The Day of Legion

by Craig Taylor

“Oh, can you tell me where he’s based?” she asked

  She heard him tapping on his keyboard. “There’s no one by the name of Ravenbrook in the police. Are you sure that’s his name?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “There must be some mistake with your computer. He’s working on all of the cases involving Jason Hansen and his family. He was asked to conduct a shadow investigation to overview the cases to try and establish a link. Someone in your office must know his contact details.”

  The detective cleared his throat. “Firstly, I’m on the Jason Hansen missing-persons case, so I’m in the know on this and the other cases. No one, and I mean no one has been assigned to conduct an overview of the combined cases. Secondly, what you describe is not a shadow investigation. A shadow investigation is where someone is the victim of a serious crime, normally murder, and while that investigation is launched, we have our suspicions about a family member or close friend’s involvement. That investigation shadows the initial investigation, hence the name.”

  “Umm, can you confirm that no detective has been assigned to overview all of the incidents involving the Hansen family?” she asked. She knew that was exactly what he said; she just needed a moment to get her thoughts together.

  “That’s right,” he replied.

  “There is no Detective Ravenbrook at your station or even in the police?”

  “That’s right,” the detective replied. “Is there something you want to tell me?

  Patricia thought for a moment. “No, I think I’ve misunderstood, thank you for your time.”

  She hung up the phone. “Misunderstood my ass!” she said aloud. “What’s this guy up to?”

  She sat at her desk going over her interactions with Ravenbrook, everything he’d said and done. Was he involved in the murders and Jason’s disappearance? He did show a police badge and a business card; she had to assume “fake”. Now she understood why he told her to call his cell phone and not the office, but that didn’t explain his interactions with the other police officers. He was with that other officer when she met him that morning.

  She was angry. Her gut told her that he wasn’t involved and he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but the circumstances said otherwise. Was he an investigative reporter? She didn’t know, but she would certainly confront him the next time she saw him. Her money was on him being a writer, looking for a story.

  She sat at her desk a while, attempting to piece everything together. When it became too much, she headed home. Her mind was unfocused. She stopped at the supermarket on the way and brought a piece of steak and a few other ingredients for her recipe.

  By the time she got home, she was desperate for a shower, so she dumped her groceries in the kitchen and headed for the bathroom. She stopped and looked at herself in front of the mirror. She felt old and thought she looked it.

  At thirty-three years of age, she had managed to stay in good shape. She ran a couple of times a week; went to the gym as often as she could. She usually ate healthy meals. She was never satisfied with her body. As she stood looking at her body in the mirror, she shook her head.

  She made a resolution to start having a facial and a manicure at least once a month. “Don’t want to look forty-five when I’m thirty-five,” she said to herself.

  The steam from the shower began to fog the mirror, so she grabbed a towel from the hall cupboard, went back in to the bathroom and got in. She thought one of the great things about living alone was being able to walk around naked at home.

  The water felt soothing and went a little way to relaxing her tired muscles. She soaped up and let the water cascade over her, rinsing the suds off. She felt like she could stay in there for hours.

  The phone rang. Normally she would have ignored it while in the shower, but given the recent happenings she turned the water off, wrapped a towel around her body and went to answer it.

  “Hello?” There was no answer. “Hello?” she said again. Still no answer.

  She hung up. “Great, I was enjoying that shower.”

  She didn’t bother getting back in. Fifteen minutes later she was in her favorite pair of ‘knockabout’ jeans and T-shirt, sitting in the living room, sipping a glass of red wine and reading a magazine. She had put the rice on and was waiting for it to cook before adding the rest of the ingredients.

  A knock at the door startled her. She got up and looked through the peephole. A woman was standing in the hallway. Patricia didn’t know her, but she looked okay, as far as she could tell. She was confident serial killers didn’t knock at the door wearing a cocktail dress. She must have the wrong apartment.

  She opened the door and smiled. She was strikingly beautiful. Her black cocktail dress sat perfectly against olive skin and her dark hair framed her face nicely. Her eyes were deep blue. “Hi,” she said, smiling. “Can I help you?”

  “Doctor Leland?” the woman asked.

  It took Patricia by surprise. “Yes.”

  “I know,” the woman replied. She punched Patricia in the face, knocking her to the floor.

  The woman stepped into the apartment, turned briefly to make sure no one had heard, then shut and locked the door. Patricia, despite being stunned, jumped to her feet and managed to block another punch with her forearm as the woman advanced.

  “Who the hell are you?” she shouted. “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

  She threw a punch back, but the woman ducked and weaved like a boxer, then struck out with a roundhouse kick, catching Patricia in the thigh. It made the leg buckle, but she managed to stay upright.

  The woman produced a small pistol from a handbag she was carrying. She pointed it at Patricia’s face and pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening. Patricia felt the bullet whiz past her ear; she had ducked as the gun was being fired. The television behind her exploded in a flash of light and sparks. She picked up a small table lamp next to the sofa and threw it. It hit the woman in the face, knocking her backwards into a seated position on the floor.

