Bloodline rj-11

by F. Paul Wilson

  But Hank had balked. His Kickers were more important.

  "I still can't believe how when it came to choosing between the Bloodline and these losers, you chose them."

  "What I'm doing, I'm doing for the Bloodline. In my dream—"

  "I don't want to hear about any stupid dreams."

  "You keep saying that, but it's time you listened. I keep having this dream about a baby. It's in danger. It's screaming in fright. And then along comes the Kicker Man, and he takes it in his arms, and it stops crying. How do you interpret that, Jer?"

  Jeremy felt a chill as he pictured the powerful image. If it really was a dream, he could see only one way to interpret it, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

  "I interpret that as your way of easing a guilty conscience, or, better yet, making excuses for yourself."

  Hank took a step closer. "The dream is real, Jer. It's been coming to me off and on for the past year, and every night for the past two weeks. Every night."

  "So?"

  "So, how long has Dawn been pregnant?"

  Jeremy got another chill, stronger this time, as he remembered the instructions on the testing kit's box saying it took a minimum of two weeks after the start of pregnancy to turn positive.

  He hated giving him the answer. "Two weeks or so, I'd guess."

  Hank grinned. "Doesn't that tell you something?"

  "It tells me you're kidding yourself."

  "It's a message from the Others and you know it. I couldn't be sure before, but it's clear as day now: They sent me the sign of the Kicker Man and inspired me to write my book, and now they're telling me why: Because the Kickers are going to pave the way for the return of the Others. But they have an even more important mission than that: They're gonna protect that baby from the enemies of the Bloodline."

  Could Hank be right? Was all this Kicker shit part of the Plan to bring back the Others? Were they some sort of palace guards, or maybe the shock troops of the Others?

  Was that Hank's job—captain of the guard? Then who was he—father of the Key?

  Yeah. Father of the Key. That sounded pretty good. Maybe all this was going to work out right after all.

  As long as no one got in their way.

  "You think there really are Enemies out there like Daddy told us about?"

  Hank's expression was grim. "I've given this a lot of thought. Daddy told us plenty of stuff that would sound crazy to other people, stuff that other people would laugh at. But we believe it. Why?"

  "Because Daddy told us, and because it's the truth."

  "Yeah, we believe it's the truth, but why do we believe these things that no one else believes? That no one else has even heard of?"

  Jeremy was losing patience. "I'm sure you're gonna tell me."

  "It's because the Bloodline is so strong in us. We heard these things and we believe them because our blood knows they're true. That's why, even though I've never seen an Enemy, I know they're out there. And so do you."

  Jeremy found himself nodding. Yes, he did know. Daddy had talked about Enemies of the Others who had almost killed off the Bloodline in the past and would try again.

  "You think that's what happened to Daddy? You think it wasn't an accident—that the Enemies got to him?"

  "I don't know what else to think."

  He'd known Hank was still alive when he couldn't find him back in Atlanta. He just didn't know where. He remembered having a feeling as a little kid that Daddy wouldn't be coming back because he wasn't… there anymore.

  Hank said, "Those bastards have probably been looking for us ever since."

  And then Jeremy had an unsettling thought. "This guy that's been dogging my trail, testing my DNA… do you think he could be one of the Enemies?"

  Hank started pacing again. "Could be… could be…" He stopped and stared at him. "Shit!"

  "What?"

  "The guy who stole my book—I'll bet he was one. As a matter of fact I'm sure he was."

  "What book?"

  "It's a long story. Suffice it to say it was old and contained a drawing of the Kicker Man. Might even had contained information on where it came from—something I'd really like to know—but it's gone now, stolen away by a guy who pretended to be a reporter."

  "Hey. Maybe the guy after me is just pretending to be a detective. Maybe he's just pretending to work for Moonglow when what he's really doing is hunting down the Bloodline."

  Hank spun and kicked the wall. "Shit! What does yours look like?"

  "Never seen him. But I got a description from Vecca."

  Hank barked a harsh laugh. "Vecca! That vampire bitch. You gonna believe anything you hear from her?"

