Darker Things (The Lockman Chronicles #1)

by Rob Cornell

  “Dolan’s a psychotic. Who knows why he does anything?”

  Lockman paced along the length of the table. “You’re setting us up.”

  “I swear to you. You can check for yourself. Give them a call. They’re home.”

  “Right. Kate answers the phone, says everything’s fine, then we go to pick her up and Dolan’s men, or vamps, or who-the-fuck knows what is waiting to take us down.”

  “Sure. Dolan’s probably got people on the house. You mean to tell me you’d let something like that keep you from trying to get her?”

  “What’s he got for us? More vamps? Mortals? What?”

  Tanner lifted his head as best he could while bound facedown to the table. “I don’t know. That’s the straight truth. Dolan doesn’t share with me. I’m just another source to him.”

  Lockman looked to Creed. “You got a hacksaw or something?”

  “Yeah.” He went to the bench where Lockman had found the rag. The tool bench had wooden drawers built in. The bench itself looked handmade, possibly even Amish. From a drawer, Creed withdrew a hacksaw with its signature thin blade.

  Tanner tried to look over his shoulder to see Creed. “What? What are you doing?”

  Creed came over and handed the saw to Lockman. Lockman showed the saw to Tanner. “I can do a finger. A hand. A whole arm. I could take out your knee caps. Even sever your spine and paralyze you.”

  “You’re fucking crazy.”

  “Are you telling me if the tables were turned, you wouldn’t do the same?”

  “I had you. I never tortured you.”

  “Because I didn’t know anything you didn’t already know yourself. In fact, you gave me one hell of an education. You liked talking so much before, why not go with it? Tell me what Dolan’s got waiting for us at Kate’s house?”

  Tanner blinked frantically as if trying to clear his vision of some horrific scene. Lockman figured he was seeing all the variations of pain coming his way if he didn’t talk. “You won’t believe the truth.”

  “Try.”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “You have no idea what the trap is you’re trying to send us into?” Lockman turned the saw so the blade caught the sterile light from the fluorescents suspended above them.

  Tanner’s gaze locked on the blade. His breathing became ragged. “It’s not a trap. Nothing formal. Just a detail put there in case you return.”

  “What kind of detail?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Lockman sighed, going for the dramatic. “Take deep breaths, Tanner. Last thing I need is you passing out on me.” He gently waved the hacksaw. “I thought you’d be a little tougher in an interrogation.”

  “It’s like I said. Dolan isn’t worth covering for. It was always about the money for me, not the ideology.”

  “That still doesn’t mean you aren’t lying. Because you know damn well we’re going to put you in a hole, no trial, no due process. Aiding a terrorist in supernatural warfare? Big time offence.”

  “The Agency doesn’t exist anymore, Craig. There aren’t laws on the books for this kind of thing. You think Washington or the Pentagon is going to back you?”

  “I didn’t say anything about Federal prison, did I? Maybe I’ll dig the hole we put you in myself.”

  Tanner rested his cheek on the table and groaned. “You cut me up, the answers will be the same. I don’t have a handle on Dolan’s operation beyond the small part I played providing intel and assisting in your apprehension. I have no place in his hierarchy.”

  Lockman stepped around the table and gripped Tanner’s right arm above the elbow. He rested the saw blade against the arm on the other side of the elbow. “Only one way to prove that.”

  “You won’t cut off my arm. You’re not like that. You never were.”

  “What do you mean, never? I was a lot worse before the Agency scrambled my brain. This kind of thing looks like cheating at Candyland compared to the shit I did as Dolan’s man.”

  “But you’re not him anymore.”

  “I don’t know who I am anymore,” Lockman said and started sawing.

  * * *

  The muscles in Lockman’s abs cramped as he heaved a fourth time, his stomach already emptied into the toilet and nothing but bile coming out now. He rested his forehead on the cold porcelain edge of the bowl, tried to focus on his breathing without seeing the torn flesh, feeling the grate of the saw blade against bone, or smell the iron of Tanner’s blood.

