314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy)

by A. R. Wise

  The Watcher in the Walls had seen a million souls pass through his domain over the years. Their spirits were flashes of light streaking across his existence, never pausing or recognizing his presence. Only the sacrificed ever passed slowly enough for The Watcher to catch, and often they eluded him as well. He was merely the shadow that the blinding light of a new world held at bay, but no longer. Now these souls lingered, and he would make the most of their visit.

  Vess had used the CORD to breach the barrier between heaven and earth, but The Watchers laid between. This Watcher took the opportunity to gather more souls, and it would keep the door open as long as it could.

  Branson

  March 13th, 2012

  4:00 AM

  “Hello,” said the clerk with a smile as Rosemary walked in.

  She looked around the lobby of the hotel in search of cameras. There was one mounted in the corner, just behind the front desk, as she’d expected. She pulled at the front of her shirt to be certain her pistol, which was tucked under her belt, was hidden.

  She walked up to the counter and offered the young man a weary smile. He smiled back, but she recognized nervous energy in his gestures. She surmised that he was the one that Rachel had contacted about the police looking for someone staying at his hotel. He was young, she guessed around twenty-five, with a thin face and blue eyes that were amplified by his glasses. He had a goatee, and his hair was thinning despite his youth, promising that he’d be bald by his mid-thirties.

  “I hope you’re having a better night than I am,” said Rosemary, feigning an exhausted attempt at humor.

  “Uh oh,” said the concierge. “Is something wrong?”

  “My car broke down out on the road. It’s pouring smoke all over the damn place.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” said the young man with honest empathy.

  “I was hoping to use your phone,” said Rosemary as she pointed over the edge of the counter to the shelf on the other side where the staff’s computer and phone sat.

  “Of course,” said the young man. He lifted the phone’s base and set it on the higher counter, just in front of Rosemary. “You have to dial 9 for an outside line.”

  “Thanks,” said Rosemary as she picked up the receiver and dialed a random number. She walked away from the desk as far as the phone cord would allow and then started a fake conversation. She pretended to be speaking with a friend, and recounted how her car had stalled on the road. She kept an eye on the concierge to make sure he wasn’t becoming suspicious. All the while, she was recalling the moment when Michael Harper walked into the hotel looking for a room. She could remember the concierge swiping an electronic keycard through the activator and then setting it in a paper envelope where he jotted down a room number. Then she recalled the other staff member that went out to help Michael get Ben out of his car just before another guest arrived, and she cursed her bad luck. There would be more people to deal with than just this single concierge, but she was resolved in her decision that no one could be allowed to remember that Michael and Ben Harper came to this hotel. She had to erase any trail they left of their passing as best she could.

  “Thanks,” said Rosemary to the concierge again after she hung up the phone.

  “Did you find someone that can help?” asked the kind young man.

  “Yes, they’re going to come here in a little while. Is it okay if I wait here in the lobby?”

  “Of course. No problem, as long as you don’t mind the elevator music they play in here.”

  “No, that’s fine,” said Rosemary with a pained smile. She wished the young man had been mean to her, that way she wouldn’t regret what she was going to have to do next. “Do you have a restroom?”

  “Right around the corner there,” said the young man as he pointed to the left. “Just past the vending machines.”

  Rosemary thanked him and then walked in the direction he’d pointed. She went to the women’s restroom as details about the young man’s life flooded her memories.

  His name was Jim Broadbent. He was twenty-three, with a new girlfriend that he was certain he loved more than any other girl he’d ever met. They’d been dating for six months, but he was already considering asking her to marry him. He’d even gone to a jewelry shop to check how expensive a ring would be. Last weekend he went to…

  “Stop it,” said Rosemary to herself as she went into the bathroom. She pressed her hands to her temples and clenched her eyes shut. “Stop it,” she repeated over and over as she stood in front of the mirror. “You can’t do that. This isn’t your fault. They’ve all gotta go.”

