The Sound of Echoes

by Eric Bernt

  After their boss had left the small office, Charlie turned to Enola. “This is big for us.”

  “You think?” she said sarcastically.

  “Just to be clear, he said at least three.”

  “Which means four,” she replied with a nod.

  “It also means he wouldn’t mind five.”

  Enola nodded again. “I’d hire a dozen if I thought it would help.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Would be too obvious. We don’t want the attention.”

  She couldn’t help but smirk. “No shit.” On her computer, she pulled up several databases used by the AHF for such hires. In total, the lists included 150 individuals and teams. An incredible amount of information was known about each one: a complete list of the work they’d performed for the AHF over the years, their rates, their career highlights outside their AHF work, and personal details no employer had the right to possess, along with multiple photographs. “Aren’t you glad we spent the last month refreshing all this data?” she asked cheerfully.

  “Best time of my life,” he responded dryly.

  “Will be when we deliver the goods.”

  “You’re right. When being the operative word.”

  Enola reviewed the list of candidates. “You want to start with who’s available?”

  He shook his head, already clicking away at his keyboard to narrow down who they were going to approach first. “If they’re in the area, we’ll make them available.”

  “Aren’t we feeling all badass today?”

  “If we tell any one of these guys that Bob Stenson would consider it a personal favor if they drop what they’re doing to take a job for the American Heritage Foundation, how long do you think it will take them to get on it?”

  She also started working her keyboard. “Less time than it’s taking us to chat about it. Start with the most expensive.”

  “Most expensive doesn’t always mean best.”

  “In this case, it does. If our predecessors paid some of these guys more, there was a reason, which we don’t have time to research now. They wouldn’t still be on this list if they had ever failed.”

  He nodded his agreement, looking at the same narrowed-down list she was scanning. There were a dozen names on it. “I’ll start with the O’Briens.” Those were two brothers, Shamus and Sean, who were legendary East Coast private investigators. Charlie dialed his phone.

  Enola dialed the next number on the list, which happened to be for a tatted-up female bounty hunter who competed in mixed martial arts for fun. “I’ll take Cobra Kelly.”

  In short order, Enola and Charlie had their five teams—some individuals and some pairs of contractors. Each team they asked had said yes without hesitation. One was already in the area. Two were less than an hour away. The other two were between ninety minutes and three hours out but were already en route. The two new AHF hires studied a shared map on their screens that showed the location of each team; each one was assigned a number. “The game is afoot,” Charlie said, more to himself than his partner.

  Enola picked up the Cheerios dollar and clutched it tightly in her hand. She closed her eyes briefly and said a quick prayer.

  “Does it work?” He nodded toward her coin.

  “What?” She wasn’t being coy; she wanted him to be more specific.

  “When you pray like that?”

  “I’m a Native American half-blood from the wrong side of the tracks in a small Ohio town, sitting next to a third-generation intelligence man born and bred for this life. What do you think?”

  “I think you’ll do whatever it takes.”

  She looked him directly in the eyes. “And then some.”

  CHAPTER 39

  DAVID’S PLACE

  WOODSDALE, MARYLAND

  June 1, 9:29 p.m.

  The facility’s kitchen was disgusting. It looked like it hadn’t been properly cleaned in years. There were cobwebs on top of the commercial refrigerators, only one of which appeared to be working. On the walls were stains of various colors; several seemed to be either ketchup or blood. Butler noticed large, dark crumbs on the floor—probably rat droppings, but he opted not to look too closely.

  He had required some convincing that Lolo was allowed in the kitchen, much less permitted to cook anything. Butler was certain she was exaggerating when she told him she cooked every day for herself, the orderlies, and even Dr. Davenport, who apparently ran the facility. She apologized for the limited number of meal choices she could offer him, but their food was delivered at five in the morning, and they didn’t keep much extra around, given their lack of regular visitors and all.

