Laurel rose, her movements even. “If I did do anything to you, it was to protect both of us.”
Jake ran one hand up his face, pushing his hair back. “Jesus Christ. I’ve already got some of Sheryl’s soul inside me, and now I’ve also got some of whatever it is you have and do. This isn’t even my body. It’s just a vessel for you two—”
“You’re overreacting. You’ve seen and touched things no other man has. Did you ever stop to think that Sheryl’s energy is the only thing keeping you sane after everything that’s happened to you? Other men would have crumbled from the knowledge you possess. I’ve felt her in your body. Pure energy. She didn’t just save you; she’s still saving you. And in my own way—miniscule compared to hers—I’m trying to protect you, too. Even from her.”
Laurel’s comment made Jake recall Cain’s warning not to trust Sheryl. He sagged into his chair, and Laurel circled the table and stood before him. He spoke in a forceful tone. “Does your situation have anything to do with Marla Madigan, Myron Madigan, or Karlin Reichard?”
Laurel shook her head.
“What about this Destroyer of Souls?”
“No.”
“Abel?”
“I’ve never met, seen, or had anything to do with any angel or demon. My situation has no bearing on you or your cases. I’m just trying to help you.”
Jake grabbed her biceps for emphasis. “There’s nothing you can tell me about these bastards?”
“Nothing. I sent you to Abby, and she sent you to this Daniel Whitefish. I don’t know anything about him, or I’d have sent you straight to him instead of her, and maybe she’d still be alive.”
“But maybe Daniel would be dead instead. Or me.”
“Perhaps.”
He felt the heat in her arms, an odd sensation. She had once told him that she was trying to atone for past actions, just as he was. Maybe they were two of a kind. He let go of her to shield his thoughts and emotions. “I need you to keep watching Edgar until this is all over.”
“Of course.”
He turned and left her without saying good-bye.
CHAPTER
15
Jake took the stairs to his suite. Flicking on the lights, he hung his jacket on one of the chairs in the reception area. Carrie had left no notes on his desk.
It’s still the weekend, he reminded himself.
He took a Diet Coke from the fridge and entered his office. Opening the blinds, he glanced at the Tower. Was Old Nick finally coming home to roost? He had felt the megalomaniac’s presence ever since first visiting Reichard’s estate.
He sat cross-legged on the floor behind the safe and turned the combination dials. The safe unlocked and he swung the door open. The Afterlife laptop rested on its shelf. He took it to his desk, plugged it in, and waited for it to boot up.
Jake drummed his fingers on the desk. He couldn’t be certain that Carrie had only copied the one file and that she had destroyed all traces of the copy she had made, but he had to trust her. A greater uncertainty at the moment was whether or not to trust Laurel, who possessed his memories and thoughts. And Cain had warned him not to trust Sheryl.
Tower International—Building Better Life . . .
After keying Avademe into Afterlife’s search engine, Jake saw the same page Carrie had sent him, with no additional information, so he shut the system down. He stood, reached into his pants pocket, and took out the glass eye that Cain had given him. He held it close to his real eye and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.
Screw this.
He set the eye on the desk, took a tool bag from his bottom desk drawer, and returned to the safe. After returning the laptop to its rightful place, he opened the tool bag and used the screw gun to remove the steel plate from the inside of the safe door. With the plate gone, he faced the mechanisms for each combination lock. Next, he removed a slender gray plastic case from the back and unsnapped it, revealing his precision locksmith tools. It took him half an hour to reset the combinations and reattach the plate.
Abracadabra. The world is safe again.
“You shouldn’t have made that deal with Cain,” Sheryl said behind him.
Jake jumped off the floor. When he settled again and his heart had stopped pounding, he clenched his teeth. “Why don’t you appear outside the front door and use the doorbell so you don’t scare the hell out of me?”
She crossed the office to him. “I’m sorry. Since ascending, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be flesh and blood.”
He looked her up and down. She had changed into a little black dress. He approved.
Bending sideways, she peered at the glass eye on the desk. “Cain is the enemy, the emissary of evil. He tortured you and tried to steal your soul.”
Jake found himself admiring the shape of her ass. God, he missed her body. “I could never forget either of those things. Or that you saved me from him.”
Sheryl faced him again, her eyes reflecting the overhead light. “You can never trust an emissary from the Dark Realm. Never. Do you understand?”
“That’s pretty obvious. The real question is, can I trust the Realm of Light?”
Her expression turned serious, a trace of anger simmering beneath her features. “Do you trust me?”
“I don’t know.” It hurt him to speak the words.
“Don’t allow Cain to sow seeds of doubt. The Dark Realm has always tried to divide and conquer.”
“As far as I can tell, you and Cain want the same thing: to find Abel. Maybe you should team up and leave me out of this.”
The light in her eyes changed. “That’s impossible. We can never work together. Don’t take anything that monster says at face value. He doesn’t care about Abel. You don’t know his true motives.”
“I’m beginning to realize yours.”
She said nothing.
“Do you believe in true love?” Sheryl had spoken those words to him in the past, both as a living person and as a Soul Searcher.
