by Alex Grecian
Ransom closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. He felt a sudden certainty that he was not going to escape this time. The Foundation would send someone after him, but it would be too late. Ransom wondered which of his remaining children would follow him to Kansas. Would it be Judah or Travis? Poor Travis had been through so much already, and he was finally dealing with his anger issues. It would be better if Judah came. Judah was stronger.
When Rudy started talking again, his voice was soft and thoughtful. Ransom could barely hear him. “Did you know I was struck by lightning two times, Mr. Roan? Two times is a lot when we talk about lightning. It’s rare, but it happens. I’d be willing to bet you’ve never been struck by lightning even once. But there’s a man in South Carolina who’s been hit ten times. A park ranger in Virginia was struck seven times. You see, when it hits someone, it’s more likely to hit them again. And no one seems to know why, but if you ask any of us, those of us in this special club, we could tell you. It has chosen us, marked us. Look here. Come on, take a look.”
Ransom opened his eyes. Rudy rolled up his sleeve and turned his arm back and forth under the fluorescent lamps. Vivid blue scars snaked down toward his wrist, forking out from a thick central line, like the branches of an upside-down tree or a simplified coral formation.
“See that? The lightning etched itself on my skin, like a tattoo, like a brand. Letting me know that it owns me. But maybe I own it, too.” He rolled his sleeve back down and patted Ransom on the shoulder. “For some people, Mr. Roan, the lightning hurts them, damages them physically and psychologically. But for others, like myself, it changes them for the good, gifts them with insight and energy. Isn’t it possible that one man’s torture is another man’s freedom? You say I’m a symbol of evil, but who are you to decide that sort of thing?”
“I am not the one who decided that.” He was going to say something more, but Ransom’s throat had closed so that it was painful to speak.
Rudy waved his hand at the ceiling. “Up there is my church. And it wouldn’t exist without my talents.”
“A talent for hurting people? For killing?”
“If the lightning chooses a person, I can heal them, transfer a small part of my energy to them. I do good in this world, which brings us back to the subject of you. I can’t let you stop my ministry before I’m ready.”
“Rudolph—”
“You said you have sons?”
“They have caught monsters as delusional as you.”
“I have sons as well. Or I did. At least Heinrich stayed with the church. But you must understand the concept of a legacy. Having work that matters and someone to carry on the work.” Rudy moved the cart closer to him and examined the tools arrayed there. “But I worry that despite Heinrich’s best intentions, my ministry will disappear after I die. People are drawn to the church because of my abilities. Will they still come if there’s no one here to help them, to take away their pain? I don’t know the answer to that question. Do you?”
“Enough of this,” Ransom said. “Unbuckle these straps.”
“I had an idea a few years ago,” Rudy said. “A vision. It was after the second time the lightning came to me. I was fearful at first. I knew it would come again. It would never stop. I would never be able to relax, because at any moment I would be struck again. But maybe there was a reason for it all. Maybe I was being given more energy than I needed so I could pass it on to someone else. And when I do that, I can finally end all this, I can silence whatever’s in me that calls the lightning. The energy will move on to someone else and let me be. Its legacy will be preserved, and so will mine.”
“Do you ever get sick of your own voice?”
“Don’t be rude. The problem is that lightning is unpredictable. I can’t very well ask people to stand with me under a tree in a storm and hope that something amazing might take place. I need a way to control the transfer of electricity, to directly affect a man’s brain. But how? And what part of the brain?”
He pointed to a short tool with an electric cord. It looked like a wood burner that had been altered and glued back together.
“I made that myself. It provides a charge that I can direct. I touch a person’s brain with lightning, and perhaps someday I’ll create another like myself.”
“That does not . . .” Ransom needed water, his throat burned and fought him, but he forced the words out. “You are not magic. That is madness. You use the power of suggestion to dupe people into following you, into thinking they have been cured of whatever they bring to you.”
Rudy sat back on his stool and a thoughtful expression drifted across his face. “Yes, I have thought of that. Perhaps the migraines go away when the boy thinks they will go away. Perhaps the girl wakes from her coma because she hears someone tell her to do so and she believes it is time. It is what you call the placebo effect, right? If you have enough faith in the cure, your own brain will convince your body to cure itself. Something like that. But even if you are correct and this is what I’m doing, does it negate the work itself?” Rudy shook his head. “No, the lightning works, one way or another. Understanding it is a human requirement, Mr. Roan.”
“And what do you think you are, some kind of god?”
“Oh, I am very human. All saints are human at first. And I didn’t say I had no need of understanding, it’s just that I need to understand different things than you do. For instance, I would like to understand you.”
Rudy reached for the cart. He pulled it closer and picked up a short electric saw. He held it up for Ransom to see and he winked. “This comes later. For the skull.” He set the saw back down on the cart and selected a scalpel. “But first this.”