  Finding some eggs and butter and a few other perishables, she offered him an omelet, which he said would be fine. He asked for two omelets, in fact—one for him and one for Skylar. From the moment Lolo started to cook, Butler felt like he was watching a completely different person. Her hands moved with precision as she swirled a slice of butter around in a pan and delicately sliced mushrooms and tomatoes. She handled the knives and other implements with seasoned dexterity. It reminded him of the way he handled a gun.

  As it turned out, Lolo couldn’t just cook—she was a chef, and an incredible one. She prepared two plates with a garnish each of parsley and an orange wedge, then served him one with a confident flair. She studied him closely as he took his first bite. “Well, what do you think?”

  Butler gasped. He couldn’t remember ever tasting anything so delicious. On a diet that primarily came from Chipotle, Panda Express, Subway, and Starbucks, it was easy to forget just how good food could taste. He quickly took another bite and spoke with his mouth full. “This is absolutely incredible.”

  She smiled sweetly. “You are not the first person to tell me that. Or the second. Or even the third.”

  He took another bite, and then another, only now realizing how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten all day, nor had Skylar. “How did you learn to cook like this?”

  “The meals were bad, very bad, at first. When my parents first dropped me off here. I did not like them. Not at all. The meals. Long time ago. I was sixteen years old. Much younger than now. They did not want to take care of me anymore, so I live here now. I lost weight. Too much. Dr. Davenport said it was no good. But the food, I couldn’t. It was bad leftovers you give to smelly old dogs. They sleep outside even though rain is freezing. Mom and Dad don’t want them inside. Too smelly. Dr. Davenport told me to eat more. I asked him if I could cook for me. Peanut butter and jelly, I started with. Other kinds of sandwiches, too. Roast beef. Turkey. Tuna. I like making tuna. Funny. Maybe because tuna is a fish. I like fish. All kinds. Pretty soon, Dr. Davenport said I could cook more. Then he said more, okay. What I want. Other people, they ask. Doctors, too. I say yes, always. I like to cook.”

  It made complete sense to him. If necessity was the mother of invention, it was also the wellspring of talent. “Do you cook for everyone here?”

  She smiled with satisfaction as he devoured the remainder of his omelet. “No, not everyone. Some of the residents, no. Restricted diets. They only eat bland. Protein shakes. Fruit cups. Corn. Other people make those.” She paused for a second, looking at his empty plate and the other plate she had prepared. “The other omelet—you eat that, too?”

  Lolo followed him back toward the room where Skylar and Eddie had remained. They passed another resident of the facility, a middle-aged man with a misshapen head and swollen features. Leaning on his walker, which he used to steady himself, he stared aggressively at Butler and mumbled something unintelligible.

  “Don’t you worry now, Edgar. Seriously. Everything’s fine,” Lolo said reassuringly.

  He mumbled again, clearly concerned about the presence of a stranger in their midst.

  “You just go back in your room now.” She pointed into his room.

  Edgar didn’t move. He stared vacantly, not blinking.

  “He’s got a pause button that sometimes gets pressed,” Lolo said to Butler. She snapped her fingers in front of
Edgar’s face, which seemed to break him out of his trance. He nodded and shuffled back inside his room.

  She and Butler continued to the room where Skylar had stitched up Eddie. His head and leg were now bandaged, and he was sleeping soundly. He was still connected to the IV. Skylar was sitting next to the bed, keeping an eye on him like a protective mother. She looked up as Butler entered. “Any luck?”

  “Trust me when I tell you, you’re in for a real treat.” He led in Lolo, who carried the omelet and some utensils. “Skylar, this is Lolo. Lolo, this is Skylar.”

  Skylar smiled warmly and stood to shake her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lolo.”

  Lolo nodded and shook hands weakly, but didn’t say anything. She was too busy staring at Eddie, who remained sound asleep. “Who is he?”

  “That is Eddie,” Skylar replied.

  “Is he dead?”

  “No, don’t worry, he’s just resting. Eddie’s going to be fine.”

  “I am glad. Helena died in this room. Last week, I think. Yes, pretty sure. Very sad when people die. We were friends. Good friends. Helena.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your friend Helena.”