She held his gaze. “Yes. Now more than ever.”
“Tell me again why the Realm of Light sent you to enlist me.”
“No one sent me. We think as one, for the good of the Sphere. We are the Sphere: a single body of energy.”
“All merged together. Your thoughts, as you say. What about your feelings? What about your love?”
She remained still.
“It all sounds very trippy in heaven, very hippie.”
“It’s beautiful there. If you could just experience it, you’d understand.”
“It sounds like a cult to me.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Let’s get back to your motives. I thought the higher-ups sent you here to take advantage of my feelings for you, but that isn’t the case, is it?”
“No.”
“You came here all on your own. You’re the one using me.”
“I’m only asking you to help me, and don’t forget the outcome of this will impact every living creature on earth and every sentient being in the higher dimensions.”
“You neglected to tell me that with all that sharing going on up in the clouds, you managed to fall in love with Abel.”
Sheryl turned transparent for a moment, allowing him to see the wall behind her, as though her concentration had broken. “You don’t understand. You can’t.”
“Because I’m such a primitive life-form?”
“And because you’re blinded by your feelings for me. You’re clinging to a ghost. The Sheryl you knew and loved stopped existing when the Cipher killed her. I’ve evolved to a higher plane. I know and feel things you can’t possibly comprehend while your energy inhabits your body. When you ascend, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“If I ascend. I’m jumping through hoops here, and there’s a pretty good chance I’ll screw up and damn my soul trying to navigate this maze. But you don’t even care about that as long as I find Abel, do you?”
She caressed his cheek, her touch making his heart ache. �
��That isn’t true. I love you and I always will. That’s why I kept track of what you were doing when you went up against Katrina. But Abel and I share energy now. We exist on the same plane. I need to know where he is, not just because of my bond to him, but because the agents of Light need to know what he learned about the Destroyer of Souls. There are much more important things at play than you and me or me and him.”
“The problems of two people don’t amount to a hill of beans, right?” Closing his fingers around her wrist, he removed her hand from his cheek. “Here’s the thing: you want me to help you, want me to lay my life on the line for you and Abel and the Realm of Light, but you won’t help me to help you. You won’t identify the blind spots where this Destroyer might be hiding.”
Her eyes grew shiny. “I can’t tell you anything. But you’ve already located some of them on your own.”
“Maybe I only want to help those who want to help themselves.”
A single tear trickled out the corner of one eye. “I can’t help you . . .”
He touched the tear with the tip of his finger and examined it. “This tear is just energy, right?”
Now Sheryl sobbed. “Jake, please . . .”
“Cain cried, too. I have no reason to trust either one of you—do you hear me? I won’t be anyone’s sucker again ever. Not even yours.”
“I need you.”
Jake stepped back from her. “For a year and a half, I’ve fooled myself into believing we could be reunited someday. I lived my life according to that slim hope. That’s how much I love you.”
“When I came here the other day I explained you need to move on. I haven’t misled you.”
“Yeah, you warned me. I was just too thickheaded to hear what you were saying. I should have kicked you out then. Can I do that? Kick you out?”
She shook her head. “Please don’t . . .”
“Since you won’t tell me anything useful, I want you to leave. It’s breaking my heart all over again just to look at you, knowing what I know. Don’t worry. If I come across your boyfriend, I’ll be sure to part my lips and whistle. But don’t you ever show up like this again unless I call you.”
Sheryl looked at him, and he realized that she had stopped blinking and breathing. She had become little more than a life-sized photograph, which only reinforced that she was no longer human. And then she disappeared.
“Goddamn it!” Jake kicked his desk so hard that he put his foot through a wooden panel. Jerking it free only caused more damage. At least he knew his tears were real.
With his emotion spent, Jake opened the door to his bedroom. The cramped space had never more resembled a jail cell. Stripping his clothes away, he had no desire to climb onto the narrow bed and sleep alone again, but that was exactly what he did.
The next morning, Jake showered and shaved and ate breakfast alone at a diner he favored. Marla’s disappearance remained on the front page of the New York Daily News. The FBI had been called onto the case, and several of Myron’s organized crime targets had fallen under suspicion of kidnapping Marla in retaliation for his actions against them as the city’s district attorney. Jake wondered when the FBI would call him in for questioning, just to rule him out as a suspect. He’d never had the pleasure before, and staring at someone besides Geoghegan would come as a welcome relief.
After breakfast, he walked to the garage and got into his Maxima. It felt good to sit in his car. He drove downtown and crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. Driving over the bridge and along Flatbush Avenue, he could not help but remember the nights he had spent fleeing and attacking Katrina’s zonbie hit men and pushers. Just thinking about them made gooseflesh rise on his arms. Soon he passed the decaying ruins of the Brooklyn Navy Yard, which the city had purchased after the navy decommissioned it. Businesses occupied some of the small buildings, a few were in the midst of restoration, and others appeared to be completely abandoned. Rusted cranes jutted up from patches of trees like ancient Mayan temples.
Jake turned into a long driveway that led him into a wide parking lot filled maybe 10 percent to capacity. He got out and hiked across the grassy property, passing buildings that lacked windows and even basic upkeep. Nearing the boundary, he gazed at the property next door, which stood in marked contrast.
