* * *
Jude turns away from his family as soon as it becomes humanly possible.
For reasons more unknown than known, it is simply too painful a scene for him to watch as they disappear into the distant village landscape. Instead he gazes out upon a calm lake. As if it were scripted to happen this way, he spots a large, green-scaled and white bellied largemouth bass explode from the water’s surface only to crash land inside the center of its own surface boil.
Move, Parish … Move now and do what you were brought here to do …
After a beat, he turns back to the courthouse. From where he stands on the abandoned expanse of the open village green and the empty village buildings behind it, he can easily make out the white cargo van that occupies the parking garage along with one other vehicle: a fire engine red Porsche Carerra.
County Prosecutor P.J. Blanchfield’s ride.
Blood goes ice cold to boiling hot to ice cold again. He realizes how easy it would be to simply follow Jack and Rosie to the L.G.P.D.; how easy and logical it would be to seek out the protection of Mack and the police. But then Jude made a promise to his father—a promise to make a positive ID of Hector Lennox in a court of law. Now he knows precisely where to locate the beast—inside the brand new county courthouse building, eighth floor, Warren County Prosecutor’s office. Here now is Jude’s chance to hunt down the hunter before he has another shot at escaping Lake George altogether.
Crossing over the lawn once more in the direction of the parking garage, Jude picks up his step as he makes for the courthouse’s rear entrance.
93
Warren County Courthouse
Friday, 6:40 A.M.
The orange morning light is beaming into the parking garage after having spilled over the mountains and across the lake. Jude shifts gears from walk-speed to an all out sprint past the Porsche Carerra and the Ford Cargo van on his way to the courthouse ground floor door. Twisting the aluminum knob clockwise he can only pray that Lennox left it unlocked when he entered the building ahead of him.
The door opens freely.
Inside the dimly lit stairwell, Jude finds a single-story emergency staircase. He runs up the flight of concrete stairs, bounding the treads two at a time until he comes to a second metal door ID’d with the words FIRST FLOOR.
He twists and pulls on the door knob. It opens as easily as the ground floor door.
Like the stairwell, the windowless corridor is lit only with dim emergency, wall-mounted lighting. Although the courthouse was built after Jude’s departure from the L.G.P.D. and his short-lived stay in New York City, he knows from a recent Cop Job reading that the narrow hall leads out onto a great marble rotunda. He also knows that echoes will be a problem. He decides that the prudent thing to do is to remove his boots and socks, proceed from that point on with bare feet.
Jude does it.
Setting the clothing aside, he slowly opens the door, slips out into the rotunda.
* * *
The place is cool, dark and empty.
From where he stands he can hear the muffled sounds of a woman screaming.
Blanchfield …
Even with the electronic emergency candles mounted to the marble walls every fifteen feet or so, the rotunda seems like a giant, vertical cavern. A glance upwards reveals huge stained glass skylights embedded into a domed ceiling. Directly before him, a great marble staircase wraps itself around the entire interior of the open, cathedral-like building. Taking up nearly the entire wall behind him is a giant mural depicting the five clans of the Iroquois breaking bread with local pilgrims. Jude recalls his voice echoing within the marble walls as he read passages from Cop Job before an audience of local senior citizens just a few weeks ago.
He begins climbing the stairs, bare feet gripping the cold marble. He takes his time but still manages to ascend the eight floors in just under two minutes. Slipping down the narrow eighth floor corridor with the solid marble wall on his left and the open rotunda on the right, he comes to the open wood and glass door that accesses Blanchfield’s office. Sneaking his head around the door frame, Jude takes a quick look inside, immediately spots the prosecutor. She’s been bound to a wood chair that’s been placed in the center of the room along with a pile of papers, files and evidence jars stacked all around her legs and feet. Long legs and arms have been duct-taped to the chair, along with her torso.
