Nemesis Boxset

by Alexandria Clarke

  “The remaining guards are all converging on the house,” Bryce said.

  “Where’s Finley?”

  “Still locked in his room.”

  Glass crunched under Sarah’s boots as she made her way to the staircase in the middle of the house. The thump of feet above told her exactly where the brutes would be coming from, and when they turned the corner, she lined each of their heads up in her sights like pins in a bowling alley. The force of the bullets flung their heads back in such jerks that their feet flew out from under them, crashing them to the floor.

  Sarah leapt the stairs, two at a time, pistols up and out, poised and ready to strike for any others heading her way. The crunch of glass behind her triggered a spin while still ascending the steps, driving her heels into the wood, firing into the guards who had spread themselves out, bringing a storm of bullets from different angles.

  Two bullets hit the chest of Sarah’s Kevlar jacket and pushed her backward. Her heels almost tripped over the back side of the stairs, but her legs stiffened, keeping her balance. The wooden bannisters next to her erupted in splinters as she made it to the second floor. She pushed herself behind a column, feeling bullets enter the opposite side.

  Hallways jutted out from both sides of Sarah. Her pistols hung light in her hands. She checked the ammo count around her waist. Only one magazine left. She pivoted on her right foot and swung around the column, marching her legs sideways while keeping her body positioned to the front of the house. Her run caused the three guards to reveal themselves and abandon their cover. Gunshots blasted and deafened the world around her. She lined up the face of the guard on the far right and squeezed the trigger. The bullet connected and tossed the guard onto his back, dead. The slide on her right pistol opened, signaling the empty magazine. While she lowered her right pistol, she fired the left and sent a bullet into the neck of the guard in the middle, then brought the Colt’s sight to the final guard. Just before she had a clear line of sight, a bullet hit her right leg, and she collapsed. Her shoulder smacked into the hardwood floor. She brought the pistol’s barrel between the wooden bannisters of the second floor and fired, the slide in her right pistol opening as the last bullet from her magazine ejected and landed in the right eye socket of the last guard downstairs.

  “Sarah! Are you all right?” Bryce asked. His voice was panicked, loud, even with her ears still ringing from the gunfire.

  Sarah checked the gash in her right thigh. “Missed the femoral. Looks like it went right through.” Her fingers found the exit hole on the back of her hamstring. She pushed herself off the floor with one leg, dropping the magazine from the right pistol. “Where’s Finley?”

  “The only heat signature I have left is down the hall, third door on the left,” Bryce answered.

  Sarah limped down the hallway, each pressured step on her right leg sending a gush of blood rolling down the side of her pants, the dark fabric blending with the oozing blood. She holstered the Colt in her left hand and wiggled the door handle. Locked. She rammed her shoulder into the door repeatedly until it finally gave way, and she barreled inside.

  A scream followed her entrance. An old man huddled in the corner by his desk. The face was the same as in the file. Finley. He held both his hands in the air, his entire body trembling. “Please!” His words were nothing more than terrified whispers. “Please, don’t hurt me. I didn’t do anything on purpose. It wasn’t my fault. Whatever they told you,” the man whimpered.

  “Sarah,” Bryce said, slowly. “Put the cuffs on him, and get him on the chopper.”

  “Do you even know what you did?” Sarah asked. “Do you know what you were a part of?”

  The man was crying now, tears streaming down his face, big sobbing pools of regret and sorrow, beseeching mercy. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just, please! Don’t hurt me! Don’t kill me!” Each syllable that came out of his mouth wavered and shook, like the loose skin around his neck.

  Finley was an old man, close to eighty, and his years of usefulness (if there had ever been such a time) had long left him. Whatever power he clung to was just greed. He had money, capital, and that granted him a false usefulness to the people around him.

  Sarah circled him, watching him tremble. Standing behind him, she placed both hands on his shoulders. The cloth of his shirt was soft, the skin and muscle underneath warm and slick with sweat. “It’s over, Finley.” She quickly gripped his chin and gave a harsh twist that snapped his neck, and he crumpled to the floor. She waited for Bryce to speak, for him to say something, but it didn’t come until she had already marched through the house and onto the helipad.

  “Mack wants you to come in,” Bryce said.

  Sarah didn’t respond. Like the words that left Bryce’s mouth, she felt hollow and foreign. She looked down at her hands as they grabbed hold of the controls and started the chopper. They felt heavy, clunky, not like the hands she’d grown to know. “I’m not coming in.” Sarah pulled the radio from her ear and crushed it between her fingers.

  5

  The dishes had piled in the sink, rising in large mounds as three-day-old dirty water soaked and rotted with the leftovers each dish contained. The TV hummed a constant background noise, and Becca lay on the couch, watching the images with glazed eyes. Ella and Matt played with a few toys on the ground, and Becca felt a tug on the fresh wound still bleeding inside her. Watching her children overwhelmed her with pain and joy.

  The doorbell rang, and both Ella and Matt froze. They’d reacted that way to any sudden noise since New Zealand. She’d already taken them to a psychiatrist, who told them that the sudden noise triggered a memory from the ordeal, which was a six-hundred-dollar repetition of something Becca already knew. “It’s okay, guys,” Becca said, kissing the tops of their heads. “Stay right here. Mommy will be right back.”

