Cradle Robber
Page 20
Wade touched her arm. “Wait..., please. Let me explain.”
“Stay back. Don't come near me.” Her hands shot out, pushing against the air that separated them. Her back hit the solid wooden front door.
“Don't let it end like this. I can't live without you,” he pleaded.
“Don't touch me or I'll scream.”
“Please....”
“How could you keep it a secret? Have you stalked me all these years? Come back to throw my past in my face? To make me love you? I don't know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but I don't want any part of it.” Her hand gripped the doorknob.
Thunder cracked. The house shook beneath his feet. Pulse pumping, the vein on his forehead pushed out, his chest hair ached. She was walking away.
Wade inched toward her. “I can't live without you. I can fix it. I can make it better.”
“How? You don’t know what it’s like to live with something like that. I’d give anything to change my decision, but I can't. All I can do is live with the choices I made.”
“We can figure something out.”
She shrank from him, cowering against the door. It broke his heart to see her like that. If only he could remember her as she was by the lake. This could not be his last image of her. She couldn’t leave him like this, ducking from his embrace.
He reached for her, but she knocked his hands away. “No. I'm begging you, leave me alone. Forget that I ever existed.”
The door swung open and she ran into the rain, disappearing from sight. He bolted to the patio, searching the void for her figure, but she had vanished.
“Traci?” he yelled. “Traci, come back. I'm sorry.”
There was no answer from the darkness, only the cutting of rain and the emptiness of night. Cold air enveloped him and his shoulders stooped, his skeleton shuddering against the blow of her absence.
Tom ran onto the front porch looking worried. “What's wrong?”
Wade glared back at him, unable to comprehend the moment. His entire world unraveled. The nightmare finally happened and now she was gone forever. The curse of his sins caught up to him, played out in one horrible act of self-destruction. He was destined to roam the earth alone, fulfilling the needs of a universe descending into chaos. Fate played its cards.
Tom clutched Wade’s arm. “What happened?”
Lips trembling, knees buckling, Wade covered his face. “I told you I was cursed.”
Wade threw himself into the night, running with no direction, leaving his coat behind. He sprinted as hard as he could, hoping that, somehow, for a few minutes, he might outrun the past that nipped at his heels and tore at everything beautiful in his life.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Heavy shades blocked all the light. Wade rubbed his eyes. When was the last time he slept? Really slept? His darkened living room stank of stale air and moldy leftovers. Who could rest in such an environment?
Elbows on the edge of the desk, he cupped his head in his hands. A yawn. Was it night or day? Did it matter? His job with the Department of Defense used to keep him on schedule. Things got so muddled since he took a leave of absence. Days blended together without coworkers breathing down his neck or deadlines to meet. Monday may as well be Thursday or Friday. He did the same thing every day anyway.
No time for people, no time for work. Only the machine remained. If Traci didn’t want his love, at least he could sacrifice himself to justice. Perhaps God would overlook his sins if he set the world straight.
Wade pushed aside the files he stole from the abortion clinic. They contained a mixture of broken families and abuse that dizzied him with anticipation. So much information came through these sheets of paper. One folder led him to a runaway father, too strung out to care for his own children.
Aborted.
Another belonged to a young prostitute with the misfortune of getting on the bad side of an elected official.
Aborted. Both of them. Why hesitate to take out a politician when you can?
Justice carried out.
Hours of video, condensed, edited, and labeled, sat stacked on a shelf next to his desk. Documentation became more than a hobby––it was his life. He surrounded himself with signs of his accomplishments. Spinning 180 degrees in his office chair, Wade took in the remains of the living room. Photos of perpetrators hung in the center of six different dartboards that lined the far wall. Day by day the pictures lost their relevance as people disappeared without notice. Good. Served them right.
Wade arched his aching back, his joints emitting a symphony of pops. The pain grew worse with each trip, but he pressed on, not thwarted by the limitations of his own body. What did he care for his condition? He lost her, the only sunshine that remained in his dark life. No turning back. Traci did not reply to his letters. Nurses at the hospital refused to forward his calls and insisted that he stop seeking her. Each moment thinking of her was like hours of torture, with little reprieve.
So he threw himself into his work.
Days passed as he improved the machine. New additions included safety measures like headlights and explosion-proof storage for extra chemicals. He installed a code and an order of events to make the machine turn on. That way no nosey person could accidentally fire it up. He increased the rate of recovery for the operator from hours to minutes, though the long-term effects of time travel still lingered.
The pain would always be there.
The cold steel of his gun pressed against his hip as he stood. Not a bad replacement for a woman. Guns never questioned your motives or made you talk to teenagers; and they were one heck of a lot of fun in a bar fight. Besides, some of the perps might not appreciate his visit to confront them with their sins. The little pistol ensured his safety until such a time as he could do away with the losers who occupied his dartboards.
