by Alex Siegel
"This is modern photo paper," he said, "and Serkan just bought a new printer. The box was still in his apartment."
He turned over the photograph. The words, "STOP ME! STOP ME! STOP ME!" were written in red pen.
"That's creepy," Andrew said.
Charley looked at the words. "What does it mean? Was Serkan insane?"
"Maybe he had a split personality."
"Keene would've known if Serkan had any psychological problems. Keene isn't just a sorcerer. He's also a successful psychiatrist. Of course, Keene could be part of the conspiracy, which would explain a lot. It's possible he deserves to go to prison after all."
"Let's talk to Tonya," Andrew said quickly.
He checked to make sure Serkan's parents weren't by the stairs and listening. Then Andrew took out his phone, put it in speaker mode, and called Tonya.
She answered, "I hope this is good news."
"It's news." Andrew told her the latest findings.
After thinking for a moment, Tonya said, "This doesn't help Keene's case. If Serkan was crazy, Keene should've known, and if he did know, it's even worse. But I think this is more than just a case of a sorcerer going insane. Serkan had an elaborate plan. He located an unknown seam. He planted evidence for us to discover. He made sure we found our way to John Crawford and Journal 1909. Serkan even dragged along his girlfriend as window dressing. If not for a small mistake, we would've walked away, satisfied with our investigation."
"Do you have a theory?"
"No." She paused. "By the way, when you took down that banshee, did any piece of Serkan pass through the banshee and into you?"
"A little," Andrew said.
"Same here," Charley said. "I picked up some of his childhood memories."
"Interesting," Tonya said.
There was a moment of silence.
"Is that useful?" Andrew said.
"Well, in theory, I could go into your minds and tease out what pieces of Serkan remain. It might be possible to uncover the truth that way."
"Great idea. Let's do it."
"Don't be so quick to agree," Tonya said. "I'll have to shine a very bright light into the dark corners. If you're hiding anything, I'll find it. Both of you are young, but you probably still have shameful memories and embarrassing secrets. There are things you don't want to share with me. Do you really want that kind of exposure?"
Andrew and Charley looked at each other.
Tonya went on, "It goes without saying that this is infernal sorcery. I won't do it without your total consent. If you refuse, I won't hold it against you. I certainly wouldn't submit to a procedure like this. It goes beyond a mere invasion of privacy. It will be painful and traumatic. Our minds all have closets which should never be opened, certainly not by a nosy old woman like me."
Andrew realized he was hiding something from Tonya in particular. True History of Sorcery was under his clothes in his luggage. If she found out he had taken it, the consequences might be severe.
"I don't want an answer now," she said. "Give it some thought. We'll talk later. Bye."
The call ended, and Andrew put his phone away.
He and Charley stared at each other.
"Do we have a choice?" she said. "Keene is on trial right now. He could go to prison if we do nothing."
"You're not worried about what Tonya might find?" Andrew said.
"Of course, but that's not as important as discovering the truth. A lot of people died, and the reason could be hiding up here." She tapped the side of her head.
"Maybe, but I still want to think about it."
Charley frowned with obvious disapproval. Andrew was hurt, but he maintained a calm exterior. He couldn't let Tonya know about True History of Sorcery.
"What are we supposed to do now?" Charley said. "Just hang out while you 'think'? Spend quality time with Serkan's parents?"
"You heard Tonya," Andrew said. "This is a big deal. She's going to dissect our brains while we're still using them."
"I trust her. She won't hurt us."
He just sighed uneasily. It didn't even matter if he threw True History of Sorcery in the garbage. Tonya would still see the crime inside his mind.
"Give me the rest of the day to decide," Andrew said. "OK? Dan, we still have most of the afternoon to check for a seam or two. Are there places we can go?"
Dan raised his eyebrows in obvious surprise. "I'm sure. The list is as long as my arm. We were only part way through when we got pulled off to search for Serkan."
"See?" Andrew looked at Charley. "No hanging out or quality time is necessary."
She narrowed her eyes. "When night comes, you'll give me your decision, and it had better be the right one."
"Sure."
* * *
Dan parked the limousine in front of a brown house with stone walls. It had a sharply peaked roof and lots of tall, skinny windows. Generous use of columns on the exterior added to the elegant style.
"The locals call this the Black Widow House,'" Dan said. "The owner, a seemingly kind old lady, took in elderly boarders. She would then steal their identities and drain their bank accounts. When the victims caught on, she poisoned them using a concoction that caused heart attacks. She even collected their social security checks. She killed fifteen people before the authorities finally caught her."
Andrew sighed. He was past the point where that kind of story moved him. He had unfortunately become an expert on mass murder.
Charley gave him a nasty look. She hadn't spoken to him since they had left Serkan's parents' house. Andrew clearly wasn't meeting her expectations.
She grabbed her camera, and the two of them left the limousine. They walked up a long, sloped driveway and then up a flight of stone stairs. He knocked on the front door.
"Smile," Charley said.
Andrew forced himself to smile.
A middle-aged, overweight man opened the door. He was wearing a white undershirt and baggy green pants. The odor of cigarettes followed him.