  Becca tied the bathrobe around her waist and headed for the door. For some reason, she felt her pulse race, and her body jolted as the doorbell rang again just before she reached the handle. She checked the peephole then opened the front door. “Can I help you?” Becca kept the chain lock on the door, looking at the two men through the slim crack.

  “Mrs. Hill?” one of the men asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m special Agent Taylor Grimes, and this is my partner Agent Mallory. I’m sorry for disturbing you, but I was hoping we could speak to you for a few minutes.”

  Becca’s body felt like a block of ice: rigid and breakable. “I’ve already spoken to the police about my husband. I don’t have anything else to say.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your sister-in-law.”

  Becca shuddered and wondered if Agent Grimes had noticed. His eyes were concealed behind his glasses, and the lines on his face showed nothing of what he was thinking or what type of questions he wanted to ask.

  “May we come in?” Agent Grimes asked.

  Becca shut the door, her heart beating out of her chest. She spread both her hands over the wood paneling, and after a moment, she unlocked the chain and opened the door. Agent Grimes smiled and took off his glasses, allowing her to see the blue around his pupils. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Agent Mallory gave her a curt nod, and Becca closed the door behind them. Becca squeezed her arms around her as she walked through the kitchen into the living room. “Matt, Ella, I need you two to go and play out in the backyard, okay?”

  The children looked up at the two strangers then quickly scurried out the back, taking their toys with them. Becca kept the sliding glass door open and sat at the kitchen table, where she could keep an eye on them. Agent Grimes and Agent Mallory took their seats at the table on either side of her.

  “What do you want to know?” Becca asked, her arms still folded over her chest, watching Ella play.

  “We understand that your sister-in-law wasn’t around during the time of your husband’s death, is that correct?” Grimes asked.

  “She wasn’t around a lot,” Becca answ
ered.

  “Do you know where she was during that time?”

  “No. She kept to herself. Sometimes she’d come over for dinner. She and my husband had a falling out after their parents passed.”

  “What happened with that?”

  Becca looked over to Agent Grimes for the first time. He held a pen and a pad of paper. He leaned over on the desk, watching her, studying her, no doubt looking for something Sarah had done that was probably linked to the blackout and to the people who had murdered her husband. She wanted to tell them. She wanted to give them every piece of information she knew they were looking for. She didn’t owe Sarah anything. The woman had caused her enough pain and grief for a hundred lifetimes. “Have you ever lost someone you were very close with, Agent Grimes?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have.”

  “And how did you deal with that?”

  “I talked with friends, family. They made sure I was okay, helped me work my way through it.”

  “It’s what a decent person would do, right?” Becca asked, unfolding her arms and leaning on the table. She squinted. “That’s not what Sarah did when her parents passed. I watched my husband have to deal with that alone, wanting to speak with someone who could understand what he was going through, and the only other person that felt the same way was his sister. You know how many times Sarah tried reaching out to Ben? Never. Not once did she try and help with any of the arrangements. Not once did she come over to talk to him about it. She didn’t even show up to the funeral.”

  Grimes looked down at his pad, flipping through his notes. “She was injured at her job, correct? The Chicago Packing Company?” When Becca didn’t answer, he finally looked up. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes and running shamelessly down her face. Her cheeks burned hot with a fire she hadn’t thought existed anymore.

  “Who the hell are you?” Becca asked. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You people treat this like it’s some routine, like it’s a regular traffic stop.” Becca slammed her fist into the kitchen table, rattling the salt and pepper shakers in the center. “Get out of my house.”

  Agent Grimes closed his notepad and stuffed it back into the inside pocket of his jacket. He folded his hands together, his brow furrowed in a look of grief and sorrow. “Mrs. Hill, this isn’t a routine traffic stop. What you and your family have gone through… There aren’t enough words or actions that we could do to make up for what you’ve lost.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice softening. “But if there is something you can tell us, something strange about your husband’s death that you failed to tell the police, I promise you I can bring you justice.” He reached out to touch her hand, and Becca recoiled.

  “You have no idea what I want,” Becca said. Her words were short, cold, and the chill of ice filled her.

  The two agents rose and headed for the door. Becca followed them out, and before they could say another word, she slammed the door in their faces and rechained the lock. She wiped her eyes, clearing the tears from her face until nothing remained except the puffy aftermath. She called Matt and Ella inside, the patches of cloth on their knees and shins stained with grass. The two returned to playing on the living room floor, and Becca watched them from the couch. After a while Ella, climbed onto the couch and gave her a hug. Becca almost broke down right there, but she squeezed her daughter back and kissed the top of her head. Becca ran her fingers through Ella’s hair while the little girl continued to play with her doll.

  “Mommy?”

  “What is it, baby?”

  “I miss Aunt Sarah. Do you know when she’s coming over again?”

  “No, baby. I don’t.”

  “Did I do something bad to make her not want to come?”

