Apocalypse Island

by Hall, Mark Edward

  They hadn’t counted on someone murdering innocents, and in so doing, pointing the way directly back to Apocalypse. The door needed to be closed once and for all. And as destructive as this final containment might turn out to be, Spencer had to be certain that this would be the end of it.

  As he moved forward through the underground facility with Robeson and the two techs carrying the footlocker, he was thinking about an old island prophecy that told of demons rising up out of the earth and wreaking havoc upon Apocalypse Island. Spencer knew that on this night the prophecy would come true.

  Chapter 111

  Laura woke up on her back, her face thrumming in agony, her head full of confusing images. She tried to open her eyes but they were nearly swollen shut. She felt the crust of dried blood like a mask on her face. She strained to see her surroundings but all she could make out were foggy shapes. She tried to remember exactly what had happened but her mind felt sluggish like a set of jammed gears. From out of the confusion came a single muddled thought: Danny...where is he?

  She tried to focus her blurry vision but the effort only added to the pain in her sore brain. She tried to move but realized that her hands and feet were bound together at the wrists and ankles. The realization struck her that she was strapped down to something.

  So where in the name of God was she?

  The last thing she remembered was seeing that bastard, and the anger rising in her like a tide at the realization that her suspicions were spot on. Then she was struck in the face and the lights went out. Though she believed what she’d seen, she was still having a hard time wrapping her brain around the entire picture. The memory of his face sent a renewed surge of rage rushing through her. She needed to get out of here and let Danny know what was going on. And she needed to warn Jennings.

  Wolf had stolen her gun, the asshole. Why hadn’t he helped her?

  At the risk of drawing unwanted attention she kept silent and as still as possible as she worked at her bonds.

  Chapter 112

  The minute Jennings pulled his car onto International Parkway he knew something was wrong. The place was crawling with cops. He saw them from a distance and pulled over to the curb feeling wary and exposed.

  He picked up his phone and dialed the station. Lou Abrams, the sergeant on the desk and an old friend answered the call and said that Robeson had ordered Jennings’s arrest.

  “Bastard!” Jennings spat bitterly. “Why?”

  “Listen,” Abrams said. “Frank Cavanaugh was found dead half an hour ago at your residence on Long Lake.”

  “What? Christ, how?”

  “He was killed with a butcher knife from your kitchen knife rack.”

  “Jesus, I was just there,” Jennings said. “I didn’t see Frank.”

  “Your footprints were the only ones in Cavanaugh’s blood.”

  “Jesus,” Jennings said again. “That was Frank’s blood?”

  “Who did you think it belonged to?”

  Jennings did not reply.

  “Listen, Rick, Robeson said you broke into Cavanaugh’s house and you’re also wanted for questioning in his wife’s murder.”

  “That’s absurd,” Jennings said. “I didn’t kill Frank. He was my partner. Why would I kill him? Why would I kill Kate? She was my friend. She was strung up just like one of those Cross my Heart girls.”

  “I know,” Abrams said. “Robeson told me it has something to do with Jack Higgins, that you’d betrayed him, maybe even killed him. I think you’d better come in, Rick.”

  Jennings put his finger on the off button. He felt like he’d been sucker-punched in the gut. Robeson was setting him up, twisting everything around so that suspicion fell on him instead of where it really belonged. No way would he let them bring him down.

  He got out of his car, pocketed the phone and walked across the airport’s remote parking lot toward Westbrook Street. When he was well away from all the bustling activity he pulled the phone back out of his pocket and made a call. Persephone Wilder answered. “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Where I’m supposed to be. Meeting you at the airport.”

  “Listen, there’s been a change of plan.”

  “No kidding. I heard about Cavanaugh and his wife. The wires have it and every cop in the city is looking for you.”

  “Do you trust me, Seph?”

  “Of course I trust you.”

  “Okay, then listen, Robeson is in this up to his eyeballs. He used to work for the CIA and he was involved in the events on Apocalypse Island, and I think he was involved in Jack Higgins’s murder.”

  “I tried to tell that story,” Wilder said. “But...well...you know what happened.”

  “Actually I don’t. And I don’t know the whole story. Maybe you could fill me in. Did you know the chief was involved in Jack’s death?”

  “I had a source, but my hands were tied.”

  “So you did know?”

  “I suspected, but they threatened me.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Jennings said. He could hear Wilder’s soft breathing on the phone line. “And you never said anything?”

  “I couldn’t, Rick. Listen, I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.”

  “Robeson’s trying to set me up,” Jennings said. “Twist it around so that I look guilty instead of him. I thought he was my friend. I need your help.”

  “You’ve got it, Rick. Listen, you’ve always been good to me, treated me like a human being when a lot of the boys downtown treated me like a bimbo. I just want you to know I appreciate it.”

  “It’s because I’ve always liked you,” Jennings said.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No, I mean it. I really respected the way you handled that whole thing after the death of your husband.”

  “Didn’t do me any good.”

  “Maybe not, but at least you stood up.”

