by K T Rose
“You’re a fucking liar!” Paul roared.
Hazel went on, “I let Dale go because I needed someone alive and not of this compound to prosecute Paul for his crimes. You say Morgan wants to take you down and that he’s obsessed with you. He is. Oh, that man knows a sick fuck when he sees one. But at least he owns up to his shortcomings. Did he put me and a civilian in danger? Of course. But it’s the nature of the job; something that this false leader can’t attain. Father Paul, you won’t meet the Grim Reaper. You’re not good enough to have the pleasure of a peaceful departure, guided by the symbol of sudden death. Naw. Not at all. You’ll stumble through a black hole out in space until you end up in the fiery pits of Venus. You’ll die a painfully slow death, a process which has already started in your fucked-up mind. May that brain deteriorating paranoia bring you out into this field and force you to put the barrel of an AK down your throat before you hurt anyone else.”
Paul stood aside still holding his hand up. “Fuck you, Hazel.” He threw his hand down sharply, slicing the air.
Clicks and shutters went off as sparks flew. Blood and small holes burst through and chipped away at her body, throwing her down into the snow. A puddle of blood dyed it deep red.
Jessica’s finger locked in place, not heavy enough to push the button, not once.
Chapter Thirteen
With a shaken fist, Jessica knocked on Paul’s room door, secretly hoping he was tied up elsewhere.
“Come in,” Paul called out.
She pushed the door in and stepped inside. Cardboard boxes lined the bare walls. Paul sat on the edge of his bed. He patted the seat of a gold chair, beckoning her to come over to him.
She sat and watched his eyes stare her down.
He smiled. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now, watching Hazel get nasty like that.”
“Well, she’s gone. Doesn’t matter much now,” she said. The lie made her tongue feel like sandpaper.
“I know. But I can’t have that. You understand.”
“I know. You took care of her. You did it for us.”
He smiled. “Olive, I feel I can trust you, like I told you before. I think this new team is well worth it for me. You guys are my protectors.”
She smirked. Not for long.
“I figured that it’s time to let you in on something.”
“Anything.”
“You see, when I leave this place, I hope to be buried in Nebraska, near Grandma on Grandpa’s farm. Perfect timing too, because I wasn’t sure if I’d ever return there. But luckily, it stands vacant.” He tucked his lips in. “I want to be home when I die. This is why you have such an important job. You, Billy, and St. Pete will have everything. You can pick up where I left off. Trust me, I would hate to see my work die with me.”
The thought of living with Billy forever, and even St. Pete for that matter, made her skin crawl. She’d run home first. Take Tilly and Boaty and go home. “And if we don’t?”
“Why, I guess you’re free to go do whatever then,” he said frankly. “But good luck. I’m not sure how Billy and St. Pete will handle that.”
She looked at the floor and stared down the back of a buck that skulked around the forest floor.
“Olive, why would anyone want to leave here? Leave what I set up here? Money is bottomless. You don’t have to work or even worry about blending in with the real world. All you have to do is exist until I come back and take you home.”
“I’m not sure I can lead these people”
“Ah. And this is the very reason why I called you up here.”
He stood and disappeared into the closet. When he came back, he held up an ember-colored vial. He handed it to her. “Inside is a chemical called Venomous Agent X. It is the deadliest synthetic poison in the world as of right now. I got it from a viewer who’s been messaging Techy about different methods of torture and the things he wished we had. On Hazel and St. Pete’s Monday stock pick up, they stopped by his house and bought a nice amount. But for your assignment, you only need one. You will not open this vial until the night of the feast. On that very night, you will pour it into Mercury’s stew. Understand? Put it somewhere where it wouldn’t be found by anyone other than yourself.”
She went wide-eyed as she stared at the glass tube. It was smaller than the tip of her pinky finger, but apparently it packed a punch. She gulped. He wanted her to dump the poison into the food of unsuspecting people. The people he claimed to love and care for. Paul wanted them dead. Their purpose had been served: run his compound and follow him until the end. But the end was all but death; it was the coming of Morgan.
