by Chad Huskins
One of the officers outside chuckled. He actually chuckled! They were past believing the threat was real, Kaley could sense, and now they were just chitchatting, shootin’ the shit. They couldn’t possibly fathom what was going on all around them. The police officer speaking with Bauer couldn’t know about the twisted, geometry-defying hand now coming out of the whirlpool on the wall behind him, touching at his neck, passing through it, and almost finding purchase. The officer reached back and smacked the back of his neck, as if detecting a gnat.
Kaley thought of Mrs. Cartwright. Oh…oh God…you’re going to let it happen again, aren’t you? You’re really going to let it happen.
Then, Kaley heard her sister’s voice as loudly as if she were in the room. “No, Kaley, you are going to let it happen. Because you’re weak.”
A knife in her chest. “Shan…why do you keep saying that, girl? Haven’t I always protected you? Haven’t I always done—”
“Not always,” she said.
“When have I ever not—” Then, all at once, Kaley was assaulted a terrible, familiar pain. Tearing, wrenching, thrusting…and someone above her, relishing her fear. It was Dmitry, tearing off Shannon’s clothes and…
Kaley forced it away.
“That’s…Shannon…that’s not fair. That’s—not—fair! You know it’s not fair. How could you do that to me? How could you say that?”
“How could you, Kaley?”
“Shannon, I’ve only ever tried to protect you. At all costs. You know that. You above all people know, because you can feel it in me!” No response. Then, Kaley felt a horrible cold, like the winds of Siberia all around her. There was an emptiness inside of her, a hole that nothing could fill. She had lost an arm, a leg, or an eye. Something integral, something that had been there her whole life, was gone. The Connection…it was lost. It was done suddenly and without ceremony. Severed, and hatefully so.
“Sh-Shannon?” she whispered. “Shan?”
Silence.
The bell had rung more than ten minutes ago. The school day was over. Kaley could hear kids running cheerily down the halls, eager to get home and watch TV, play Xbox, play some basketball, or dive into piles of dead leaves raked in by their parents.
“Shannon?” Tears were streaming. Kaley could barely croak out the name. “Sh-Shannon? Speak to me, girl. Ya hear? You speak to me, now. Shannon?” The heart had been ripped out of her chest. All was lost.
All was lost.
Kaley’s vision became blurred. She blinked and wiped away the tears. When she opened her eyes again, she was standing in the elevator beside her most hated adversary. Just like that, it had happened.
“Well, look who it is,” Spencer said, smiling down on her. “Why so glum, chum? Turn that frown,” he put two fingers to the edge of his lips, and turned it up, “upside-down.”
Kaley wasn’t in two worlds as before. Now, she was wholly here, in an elevator somewhere in Chelyabinsk. It hardly mattered how anymore. She accepted it. Still, she felt winded, as if she’d just finished sprinting. Teleporting across the Atlantic Ocean didn’t come completely without exhaustion. She looked down. She still held The Art of War in her hands, and her brain was reaching for something to connect it to.
Kaley looked up at Spencer, mouth agape, trying to breathe in enough air to fill the void in her. Spencer looked different. Paler, and with a red jacket. Yet, he somehow he remained the same. A constant. He was still the same foul creature as before, dripping in dark triumph and self-appreciation. And the elevator…yes, it was an elevator they were in…its walls were tainted by his presence. They could never be cleaned, not now that he’d been in here. Kaley smelled it on him more than ever now, the death and insanity and not-quite-rightness. A deranged animal, redolent with rabies and viciousness.
However, besides this taint, the elevator seemed fine. That is, there were no puddles of water on the ceiling, none on the walls, and none in the floor. No stray voices from the Deep. No geometry-defying limbs licking out. No nothing, she thought numbly. Just the elevator.
Knowing that the Others were not close gave her no comfort. They’re not gone. So where were they, then? Hiding? That didn’t seem to jibe with their previous methods of constantly prodding and testing the boundaries of the foam.
“What…?” She swallowed the words. Her lungs felt like they would collapse. “What’ve…what’ve you…done?”