  Wilder had lost her husband three years ago when a burglar broke into their home, murdered him in his bed while he was napping and then robbed the place. A teenager had been picked up several hours later wandering along the country road near where the Wilders lived. He was high on methamphetamine and disoriented and claimed he didn’t remember anything. His pockets were filled with items from the Wilder household; a Rolex watch, several diamond rings, bracelets and necklaces, items that Persephone later identified as belonging to her and her late husband. It wasn’t the kid’s first arrest. The Portland police knew him well. He got into drugs at an early age, had several run-ins with other police agencies but always managed to beat each rap.

  Jennings knew it was because he was from a rich family with political ties and his father could afford an expensive team of lawyers. The lawyers argued that other than the items found on the young man there was no evidence that he had been in Wilder’s house. Although Wilder’s husband had been stabbed to death, there was no blood or DNA on the suspect’s clothing and a murder weapon was never found. After a trial that lasted nearly six months, the kid was acquitted and put back on the street.

  Persephone had taken a perverse kind of pleasure in taking the family apart, and had made some bitter political enemies in the process. The deciding factor in the trial was the part about the kid stealing expensive jewelry. He was rich. He drove expensive sports cars. He could buy anything he wanted. Why would he steal jewelry? The lawyers were good enough to put doubt in the juror’s minds and that was that.

  Jennings was part of the original investigative team and he had to admit to himself that there were doubts in his mind as well.

  No matter. A year later the kid, high again on some designer drug, died in a fiery car crash. As far as the system was concerned justice had prevailed.

  “Listen,” he said. “We don’t have a lot of time. I need access to a chopper.”

  “I think I can do that,” Wilder told him. “I’ve got friends over at Channel 12. Problem is I can’t get access without them getting in on the action.”

  “I don’t like it,” Jennings said.r />
  “It might be the only way. I’ll make a call, see what I can do. Where are you now?”

  “On foot just coming out onto Westbrook Street at the back of International Parkway. Cops everywhere and I’m trying not to get noticed. Be careful.”

  “See you in a jiffy.”

  Jennings hung up from Wilder and made another phone call.

  Chapter 113

  Just up the hill from the pier was a general store, now closed, and a row of fishing shacks and boathouses set along the rocky shoreline. Beyond the shacks Wolf saw houses, some with lights still burning in their windows. The unpaved lane split just beyond the store. The right lane snaked along the shoreline past houses and cottages, the left lane continued up the hill to the giant hulk of a building that had once been the orphanage. He remembered there being a church just beyond the orphanage, but he’d seen no activity around the building on the day the band had been photographed here and had assumed it too, was abandoned. Now he saw lights on in the church windows.

  There was a tall wrought iron fence surrounding the orphanage building—some of it lying in ruin—with a gate at the front which stood wide open.

  He stepped up to the open gate. Something beyond his ability to understand was drawing on him, calling him home. He shuddered at the thought. The rain had ceased momentarily but the wind continued to blow steadily, whipping surrounding trees against a black sky. Chains of lightning pulsed inside the clouds turning the building, the fence and the tree trunks the color of old bones. He stopped and gazed up at the building as emotions worked in him. The orphanage stood a full four stories tall. It was old and gothic and unquestionably eerie silhouetted against the dark tree-covered hillside. Here is where the cross had been emblazoned, as though contrived to be visible from the city clear across Casco Bay. But it wasn’t so much the cross that drew Wolf’s attention as a tall second-story window, now glassless, beside it. He stood staring at the window and was overtaken by a strong sense of Déjà vu. Tears filled his eyes.

  Something moved beyond the window, subtle, like a splash of liquid fire and the memories came rushing back, so strongly now that they threatened to drag him to his knees with despair. He saw fire licking from windows and doors, and roof timbers collapsing. He heard the desperate screams of children and remembered crawling beneath rising plumes of smoke to show them the way out. He remembered everything in that moment.

  On shaky legs he stepped through the open gate and moved toward the building.

  Chapter 114

  “It’s been a hell of a day,” Wilder said with a sigh. They were on their way downtown, weaving through traffic.

  Jennings grunted out an ironic laugh, wondering if her day could actually compare to his. “I think that’s an understatement,” he replied. He saw that Wilder was dressed casually tonight, as though she had just returned from a jog in the woods; jeans, sweatshirt and sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her hairline higher and more severe than Jennings had imagined. Actually he was having trouble keeping his eyes off her. He thought that she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But there was something odd and mysterious about her that had always puzzled him. When she looked directly in his eyes his knees weakened and he felt captured, like a moth to a flame.

  “I don’t understand what happened with Frank,” Jennings continued. “They say he was found dead at my place on Long Lake. I left there an hour ago and I didn’t see his body. Blood yes, but no body. Something is very wrong. It just doesn’t add up.”

  Wilder braked at a red light and her fingers tapped rhythmically on the wheel. “So you don’t know that he’s actually dead?”

  “No, I guess I don’t. Only what Lou Abrams told me. He said it came from Robeson.”

  “But Robeson’s dirty.”

  “Yeah, I guess he is.”

  “Tell me what you know about him.”

