The Sullivan Gray Series Box Set

by H. P. Bayne

  Only he couldn’t cough. There was no air to cough. No air to breathe.

  And Uncle Lo wasn’t letting him up.

  Aiden pushed his hands out of the water, grabbed at his uncle’s bare arms. Pounded at them. He kicked out, trying to push away.

  Uncle Lowell was too strong.

  He would have to let him up. He had to.

  But he wasn’t. He wasn’t letting him up.

  Aiden’s eyes opened.

  It was a warm summer day, the sun high in the sky. He could see the rippling image of his uncle on the other side of the water.

  And then he wasn’t looking up at Uncle Lo. He was staring over at him.

  Aiden was back on the big rock, standing next to his kneeling uncle. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here, but here he was. He wasn’t breathing, but he didn’t feel like he had to. He still felt wet and cold, and he was afraid. He wanted to run from Uncle Lowell.

  Then he saw his uncle was still holding something in the water. Something still, small, unmoving.

  Something that looked a lot like him.

  His uncle was still crying when he finally let the other Aiden go.

  They stood there, side by side, watching as the other little boy floated away, the current carrying him down the river.

  Past the reeds and the rocks. Past the big trees on the other side of the river, and the ones that had fallen partway into the water. Past the footbridge the neighbours had put up.

  They watched as the other Aiden disappeared around the river’s bend.

  Then Uncle Lowell wiped away the rest of his tears and started slowly for the house.

  Just as suddenly as he’d been pulled into Aiden’s consciousness, Sully was ripped away. He found himself back in the Blue Room, gasping for air, three sets of eyes staring down at him.

  One pair belonged to the man who’d just murdered him.

  “Did you see my boy?” Gerhardt asked. “Did he show you what happened?”

  Sully loathed Gerhardt, but every ounce of his hatred was currently focused on Lowell. Were he not strapped down, he would strangle the man, visit upon him the same feelings of helplessness and terror he’d brought a small boy—his own brother’s boy—all those years ago.

  Physical attack wasn’t possible, so Sully poured every ounce of his hate into the words he growled at the man as he stared into his eyes. “He showed me. He showed me what you did. He knows. Aiden’s here, Lowell, and he knows you killed him.”

  Lowell was usually good at playing it cool, but it seemed to be taking him a while to remember that. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I saw you. You found him playing hide and seek in the reeds by the river that day. You took him down to Dad’s fishing rock, you put him in the water, and you held him there until he stopped struggling. He was aware. He still is. He knows, Lowell. And we’ll both see that you pay for it.”

  Lowell—the man who had spent his life doubting Sully’s claims about his ability, who had called into question everything about the boy his brother had taken in as a foster—looked like he’d just seen a ghost. He sucked in a mouthful of air, then a second. A moment later, he ran for a garbage can next to the counter and vomited violently.

  Gerhardt’s train was still running on another track.

  “I don’t care about the Braddock boy.” He gritted his teeth, issued his command through a clenched jaw. “Find. My. Son!”

  But Sully didn’t care right now about the Gerhardt boy. His own thoughts were with the child still standing to his left.

  “He won’t rest, Lowell. He’ll never rest until you’re brought to justice. He’ll stay with you, and he’ll see you never rest, either.”

  Lowell spat, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. When he turned back to Sully, his face was twisted in torment, mouth pulled taut in a grimace and a moist sheen in his narrowed eyes.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t know anything! And I swear to God, Sullivan, I will end you before I give you the chance to spread your lies.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gerhardt said. “He won’t be telling anyone. I’ve made certain to keep him heavily sedated when his family comes to visit. I’ll ensure that continues. He won’t be saying anything about our time here.”

  “You can’t keep me here forever.”

  Hackman chose that moment to speak. “No? That’s what Harry Schuster said.”

  Gerhardt shot the head orderly a glare that immediately silenced the man. A chill ran through Sully’s body, the feeling nearly as cold as Aiden’s gentle grip had been.