Reichard Shipyard, the large sign on the other side of the fence read. Jake scanned the enormous buildings, docks, and ships. Karlin Reichard owned the largest shipping fleet in the world, with shipyards or piers in every corner of the globe. His grandfather had developed the Brooklyn location and built it into a thriving national business, which Karlin’s father took international. The size of the enterprise—and the fact that he saw just one component of it—made Jake appreciate the ambition required to make such a venture successful, let alone dominate its market. Raising his binoculars, he studied the structures: sleek, modern, fortified. He saw glass brick windows, steel doors, and security patrols, some on foot and others in vehicles. The foot patrolmen wore side arms. In the Age of Terror, he knew, precautions were necessary. How fortunate, for the sake of appearances. Who could question the need for so many armed men?
Blind spots, Jake thought, studying the hangars, docks, and pier. Each member of Avademe had a base of operations. For Campbell Bradley, it was the Dream Castle; for Taggert, it could have been any one of White River Security’s compounds around the world or several of them. For Karlin Reichard, it was right here and probably on his estate as well. Cain had said the invisible fields were multiplying. What better form of multiplication than corporate expansion?
Avademe.
Abby had said that Marla was imprisoned underground, possibly someplace industrial. Jake took out his camera and lined up the first photo.
Jake waited until he knew Martin would be home from school to make the drive to Jackson Heights. When the old woman—iron-gray hair, wrinkled brown skin, bright eyes despite her age—answered the door, he wondered if she remembered him.
“Hi, Miss Wood.”
“It’s Rosemary, Jake. Come on in.” She spoke in a slow, tired voice.
Jake had met Joyce’s mother at barbecues and parties when Edgar and Joyce were still together. Happier times.
“Joyce is at work,” Rosemary said as Jake entered the house, a box in one hand. “You want to see Martin?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, go on upstairs.” She made her way to the couch. A magazine lay open on the coffee table, and a talk show played on the TV.
Jake went up the narrow staircase and knocked on the only closed door.
“What?” Martin said in an irritated voice.
“It’s Jake.”
After a moment of silence, Martin opened the door wide enough to accommodate his head. “Yeah?” The boy sounded defiant.
“Can I come in?”
“Suit yourself.” Martin opened the door, crossed the room, and hopped onto his bed. He picked up an open paperback and settled against the bed’s headboard.
Jake entered the room. Posters for science fiction movies covered the walls. Comic books hid the desk. Dirty laundry lay piled in one corner. He grabbed the desk chair, positioned it before the bed, and sat down.
Martin stared at the pages of his book, though Jake knew he was too distracted to read.
“What are you reading?”
Martin looked at him with disdain in his eyes, then raised the book high enough for Jake to see the cover: Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany. Neither the title nor the author meant anything to him.
“Is it good?”
Martin shrugged. “Hard to tell. I just started it. It was my father’s. I have to clear anything I read with my mom.”
Jake had never known Edgar to be a science fiction reader. His ex-partner liked to quote such poets as Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson. I guess there’s a lot about him I don’t know. “Your mother’s just looking out for you.”
Martin lowered the book to his lap. “Like you are?”
“That’s right. You may not realize it, but that�
��s the truth.”
“I should be able to read anything I want, and I should be able to e-mail anyone I want, and I should be able to—”
“—do anything you want? Get real, kid. There’s plenty of time to screw up your life when you turn eighteen. Until then, your mother’s responsible for you. So is your father. You have to live by their example, not someone else’s.”
“Benjamin Bradley says not to be afraid of ideas. He says we need to open our minds up. He warns us that other people are afraid of what we believe, that they just want to control us and stop us from spreading the truth.”
Tread carefully, Jake thought. “I want to ask you something. Do you really believe in the Imago? That some space alien that colonized earth is going to return, and when he does the people who believe in him are going to shed their human forms like the laundry on your floor and become like him?”
“It sounds stupid when you say it, but that’s why you say it the way you do, to change my mind. Dreaming isn’t any crazier than any other religion. It’s all about faith.”
“Benjamin Bradley is a fraud. His father was supposedly a good writer. I don’t know. But Benjamin tried his hand at writing, and he was a complete hack. He made a fortune off his father’s work, and when he couldn’t make any more money off it, he found a new way to make money: religion. Why do you think no one ever heard of the Imago before? Because Benjamin only made it up two years ago. Think about it: the Bible is thousands of years old. So are the Kabbalah and the Koran. Scholars and religious leaders have devoted their lives to studying them. The Book of Imago isn’t ancient. You’re older than it is. Because Benjamin made it all up. The only thing separating Sky Cloud Dreams from every other dime-a-dozen cult out there is that he had a fully realized plan to suck people into his scheme, and millions of dollars to put that scheme into effect, and men and women on his payroll to help him meet his goal. I know they got to you through HyperSpaceBook. They own HyperSpaceBook. It’s one big con game, and Benjamin is the grifter in chief.”
Cosmic Forces: Book Three in The Jake Helman Files Series Page 16