by J. D. Sloane
Next Stop Paradise! The banner read. Michael shook his head, trying to quell his sudden sense of panic and blinked at the scrolling red time clock below it as he saw it pulse quickly for a moment, the clock rolling backwards from sixty as he swore under his breath.
One hour, he thought, shoving his door open with the sole of his boot. No less than an hour. That insane fucking sociopath is going to drown him on live television.
Michael slammed the door shut behind him and tucked the phone into his pocket as he pulled out his own, tapping at the screen as he spoke into it rapidly.
“Hospitals,” he said cutting his eyes to the right as he saw Jessica jog around the corner. He yanked the door to his Maserati open, making a quick motion to the doctor as his face hardened with fury.
“Out. Now.”
“What? Why?”
Michael bit back a sneer as over fifteen different hospitals popped up on the map surrounding them and shook his head as he shoved his seat forward. He dropped his hand as Jessica reached him, her face pinched and frightened as Michael leaned inside the car and gave the doctor a look of barely concealed violence.
“Get out before I pull you out,” he said through gritted teeth and then jerked his arm sharply as Jessica touched him, cutting his eyes in her direction without turning around.
“You saw the feed,” Jessica said as Michael stepped aside for the doctor to scramble out, shoving his seat back into position with a hard shove.
“How did you see it?” He asked, sliding into the front seat as Jessica stepped between him and the door.
“The police have been trying to break it for hours,” Jessica said her voice low and breathless. “They haven’t been able to crack it yet.”
“It’s some kind of a hospital,” Michael said, pulling up the nearest address on his GPS without looking at her. “That kind of wheelchair equipment would only be in a hospital.”
“They’re checking,” she said, her voice low and gentle as she bent over his seat. “Schools, nursing homes, hospitals. They’ve already checked over two dozen in this area alone. You’re never going to be able to find him without help.”
“The police follow me and Byron dies,” Michael said. “You heard him, Jessica. You saw the goddamn feed. That lunatic is going to drown him on live television unless I get to him first.”
“I can have two unmarked cars down here in minutes. We’ll follow…”
“No,” Michael said, his face struggling for calm as he rolled his eyes up towards her with sudden urgency. “No one goes but me, Jessica. Trust me. He wants what I know.”
Jessica looked at the doctor as he gave them both a wary distance and then stepped out of the path of the door, shaking her head slightly as he exhaled.
“Thank you,” Michael said, and Jessica felt a low tide of panic rise into her throat as she saw how resigned he looked, his face suddenly so angry and hopeless that she threw her hand up on the window before he could close it.
“Where will you start?” She said, her voice catching as he tucked his phone into the dash.
“Nearest one first. I’ll work through them from there.”
“I can get you a list,” Jessica said, reaching for her phone. “The ones they’ve checked. Give me three minutes.”
“Try the ones built before 1970 first,” The doctor said, his voice low and halting as they both looked in his direction.
Jessica glanced at him over her shoulder as Michael’s brow furrowed.
“Why those?” Jessica asked as Michael’s brow furrowed.
“That device for wheelchairs is an older model. It wouldn’t be in use at a newer facility.”
Michael looked at his phone and scrolled through the names briskly, shaking his head as Jessica looked over his shoulder.
“I have no idea when these were built,” Michael said glancing up at her, mumbling under his breath as her eyes darted over the screen. “I’d have to…”
“Wait. Stop.”
Jessica eyes widened as she grabbed the phone out of his hand and typed something in quickly, her face darkening as she pulled something up.
“Northridge Plus,” she said, turning the screen towards him as he pulled it from her hand. “No plus ones. It’s a mental health facility. Or was. It closed down almost four years ago when the city sold the land to some big out of state developer. The citizens have been fighting it. That case has been in litigation for over a year. No one in or out.”
Michael gave her one last look and then slammed the door closed as she took a step backwards. She felt her nails bite into her palms as his face disappeared behind the tinted glass and then watched as he threw the car into reverse, her eyes following it down the incline as he disappeared into the night.
Michael pulled up to the snow-covered hill below the Northridge Plus Mental Health Center and looked around cautiously for a moment before driving up the long winding drive to the visitor’s center, a thick blanket of snow covering it from one end of the roof to the other. He pulled into the empty parking lot, watching a haze of flakes swirl around the cracked blacktop and then sighed deeply as he brushed his hands down the front of his long leather jacket, his fingers brushing the body of his gun.
If he wants to kill me, I’ll be dead before I cross the parking lot, he thought, unscrewing the silencer of his gun as he reached for his bag. So no use in being subtle about my entrance. Either he needs what I know, or he doesn’t.
He paused as he thought of Byron, his hand clenching on the handle of his gun and then tucked it into his inner jacket pocket, unlocking his hard leather case lightly as he reached for a small black canister tucked below one of his camera lenses.
Which would mean that Byron talked. That White was able to make him talk.
He tucked the thin cigarette lighter sized case into the shallow fabric catch on the inside of his right sleeve and shook his cuff out lightly, his strange pale eyes following the line of it in the light. He turned his wrist around slightly and then pulled out a second handgun and tucked it into his waistband, his jaw stiffening as he cracked his door open.
