The man studied her as Keegan tried to make sense of what she saw in his eyes. If she didn’t know better, she would think that he enjoyed the hunt…
No—he enjoyed hunting her.
The contents of her stomach turned at the thought. What could turn a man to such darkness?
One of the other men spoke as he passed the scarred man a cell phone. Taking it, the man remained silent and listened. Keegan saw question flare in the man’s eyes for the first time as he moved his mouth in a brief statement. Listening once more, he shrugged his shoulders, then tossed the phone back to his partner.
Keegan fought to understand; she needed to know what had been said. But before she knew what was happening, the two underlings hoisted her by her arms and held her, allowing the scarred man to move in front of her once more. She watched as he retrieved a hypodermic syringe from a pack on his hip. He examined it briefly in the moonlight, and she felt her eyes go wide, trying to struggle against the strong men holding her. But it was no use. She was powerless—as though every ounce of energy had been wrung from her body by the strange weapon.
The scarred man proceeded to eject the contents of the syringe, squirting it into the air. He didn’t stop until the syringe was empty. She didn’t understand. Wasn’t he going to use the drug?
But as the man pulled the plunger back on the empty syringe, filling its chamber with air, Keegan understood what he intended. Struggling, willing her mouth to open, she fought to free herself from the harsh, painful grip of her attackers.
The scarred man moved forward. He looked her in the eyes and she saw his lips move once more. This time…she understood.
“Such as waste.”
With a shake of his head, the man stabbed the needle into the side of her neck and pushed the plunger all the way to its stop. Pulling the needle free, he stepped away.
The pair of men released her and Keegan crashed to the asphalt in a heap. Her hand slapped at the puncture point, but it did no good. There was nothing she could do now. Her eyes were wide as they jumped randomly around the empty roof before falling once more on the scarred man.
Keegan felt her entire body shudder as if hit by a single violent blow. But there was no pain. Yet another quake passed through her and she realized she was on her back, staring up at the night sky. She couldn’t feel or hear anything, but sadness flooded her mind. She’d been so close. She’d almost escaped. She’d almost been free.
The last thing she saw was the scarred man above her. His face was a mask of indifference. He didn’t seem to care that he’d just taken her life.
A moment later, everything went black and Keegan Porter was gone.
* * *
New York State
32 Days Ago
9:44 p.m.
The cobwebs and shadows gave way to increasing moments of lucidity as the world around him began to take on a three dimensional quality that William hadn’t experienced in far too long. He sat alone in the sparsely decorated room and concentrated on clearing his mind. The chair’s threadbare armrest began to feel like something more than indistinct grit beneath his fingers, and the room stank of some kind of antiseptic or cleaning solution. Even the dull, unintelligible sounds that had surrounded him night and day slowly began to slip back into the familiar tones of the psych ward where he’d been imprisoned.
His mind suddenly clearing by a degree, William remembered overhearing someone refer to the facility as a psychiatric hospital. But that didn’t make sense. He’d never suffered from mental illness. Shaking his head, William licked his lips with a swollen, dry tongue. Suddenly aware of how badly his body ached, he turned his head and looked around the dimly lit room, trying his best to focus on his surroundings. Sitting in an old, worn out armchair in the corner, he took in the room—the small steel-framed bed against the wall opposite him, and a tall freestanding lamp that looked as aged as he felt. The weak light bulb flickered every few minutes. It was a poor excuse for illumination, and it kept the room in a darkness that matched his clouded mind.
A sudden flash of light outside the small, dirty-paned window pulled William’s mind free from its drug-induced stupor. The thunderclap that followed was so close that he felt the reverberation in his chest. It was as if the lightning had struck the building on purpose, just to add to the fear and panic of anyone locked inside. He sucked in a breath and fought the wave of nausea that accompanied the ringing of the thunder in his ears. His heart raced and his ribs burned. It was the first deep breath William had taken in…forever.
How long had they been dosing him with the powerful drugs? It was a struggle just to form coherent thoughts.
While he had no concept of time, the ache in his bones told William that his muscles had atrophied. He felt far older than his twenty-four years warranted.
Pulling himself to his feet, William fought to steady himself on wobbly legs. The room spun around him for several moments, and just when he thought he was going to lose the battle with gravity, his swimming vision settled and his sense of balance returned. Taking a single step required a phenomenal effort of will, he realized. Looking down at the thin fabric slippers that wrapped his feet, he took note of his faded wardrobe—pajama pants with matching button-up cotton shirt. His clothing, much like the upholstery on his chair, was worn and frayed from overuse and long overdue for replacement.
Taking two more steps, William found himself in front of the room’s lonesome window. From his second story view, he stared out at the torrent of rain pummeling the shadowed grounds below. His eyes followed three sidewalks as they branched off from the building and disappeared into the rain-soaked darkness. A few scattered lampposts lined the paths making a feeble effort to push back the night. The murky glow they cast and the forking angle of the paths only hinted at the vastness of the world beyond, making William feel far more isolated than he ever had before.
