Annie was still staring at him, but now her eyes were glassy with grief. Wetness stained her cheeks. Doug threw the phone away, jumped out of bed and began dressing hastily.
“Is there something wrong with mama?” Annie said.
“Jesus, Annie, I’m so sorry.”
“What happened?”
“Get dressed! There’s no time—”
“Tell me!”
“We’re in danger. Please, let’s get out of here!”
A noise somewhere—not loud or particularly alarming, just unusual—brought Annie to her senses. She moved quickly and quietly out of bed, slipped into jeans and a T-shirt. Doug slid open the drawer of his bedside stand and grabbed the automatic. He pulled the magazine back and chambered a round. He knew how to use the gun. Actually he was somewhat of an expert after years of shooting and training under the expert tutelage of Portland Police Lieutenant, Rick Jennings, the man who had helped raise him to adulthood.
“Come on,” he whispered.
In the dim light of dawn he took Annie by the hand and began making his way toward the door, but stopped suddenly, thinking better of it. He could hear the raucous noise of a hundred migrating birds outside in the leafless trees, shrieking in his brain like fingernails on a blackboard.
“Oh, Jesus,” Annie said, her hand tightening in Doug’s. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Birds,” Doug said.
“No, the smell. It’s gas!”
“Shit,” Doug said, turning back toward the window. He let go of Annie’s hand and pushed the window up. Outside rain gusted in sheets. Beneath the window there was a small landing with a narrow and steep set of stairs attached along the side of the house. Doug had added it when they’d finished building the place five years ago. Nothing fancy, but protection enough in case of fire.
He went out first, and as he did so, a flock of startled blackbirds took noisy wing from the balcony railing, their shrieking flight causing Doug’s heart to hammer wildly in his chest. Doug stood frozen. On the railing perched a lone straggler, its head cocked as it stared coldly at Doug with one small, but very bright, red eye. The second eye appeared to be missing; a milky and membranous film covered it. Doug almost stopped breathing. The Collector, he thought, as a series of unwanted memories began flooding into his mind. But he could not think about that now. He never wanted to think about it again. He had to get Annie to safety. He swiped the grotesque creature from the railing with the hand that held the gun. The bird flew into the gloom, cawing loudly as it did so. Its neck was craned to the side and it appeared to be glaring back at Doug with that one terrible red jewel-of-an-eye. Doug aimed the nine millimeter at the retreating creature and almost pulled the trigger. But something would not allow him to do so. He shivered as a dark and ethereal fluttering in his head tried to paralyze him. No way, he thought. You’re not doing this to me. Not here. Not now. But the sensation would not go away; it was sludgy in his head, like cold motor oil.
Doug briskly shook his head. Come on, you need to be alert. You can’t think about this now. He surveyed the back yard, guessing it looked okay. Hard to tell with the rain sheeting across the lawn the way it was. He took Annie’s hand and helped her out onto the landing. The driving torrents caused her to quake with cold shivers.
On the horizon dawn punched eerie pink light into an otherwise dead eastern sky.
“Oh, God, my paintings!” Annie said, pulling away from him and trying to get back into the house.
Doug grabbed her wrist. “Sorry, Annie, there’s no time.”
“But—”
“No buts. Your life is more important than those paintings.”
He gingerly led the way down the treacherous steps, gun held out before him, amazed that no one was there to greet them. Something didn’t add up. But there wasn’t time to think about that either. His instincts told him to move. They hit the ground, running across the spacious back lawn toward the woods beyond.
Behind them the house exploded in a hive of sound and light. They were both blown forward onto their hands and knees, their backs nearly flash-fried. They were up and running again in an instant. Gunfire exploded behind them, several weapons of the automatic variety, followed by the sharp commands of an authoritative voice. They did not stop, or turn to fight, but kept running. A hundred yards or so into the woods Annie halted, doubling over.
“The baby!” she said.