Michael let his eyes roam across the three-story brick building in front of him, the architectural equivalent of a giant rectangle and then shut the door as he set a brisk pace towards the door, his eyes sweeping around the building automatically as he moved. Around him the woods were white and still. He found his eyes running to the river behind the building, the gray sluggish water creating a wide, natural perimeter and shifted his gaze towards the long stretch of glass double doors as the wind carried a gust of snow scurrying across the empty courtyard.
As far as safehouses go, this is one of the smarter ones I’ve seen, he thought pausing for a moment at the threshold. Hiding in plain sight with no neighbors to worry about for miles. No wonder the citizens don’t want to give this land up. There’s enough vacant field here to build a small town.
He shoved on the black press bar in front of him, looking up as he stepped into the plain, clinical looking lobby, and turned his body slightly as he heard the low drone of music pumping through the speakers, raising his brows as he recognized the tune.
The Girl from Ipanema, he thought, glancing down the hall as one of the fluorescent lights sputtered quickly and then went still. If this guy isn’t crazy yet, he’s certainly circling the drive.
He read the worn black directional signs with a quick sweep of his eyes, looking up at the ceiling as he noticed the pool arrow directing him to the top floor. And no use second guessing now, he thought, pushing through one of the circular glass entrances leading towards the elevators. He obviously wants what I know. The only question is, how painfully does he plan to get it out of me?
He stepped up to the elevators, hesitating for less than a second before hitting the up button and glanced over his shoulder as the hall remained quiet, his nerves so trigger light his fingers grazed the hilt of his gun as he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in one of the surviving glass
doors behind him.
Michael stepped inside the dented metal carriage as the door slid open and let out a quiet sigh, his eyes darting around the worn interior. His brow furrowed as the music from the overhead became louder, something about the persistent cheerfulness of the tune setting his teeth on edge and hit the third-floor button, glancing towards the shiny orb of a corner camera as the doors slid shut.
He flinched as the sudden ring of an old-fashioned phone blared from the panel under the control board, its shiny black body vibrating with each new ring. He glanced at the camera again as the elevator began to move and picked up the phone as he watched the lens above him.
“Well, well,” A low gravelly voice said on the other end, his affectation so casual that Michael felt a fleeting rush of unfiltered rage. “The Archangel himself. This is an honor. And with only…”
Michael bit back a sneer as the carriage stuttered slightly and then continued rolling upwards.
“Fifteen minutes to spare. You do have a gift for timing, Archie. I’ll give you that. If nothing else.”
“I have the information you want,” Michael said, touching the phone against the edge of his sleeve as he heard the music begin to swell. “You can let him go. No one else needs to die. This is between you and me.”
“Well, I guess that depends on where you’re standing when the big storm hits. And by the way, I’d work on that name a little if I were you. Just some free PR advice from someone who knows their way around a media circus or two. Who knows? You start pawning yourself off as a hero and some of those fine, misguided citizens out there might actually start to believe it. Oh, and it looks like we’re coming up on the third floor right. About. Now.”
Michael felt the elevator roll to an uneasy halt and looked up at the camera quickly as the number three flashed red.
“Unfortunately there are no guns allowed past this point in the tour, Archie,” Ronan said, his voice almost friendly. “What do you say? Feel like making it nice and easy for the gang and coming out with your hands up?”
Michael pulled his gun out of waistband with a quick snap of his arm and held it on the elevator doors as they slid open, his finger twitching on the trigger as three men stood in the hallway, holding their guns on him with a flat, practiced patience. He ticked them off mentally, his pale eyes flying to the smallest man on his right and gripped the phone harder, holding his eyes as he tilted the muzzle in his direction.
“And if I don’t want to make things easy?”
“Your choice, Archie. Of course, there is always your friend Byron to think about. He doesn’t actually need a working spine for any of what comes next.”
Michael grimaced, dropping the phone from his hand and then tipped his gun back to the largest man in the middle before taking his finger off the trigger and raising his hands in front of his chest.
“Nope,” the man in the middle said, stepping forward as he held his pistol on him. “On the ground, cowboy. Kick it out of the carriage.”
Michael looked from one man to the other, careful to keep his face a smooth blank and then set the gun down next to his feet, kicking it over to them as he saw the man on his right drop his gun slightly, looking to the other men for direction.
Weak link, he thought, shifting his gaze back to the middle man as the man on his left pocketed the gun. Let’s see if the other two know it.
“And the other one,” the middle man said, his grizzled face hard and focused. “Your jacket pocket. Now.”
Michael pulled out his second gun, holding it up for a moment before setting it down on the floor and kicking it towards the weaker crewman with a shove of his foot. He watched him scramble to get it, stepping too close for several seconds as he dropped his guard and Michael raised his brows as the middle man rolled his jaw at him, his eyes narrowing as he waved his gun towards the carriage.
“Go ahead,” he said, taking a smooth step forward as he tipped his gun towards his face. “On your knees with your back to us. Do it now.”
