The Snow Swept Trilogy

by Derrick Hibbard

"If you don't do exactly as I say,” said Harrison, “I give the word to Morales here and it's your boyfriend's brains all over this wall. Now let's go. We'll be late to the party."

  He pulled her by the arm, bruises already forming beneath his vice grip on her arm.

  "Wait," Mae cried. Tears streamed down her face, now resigned. The game was set, the pieces in place, and she would lose. She continued, "Dad, please, just let me say goodbye. Let me say goodbye and I'll go with you. I'll do whatever you say."

  "Mae—" Ryan started, but Morales hit him again, cutting off the words.

  "You have two minutes," Harrison said, thrusting her back into the sitting room.

  "Alone," Mae said. "You have me, and you have him. You've taken everything from me, Dad, the least you can do is give me two minutes alone, so I can say goodbye."

  Harrison paused, considering this. Finally he nodded, motioning for Morales to follow him. They stood just outside the entrance to the sitting room, guarding the front door. Mae rushed to Ryan. They fell into each other's arms.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Mae helped Ryan to his feet and held him so closely she could feel his heart beating. She glanced over her shoulder, and when she saw that they really were alone, she kissed him long and hard.

  "I love you, Ryan. I'm so sorry that I got you into this mess. I love you and I'm so sorry, so sorry." Tears ran down her face, hot and wet. He kissed her back, then shook his head.

  "No, Mae. You don't have be sorry for anything. Whatever happens, I'm glad we met on that airplane." He laughed, thinking about what she had said concerning his white socks. "I think I loved you the first time I saw you."

  They kissed over and over again, and it reminded them both of their first tentative kisses. They were one together, holding each other, sharing warmth and life and light. As they kissed, they whispered their love, soft and warm words. Finally, when their time seemed to be running out, Ryan paused, pulling away.

  "You have to end this, Mae," he said.

  "I'm not a killer. I'm not going to do it," she whispered back through her tears. "I just want it to end, and they won't ever stop coming after me. As long as I'm alive, Ryan, they won't stop. I'm a weapon for them, and I'm not going to be that."

  "Can you control it?"

  She paused before nodding, but then shook her head. "I can, sometimes. But there is a specific song that always triggers it. If the song is played, I can't control it."

  "Nocturne Number Six," he said.

  "How did you know?"

  "There are a lot of people trying to help you. The truth is coming out." He kissed her long and hard, and together they almost melted.

  "Mae," he pulled away again, and his own tears were on the verge of breaking. "You bring it down to end it. For you, and them. Everyone who has chased you and hurt you is in this building. Pull it down on their heads."

  Her body stiffened with the realization of what he was saying.

  "But they'll keep you here for just that reason. They know I won't hurt you, Ryan."

  "You have to bring them down, this whole organization, or it will be just like what you say. It won't ever end."

  "But you will die, Ryan, and I'm not going to do that."

  "Not if I can get to you," Ryan said, kissing her again. Any minute now, they would be back and taking her away from him again. "I will find you, Mae, and together we'll leave. We'll walk out of here together, but you have to end this."

  "Okay," she said and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Okay, but you find me."

  "As soon as you get to the main level..."

  "I will."

  They were holding each other tightly when Harrison ripped them apart. Ryan held on to her hand but let go when Morales held the Desert Eagle at his temple.

  "I love you, Ryan."

  "I love you too."

  And she was gone, pulled down the hallway and away from Ryan. The door slammed shut, and Ryan was left alone with Morales and the soldier guarding the front door. As soon as the door was closed, Morales hit Ryan in the head with the gun, though not hard enough to knock him unconscious. Ryan stumbled, raising his hands.

  "Hey, hey," Ryan said. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not going to be any trouble."

  Morales chuckled, shoving Ryan out of the sitting room and down the hallway.

  "I'd just as soon kill you now, get it over with," Morales growled. "Sit down."

  He motioned to a couch and Ryan sat.

  "Why don't you?"