Doug tenderly touched her belly. She hadn’t yet begun to show. Only three months along. It would be their first. Now someone wanted Annie. But Doug knew what they really wanted. Long ago he’d been warned, but he’d refused to accept it. Now he was being forced to reassess his thinking. If what he’d been told was true Annie would be safe but a prisoner, until the delivery. Then God knows what would happen to her, God knows what would happen to him, or anyone else who knew, for that matter. And that son of a bitch father of hers, who’d made some sort of sick deal with the devil, would have the child. Their child. For what purpose he could not even venture a vague guess.
Doug propped Annie up, looking worriedly back the way they’d come. “We can’t stop now. They’re too close.”
“Maybe I’m losing it,” she cried.
“No freaking way!” Doug said. “That’s our kid and you’re not losing it!” He tucked the automatic into his waistband. “Here, I’ll carry you.”
“No, I’m too heavy.”
Ignoring her protests he scooped her up in his arms and continued his run through the woods toward the distant highway.
Chapter 2
Doug had been right. Their pursuers were close. Dawn was almost up when they reached the highway. Morning commuters sped past, whirring tires shooting rooster-tails of rainwater at them. Gunshots blasted behind them. The bullets missed but struck a passing car. The vehicle fishtailed wildly before slamming violently into guardrails. Sparks erupted into a column of orange flame. Behind it braking tires howled on pavement and cars skidded to avoid colliding. Doug, still carrying Annie, ran out into the busy northbound lanes. He just managed to dodge a speeding SUV when more gunfire erupted somewhere behind them. He heard bullets striking metal.
Collisions.
A concussive explosion.
He dropped Annie as gently as he could and they both tumbled down the slight incline of the grassy median. At the bottom he froze as that black, ethereal fluttering in his head tried to paralyze him again. And along with it, the plea, clear and bright, and so terribly desperate: Please, mister, my name is Ariel and I need your help! I’m trapped in the House of Bones and I can’t get out.
Who are you, Ariel, and why are you in my head?
I’m God’s lion and you need to save me.
God’s lion? What the hell did that mean? Doug shook his head, trying to lose the interference. He did not have time for this, goddamn it! He needed to think clearly.
From behind them came the sounds of more skidding automobiles.
Horns.
Metal shrieking against metal.
More horns.
More explosions.
The pink alien sky, now aglow with orange flame, cast their shadows forward in cinematic over-exaggeration. Annie was up, spinning around, eyes wild. “Look out!” she screamed. Doug, springing back into action, pulled the automatic out of his waistband and whirled. There were three of them. Three that he could see anyway. The bastards. Probably a little army of them. He raised the automatic and dropped two of them in their tracks. He was just about to drop the third one when gunfire erupted from another direction. The guy dropped like a rock. Doug whirled, trying to see who had fired the third killing round. But there was no time, there was too much confusion, and more men were sprinting across the median toward them, guns drawn. He grabbed Annie’s hand and made for the southbound lanes pulling her along. But she was having trouble again, bending over, belly clenching with cramps.
Maybe nobody would have the kid.
He jumped the guardrail, lifting Annie over it. Behind them the
northbound lanes were alive with the sounds of chaos. He could see at least four more hunters and they were beating feet like hungry dogs.
“Oh, God,” Annie said. “I can’t make it.” She was on her knees breathing in spasms. Doug ran back, lifted her to her feet and dragged her to the far side of the highway. He ran out into the middle of the south-bound lanes and tried to flag a car.
And was nearly killed.
He jumped out of the way of a speeding sports car just in time.
The hunters were closing the gap quickly, sprinting across the median. More gunfire erupted, and two of them collapsed like sacks of dirty laundry. The other two stopped and whirled in confusion, weapons pointed. Doug was just as confused, but grateful that a guardian angel was looking out for them. What the hell is going on? He prayed that the diversion would give him the time he needed to get Annie out of this situation. He turned around and was horrified to see that Annie was up and staggering back toward all the danger.
