The Inquisitor: A Novel

by Smith, Mark Allen

  Slowly, he got up, first to his knees and then to his feet. He moved heavily toward the open front door and leaned against the jamb. He did his best to perform an internal inventory, trying to measure what he had left and guess how far it would get him. The left leg of Corley’s sweatpants was turning dark red, sticking to his burning thigh.

  Geiger saw the headlights coming up the driveway, close now, and he moved out onto the porch. Holding the broken railing, he looked down and saw Harry lying on top of Mitch, belly to belly, both as still as corpses.

  Geiger started lumbering down the steps. “Harry?”

  Harry’s head stirred, and then he rolled off Mitch, onto his back. The spike of one of the ground lamps protruded from Mitch’s sternum, and his dead eyes were open.

  Harry’s chest shone with blood, but he looked up at Geiger and raised an arm. “I’m okay,” he said, pointing toward the river. “That way—both of them.”

  * * *

  Ezra stopped when he found a tree that looked thick enough to hide him. He stood with his back against it to make sure, then slid down its trunk to the ground. He had been running blind and so had lost all sense of bearing. The night was alive with sound: the continuing explosions in the sky, the far-off cheers of the crowd, the mosquitoes buzzing nearby. And he could swear he heard the perpetual rush of the unseen river.

  Given the mayhem he had left behind at the house, it was impossible for him to guess who might have survived or who might be coming to look for him.

  He clutched the bag and waited.

  * * *

  Hall moved silently through the trees. A night mist gave the woods a soft, smudged look, like a drawing in charcoal on gray paper. But every few minutes, a new hail of fireworks lit the sky, and suddenly the forest seemed alive with shadowy ghosts.

  As Hall made his way toward the river, new possibilities came into sharp focus. Once he found the boy and retrieved the bag, the way forward was simple, clean, doable. He had the laptop’s satellite picture in his head; the dock and its rowboat were due west through these woods, about a hundred yards away. He would row out to the middle of the river so that no one could spot him from the shore, then float south with the current for a few miles. At the next town downriver, he’d row back in and find a way to get back to the city.

  He knew the boy was near. Hall hadn’t been that far behind him, and he hadn’t seen anything move since he’d reached the trees. The boy was hiding someplace, scared to death, and it was almost a sure thing he wouldn’t budge. An adult might get wired by the adrenaline and make a move, but a kid would almost certainly be frozen by his fear. Hall didn’t expect to see any movement—he would have to coax the boy out.

  * * *

  “Ezra?”

  The boy was drenched in sweat. Even so, the faint but distinct call of his name chilled him. It was less than a shout, more than a whisper. He couldn’t tell who was out there or how close the person was, but he was too frightened to peer around the base of the tree. Had Geiger come to rescue him, or was Hall hunting him down? He waved a hand at the swarm of mosquitoes that danced around his head.

  The voice came again, closer this time. “Ezra? Where are you?”

  This time he was almost sure it was Geiger’s voice. But something stopped him from answering. What if he was wrong? He pulled the gym bag tight to his chest. He didn’t know what was on the discs, but he felt as if he held his father’s life in his arms.

  A new burst of fireworks exploded. His back reared up against the tree trunk, and a wave of panic hit him. The woods went quiet for a minute, and then the voice came again.

  “Ezra? It’s me.”

  The promise in that final word so unnerved him that something finally came apart in the boy. Some tether, stretched beyond its limits, broke, and he began to weep. His sobs came in short, ragged bursts and would not be stemmed.

  * * *

  Hall had been weaving through the trees in a sideways two-step, calling the boy’s name. When he heard the noise he didn’t stop but veered twenty degrees west. There was no question—it was a human sound, and its source was very close by.

  Hall slowed to a stop, staring at a pine tree thirty feet away whose impressive girth claimed a larger perimeter than its neighbors. He understood the sound now. It was the boy, and he was crying.