His focus shifting, William suddenly saw the ghost of his reflection peer back at him in the darkened window and felt an incredible shock to his core. Raising a hand slowly, his fingers traced the sallow lines of the reflection, struggling to confirm that it was indeed his own. Several days worth of stubble lined his jaw and neck, but it was the gaunt hollowness surrounding his eye sockets that made him think he was seeing an unearthly apparition.
No, it can’t be me…
Following the edge of his jaw, he traced the exaggerated line of his nose before gently poking at the blackened circles framing his exhausted eyes. His hair had grown longer, as well…longer than he had ever let it grow before. Dropping down just past his eyebrows, it was essentially the same shaggy, unkempt mop all the way around. He shuddered, not recognizing the image before him.
My God, he thought. What have they done to me?
The reality of his situation set in as his senses returned more fully. William realized that he’d been kept drugged far longer than he had originally suspected. A deep, venomous anger began to well up inside of him. It grew with each passing moment, burning away the residual drugs left in his system.
The drugs…
Now that he could think clearly, he could vaguely recall an unending cycle of faceless orderlies visiting his side at clockwork intervals. They had always remained quiet and administered some kind of…
William glanced down at his left forearm. A catheter had been taped securely to his flesh, the injection port at the end showing signs of extensive use. He flexed his arm, realizing for the first time how much it ached from the constant repetitive injections.
The sound of rainfall on the roof finally reached his ears. He was exhausted. The desire to drop back into his chair and catch his breath was nearly overwhelming, but doing so would surely cost him his only opportunity for escape. There must have been some sort of mistake—a slip-up in the medication regimen they had forced upon him.
No. He wouldn’t squander the opportunity, William promised himself. There was little chance of another. He only hoped he could gain the mental wherewithal to make his escape befo
re they had a chance to dose him once more.
With a concerted effort, William made his way to the doorway of the small room. Each step took substantial strength and concentration, but with each halting step, he felt his blood flow faster, erasing the fog that had blocked the inner-workings of his mind. For each step he took, the next came more easily.
There was no door in the entryway to his room so he stepped close to the opening and listened for any signs of life. Carefully poking his head around the frame, he took in the wide hallway that led left and right. Although the walls had once been handcrafted by artisans who clearly understood the beauty of ornate work, William saw that their efforts had long since been disregarded, left to deteriorate with time and neglect. So, too, had the dark hardwood floors—both looked as if they had once been majestic works, but now decades of use and abuse had all but destroyed the incredible craftsmanship.
Distant thunderclaps came every few seconds as the storm outside intensified. Somewhere, at the furthest range of his hearing, he could identify the sound of a breathing respirator and heart monitor; the beeps and clicks were coming from down the hallway to the left. Whoever was attached to the equipment would require a greater level of attention, he reasoned, so when he exited the room he went right.
By the time he reached the end of the hallway, William had regained full control of his arms and legs. He was able to walk with a near normal gait, even if his muscle deterioration brought pain with each step. Standing at the top of a wide sweeping staircase, he realized what should have been apparent from the very beginning. The building he was being held in was, in fact, some sort of old manor house; an antique mansion that had found its new purpose as a crude and poorly maintained medical facility. The once grand staircase stretched out below him, making nearly a ninety-degree sweeping turn before reaching the dull, scratched floor below. The staircase was eight or ten feet wide, but what had once been beautifully carved treads and risers were now defaced with crude adhesive grip-strips adhered to the stained, splintered wood. Although functional, it was truly a sad shadow of its once glorious design.
William was just about to take his first step when he was startled by a voice from behind. It had been so long since he’d heard the unmuddled words of another human being that he found himself confused by the sound. Placing a hand on the staircase banister, he turned slowly to face the voice.
Mister Waterford? Are you alright? What are you doing out of your room?
The male nurse dressed in medical scrubs looked at him strangely. It was an expression that William couldn’t understand. While the nurse seemed alarmed, he couldn’t tell if the man was surprised, worried, frightened…or, angry.
What are you doing out here by yourself, you crazy bastard?
William scowled. While he couldn’t interpret the nurse’s expression, the man’s words somehow didn’t fit with the circumstances.
The nurse took a step forward and William felt himself involuntarily stiffen. The nurse must have noticed his movement because he instantly froze, his eyes studying William as if trying to gauge some unknown emotion.
Something’s wrong. I’ve never even seen you on your feet without someone leading you around like a dog on a leash.
Suddenly realizing what was wrong with the situation, William focused on the petulant man’s lips. Though he struggled to understand what he was seeing, he was certain that the nurse’s mouth hadn’t moved, although he’d heard every single word uttered.
“Mister Waterford? Are you okay?” the nurse asked. His voice was soft and quiet, as if not wanting to become the first meal for a hungry bear that had just woken up from hibernation.
Okay, that time it was different, William thought. He had seen the man’s mouth move in time with the words. Confused, he looked around, but they were all alone.
A look of severe discomfort suddenly spread across the man’s face.
Oh, shit. They warned us about this—someone messed up his meds! The sedative’s wearing off!
