Louis grinned and elaborated. “The red light. The red storm at sea. I came out a changed man. I realized there was no reason I couldn’t pursue my dreams. Really, none at all. So I returned to America. I found a wealthy widow. Her name, I kid you not, was Agnes. She was loaded to the gills. I married her. Four months later, I killed her. I made it look like an accident. It’s really not that hard to do. One of her family members started acting suspicious…a pesky nephew or cousin, I can’t remember which. I do remember making him disappear. You know, it’s not easy making a full-sized human body disappear. But if you cut that body into 100 pieces, none of them larger than an orange, then you can drive across the country, maybe six, seven, eight states, hiding those 100 pieces in 100 different hiding places. No one is going to solve that jigsaw puzzle. Nobody will find all those pieces. You just have to be creative. You bury a finger on an abandoned farm in Harlem, Georgia. You hide an ear inside an old gym sock and throw it into the dumpster behind a 7-Eleven in Knoxville, Tennessee. You flush a chunk of buttock down the toilet at a roadside rest stop near Lexington, Kentucky. Really, who’s going to win that scavenger hunt?”
Louis sat back. The rest of the table had grown quiet listening to his story.
He continued, “So I became rich. I had to launder the money to keep other people’s noses out of my business. I moved here. I built my dream house. I fly in fresh supplies from Hawaii and Australia. I relax. I fish. I walk the beach every day. I jerk off to porn. I live my life on my terms. Isn’t that how it’s meant to be?”
“Here, here,” said Gary, and he brought his glass of beer forward for a toast.
After the series of clinks, Louis told them, “Good luck with your mission. It’s a noble cause. I hope you find that bomb. Do you know where you’re going?”
Rodney nodded. “Yes. Precisely. An area of the Chihuahuan Desert in New Mexico. A few miles off the interstate. Isn’t that right, Yuri?”
Then Rodney paused and smiled. “Yes, Yuri. Your vodka is coming.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kelly emerged from her coma disoriented and afraid. The doctors ran tests and asked how she felt. Then the police arrived to interview her. Officer Beltane, a colleague of Rodney and family friend, sat at Kelly’s bedside and asked about the attack.
She couldn’t remember. Her memories of recent events had slipped into a black hole. She asked to see Rodney.
“He’s missing,” said Officer Beltane gently. “We’re concerned that you were both targeted, perhaps by a gang or crime syndicate as an act of revenge against Rodney. Our entire force is actively looking for him.”
“Oh my God,” said Kelly. “Do you think he’s been killed?”
“We have no evidence to that effect.”
When Kelly’s parents entered the hospital room with Christina, Kelly burst into tears. She gently hugged her daughter and told her, “Mommy got hurt but I’m getting better.”
A neurologist and traumatic brain specialist provided details to Kelly and her parents about her injuries. They expressed expectations that she would make a slow but full recovery.
“What about the amnesia?” asked Kelly’s father. “When will she remember what happened and who did this to her?”
“She’s suffering from post-traumatic retrograde amnesia,” said the neurologist. “It is hard to say when or if she will remember the events that occurred at the time of the attack. Patients of this kind of brain injury suffer from what is called Ribot’s Law. They’re more likely to recall remote memories than the most recent memories closer to the traumatic incident.”
“We need to find the monster that did this to my daughter!” said Kelly’s mother, eyes filling with tears.
“Why is Grandma crying?” asked Christina.
Kelly’s father assured Christina that everyone was happy her mother was getting better. He took her to the cafeteria for some ice cream.
After they left the room, Kelly told her mother, “I need Christina to stay with you at the farm. It’s not safe here. We don’t know what we’re up against. We need to find Rodney.”
“We’ll take good care of her,” responded Kelly’s mother. “The important thing is for you to keep getting better. We’ll find who did this. We won’t let them get away with it. Focus on your recovery.”
“I will. I promise.”
After a long day, Kelly’s parents returned downstate to their farm with Christina. They planned to visit Kelly every other day.
The following afternoon, Jake and Emma arrived. Warned about Kelly’s amnesia, Emma cautiously entered into a conversation about Rodney.
“Do you remember our conversations about Rodney?” asked Emma. “You told me you were growing afraid. He was acting…different.”
“I said that?”
“Do you remember Kiritimati?”
“Yes. Our vacation.”
“Do you remember telling me that ever since you came home, Rodney was not himself?”
Kelly concentrated, then expressed discomfort. “I don’t know. I’m trying… I’m still so foggy. I remember getting on the plane to go home. Picking up Christina…”
“What about Rodney? You said he was scaring you.” Emma continued to press Kelly for a recollection. Jake watched in silence as the conversation sputtered and went nowhere, like a car out of gas.
“I’m sorry,” said Kelly. “I don’t remember. Please stop. I ache all over. Why would Rodney want to hurt me? Why would anybody do this to me?”
Then she broke down in tears.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Two vehicles cut through the moonlit murk with stabs of light, kicking up a long wake of dust, engines roaring with purpose. They advanced across a rolling backdrop of barren desert, disrupting the stillness. The Chihuahuan Desert covered 175,000 square miles of land across New Mexico, Texas, Arizona and Mexico, one of the most lifeless places on earth, spotted with a sparse plant presence and little rainfall.
