Alan shook with rage and cut the video feed. “You’ll be sorry,” he muttered in a guttural voice. “You’ll be very, very sorry.”
“Not wise, Alan. You just threatened me, so I’ll have to tell the Benefactor. The next call will be from him.”
The voice quivered. “No—no you can’t tell my father. Please, Mr. Watts, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’ll stay here and send you all the intel. That’s all I want to do. You understand, right?” Alan swallowed hard.
There was no reply for some moments.
“What about the Johansen girl?”
“I’m on it. I’ve got a fix on her location, and it’s going directly to Abernathy. He’s closing in on her.”
“…Ok, Alan. I’ll let it go this time. But from now on you stick to the computer, and you give me updates, nothing more. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand Mr. Watts.” The line immediately disconnected.
Alan rose from his chair and walked to the kitchen where he pulled a drawer out so violently it disengaged from the rollers, and the metal contents went skidding across the floor. He rummaged through the utensils until he found a sharp paring knife. He drew it rapidly across his arm several times in succession. As the blood ran down his arm in thick streams, he stumbled backward and slumped into a corner, crying uncontrollably.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As they drove down I-5 toward the rendezvous point with Sarah Johansen, Zach continued to extend an area of protection around the girl, sensing his influence strengthening with every passing mile. They were drawing closer to her, and he felt more connected as the distance lessened.
Zach looked over at the passenger’s seat and realized his friend was not looking well. The last four days had taken its toll on both of them, and Anston’s skin had a pallid, waxy look to it. His eyes were closed, and he twitched spasmodically while mumbling incoherently as though he was dreaming. Suddenly, he sat up and shouted, “Let me try!” as a look of confusion crossed his face. It took several seconds before he reconnected with reality.
“Jarad, there’s a rest stop up here on the left,” said Zach. “See the big dinosaur? The restroom is right next to it. Why don’t we stop?”
Anston nodded, and Zach pulled the car off the ramp and rolled up to the facilities. They exited, stretched, and walked past the glass-enclosed state map into the public bathrooms. Zach splashed water on his face and looked at his own reflection in the mirror. He realized his assessment of Anston had been relatively harsh. In fact, Zach looked much worse.
Relieving himself and finishing up, he got back in the vehicle, intercepting his friend who had just bought a stale corn dog. Anston smiled and moved to the driver’s side. “Jarad, hold up a second.” Anston removed his hand from the door latch and looked up at Zach.
“I haven’t thanked you for coming with me on this field trip. I never thought it was going to become so complicated.”
Anston shrugged. “No one put a gun to my head, Zach. I was curious. Getting involved was my choice, although I have to admit if I had it to do over again….”
Zach smiled sullenly. “You know Jarad, we’ve talked an awful lot about my suicide attempt, but there’s something I haven’t told you.”
“Well, do you want to tell me now?”
“I—died that night. Clinically—died. I spent over five minutes without any brain activity. As they pulled the sheet up over my body, apparently I gasped for breath, and they knew I was alive.”
“Five minutes? You should have suffered serious brain damage.”
Zach glanced up at Anston. “With these visions... I wonder if maybe I did.”
“Look, Zach, you’re not alone…”Anston stopped speaking in mid-sentence as Zach’s face began to contort with exaggerated facial tics. His eyes fluttered for a moment, and then he fell hard to the pavement. Anston knew the signs; Zach was succumbing to another vision. “For God’s sake, not now,” he muttered as several bystanders began to gather around the fallen man in the parking lot.
The room was dark except for a single light on the night stand. The style was French Colonial, and the bed was turned down with a soft chocolate tastefully placed on a pillow. The woman was attractive, and her designer business attire suggested she was a professional of some kind.
As Zach moved his perspective around the room, he couldn’t help but wonder how someone of obvious means could suffer from such despair. She sat with a forlorn look on her face and a pill bottle in her hand. Her attention was focused on something across the room. When she spoke, it startled Zach, who slowly realized her words were not directed towards him.