While William wasn’t yet functioning at one hundred percent, he did recognize the sheer terror blazing in the nurse’s eyes. The man was about to bolt—and when he did, he would raise the alarm.
Meeting the nurse’s gaze a moment before he could turn tail and run, William focused all of his energies on him. And in that single moment of contact, he felt a blanket of calm settle over him. It was as if he was suddenly encased inside an invisible bubble that kept the rest of the world at bay. All of the physical pain, all of his mental disorientation, simply disappeared in that single moment of clarity.
A warm vibration ran through William’s body as he felt his mind connect to that of the nurse. For one brief moment, he felt the man’s fear—his terror—at the sight of William. William even saw himself through the man’s eyes. Standing there at the top of the staircase, his eyes locked on the nurse as if they’d reached out and grabbed him.
Pushing the man’s foreboding aside as if it were nothing of consequence to him, William saw the security card that hung from the breast pocket of the nurse’s scrubs. William smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. With a completely blank expression on his face, the nurse reached up and released the clip that held the card to his shirt and handed it to William without uttering a word.
No sooner had William taken the card from the man’s outstretched hand, when another nurse rounded a corner at the end of the hall. She walked up behind her co-worker; her chin was turned down, reading a clipboard as she moved. Stopping suddenly, the woman nearly collided with the first nurse who stood straight and tall, like a statue in the center of the hall.
“Hey, watch it Gene,” the woman snapped. “Why are you just standing—”
With a slight turn of her head, her gaze fell on William.
The woman’s eyes grew instantly large at the sight. “Oh, shit!” she muttered in a ghost of a voice.
Making it a half-step back, her retreat came to a swift end as the male nurse pulled a pen from his pocket and stabbed it into the soft tissue of her neck.
Blood sprayed from the wound as the thin weapon ruptured an artery. Her legs instantly folding, she dropped to the floor in a heap. Though her eyes were wide with terror, the expression lasted only moments before a glassy sheen arrived, announcing her passing. A dark black pool spread out beneath her body. The entire savage attack had occurred in complete silence. The only telltale sign was the muffled tumble of her small body as it struck the unforgiving floor.
Taking no pleasure in what he’d just done, or rather, what he’d just forced the nurse to do, William took a deep fortifying breath. He reasoned that there’d been no alternative to the slaying—not if he was going to escape. Furthermore, if he was to complete his getaway, he would have to dispatch the male nurse as well.
With no more than a thought aimed in the man’s direction, the command was sent. Without argument, the nurse raised the bloody pen once more and drove it into his own carotid artery. Striking the floor, his head and shoulders were surrounded by a pool of dark fluid even before the vacant look in his eyes was replaced by the glassy stare into oblivion.
William didn’t waste another second. Turning quickly and taking careful hold of the rail, he made his way to the first floor of the old building. The front door was an elaborate affair with cracked and neglected scrollwork carved into the coarse grain. Swiping the nurse’s key card across the sensor that had been crudely placed in the door’s frame, he pulled the door open the moment the lock released. The storm pounded the wide porch on the front of the old mansion, a deluge of water splashing against faded and peeling paint. William didn’t hesitate, walking swiftly into the driving rain and disappearing into the windswept darkness.
Chapter 1
Northern Virginia
Present Day
11:14 p.m.
The truck rolled along the endless stretch of country road. With a waxing moon that was nearly full, there was enough ambient light for Cyrus to take in the surrounding countryside. B
ut it was just more of the same, thick forested land mixed with wide open fields planted with what, he had no idea. In truth, his attention was more focused on the man beside him at the wheel of the massive six-wheeled military transport vehicle. Like the truck, the driver was outfitted in pale camouflage patterns. Both the vehicle and the driver’s uniform were faded and weathered, having seen their prime years long ago.
It was curious, Cyrus realized. They were so far out in the countryside that he knew their truck was likely to draw unwanted attention; or, at the very least, stand out in the memory of the few people they encountered. It wasn’t ideal given the nature of the truck’s cargo. And since he was dealing with both skilled and paranoid people, the juxtaposition was disconcerting and warned of the dangers to come.
However, such concerns couldn’t have been further from his chauffeur’s mind. While Cyrus didn’t know a great deal about the man, the few things he did know, he understood with absolute certainty. The man was slouched in his seat, his eyes peering over the truck’s wide steering wheel which he held in a near white knuckle grasp. The man looked on edge and defeated, and for good reason.
Cyrus had hijacked the truck some thirty miles back using a scatter of motorcycle wreckage to stop the truck, as well as trick the passenger into exiting the cab. There was never any danger that either of the men in the truck would radio for backup or call for emergency assistance, not with the payload of hardware they’d stolen from the military contractor they’d been charged with protecting.
Capturing the truck had taken less than five minutes. Cyrus was playing the role of the unconscious motorcyclist when the truck’s passenger came to check on him. As he suspected, the man was more interested in cleaning the road and moving on than he was of actually finding help for an injured fellow traveler. Because of this, there had been no guilt for Cyrus when he’d laid into the man with a Taser and dropped him right where he stood.
Dangerous Minds: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book One Page 2