“Me? Nothin’,” Spencer said, pulling out the same pistol he’d shot Zakhar with, and then wrapping what looked like an empty Coke bottle around its nozzle—a Coke bottle with a large towel or small pillow stuffed inside. “Least, nothin’ here. Not yet.” The madman didn’t appear to be surprised by her sudden appearance. As a matter of fact, he had the look of a man who had quite been expecting her.
Spencer had a roll of duct tape in his hands, and started wrapping it around the gun’s muzzle, attaching it to the Coke bottle. “Where’ve you been, little girl? You missed all the good stuff.”
“I doubt it,” Kaley said. Then, she pressed him again. “What have you done? Why am I here?”
“Why are any of us here?”
“You know what I mean!” In a moment of brazen stupidity, she reached out and shoved the monster, who didn’t become wroth with her this time, only looked mildly humored and continued his taping. “I don’t just show up anywhere around you unless…”
“Unless there’s somethin’ goin’ on with me?” He shook his head. “You think that’s how it works? Uh-uh. You got it all twisted, little girl. You and Shannon only come searching for me when there’s somethin’ wrong with you. You come to ol’ Uncle Spence whenever you’re in trouble, because you’re not strong enough to do what’s necessary on your own.”
“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with us.”
Spencer looked down at her and smiled, keeping his secret as the door chimed and he stepped out into a wide hallway with red carpet and faux lit torches in wall sconces. The corridor was quiet and vacant, not a soul stirring. Spencer found a small garbage bin and placed it between the elevator doors, so that they couldn’t close, then moved down the hall. The first door they passed was bright red with a golden horse engraved on it. It was room 1503.
Spencer finished duct-taping the muzzle, bit the tape to tear it, and tossed the rest of the roll to the floor like refuse.
“Did you hear me?” she said. “I said there’s nothing—”
“Oh, I heard you,” Spencer whispered. He was checking the numbers on each of the doors, slowing his pace as he came to the end of the hallway. Kaley was following him. “I just don’t think it’s gonna do any good answerin’ you. You’re not ready to hear the answers. Savvy? Now keep you’re fucking voice down.” He came to a complete stop at the hall’s T-junction, peeked around the corner. Kaley couldn’t feel her Connection to Shannon anymore, nor could she see the frothing, flowing water of the Deep all around, but, regrettably, she could still not help but see into the psychopath’s mind.
Spencer’s mind was fraught with terrible things hiding in the dark. Kaley had a strange but natural image of pieces of a jigsaw puzzle floating in a black sea, with occasional flashes of lightning illuminating the tiny pieces. Would they ever find their connection, their way back together? If they did, would they ever form a coherent picture again? He’s putting something together. He’s working on a puzzle in the dark, with brief flashes of insight. He’s almost reached his conclusion.
This was her own projection, of course, her mind’s way of coping with what it was being fed from the monster, trying to make sense of it all.
There were other things, too. Names pushed along on a sourceless wind. Jensen Perdue. Allan McQuarrie. Devan Treadwell. Names from Spencer’s past. Names that meant something to him. Kaley search for a connection, but as soon as she felt slippery things coming out of that black sea, she pushed back from those names.
Presently, Spencer was squeezing the tape around the Coke bottle’s lip and the gun’s muzzle, making sure it stuck well.
“What are we doing here?” she whispered.
Spencer waved her back, and peeked around the corner again. Something nipped at her left heel. She gasped, looked down, blinked and almost missed it. She saw something slithering away and vanishing underneath another one of the red doors with the golden horse engraving. Right around her, there was the pull of water, as though she were in a high tide. The longer she looked at the floor, the more the flooding waters came into view, but they faded away about five feet out from her. The waters started rising, first to knee height, then to waist. “Spencer,” she said.
“Not now.”
“I think we’re in trouble.”
“No shit? Really? I’m glad ya finally decided to get with the fuckin’ program.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
The water was around her chest.
Shcherbakov instructed the cab driver to pull up to the gate. He leaned out the back window and dialed up his cousin on the dialer out front. It took a few beeps, but finally Zverev’s voice came over the speaker. “Yes?”