“No, Annie!” he screamed. “Stay there!” She wasn’t listening. Tires howled and cars careened to avoid her. Traffic began to slow. Doug frantically waved his arms. Annie went to her knees. Several vehicles contacted further up the line. Doug heard metal slamming against metal. He kept waving frantically, screaming for Annie to stay back. In the distance he thought he heard more gunfire, but he couldn’t be sure. There was so much noise, so much confusion. Cars careened around them, horns blaring. One skidded sideways and almost struck them before coming to a lurching halt. Others coming behind that one skidded off the road with terrible sounding impacts. Doug ripped the driver’s door open and yanked the man out.
“Don’t hurt me!” the man screamed, his hands high above his head, eyes wild with terror.
Annie struggled to her feet and opened the passenger-side door. “Sorry,” Doug said, dimly aware of the fact that he was still holding the automatic. “Lady needs to get to a hospital.” The man eyed the gun warily then looked over at Annie. “We need to borrow your car.” Bullets pinged on metal. Annie fell into the car. The man took off for the ditch. Doug jumped in, his foot punching the gas pedal. A hail of bullets thumped into the car’s trunk.
The rear window exploded.
“You okay?” Doug asked. In the rearview he could see that two of the hunters were commandeering a vehicle.
“I don’t know,” Annie replied, panting, holding onto her midriff.
“Want me to get you to a hospital?”
“No! Jesus! They’ll find us. I want to know what’s going on.”
“I don’t know, Annie, Christ. You’re okay, then?”
“Better.” Her head was back. She was white. She was puffing like she was in labor.
Doug was already doing ninety, weaving in and around traffic. The exit ahead said South Portland. He took it at speeds well above sane limits. He skidded left at the light and wound through morning rush-hour traffic, constantly glancing in his rearview.
“I think we lost them,” he said.
“Doug, goddamn it, tell me!” Annie was staring helplessly at him. Tears slid down her cheeks.
“I don’t know anything.”
“Yes you do. What happened to my mother?”
“Your father can explain.”
“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Doug said nothing.
Annie put her face in her hands sobbing. “What’ll we do now?”
“Head north into the wilderness. Where we should have gone a long time ago.”
“They’ll be looking for the car.”
Doug swung the wheel hard right and turned down a side street. “We’re not keeping it.”
He swung into a parking lot. They got out. Doug wiped the steering wheel and the door handles clean.
“Sure you’re okay?”
“No! My mother’s dead!”
“I’m so sorry, Annie.”
Sirens warbled in the distance.
Dawn was all the way up now, dismal as it was. The rain had diminished to wind-driven mist, sheets of it cutting across the lot. They went back out into the main street. A minute later Doug flagged a cab. He told the driver to take them to a motel on the edge of town. He had ten bucks in his pocket, gave it to the driver. Luckily his wallet was in his jeans. He was out of cash so he gave the motel guy a credit card, knowing it was a mistake. But it was their only choice. Maybe it could buy them an hour or two.
In the room Annie picked up the phone and dialed. Her lips trembled. Wetness streaked her white face. Doug watched her, feeling like shit.
Annie listened for a long moment but did not speak. “Okay, daddy,” she said finally. “Yes, we’ll be there.” After hanging up she collapsed on the bed in sobs. Doug stood, fists clenched at his sides, rage needing an outlet, but there wasn’t one. He calmed himself, knowing that he had to, vowing that he would kill Édouard De Roché with his bare hands.
Annie didn’t say a word about her mother, just cried for a long time. Doug watched her, his anger receding.
