by J. D. Sloane
Alicia felt her throat constrict and blinked quickly as Ronan paused, looking at her carefully as she lowered her gun to his chest.
“I’m here,” she said her voice low and shaking. “I’m here and she’s not. Which means that if she is out there somewhere, she’s decided not to come back to you. That’s a decision she made.”
Ronan’s brow furrowed, and Alicia saw his gun twitch slightly as she tipped her chin up, meeting his eyes squarely as his face flickered with some emotion she couldn’t place.
“You don’t have to love me like you loved her, Ronan. You don’t have to love me at all. But you do have to see me. You do.”
Alicia glanced at the computer desk as the phone began to ring again and watched Ronan wrestle with the decision to answer it, his face moving over her with the first honest moment of vulnerability she’d ever seen.
Too little too late, she thought, sliding her hand behind her as she saw him grit his teeth and then pick up the phone, dropping his gun as he turned his back to her.
“Yes, Jaxson? What is it?”
Alicia slid the window open with both hands and scrambled onto the sill, rolling her legs over the side as Ronan turned towards her quickly. She looked down at the canvas roof over the visitor’s center three stories below her, the top of it coated with a thick coat of snow and then tucked her gun into her jacket and blew Ronan a quick kiss.
“Say hello to the wife for me,” she said, ducking under the window and then took a deep breath as she leapt over the side.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
Jessica looked over her shoulder as the doctor spoke up from the backseat, his narrow face pale and haunted as he wrung his hands in his lap. She opened her mouth to say something as they rounded the corner to Byron’s apartment and then pressed her lips together as Michael met his eyes in the rearview mirror, his face tightening with scorn.
“You should’ve heard my first plan,” he said, his voice low and clipped as he decelerated off the exit ramp. He made the turn onto the street in front of the complex and Jessica pulled out her sidearm and checked the chamber automatically, tucking it into the inside pocket of her jacket as she craned her neck around to look at him.
“You’ll be fine,” she said, feeling a wave of pity at the outright terror scrawled across his face. And what had his crime been really? She thought. Trying to help some desperate girl out of the worst situation of her life? No good deed goes unpunished. Definitely not in this city.
“Once you make your statement, the worse will be over. They’ll put you in protective custody until the trial and then set you up with a whole new identity.”
Michael glanced in the rearview mirror, his cool blue eyes hard and flat.
“It’s what you were doing anyway, wasn’t it? At least this way you’ll have a reasonable chance of actually staying hidden.”
“I’d feel better about it if I were going directly to the police station,” the doctor said, his voice low.
“You are,” Jessica said, brushing her hair behind her ear impatiently. “I’m going to take you myself. We just need to…”
She broke off as she saw the doctor’s face change, his eyes going round as he ducked his head to look out the front windshield and whipped her head around as her mouth dropped open, a large cloud of black smoke rising into the sky above them. She glanced at Michael quickly as his brow furrowed, his eyes following the trail of smoke back to the end of the complex and then hit the gas as Jessica saw a fire truck fly past them, nearly clipping them on one side as Michael cut the wheel hard into the nearest drive.
“Is it his?” She asked, her stomach dropping. Michael stayed silent and then pulled into one of the nearest spaces with a sudden shriek of breaks, the snow around them turning the last three seconds into a terrifying sideways skid. Jessica looked around swiftly as the car jolted to a stop, the long yellow arm of police tape cutting off the entrance on one side and then grabbed Michael’s shoulder as he started to get out, her eyes rounding with compassion as he shoved her off.
“Don’t, Michael,” Jessica said, holding his eyes as his face twisted with a sudden tremor of hatred. “I know them. They’ll talk to me. Let me find out what happened.”
Michael hesitated, shaking his head as he struggled to stay calm and Jessica glanced around the front of the complex, her hazel eyes softening with empathy.
“You’re still wanted for questioning,” she said, her voice low and reasonable. “You go in there, this whole thing becomes a circus. Which may be exactly what he wants.”
She looked up as she saw O’Neill directing cars around the barrier and then tipped her eyes at Michael again as she saw him shift his shoulders stiffly for a moment.
“That’s my partner,” she said, nodding towards the front drive. “Let me find out what happened. I just need a few minutes.”
Michael looked at her as if struggling to find something in her face to trust and then sighed as she nodded again, glancing into the back seat.
“I won’t be long. It’d be better if you pulled into the parking garage. Try to keep out of sight.”
She swung the door open, a wave of gray smoke making her raise her arm across her mouth automatically and then jogged up the drive, stepping over the yellow police barrier as her partner turned towards her.
“Lady, the tape’s there for a reason…”
O’Neill broke off as he saw Jessica hold up her hand and walked over to her as he glanced past her shoulder.
“Jesus, Nolan, where have you been? I tried calling you at your house two nights ago. Your Dad is about to put an APB out on your ass.”
“I had some things to take care of that couldn’t wait. What happened here?”
O’Neill narrowed his eyes at her, cocking his head slightly as she looked towards the main entrance leading up to Byron’s waterfront apartment.
“Who brought you?” He asked, his voice suddenly falling into the calm, non-accusatory tone he used on suspects he was trying to get a confession from. “Did you come alone?”