  “What did you do to Harry?” When no one answered, Sully tried again, louder, as if they hadn’t heard the first time. “What did you do to him?”

  “We didn’t do anything,” Gerhardt said. “He just … slipped away a little over a week ago. He’s gone.”

  The tremble that had started a few seconds ago with Hackman’s interrupted threat took hold as Sully grasped the truth Gerhardt would never voice. Whether because they’d determined he was no longer useful, or because he was too great a threat, they’d killed Harry.

  And Sully knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he would eventually meet the same fate.

  Lowell stepped to Gerhardt’s side, his thoughts, as always, with himself. “You can’t let him speak to Mara, Dez or Eva. You can’t let him speak to anyone. Period. If anyone believes him, I will have to take steps. I don’t think I can cope with any more. There’s been too much death already.”

  Sully inhaled sharply as he recognized Lowell’s statement for what it was. If the man was confronted with his crimes—even by Mara or Dez—he would see them dead before he’d face justice. With that, Sully felt one more shred of hope slip through his fingers.

  Initially, he’d kept his concerns about Lowell to himself because they were nothing beyond suspicions; then he’d concealed the truth from his family because he dreaded exposing them to more pain.

  The stakes had just changed.

  Lowell had already killed two people he professed to love. There was no question he would kill more. As long as no one else knew, they’d stay safe. If it meant Sully ended up one day dying at Lowell’s hands, he’d go happily as long as it meant his family was protected.

  “I won’t tell them,” Sully said. “I won’t give you reason to do to them what you did to Aiden or Dad. But don’t think for even one second I won’t find a way to bring you down. Alive or dead, Lowell, I will find you. And if I’m not the last face you see in this world, I will be the first you see in the next.”

  He took some pleasure in the fear that washed across Lowell’s face, causing freckles to stand out starkly against the sudden pallor of his skin.

  A moment later, Lowell stepped out of his view, and the sound of a door opening and banging shut and footsteps echoing within a corridor signalled his departure.

  Any triumph Sully might have felt disappeared as his attention returned to the men remaining in this room.

  “We have a couple more hours before shift change,” Hackman said.

  “Good,” Gerhardt said. “There’s no rush. Lowell provided us with plenty of doses, and we have all the time in the world.” He redirected his gaze to Sully. “We have work to do.”

  Their voices were a distant, dim light in Lockwood’s dark, their chatter like a warm, refreshing rain at the top of a deep, dark, empty well.

  Rarely did his brain work well enough to understand any of the words spoken by Dez, Mara, Eva and Takara during their visits, but words didn’t matter. The sound of their voices and the feel of their presence had brought a sense of familiar—a sense of home—to this godawful place. And while he was sedated too heavily to take part in the visits, he lived for those hours nonetheless.

  He found temporary shelter there, aware that as long as his loved ones were beside him, Gerhardt, Hackman and Lowell were not. Nor was the fourth man, so often present in the Blue Room, the one who kept his features concealed beneath a rubber fright mask.
That man—in his anonymity and silent observation of what had become brutal psychological torture—scared Sully most of all.

  The terror never left him, not even in these moments when his loved ones were with him; there was no escaping the reality they would have to leave eventually and abandon him to the horrors Gerhardt would inflict.

  The closest he got to a feeling of safety came during Dez’s visits, the low, gruff rumble an incessant and comforting sound. Dez talked relentlessly, the fluctuating tones in his voice suggesting he was reciting a funny memory one moment and struggling not to cry the next.

  Sully ached to answer, but there was no chance at forming a coherent thought, let alone uttering a word. So he sat there, clinging to the sound, and to the one making it.

  Sometimes, his mind would slip back in time, to those nights of his childhood when he’d run to Dez for protection from the ghosts that haunted him. Those nights, he’d go to sleep with his cheek against his brother’s chest, the rise-fall of his breath, the thumping of his heart and the vibration of speech each forming a reminder Sully was no longer alone. He’d discovered a never-before-known safety there, and he found it again during Dez’s visits to Lockwood.