"Hi!" Andrew said cheerfully. "We're journalism students from Atlanta University. Our professor sent us up here to do a story on the Black Widow murders. Mind if we come in?"
"You're about a year too late," the man said.
"It's just a class project. You are?"
"Nate. I'm the so-called Black Widow's son. This is my house now, and tourists aren't welcome."
"We're not tourists," Andrew said. "We're students. Can we at least take a few pictures? Our class grade depends on this."
"Please?" Charley said in a sweet, girlish voice.
He glanced at her. Her expression suggested she was just on the edge of crying. She could be adorable when she wanted to be.
Nate sighed. "Five minutes, and I'm not answering any damn questions, unless you pay me."
Andrew and Charley walked through the house. It had probably been a beautiful home in the past, but it had fallen into disrepair. The walls were dingy and had water stains. Light fixtures were broken. The scattered furniture looked like it had been purchased at garage sales.
Charley clicked away with her camera.
"Were you close to your mother?" Andrew asked Nate.
"I told you," he said, "no questions."
Andrew frowned.
He didn't feel any seams in the area. He looked at Charley, and she shook her head.
"Thanks," he said. "That's all we need."
The two apprentices left the house. Andrew was glad to be out of that depressing place.
As they walked down the driveway, Charley said, "Have you made your decision?"
"I told you I would tonight. The sun hasn't even set."
He checked the angle of the sun, and it was still well above the horizon.
"What are you waiting for?" she said. "You can only make smart decisions in the dark?"
"Maybe I have guilty secrets I don't want Tonya to know about."
Charley stopped walking and faced him. Tall, old trees bordered the driveway on both sides. Birds were twi
ttering high in the branches which were swaying slightly in the breeze. The weather was perfect, but Andrew wasn't enjoying it.
"I don't care if you're secretly a serial killer," she said. "We have a moral obligation."
"That doesn't make sense. Do serial killers understand moral obligations?"
"You know exactly what I mean." She glared at him.
He grimaced.
"I thought you were a good guy."
"I am!" he said.
"You're not acting like one. If you want to be my boyfriend, you'll have to step up your game."
Andrew felt trapped. Charley was absolutely right, unfortunately, and more than his relationship with her was at risk. If he made the cowardly choice, he would have to live with a lifetime of shame.
His shoulders sagged. "Fine. You win. Call Tonya and tell her we'll both do it."
She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I knew I could count on you."
She grabbed her phone and made a call. After a brief conversation, she hung up.
"Well?" Andrew said.
"She wants us to fly to Washington immediately," Charley said.
* * *
Blake had his suitcase lying open on his bed. He was packing for a trip which might last the rest of his life.
He walked into his closet and looked around. He had hundreds of nice outfits which he had collected during a long career as an entertainer. He enjoyed performing stage magic. Making an entire audience look like idiots was fun and easy for him.
The best tricks had layers. He would let the audience think they had figured out the secret when, in fact, they had just reached the next layer. He loved to see the dismay on their faces when they realized they had been fooled twice or even three times. Unfortunately, he wouldn't have that pleasure when it came to Tonya and Keene. By the time they finally figured out Blake's real intentions, it would be far too late. He would just have to imagine their rage and frustration.
Blake selected basic business suits and casual clothing from his closet. He didn't want to attract any attention. He would stop using his real name as soon as he left the house. A tuxedo was the fanciest thing he took, but it was old and worn.
He looked up at a surveillance camera in the corner of his bedroom and waved. His years of living under constant scrutiny were about to end.
After the suitcase was packed, he zipped it up and rolled it out of his bedroom. He encountered a BPI agent in the hallway. As was typical of the men assigned to him, the agent was muscular and intimidating. His big head could serve as a battering ram, and the dull look in his eyes suggested he had tried it.
"What are you doing?" the agent said suspiciously.
Blake reached into his pocket and took out a large emerald. It was the portable seam he had worked so hard to hide from the BPI.
He held it up to the agent's face. "Kill the other BPI agents," Blake said. "Then kill yourself."
A twinkle of light flashed in the depths of the gem. The victim's mind was so weak, it took hardly any effort for Blake to implant the command.
The agent drew his gun and ran back the way he had come.
Blake walked away, dragging his suitcase. A moment later he heard gunshots, and he smiled. The BPI would know he was responsible for the massacre, but it didn't matter. His days of treading lightly and avoiding trouble were over. He was ready to accept his new role as a wanted criminal with a death sentence hanging over his head.
He went down to the garage. Two cars were parked there: a black Mercedes that he owned and a blue Ford sedan owned by the BPI. He dithered about which car to take. The Ford had government plates and looked more official, so it was less likely to be stopped by the police. He chose that one. Now I just need the keys, he thought.
Blake heard more gunshots in the house, and they sounded like they had come from the kitchen. The BPI agents were fond of snacking on his food. He went there.
Two bodies in blue suits were lying on the floor. A puddle of blood had spread across his fine marble tiles. He did his best to avoid getting blood on his shoes as he searched the bodies. He found guns, bullets, wallets, and keys. All were useful. He left the phones behind though because they were easy to track.
