of grief at all her sister had lost didn’t require any faking.
The other woman sighed. “I know you must be.” She looked down for a moment. “It’s just awful about Cody. Roman asks for him every day. He misses their playtime. Is there anything I can
do to help?”
The woman looked sincere, but all Jill could think about was the fact that she had lied to her. She’d said the children never played together. And here she was acting like Kate’s best friend. Checking up on who came and went into the Manning home.
“No,” Jill said softly. Kate always spoke softly, never raised her voice for any reason, not even when she was angry like Jill was right now. “I’m managing. I appreciate your concern.”
“Well.” The nanny nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.” She started to turn away but hesitated. “I met your sister the other day. She asked a lot of questions. Has something else happened?”
Jill shook her head. “She’s just worried about me. That’s all.” She lowered her gaze meekly. “Thank you for stopping by. I really don’t feel like talking right now.”
“Sure, I understand,” the other woman said, but her frown contradicted her words. “I have to go. The children are sleeping.”
She didn’t look back as she hurried across the adjoining yards. Jill glanced at the street then closed and locked the door.
“She lied to me.” She met Paul’s gaze as he stepped into the hall. “She told me she knew nothing about Kate and her son. That the children never played together. I don’t understand why.” She shook her head. “This makes no sense at all. And I think she figured out I wasn’t Kate before she left.”
The fire in his eyes had her pulse skipping before he even spoke. “You need to come with me. There’s something you should see.”
He’d found something. Jill’s stomach executed an unsettling flip-flop.
Still clasping the photograph, she followed him into the coat closet and then down to what she presumed to be a basement.
“What is this place?” She’d had no idea her sister’s storm shelter was…like this.
Paul glanced around the room, then up at the ceiling. “I think it’s a large vault. Looks fireproof. Concrete and really thick. The house plans likely listed it as a safe room.” He motioned for her to join him at a table. “Pull up a chair and take a look at this stuff. I’m going through the file cabinets.”
Disbelief and horror clawed its way into her throat as Jill scanned folder after folder. No one would really perform these kinds of experiments on humans? Would they?
But they had. The reports…detailed descriptions. Dear God. Jill shook her head. No. God didn’t have anything to do with this.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she finally looked up, stretched her neck. Paul was still poring through drawers of files. None of the subjects were named. All were designated by a number. Somewhere there had to be a database that linked these numbers with names.
“This is... unbelievable.” Her throat had gone dry, her heart felt strangely distressed. “I’m not sure I can quite grasp that it’s real.” Genetic tampering, strange experiments that she didn’t know how to begin to describe. Transplanting embryos, cloning. It was too incomprehensible.
Paul paused long enough to look at her. “It’s real all right. The really scary part is that it’s probably just the tip of the iceberg. I’m—”
A muffled sound echoed overhead.
“Stay put,” he ordered.
If someone was in the house they would notice the closet door standing open and then...
Fear tightened around her throat. Paul took the stairs two at a time. What if it was the chief? Or...? She couldn’t label the other threat. It was too enormous to encompass with a single individual or entity. Too awful to name.
She reached for the photograph she’d taken from Kate’s hobby room and clutched it to her chest. Was there any place safe from what lay outside these walls? Jill was certain that for her and the people she loved, there wasn’t.
“Jill!”
She moved to the bottom of the stairs. “Who’s up there?” Fear pounded through her veins.
Paul was halfway down the stairs now, reaching for her. “We have to get out of here.”
Her nose wrinkled at the acrid smell of smoke following him. Fire?
“Hurry! The house is on fire!”
Chapter 13
“You’ve destroyed evidence. I could get you disbarred for this!” The chief glowered at Jill.
“We didn’t start the fire, chief.” It took every ounce of resolve Paul possessed not to lose it right now. But he couldn’t do that…not and protect Jill. Not and find the truth.
“And you!” The chief stabbed a finger in Paul’s face. “I should haul your ass—pardon my French, Miss Jill—to jail. You crossed the line, mister!”
“We have nothing to hide, chief.” Paul held his hands up surrender style. “Do what you think you have to do.”
They were alive. That in itself was a small miracle. The front door and rear entries of the Manning home had been fully engulfed. He’d thrown a chair through one of the large front windows, creating an escape route.
Too close for comfort. That’s what it was.
Kate Manning’s home was completely destroyed. The fire department had gotten the flames put out, but other than the still standing brick, the house was gutted. The second floor had collapsed into the first.