He sat down on the bed beside her, taking one of her paint-stained hands in his, caressing it tenderly. Annie was an artist, but not your regular kind. She had this insane way of painting where she put her whole body into it. She never used a brush. Claimed she didn’t know how. She would glob huge amounts of multi-colored acrylic paint onto giant canvases with her bare hands and swirl and twist like a graceful dancer until the vision in her mind began to take form. Annie put everything she had into her painting, and as a result her works were both beautiful and disturbing. She’d sold quite a few in recent years and her reputation was growing. The stuff she’d been working on for the past year or so was scheduled to be shown in New York, a coming out for the artist entitled, The Beautiful Madness of Her Creations. Luckily some of the paintings had already been moved from the house to the gallery, but a lot more had been destroyed in the explosion.
After Annie stopped crying they showered together and dried their clothes on the radiator. Neither of them spoke. Doug turned on the TV. A major pileup on both sides of the interstate was the number one item on the news. Several people were dead. Coincidentally a house nearby had exploded at about the same time as the pileup. And something else. Witnesses reported seeing a man and woman running from a group of men with guns. Several of the pursuers had been shot but it was unclear as to who they were or who had done the shooting. The speculation was that it was some sort of gang war over drugs, but the police hadn’t yet issued a statement. They would do so later, after everything had been sorted out.
Doug called a cab. Annie sat beside him as they rode, head back, staring fixedly out the window. Doug told the driver to find an ATM. He got cash. Then they headed north toward the airport.
Two miles out Doug told the driver to keep going north on 95.
“What are you doing?” Annie asked, turning swollen eyes on him. “Daddy’s sending the jet.”
“I think we’d be safer if we just headed north into the mountains. No one knows about Rick’s cabin. We’ll be safe there for a while.”
“I said daddy’s sending the jet!”
“I heard you, Annie! Screw your father!”
“My mother’s dead!”
“I know. That’s what bothers me.”
“You think he did it?”
“I think he’d do anything to get you back.”
“Don’t be an asshole, Doug!”
“Jesus Christ, Annie. Look what just happened.”
“You think he set that up?”
“If not him, then who? He called. He told me to get you out of the house! Be honest with yourself, Annie. For Christ’s sake, you know him better than I do.”
Annie was silent for a long moment searching her husband’s face. But Doug knew that she was really searching inside herself, attempting to excavate the fossils of her history with her father. There were things that happened back in Annie’s other life that Doug had no knowledge of. Things he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to know about. He’d glimpsed bits and pieces of An
nie’s reluctant excavations occasionally in the dead of night when she’d come awake covered in sweat, her breath rasping raggedly in her throat, her eyes dim and haunted. Ten years gone and it had taken an enormous amount of work on both their parts to get Annie on an even keel. And now she was actually considering going back to that bastard.
“I don’t know,” Annie said. “What I do know is, he’ll find us if he wants to, no matter where we go, or how far we run. And if he doesn’t, those bastards, whoever they are, will. We’ll be safer with him. Trust me.”
“Those bastards and your father are the same thing, Annie.”
“Stop it, Doug.”
Doug stopped. He watched his exotically beautiful wife carefully for a long silent moment. He did not want to give in. He was stubborn and independent and his instincts told him that going back into the world of Édouard De Roché would be the biggest mistake of their lives. But what if he was wrong about De Roché? What if he was just jealous of the hold he’d once had on Annie? Yes, that was true. He was jealous. And no, he wasn’t wrong about De Roché. The man had tremendous power. Unlimited resources at his disposal.
Doug thought back to the day he’d found out that De Roché had made some sort of sick deal for Annie’s first born. He’d gone nuts and threatened to kill the bastard.
“It’s just one child, Doug,” De Roché had said in that maddeningly patronizing tone of his, as if deals like this were made every day. And perhaps they were in De Roché’s world, not in Doug’s. In Doug’s world you worked hard all day, came home and made love to your wife, and on weekends you watched the game while your wife went to the mall. What a joke that Doug had thought life with Annie could ever be this simple. “You’ll have more children,” De Roché said. “You and Annie are both young.”
“Never going to happen,” Doug insisted. “And you’re crazy if you think Annie and I are just going to give you our child. What kind of sick bastard are you, anyway?”
Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) Page 2