  No good.

  He heaved again and broke into a coughing fit.

  What had he done? Tanner’s screams still vibrated in his ears. The begging cries. The whimpering defeat.

  His eyes watered and his nose ran. Once he got control of the coughing, he stood and staggered to the bathroom sink. He put his face under the faucet and turned on the cold water. The icy blast on his skin shocked his mind clear for a moment. He rubbed his nose and eyes clean with his hands, rinsed out his mouth, and turned off the faucet. His reflection stared at him, sunken-eyed, from the mirror above the sink. Lockman stared back as the water dripped down his face.

  Who are you?

  At one time, he had been so sure. Even during the decade and a half he lived under an assumed name in Los Angeles, he had known who he really was. Or thought he had. Nothing remained to separate him from the likes of Creed, or even Dolan. He hadn’t just tortured a man, he had brutalized him. Surely, Lockman could have spun some serious mojo out of Tanner’s agony.

  He turned away from his reflection and patted his face dry with a towel on the counter. Then he closed his eyes and let the full experience of what he’d done to Tanner play through his mind. His gorge rose. He concentrated on pushing it down. He took two deep breaths and left the bathroom.

  He caught up with Creed in the kitchen. He had gathered up Tanner’s file into a neat pile and sat at the table with his elbows resting on either side of the stack of pages. A cordless phone lay on the table to his left. His gaze flicked up when Lockman entered.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine. Had to wash the blood out from under my fingernails.”

  “Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Craig.”

  Lockman waved him off and took a seat at the table. “Doesn’t matter. We did what needed doing. He stabilized now?”

  “He’ll live. Wish I had hogs on this farm. Would be easier getting rid of the limb.”

  “Nice.”

  Creed held out his hands. “If we’re playing hardasses, we’ve got to talk the talk, right?”

  “What’s your take?”

  “He doesn’t know anything else than what he’s told us or he doesn’t care about having to go lefty from now on.”

  Lockman ran his hands through his hair. His throat burned from the bile he’d purged, and his head ached from the pressure of the dry heaves. An old-fashioned cuckoo clock tocked on one wall. “We’re missing something. There’s some blind spot in all of this.”

  “If Kate and her husband are free, you feel comfortable leaving them in the open?”

  Lockman bounced a fist on the table. “No. We have to extract them before Dolan realizes we got to Tanner. Otherwise, he might step up whatever he’s got on them, or grab them again and make this even harder.”

  “Then what?”

  “Once everyone is safe, I go after Dolan and finally end this. No more running. No more hiding. No more pretend lives.”

  “Bad idea. If Dolan gets you alive, he could get to that ghost artifact, not to mention whatever else his number two had access to.”

  “You mean what I had access to.”

  Creed held up a hand. “I’m not having this argument with you again. In my mind, you and him are two different people. End of story.”

  If only it were that simple. But it served no purpose chasing Creed in circles on the topic. Lockman stood. “When Rand gets back with Jessie we meet back here.” He pressed a fingertip to the kitchen table. “What’s Rodriquez’s ETA?”

 
“His flight landed at Metro thirty minutes ago. Knowing the way Rod drives, he’ll be here within the hour.”

  “Me, Rodriguez, and Rand will extract Kate and her husband. I’m leaving you with Jessie. But so help me, Victor, don’t let her get anywhere near Tanner.”

  “Of course not.”

  “And don’t think I’ve forgotten what you’ve done to me. I have more important things to deal with now, but when this is over, I’ll deal with you.”

  Creed visibly swallowed. “Deal with me how?”

  “That all depends on how helpful you are between now and then.” He pointed at the phone. “Hand me that. I need to call Marty.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Let’s do another sweep,” Lockman said into the Bluetooth earpiece that came with the phone Marty had supplied. He sat behind the wheel of a black cargo van he had also procured from Marty’s supply of goods.