“Cousin, it’s me. I’m outside. Is everything all right up there?”
“Yes, it’s quite warm and comfortable.” That was the right answer to the duress test. Had Zverev been under duress, say, with a gun to his head, he would have said “The air-conditioning has been on the fritz, but otherwise I’m fine.”
Shcherbakov relaxed only a little. “Could you let me in?”
“Of course.”
Two seconds later, there was a loud beep, and the wrought-iron gate parted slowly.
Another peek around the corner. It was exactly how Spencer imagined it, a single guard standing outside the door to room 1507. He’d figured there might be two guards, since Zverev would be on edge tonight, but as it was, there was just the one.
The guard had himself a chair pulled up and was watching some video or something on his iPhone. He was tall and broad of shoulder, with a head like an anvil. I need to get him away from the door. The makeshift silencer Spencer had attached to the end of his gun would only muffle the sound, and if he walked right up to the guard and shot him, then Zverev and the others inside 1507 would certainly hear something—if not the muffled shot, then the thump of the body slamming against the wall or hitting the floor. And they probably have my description, and they’re on alert tonight. That meant he wouldn’t be able to get very close to the guard without the guard reacting.
Spencer turned back to Kaley. She was still wearing the same faded jeans and plain black shirt she had been all night. He reached out to touch her head. She was solid, not an apparition. He backed up down the hall, towards the elevators, and waved her to follow. He knelt and whispered to Kaley, “I need you to do somethin’.” She looked at him warily. “I need you to step out into that hall and call for that man in the chair. Tell him you’re father needs some help with some luggage in the elevator.”
Her eyes went wide. She knew what he was trying to do at once. “No!” she whispered. “No, I’m not helping you kill anybody!”
“You already have,” he said. “Are you forgettin’ Avery Street? What about Zakhar’s house? The Ruffa Docks?”
“Those were all—”
“The wrong people sometimes got caught in those little fiascos, but this time, little girl, this time you can get the right people.”
Her eyes were watering again. Damn tears, such as waste. She shook her head. “You can’t ask me—”
“These are the people that stole those kids off the street, stuck in them in a room at some old dock house. You saw the marks on their faces, they had been beaten, and often. These guys probably even fucked them. These are the ones who mailed Peter to Zakhar like he was some kinda package, just merchandise to be shuffled around. If you don’t help me here, I can’t guarantee that I can get to Zverev, an’ without Zverev—”
“You can’t get to Dmitry’s family, his children, who are innocent in all this!” she hissed.
Spencer smiled and shrugged. “Maybe. But I also can’t get to their partners in Bangladesh, the At-ta Biral. Remember them? This goes further than Zverev, little girl. You gotta help me out here, not just for me, but for other little girls like yourself an’ Shannon.” He let that sit in the air, watching her wrestle with it.
All at once, here came the whispers again, all of them permeating the air and slithering down the walls. “She is close to him…can you feel it, brothers?” they said. “They are close together, and the gap is opening. This may be our last chance!”
“Spencer…”
“I hear them,” he said. “Fuck ’em. Just ignore them and look at me. Focus on the here an’ now, little girl.” His eyes penetrated her. “Look at me. Do you wanna help or not? Do you want to stop these men, once and for all? Or do you want more children to suffer as you suffered?”
“You’re…you’re trying to manipulate me…playing on my emotions…”
“You’re goddam right I am.”
“You’re repulsive! You’re not human.”
“Says the girl who teleports. And all I’m doin’ is tellin’ it like it is. Reality hasn’t changed. Those are the stakes: stop them here, tonight, or let them go. Now what’s it gonna be? Life for this cocksucker at the door, or life for all those other innocents?”
She shook her head. “You’re horrible.”
“I’m real.”
“Seize the moment, brothers,” came the lead voice. It was him, Spencer figured. The Prisoner. “This is our moment! Let us have it! We’ve waited long enough! How long have we suffered? How long have we toiled?”
The little girl looked at him with something between fear and surrender. “I…I-I don’t speak Russian.”
