by James Hunt
But there were still other options. From what he read up on the Holloway family, neither Terry or his wife Amy had any relatives, and if both Amy and Terry were out of the picture, then they would be thrust into the foster care system.
Of course, the oldest would probably have quite a bit to say, but with both parents dead and after everything they’d been through, Mulaney thought it was safe to assume that whatever they said would just be considered the ravings of two children who had been through so much trauma that they had made up a ludicrous story about their parents to cope.
And the troublesome Chemehuevi tribe? Well, no one ever listened to them in the first place.
“We’re here, sir,” Bishop said.
Mulaney looked up from his laptop and saw the lights from Ghost Town up ahead. He couldn’t wait to level that place to the ground. It was a waste of resources.
The SUV parked right outside of the hotel building, and Mulaney saw that the other car was still here. He got out of the vehicle, but Bishop came over to him.
“Sir, it’s probably best if you stay in the vehicle,” Bishop said.
“No,” Mulaney replied. “I need to see what you see.”
“Sir.” Bishop lowered his voice, and then moved a little bit closer. “Deniability is important for you in these types of situations. You can come up after we’ve secured the area.”
Mulaney nodded. “Let me know.” He opened the door to the SUV and climbed back inside. Bishop and the rest of the security team’s voices were muffled, and Mulaney returned his attention to the laptop.
Another email from his lawyers had come through, and Mulaney read it quickly. They were once again advising him to separate himself from any and all connections to the Holloway family outside his professional relationship with Terry.
They had also concluded that him trying to flee the country would paint him as a guilty party and would only add fuel to the fire created by the prosecution, because even though the State Attorney was in his pocket, the man could only do so much before public opinion persuaded him to extract justice.
Still, Mulaney had made sure that his jet was ready for takeoff at a moment’s notice. He could head south; Central America made the most sense. He had a cluster of small copper mines down there that he owned. The profit margins were small after paying off all the corrupt politicians, but worst-case scenario, he could live down there comfortably for quite some time.
Plus, he still held all of the data and schematics for the new drilling. That was worth a small fortune. Security would be more difficult down south, but he was confident Bishop would be able to handle the change in scenery. The man was a chameleon. He blended into any scenario.
Mulaney pushed the scenario out of his mind. He was getting ahead of himself. He still didn’t have all of the variables figured out. And he had time. For now.
A knock at the window pulled Mulaney away from his computer. The tinted glass masked some of Bishop’s face, but when Mulaney rolled the window down, he saw the alarm on his unshakable head of security.
“We have a problem.”
Mulaney didn’t wait for an explanation, setting his laptop aside and flinging open the door. He followed Bishop up the elevators to the top floor. He was the first one out of the elevator, and he headed toward the room with one of the guards standing outside of it. “Move!” Mulaney shouldered his way inside and stopped. “Fuck.”
The guard that they had left to watch the Holloway girls was dead on the floor. The blood had congealed, his mouth askew and eyes open. It was the most horrendous sight that Mulaney had ever seen. He turned away, quickly stepping out of the room and back into the hallway, propelled by the stench of the dead more than the sight.
Head down, Mulaney separated himself from the security team. He clenched his fists at his sides. “How did this happen?”
“We’re still working on a theory, but—”
“HOW DID THIS FUCKING HAPPEN!” Mulaney whirled around, his face red as he moved aggressively toward Bishop, the behemoth neither frightened or intimidated by Mulaney’s movements. But that was fine, so long as Mulaney had his answers.
“We can check the footage,” Bishop said. “The security feed is still running.”
Mulaney’s rage simmered, and he ground his teeth. Eventually he broke off the staring contest with Bishop and turned around. “Fine. Review them, then destroy them.” He spun back around just as quickly, his movements growing as sporadic as his thoughts. “None of this comes back on us.”
Bishop sighed. “Sir, we can’t cover this one up too. After the security guards, the boy at the mine—”
“I don’t pay you to give me more problems, I pay you to get rid of the ones I have!” Mulaney wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Just get it done!” He headed toward the elevators, needing a breath of fresh air, when a flurry of radio activity thundered from behind him.
Mulaney turned and saw Bishop with his hand on his ear.
“What? When?” Bishop hurried toward the elevator, his men following, passing Mulaney in the hallway without a second glance. “Scrub the place down and call in a second team.” Bishop punched the wall, the brute’s fist shaking the entire hallway. “Goddammit!”
“What?” Mulaney walked closer to him, and when Bishop didn’t answer, he added more edge to his voice. “What?”
“Terry’s gone.”
The color drained from Mulaney’s face, the floor wobbling beneath him.
“It was the Indians. They busted him out, took him to the reservation.”
Mulaney opened his mouth to speak, but shock stole his voice. He snapped it shut and then looked back toward the room where the dead guard lay on the floor.
“Sir, we need to get you to the airport,” Bishop said. The elevator chimed open. “Sir?”
Mulaney’s eyes lingered on the room. He had sat on his laurels for too long, and it had put him on the defensive. He needed to change that. He needed to do it quickly.