  Her hands were shaking as she took the pistol out. The gun trembled in her grip.

  Rosemary stared at her reflection in the mirror, and lamented how tired she appeared. Physical weariness was one thing, but the weight Rosemary bore had sapped her of more than just that. She was exhausted both mentally and physically, and the toll her gift imparted threatened to break her. It had been five very long years since she fled Widowsfield, and these annual trips back threatened to break her each time. This year, however, promised to be the last. She’d already put into motion things that she hoped would end what Oliver and his boss had done.

  Rosemary found her resolve, and stood straighter as she looked for a place to hide the gun. The bathroom had an automatic hand drier, with a paper towel dispenser on the wall beside it. She unlatched the top of the dispenser and saw that the white box was filled with folded, brown paper. She took a stack out, and set it on the counter before placing the handgun inside. She carefully closed the case, threw the stack of unused paper towels in the trash, and then headed back out into the lobby.

  Jim Broadbent was standing behind the counter, and he smiled at her as she walked back into the lobby. She grinned back, and then sat on a bench near the entrance. As she sat, she fiddled with one of her bracelets. It was made of plastic beads that were designed to resemble wood. She thumbed at the individual beads as she closed her eyes and concentrated.

  After several minutes, she stood up and walked over to the counter. Jim had been sitting down, and he stood when he saw her coming closer. He set down the book he’d been reading and asked, “Can I help with something?”

  “Actually,” said Rosemary as she slipped the bracelet off. “I wanted to thank you for being so nice.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem,” said Jim with a shake of his head and a smile. “All I did was let you use our phone.”

  “Yeah, well, a lot of folks might’ve sent me out without offering help. I wanted to thank you by giving you this.” She handed him the bracelet.

  “Oh no, that’s okay,” said Jim.

  “I insist. I make jewelry for a living. Giving that to you is my way of saying thanks.”

  “Well, thank you,” said Jim as he accepted the gift. “I appreciate that.” He examined it as Rosemary watched, and then he started to put it in his pocket.

  “Try it on,” said Rosemary.

  Jim did as he was asked, and slipped the bracelet on. The central band was elastic, allowing the bracelet to conform easily to the width of his knuckles before the beads snapped back together once around his wrist. “It’s pretty, but I think it’d look better on my girlfriend.”

  “Maybe,” said Rosemary. “But just promise me you’ll wear it for a little while. Okay?”

  “Sure,” said Jim, happy to comply. He certainly didn’t suspect any malice evident in the gift. “I’d be happy to.”

  Widowsfield

  March 13th, 2012

  4:00 AM

  “Oliver,” called out the nurse that had gone looking for the wounded man. After the strangers had left to go find Michael and Ben, Helen had told her assistant to go find Oliver while she went up to check his office. The events of the night had shaken the younger nurse, and her hands were still trembling.

  Oliver’s foot had been shot by the man named Paul. The wound had caused blood to seep through a hole in the bottom of his shoe, leaving a trail that was easy to follow. It l
ed deep into the facility, far from anywhere that she’d ever been before. She’d always known the Cada E.I.B. building was large, but never knew it stretched this far. Oliver’s tracks led to an elevator, and the young, blonde nurse stepped inside and knew that she would have to check each floor. The elevator had four buttons, but the level marked ‘B3’ was only accessible by inserting a key. She took the elevator to each floor, but then realized that Oliver must’ve used a key to access the restricted area. She debated going back to tell Helen that she’d been unable to follow their employer, but then she had an idea.

  Helen had hit an alarm after the man that claimed to be Michael Harper left with a sleeper. The alarms in the facility caused several of the automatic locks in the facility to disengage, helping to prevent people from being trapped in the event of a fire or gas leak. She stepped out of the elevator on floor B2 and then walked over to a nearby staircase to check if it was unlocked. It was, and she went down one more level to check the door that would grant her access to the floor where she was certain Oliver must’ve gone.