  He laughed. "You're a stupid boy. That girl of yours, Ms. Flowers April Showers, is a time bomb. She decides to go off before the opportune moment, we're all screwed. Happened in Miami. You, my friend, are the insurance against that."

  Ryan shrugged, looking out the windows at the snow capped cliffs. He wondered if Sam and Dani had made good on their promise to hole up in a coffee shop and wait for him and Mae to return. He hoped they had. Whatever happened to them in the future, he hoped that Sam and Dani would be happy and healthy. That they would get out of this mess and get back to being a family.

  That would have been nice, he thought, to have a family.

  But that was a distraction from the moment, and he couldn't be distracted. The seconds ticked on; the end was coming. He turned back to Morales, who was in the kitchen, pouring himself some scotch. Morales set his gun on the counter, turned on the faucet and ran the water over his fingers. He splashed some of the droplets of water into the scotch and swirled the brown liquid, releasing the stronger aromas and flavors. Morales sniffed the scotch and took a small sip, returning to the living room.

  "Your plan is going to fail," Ryan said. Morales didn't respond, just smiled and drank a little more of the scotch, closing his eyes and savoring the taste.

  "Did I ever tell you about the cage for rats that I made?" Morales asked.

  Ryan shook his head, confused.

  "It was really quite a piece of work. I don't usually have the time to really be creative, but I'm guessing Harrison won't mind if I take my time on you." Morales sat on the easy chair opposite Ryan, but had left his gun on the counter in the kitchen. "The rat cage was one of my favorites. The cage had an opening in the back, where a person's face would go. I had these leather straps fastened to the sides, and the cage would be strapped to someone's head. It was... it was really something."

  Ryan felt sick at the thought, wondering if Morales was making this up to play with him.

  "Of course, the guy I tested it on didn't like it so much. I don't think anyone likes rats in your face, or chewing through your face. The reporter..." Morales' voice trailed off, deep in thought.

  "You know what?" he said suddenly. "Even though Harrison doesn't approve, I think I'm going to do something with you. We won't kill you here anyway, he'll ask that I take you away. After the showdown tonight, I should have some extra time on my hands to get down and dirty. We'll have a good time, you and I."

  "You're not walking out of here alive, you know that, right?" Ryan asked. He tried to grin, but the muscles in his face felt constricted and twitchy. He was scared. Despite all of his brave talk and thoughts, he was still scared. This wasn't like driving a car into an accident. This was playing Russian roulette with a crazy person, and he was afraid.

  "You have some cojones, boy." Morales' face was now serious. "But you have no idea what you are dealing with here. If you did, you would never have come. You would have said goodbye to your girlfriend and walked away. We might have come after you later, who knows. But you would have seen the sun rise another day. Maybe even played another one of your silly racing games. We are more powerful than you could ever imagine."

  "Your’s is illusory," Ryan said. "A house of cards, and it's crumbling. Even as we speak, your plan is failing."

  Morales didn't say anything, just looked away, annoyed. He sipped at his drink.

  "Don't believe me? Turn on the news," Ryan said.

  Morales balked. He stood and paced to the window.

  "What? They don't gi
ve you a minute-by-minute update of your power-house secret society crumbling?" Ryan forced himself to laugh. It sounded fake, but his point was conveyed. Morales sighed, grabbed the remote from the desk and turned on the flat screen television. He toggled to CNN, where a SPECIAL REPORT was in progress.

  A conversation overlaid the video of Heather being killed in the hotel lobby, and the ensuing mob attacking the killer. The video was a better version of the same event Ryan had seen depicted on Sam's phone in the car. This video showed Heather more clearly, and Ryan could see that his earlier thoughts were confirmed. She was very pretty. Not the knockout he'd always imagined, but pretty nonetheless. The video zoomed in on her face, right before she was killed, and Ryan was surprised to see that she wasn't afraid. Instead, she had a look of calm serenity. She had to know what was going to happen, but she faced it. A terrible look of defiance crossed her eyes.

  The voices on the video were muted to allow for the voice over conversation to take place, and a large watermark appeared in the corner of the screen, warning the viewer of graphic content.