  Moving counterclockwise, Hall closed in, and soon he saw the murky profile of a figure huddled at the base of the pine. He crept forward using a slow heel-to-toe step, but the soft crunch of a twig made Ezra flinch. Without a backward look, the boy started away in a frantic crawl and then rose to his feet, sneakers digging for traction. But Hall was quicker, and Ezra’s sprint lasted only five strides before Hall grabbed his ankles and sent him tumbling onto his chest.

  Hall flipped the boy over and straddled him, clamping a hand over his mouth.

  “Listen very closely, Ezra: I am not going to hurt you. No one else has to get hurt. I’m taking the bag, and you won’t see me again. When I go, don’t call out for Geiger. Just wait a few minutes, then get up and head that way, back to the house.” He jerked a thumb over a shoulder. “Okay?”

  Hall lifted his hand up. The boy swallowed and then spoke.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Reaching for the bag, Hall stood up and gazed down at the boy. “Tell your father I might be in touch.”

  A shout filtered through the woods. “Ezra!”

  Hall dropped to his knees and his hand muzzled Ezra again. Even with the trees batting the sound about, Hall could tell Geiger was near. The man just wouldn’t stop.

  “Ezra—tell me where you are!”

  Hall leaned down and spoke into the boy’s ear.

  “Sorry, kid,” he whispered. “Change of plans. You’re coming with me down to the river, just in case he shows up. And remember—I’ve got a gun and he doesn’t, so if you make a sound, you’re killing him. You do understand that, right?”

  He stood up, pulling Ezra to his feet, locking the boy’s hand in his.

  “Okay, now we run.”

  They bolted through the woods, toward the river. Twice the boy began to fall behind and Hall had to yank him back alongside him. Soon they saw dark gray space beyond the legion of trees, and a moment later they stepped out into the open. The Hudson rolled before them. Another splash of fireworks lit the sky, allowing Hall to spot the dock jutting into the water only a hundred feet north. He saw a hump at the dock’s end: the rowboat.

  Hall broke into a run, half-dragging the boy in his wake. As they raced onto the dock, the warped, loose planks beneath their feet clattered loudly, sounding like a volley of muskets. Hall came to a quick halt, freezing Ezra beside him, and looked back toward the house.

  Nothing moved along the tree line. Turning, he pulled the boy quietly down the dock.

  * * *

  Sitting on the grassy riverbank just north of the dock, Lily looked up from the lights in the water when she heard the sound. The musical tones played by wooden planks beneath dashing feet called up a vivid picture in her mind: she saw tiny mallets in a child’s hands tapping on a toy xylophone. Then she turned and saw two figures sprinting magically across the river. She smiled.

  * * *

  Every time Geiger came down on his left foot, a fireball went off in his ravaged leg. Soon after he had entered the woods he’d felt his stitches giving way, so he’d taken off his shirt, torn a sleeve loose, and used it as a tourniquet to wrap his upper thigh above Dalton’s cuts. Now an off-kilter, rolling walk was the best he could do, and with each step the world wobbled and shook. His brain made the necessary calculations to maintain balance, but it was becoming harder to crystallize thought. An unknown voice spoke to him from somewhere: You can lose up to twenty-five percent of your blood before your organs start to shut down … Then he realized it was his own voice, reminding him of a biological truth he had passed on to others countless times.

  He called Ezra’s name as he went—the darkness didn’t answer—but then a clattering noise pul
led his head in the direction of the river. He knew it wasn’t fireworks; it was the sound of bodies in motion.

  A green nova bloomed in the sky, and its thousands of shards showed Geiger a path just ahead of him that sloped gently down through the trees. He used a deep, purging breath as a trigger to get himself moving. Suddenly he thought of Corley and knew the dream was alive within him. But this time it was different: he still didn’t know his destination, but for once he was certain he could reach it. He felt a powerful surge, a purity of purpose that carried him forward along the path.

  * * *

  Ezra sat folded up on the dock, his arms wrapping his knees. He prayed Geiger would come; he prayed Geiger would be too late.

  Hall was three feet away, on his knees, untying the second of two ropes that secured the inverted boat to two metal cleats. Ezra watched him dig at the petrified knot with his nails, and eyed the gun and gym bag lying next to Hall on the weathered planks. He wondered how heavy the weapon was—would it take two hands to hold up?