CHAPTER TEN
1
The parking lot of the Hays Walmart was nearly empty, stretching to the white-frosted grass at the edge of the highway. They had left Travis’s rented Jeep outside the compound and Sheriff Goodman had driven to Hays, where they parked close to the store and got out of the silver cruiser. The moon through the clouds had burnished the sky to a pearly sheen, but lightning lit up the horizon far out beyond the overpass.
“Big storm coming,” Goodman said.
Travis nodded. Kansas was living up to its reputation and he had resigned himself to the idea that the day could bring any kind of weather.
“Still don’t see why we need to stop off here,” Goodman said. “I got the rifle and shotgun in the car. You’re welcome to whichever of those. And you got your automatic.”
“I do not know how many people I will need to shoot before I find my father. I would not care to run out of bullets.”
“I know a guy not too far from here can set you up with just about any weapon you want.”
“We are here already.”
An old man in a blue apron smiled at them as they entered. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said. “Got your turkey yet? Need help finding anything?”
“I know where it is,” Goodman said.
“Thank you,” Travis said to the man. He followed Goodman to the back of the store, past displays of snow tires and Christmas decorations, toy cars and furnace filters. He knew they were in the right department when the aisles of golf clubs and sleeping bags gave way to compound bows and shotgun shells. There was a long glass counter showcasing knives and scopes of varying lengths and an array of shotguns and rifles on view in a larger glass case behind it. An employee saw them and approached. He had a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper goatee, and his apron had been recently starched.
“You fellas looking for anything in particular?” He moved behind the counter.
“Yes,” Travis said. “I would like a Remington shotgun, the 870 Express, and the Winchester 54.” He shifted his attention to the glass case in front of him, where knives sat cradled between dark felt runners. “I will also require the Buck Special there. The six-inch blade, please, with the sheath, and the PakLite Skinner. What i
s your best scope for the Winchester?”
The man blinked at him.
“Leave the Winchester,” Goodman said. He spoke to the employee. “What’s your name, sir?”
He pointed at his name tag. “Caleb.”
“Caleb, my friend doesn’t know what he wants, so I’ll order for him. He’s gonna want that Weatherby up there, not the Winchester.”
“But I do want the Winchester,” Travis said.
“The Weatherby’s gonna outperform it.”
“I am buying the rifle for short-term use,” Travis said. “I am comfortable with the Winchester.”
Goodman held up his hands, backing out of the argument.
Travis turned back to the employee. “Caleb, please also give me the Colt semiauto, the .270 Short Magnums, and a half-dozen magazines, if you have them. I will require a rain suit, a good pair of binoculars, an adequate bow, along with arrows and a quiver for them, and a machete.”
“That’s a whole lotta gear,” Caleb said. “What’re you hunting?”
“What is in season right now?”
“Um, wild turkey, but those firearms are gonna blow a turkey all to hell. Deer season doesn’t open for a few more days.”
“I am getting an early start,” Travis said. “Do you have anything that might punch through a cinder-block wall?”
“Um, what?”
“Never mind.”
Goodman cleared his throat. “He’s not from around here, but I’ll vouch for him.” He flashed his badge and winked at Caleb.
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
“All right,” Goodman said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“I’m gonna need you to register first,” Caleb said, turning a countertop computer around. “Just fill out the form there. Only takes about a half hour to hear back. They most always okay people, no problem.”
“I told you, Doc,” Goodman said. “I got a friend can hook you up easier than this.”
Travis smiled at him. “But this is one-stop shopping.”
2
Skottie heard footsteps on the porch. She put down the roll of tape she was using to seal up the broken front window, grabbed her Glock from the end table, and went to the door. Travis stepped over the threshold.
“I apologize for the hour,” he said, “but I need your assistance. The situation has escalated.”
“We’re all wide awake here.”
He caught the door before she could close it. “I brought a . . . Well, I brought someone else who might be helpful.”
He gestured and Sheriff Goodman stepped into the light from the open door. He had his hat in his hands, and his thin hair was flying about in the breeze. “Trooper Foster,” he said. “Good evening to you.”
“Travis,” Skottie said, “have you lost your mind?” She kept her gun down at her side, but she was extremely conscious of its weight in her hand.
Before Travis could say anything, Goodman held up a hand. “Ma’am, I know you and me didn’t hit it off, but I never meant any harm to you. And I think I might already be a part of this situation you got.”
“And what situation is that?”
“Well, now you mention it, I’m not so sure what your connection is to all this. But I got two dead bodies up in my county. And this fella’s missing his dad.” He pointed his thumb at Travis. “So we got a stake in this.”
“I have spoken with the sheriff and I believe he has—”
Skottie cut him off. “My connection? Look at this place. Somebody must think I’m involved.”
“What happened?” Goodman’s lips were pulled tight, and without his hat he looked somehow vulnerable. Skottie realized she wanted Goodman to argue with her, wanted someone she could push back against and yell at. But it was clear that he wasn’t jockeying for position.