  "She seemed pretty pissed that someone was testing my UNA. Like they were horning in on her territory."

  "Her territory—that's us, all right. She's always seemed like a big eye gazing down on the rest of us through a microscope. I mean, don't you get the feeling when she looks at you that she's not seeing a person, but just a conglomeration of cells?"

  Jeremy stared at his brother. He'd nailed Vecca—to the nth degree. But damned if he was going to hear that from Jeremy.

  "That's downright poetic, Hank. Maybe you should try your hand at being a writer someday." He got a kick out of Hank's reddening face. "But there's a chance we've got a couple of Enemies bird-dogging us, so why don't we stick to that?"

  "All right. Let's do that. What did Vecca say yours looked like?"

  "She wasn't much help. My age, brown hair, brown eyes, and about average height."

  Hank frowned. "That could describe my guy too."

  "Maybe they're the same guy—or twins."

  Hank snapped his fingers. "Twins! Did Daddy ever mention twins to you?"

  "Not that I recall."

  "He did to me. Said the chief Enemies were twins. Do you think these could be the guys he was talking about?"

  "One way to find out: You trail me back to Queens and see if anyone's following me."

  Hank glanced at his watch and shook his head. "Sorry, bro. I'm supposed to speak to a Kicker gathering in about an hour."

  Jeremy stiffened. Hank wasn't going to leave him high and dry again.

  "So? Cancel it."

  "No can do. This is a big crowd. Been set up for weeks. I can't back out now."

  Jeremy felt that familiar heat again. "I've got an Enemy chewing my ass who could mess up everything. If he finds out I'm Dawn's father and goes and tells her, the shit will really hit the fan. She'll go running back to her momma and start looking to get an abortion. I can't go knocking off abortionists again, Hank. That worked once, but it won't work again. I do one and the Creighton folks'll be all over me. That'll leave the dirty work to you. Got a gun, Hank?"

  Hank seemed unmoved.

  "I'll come out your way tomorrow and follow you around all day if you want. But today is out of the question."

  He realized if he stayed here another second he'd be strangling Hank. He turned and headed for the door.

  "Fuck you!"

  6

  Jeremy kept a death grip on the Miata's steering wheel as he crossed the Williamsburg Bridge. He shifted his gaze between the road ahead and his rearview mirror, keeping an eye on a silver PT Cruiser that had been staying two cars behind him since he'd left the Lodge.

  Was that an Enemy? The so-called detective? Or just another guy on his way to Brooklyn?

  Fuck Hank for weaseling out and making him do this all on his own. They were supposed to be a team, damn it.

  He tried to see through the PT's windshield but the glare reduced the driver to a featureless silhouette.

  Damn! If he could just get—

  He glanced at the road, saw red lights, and slammed on his brakes. As his car screeched to a halt just inches shy of the bumper ahead of him, he heard other tires screeching behind him and braced for a rear-end collision.

  It never came. The cars stopped in time. He checked for the PT, saw it pull out into an open lane and roll by to his right. The college-a
ge girl behind the wheel didn't even glance his way as she passed.

  He pounded his steering wheel. He could have been killed. And then what? Would Dawn keep the baby—the Key—if he was gone?

  Like hell. She didn't seem all that crazy about being pregnant. In fact, she seemed downright unhappy about it.

  The Key… aborted… its remains tossed out like garbage.

  Unthinkable.

  He heard a toot and looked around to see that his lane was moving again. Keeping his eyes trained on the road, he resumed his trip. But his thoughts remained on the enemy.

  Average height… brown hair… brown eyes—

  "Shit!" he cried.

  Joe Henry… the guy hanging around Work… the video gamer. He fit

  Vecea's description to a T. But lots of guys did. He bet he could wander through Work and—

  Shit!—the guy had been reading Hank's book. That clinched it. He knew they were brothers. All a fucking setup.

  He pounded the steering wheel in near-blind rage until a honk warned him that he was veering out of his lane. He straightened the wheel and drove on, seething.