  "Here," one of the voices says, "this woman, whose name has not yet been released, clearly says the name Paul Freemont. The name of your boss."

  "Yes." Another voice, this time a man's voice.

  "And you're telling us, and this is a CNN exclusive, that Mr. Freemont, a reporter for the Chicago Gazette, is missing. Can you tell us more about this?"

  The cellphone video cut to a soundstage where two people were sitting—a woman, the correspondent for CNN, and a man. The name Dennis Johnson appeared on the screen beneath him.

  "Yes," Dennis said. "We had lunch on the last morning I saw him, it's been several days now. Paul was, well, he was a bit eccentric. He would go days at a time without talking to anyone, especially when he was hot on a story."

  "And what did you discuss?"

  "He had a lead on his passion story," Dennis said. "Paul devoted most of his life to and nearly ruined his career on his story. He was obsessed, and that morning he told me about someone who had information and had contacted him."

  "And what was the story?" the correspondent asked. "His passion story?"

  "The building that collapsed in Miami several years ago." Dennis looked at his hands, and it wasn't clear if he was embarrassed to continue talking, or if he was emotional. "He was convinced that there was a cover-up, that something happened other than the story told to the media."

  A video taken from a helicopter suddenly appeared, showing the familiar images of the rubble and twisted metal in downtown Miami.

  "For those of you just tuning in," the correspondent said, "this is CNN Live covering the Monoco Shooting in Chicago. A woman who appeared to be in her early twenties was killed by man posing as a police officer. Reporter Paul Freemont was mentioned in the altercation leading up to the shooting, and he is missing. If you have any information on the whereabouts of Paul Freemont, please call the number on the screen."

  A title card appeared, depicting a picture of Paul Freemont and indicating a number to call. The correspondent continued, "Please stay with us for live coverage of the Monoco Shooting in Chicago."

  Morales changed the channel and another news broadcast appeared. A police officer at the Hotel Monoco was being interviewed. Flashing lights and crowds of people could be seen in the background.

  Another channel. This time the coverage was not of what had apparently been dubbed the Monoco Shooting, but of the WE-1 Summit in Colorado. The pundits on the screen were discussing several key ideas and proposals that would be presented at the Summit.

  But along the bottom of the screen, the headline news ticker was streaming: ... -ULT OF RACIAL TENSIONS IN SC***NOTORIOUS HACKER GROUP ANONYMOUSLY LEAKS DOCUMENTS CONFIRMING EXISTENCE OF IL CONTIONUM***HEATHER GARDNER IDENTIFIED AS FEMALE VICTIM IN MONOCO SHOOTING, CHICAGO, IL***

  Ryan read the headlines as they streamed, and he was sure that Morales was reading them as well, because he turned off the television and began pacing along the wall of windows.

  "Whatever happens tonight," Ryan said, "that first domino has toppled."

  "Shut up," Morales spat back.

  "The truth won't."

  "SHUT UP!"

  Ryan jumped to his feet, running towards Morales' gun in the kitchenette. Instantly, Morales was moving toward the gun, and he was closer. He'd been expecting Ryan to make a move, and he had left his gun as bait. Ryan moved quickly, but Morales got there first. He snatched the gun and in one fluid motion, turned and pointed it at Ryan, whose forward momentum carried him within an arm's length of the barrel. He saw Morales' wicked grin and the tightening of the muscles in his hand as he pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Exactly six minutes before Morales pulled the trigger, the door closed behind Mae and her father as they made their way down the hallway and away from the room where they’d left Ryan and Morales.

  Mae looked back over her shoulder, past Harrison, hoping to see Ryan following them. When Morales had told her that Ryan was on his way to the hotel, she had allowed herself to hope, just a little, that he had some scheme to help her escape. She imagined running away with him, maybe to Mont-Ventoux in France, where they would walk among the endless rows of blue and purple flowers. They would stay in an ancient stone chateau with linen curtains, patchwork quilts on the beds, and old wooden furniture. Together, he and she would escape and run away.