  “Skylar, Lolo made you an omelet. Get ready to taste some of the best food you’ve ever eaten.”

  Lolo placed the plate on a tray with wheels, which she moved to Skylar, and handed her a fork. “I hope you like it. I really do. Really-really.” She bounced on her toes, clearly nervous.

  “Thank you so much. I’m starving.” Skylar hungrily shoveled the first bite of food into her mouth, when she suddenly stopped chewing to savor the incredible taste. “Oh my God.”

  Butler smiled. “Told you.”

  Skylar quickly tasted another bite, then repeated herself more emphatically. “Oh. My. God.”

  Lolo smiled sheepishly. “Do you like it? I think.”

  “Like it? This may be the best omelet I’ve ever tasted.” She continued scarfing down the meal.

  “I can do better. More ingredients. I didn’t have them right now. My spices. I thought, no more cooking tonight. I was wrong. Funny. I didn’t know we were getting visitors. It is a big deal, I mean. Visitors. Not many.”

  Skylar studied her. “Do you live here, Lolo?”

  “Yes, yes I do. Long time. Over ten years, I think. Yes?” Lolo glanced toward Butler, as if he could confirm what she had said, then turned back to Eddie. “What happened to him?”

  “Eddie was in a car accident, but he’s going to be just fine.”

  “Car accidents are scary.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “I have seen them on television. Many times I have seen them. Very scary.” She turned to Skylar. “Are you a doctor?”

  “I am.”

  “My elbow. It itches. Do you know why?” She lifted the sleeve of her sweater to reveal her elbow, which was white with dry skin.

  “Well, it could be for any number of reasons.” Skylar was about to start listing possible causes of eczema when Eddie began to stir.

  CHAPTER 40

  EDDIE’S ROOM

  DAVID’S PLACE

  June 1, 9:37 p.m.

  Lolo peered at Eddie as his eyes started to blink. “You were right, Skylar. He’s not dead.”

  Eddie was clearly groggy, struggling to open his eyes. He looked around the room but seemed to be having trouble focusing. “Where . . . am I?” He slurred his words due to the lingering effects of the propofol.

  “Eddie, it’s Skylar. You’re with Butler and me. You’re safe now.”

  “Skylar? Is that really you?” He turned toward the sound of her voice.

  “Yes, it’s me.” She instinctively reached for his hand to comfort him, forgetting that the gesture would probably have the opposite effect. But it didn’t. He gripped her hand firmly, as if holding on for dear life.

  “Are you okay?” he asked with genuine concern. “I was worried.”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled warmly.

  “Is fake Einstein dead?”

  “Yes, he is.” The warmth in her face faded.

  “He was a bad, mean man. He was hurting you.”

  She nodded. “How are you feeling?”

  He grimaced. “My leg hurts. So does my head. But it’s fuzzy, kind of.”

  “I understand.” She paused, asking gently, “Can you hear me okay?”

  He nodded. “Yes. My hearing has not changed. At least, I do not think so.” He struggled to sit up. “Could you . . . help me sit up . . . please?”

  She did so carefully. Eddie sat up enough so that he could pull his head off the pillow and rotate it back and forth, allowing him to acoustically familiarize himself with the unfamiliar space. “Where am I?”

  “You are safe. Right now, that’s all you need to know.”

  Believing her, he nodded. He closed his eyes to focus on his hearing. “No birds. I don’t like it here.” He dropped his head back down to the pillow.

  Lolo looked on with curiosity. “What was he doing?”

  “That is something he does to make himself more comfortable in new places,” Skylar answered. “It helps him become familiar with the acoustics of a room.”

  Lolo imitated the action, rotating her head back and forth.

  Eddie remained in a fog. “Why is Detective McHenry here?”

  “He’s helping us.”

  “I don’t think that is such a good idea, Skylar. He got in trouble the last time he helped us.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “I don’t want him to get in any more trouble because of me. He gave me graham crackers and milk in his mother’s house where his stepfather used to hit him when he was a little boy.”