  As Wilder accelerated once again through Friday night traffic, Jennings explained his suspicions about Robeson’s involvement in the events on Apocalypse Island.

  “So you’re sure he was involved?” Wilder said.

  “Well, no, not exactly, but when I confronted him he didn’t exactly deny it. He’s at least in the pockets of the feds who are desperately trying to cover something up over there.”

  “You mean what they did to those children?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Wilder shot Jennings a sidelong glance. “You don’t sound very convinced.”

  Jennings frowned. “Something’s been bothering me about this whole case. I understand why the government would want to cover up illegal experiments on children, but according to what Robeson said, that’s the least of it.”

  “And he wouldn’t elaborate?”

  “No, but he said it was something nobody could ever know about. I can’t imagine anything worse than what they did to those kids.”

  “Why would he lie about Cavanaugh?” Wilder asked.

  “I could think of a number of reasons; to throw me off balance; to make me lose focus; find an excuse to bring me in, get me out of the way. You want more?”

  Wilder did not reply.

  “I am off balance,” Jennings continued. “This case is bugging the shit out of me, and I’m not used to feeling this way. Murder cases are never easy, but most are at least logical. This one’s got everyone spinning in circles.”

  Still Wilder made no reply.

  “What do you think the killer is trying to tell us by carving a cross on each of his victims and then crucifying them?” Jennings asked. He was looking directly at Wilder.

  Wilder gave Jennings another quick, sharp jab of a look. “How should I know?”

  “Just thought you might have a theory.”

  “Maybe he isn’t trying to tell us anything,” Wilder said. “Maybe he’s just a total nut job that likes to torture young women. What if it’s that simple?”

  Jennings shook his head. “There’s got to be more to it than that. Robeson and a federal agent named Spencer told me that the experiments done on those kids caused some sort of psychosis in them, and that they believed that’s who’s been committing the murders. I’m not sure I buy that explanation.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why would experiments on kids, no matter how diabolical, cause the same kind of psychosis in all of them? It just doesn’t make sense to me. There has to be something else.” Jennings pulled one of the Bad Medicine fliers from his pocket and flashed it in front of Wilder. “I think the killer’s telling us everything we want to know right here.”

  “Yeah, what’s that?” she asked, glancing several times at the band poster.

  “That the answer is right before our eyes. Everything we need to know is there on Apocalypse Island. Someone very dear to me has been trying to get me to see it and I wouldn’t listen to her. I wish I had.”

  Wilder nodded grimly and kept on driving.

  Chapter 115

  The chopper was running at idle when they arrived. Besides the pilot, who introduced himself as Josh Ricker, two other people were waiting. A man and a woman. The woman Jennings recognized as Faith Masterson, an investigative reporter for Channel 12 News. She’d brought a cameraman along and introduced him as Bill Hendrix. After a round of quick introductions Jennings said, “All right, I want everyone to listen carefully to what I have to say. I don’t know what we’re going to find over there. There are a lot of unanswered questions concerning Apocalypse Island. The first sign of trouble and you guys are out of there. Understand?”

  Everyone agreed. Just the same, Jennings was feeling apprehensive about the whole situation. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Wolf had told him on the phone, and he was nearly certain that dragging all of these people into an unknown situation was a recipe for disaster.

  The pilot welcomed them and helped them aboard. The chopper was an older model Bell Jet Ranger but it appeared to be well maintained. Jennings took the shotgun seat beside the pilot. The other three passengers strap
ped themselves into the rear seat and a few moments later they were airborne, the city sliding away beneath them. Soon they were out over black water. Lightning stitched long trails above the clouds as wind and rain buffeted the aircraft.

  Chapter 116

  Wolf found a large wooden slab door but it was padlocked. He looked around the junk-filled yard until he found an old and broken piece of the wrought iron fence. It was about four feet long and felt sturdy enough in his hands. He wedged it behind the padlock’s hasp, and with a sharp, downward tug the screws pulled easily from the wood. He stepped up and kicked the door open. The room he stepped into was empty except for a pale mound wrapped in a sheet of plastic against the far wall. He went over and nudged it with his foot. The heavy sack rolled over and a face appeared through the window of opaque plastic like a ghost rising up out of a well, the eyes bulging and bloodshot.

  It was Dr. Hardwick.

  His face was horribly distorted, his mouth stretched open, as though he’d died in the middle of a scream. There was an electrical cord wrapped around his neck.

  “Jesus,” Wolf whispered, stepping back in recoil. He was overcome with a strong sense of dread. Although he now understood that Hardwick was involved much more profoundly in his life than he could ever have imagined, he could not understand what he was doing here or why anyone would want to kill him. Even so, the vague mutterings of understanding were beginning to piece themselves together in his mind.

  Outside, the muted sound of thunder rolled across the island.

  There was another door on the far wall. It appeared to be made of reinforced steel and was secured with a modern and sophisticated locking system. Wolf knew instinctively where it led; to the place where all the terrible things had happened, where the root of his fears waited patiently for his return. He pulled Laura’s gun from his belt, aimed and fired directly into the lock. It took four rounds but the lock finally gave way. The explosions inside the closed room were deafening.