Lennox stands before her, golden dreads now chopped off, leaving only an eggshell skull. From where Jude stands, the beast appears to be crying, tears running down his black-painted face in streams. A white plastic can of lighter fluid is gripped in his left hand while his right holds the iPhone. He’s soaking the materials that rest at Blanchfield’s feet in the fluid. Amidst tears comes the familiar order:
“Scream. For. Me.”
Blanchfield’s voice is now reduced to a scratchy whisper. How long Lennox has been making her scream like that, Jude has no idea. But he knows it’s been long enough for her to lose her voice.
Jude pulls himself back from the door.
His breathing is growing rapid and labored. He begins to hear something besides Blanchfield’s pathetic attempts at screaming coming from inside the office. He makes out a snap, crackle, and pop. Sneaking another quick look into the room, he sees that both the file material and the plastic evidence jars that surround Blanchfield’s feet are now in flames.
Don’t think … Ignore the demon and just do …
He swallows a breath, then bolts through the open door, moves swiftly across the office floor. Thrusting both heels up and out, he connects dead center with Lennox’s chest, drop-kicking him onto the concrete. Back up on his feet, Jude raises arms, clenches fists.
Lennox is still down, back pressed against the painted floor, his dropped iPhone set beside him. He’s gone from tears to all smiles, hands clutching his chest, air knocked out of his lungs, mouth gaping wide open. Parish can see that he’s not yet breathing freely. Still the beast manages to grab the phone, get back up onto his feet and quickly pocket it.
On the opposite side of the room, the fire grows out of control.
Jude knows he must put Lennox down now, for good, or Blanchfield will burn.
Once more he lunges.
This time Lennox is ready for him, evading him with a quick sideways deflection. At the same time he enters into a crouch, extends his left leg, snap-kicks the ex-cop in the chin. Helpless, Jude rears back, legs cut out from under him, lower back slamming against the floor, pain shooting up the length of his spine.
Lennox stands tall, strong, the thumbs on both hands buried deep inside a thick black nylon belt. He’s breathing freely again, in and out.
As for Jude’s air, it will only come to him in short pulses. Still, he pushes himself up on all fours, crabs in reverse. He should be getting back up onto two feet. But he can’t find the strength. Nor can he find the balance.
A glance over his right shoulder reveals a fire that’s beginning to consume Blanchfield’s short skirt and blouse. He can see the fabric melting off of her body, exposing white skin underneath. He also sees that Lennox is now moving again, closer, taking his time.
Rolling himself onto his left side, Jude swings legs and feet hard, catching the beast at the ankles, putting him immediately down. That’s when Jude musters all available strength, forces himself up onto his feet. Planting the heel of his right foot against Lennox’s neck, he raises a bare left foot, goes for the kill by driving the heel down hard in the direction of the black-painted face.
But Lennox sees it coming.
He’s too strong, too quick.
Despite Jude’s right foot, which is jammed against his neck and windpipe, Lennox grabs hold of the left foot just as it’s about to plow him in his already damaged mouth. He holds the foot tight, vice-grips it in both hands. With a wild scream, the beast heaves Jude head over heels.
94
Office of the Warren County Prosecutor
Friday, 6:55 A.M.
Jude f
eels nothing.
Until he senses wet on his face and thick black smoke stinging the interior of his nasal passages. He opens his eyes, immediately searches for Lennox, sees that he is back up on his feet and, at the same time, coughing, clutching at his throat with both gloved hands.
The sprinkler system has been triggered.
It’s reduced the fire to a smolder. It’s also produced a cloud of acrid gray/black smoke that fills the office.
Blanchfield isn’t dead.
From down on the floor Jude can see that although she hasn’t been badly burned, she’s having trouble breathing through her nose in the heavy smoke.
Off to his right, he sees Lennox coming for him.
Jude tells himself to roll onto his side. But his body does not respond. As hard as he wills himself he can’t so much as raise a finger. It’s as if Lennox were somehow controlling his mind; somehow able to project his will upon his kill game player. Squatting at the knees, the beast extends middle and index fingers on his right hand. He shoves them up into Jude’s nostrils, cocks his arm, proceeds to lift Jude’s deadweight body up off the floor. At the same time, Lennox shoves the iPhone in Jude’s face.