“Sir, we need to leave.” Bishop was directly behind him now, the team holding the elevators.
“No.” Mulaney nodded. “I’m staying.”
“Sir, this isn’t—”
“Destroy all of the security footage,” Mulaney said. “And get rid of the body. I don’t care where it’s dumped so long as it’s never found.” He nodded, liking the plan the longer he circled it in his mind. “I want you to bring them here.”
“Who?” Bishop asked.
“All of them. The Holloways. The Indians. Anyone who has played a part in this little game.”
“Sir, they’re on the reservation, we can’t—”
“Whatever it takes, Bishop,” Mulaney said. “Clean this up. I already have the legal team working on a way out, we just need to take care of the physical part of the evidence. You bring all of those people here, and we contain it. We finish this. No more beating around the bush. Understand?”
Mulaney spoke calmly, and the tone caused Bishop to nod. In times of chaos, it was always the steadiest hand that survived the storm. It was a lesson that Mulaney had learned a long time ago. So long as you stared down the demons with conviction, the fight could usually be won.
“I’ll leave two here with you,” Bishop said.
“I’ll wait downstairs,” Mulaney said, then grabbed Bishop’s arm. “But you stay here with me.”
Bishop nodded, delegated the assignment to finish what should have been ended a long time ago.
Mulaney lingered in the hallway a moment longer, staring back at the room where a dead member of his security staff lay. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, or if he had family. He hoped that he didn’t; it would make things more difficult.
Mulaney smiled, confident with his decision and glad to rid himself of his indecisiveness. All the other paths had been blocked, forcing him down a single road. But instead of feeling trapped, he was liberated. He knew where he had to go. He knew what he had to do.
76
After drinking Running Water’s con
coction, the pain kept him awake. The throbbing in his skull and the aches that ran down the length of his body made every movement agonizing.
A moment of panic struck him when he couldn’t open his right eye, and when he raised his hand to feel the bumps and bruises along his cheek, the panic bloomed into full-blown hysteria.
“Hey, whoa, take it easy.” A man placed a gentle but firm hand on Terry’s chest, just enough pressure to keep him in place without hurting him. “You’re all right. Your girls are fine too. You’re back on the reservation. Do you remember how you got here?”
Terry relaxed, but it didn’t ease the throbbing ache in his head. “Not really.”
“We pulled you out.” The man removed his hand from Terry’s chest.
Terry frowned, his one good eye getting a better look at the young man, who he remembered as Kara’s brother. He glanced around, the fire illuminating the pictures on the canvas walls. He was back in the hut of the medicine man. The same man that had traded away Amy’s life.
Terry tried to sit up, and again Kara’s brother placed a hand on his chest, but this time it was the voice that came from somewhere beyond Terry’s peripheral that made him stop.
“It’s best if you rest.”
Terry turned until he was able to see the medicine man on the left. He sat in his wheelchair, hands folded in his lap, and stared at the fire instead of Terry. “What happened?”
Running Water kept his gaze on the flames. “It looks like you were beaten up.”
“With Amy!” Terry knocked away Ben’s hand, keeping himself upright, but unable to stand. “We went back to the mine and she was taken.” He winced, the twisted position of his torso very uncomfortable.
Running Water remained silent, still, watching the flames. “There were complications that I wasn’t able to—”
“Bullshit,” Terry said. “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”
Running Water’s refusal to look Terry in the face was all the answer he needed to know that he was right. He turned away from the old man and lay back down, unable to keep himself upright any longer.
“You knew what that thing would do to her,” Terry said. “And you sent her in there to fix your mistake. That’s all your family has done.”
“Hey,” Ben said, his tone firm. “We’re the ones who got you out, remember?”
Terry laughed. “Yeah.” He gestured to his broken body. “Thank you so much.”
Ben grimaced and stood, his towering figure meant to be menacing, but only managed to resemble an upset child in Terry’s eyes. He said something in his native language, the words directed to his grandfather, and then stormed out of the hut.
“Bye,” Terry said.
“He saved your life,” Running Water said, his tone terse.
“Only because you put me in a position where it needed to be saved.”
“I only asked the spirits—”
“I don’t give a damn about your spirits.” Terry laughed but cut it short from the knife-like pain in his right side. He swallowed then grimaced, even the simplest motion triggering pain. He took a few breaths and then opened his good eye again. “I want to speak to my daughters.”
“They’re sleeping in the trailer,” the old man said. “Best to let them rest.” He wheeled around to Terry’s feet and then faced him. He planted his weathered, arthritic hands in his lap. “Your wife isn’t going to last much longer.” He tapped his left temple. “Her mind is weak, and while we might be able to recover her body, if she is forced to relive the torture, she’ll continue to lose pieces of herself.”
A small crease formed in Terry’s brow. “How do we bring her back?”
The old man averted his gaze from Terry, picking at the fringe of the blanket that covered his legs. His body sagged, and he looked older and more tired than he had when Terry first met him. “It’s dangerous. And it could cost you more than you would be willing to part with.”