“The first step to becoming a leader is to kill sympathy. It’s a factor that plays into some major shortcomings. Namely, poor decision-making. Nothing will ever get done if we spend too much time worrying about how people feel about things or rather, if they live or die.”
He sat back down on the edge of his bed and put a hand on his thigh. He huffed through his flaring nostrils. “But I can’t say that it doesn’t pierce me in the heart sometimes. I really loved Hazel. She got things done without any questions, she put the fear into God’s soul herself and even as she stood up there in front of the firing squad, I have to commend her for having the balls to step up to me in the face of death. She went with pride and for that, I offer her my gratitude.” He looked at Jessica. “But she was a fucking rat and there’s a small chance the feds are on the roads, looking for this very place, ready to scour and scrub. Shoot and then ask questions. That’s if Morgan hadn’t told them everything they needed to know about me.” He chuckled. “In that case, they’d just shoot and take whoever walks away alive to prison. Do you want all these people to go to prison? Most of all, do you want me to go to prison?”
“Of course not,” she said. She thought of pouring the poison into his whisky, but she avoided looking at the open glass on the coffee table and concentrated on his words.
“Well, before they find this place and before we move on, we need to find Dale. You need to help me bring him back.”
“Me? But how? I mean I don’t know the first place to look. If Techy can’t pinpoint him, I know I can’t. I mean—"
“You’ll find him by hooking and sinking his only family member. He’s missing, but his sister, Diane, isn’t.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Of course. A college professor is so easy to find nowadays. How do you think I got Ms. Orleans here?”
A chance to leave the compound. A chance to plant the letter. A chance to do right by Hazel, Tilly, and everyone else here. A chance at salvation. She could save the people from Paul and make things right, as she’d ruined so many lives. She’d even go as far as getting Diane out alive. She had to. There wasn’t a choice or a second guess. “When?”
“Tonight.”
Epilogue
Boris paced the sidewalk as officers stretched ‘Do Not Cross’ yellow tape across the front of the brownstone. Siren lights flickered, painting the downtown block in urgent colors, as onlookers, whoever was up and out at that hour, passed by slowly, looking out of windows with curious gazes at the commotion. He wished he could light a cigarette, but he didn’t want the butt to be mistaken for evidence. Instead, he pressed the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and index finger.
How? Of all things…how was this not coming to a head? He had finally laid down after putting Sammy to bed and kissing Manny good night. It had to be all of ten minutes after his head hit the pillow before his phone went off. It broke his heart to leave his wife with a crying newborn. This case seemed to suck everyone in whether they were working it or related to the victim.
Detective Morgan pulled up and hopped out before the Lincoln could reach a full stop off the high curb. “What do we know?” he asked as he approached Boris.
“Mr. Fulton is dead, and Mrs. Fulton is missing.”
Morgan stopped and passed Boris a damning look, the one that someone who’s in trouble would pass in the efforts to beg
for sympathy, then he groaned and proceeded for the yellow tape with an urgent step. Boris stayed close behind him as they stepped inside.
The living room looked untouched as forensic technicians brushed the dark leather couches, coffee table, and fireplace down for fingerprints.
“Who made the call?” Morgan asked.
“The neighbor. He heard yelling and then banging. At first, he thought it was normal because the Fulton’s seem to fight a lot. But when he saw Diane pull into the driveway, he got worried. Usually, her car is in the attached garage.”
Morgan nodded as they stepped into the dining room. The white oak china stood against the wall untouched. However, the table’s glass top was scattered across the white carpet and the leather chairs lay on their sides. Small specks of blood left a trail into the next room: the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Mr. Fulton’s body lay on the ground, his neck twisted, a steak knife not too far from his open hand. His eyes stood wide open as blood leaked from his mouth and onto the tile.
Blood splattered the white countertops and a small pond-sized splotch puddled near the glass-paneled door that peered onto the patio.
They crouched, looking the corpse over.
“He didn’t go down without a fight,” Boris noted. The knife was covered in red and from where he crouched, he could make out strands of hair along the blade.
“Yeah,” Morgan agreed. He stood straight up and went back into the dining room and headed for the steps. Boris followed behind him. “We checked up here,” he said as his blood began boiling. Why doesn’t this asshole talk to me? Boris wasn’t out all hours of the night to be treated like a personal assistant.