“Scream. For. Me.”
The pain is unbearable.
The pain causes bright red flashes of light to shoot through Jude’s brain, strike out against the backs of his eyeballs. He can’t possibly scream or shout, for the pain robs him of all breath. Jude simply lashes out helplessly with open hands, claws wildly at the beast, but connects only with smoke-filled air.
Lennox heaves until suddenly Jude finds himself back up on his feet staring into a black broken-toothed face and ice blue eyes.
“Scream. For. Me.” the beast insists, voice calm, non-flustered.
Jude’s eyeballs feel doused in acid. His head spins while the floor seems to be trembling beneath both his feet. But it’s his weak legs that are trembling. Jude tries to raise clenched fists, tries to resume a fighter’s stance. But the best he can manage is an unsteady wobble.
“Scream. For. Me.” Lennox repeats.
“No,” Jude whispers. “I will not scream for you.”
That’s when the beast does something strange. He nods and smiles. Pocketing the iPhone he wipes the soot and water from his eyes, makes his way back through the smoke and the dripping sprinkler water to Blanchfield’s desk where he grabs hold of a wood chair. He sets the chair down only inches from the spot in which Jude is standing. He steps up onto the chair, extends both arms out to the sides as if imitating the fully extended wings on a bird. Raising himself up onto the tiptoes of his left foot, the beast elevates his right leg and foot high in what Jude recognizes as a crane-style Karate stance.
As Lennox cocks his right leg back, Jude closes his eyes, awaits the inevitable impact. But instead of a snap kick to the face, he experiences something else: a handheld detonator dropping to the floor. Just a small black plastic detonator no bigger than a television remote control that comes loose from Lennox’s belt. The plastic device makes a distinct clicking noise when it hits the damp concrete floor causing a small red light encased inside its display face to flash brightly.
Game over …
95
The Lake George Village Precinct
Friday, 7:10 A.M.
Rather than make the flight of stairs up to his own private second floor office, Mack sits behind Lino’s desk which is located inside a smaller office on the less private first floor of the Lake George precinct. His posture is best described as painfully hunched over, while he conceals the injured shoulder with an adjustable sling lifted from the hospital and a spare blazer he keeps inside his office closet. Tries to conceal it, that is.
He’s growing weaker with each passing second, weary face giving away every ounce of physical torment. Maybe the many uniformed and plain-clothed cops that swarm the mostly open first floor can easily see that their old Captain has taken a bullet to the shoulder. Perhaps they’re even aware of his hospital breakout. But they say nothing about it, as if their leader’s decision to place his life in jeopardy for the cause of the cop job is not only the right thing to do under blackout circumstances, but the only thing.
Still, even Mack is beginning to second guess himself.
When he slips his hand under the sling, touches the padded bandage, pulls the hand back out, his fingertips come away soaked with blood.
How long can I last with this kind of hemorrhage? But I have to last. Don’t think about the blood. Think about finding your family …
Slumped behind the metal desk, Mack is sure that passing out looms large in his immediate future. At this point the pain is growing unbearable. If only he thought enough to have snatched some pain killers while still inside the hospital. Hospital strength pain killers! But then that’s when it occurs to him that Lino might be able to come through with at least a couple of aspirin.
“Got any aspirin, Danny?”
Lino is down on his knees on the office floor, eyes intently staring at a large topographical map of Tongue Mountain and the surrounding state forest.
“Lower left hand drawer,” the cop mumbles without pulling eyes away from the map.
Mack opens the drawer, looks down inside. There’s a series of files stacked inside the drawer. Set on top of the files is a bottle of Advil.
“Perfect,” the old Captain whispers.