“Please, Aaron,” Jessica said, lowering her eyes as the wind and snow carried another wave of black smoke across the blacktop. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But not right now. Tell me what happened.”
O’Neill sighed, looking at her closely and then tipped his head towards her as he yelled to one of the other officers near the road.
“Corey, come over here. Watch this entrance. We’re going inside.”
Jessica followed O’Neill up the walk and then glanced at him as he pulled a white mask out of his jacket and handed it to her.
“You’re going to need this,” he said holding one over his mouth as he reached above her head and swung the door open for her. “At least on the stairwell.”
Jessica held the mask up to her mouth as they stepped up into the tiled foyer leading to the elevators and blinked quickly as a plume of smoke engulfed them in a sudden misty wave, her eye watering up automatically as she tried to follow Aaron’s hand.
“They’re trying to air it out, but it’s still pretty bad,” he said, pointing to the open double-doors as he set a brisk pace towards the stairwell. “It gets better the higher we go.”
Jessica tried not to breath too deeply as they walked up two flights of stairs and blinked as they came to the end of a corridor she knew only from memory, the rose colored tile leading up to Byron’s apartment now covered in an inch of soot. She rolled her eyes toward Aaron as he nodded towards the end of the hall and pressed her lips together as they approached his door, the walls around the threshold charred and pitted black.
“They just got it under control about two hours ago, but it’s a pretty obvious case of arson,” O’Neill said holding out his hand to her in front of the hole where the door should’ve been. “You’re going to want to watch your step. This place is a fucking disaster.”
Jessica forced herself to take his hand as
they stepped over a pile of rubble near the door and stepped into what had once been the foyer, her stomach dropping as she lowered her mask without thinking. The homey little apartment she remembered from the night before was now reduced to a charred-out shell of room, the walls so black and thick with dust she found it hard to believe they had survived. She looked at the walls around her, the twisted mangle of artwork and furniture making her eyes well up in spite of herself and shook her head as O’Neill met her gaze.
“Was anyone hurt?” She asked, her stomach flipping with dread as O’Neill threw her a careful look of sympathy.
“Did you know this guy? Does this have something to do with the guy who rescued you that night?”
“For fuck’s sake, Aaron, was he hurt?”
Aaron sighed and pulled out his phone.
“I take it you haven’t been watching the local news for the last eight hours.”
Jessica’s brow furrowed as he tapped at the face of his phone and then turned it in her direction, shaking his head as she grabbed for it with both hands.
“They’re keeping all but the initial footage off the stations now, but some sadistic fuck uploaded it online and we can’t trace the link. They’ve been trying to crack it for hours. That’s happening in real time, as far as we know.”
Michael pulled up into the small, utilitarian parking garage across from Byron’s section of the complex and glanced up and down the empty corridors quickly, pulling into the spot across from his modest, well-kept Mercedes. He threw the car into park, trying to keep his angry panic under some acceptable measure of control and felt an irrational rush of rage as he caught a glimpse of the doctor in the rearview mirror, his helpless look of terror mimicking his own feelings a little too close for comfort.
“Was he someone you knew?” He asked, clearing his throat.
Michael bit back a cutting remark, the doctor’s tactless use of the past tense driving his patience close to the breaking point and then paused as he glimpsed something on the wall behind him, his eyes narrowing as he glanced in the sideview mirror. He turned around in his seat, trying to make out the short scrawl of graffiti in the darkness of the garage and then slid his gun out of his glove compartment, screwing a silencer onto the tip with a quick turn of his wrist. He glanced into the backseat as he kicked his door open with the heel of his foot and gave the doctor a mild look as he cringed into the shadows.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he said, his voice smooth and flat.
Michael approached the space slowly, his pale eyes darting in both directions, and then pulled his gun up as he heard the screech of a car behind him, his hand dropping to his side as he heard it disappear down the opposite corridor. He tilted his head as he approached the driver’s side of Byron’s car, looking for the telltale coil of wiring beneath the door handle and then paused, his eyes widening as he read the letters written above his windshield in wide, erratic letters.
Where??
Michael felt his stomach tighten as he read the message again and glanced towards the garage entrance as he dropped to one knee, his eyes running from one side of the undercarriage to the other.
At least he wants one of us alive, Michael thought, his rage and panic blossoming into something ugly as he opened the car door and slid into Byron’s seat, swinging the door shut behind him. He adjusted the rearview mirror, keeping the doctor in his sights and then glanced around the car as he searched for anything that could help him. He ran his fingers along both visors, his gloved hand sliding across the leather upholstery with a smooth snap and then opened the glove compartment and rifled through it briskly, his mood darkening as he slammed it shut.
Michael closed his eyes, trying not to let his rage get the better of him and then tried Byron’s phone again as he reached for his keys. He swore under his breath as the phone went to voice mail instantly and tapped the remote of Byron’s spare ignition key, sliding the steering column up with a hard slam of his palms.