  “Don’t worry, Eddie,” Butler interjected. “I can take care of myself.” He leaned over so Eddie could see him. “The question is, how are you feeling?”

  “Why is that the question, Detective?”

  “Because I’ve been concerned about you. We both have.”

  “You express your concern very differently from Skylar,” he slurred. Eddie then turned briefly toward Lolo, realizing someone unfamiliar was in the room but not knowing what to make of it. He turned back to Butler, remembering he hadn’t answered the question. “I am not sure how I’m feeling. It’s strange, and not a kind of strange I have felt before. Like I’m not really here. Have you ever felt that way before?”

  “Yup.” Butler nodded.

  Skylar responded with a careful bedside manner. “You were in a car accident earlier today.”

  “I was?” After a moment, he remembered what had happened. “No, I was not in a car accident. I was in a van accident.”

  “You’re right, that’s more accurate.” She was relieved to know he had some memory of the day’s events.

  “The nasty man with the cattle prod isn’t going to hurt me again, is he?”

  Butler responded with certainty. “I can promise you that he will never hurt you again.”

  “A promise is a promise, Detective.”

  “Yes, it is.” He looked Eddie in the eyes.

  Eddie turned toward Skylar—or, at least, what he was fairly certain was Skylar. “It feels like there is a pillow inside my head.”

  Skylar smiled. “That’s the effect of the sedative I gave you, so I could stitch up your wounds.”

  “I have wounds?” He tried to sit up farther, wanting to see his injuries, but quickly fell back down on the bed. “Ow. I forgot.”

  “Just rest. You’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll show them to you then.”

  “How many stitches do I have?”

  “Thirty-six in your leg and twelve in your head.”

  “Thirty-six plus twelve is forty-eight. Forty-eight stitches: that’s two to the fourth times three stitches, or two times two times two times two times three stitches, which is a good number for stitches—or anything else.”

  Skylar added some more propofol to his IV, which immediately started to take effect. “Just try to relax, Eddie. What you need most right now is
sleep.”

  A blissful smile crept across his face. His eyes glazed over and rolled back a little. “Skylar, can I tell you a secret?” he asked conspiratorially.

  “You can always tell me anything.” She leaned down, putting her ear right next to his mouth.

  He whispered, but loudly enough so that Butler and Lolo could also hear him. “I think I might be dying.” There wasn’t a hint of concern in his voice.

  “I don’t think so,” she responded reassuringly.

  “Well, I may not have gone to Harvard Medical School like you did, but I am pretty sure I am dying.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because I can see an angel. Standing right there.” He pointed directly at Lolo. Eddie’s arm wavered from the effect of the sedative. “She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

  Lolo blushed sheepishly. She took a step toward the door, then stopped herself. It was clear that she didn’t know how to respond.

  Eddie continued, “I have always heard people talk about angels, but I was not sure what they meant. I think I understand now.” He continued staring vacantly at Lolo, who looked at him, then away. He turned to Skylar. “Is she real or imaginary?”

  “She’s real, Eddie.”

  “Can you see her, too?”

  “I can.”

  “Are you dying, too?” he asked with grave concern.

  “No, Eddie, I’m just fine. And so are you, I promise. And you would know if I wasn’t telling you the truth.”

  “Yes, I would. I always know if someone is lying. I am the best walking lie detector the government has ever tested. At least, that is what Dr. Fenton used to say. But he is dead now.” He continued staring in Lolo’s direction.

  After a moment, Skylar said, “Your angel’s name is Lolo.”

  He looked flabbergasted. “How do you know my angel’s name?”

  “She told me.”

  “You talked to her?!” He seemed genuinely shocked. “I did not think it was possible to talk to angels. Do you think she will talk to me?”

  “Yes, I’m pretty sure she will.” She glanced at Lolo, who nodded slightly. Skylar turned back to Eddie, who no longer looked at Lolo. He seemed to be at a loss for words. He was blushing, but she couldn’t be sure if that was due to embarrassment or the sedative.