But that’s when something else captures his attention. Penned in ballpoint on the very top manila folder is the name “Blanchfield.” Without hesitation Mack flips open the lid. Inside he steals a quick glance at several photocopies of what appears to be cancelled checks. Behind those is a section of a folded Glens Falls Eagle newspaper that bears the headline: BLANCHFIELD STEALS THE PROSECUTION! Maybe it’s the forty years of cop inside him, but instead of directly asking Lino what business he has keeping a private file on the county prosecutor, he pulls one of the sheets of cancelled checks, quickly stuffs it down into his sling, shoving it behind the jacket. Then, pulling out the plastic bottle of Advil, he closes the drawer with a resounding slam.
“Find them?” Lino poses from the floor.
“Got ‘em,” Mack says. His entire body pains him, but on the inside he’s beginning to do a slow burn.
What the fuck is going on here, Lino?
He might give more thought to it, but when he spots the boy and his stepmother coming through the doors of the crowded village precinct, he shoots up from behind the desk with an energy he would have thought impossible just one minute prior.
I no longer have to search for my family … My family found me.
A pair of uniformed cops immediately surround the two raggedy, almost half-dead looking stepmother and son.
“It’s okay!” Mack shouts through the open office door. “Let them through!”
But the barefoot, half-naked Rosie goes no further than the Watch Commander’s desk. For just a quick moment, she peers in Mack’s direction from across the room. Without a word, she exhales a breath, collapses into the arms of the uniformed policeman to her left.
Jack pays her no attention.
The boy sprints across the vinyl-tiled floor through the office door towards his grandfather, but stops short as though shocked by the old Captain’s close-up appearance.
“It’s okay, Jack,” Mack says from where he stands unsteadily behind the desk. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“Tell us everything, Jack,” Lt. Lino chimes in as he looks up from a now superfluous topographical map of Tongue Mountain.
Jack is still dressed in Batman and Robin pajamas. He’s covered in mud, scraggily hair hanging over big brown eyes. While the pregnant Rosie is laid out on a couch in the waiting room to await the arrival of an EMS van, Jack begins relaying the night’s events from beginning to end. Does it in one long breath, like reading the headlines off a dozen newspapers.
“Dark monster woke me in my bed … A big man dressed all in black … He stuck a needle in me … Dad woke me up …The rain was coming down on
my head and face … Thought I was having a dream, but we were in the woods … Dark monster did something bad to Rosie …”
“Where’s your father now?” Mack interrupts, slate gray eyes growing heavier.
“At the courthouse.”
That’s when the force of the explosion shatters the front windows of the Lake George Village Precinct.
96
Office of the Warren County Prosecutor
Friday, 7:20 A.M.
The spontaneous detonation of the IED does not result in a sudden, spectacular catastrophic event. The courthouse does not collapse like a house of cards in a windstorm. The explosion of the van bomb results in minimal structural damage.
Initially, that is.
There’s only the crack of the detonation, the primary shock and lurch, then a heavy rumbling that begins to rattle the steel frame so intensely, Lennox is tossed off the chair onto his back, shaved skull bouncing off the concrete like a hollow melon.
A gray-black fog of smoke and debris arrives then up through the air vents. The thick cloud consumes the building’s interior. All breathable air is sucked from Jude’s lungs. He is blinded not from fear, but from smoke and dust.
When the second, far more forceful explosion occurs maybe a second and a half after the first, he feels the building lurch beneath him as the entire west-side facade collapses, falls away in a dramatic gesture of shock and awe.
* * *
From Jude’s vantage inside the eighth floor office, it seems as if the very front of the eight-story building has been sliced like a wedding cake from top to bottom. What survives of the now broken eighth floor concrete slab is no longer level. The floor angles down at a severe thirty degrees. In order to keep from falling, Jude must either grip the floor’s smooth surface like an insect or hang on to the opposite wall in order to avoid slip-sliding away, dropping off the edge for an eight-story plunge to the concrete pavement below.
Scream Catcher Page 28