“What is it, Ryan? What do you want from me?” she said. “I have nothing left to give. You have to understand that.”
Zach followed her eyes until he discovered the object of her focus, which was a shimmering image of a young blond-haired boy. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and he was framed by a pulsating aurora of pure white. The boy looked over at Zach and smiled. His face was soft and radiated love, and Zach sensed a deep wisdom and tranquility that belied his youthful appearance.
The boy conveyed his thoughts without words. Help her. She needs your guidance.
Zach responded, How can I help? I know nothing about her—or you.
She is my mother. She has suffered terribly and remains under the control of the Dark One.
The Dark One? Who is he? What is his plan and how can he be stopped?
I am not allowed. It is not within the dimension of purity for us to intervene. But she can help you.
Zach shifted his gaze to the woman, and when he looked back, the image of the boy was gone. The woman also seemed to know he had left, and she broke down in unsettling sobs.
Once he moved across the threshold, Zach entered the vision. He probed her gently and carefully extracted the information he needed. Her pain came from the loss of a child, probably the apparition of the boy whose thoughts Zach had shared. He touched her mind again and pushed pleasant memories to the forefront of her immediate consciousness. Her breathing slowed, and she leaned up against the back of the plush chair. Kathy, don’t be alarmed, I have come to help. Zach laid the thought gently into her mind.
She jerked forward as she became aware of the communication. “Whaa?”
Don’t be startled. I understand your pain. I am a friend.
Kathy stood up and moved to the nearest corner of the room. In the process, the remaining pills dropped from her hand. “My God,” she said while sliding down the wall, “I hallucinate about my son, and now I hallucinate about someone I don’t even know.”
I know the pain of loss, Kathy. I understand the despair…
“You could never know. Don’t even act like you could understand my pain.”
A pain so deep that it burns like a hot coal in the middle of your heart. An emptiness so dark that it must surely be hell itself—I’ve been there, Kathy. I swallowed the pills.
“Who are you?” she asked.
A friend. Someone who understands what you are experiencing. Someone who only wants to help.
“But how—can this be?”
The Dark One. The one Ryan told me about. Who is he?
“How could you know? He is… hate.”
A ripple ran through the vision as it began to fade. Zach moved quickly to remove himself from direct exposure. He could not risk staying inside the projection while it began to dissipate.
I need to find him, Kathy, and I will. Help me defeat this terrible thing. Purge the pills you swallowed and then meet me at the source.
“Alright, I will try.
The last words echoed as the vision receded like waves at low tide.
When Zach regained consciousness, he realized he was back in the car. He moved up in the seat and grabbed the dash while thrashing about in confusion.
“Zach—Zach calm down.” Anston grabbed his friend as the car swerved violently before he was able to correct by over steering.
After bli
nking several times, Zach tried to refocus his mind on the present reality. “Jarad,” Zach licked his lips and swallowed hard. “Sarah is closer than I thought. Get off two exits from here.”
Anston maneuvered the car past the first exit and moved into the right lane before pulling onto the ramp at mile marker 205, which had an overpass lined with gas stations and a mini mart on both corners.
“That one, she’ll be over there,” said Zach as he pointed at the northeast station. Zach was still somewhat dazed, and his head pounded with throbbing pain. “She’s driving a faded light blue pickup.”
“You had another vision, Zach. What did you see this time?”
Zach shook his head. “There’s no time to explain. Right now we need to focus on Sarah.”
Anston drove the car slowly into the station and looked toward the parking lot in front of the store. In the last spot on the side of the building sat a rusted pickup that clearly endured substantial wear and abuse. Anston pulled up next to the truck and let the car idle.
Zach opened his door and tentatively approached the pickup, his arms raised and extended, hoping to calm the girl and lower her level of fear. As he reached the driver’s door, she finally looked out at him with eyes that were foreboding and wide with terror. She looked emaciated, and it appeared as though she hadn’t slept well in a very long time. The deep circles drew attention away from what might once have been enticing oval eyes. Her hair was clumped and unkempt, and it became immediately evident that she had not bathed recently.