“No, but I do. An’ you can see inside here.” He tapped his head. “Like when you lock-picked that door in the basement, you accessed my files. You can do it again. Or if you can’t, say it in English. He’ll get the gist.”
Kaley shook her head, but it wasn’t as vehement as before. She was going to to do it. She was. Spencer was never wrong about people. The little girl only had to come to terms with her decision. Then, finally, she walked past him and into the other hall, like a person off to get a lethal injection. “Dry up those eyes before you go,” he told her. She wiped her face.
Spencer hid inside the elevator and held the door open with his foot. He heard her call out, “Izvinitya. Mne nuzhna pomoshch.” Translation: Excuse me, but I need help.
Spencer smirked. Damn, sounds better than mine.
He listened to Kaley Dupré tell her story. Her father had some trouble with some luggage in the elevator, and he had a bad back. Spencer heard footsteps were approaching. She told the guard that her father was just right here in the elevator. Kaley stepped in front of the elevator, and waved. Spencer remained hidden, but did not hear the guard approaching. He’s starting to second guess. There was the sound of clothing being ruffled, and Kaley’s eyes went wide. Going for a gun. He suspects the trap.
Spencer was never wrong about people.
He aimed his bottle-tipped gun around the corner of the elevator and peeked one eye around, took aim, and pulled the trigger. Having detected a trap too late, the big man had his hand on his pistol, but hadn’t drawn it. The gunshot sounded like a hammer that had been wrapped in a pillow and flung to the floor. A dull thunk! and the man’s head snapped back. The loudest sound was that made by the skull and brain matter smacking against the wall behind him. Spencer ran at the falling body, caught it somewhat clumsily just before it hit the floor, and eased it down.
Spencer turned to look around the hall. No one was stepping out of their rooms to investigate. He looked at Kaley. A tendril of smoke coming out of the Coke bottle coiled between them. He smiled, and winked. “You’re a natural, kid.”
Shannon was still coloring. Officer Regus was standing nearby, holding the glass of water Mrs. Taylor had fetched for her, and that Shannon wouldn’t accept. The markers in her hand were coloring furiously. She felt like she needed the dis
traction. Every few minutes, she would ask, “Is my aunt here yet?” The answer was always no. “No, sweetie. The principal called her and she said that your Aunt Tabby is coming as fast as she can.”
Now Shannon was coloring in the sides of an airplane she had drawn after completing a connect-the-dots puzzle. She made the wings red, and the main body of the plane a dull gray. The pilot was some kind of beaver wearing goggles, which she colored purple. The sky around it was blue, of course, but the clouds…Clouds shouldn’t be white. Again, white just made her think of emptiness. So, if she were God, what would be a better color for clouds? She smiled. Purple, obviously. She reached for the purple marker, and saw something snap out from the wall, almost too quick to see, and raked the markers off the table.
Officer Regus and Mrs. Taylor both stopped their chitchat over by the desk, and looked at her. Shannon stayed absolutely still, the way some animals will do when sensing a predator nearby. She knew what Kaley had done whenever she was in one of her dreams, whenever the things inside were reaching out for her from the water. She knew, because of their Connection, the same Connection that was now severed for the first time and perhaps forever.
“Can we take this one now?” whispered someone behind her. She didn’t look.
Shannon almost felt naked without Kaley’s presence, but it was for the better. Kaley had gone near the laughing man, or she was about to. Shannon had sensed it. It was inevitable. Shannon wanted no part of it. Despite what she’d shouted at the voices earlier, she had no intention of ever seeing the laughing man again. She hadn’t known what else to say at the time, though. It was obvious that those Others weren’t afraid of her, nor were they afraid of Kaley or anybody else. Not only that, but nobody else had ever really believed Shannon’s or Kaley’s story about what happened on Avery Street, so nobody was even prepared to listen. Even those policemen hadn’t helped, nor the FBI guys. Only one person had helped them, and he hadn’t even done it out of the kindness of his heart. Part of her was repulsed by the laughing man, but another part was fascinated. Perhaps she even admired him.