He shook his head. Time to wake up. Exterminating vermin was exhausting work. Due diligence was necessary in order to prevent unintended consequences to society. Caution remained key. He put in long research hours regardless of how much he hated a given target. He got himself in trouble with Maggie, nearly eliminating the wrong spouse. Now Rob led a happy, productive life, teaching art classes to kids and organizing community events. The world was a better place since Maggie disappeared. But Wade could not allow himself to let down his guard for even a second.
The telephone rang. He ignored it, preferring to forage for food. It chirped as he dug through half a dozen Chinese takeout containers that littered the coffee table. Nothing left. Time to call for more. No need to look in the yellow pages; he memorized the number a long time ago. Too bad the caller didn’t have the sense to hang up and let him use his own line.
The answering machine beeped and broadcast the message.
“Wade, this is Tom Grierson. Give us a buzz back. We want to make sure you’re alive in there, okay? Pick up the phone and hang it up really quick. You don’t have to say a word, just pick up. Then I’ll know you’re safe.”
Wade’s fingers hovered over the cream-colored receiver. Maybe it was better that they think him dead. Then he could get in the pickup and drive away, never looking back. Let them worry. He could forget this thing, drive to Texas, head for the Rio Grande like some marauder in a western film.
But that meant abandoning the machine, his life’s work. He could never do that. Instinct twitched his hand. He lifted the receiver and set it back down with a click. The answering machine beeped and fell silent.
There. He wasn’t dead. They got their answer. Now they could leave him alone.
He had bad guys to kill.
# # #
Aaron entered Indianapolis General early on a Wednesday morning and took the stairs to the second floor, the sound of his shoes echoing off the walls. His pale white shirt itched, the product of having been worn too many days in a row. With so much to think about, who found time to do laundry? Aaron gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to scratch his arms. Failure in the Rollins’ case could mean disaster for his career
. Time to get desperate.
The game had changed. Wade was no longer an employee for the Department of Defense. If O’Malley found out, he’d close the investigation and issue an official reprimand. What was the point of chasing Wade if he didn’t work for them? O’Malley wouldn’t spend government money if he didn’t have to. It’d cost the taxpayers tens of thousands of dollars to prosecute Wade. But it cost them nothing to turn a blind eye. Simple math.
Aaron couldn’t give up, not without uncovering what Wade built in his garage.
He stopped, shoes squeaking on the smooth floor. A small waiting area sat tucked in the far corner of the east wing, directly across from the nurse’s station. This innocent-looking lobby offered a perfect perch for his mission. He sat down in a faded pink chair, plucked a movie magazine from the pile next to him, and pretended to read.
“Can I help you?” asked a petite nurse, leaning over her workstation.
Aaron waved, trying to act jolly. “No, thanks. I’m waiting for someone.”
She didn’t seem too convinced. Aaron pulled the magazine in front of his face and pretended to find something interesting in a cosmetics ad.
The walls of the unit glowed a light cream color broken only by the presence of heavy steel railings that trailed down the hall on either side. Elderly patients gripped the bars and shuffled in circles, like specters haunting in slow motion. Nurses rushed back and forth between the workstation and various rooms. Meal trays with leftover scrambled eggs were collected at a rapid pace, stacked on a steel shelving unit, and whisked away to make room for another meal. It was an efficient operation, almost like a choreographed dance.
After twenty minutes of checking his watch and insisting to the nurses that he did not need any help, he found his target. A tall woman with dark, curly hair in a ponytail approached the nurse’s station. Aaron tossed the magazine on the table and marched in her direction. She didn’t look from her paperwork as he slid next to her at the counter.
“Excuse me, nurse?”
She held up her index finger to silence him for a moment. Five seconds later Traci finished writing and slapped the folder shut. “Something I can help you with?”
“Ma'am, I'm an auditor with the federal government.”
Traci walked to a small sink built into the wall, squirted anti-bacterial soap into her hands, and washed them. “Is it a problem with my taxes? You could have mailed me a letter.”
Aaron blushed. “That's not it at all.”
“Perhaps this can wait until after work.”
She tried to sneak past him, but he stepped in front of her. “I'd like to ask you some questions about Wade Rollins.”
Her face paled. Aha. A nervous response. He’d have to put that in his notes.
“Is he all right?”
“As far as I know he's doing fine. Is there a time later this evening that we can talk in private?”
She stood straight, shoulders squared, no longer on the defensive. “What is it that you want to talk about?”
“Ma'am, what do you know about Mr. Rollins' activity?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “It depends on who I'm talking to. I haven't seen any identification.”