They continued up the undisturbed hallway until they ended up in the master bedroom, the only room that was untouched by the crime scene technicians. Luckily, it went untouched by the mess that happened down in the dining room and kitchen. The room was bright and tidy, nothing sitting out, nothing overturned. Thankfully, before Morgan showed up, Boris had done a little looking around on his own.
Boris chuckled as a thick heap of frustration clogged his throat.
“Is there something funny?” Morgan said as he looked around the bed without disturbing the sea-green sheet set that covered it.
“This had been going on long enough. You definitely know more than what you’ve been telling.”
“You have the file…”
“No! Fuck the file. The file doesn’t say shit about Paul! It only talks about Marla and Dale’s injuries. Just the other day, within the short conversation you finally forked over, you told me more important information that would’ve been helpful to know from the beginning!”
“Keep your voice down,” Morgan said sharply.
“Then talk. What the hell is going on?”
Morgan shrugged. “It’s a homicide.”
“But why?” Boris snapped. “What are you hiding, Detective…or should I stop wasting time asking you questions and go find Officer Montague?”
Detective Morgan rushed over to Boris and approached him, standing toe to toe. “What did you say?”
“You heard what I said.”
“You are need-to-know, officer.”
“Not according to this!” Boris pulled the rainbow-colored note from his pocket he’d found shortly after his arrival. Reading it had only made him red with hatred for Morgan, or whatever his name was. This was much bigger than Boris had imagined.
“Where’d you find that?” Morgan snapped.
“On the first walk through. It was sitting on the dresser.”
Morgan turned to look at the dresser top. Only a flat-screen took up the corner. “The Fulton’s don’t have kids,” Detective Morgan said with a squint and a cocked head.
“Or nephews or nieces. Their family is fairly small,” Boris said. He handed him the note. “Open it.”
Morgan unfolded it and held the papers in hand. His mouth dropped as he went through the mysterious evidence. His face lit up and a hearty laugh escaped his lungs.
“What the hell is so—”
Morgan slapped the paper with his thick fingers. “I got that son of a bitch!”
“What?”
“Paul! I got Paul!”
“Morgan, what about the dead man on the floor downstairs and his missing wife? What about your undercover? According to that note, she’s very dead.” Boris scoffed. “You don’t seem to give a shit about them.”
Morgan held the letter up and waved it like a mad man. “Paul will pay for what he did to Jenkins. That much I can promise. She was a federal agent, and when he killed her, he was aware, so he’s buried on that. But I can say this: I know who killed that man downstairs and I know where Diane is. I know where Paul is. It’s time to strike before he makes a move.”
“How?”
“First, we find Dale before Paul does.”
“How do you know he doesn’t have him? We should go there. That place on the kid’s map.”
“He doesn’t have Dale and there is no way he can move this many people overnight. He’s going to rush, sure, but he can’t move them all this quickly. Shit. He can’t even move his entire operation that quick.”
“How can you be sure he doesn’t have Dale?”
“I’m positive.” He held up the list of names. “Do you see his name on here?” Boris looked. “I sure don’t. I hope you’re ready to stay up for a few days because now the clock is ticking. My bet is if we find Diane dead, then we’re late. But if we get Dale first, it’ll buy us time. Paul can’t resist playing along. In his world, the best way to get back at me is by getting both of them, slaughtering them, and dumping their bodies on my yard. That’s our relationship. It’s always been that way.”
Boris shook his head. “How are you going to explain the dead agent, huh? I can’t—I can’t help you if you don’t come clean and tell me everything, alright! You want me to gallivant around west Michigan, looking for some psycho? Huh? You want me to leave my wife and kid to walk into what could be sudden death? It’s time you come clean. Now! If you want my help and I’m going to keep sinking hours into this, I want to know every fucking thing. You got that!”
Morgan looked down at the note. “No one else has seen this, have they?”
“No. No one.”
“Come walk with me.”
“No! Not until you start talking.”
Morgan sighed. “Alright, fine. But only because I need your help. What do you want to know?”
“Tell me everything you know, starting at the beginning.”
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