  Rodriguez answered through his own matching earpiece. “We’ve done four sweeps already. There’s nothing to see, bro.”

  Rand threw in his two cents. “I’m looking at the spectrometer. No irregularities that would indicate supernatural presence.”

  Lockman gritted his teeth and looked out his windshield toward Kate’s house. He was parked more than half a block down. They had waited until full darkness before heading out. Most of the houses on the street stood dark and quiet. Kate’s had the porch lights on and a light in the front room that illuminated the curtains in the picture window.

  “That science shit isn’t reliable when it comes to mojo and you know it.”

  “Sure,” Rand said. “But we’ve each circled the perimeter at various distances and haven’t seen any sign that anyone or anything is on this house.”

  “Which make me all the more nervous. No one on the house? Either Dolan’s stupid, or we’ve missed something.”

  “We ain’t missed shit,” Rodriguez said. “Look, I know I came to the party late, but I’m also the only one who’s still been in the game since the Agency tanked.” When he finally arrived at the farm, Rodriquez had given the group a quick update on his life since the Agency. He worked freelance tracking supernaturals brought over to the mortal plane and then set loose. Apparently it happened more and more these days. “The area is clear. The only way any supernaturals are watching this couple is if they are in the house.”

  Possible. Tanner had said Dolan set them free, but that could have been bull. Maybe they had someone holding them inside their own home. “Give me a second.” He reached into the duffel on the passenger seat and pulled out a pair of thermal goggles. He started the van and rolled down the street by letting it idle. When he came to Kate’s house, he pulled the goggles and tapped the break. A lot of interference from the lights, but he could make out two distinct heat signatures that looked like people. Nothing else. Even a vamp, which typically ran cold when at rest, would give off a recognizable signature.

  Could Dolan really have let them go and left them alone?

  He pulled off the goggles and gently accelerated. He circled the block until he reached his original position and parked. “I don’t understand it, but I think we’re clear.”

  “Like I said,” Rodriguez quipped.

  “We’re still going to play this safe. I’ll approach the front. I want the two of you to cover me. Rand, you pull your vehicle across the street from the house. Rodriguez, you get on foot and plant yourself somewhere dark. Make sure you bring Ms. Betty.”

  “I don’t go anywhere without Ms. Betty.”

  “You have the photos memorized of our objectives, I assume?”

  They both came back with affirmatives.

  “Then let’s do this and do it clean.”

  “Just like old times,” Rand said.

  Lockman could hear the big grin in Rand’s voice. Felt a little charge himself. No denying it. He remembered working with these men, enjoying the thrill as they charged into some unknown, often to face things most mortals didn’t even know existed in their world outside fairytales and horror flicks. He had trusted these men with his life, and they had trusted him with theirs in turn. Back then, that kind of trust meant everything. But these guys hadn’t known who they were putting their lives on the line for. They had trusted a lie. Which made their trust, something he had taken pride in, a hollow thing.

  “Yeah,” Lockman said. “Just like old times.”

  * * *

  They called him many things. Ghost. Specter. Spook. Spirit. Labels like that didn’t matter. He knew who he had been. Who he still was. Marcus VanDemere. Only he looked nothing like himself when he looked in the mirror like he did now.

  Right now he looked like a woman. A pretty woman. He traced her pretty jaw with her pretty fingertips. Touched her pretty lips. Fingered the strange pendant that hung around her neck. Then he stepped back from the mirror so he could admire her naked breasts. He caressed them with her own hands, tweaked the nipples, and reveled in the dual pleasure of feeling them and feeling with them.

  Otto Dolan may have dragged VanDemere out of eternal sleep against his will, but he found he liked this new way of living—if that’s what you called it. The ability to possess a living person’s body had come to him as instinctively as a newborn nuzzling at his mother’s breast for a first taste of milk. Only a few minutes after arriving on the mortal plane, he had known everything about what he could accomplish here. A strange and instant education. But as quickly as he became aware of his place in this plane, he forgot about the one he had left. He realized this was only right and natural. One could not exist on two planes of existence at the same time, even in memory. Which made it all the easier to want to stay on this side. He had no recollection of what his existence was as a spirit beyond the veil. It could have been paradise or eternal suffering. Either way, he would not be going back. He had decided that for certain the moment he slipped into his latest body.