Blake went back to the garage and tried keys until he found the one that opened the blue sedan. He loaded his luggage into the trunk and opened the garage door. The velvety darkness of night beckoned him.
When he sat in the front seat of the sedan, he began to second guess his decision about which car to take. The upholstery was cheap vinyl. The sound system was rudimentary, and on a cross-country drive, that could be annoying. He realized he would have to change cars a few times anyway, so it didn't really matter.
Blake started the engine and drove off. For the first time in many years, he felt truly free.
* * *
Andrew decided he liked flying in private jets. There were no tickets, no security, and no long lines. The jet flew according to his schedule instead of vice versa. If he were ever a wealthy man, he would definitely buy his own jet.
The BPI certainly owned a nice one. The big, soft seats had plenty of leg room. Instead of a tray table, he had a real table in front of him. There were even fold-out beds in the back. All at tax-payer's expense, Andrew thought.
He looked across the aisle at Charley. She was wearing a green sweater which had a nice, snug fit. A red scrunchy held back her brown hair. She was reading a book on a tablet.
"What do you got there?" Andrew said.
"An interesting book about the history of physics."
"Huh? I don't see how history or physics could be interesting, and the combination sounds deadly."
"They're both important for sorcery," she said, "and who knows? Maybe some guys in this book were sorcerers. We do have a unique understanding of how reality is put together."
"I suppose so."
"Did you see all the books in Tonya's office? She has read every one and understands all of it. If you want to catch up to her, you'll have to do a lot of studying."
Andrew frowned and settled back in his seat.
The pilot announced through a loudspeaker, "We're approaching Ronald Reagan National Airport. Please fasten your seatbelts."
Andrew buckled his seatbelt and looked out the window. It was nighttime, so all he could see were city lights. He wondered if he would get a chance to tour Washington after the crisis was over. He had been all over the Midwest and parts of the South, but he had never visited either Coast.
The small plane touched down with a soft bump. It decelerated rapidly on a runway normally used by big passenger jets. Andrew saw the terminal in the distance, but his plane went past it to a separate cluster of hangers instead. He smiled. Definitely the right way to travel, he thought.
The plane parked in the back corner of the airport. Dan was accompanying Andrew and Charley as usual, and the BPI agent stood up as soon as they stopped moving. The apprentices followed him to the forward hatch.
Airport workers were already in position with a mobile staircase. It took just a minute for everybody to get off the plane. They waited while their luggage was retrieved from a compartment underneath.
Andrew shivered. Washington was much colder than Atlanta, and he remembered it was still the middle of winter. His heavy coat was in one of his bags. At least there wasn't snow on the ground like Chicago.
Fortunately, he didn't have to suffer for long. A black limousine pulled up a moment later. Two BPI agents stepped out and stuffed the luggage into the trunk while Andrew, Charley, and Dan sat in the passenger compartment. The air in the car was comfortably warm.
"I feel like an important executive," Andrew said.
"Don't let it go to your head," Charley said.
He remembered why he was here. Tonya was about to pry open his head and find the guilty secrets inside.
The limousine drove off. A couple of minutes later, it merged onto a busy highway.
"Tonya will need a seam," Andrew said. "Does the BPI headquarte
rs have one?"
"No." Dan shook his head. "The headquarters is intentionally located far away from any seams as a security precaution." He leaned towards the two BPI agents up front. "Hey, guys. Where are we going?"
"Manassas," one man said.
"Oh." Dan grimaced.
"What's Manassas?" Andrew said.
"Don't you know anything about the American Civil War? The Battle of Bull Run?"
Andrew shrugged.
"Then you're about to get a history lesson, kid," Dan said, "and it won't be pretty."
* * *
Andrew looked out the windows at a dark night. They were far from the lights of Washington. The limousine was driving down a two-lane road that passed through the fields and forests of rural Virginia. An old-fashioned wooden fence was the most unusual feature in sight. The fence didn't use metal poles or nails, and instead, rough-hewn logs were stacked and angled in a mutually supporting arrangement.
The limousine made a turn and parked in front of a white building with decorative pillars. A sign read, "Henry Hill Visitor Center," but the building was dark and obviously closed for the night. There was nothing else but empty grass fields in all directions.
Despite the late hour, two other cars were parked in the lot. Both were black sedans with federal government plates.
Andrew could already detect the seam. It was even bigger and nastier than the one at Theosophical University.
Andrew, Dan, and Charley got out of the warm car, but the two agents up front remained seated. Andrew rubbed his arms as winter air hit them. A nearby forest was dark and foreboding, but fortunately, the seam was in the other direction. He sensed Tonya and an unfamiliar sorcerer's energy close to the seam.
Charley took Andrew's hand which surprised him, but he didn't complain. They walked towards the seam, and Dan trailed behind.
"You know where we're going?" Dan said.
"Of course," Andrew said. "The seam is gigantic. It's like a lighthouse."
"It's so dark, I can hardly see anything at all."
"Well, I don't see it with my eyes. It's more like an inner sight."