  It was open, and she went out into the hallway to find that she’d been right. Oliver’s bloody tracks led away from the elevator door and down the dark hall. The lights on this level weren’t functioning, so the nurse pulled out her cellphone to use its flashlight function. She stared down the long hall, searching its shadows for the wounded man.

  “Oliver,” she called out. “I just want to help.”

  She moved cautiously forward, following the trail of blood. She had no reason to suspect what was about to happen. When she saw the bloody, abandoned shoe in the middle of the hall in front of her, she paused in confusion.

  She couldn’t have guessed that Oliver had taken his shoe off in the elevator and wrapped his wounded foot with his shirt. She had no reason to suspect that he would’ve used the bloody shoe to create a false track, and then hid in a room along the way to wait for someone to dare and chase after him.

  Oliver approached from behind, and then bashed the young nurse in the back of the head with a fire extinguisher. She fell immediately to her knees, but he hadn’t hit her hard enough to knock her out. Her red glasses bounced off the floor as she cried out in shock and pain before he hit her again, this time with enough force to drop her.

  Oliver lifted the young, thin nurse into his arms, and groaned in pain as he tried to walk on his damaged foot. Her head was bleeding, and he did his best to keep the blood from dripping to the floor as he retraced the false trail he’d left. He carried the nurse deeper into the facility, and finally to a locked room. He struggled to get his key out while still holding the unconscious girl, but managed to finally get the door open.

  He started to flip the multiple switches that turned on the lights in the massive room. One by one, the rows of lights hanging far above burst to life, revealing the cavernous room that held the secret that Vess had left Oliver in charge of.

  Oliver approached the CORD with the nurse still in his arms. The machine was dormant, for now. But once he got the young woman inside, he would start the process of powering the monstrous machine.

  Despite how The Accord had ordered that the machine be disassembled and taken to a new location, and that the facility in Widowsfield be abandoned, Oliver was intent on meeting the entity that had come to be known as The Watcher in the Walls.

  PART TWO – With New Rules

  CHAPTER 11 – All in the Name

  Widowsfield

  March 14th, 1998

  Alma Harper was only ten years old when her mother tried to kill her. Amanda had strapped her unconscious daughter into the car seat after they’d left the home of the woman that Michael had been sleeping with. Amanda knew the truth now, and realized that the only way to save Ben was to kill herself, and Alma along with her. She was prepared to plunge off the cliff that overlooked the Jackson Reservoir. When Alma awoke, she told the girl her plan, and then drove them both through the guardrail at the edge of the cliff.

  That lurching feeling that surged in Alma’s gut as the car fell off the cliff would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  How she’d managed to get out of the car after it crashed and started to sink was nothing less than miraculous. Her mother had been knocked unconscious when the airbags deployed, but Alma only had the wind knocked out of her. She screamed as the water rushed in, and tried to open her door, but the pressure exerted on the sinking car kept the doors shut tight.

  The car’s lights were still on, revealing some of the murky depths of the reservoir. She could see the movement of catfish as they swam out of the way of the sinking car, just flashes of shadows in the soupy green. Alma rolled down her window and allowed the water to rush in. After taking a final gulp of fleeting air, she hoped to swim out of the open window.

  The incoming water woke Amanda, and she saw that Alma was trying to escape. She grabbed at the girl’s ankles, desperate to keep her in the grave. She clawed at her, but Alma kicked and struggled as the water swallowed her up. Finally, Amanda lost her grip, and Alma tried to swim to what she thought was the surface.

  A bloom of light hung above, all but hidden by the dark water. Catfish swam between Alma and the surface, like monsters through mist, but Alma moved past them in a desperate attempt to reach safety.

  Now she was on the shore, crawling across the grass in an attempt to reach the road ahead. She wailed as best she could, though her body offered barely enough strength to cry. When she got to the pavement, she collapsed.