  “What’re you gonna do with me—after?” Ezra asked. “I mean, when you’re ready to go?”

  Hall ignored him. When he finally pulled the knot loose, he stood up and turned the boat over onto its hull. He put the oars that had been stowed under it in their locks, tied its six-foot tether line to one of the cleats, and pushed the boat into the river. Caught by the current, the rowboat swung downstream with its bow pointing toward them.

  The thought of going down the river with Hall was too much for Ezra to bear. Should he try to run away? If he did, he’d lose the bag and the discs forever …

  Reaching down, Hall picked up the gun and stuck it in his belt. Then he grabbed the bag. For a moment he looked at Ezra silently, finally meeting his gaze.

  “You scared?”

  Ezra nodded.

  “Good,” said Hall. “Stay scared.”

  * * *

  Geiger came through the trees. The riverbank was directly ahead of him, and from it a dock stretched into the dark water. He could make out two figures at the end of the dock, one standing, the other sitting.

  Geiger started onto the dock, the old planks rattling beneath his feet. The standing figure turned and raised his arm, pointing something at him.

  “Geiger,” Hall called out. “Stop.”

  “Let Ezra go.”

  “Get off the dock, Geiger.”

  Ezra got up on one knee. “Do what he says, Geiger. I’ll be okay!”

  “Geiger, just get off the fucking dock and we’re good. If not—I take him down the river with me.”

  Geiger kept coming. The dream had always had a beginning and a middle, but it had never had a real end. Now he had finally reached the last part. Completion waited.

  “All right then,” Hall said. “Fuck it.” He put down the bag, reached for the tether line, and pulled the boat up against the dock’s end.

  “Get in the boat, Ezra,” Hall ordered, waving toward the rowboat with his gun.

  “Don’t do it, Ezra!” Geiger was halfway along the dock now, and he could see the pale oval of Ezra’s face as he turned to look at him.

  “Get in the goddamn boat,” Hall shouted. “Now!”

  Ezra jumped down into the boat, and Geiger heard the oars rattling in their locks. “I want the boy, Hall—and the discs.”

  “Can’t do it, Geiger,” Hall said, letting go of the boat and allowing it to ride on its tether again. He picked up the bag. “They wanted all of you dead, all the loose ends tied up nice and tidy. But now I’m a loose end, and so when I disappear I’m going to let them know that if they come after me, Veritas Arcana gets the discs back. Now the discs are my insurance policy. That’s how this ends, Geiger. Now back off!”

  Geiger, now only twenty feet from the end of the dock, could see Hall’s eyes flashing in the night. “Not possible, Hall.”

  Hall brought his gun up level with his shoulder. “I don’t get you, Geiger—I really don’t. Why are you doing this?”

  “Let’s just say that it’s what works best for me.”

  “Geiger, I will put you down.”

  “No, you won’t. Not with the police so close—they’ll hear the shot.”

  Above them, the fireworks’ big finale erupted. A new burst exploded every two or three seconds, filling the night with brilliant stars and deafening booms and bangs and crackles.

  “No, they won’t,” said Hall. He fired.

  The impact knocked Geiger sideways and flung him down onto his back. He lay on the dock staring up at the umbrella of bursting lights. In the midst of the careening, raucous universe, he was drifting away on a warm, soft bed of silence. He saw nothing, felt nothing. He knew only that he was leaving.

  He heard a voice calling his name. It was Ezra; the boy was very insistent about something, his tone pleading and urgent. Geiger couldn’t make out the words, but then there were no words. There was only a howl.

  * * *

  The water was alive with light, and the city of children was so dazzling now that Lily imagined it could illuminate the world. But when she heard a long, anguished scream, she rose to her feet. She knew what it was: the children were crying. They were scared, and they were calling to her from their home beneath the water.

  * * *

  Hall stared at Geiger’s body, fifteen feet away. He had aimed for the upper right quadrant, the best way to achieve maximum impact without causing lethal damage. But he couldn’t tell if his aim had been true. Geiger wasn’t moving—he could be bleeding out or dead. Hall had wanted to stop him, not kill him, but in the end it hardly mattered, as long as he could finally be on his way.