  One day, it happened that the curtain parted just enough to allow Sully to make out more than muffled sound.

  He could understand Dez’s words.

  Whether it was that they hadn’t provided him the proper dosage that day, or that his tolerance level was changing didn’t matter. All that mattered was what was being said—and what it would mean for him if he couldn’t answer.

  “… don’t even know if you can hear me. I’ve been coming here every couple of days since you’ve been in here, Sull. But, Jesus, man, I don’t think I can do it anymore.” Dez’s voice broke over the last word, and Sully’s heart broke with it. “God, I miss you. I miss you so much, buddy. I wish there was something I could do to fix this for you. It used to be I could always fix things for you. Remember? You and me, man, we were a team. Nothing got at you without having to go through me first. But I let you down. I let you down, bad. And I don’t know if I can face it anymore.”

  Sully felt movement, a pressure on his arm shifting to his hand. Something warm wrapped around his fingers, and it took him a moment to recognize the feel of his brother’s hand.

  “Remember when we visited Harry, and he grabbed you to pass along that message? He knew you were there, Sully. Well, I need a sign like that now. I need to know you’re in there somewhere. Please, Sull, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand, okay? Please, kiddo, just squeeze my hand.”

  Sully tried. He summoned up every bit of strength and determination be had left inside him. But it was like he was trapped inside a vehicle for which someone else held the keys. As much as he willed his hand to move, to squeeze, to offer this one sign Dez so badly needed, he failed.

  He knew he’d failed when he heard his brother’s sigh, the sound shaky with heavy grief.

  “I’m sorry, Sully. I’m so sorry.”

  He heard movement beside him, the sound of Dez standing. The hand remained in his for now while the other cupped his face. He felt Dez press his lips to the crown of his head before they shifted to his ear, whispering a few words.

  Sully recognized them for what they were: a goodbye.

  “I love you so much, bro. I always will.”

  The fingers wrapped around Sully’s started to loosen.

  It no longer came down to strength, determination or will; it was desperation. If Sully was floating at sea, Dez was his life raft. Without his big brother, he would sink. And if there was one thing that scared him more than the Blue Room, the men who confined him there and the repeated terrors he was forced to endure, it was losing Dez.

  It happened without him having to put any conscious thought into movement, his fingers tightening around Dez’s, squeezing so hard he might well dislocate his brother’s pinkie.

  A sob came from Sully’s right. But it wasn’t the sound of Dez’s pain. It was relief.

  Sully didn’t ease his grip, even when he heard his brother sit back down.

  “Okay, Sull, okay. I’ll take that as a sign you want me to keep rambling. But ease up a bit, huh? You’re crushing my fingers.” Dez’s voice was closer, quieter, when it next came. “I’m not going anywhere, all right? Promise.”

  Only then did Sully relax his grip. But Dez didn’t let go.

  Neither would Sully.

  30

  A light rain fell from an overcast October sky, lending an appropriate air to what would be another emotionally gruelling day.

  Over at St. Joe’s, the cemetery groundskeeper had dug a small hole in a plot next to Dez’s grandparents’ grave, large enough to fit Flynn’s urn.

  Flynn hadn’t wanted a full funeral, but word was damn near half the city planned on attending the graveside service, once anticipated as a small family affair. For many people outside the Braddock clan, Flynn was family.

  It had taken some convincing—and some strong words from Dez—but Dr. Gerhardt had reluctantly agreed to let Sully attend the service. Dez had demanded his brother be free of any drugs when he came for him, not wanting anyone to see Sully the way his family had to.

  As much as Dez was looking forward to the possibility of an actual conversation with Sully, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d never talked with his brother about the decision to commit him to Lockwood, had never learned whether Sully held it against them or had accepted it as a necessity. Rain soaked the shoulders of Dez’s good blazer and washed away the product he’d used to style his hair this morning, but he didn’t quicken his pace to the institution’s front entrance. Truth was, if Sully’s first words to him were to call him out as a traitor, Dez wasn’t sure he ever wanted to get inside.