The rental truck led the way with Rodney behind the wheel, channeling his inner GPS, a heavily accented voice named Yuri. Yuri shared space with Rodney’s brain waves, directing him to the precise location where a stolen warhead had lain buried for decades. Gary sat next to Rodney in the passenger seat, staring at his smart phone, muttering about the loss of connectivity in the middle of nowhere.
“Stay off that thing,” said Rodney.
“I still have to manage the store,” responded Gary. “I’m telling people it’s closed for renovations.”
“Renovations,” chuckled Rodney. “Good one.”
“I had to come up with something new. I used up my last excuse.”
“What was that?”
“I was in mourning for that bitch I killed.”
Behind the truck, a formerly white rental car followed, dirtied in desert orange. Carol drove the car with Sam beside her in the passenger seat. She eyed the two boys in the back in the rearview mirror. The skinhead duo wore iPhone earbuds, each rocking out to the crunch of bombastic heavy metal that filled their skulls and overflowed into a shared listening experience in the car.
“I still don’t understand why we had to bring them,” said Carol through gritted teeth.
“They’re my two most trusted disciples,” said Sam. “We need the extra manpower. Who knows how heavy this thing is or what kind of conflicts we might face along the way.”
“But they’re a couple of kids,” said Carol, eyeing them again and frowning at their giddy “let’s raise hell” demeanor.
“Exactly,” said Sam. “The next generation. We have a calling, Carol, to spread the gospel. We’re just four people. Who will carry on after we’re gone? Who will continue the faith?”
“I’ve already done my part,” responded Carol.
“What you mean?”
“I fucked Gary.” She smiled. “So, yes, I’m also getting started on the next
generation. Think of the power of one ultimate being created by two of us. You want a turn? Just let me know in nine months.”
Suddenly in front of them, the rental truck flashed its brake lights, then signaled, a steady, hypnotic pulse of red.
“We’re moving off the main road,” said Carol, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Brace yourself.”
The big truck turned with a mighty groan and entered a barren patch of desert indistinguishable from the past 50 miles of desolation. The car followed in the truck’s tracks. Both vehicles endured a long, bumpy journey on a straight line, deep into the darkness.
Finally, the truck stopped.
Rodney hopped out of the driver’s seat. He exclaimed, “Here!”
Carol pulled up alongside the truck and parked.
Everyone stepped out into the dry, sandy soil. A persistent wind howled and whipped up small cyclones of dust.
Rodney walked among the cacti and low-lying shrubs, laser focused. He stepped through gravel and clay until he reached a lengthy bald patch. His pace slowed and then he stopped. He pointed down.
“We dig here.”
Gary and Sam headed back to the truck. They flung open the rear door and rolled out a long ramp that descended to the ground.
Gary stepped inside the truck and climbed into a mini excavator. He started its engine and drove it out of the truck. The mini excavator growled into the desert wind as it moved to the spot where Rodney continued to point to the ground.
Once the mini excavator reached its mark, Gary operated the extendable arm, digging the three-foot wide blade into the earth.
The others formed a semi-circle, watching with anticipation.
Twenty minutes passed. Gary dug deep with no results.
“Are you sure—?” he finally yelled out at Rodney.
“Da!” said Rodney. Then, realizing his inadvertent lapse into Russian, he clarified, “I’m absolutely positive.”
Minutes later, the claw struck an object with a loud clunk. The semi-circle of onlookers cheered.
Sam and Rodney rushed to the rental truck to collect shovels.
Soon, everyone was digging a space around a large crusted cargo container caked with clay and sandstone.
“This is it,” said Rodney. “It’s encased inside.”
“Praise the devil,” said Sam.
Carol climbed into the hole. She placed a hand on the cargo container and shut her eyes, reaching deep into the acquired memory of one of Yuri’s Soviet scientists.
“It’s a 300-pound warhead. No missile, no detonator. Just the explosive. Dormant but extremely powerful. It’s twice the strength of the inversion bomb exploded over Kiritimati.”
“There’s enough of us here to lift it out and get it inside the truck,” said Gary. “Then what?”
“It needs to be cleaned and fitted with a detonation device,” said Carol.
“So where do we take this thing?” asked Sam. “We need someplace where we can prepare it, out of sight, without being disturbed, before we enter Chicago.”
Rodney smiled as a hot breeze wiped across his face. “I know a place.”
After securing the warhead in the back of the rental truck, there was no room for the mini excavator, which remained parked at the big hole in the ground.
Rodney opened the gas tank on the mini excavator and inserted a rag. He lit the end of the rag on fire with a lighter.
“Let’s go!” he said.
Rodney and Gary climbed into the truck. Carol, Sam and the two boys climbed into the car.
As they drove back to the main road, accelerating away from the scene, the flame burned its way down into the gas tank.
