TPG

by The Perfect Game (mobi)

  He clenched the knife even tighter and held it out in front of him, out into the darkness, ready for any type of attack that might be coming.

  But again, there was nothing. For all he knew, Hillier was right in front of him, just out of his knife’s reach. Or he could be on the other side of the room. Kyle had no idea, but he had to keep trying. He had to stay alive.

  “Am I right?” Kyle asked. “Is that what’s happening?”

  He was taken by surprise by the response, as this time it wasn’t a verbal one. It also wasn’t one anyone would be able to see, whether the lights were on or not. But Kyle felt it. He most definitely felt it, and he knew exactly what it was. It was what he’d been dreading.

  The feeling was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Every single nerve in his body simultaneously surged to life as a rush of adrenaline flooded his passageways.

  Hillier had latched onto him.

  Kyle tried to comprehend the overwhelming sensations lighting up his insides like a Christmas tree, but he couldn’t. It was too much to soak in. But he was able to see now. Not a completely clear picture, but he could see shapes, which let him know where the furniture, walls, and doors were. His eyes were no longer shrouded in complete darkness, his pupils apparently now able to soak in the miniscule amount of light that had seeped into the room from God knows where.

  Then the utility room door swung open and a man walked out. Calmly. Deliberately. It had to be Hillier. Kyle stared into his eyes, amazed that he was able to now see in such great detail, as if the lights had been turned on. He kept his focus on Hillier’s eyes. He had no choice, he was drawn to them. Locked in. It was almost as if he was falling into them. He saw the blood vessels of the choroid bleeding into the iris, the prismatic azure shining through the stroma’s colorless web. The detail was absolutely incredible.

  He tried to reign himself in, tried not to get caught up in the sensations, the extraordinary moment. He knew it wasn’t going to last and, if he didn’t do something about it, neither would he. Hillier was latching onto his energy in a way a Deeksha practitioner could only dream and Kyle needed to stop it. He needed to disconnect the plug rammed into his consciousness and free himself from the surge engulfing him, break away from the storm that was wakening all of his energy at once and allowing him to experience a heightened sense unlike anything he ever considered possible. And he needed to do it before it was all siphoned away and the blood rushing to his brain compensating for the overload ripped apart the aneurysms that were likely already forming.

  He wanted to shout out at the man, beg him to stop, plead with him not to kill him, say that it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right. But he couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t do anything. He was paralyzed by the sensory overload.

  He began to feel the pressure. His head felt heavy and began to hurt as the overload switched from a positive sensory sensation to a myriad of daggers sinking into the core of his brain, as if it were trying to split it apart into a million different pieces. He tried to do what he could to fight them off, to send signals to the rest of his mind to short-circuit Hillier’s pull, to realize what was going on and stop the build-up, reverse the overload. But Hillier was too strong and the process too far underway. It wasn’t working. His head was already beginning to feel light and he knew he had to do something else if he was going to stay alive.

  His thoughts drifted to Bree, about what her life would be like without him and all that’d he’d miss. How he wouldn’t be there anymore to hug her and protect her, to listen to her or guide her, to see her develop into a young woman and make a stake for herself in the world, get married and have kids.

  He had to keep trying. He couldn’t give up.

  He thought back to his session with Ahmed, the Deeksha Giver whom he and Liam had visited. The same one Allie had been seeing. He remembered the man telling him to place a hand behind his head to lock in the energy, remembered how Ahmed had targeted the focal point of where his energy was going to flow. Both were just symbolic gestures, Kyle knew that. But they also gave the mind a focal point, a guide, something tangential to lock onto, something physical to direct its energy toward. Then he remembered Allie and what he’d seen after she collapsed. Her hands were covering her head, as if they were blocking a punch or a kick … or the energy rushing out of her.

  He lifted his hands and placed them over his forehead, then focused on them, not his energy. Focused on his hands, on the barrier they were creating as he closed his eyes, shutting them tight and squeezing every ounce of attention he could muster toward his hands. Toward the block. The only other thoughts he allowed himself were of Bree, of the one thing in life he couldn’t bear to lose. The gift and curse of having a child—the unconditional love that made you feel more special than anyone else in the world also came with the unbearable pain of hurting when they hurt, aching when they ached, and suffering when they suffered.

  With his focus firmly in place, Kyle started to feel the flow of energy stop. The signs were all there—his mind began to stabilize, the light-headedness lessened, the pain subsided.

  But just as his strength began to return, he was jolted by a sharp and sudden shock, as if a plug had been yanked out and all power sapped. His body stiffened and his mind went blank, his focus completely gone. His balance wavered and then left.

  His body collapsed and slammed against the floor, and all was dark.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  He felt the nudging first, the hand grabbing his shoulder, shaking him about.

  He was on the floor, lying on his stomach. Still in the basement, hands still covering his head. He looked over and saw Liam kneeling beside him, shaking him awake while shining a pocket size LED flashlight in his eyes.

  “You okay?” Liam asked for perhaps the third time.