“I’m supposed to drive to Portland,” she said.
“I know. We started driving south to reach you sooner. Don’t be afraid, Sarah. We’re here to help you, not hurt you. Why don’t you get out of the truck, and we’ll talk.” The girl remained seated and starred back blankly. “Please, we don’t have much time. It’s very important that you come with me, so I can protect you.”
“I’m supposed to drive to Portland,” she repeated.
Zach reached out, grabbed the handle, and pulled slowly. The rusted hinges creaked as the door opened. Sarah’s upper body slumped over the wheel, and her soiled dress clung tightly to her skin. Carefully, Zach placed his arm around her shoulders and helped her out of the truck.
She was frail, and her stringy hair fell haphazardly over her slumping shoulders. When she raised her eyes, Zach noticed they lacked color, and it seemed as though they had sunk deeply into the sockets.
“It’s going to be ok,” he said.
She looked up and met his eyes. “No it won’t. He knows where we are. He will find me no matter where I go, and he’ll kill you to get me back.”
“Who? Who will find you? The man in the barn? The—Dark One?”
Her eyes widened. “It was you. You were there, too. In the barn. I knew there was someone else. But—how could that be?”
“I’m not entirely sure myself. But you’re right, I was there. I experienced the whole thing, and I promise you he won’t be able to hurt you or find you while I’m around.”
She seemed to collapse against him in exhaustion, and Zach grabbed her by the waist as they began to walk back to the car. Looking up, he noticed Anston frantically waving and pointing, so he stopped and squinted while trying to decipher his friend’s gyrations. With a shake of his head to convey confusion, he realized Anston was actually motioning behind him.
At that moment he turned quickly, only to feel a dull object poking hard into his back just above his left kidney.
Sarah turned and her eyes widened. “No, no—no,” she whimpered while falling to the ground and drawing her legs up in the fetal position.
“Don’t move,” a voice from behind said menacingly. A strange hand patted him down to determine if he had a weapon. “We’re going to turn slowly and walk back to that black sedan over there.” He pointed to the vehicle adjacent to the truck Sarah had driven. “If anyone makes a spectacle, I will kill you both. In fact, it would make my life a whole lot less complicated.” Abernathy pulled out a nylon tie strap and secured Zach's hands behind his back. He immediately followed suit with Sarah after pulling her back to her feet.
Zach swallowed hard and moved his legs slowly. He trembled with a fear so powerful he thought he might unintentionally empty his bowels. With effort, he shuffled toward the car, keenly aware of the gun barrel in his back, which made him almost oblivious to the plight of Sarah Johansen. Zach could hear her muffled cries as the assailant reigned hard slaps down upon her.
“You filthy bitch!” he shouted. “Dragging me all the way to Oregon to catch your sorry ass. I’ll teach you to run away from the Benefactor.” Thomas Abernathy raised the back of his hand and slapped Sarah in the face, knocking her back to the ground. She flinched and whimpered while ducking her head in a feeble effort to dodge the blows.
Watching the scene unfold, Zach felt completely helpless and inept. The gun remained pointed at him while Abernathy continued his assault on the girl. He shoved Sarah and then dragged her across the rough pavement for several feet, motioning for Zach to follow. They crossed the parking lot and reached his car, and the stranger opened the door and shoved Johansen inside.
He slapped Zach’s forehead and forced him in after her. The vehicle was equipped with privacy glass between the front and back seat, and the lock studs were removed from the back doors. The car looked like it had once served as police cruiser, and there was no avenue for escape.
Abernathy slammed the driver’s door, started the car, and squealed the tires as he pulled out from the busy parking lot onto I-5 heading south. For once, Watts’ intel had been correct. With Alan updating the pickup truck’s location in real time, he had tracked her down in a matter of hours. With any luck, they would be in Desolation by midnight, and he could finally be rid of the damn bitch once and for all. Still, the fact that Johansen had a companion was troubling.