  Mara had bought Sully a suit, had taken it out to Lockwood yesterday with the request her son be wearing it when Dez picked him up. Lockwood, Dez noted upon entering the lobby, had obeyed that request, as they had the one that Sully be drug free for the two days he’d been allowed out.

  Dez’s dread proved groundless when his brother grabbed him in a tight hug. But new worries sprouted as he felt the tremble racking Sully’s body.

  “Get me out of here, Dez. Please.”

  Dez had been happy to oblige, had kept Sully beside him for the day, providing himself with something to stew about besides the fact they were burying their father.

  That evening, having changed into jeans and T-shirts for a family gathering out at their parents’ acreage, Dez told the rest of the family he wanted to take Sully out to Winteredge National Park. Mara hated camping with a passion, so it had been an activity shared by Flynn and his sons, the three of them heading out for a week each summer to set up a tent, fish and hike in the Black Woods.

  It was the perfect excuse now to get Sully somewhere the two of them could talk privately.

  Flynn had had a favourite campsite, located so deep within the park the sounds of nature usually drowned out the noise from nearby human civilization. The rain-soaked ground left the driving paths hard to navigate, even with an SUV. Dez moved slowly, relying on fallen pine needles and, with any luck, his father’s otherworldly guidance to get them to the spot.

  Dez’s breath caught as he came upon it, relatively unchanged since the last time they’d come. Few people asked for this spot, too far from a public restroom to make it comfortable for young families or partying youths, and unequipped with the power or water needed for those with campers. But the park had maintained it all the same, and Dez slid the SUV into the small approach so he and his brother could face the spot where, together, they’d shared so many happy memories.

  The rain wasn’t cooperating, making getting out of the vehicle a challenge, but Sully didn’t look to be in a hurry to leave, anyway.

  “It seems like so long ago.”

  Sully’s words had come quietly, as they often did. But there was a quality to the hushed tone, something that felt more sad than reverent.

  “I kn
ow.”

  “I miss Dad.”

  “Me too.”

  For a while, they sat, listening to the rain pattering against the roof of the SUV, watching as the campsite gradually obscured behind the blurry, wet curtain that flowed down the windshield.

  But there was more needing said, things Dez needed Sully to hear, questions requiring answers. The day was dimming, quicker now they were this deep in the woods, and they hadn’t brought sleeping bags or camping supplies for what was intended to be a short pilgrimage.

  “Hey, Sull? I’m sorry. I know the last couple of months have sucked. I just need you to know I didn’t want this for you. But I also didn’t fight as hard as I should have, so I’m sorry.”

  Dez had been expecting a direct reply, whether absolution or condemnation. What he got was worse: abject terror.

  “You can’t let me go back there. Please, Dez. You have to get me out. If I go back, they’ll kill me like Harry. You have to help me.”

  The plea had spilled out, and now a few tears joined in, more startling in their appearance than the words themselves. Among the various truths that described Dez’s little family unit, one was that he tended to be the cryer among the group; Sully wasn’t. Only the very worst of circumstances dragged tears from him and, even then, he tended toward stoic. That Dez was bearing witness to this wasn’t just unusual; it was wrong.

  Worse, it was terrifying.

  “What do you mean they killed Harry? I thought it was another stroke.”

  “How do you know that? Did Thackeray tell you?”

  “Thackeray? No. I haven’t seen him. Uncle Lowell said he thinks he left town after his parents died.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Sully took a series of quaky breaths, eyes wide as he looked to be processing something. Dez gave it a moment, but not long.

  “Sully? What about Harry?”

  “They found out he was getting out of his body. I don’t know how. But if I knew, someone else probably did too. I haven’t seen Snowy around there, either. They could have got to her as well.”