  Pretty little Kate.

  He slid her hand down to the thatch of hair between her legs. How would it feel to give her an orgasm? God, the possibilities. Dizzying. So much so, he almost forgot what had brought him back to this plane in the first place.

  Millie.

  He clenched Kate’s teeth. Dolan had somehow used her grief over her loss of VanDemere to drag him here. How he had loved Millie. She had put up with so much from him. His clinical depression. His gambling habit. But she always forgave him and did everything she could to help him.

  She hadn’t been able to help him outrun the depression.

  Amazing. He could remember his own death when he thought about it. He could remember the noose around his neck. The slick feel of the oak chair under his stocking feet. That last minute worry that he might mess the living room carpet after he kicked the chair away.

  He wondered if he had.

  He snapped himself out of the reverie. Looked his new body over in the mirror once more, then began dressing. He had to get to Dolan before Dolan found a way to send him back. After that, VanDemere would have all the time he needed to experiment with Kate’s body. When he was done with her, he could find another male body and try reconnecting with Millie. Or maybe he could keep Kate’s body and convince Millie to love him as a woman.

  He noticed a dampness between his legs and smiled. So that’s what it felt like for a woman when she got wet.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Lockman adjusted the new Desert Eagle tucked under his shirt at the small of his back. Marty had given him a hard time about losing the first one. After that, Lockman had made a point not to mention he’d lost everything else when he abandoned the duffel in the trunk of the rental car at the cemetery.

  He rang the doorbell and took a step back to give Rodriguez a view of whoever answered the door. No doubt the man was watching him now through Ms. Betty’s scope. Ms. Betty was one of the few pieces of gear that did not come from Marty—a M107 .50 caliber sniper rifle Rodriguez claimed he never left home without.

  Despite Lockman’s hopes, Alec answered the door ins
tead of Kate. He thought he might have a better chance convincing Kate to come with them than Alec. He could tell from the look in Alec’s eyes he had not expected Lockman to show up on his porch again.

  “You.”

  “Yeah, me.”

  Alec stared at him a moment, sighed through his nose. “Come in.”

  “Really?”

  That didn’t get an answer. Alec turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open for Lockman to follow if he wanted. He looked over his shoulder. He could see Rand’s car across the street. He didn’t know where Rodriguez had set up, just that he was out there somewhere. He nodded, letting them know he was good so far, then went inside.

  Alec continued on into the kitchen and Lockman started to follow but stopped as Kate came out of the hall, nearly running into him.

  She backed away, bumped into the wall, fear obvious in her eyes.

  “Easy,” Lockman said and held up his hands. “Just me.”

  “Yeah,” she said. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath through her nose. “Sorry. You just startled me.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “Sure, yeah.”

  “Did they hurt you?”

  Her eyes shifted back and forth, lips parted slightly. “Um.”

  “We’re fine,” Alec said coming out of the kitchen with a gun in hand at his side.

  Lockman looked at the gun, then at Alec. “You much of a shot?”

  “I can hit what I’m aiming at.”

  “That’s all that matters.”

  “What are you doing here?” Kate asked.

  “Getting you out of here. I don’t know why Dolan didn’t hang onto you or why he doesn’t have a whole squad parked around the house, but we can’t assume we’re going to stay so lucky.”

  “We’re fine, though. Right, hon?” She turned to Alec and rested a hand on his arm, but it looked forced.

  Lockman wondered if there was trouble with the relationship and couldn’t help but find himself hoping there was. He pushed the notion out of his mind. Not only did he not have time to entertain such a ridiculous idea, what were the chances she would want him anywhere near her when she learned who he really was?