Michael stepped back into the elevator, walking to the back of the carriage and turned to face the wall as he dropped to his knees, his eyes darting to his left as he heard the other men get in. He saw the smaller man reach for the dangling telephone as the other two crowded in behind him and cleared his throat as the man on his right started to speak, holding his hands up slightly as he heard the doors slide shut.
“Is he alive?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the wall as he heard the smaller man step up behind him, the top of his boots less than an arm’s length away.
“Who?” The man behind him asked. “Your friend?”
“Is he still alive or not?” Michael asked glancing over his shoulder.
He flinched as the man behind him shoved his gun into the back of his neck, pushing him forward with the muzzle and watched the smaller man out of the tail of his eyes as he inched closer, his body almost next to him as the carriage began to climb.
“You’re about to find out,” the man behind him said, the smile creeping into his voice in a way that sent a jolt of rage pulsing right into the tips of his fingers. “I’ll be honest with you though, he wasn’t looking too good the last time I saw him. Now shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear you again.”
Michael waited patiently as the carriage jerked to a stop and kept the third man in his sights as the man behind him took a step backwards, the doors sliding open with a low ding.
“Caleb, go,” he said as the man to right of him stepped off of the elevator. “You. Get up.”
Michael watched the man to his right back out of the elevator, the man he was starting to think of Problem Two, and got off his knees and turned around slowly, dropping his hands as the middle man flicked his gun towards the hallway.
“Come on. Let’s go. Nice and slow.”
Michael stepped out of the elevator, pausing at the threshold as he glanced down the dark hallway and raised his brows as the grizzled leader motioned for him to step lively, his movements alert and irritated.
Problem One, Michael thought, stepping in front of the crowd as he tracked the smallest man in his peripheral vision, watching him wander into his arc of movement without even noticing his mistake. And first things, first. Let’s see if we can even up these odds a little.
“Now. Move it.”
Michael paused mid-step and then grabbed the smaller man’s arm as he swung it a little too easily in his direction, leaping behind him in one fluid motion as he wrapped his elbow around his throat. He jerked his body in the middle man’s direction as Caleb raised his gun and yanked his arm sharply as he fired off a quick round of panic fire, shooting Problem Two in the chest as the older crewmen gapped.
Michael ducked as the middle man opened fire on his friend without hesitation and barreled forward as Caleb slumped to the ground, covering the few steps between them in a handful of seconds. He used the momentum to send the older man reeling into the elevator door, catching his wrist with his right forearm as he tried to swing his gun in his direction and then punched him in the face with the weighted side of his glove, the force of it cracking his head against the metal door in a sharp thump. He punched him again as he felt the older man grab for his neck, jerking the gun out of his grasp as he felt his hand falter and then jerked his body backwards as the man lunged towards him, shooting him twice in the throat before the gun gave off two dry clicks.
Michael dropped his hand to his side as he tossed the gun to the floor and then looked up as he heard the sudden hammer of footsteps, jogging over to Caleb’s body as he pocketed his gun.
“You won’t make it,” Caleb said, his voice rattling in his chest as he let out a short shuddering breath. “Only one way this ends. And you already know what that is.”
Michael looked down at him swiftly, crouching down next to him as he felt for his other gun and then shook his head as he yanked out his earpiece and gave him a grim smirk.
“Maybe so,” Michael said, tucking the earpiece
into his ear as he pocketed his gun, his pale eyes darting to the emergency stairwell behind them. “Thanks for the help.”
He jogged into the shadows as Caleb closed his eyes and rounded the corner as he heard a group of men reach the end of the hallway, shaking out his right jacket cuff as he pulled his arms into his chest.
Wait until you see them, he thought. Just a few more seconds.
“Where is he?” Ronan asked leaning over the monitors, his eyes darting from one end of the screen to the other as Jaxson shook his head.
“They just got off the elevator,” Jaxson said, pointing to one of the monitors as the black and white image of a run-down elevator carriage filled the screen. “And he didn’t seem like he put up much of a fight either. Just came along quietly. No surprises.”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed as his eyes flitted from screen to screen and he tapped at Byron’s live feed thoughtfully for a moment, his face almost sympathetic beneath the bright manic twirl of his eyes.
“Ten minutes,” he said glancing over his shoulder as he watched Byron struggle to keep his chin above water, the inflatable palm trees bobbing above the deep end of the pool in a calm, constant rhythm.
Ronan cracked his back as he paced around the pool and then crouched down next to Byron as he glanced around the room. He gave him an unpleasant grin as Byron turned his head away, the gag over his mouth soaked with water, and picked up one of the margarita glasses near the edge of the pool, his low voice pulsing with amusement.
“Hang in there, Byron,” he said, as Byron coughed, his weary eyes becoming flat and expressionless. “Sounds like our guest of honor is going to make it after all.”
He finished it in one swallow as he saw Jaxson and some crew member he had never bothered to remember pointed to the monitors and then looked up quickly as he heard the sudden hammer of gunfire, the sound of it echoing wildly in the long, empty corridor outside the doors.