  Ben found her. He held his sister in his lap and wept for her. Alma opened her eyes and looked up at the brother she’d thought was lost. She felt his arms around her, and she reached up to touch his cheek. “Ben?” Was he alive? Was she dead?

  “Hi Alma,” said the boy that held her. “I missed you so much.”

  “Ben, I’m so sorry. I forgot about you. I’m so sorry, but I remember now.”

  “It’s going to be okay, Alma,” said Ben. “Someone’s going to come and help you.”

  “Mom tried to kill me,” said Alma. “She drove us off the cliff. Why would she do that?” She quaked with sorrow and her brother held her tighter.

  “I don’t know, Alma. They hated us. Both of them.” The malice in his words was startling. “Forget them, Alma. You’ve got to forget what they did, otherwise it’ll make you hate everything.”

  “Why would she try to kill me? Why didn’t she love me?” asked Alma as she wept. “Why does everyone hate me?”

  Ben hushed her and said, “I love you, Alma. I’ll always love you.”

  “Why would she do that?” Alma could only focus on her mother’s betrayal.

  “Close your eyes, Alma. Just imagine you’re headed back home. Okay? Imagine she’s driving you back to Chicago to stay with Nana. Just forget about this. Pretend like Mommy loved you.”

  Widowsfield

  March 13th, 1996

  “It’s good to finally meet you,” said Oliver as he was introduced to the man that had been the architect of the CORD project.

  Vess’s appearance was a shock. He didn’t look as old as Oliver had expected, but there was certainly something terribly wrong with the man’s health. He was tall, and so thin that his clothes hung on him as if his shoulders were a hanger. He had a gaunt face and skin that was plagued by a grey pallor. His white hair was thinning, and he had dark bags under his eyes, but his face wasn’t as beset with wrinkles as it should’ve been for a man that had participated in the first CORD experiment, over fifty years earlier. The sparse fat on Vess’s face drooped, giving him the appearance of a hound, and the edges of his eyes slunk. He reminded Oliver of a wax figure that had begun to melt.

  “You must be Oliver,” said Vess as he struggled to move forward, relying heavily upon his walker. He was frail, but it appeared a result of illness rather than age.

  Oliver wasn’t sure if he should offer help. The two large, barrel-chested men that had escorted Vess to the dam stood on either side of the old man, each dressed in similar attire: Suit j
ackets with matching slacks. Each of them was equipped with an earpiece that had a looping cord that stretched out from beneath their coats. Neither of the members of Vess’s security team seemed concerned with their employer’s ability to walk, so Oliver decided not to offer help either. Instead, he matched Vess’s slow but steady pace as they headed toward the railed stairs that led up to the dam’s observation area.

  Vess and his entourage had arrived in a line of black Lincoln town cars, as if a funeral procession had paused here. The majority of his group lingered back at the cars, taking the opportunity to smoke and chat, while Vess and his two bodyguards walked over to meet with Oliver. Vess and the others had driven here from New York, stopping at other Cada E.I.B. facilities along the way. However, the Widowsfield endeavor had become a top priority for the company, and Vess’s arrival signaled that the board had agreed it was time to begin what they all hoped would be a successful experiment.

  This was Vess’s personal project, and one that he’d been attempting to duplicate since what happened in Philadelphia over a half century earlier. Oliver was honored to be involved.

  “There she is,” said Oliver as they went up the slight hill that led from the road up to the concrete side of the Jackson Reservoir. The battleship that had been meticulously rebuilt to match the ship where the original experiment had taken place was floating before them. “The Leon,” said Oliver with pride.

  Vess paused and looked at Oliver. “That’s what the Greeks called her.” He looked back at the ship in reverence. “But that’s not who she really is.”

  “No?” asked Oliver.

  Vess handed his four-legged walker back to one of the two men that walked with them. Then he grabbed the stair’s railing to steady himself. He carefully stepped up, and Oliver noticed that the man’s leg wobbled. “No, Oliver. Didn’t anyone tell you why we bought this ship from Greece?”