  Kyle’s head felt heavy as spikes of sharp pain echoed throughout his skull. When he tried to get up the pain increased. Liam scooped his arm around Kyle and helped him up, directing his unsteady body toward one of the theater chairs. Kyle felt like he’d been out on a bender and had woken with a bad hangover.

  He rubbed his eyes and looked over at the door to the utility room. Liam shone the light at the spot so he could clearly see what lay there.

  On the floor, with blood from the wound in his chest pooling next to him, lay Terry Hillier.

  Dead.

  Kyle turned back to Liam and saw the man’s shocked gaze. He didn’t need to ask if Liam had shot him. It was obvious. As was the fact that Liam hadn’t been attacked by Hillier like Kyle had thought. But Kyle still had questions.

  “Was it your plan all along to wait for me to draw him out?”

  Liam shook his head no. “There was no plan,” he said. “When you went outside with Eddie I grabbed the gun and just came down here. I didn’t really think about what I was going to do. I just did it. But when I got downstairs and couldn’t turn on the light, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want Hillier sneaking up on me, and since I had a gun I figured I could just wait him out, that it was to my advantage to just pick a spot and wait for him rather than fumble around in the dark waiting for him to pick me off.”

  The plan was sound and much better than what Kyle had done, which had nearly gotten him killed.

  “I wanted to call out to you,” Liam said apologetically, “but I figured it was better to just let him show himself first so I could see where he was. Especially once you started talking to him. Then when I heard him answer I knew where he was, and when he opened the door I turned on my flashlight so I could see him better and then …” Liam paused, the gravity of what he had done starting to resonate more as he talked about it aloud. His actions had likely been mechanical, no thought or consideration really given to what he had actually been doing. If there had been, he probably wouldn’t have had the nerve to do it. Which is the way most killings worked. Kyle had studied it. They were akin to out-of-body experiences. Working on instinct, emotion, and often necessity, with actual thought and consideration b
eing tucked away.

  “Then I shot him,” Liam continued, staring at Hillier’s lifeless body. “A few times.”

  “You okay?”

  “I think so,” Liam said, his eyes still glazed with shock. “The man was a killer, right? He tried to kill Allie and he was about to kill you.”

  Kyle knew it would take Liam some time to come to terms with what had happened, but he was right. The man was trying to kill Kyle. There wasn’t much of a choice. Which raised another point.

  “How long did he have a hold on me before you shot him?”

  “Not long,” Liam shrugged. “I think I hesitated a bit after I first saw him, after I shined the light on him. But it still had to just be seconds.”

  “Felt longer,” Kyle said, massaging his temple as he realized the reason why he was able to see Hillier’s face so clearly wasn’t because his senses had increased but because Liam had been shining a flashlight on his face.

  “So what now?” Liam asked. “Should we get you to the hospital?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kyle said. “Doesn’t seem like he was able to get too far in the process. My head hurts, but nothing major.” He wondered if his attempt at blocking Hillier’s attack had helped and looked at Liam. “Do I sound okay?”

  Liam nodded.

  “Yeah,” Kyle said. “I think I’m okay.”

  Liam turned his gaze toward Hillier. “And what about him? Do we call the police?”

  The doorbell rang before Kyle could answer.

  Liam’s eyes went wide, but Kyle remained calm and forced himself to stand, fighting against the throbbing pain that increased as gravity bore down.

  “Should we answer?” Liam asked.

  “Yes,” Kyle said as he started up the basement stairs.

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “Slattery.”

  “The police?”

  Kyle nodded while gingerly walking over. “I left a message for him before we came in.”

  “But that was before you knew Eddie was behind Bree’s kidnapping and that it was a ruse, that Bree wasn’t really in any danger.”

  “It was,” Kyle said as he reached the top of the stairs and made his way down the hallway to the main foyer.

  “So you were willing to put her life on the line?”

  Kyle didn’t want to think about what he had been willing to do, didn’t want to dwell on the decisions he’d made and hadn’t made. There would be time for that. There would be therapy sessions and soul searching, but he didn’t want to do it right then. He didn’t want to question whether he’d done the right thing as a father or the wrong thing as a human being, and then reversed course. He’d done what he’d done.

  So he let the question drift and opened the front door.

  But it wasn’t whom he expected to see. It wasn’t Slattery, and there weren’t any police officers. Just two men in suits. Nice, tailored suits. One had neatly parted dirty-blond hair, the other curly dark hair sprinkled with flecks of gray. Both were tall and fit.

  “May I help you?” Kyle asked.

  “Mike Fisher,” the man with the graying hair said. “This is Jim Harkin.” Fisher removed the sunglasses he was wearing, revealing deep crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes as he studied Kyle more closely. “Kyle Vine, correct?”

  Kyle looked at the men.

  “We were forwarded the message you sent Detective Slattery,” Fisher said.

  “So you’re with the police?” Kyle asked.

  “Like I said, we were forwarded the message.”

  “Right. I got that. But who are you?”

  “Is Terrance Hillier here?” the younger man, Harkin, asked, ignoring Kyle’s question.

  “Unless you tell me who you are,” Kyle said, “I don’t see why I should be telling you anything.”

  “We know about Hillier,” Harkin said without hesitation. “We know you’ve figured out his connection to the strokes, and we’re here to help see that he stops.”