They could’ve left something on his GPS, he thought, tapping at the console as the engine leapt to life. But I doubt it. They didn’t want his car. If they did they would’ve taken it. No, this was meant to be a public hit. One for my benefit. Just like the others…
Michael gritted his teeth as he dragged his fingers through the back of his hair, his nerves so tight he could practically feel them firing wildly to one another through the tips of his fingers. He looked into the rearview mirror again as he tapped at the memory key on the GPS and then paused as his hand hit something hard beneath his seat, his brow furrowing as he craned his neck to one side and then tugged it loose.
Michael felt his stomach twist into a hard knot as he turned over the small palm-sized package in his hand, the plain brown wrapper decorated with a large red smiley face. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he ripped through the packaging and then turned it over quickly as he realized it was a phone, hitting the power button without thinking as his eyes narrowed. Michael felt his skin crawl as the phone sprang to life in his hand and then shifted to the home screen almost instantly, two loud dings going off in quick succession as his eyes flew over the screen.
Two new messages for [email protected]
Michael gritted his teeth and then hit the first message, his fingers holding the phone so tightly the plastic body curled inward. He felt his stomach turn as the message sprang to a scrolling black number screen he remembered from old movies and watched the numbers count down to two before the image faded out, a color video of a man tied to a chair lurching into a sudden close-up. Michael let out a quick breath as he saw that it was Byron, his hands tied behind to the back of a wheelchair as his eyes sharpened to sudden attention, looking at someone behind the camera with a mixture of fear and disgust.
Michael felt his hands begin to shake as he saw that his face was covered in a cluster of random, angry-looking bruises and looked over the room frantically as he looked for some way to identify it.
That’s a tile wall behind him, he thought, his eyes darting back to Byron’s face as he saw his expression drop. A cracked tile wall. An old locker room? A clinic? Some kind of an abandoned school, maybe…
“Don’t be nervous, Byron,” Michael heard a low gravelly voice say off camera as the lens zoomed in. “This is going to be the take we use. I can just feel it. Now go ahead. Whenever you’re ready.”
Byron looked at the camera, his face shaking slightly and licked his lower lip, his brown eyes darting to the camera with a rush of pure unfiltered hatred.
“This message is for everyone’s favorite party crasher- the city’s Archangel. One year ago you stole something from me and now I’m going to take…”
Michael heard a low noise of annoyance off screen as Byron let out a sudden cry of pain and gritted his teeth as the image jolted to black, returning almost instantly with a close-up of an old-fashioned film cut board.
The number 6 was scrawled next to the word ‘Take’ and Michael jumped as someone cracked it sharply, his eyes running across the screen as he read the chalk words below it.
Mad, Mad World!!! The sign read, and he covered his lips without thinking as the scene began again.
“This message is for everyone’s favorite party crasher- the city’s Archangel,” Byron said, clearing his throat, his lower lip bleeding slowly as he spoke. “One year ago you stole something from me and now I’m going to return the favor. By 11 o’clock tonight if you aren’t at my doorstep with the information I need then your taciturn friend here will be odd man out. So set your watches ahead now, Archie fans! Let’s see how fast he makes the cut.”
Michael let out a shaky sigh as Byron looked above the camera and then looked over his shoulder as a man in a mask grabbed the handles on both sides of his chair and began to wheel it away, his fingers flying to the screen without thinking as it rolled out of eyeshot. He followed the man as far as he could, not quite daring to play the message again and then exhaled quickly as Ronan White stepped in
front of the cameras, his wide, dark eyes spinning so wildly it was like staring down the eye of a hurricane.
“Six takes and one practice run,” White said, his low voice hard and cheerful as he leaned towards the cameras like a ringmaster. “Lawrence Olivier he isn’t. But I think you take my meaning. Fair horse trades welcome too, so feel free to bring the doctor himself. Oh. And I really hate to be that kind of a host but there’s room for invited guests only tonight so please- no plus ones. I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.”
Ronan glanced over his shoulder as Michael heard a low mechanical twirl and then glanced at his watch dramatically as he raised his brows for the camera.
“Ten hours and counting, Archie. And try not to dally because we are live, live, live. Feel free to check the feed anytime you doubt it.”
Michael felt his throat tighten with rage and rolled his jaw in sudden fury as Ronan took a step closer, his violent ruined face darkening slightly as he lowered his eyes to meet the lens.
“And remember,” he said, his low, cheerful voice laced with such a smooth undercurrent of violence that if he hadn’t been watching closely he might’ve missed it completely. “No plus ones. As much as I enjoy her company not even the lovely Miss Nolan makes the list tonight. But don’t worry. Good times guaranteed for all. I think you’re going to like what we have planned for you this evening. I really do.”
Ronan leaned over the lens, hitting something out of eyeshot as the screen leapt to black and Michael hit the next message without hesitation, his face so hard and focused he barely noticed the garage around him. As the second image flashed into view he saw that Byron was immersed up to his chest at the edge of a green-tiled Olympic sized pool, the wheelchair they had him strapped to locked into some kind of large, mechanical track. His eyes darted over the screen frantically, trying to identify it and felt a brief wave of unreality sweep over him as he saw two inflatable palm trees bob cheerfully above Byron’s head, crossing beneath a colorful plastic hula girl banner before rocking back in the opposite direction.