“Well, that fire didn’t start itself,” the chief accused. “If I find one shred of proof that you’re involved in this clear cut case of arson, you’ll wish you’d never set foot in this town, Dr. Phillips.”
His control slipped. Paul leaned in close to the shorter man who just wouldn’t let it go. “Bring it on, Chief. I’ve already told you we have nothing to hide, can you say the same?”
Difficult as it proved, Paul walked away, ushering Jill down the drive and to the Land Rover. They’d both been through enough today. He didn’t want her exposed to anymore of the chief’s groundless accusations or the suspicious looks of all the rescue personnel who’d showed up to save the day.
He and Jill were walking away.
That wasn’t supposed to have happened. Paul couldn’t shake the feeling. They were supposed to have died in that fire. The fire marshal would find evidence of arson all right. A high-powered accelerant had been used. Probably the same one used to burn that small body the chief wanted them to believe was Cody. An accelerant of that caliber was the only way the house would have become so widely engulfed before the smoke even reached the basement. Particular attention had been paid to the front and rear entrances. A trail of fire had run from the front door to the staircase. The arsonist hadn’t wanted the smoke or flames to warn them until it was too late to escape.
His plan might very well have worked had the textured privacy glass in the front door not shattered. The sound had echoed down those basement steps like a rifle blast.
They were safe. That was all that mattered. The chief and his arson investigation could go straight to hell.
“Jillian!”
Standing in the vee of the Land Rover’s open passenger door, Jill turned to see who had called her name. Paul went on instant alert. Whoever it was, he wasn’t happy. Her name had been uttered sharply, vehemently. A politician, Paul determined when the man got a little closer. Five hundred-dollar suit and enough arrogance to provide hot air driven energy for a small country. Recognition flared. The mayor.
Paul had to physically restrain the urge to punch the older man when he marched right up to Jill, his face red with rage, and started ranting.
“You’ve gone too far!”
“Mayor Hammersly,” she said, acknowledging his presence and ignoring his accusation.
“We were just leaving,” Paul cut in. “As you can see, we’ve had a bad day.”
Hammersly glowered at Paul, then pointed that cutting gaze at Jill. “This is enough, young lady,” he warned. “How dare you come back to this town and try and tear down all we’ve built. Your daddy would be ashamed of you.” He harrumphed. “What am I saying?” He glared at Jill even harder. “He was ashamed of you and those ridiculous antics of yours. Always getting into trouble... running off to Ole Miss and thinking only of yourse
lf. You’re a disgrace to your family... to this town.”
Fury whipped through Paul. He moved in, forced Hammersly back a step, as he got between the man and Jill. “I don’t think you want to say anything else.”
“Just ask her, if you don’t believe me,” he hurled the words at Paul, too blind or too stupid to be afraid. “Ask her how she hurt her daddy all those years ago.”
“I said, shut up.” Paul reached for him, his fingers itching to wrap around that scrawny neck, to squeeze until the bastard shut the hell up.
“No.” Jill tugged at his arm. “Please, Paul, let’s just go.”
Obviously having come to his senses, the mayor stumbled back a couple of steps. “Tell him, Jillian. Tell him how you drove your daddy into an early grave. Maybe you want to do the same thing to your mother.”
“Get in the car and wait for me,” Paul said, his throat so taut he could scarcely speak. At the moment he didn’t care if he spent the rest of his life in prison, this guy was about to eat his words.
“Please, Paul,” she pleaded. “Take me home.”
Unwilling to cause her more pain, he turned his back on the bastard and rounded the hood. He settled behind the steering wheel and slammed the door. Forcing his complete attention on getting the hell out of here, he pulled away from the curb and eased through the emergency vehicles parked this way and that on the cul-de-sac.
They didn’t talk as the dying embers of the Manning house faded into the night behind them. There was nothing to say. They were alone in this... had no proof of their beliefs and no one on their side.
“Paul.”
He glanced at her, an ache starting deep in his chest. Her cheeks were smeared with soot, tears clearing a path through the dark smudges.
“Yeah.”
“These conclusions you reach, are you always right? I mean, if you really try.” The little hitch in her breathing tugged at his heart. “I need to know... if you’re right this time.”
For the first time in his entire life he was genuinely afraid for someone to know the whole truth about him and it had nothing to do with avoiding the media or exposure to some scam. He didn’t want her to look at him any differently. To see the freak he had been accused of being by his peers and the media.