  Becca picked Ella up and sat her in her lap, pulling her close to her chest. “No, baby, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. Aunt Sarah’s just busy. That’s all.” She rocked Ella back and forth, and it wasn’t long before Matt was on the couch with them, cuddling up to Becca’s side. The three of them stayed there until Ella and Matt drifted off to sleep. She picked the two of them up and carried them to bed. She gently closed the door and walked to her bedroom.

  The door was shut. Becca placed her hand on the handle and took a deep breath. Everything was exactly the way it had been when they were taken—the bed unmade, laundry on the floor, and the dresser covered in change from Ben’s pocket that he’d dumped the morning of their abduction. She stepped lightly around the clothes and shoes on the ground. She’d lived in this house for the past seven years, but this bedroom felt foreign, strange. She hadn’t slept in here since they’d been back. The only time she had come in was to grab a few articles of clothing when they first came home.

  Becca found the business card she was looking for, and the moment it was in her hands, she hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her. She clutched the card in her hand so hard that she crumpled it. She picked up her cell phone and dialed the number listed on the front. After a few rings, a woman’s voice answered.

  “Chicago Plumbing. How can I help you?”

  Becca flipped the card over to the phrase that was written on the back. “I’m looking for a new water heater, preferably something around six hundred gallons.”

  “One moment, please.”

  A series of clicks and beeps followed. Another voice she didn’t recognize answered. “Are you alone?”

  Becca paused a moment before she answered, “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “A few CIA agents just came by the house, asking questions about Sarah and my husband.”

  “Okay, what did they ask?”

  Becca shook her head. “Who am I speaking with?” A pause followed on the other end of the line. “I want to speak to whoever is in charge. I want to speak with them now!” Another pause.

  “Hold, please.”

  A few rings later, another voice answered. “Mrs. Hill? This is Mack Farr, operations manager for GSF. I apologize for all the secrecy, but I’ll need you to tell me everything that just happened.”

  Becca looked down at the phone then turned it off. She was done with secret phone calls, agents, and lies. All that mattered now was her children, and she didn’t believe they were safe in Chicago anymore.

  Agent Grimes and Agent Mallory moved their black sedan down the road and out of view from Becca’s house. Grimes sat in the passenger seat, his phone glued to his ear, watching the house. “I don’t care what you need to do to wire that house, I just want it done… No, make it an outside team. I don’t want any potential blowback to land on the agency.” Grimes flipped the phone shut, and his partner looked over at him from behind the wheel.

  “You want to check out the other names while they’re getting everything settled?” Mallory asked.

  “No, this is the one. The sudden death of the husband, the sister that’s never around, the obscure job. That woman was spooked. I’d bet my last dollar that she’s reaching out to whoever her sister works for right now.”

  “You think she’s going to run?”

  “No, but I think she’ll do something stupid.” Grimes looked down at Sarah’s file, thumbing through the different pages until he came upon the Chicago Packing Company address. “Let’s go check out the woman’s work, see what we can dig up. I’ll have CPD put a marker on the house to keep an eye on her.”

  Grimes studied Sarah’s file front to back and looked over every square inch of data to make sure he didn’t miss a thing. The CIA had intelligence on everyone, and he had the highest security clearance in the nation. And even with all that, with everything they knew and were capable of knowing, this woman was still a mystery to him. Whatever agency she worked for had shattered that invisible protective shield with which Grimes had surrounded himself.

  When Mallory pulled up to the outside gate of the Chicago Packing Company, Grimes slammed Sarah’s file shut. A “closed” sign was strung up on the outside of the gate along with “hazardous materials” and “do not trespass” signs.
Grimes grabbed a bolt cutter out of the sedan’s trunk and snapped the lock keeping the gate shut in half, dropping it to the ground with a thud. Grimes pushed the gate open, its rusty bottom scraping against the concrete. He and Mallory left the car parked on the perimeter and walked up to the abandoned building.

  Most of the building had collapsed, with only a few structures remaining. The report on file said the damage had been caused by a gas leak that exploded during the power outages. With the power out, one of the safety valves had stopped working and triggered the leak. According to the police report, there hadn’t been any casualties, as the explosion happened days after the power outage, which gave the gas lines enough time to seep through most of the property. All the workers who had been questioned after the incident had moved away, scattered, with no forwarding addresses and no other contact information.

  Grimes stepped over the rubble, careful of any overhanging pieces that could crush him. Mangled heaps of equipment and steel lay about. The back wall of the building was still mostly intact, but the roof had collapsed on the ground. A pile of rocks and beams ten feet high sat in one of the factory’s corners. Grimes looked at the top and noticed that the structure canted inward. He placed one foot on the rocky hill and ascended to the top, being mindful of any sliding concrete rolling behind him.

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Mallory asked, keeping a safe distance from the potential rock slide.

  Grimes maneuvered around top of the indention, testing the center with his foot. He pushed one of the center rocks hard and felt it sink, and the rest of the rocks on top of the pile shifted with it. His legs wobbled, and he whirled his arms in circles to keep his balance until the shifting stopped. He glanced at Mallory, and the two exchanged a nervous laugh.

  “Nothing like a close call to make you reevaluate your decision-making process,” Mallory said.