“We had a break-in.” Skottie sighed. “Come on. You’re letting in all the cold.”
Goodman entered and closed the door behind him. He looked around and raised his eyebrows at the sight of the plastic bags billowing into the room. Skottie and Emmaline had vacuumed up the broken glass and set the couch upright again, but duct tape and plastic garbage bags were the best solution they had come up with to temporarily replace the big window.
“Are you all right?” Travis said.
“Yeah.”
“Your daughter?”
“She’s with her father.”
“And where is Bear?” Travis was looking around as if his dog might be hiding behind a door, waiting to spring out and surprise him.
“He’s with Maddy,” Skottie said. She hoped that was true. She hadn’t spoken to Brandon since he’d told her the dog was lost and wounded. “We caught one of the intruders.” Skottie motioned for them to follow her and led the way into the kitchen, where Emmaline was leaning on the counter, her shotgun still aimed in the general direction of Christian Puckett’s head. “Sheriff, I think you two have met.”
Goodman made a sound like a gasp and a cough uttered at the same time. He took a step back and balled up his fists, torqued his body, and pulled his arm back. A second before he punched the wall, he took a deep breath and opened his hands.
He spoke to Skottie without looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the pots and pans hanging from a rack above the oven. “Sorry. Don’t mean to cause you more trouble. This boy broke into your house?”
Skottie nodded.
“Nobody got hurt?”
“Well, he did. And one of the other guys might’ve cut himself. There’s blood.”
“You sure he wasn’t trying to stop them other fellas?”
“Sheriff—”
He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, I believe you. But this is—”
“So I guess you didn’t send him here,” Skottie said.
Goodman glared at her. “Ma’am.” He tipped his hat at Emmaline before turning his attention back to his deputy. “Nephew, what’re you doing in this nice lady’s house?”
Christian glowered up at him, but didn’t speak.
“Heinrich put you up to this?”
The deputy looked away.
“What’s my brother want with these people?”
There was no answer.
“I surely do wish you’d turned out worth a damn.” Goodman looked at Skottie. “Tell me, how’m I supposed to explain this to my sister?”
“I’m sure she knows her son’s no good.”
“Don’t make it easier to say it out loud. What’re you gonna do with him?”
“As soon as I arrest him, I’ll have to take him in and explain what happened here. That might get me in some trouble with my boss right now.”
“You know what he was doing here?”
“I think they were trying to run me out of town, but I want to find out more from him before I do anything. My lieutenant is gonna want details, and I don’t have any.”
“Well, it don’t look like my nephew wants to talk to nobody just yet. Maybe when his bladder starts cramping up you’ll get him in a gabby mood.”
They left Emmaline to her lonely vigil and returned to the living room.
“Mind if I sit? Been a long night,” Goodman said.
Skottie motioned toward the couch and Goodman lowered himself with a sigh that he dragged up from somewhere deep in his body. Then he took the pistol off his belt and leaned forward, put it on the end table nearer to Skottie than himself. Goodman held his empty hands up in a gesture of peace. He took off his hat, put it on the back of the couch behind him, sat back, and crossed his legs.
“Now,” he said. “I’m hoping me and you can bury the hatchet here so we can go after the killer of that woman at the lake and the fella in the tractor fire. Could be my hands are officially tied. But maybe we can help each other out.”
Skottie put her Glock on the table next
to the sheriff’s pistol, and a moment later Travis took his Eclipse out of its holster and set it with the other two weapons. Three chunks of metal that were largely useless without a hand to point them.
“What is it you want?” Skottie said.
“Take a look at this,” Travis said.
He sat next to Goodman on the couch and handed a file folder to Skottie. She took it and sat across from him in Emmaline’s best armchair. The manila folder had the Noah Roan Foundation logo embossed on the front, and there was a label on the tab that read BORMANN.
“They are holding my father captive,” Travis said.
“Who is?”
“My dad’s church,” Goodman said.
“Purity First?”
“That’s the one.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“I have not seen him,” Travis said, “but Reverend Goodman is using my father as leverage against me. Against the Foundation.”
“You need to call the authorities,” Skottie said.
“Ma’am, I am the authority,” Goodman said.
“So what’s this?” She opened the folder and looked at the first densely typed, single-spaced page on Roan Foundation letterhead.
“Each of us has information,” Travis said, “and I need everything I can get if I am to plan what to do. I have to find out if my father is even still alive.”
“This is your whole file on the Nazi?”
Travis leaned forward and tapped the letterhead. “You see, Ruth Elder’s death probably would have caused our investigation to dead-end if we had known, but since we had no idea our witness was dead, we kept poking around. While my father was out here doing the legwork on this, my mother was busy trying to corroborate and strengthen the claim against Bormann from our end. And yesterday she found a second witness.”