Moments later, the sky behind them lit up with a bright orange explosion, shaking the flat earth and echoing into the faraway mountains like rolling thunder.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kelly emerged from the small, sterile bathroom of her hospital room, walking slowly and fragile, wearing a plain gown like a giant sleeve that covered her entire body. “I look like shit,” she said. Her face retained some discolor and puffiness. She hadn’t washed her hair in days.
“You look a lot better than when you came in,” said Allie, the nurse waiting to help her back into the bed.
As Kelly made the slow-motion crouch and entry between the sheets, Allie asked, “Can I get you anything?”
“Just my husband,” said Kelly.
Allie smiled. She had no response. Instead, she changed the subject. “How are you feeling? We’re trying to reduce the painkillers.”
Kelly settled back against a stack of pillows. “My ribs hurt. My head hurts. My neck hurts. But sometimes I can forget the pain for a few minutes. That’s better than it was.”
Allie helped finish tucking her in. “Remember, if you need anything, magazines to read, something to drink or eat, you just call. Are your parents coming in again today?”
“Tomorrow,” said Kelly. “Every other day.” Then she sighed. “This has been so hard on them. But it’s good for me to keep connecting with Christina. She needs to see me getting better.”
“And you’re definitely getting better. I’m not a doctor, so I can’t make promises, but I’m guessing you’ll be able to leave in a few days.”
Kelly smiled, then withdrew the smile. “Leave for where? My life has been turned upside down.”
“You have family. You have friends. They’ll help pick you up.”
After Allie left the room, Kelly tried to imagine returning home without Rodney. She couldn’t.
Each day that extended his disappearance deepened her sadness. The police promised they were searching everywhere for him. She knew that search included places where a dead body could be disposed.
She regularly checked the voicemail on her cell phone for any messages, anxious for clues, hoping for a miracle. She fantasized that one day she would hear his deep-baritone voice. “Honey, it’s Rodney. I am so sorry. I’ve been undercover on a special assignment to nail those bastards who hurt you. We found them, baby, and they’re never going to hurt anyone again. I’m free to come out of hiding. I’m back home and I’m waiting for you, sweetheart.”
Even as the make-believe message played through her head, she knew it was ridiculous.
She took her cell phone off her nightstand and pressed for messages. There was one from an unknown number. She held the phone to her ear and listened.
An unfamiliar, angry male voice introduced himself as Theodore Harding. She immediately fell into disorientation. He referenced their meeting at the University of Michigan. He talked about a military veteran named Calvin Beck. He said that Beck had been murdered.
Who? What?
The voice accused her of knowing something about it. He said she had pressured him for Beck’s address and he had refused. Now Beck was dead from a blow to the head by an unknown assailant at an Atlanta nursing home.
The voice ranted in anger, demanding to be called back, convinced she had something to do with the man’s murder, threatening to contact the police. He referenced something called an inversion bomb and in an instant Kelly experienced a flood of memories as if something in her brain had been jarred loose.
Everything began to return, the amnesia falling like a curtain to reveal a horrifying lineup of remembrances…
…including Rodney viciously attacking her…joined by…
Sam… Gary… Carol?
How was it possible? Her head filled with horrible images of her longtime friends beating and kicking her. Where did this nightmare vision come from?
At first the avalanche of flashbacks fell in a jumbled heap. Then they began to connect like interlocking puzzle pieces. Her mind retrieved the events of the past few weeks and it set her heart on fire.
Nurse Allie returned to the room with a handful of magazines. “Are you sure you don�
�t want something to read? Do you want me to turn on the TV? Do you like the soaps?”
“No,” responded Kelly, holding up a hand to hold back the distraction. “Right now, I just want to be alone with my thoughts.”
As Kelly regained her memory of the events leading up to and including the assault, she realized that Emma and Jake had been alluding to Rodney’s personality change and descent into madness…and a similar sickness infesting Carol, Sam and Gary. During her period of amnesia, it made no sense and only deepened her confused state. Now she understood.
Kelly called Emma. She said, “I need you here right now. I remember.”
Emma arrived, joined by Jake, within the hour. They stepped into the hospital room panting from the run from the parking garage. Jake shut the door. They pulled up chairs alongside the bed.
Together they exchanged information to assess the current situation.
Carol, Sam, Gary and Rodney all remained missing. Jake had no evidence to support that Carol had really gone to London on a business trip. Gary’s store was closed for “renovations.” And no one could reach Sam.
“They killed Beck,” spoke up Kelly. “After they learned about the second bomb, they went after him. They got him to reveal the bomb’s location and killed him. I’m sure that’s what happened.”
“Dear God,” said Emma. “We have to call the police… No, not the police, the FBI. We could all be in danger. I think Gary killed his store manager too. Who knows where they are or what they’re planning. They’re psychotic. They’ve gone totally insane.”
“We have to stick together,” said Jake. “We’re not safe. Not one of us.”
“Christina!” said Kelly, an abrupt outburst at the thought of her daughter’s safety. “Oh my God, I have to warn my parents.”
She snatched the cell phone from the nightstand and called her parents at the farm.
The phone rang six times until someone answered. A deep-baritone voice.
“Hello, honey,” said Rodney.
Anatomy of Evil Page 18