  She dropped the gun as she fell. It slid along the polished wood floor and hit the bottom of the front door. Patricia couldn’t get to it without running across the woman, and she didn’t want to risk it. She was already scrambling for the gun and trying to get up. Blood flowed from a deep wound in the woman’s forehead and ran down her face. It made her look crazy.

  Patricia kicked her in the ribs, connecting with her left side. She cried out in pain. “You fucking bitch!” she spat at her. “You’ll die slowly for that!”

  Patricia ran to her bedroom and slammed the door shut, sliding the bolt across. She moved to the side just as two bullets shot through the wood, ending up in the wall.

  She looked around for her cell phone, but realized it was by the sofa in the living room. Another shot came through the wall, this time narrowly missing her shoulder. She jumped and screamed. When the woman started pounding against the door with her body, Patricia knew she had to escape or she would die right there.

  She ran to the window and climbed onto the fire escape, grabbing a jacket and running shoes off the window seat. It was dark outside, and eerily quiet. The wind had picked up again and a light rain was falling. The street lights on the opposite corner were out again, making it very dark.

  She jammed her shoes on, not bothering to untie the laces, and tied the jacket around her waist. She could still hear the woman kicking at the door. As she fired another shot through the wall, Patricia started down the fire escape.

  She descended four flights. The fire escape rattled and echoed in the night. She had no idea if the woman had managed to break into the room, but she was not about to look up to find out.

  When she got to the bottom of the fire escape, she couldn’t figure how to extend the ladder down. It was too dark to see, so she decided to jump. She climbed over the edge and dropped down, not really knowing how far she would fall becau
se she couldn’t see the sidewalk. She thought it would be about one storey.

  The concrete came quicker than she thought. When she hit the ground, one ankle gave way. She fell to her side and banged her head on the curb. Above, the woman let off another shot. It hit the fire escape above Patricia and ricocheted across the street, smashing the window of a parked car, activating its alarm. Its shrill siren cut through the eerily quiet, dark side street.

  Patricia scrambled to her feet and ran toward the road the apartment building fronted. She hoped to find someone to help her, to call the police on their cell phone, but nobody was there. She could hear the woman climbing frantically down the fire escape.

  A car screeched to a halt right in front of her at the curb. She didn’t hear it approach and it made her jump. The driver leaned over and opened the passenger door.

  “Get in!” she heard a male voice shout.

  She bent down and looked in. It was David Ravenbrook. He was a far better option than the crazy bitch with the gun. She jumped in and slammed the door as he pulled away quickly. The rear window shattered as a bullet smashed through and lodged itself in the door post behind David.

  He drove like a madman. He screeched around corners, went through red lights, passing many other vehicles. Other drivers sounded their horns and cursed him, but he ignored them and kept driving.

  Patricia hung on to the arm rest, shaking with tears in her eyes. “What the hell is going on?” she shouted. “Some crazy bitch just broke in to my apartment and shot at me!”

  “Are you hurt?” David asked. “Did she get you?”

  “No, I’m not hurt, but I’d like some answers!”

  David nodded. He slowed down and looked in his rear vision mirror. “They didn’t follow us,” he told her.

  “Who are they?” she asked.

  “The people who want you dead,” he replied, flatly.

  “What?” she shrieked. “Who wants me dead? Why would they? How do you know, David–if that’s your real name?”

  He looked at her, his face unreadable.

  “That’s right, I called the police station and was told not only is there no shadow investigation, there is no David Ravenbrook in the police!”

  “I’ll tell you,” he replied. “I need to take you to meet someone or you won’t believe any of it.”

  She hesitated, not knowing what to say.

  “Look,” David said. “You’re safe with me. If I wanted you hurt or dead I would have just left you back there, wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t really have much choice, do I?” she replied in surrender. “Where are we going?”

  “It would be better just to go than to explain right now. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just want to know what’s going on. Why do people want me dead and why did you lie to me about who you are?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  They drove for about forty-five minutes, southward through farmland and rolling hills. David turned the vehicle down a gravel driveway, obscured with overgrown bushes and overhanging trees. If you didn’t know exactly where it was, you would never notice it.

  Patricia couldn’t see any houses or out-buildings in the darkness. She wondered if she had just gone from the danger of the woman shooting her in the city to David killing her in the middle of a field.

  They hadn’t spoken to this point. When they left the city she lost herself in thought. One day she was living her life and working hard with her only problem being her dark little office; the next, a child patient’s mother is killed in front of him, the child goes missing, an unknown woman tries to kill her in her apartment, to be saved by a quick thinking and fake detective–who has now brought her to the middle of the country in the dead of night to ‘explain things’.