  “Would’ve been nice if you guys dropped by about ten minutes ago,” Liam said from his position behind Kyle.

  “Why?” Fisher asked. “What happened?”

  “Again,” Kyle said while shooting Liam a look to stay quiet, “we aren’t telling you anything unless you tell us who you are. Are you with the FBI? CIA?”

  “We’re here to take care of the situation with Terry Hillier. And that’s all you really need to know. So where is he?”

  “How can you really expect us to cooperate if you won’t even tell us who you are?”

  “KnightWare, right?” Liam asked while looking squarely at Fisher. “You work for KnightWare.”

  “We’re not here to have discussions about this,” Harkin responded. “We’ve been asked to step in and help take care of a situation, and that’s all we’re here to do.”

  “Baloney,” Liam shot back. “They didn’t ask you. You knew about this because he’s one of your guys, isn’t he? He’s done this before for you, killed for you.”

  “Hillier doesn’t work for us,” Harkin said matter of factly.

  “Well, he did when you contracted with his consulting firm.”

  Harkin paused and turned to Fisher, who was still calm, his focus still on Kyle and Liam.

  “That’s right,” Liam continued. “We know what he did for you. He was a hired gun selling his ‘talents’ to the highest bidder, which was sometimes KnightWare, and sometimes elsewhere. But since you guys are here taking care of it, I guess he mostly worked for you.”

  Fisher and Harkin remained silent for a few seconds, then, in the same easy conversational style he’d used before, Fisher said, “Are you going to tell us where he is now?”

  “Are you going to confirm that I’m right?” Liam countered.

  “If you’ve looked into this as much as it seems you have,” Fisher said, “then you probably already know the answer to that question. So why don’t we just move on. Where’s Hillier?”

  Neither Kyle nor Liam answered.

  Someone else did.

  “He’s dead. Shot in the chest.”

  Kyle and Liam turned and saw two men in slacks and sports coats walking toward them from inside the house, guns drawn.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Kyle asked, raising his hands at the sight of the drawn guns.

  Fisher motioned for the two men to lower their weapons. “We had to take precautions. They entered through the garage.”

  “Corin’s not gonna be happy about losing his gravy train,” one of the armed men said as he slipped his gun into a hidden holster.

  Harkin brushed the comment aside and asked Kyle, “Where’s Mr. Guida?”

  “At the hospital,” Kyle slowly answered, still a bit startled by the appearance of the two men.

  “And you,” Harkin asked, looking over at Liam. “Are you the one who shot Hillier?”

  Kyle and Liam glanced at each other and said nothing.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Fisher said, breaking the silence.

  A slew of questions immediately raced through Kyle’s mind. Did it not matter because they were both accessories? Would they be turned over to the police? Should he say anything else or should he wait until he spoke with an attorney?

  “I did it,” Liam volunteered before Kyle could stop him. “I had no choice.”

  Fisher shrugged off the comment. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

  “But it was self defense. It was—”

  “Liam,” Kyle cut him off. “Don’t say anything else.”

  “And neither should you, Mr. Vine,” Fisher said.

  Images of jail cells, courtrooms and attorneys flooded his mind.

  “We’re going to drop you off at your respective homes and neither of you are ever going to say anything about this again. Ever.”

  Kyle was confused.

  “Not to friends, family, colleagues, reporters, Slattery, or the rest of the NYPD. Nobody. Not one soul. Not even to each other. You are to forget this ever happened.”
r />   “What are you talking about?” Kyle asked. “A man is dead. How can we not say anything? How can you not say anything?”

  “We’ll take care of that.”

  “But the police know,” Kyle said. “Minimal investigation will show what happened. Hell, Slattery’s the one who sent you my message.”

  “We’ll take care of it.”

  “What about his friends? What about his son?” Kyle asked. “You don’t think they’ll find it suspicious that he’s gone?”

  “He’ll have left on business and will turn up dead in some other country in a few months.”

  “That’s it?” Kyle asked. “You really think the police aren’t going to investigate this? You really think we can just walk away?”

  “I don’t think it, I know it. And as long as you keep your mouths shut, it’ll stay that way.”

  “What if we don’t?” Liam asked. “We go to jail?”

  “No,” Fisher said. “You end up like Terry Hillier.”

  Kyle’s face went white at the matter-of-factness of Fisher’s statement. The threat that they’d be killed was so much simpler than what Eddie had concocted. So much more direct than threatening Bree which, in retrospect, was something that should’ve made Kyle suspicious to begin with. If Hillier had really known about Kyle and wanted to keep him quiet, then why threaten his daughter? Why threaten him at all? Why not just kill him? It wasn’t like murder was beyond the man, it’s what he did.

  “Wait a second,” Liam said. “Not so fast. I need to know if there are others like Hillier.”

  “Not your concern.”

  “You’re wrong. It is my concern. My niece is lying in a coma because you’ve allowed this guy to run loose, and if there’s someone you have who can get her out of that coma without killing others I want to know about it and I want it done. And if you think I’m going to stay quiet while there’s that chance just because you’ve threatened me, you’re nuts.”