***
Detective Munoz walked up the steps to the Federal Court building in downtown Seattle. He did his best to straighten his rumpled suit, but it smelled stale and like moth balls. He missed the freshness of an ironed shirt and a dry cleaned jacket.
After pushing his way past the crowd, Munoz found an open elevator and pressed the button for the 13th floor. He rode up with a half-dozen lawyer types, distinguished by their overabundant aftershave, bleached teeth and briefcases.
The elevator arrived at his destination, and Munoz walked briskly to the door with gold-embossed lettering emblazoned with the mark of the United States Attorney’s Office, Western District of Seattle. It was a bold gamble, but he was growing desperate and running out of time.
Munoz walked into the lobby and quickly looked for the pictures of the prosecutors, typically displayed in pompous fashion on one of the walls. Concerned that he might draw suspicion, he scanned the images quickly.
“Sir, can I help you?” the receptionist was always alert to potential trouble, which was part the training she received from Homeland Security.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Munoz said while still looking at the numerous photographs evenly spaced along the wall. “I’m looking for Mr. Hines, I have an appointment for 9:30.”
“Umm, I’m sorry, we don’t have a Mr. Hines.”
As Munoz sheepishly turned his head and smiled, his eyes focused on the picture of Herman Walker, the chief prosecutor. Naturally, he would be the chief prosecutor, Munoz thought. He burned the image into his memory and turned his attention quickly to the receptionist as a shy smile spread across his face. “Federal prosecutor? Gracious no, Mr. Hines is a private attorney for Galbreth and Lloyd. I have a personal injury case, and he is my lawyer.”
The woman sighed in frustration. “You have the wrong floor. They are located on the 14th floor.”
Munoz shrugged and ducked his head in mock embarrassment. “Oh my, I am sorry. You have a nice day.” She smiled awkwardly while he turned quickly, muttering to himself as he left the lobby and moved out to the hallway. Munoz punched the up button on the elevator, sensing the eyes of the re
ceptionist following him. He needed to put her suspicions to rest and let the memory slip away.
After going up several floors, Munoz turned around and rode back down to the parking garage. He walked silently to his vehicle, and after starting it, moved around to a spot partially hidden behind a pillar, which still afforded him a direct view of the elevators. Munoz participated in many stakeouts throughout his career, so he was familiar with the advanced surveillance techniques that would help him stay out of sight. He reached for his cell phone and hit the speed dial, careful to keep the volume low. “Yolanda, Yolanda, are you there?” He waited for a long moment through the hiss of the static.
“I’m here Jose, but I really can’t talk. They’re keeping a pretty close eye on me.”
“Were you able to get anything on those names I gave you?”
“Not much really. Delbert Givens did time as a juvenile for setting a fire. Lawrence LaGrew beat up his wife, and Timothy Albert was arrested for two DUI’s. Other than that, they all have excellent jobs and solid reputations. There was one odd thing they have in common though.”
“What is it?”
“It’s pretty disturbing Jose… They all tried to commit suicide. I used HIPAA to get access to the police and medical reports. It’s confirmed.”
“Does that include Herman Walker from the DA’s office?”
“All of them, including Walker… Jose?”
“I’m here.”
“What does this all mean? What the hell are you on to? It can’t be a coincidence that they all tried to kill themselves, can it?”
Munoz paused. “It has to be the link. That’s what everyone in this conspiracy has in common. Theresa Armstrong, Lou Chesser and Curtis Roberts—all of them tried to kill themselves. The names from Moss’s computer confirm it. I still don’t know what it means, but at least I know where to look.”
“There’s something else,” said Yolanda. “A cop from Chicago PD is trying to contact you. He called here and started asking questions but in a very low-key way. They passed him around until he came to me. He was cautious but seemed cop real. I think something strange is going on with them, too.”
The Suicide Society Page 24