  David drove slowly along the gravel driveway, around corners and over rises, until finally Patricia saw a light in the distance. When they got closer, she could see it was a small farmhouse. He pulled the car up in front of the door and cut the engine. They both got out. Patricia looked around; she wanted to identify an escape route if she needed one. She was kicking herself for trusting him and not insisting he take her straight to the police–the real ones.

  Four wooden stairs led to a wood-framed glass door, which was in the center of the house. There were windows along the wall on either side of the door. There were two sheds to the left of where they were standing. Even in the darkness, Patricia could see they were run-down. On the other side of the house was a wooden garage with a garage door and one small side door. Next to that was an old concrete water tank. Past that she could make out a barn or large implement shed.

  She couldn’t see anything past that, and decided if she needed to run, it would be up the driveway.

  David came around the car and stood next to her. She felt uncomfortable and, just as she was about to step away, the front door of the house opened. An old man stepped out onto the porch. He gave David a look that said he was surprised to see Patricia there.

  Don’t say anything,” David said to him. “They tried to kill her as we thought, and there’s no where safe to take her.”

  “Who tried to kill me?” Patricia asked. “Why does everyone else seem to know who this woman was and I’m completely in the dark?”

  “You’ve told her nothing?” the man asked David.

  David shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t believe me without bringing her here. You know far more than me, Dad.”

  Patricia raised her eyebrows. Dad?

  “Come in, both of you,” he said, motioning them inside.

  David led the way, walking past the old man into the house. Patricia followed; tense and ready to strike out and run, depending on what she saw when she entered.

  She was surprised. It was a nice, clean, tidy house. The warmth was a nice change to the cold wind outside. The door led to the side of a small kitchen. Just to the left was a washing machine. She followed David into the kitchen, which revealed a living room and dining area on the other side of a kitchen counter.

  A small wooden dining table was at one end of the kitchen with four chairs around it and a computer on it. Papers and books covered the rest of the table. A stereo and television set were in the corner along the same wall. Against the opposite wall was a sofa with a wooden coffee table in front of it. A single recliner was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

  The floors were polished wood and stained a dark gold. Patricia didn’t know what type of wood it was, but it was beautiful. The walls were painted a light cream, contrasting nicely with the deep hue of the floor. She guessed the house was very old.

  It was a little run-down, but Patricia could see it had been renovated at some point. The wall opposite the kitchen counter was all glass, with aluminum framing. Thanks to the light in the living room, she could see a wooden deck outside through the glass sliding door. Two chairs were on the deck, facing out towards the fields. They sat on either side of a small table, just large enough to hold a couple of glasses.

  David spoke first. “Patricia, this is my father, Albert.”

  The old man nodded and smiled. He looked tired with a drawn face. He was shorter than David, but had the same eyes and dark hair, except his was streaked with grey and a little thin on top. He was dressed in jeans and a shirt. Patricia thought he looked fit for his age.

  David continued.

  “He and I work together. He’s the brains and I do the field work.”

  “What sort of work?” she asked.

  Albert told them to sit down and said he would make coffee. He watched David from behind the kitchen counter. David sat next to Patricia on the sofa.

  He began. “You’ll find this hard to believe. We are telling you the truth, and you are free to believe it or not. My father and I are guardians. We protect good people who are being targete
d by forces of evil. They recruit people to do their bidding and reward them. They also influence normal people and encourage them, without their knowledge, to commit acts of evil”.

  When Patricia raised her eyebrows, he could tell she thought they were nuts already. His father placed three cups of coffee on the table and sat in the single chair facing her.

  “Try the coffee,” he told her. “It’s from Timor Leste, some think it’s the best in the world.”

  She was unsure whether to drink it. David was starting to sound like a cult leader and she was scared the coffee was laced with something.

  Sensing her thoughts, Albert continued. “Let me put it this way. There are evil forces in this world intent on creating havoc, through pain and hurt and suffering. They use evil people to achieve their goals. They have a plan. For generations, they have been eliminating those who they think will get in the way.

  “They know before someone is even born whether they’ll be a powerful force against them, and try to eliminate family members in previous generations to prevent the births of their enemies. They know the complicated sequence of events yet to happen, and constantly try to turn it to their favor. They attack those good people, from the day they are born until they die. They have unimaginable strength and power, and are waiting for the day they are strong enough and have enough support. They call that day ‘Legion’.”

  Patricia looked from Albert to David. She was waiting for one of them to laugh and tell her it was a big joke and they don’t really know what is going on. Their expressions told her they believed every word they were saying.

  David continued this time. “They nurture those amongst us who choose to do bad things and are, therefore, easily swayed. They don’t make people commit horrendous crimes, people have to make those decisions freely to be truly evil, but these forces create opportunities and encouragement, waiting for the person to choose to do whatever evil act they are considering. They encourage rage and violence. Once people commit an act in rage, it makes them easier to manipulate and erodes their consciences. Their goal is the complete corruption of man; use evil people to kill good people”