  The guy had played him like a fucking five-string banjo.

  What had Vecca said his name was? John something… like two first names…

  John Robertson. Yeah.

  He bared his teeth. You and me, John Robertson… I think we got us a score to settle.

  7

  Jack reached Forest Hills and went looking for a copy shop or office supply store. He found a Staples on Queens Boulevard and, as promised, made a copy of the DNA comparison with the Creighton letterhead folded out of sight.

  Then he called Christy. Her voice mail picked up on her home number; he left a message and tried her cell. The cell's voice mail picked up on the second ring—a reliable indication that it was turned off. He left another message for her to call him ASAP.

  A worm of unease wriggled in his gut and he didn't know why. Bolton had Christy right where he wanted her: on the far side of a chasm from her daughter. No reason to make a physical move against her.

  Should he go over to her place and check it out? No. Didn't want to take the risk of being seen peeking in her windows.

  Most likely she'd forgotten to charge her phone or turn it on. Or maybe she was rehearsing for that play she mentioned. Could be a rule that all cell phones are turned off during rehearsal. Made sense.

  Kind of a relief in a way. The news he had to give her deserved—no, demanded to be delivered in person. He was dreading the prospect of sitting across from her and looking her in the eve while he told her that the father of her child, the man who abducted her and raped her when she was eighteen, was the same man who'd just made her daughter—their daughter—pregnant.

  He'd almost rather wear a red shirt through a Crips neighborhood.

  But he'd keep trying her phones. Meanwhile, he had time to kill. He didn't want to return to the city and then come back out again. So he drove around for a while, then decided maybe it was time to become Joe Henry again and pay a visit to Work. He had mixed feelings about the possibility of running into Bolton. On one hand he wanted another chance to get into the guy's head, see what made him tick and hope he'd let something slip about this baby of his; on the other, just thinking about the guy made his skin crawl.

  He called both of Christy's numbers again. No answer.

  Time to go to Work.

  8

  Jerry was on edge. Totally. Dawn had seen him flare up before, but he'd always cooled off pretty quick. This was different. He couldn't sit still. He was like in a chair one minute and out of it the next, turning on the TV, surfing a few channels, then turning it off. He looked like he was ready to totally explode or something.

  "You okay?"

  He stopped between the TV and the easy chair and stared at her.

  "Yeah, darlin. Why?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. You seem, like, tense."

  "Got a lot on my mind."

  "Something go wrong at the meeting?"

  "Meet—?" He looked confused.

  "You know. With EA?"

  "Oh, that." He shook his head. "No, everything's fine with EA. I'm just bothered by all this friction with your mother. I wish there was a way we could straighten her out and get her on board."

  "That's so not going to happen. Way too late."

  Bui how sweet of him lo care. So lolally typical of him lo be worried about a crazy woman who'd accused him of awful things, then tried to seduce him.

  Which made Dawn feel totally worse for what she planned to do about the baby.

  She'd found a place called Women's Choice right here in Rego Park. They said's*he could come in for an interview and paperwork this afternoon. Then they'd schedule her for tests, and then…

  She'd totally hate herself doing it, but she knew she wasn't ready to be a mother and couldn't see any other way.

  "Why don't you play a game or something. Maybe that new FPS." Dawn couldn't remember the title—a new Doom or Half Life or Call of Duty? No matter. First-person shooters always relaxed him.

  He shook his head. "Not in much of a gamin mood. Feel more like doin the real thing."

  She blinked. "Shooting people?"

  He grinned. "Just kiddin."

  The look in his eyes… Dawn wasn't so sure.

  He said, "Maybe I'll just check my e-mail and surf a little."

  A spasm of uncertainty gripped her. Had she closed the Women's Choice Web site? She wasn't sure. God, if she'd left that window open…

  "Good idea," she said, turning and dashing upstairs. "I've got some errands to run."

  She ducked into the extra room and checked the computer screen. The screen saver was running. She hopped over and wiggled the mouse. The desktop appeared with no open windows.