  He pulled the boat back in. Ezra sat on the rowing bench, his head down on his knees. As the boat came to the dock, the boy looked up at him. Something about his face surprised Hall. It was his eyes: they were dry, and instead of tears there was a bright hatred that shone like cold starlight. Again Hall wavered about letting the boy go. He didn’t want to harm him, but if he left him behind, Ezra would tell the police about the boat and point them in his direction. Then the cops would stake out the shore and maybe put a chopper over the river.

  “Have a seat in the back, Ezra. Time to take a ride on the river.”

  Ezra stared at him for a moment but then moved to the stern. Hall stepped down into the rowboat, put the bag at his feet, and reached up to untie the tether line from the cleat. He glanced up to dock level and saw Geiger stumble to his feet, the right half of him shining and wet.

  “Jesus Christ…” muttered Hall.

  He pulled the rope free of the cleat, and the boat started drifting away. Hall stood in the boat, shaking his head and watching Geiger shuffle slowly forward, his shoulders slanted crookedly, like tipped scales. Geiger came to an unsteady, stuttering halt at the end of the dock.

  Hall made a megaphone of his hands. “It’s over, Geiger! Just let it go!”

  * * *

  At first Geiger wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Perhaps it was the hallucination of a blood-starved mind, or maybe he was now fully in the grip of the dream’s embrace.

  Two hands rose from the river like pale aquatic creatures and grabbed the rowboat’s gunwale. A head broke the water’s surface; Geiger saw the mad eyes of a savior, the open mouth of a child seeking its own kind, a body pushed by fear and exhilaration beyond its limits—and then Lily tried to lever herself up out of the river.

  With her added weight, the boat abruptly listed forty degrees, causing Hall to rear backward and send the vessel into a full capsize. He, Ezra, and Lily all disappeared beneath the upturned boat without a sound.

  Geiger knew he would finish the dream now, awake and in the world. There would be no coming apart.

  He heard a voice behind him, a hoarse and desperate shout:

  “Geiger!”

  But he knew the call came from outside the dream, so he dove off the dock’s edge, slamming down on the water, and began swimming for the boat. The coolness of the river was both a stimulant and an anesthetic, prick
ing the mind and numbing the flesh.

  As he neared the boat, he dove under. Geiger swam forward through the blackness, and then desperate hands found him, clawing, grabbing. They pulled him into the thrashing madness.

  * * *

  Harry staggered down the dock. The river churned with unseen violence around the rowboat. Flailing, anonymous limbs broke the surface, then disappeared beneath it, as if the river had staked a claim to them. Then the commotion ceased.

  The last pyrotechnics painted the sky with a majestic facsimile of the American flag. As the lights gradually dispersed and winked out, the flag dissolved, leaving only a few stars shining modestly in the blackness. The distant cheers faded to silence.

  Harry watched the boat drift down the river, looking for any sign of life around it, desperately fighting against the pull of grief. Then he saw a figure surge up from beneath the river.

  The swimmer started for shore, obviously exhausted. One arm slapped the water; the other dragged something behind. Harry raced off the dock and ran a few steps along the riverbank. Looking out across the black water, he still couldn’t tell who it was. When he reached a spot opposite the swimmer, he jumped down to the stones and mud. The skinny figure crawled the last few yards and collapsed on the shore, coughing, heaving. The gym bag lay beside him.

  Harry knelt beside Ezra and gently put a hand on his back. Ignoring the shouts and the skittering flashlight beams coming from behind him, he slowly rolled the boy over.

  Ezra looked up at him and hacked up some of the river.

  “Easy,” Harry said. “Easy.”

  He saw the question in Ezra’s eyes before it was asked.

  “Geiger?” said the boy.

  Harry shook his head, and Ezra began to cry, a silent, abyssal outpouring.

  * * *

  They sat on the top front step of Corley’s house—Ezra, wrapped in a blanket, and Harry, his chest bandaged from shoulder to waist, with his arm around the boy. They shared the same flat stare of fresh grief.