Oh, great. Another person who watches too many cop shows. He reached into his wallet and showed her his federal identification card.
“I don't see CIA or police markings on your ID, Mister Dublin.”
He sighed, frustrated once more by his lack of clearance. “I'm a federal auditor. I track government contractors to make sure taxpayer dollars are handled wisely. Mr. Rollins is, or was, one of our most prolific engineers until a few weeks ago. I have some questions about his activities that I hoped you could help me with.”
She sized him up from head to toe. Given the angle of her eyebrows, she was not impressed by his thin figure and pasty white skin. Federal agents were handsome and bench-pressed busses. The heaviest thing he lifted on a regular basis was the recycled paper he loaded into the copier. Not very intimidating.
“I don't really know much about Wade's activities. I think you're wasting your time.”
“Any help you can give is appreciated.”
A heavyset RN rounded the nurse’s desk and tapped Traci on the shoulder. “Room 216 needs assistance. He’s laid on the buzzer all morning.”
Aaron’s one moment to get on Traci’s good side wore thin. He pulled out a business card and wrote down the name of the diner across the street. “What time is your lunch break?”
She gathered her folders and flicked her hair, agitated. “Eleven thirty.”
“Good. Meet me across the street.”
“Nurse,” insisted the RN. She pointed down the hall with an angry jerk of her thumb.
Aaron pushed the business card at Traci. Tucking the card into a pocket, she shuffled toward the far end of the unit and out of sight.
The RN stepped in front of him, blocking the light like a solar eclipse. She shook her head, resembling the nuns from his Catholic school days. Her muscular arms barely fit inside of her shirtsleeves. This woman could take him down without a struggle.
She pointed to the exit. “Go on.”
Aaron nodded and started down the hall, not daring to look back in case snakes came out of her hair and turned him to stone.
It didn't go down quite the way he wanted. Still, with Traci’s help he would reopen the case and, possibly, save his career. A few questions and then a plan would form. The way her face flushed when he mentioned Wade spoke volumes. One nugget of truth could buy some time with O’Malley. His credibility was on the line and Aaron was not about to surrender. Too much was at stake.
# # #
Dark clouds threatened rain. Wade’s bones ached from deep within, a sure sign of a storm. Good. The streets of Indianapolis needed a thorough cleaning.
People in business suits hustled across the downtown plaza as if to escape a fire, chatting urgently on their cell phones about the impending weather.
Wade paused and plucked a rock from inside his shoe. The pistol at his side clunked against his belt as he bent down. It seemed obvious, like walking around nude, as if a sign stood above him proclaiming that he possessed a gun. But his coat hid it from sight. Nothing to worry about. Nobody paid attention to the armed man walking through the city.
The gun had become a necessity. Plenty of things threatened him and the mission. Wade flipped through the dossier as he walked, holding it in place with both thumbs against the crisp wind. The folder contained photographs, ledgers, and contracts, all implicating a city inspector involved in dirty deeds. The inspector enjoyed both a secretary and an assistant, both armed and vigilant. Almost all of the contractors in town were in his pocket. If any of them happened to walk in during their confrontation, things might get physical.
Hence the gun.
A few shots fired and Wade could buy himself enough time to run home, jump in the machine, and eliminate the target before the police arrived. Not bad for a backup plan.
Wade shook his head. How silly he was. Why bother with these face to face confrontations? He didn’t like them, they never yielded repentant criminals. Each and every one of them got eliminated in the end. Why get all high and mighty and insist that the targets get a chance to turn from their sin?
Because of Maggie and Rob. He almost offed the wrong spouse. Rob’s screams still gave him nightmares. These messy confrontations acted as a sort of check and balance for him. At least they helped to tell the bad guys from the good guys.
A brilliant flash of lightning lit the dark afternoon. Crack. Rumble. Growl.
Let it rain. Better that way. Fewer people went to the inspector’s office on poor weather days. It might buy Wade enough time to get this over with and avoid a nasty fight.
The traffic light changed a block ahead. A woman in a baggy green hospital smock trotted into the crosswalk headed away from Wade. Hair whipped against her face, but she smoothed it back with her nimble fingers. A slew of others crossed as well.
The sea of business people surged through the crosswalk as the first hard drops of rain collided with the pavement. He ran the last block, awkward camera equipment rattling against his shoulder and back. Rain came heavy, fast, drenching him in seconds. Traci made it safely across and started down the sidewalk on the other side. The light at the crosswalk changed to red and traffic rolled on its way. Wade stopped five feet short of the intersection.
Rats. Missed it.
Five lanes of highway separated them. Wade shouted, but Traci didn’t turn. The rain blocked the cry of his voice.