  But the hallway behind her was empty. Her dad noticed her glance and seemed to read her mind, knowing exactly who she'd been looking for.

  "Nice boy," he said, but his mind was elsewhere. She recognized the look on his face as one she'd seen as a child, when his mind was occupied and he didn't want to be bothered.

  "I met him while running from you, Dad," she said, but he barely seemed to notice.

  They arrived at the elevator and the doors opened immediately after Harrison pressed the DOWN button. It had been waiting for them, a mechanical maw ready to swallow them up.

  "Dad, please don't make me do this," she pled, hoping for the last time that there was a piece of him still inside that was her old dad. The one who was kind and loving, who would never have considered executing an attack on living and breathing human beings.

  "Ordo ab chao," Harrison said. "We are changing the course of humanity, you and I. This is our gift. To hit the reset button on society. You will see."

  Soft music still played in the elevator, and the air felt stuffy and hot. The doors closed and Mae closed her eyes. She focused on that place in her mind that had always been there, but to which she had only just found the entrance.

  Mae pictured a door.

  A transparent glass door without any locks. The door had always been there a thick, metal door, lined with padlocks and deadbolts. Sometimes it opened at the sound of a specific song, or when she was afraid or sad or even happy. Now, the locks had crumbled and the metal honed to a thin layer of glass. She stood before the door and pushed. It opened easily and she was in that place, her secret place where she could do things. Her mind opened, and the world around her opened. Mae could sense each particle in the air, the molecules that made up the walls of the elevator, the walls beyond and throughout the entire hotel. Each atom, neutron and proton opened up to her like an unfolding map, and she knew where people were standing and guarding because her mind entangled with all the microscopic pieces that made up their bodies.

  The hunters. And they would never stop.

  Inside the elevator, her brain twisted with each molecular particle that made her father. She could feel his heart and lungs and brain, because that place in her mind was one with each tiny piece.

  The warm air swirled around her like a slow spinning dervish. It ruffled the fine material of her evening gown, blew through her platinum blond hair, tingled the tiny hairs on her arms. The air smelled faintly of static, like the smell of an oncoming thunderstorm.

  Harrison stiffened, recognizing the subtle changes inside the elevator as it descended t
o the ground. In seconds, the doors would open and he would take Mae to the party, where destruction would reign. He would force trigger the power with the song that he had played for her when she was a child, to help her drift to sleep.

  "Mae, no," he said. "Honey, you must remember Ryan. Morales is ruthless."

  Inside that place in her mind, she flexed, but just barely. Her father's body suddenly lifted an inch from the floor and the elevator jumped on its cables and wires. It was like a remote control, Mae realized, and suddenly control of each particle in the world around her was easy. She tightened her squeeze and her father slammed into the wall behind him, held there as if bound.

  Mae faced him, tears streaming down her cheeks, a sad smile on her lips.

  "Daddy," she whispered and took him into her arms. She buried her face in his chest and cried.

  "Honey, Mae. Baby girl, please look at me." She looked up at him with wet eyes.

  "We can change the world," he whispered. "People will die, yes, but surely you see the good in what I am trying to do here. I want to save them. I want to help the helpless."

  "It's not our job, Daddy. They have to help themselves." She was crying harder. "Daddy, I'm so sorry. Do you remember how you used to push me in that swing behind our house? Do you remember that, Dad?"

  He smiled and nodded, but Mae could see the deception there. She saw that he remembered, but it was a life that had long since passed, and she was getting in the way. She was ruining his plans.

  "I wanted so badly to be back there with you and Mom." She laughed, remembering the countless nights of staring at the ceiling in random hotel rooms, running from the nameless hunters in the shadows—her father, she now knew—and thinking about that life. "I used to dream about that. I just wanted a normal life. Just a happy family. A normal life. That's all I wanted, and you took it from me. You took it from Mom. And for what? To hurt people. I'm not a weapon."

  "Let me go, Mae." His voice was taking on glints of hardness.

  "I'm afraid if I let you go, you'll hurt people. You'll make me hurt people. You will hunt me like you hunted my mother. Your wife.”