  Knew I'd signed off.

  Light with relief, she passed Jerry on his way in. He was giving her a strange look, but she spoke before he could say anything.

  "I'm running out. Need anything from Pathmark?"

  After a couple of seconds he said, "Yeah. Pick me up some beef jerky—the peppery kind. I feel like chompin on something."

  She gave him a quick kiss. "You got it."

  She grabbed a sweater from the bedroom and hurried downstairs. She'd go to Women's Choice first, then swing by Pathmark on her way—

  "Dawn!"

  Something in his voice froze her. She didn't turn as she heard him race down the stairs behind her. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her to face him.

  "Women's Choice?" His eyes were wild. "Women's fuckin Choice?"

  She couldn't speak, only yammer.

  He said, "1 thought it was kind of funny, you checkin the computer before

  1 got to it, so 1 opened the browser history." His grip on her shoulders tightened as he shook her. "Women's Choice! I can't believe it! You want to kill my baby!"

  "It's not like that! And it's my baby too! You don't have to carry it! I do! And I'm so not ready for that!"

  He wrapped her in his arms and cooed in her ear. "Oh, darlin-darlin-darlin! If you only knew what this baby means to me."

  The sob that had been building burst free. "I know, I know."

  "And not just to me. To us. To the world. Our baby is the Key. He's gonna change the world!"

  "You keep saying things like that and they're… they're totally scary. The key to what?"

  "To the future. You'll be known the world over as the Mother of the Key. Millions of people will worship you and pray to you to speak to your son on their behalf."

  He was getting scarier by the minute.

  "What do you think I'm gonna be—the Virgin Mary? News flash: I'm so not a virgin and this was a totally maculate conception."

  He pushed her back to arm's length. His face was filled with joy as his wild blue gaze bored into her.

  "Darlin, you're gonna be better than any Virgin Mary. You know why? Because you're real. But the only way you're gonna get to be the queen mother is if you have our baby."
/>
  "Jerry—"

  His grip tightened as the joy faded from his face.

  "And you will have this baby—"

  His grip tightened further and now she saw no joy in his face, only growing rage as he bared his teeth.

  "Jerry, you're hurting—"

  "—because if you don't… if you ever do anythin to hurt my baby, you will wish you'd been born dead, darlin. You'll wish it 'cause I will hunt you down like a bitch cur and I will see you dead. But before you die I will see you suffer the tortures of the damned for killin the prince of the Bloodline. You'll suffer so long and so bad that you'll pray to die, you'll beg to die."

  His face had gone crimson, spittle speckled his lips, and his eyes… in their pale-blue depths she saw exactly what he'd do to her. A scream was surging into her throat when he suddenly let her go and stepped back. He licked his lips and smiled as his complexion faded to normal.

  "But of course, that's all idle chatter 'cause nothin's gonna happen to my baby, right? Right?"

  Dawn could only nod. He was back to talking normally now. She so wanted to scream and run but didn't dare move a muscle—couldn't. Her limbs were frozen in position.

  He leaned closer and sounded like the SpongeBob pirate. "I can't heeeeeear you. Right?""

  She found her voice and croaked out a feeble, "Right."

  What had just happened? He'd gone from totally normal to totally insane, then back to totally normal again in less than a minute. She'd never seen that side of him, hadn't even guessed it existed.

  Women's Choice… the idea of aborting his child—why was it always his child?—had like totally set off a bomb in his brain. Made him mad crazy.

  Well, maybe he had a right to be pissed that she was going to end the pregnancy without telling him. The baby was half his, after all. But only half. What about her half? And he wasn't the one who was going to get all fat and bloated.

  But he'd been totally more than just pissed. He'd been insane. And he hadn't been kidding about killing her. A shudder passed through her like an earthquake. She knew from his eyes and the way he'd said it that he meant every word.

  "Well, darlin," he said with his usual warm, friendly smile. "Long as you've got your sweater and were on your way out, what say we take a trip down to Work. I feel like gettin myself a couple of cold ones."