Terry forced himself to sit up, fighting through the pain, gritting his teeth. Once upright, he shut his eyes, drawing in slow breaths. “What do I have to do?”
The old man was quiet again, but this time he looked directly at Terry. “It’s not something you can do.”
It took Terry a moment to realize what the medicine man was telling him. But when it finally hit him, he shook his head. “I’m not putting my girls through anything else.”
“Your girls are stronger than you give them credit for.” The old man simply gave Terry a hard look up and down. “And you do not have the strength that’s needed to see this through. Liz does.”
“No.” Terry clutched his side. “Just load me up with painkillers, or whatever.” Terry clutched his side. “I can make it.”
The old man was quiet for a moment and then clasped his hands together tightly before he spoke. “You are a good father. And you were a good husband. Others would have collapsed under the pressure, but you didn’t. However,” He leaned forward, “If you take this journey, then you will fail, and both you and your wife will be lost, leaving your daughters alone.”
“What makes you think that I will fail?” Terry asked.
“Because you are not meant to end this,” the old man answered. “That is another’s burden.”
Terry fidgeted, unable to remain in the same position for very long before pain forced him to move. Deep down he knew that he was in no condition to do anything but sleep.
“We’re running out of time,” the old man said.
Terry nodded. “What does she have to do?”
Running Water rolled out of the tent, his arms aching from churning through the compact sand and rocks. He aimed for the trailer, but halfway to the front, he stopped and glanced up at the starry night sky.
It would be morning soon, and Running Water prayed that the sun would rise on a better day for the Holloway family. But only time would tell, and he had doubts about his ability to combat the curse of his ancestors.
Puhagantes were strong entities, and while Running Water had studied as much as he could about the ancient ways, there was much that was lost in translation. He didn’t possess all the abilities of those great healers and spirit walkers. And he was beginning to feel more like a fraud the longer this dragged out.
Running Water knew that Terry’s anger wasn’t misplaced. If it weren’t for him, his family wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. If he had just been strong enough to deal with Mulaney and the Miner, then he wouldn’t have had to call upon the spirits to bring them a hero. It should have been him that gave up his soul.
But that was not what his ancestors had intended. He knew that. And now he knew what he must do. No matter the cost.
Running Water wheeled toward the front of his trailer and saw his grandson by the truck, smoking a cigarette.
“You shouldn’t do that to your body,” Running Water said.
Ben took another drag and then shook his head. “What are you going to do, Grandfather?” He kept his attention on the cigarette, the tip burning red, the trails of smoke vanishing quickly into the night.
Running Water wheeled toward his grandson. The boy was very much like his father. Too much like his father. Thick in muscles and even thicker in the head. But he had a good heart, despite the practiced grimace he wore to make himself look tougher. Another familial trait Ben inherited from his father.
Cigarette at the nub, Ben dropped the end to the sand and stomped on it with his foot for good measure. “I hope you’re not going to do something stupid.”
“How is Kara?” Running Water asked.
“Sleeping,” Ben answered, still stomping on the cigarette, though he was more playing with it now. “Same with the Holloway girls.”
“How are they holding up?” Running Water asked.
“Tired.” Ben finally let the cigarette butt alone and looked at his grandfather, crossing his arms. “How much longer are we going to do this?”
“Ben, I know you think—”
“No, you d
on’t.” Ben’s stern expression had set lines in his face. “What are you going to do, Grandfather, because I know that you don’t have the power to stop this curse.” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s the reason that you summoned that woman, why you asked for help.” His eyes watered and his voice cracked. “So, what are you going to do?”
Running Water reached for Ben’s hand and squeezed tight. “You must take care of your sister. Take care of the reservation. Even after this is done, Mulaney’s people won’t quit. You’ll—” He stopped when Ben stepped away. “Ben. Ben.”
“Why are you doing this? It’s over. They can’t win. Terry sent a letter to the EPA. Mulaney tortured and kidnapped Terry and his two daughters.” He walked toward his grandfather, pleading. “We don’t have to fight anymore.”
“I have to make things right,” Running Water answered.
“Bullshit,” Ben said.
Running Water reached for Ben’s wrist and yanked his grandson toward him, keeping a tight hold. “I’m not losing any more people to this curse, to this thing, do you understand me? And I’m not letting you and your sister risk any more.”
The hardened man in front of Running Water, the grandson who was a broad-shouldered giant, broke down and dropped to his knees.
Ben nodded, head still bowed. “I’m sorry.”
Running Water wiped the tears from his grandson’s face. “I know you think you and your sister will never have peace, but I promise you that it’s coming. To you, and to all of our people.”
Ben lingered for a little bit longer and then stood, walking away and into the desert until Running Water couldn’t see him anymore.
Running Water wheeled himself up the ramp and pushed open the door. Kara was asleep on the couch, curled up like she used to sleep when she was a girl. He watched for a moment, then wheeled toward the bedroom where the Holloway girls slept on the bed.