Deadlock Trilogy

by P. T. Hylton

  She grimaced. She wasn’t here to learn about this prison guard’s strange obsession with urban legends. “That’s a weird story, but it happens. Sometimes stuff passes us by. We all have blind spots. They did an episode of This American Life about it. One lady didn’t realize unicorns weren’t real animals until she was thirty years old. Is it odd? Yes. But I need you to focus. Let’s talk about Charles Taylor.”

  “We are talking about Taylor. This has everything to do with him. You don’t see what the story of Sanctuary might have to do with a guy disappearing out of a locked prison?”

  It was at that moment Sophie realized she was sitting with a crazy person. She put her hands on the table and pushed herself up to a standing position. “I appreciate you taking the time, but I better be going.”

  “No,” he said. He grabbed her hand and pressed it tightly against the table. “Please. Listen for five more minutes. I can tell you what happened that night. It isn’t what Warden Cades told the press.”

  She sank back into her seat and pulled her hand out from beneath his. “Talk fast.”

  “A few days before he disappeared, Taylor punched a guard, a buddy of mine named Brian Dayton. Taylor was on the wrong side of the prisoner/staff line, and Brian told him to step back. That was it, just told him to move. Taylor freaked out and punched him in the face.”

  “How has this not come out already?”

  He looked away. “There are two ways we can deal with these types of situations. There’s the official way, with the paperwork and the hand slapping and time in the SHU. But what the hell does a guy like Taylor care? It’s not like we can extend his sentence for bad behavior. And he’s pretty damn isolated on death row already.”

  “What’s the unofficial way?”

  He cleared his throat and leaned closer. “A few of us decided to take our batons and pay Taylor a late-night visit. It’s not something we do a lot, but guys like him have to occasionally be taught a lesson. It’s hard to explain if you haven’t worked in a prison, but it’s really for the best.”

  “That asshole bashed my sister’s head in while she was walking home from school. You think I’m gonna object to him getting a beat down?”

  Rodgers scratched his chin and grinned. “Yeah, I guess maybe you wouldn’t. When something like that happens, the smart prisoners curl up in the fetal position and take their beatings.”

  “I take it Taylor wasn’t one of the smart ones?”

  He shook his head. “Idiot fought back. After that, I’ll admit, we got a little carried away. We whaled on him a bit too hard and a bit too long. The fight never went out of him, but he did eventually stop punching and kicking at us. When I thought he’d finally had enough, he looked up at us and grinned. It was creepy. We’d knocked a couple of his teeth out at that point. He looked like a jack-o'-lantern or something. And then he said it and disappeared.”

  “He said Sanctuary? And it worked?”

  Rodgers spread his fingers out on the table like a magician showing there was nothing in his hands. “That was it. He was there one second and gone the next. He blinked out of existence.”

  She leaned back in her chair and pondered how far this man’s madness went. Was there truth to his ramblings or was it all nonsense? “How much does the warden know?”

  “He knows it all. We called him right after.”

  “Okay, say you’re right. Despite the fact that who knows how many people have said Sanctuary in life and death situations and it’s never worked before—”

  “We don’t know that. People disappear all the time.”

  She sighed. “Okay, fine. It happens all the time. Even if that’s true, why would the warden cover it up?”

  “Why wouldn’t he? This is Rook Mountain. Secrets are what we do.”

  Sophie shook her head. “That’s exactly why I don’t buy it. This is the ideal place to claim something unexplainable happened. He had to know losing an inmate, a death row inmate, would make the whole prison staff look like idiots.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “You think this town wants more attention for being a hotspot for the unexplained? You think we want more weirdos coming here on sightseeing trips?”

  “Seems like a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card to me. No pun intended.”

  He grimaced. “You’re just like the rest. You know how many people died while you slept on March twenty-seventh?”

  “But that’s over now. It’s time to find the man who killed my sister.”

  “That’s where you're wrong,” he said. “It isn’t over. It’s only getting started. You remember those urban legend books I collected as a teenager? I pulled one of them out a box in the basement a few weeks ago. Guess what story was featured on the cover?”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Sanctuary?”

  He nodded. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead. He leaned closer. “We were gone for eight years, and we came back different. But you changed too while we were away. The world changed. That Sanctuary story’s in every one of those books now. I can’t prove it, but it wasn’t there before. And that’s only one example. This world we came back to is all wrong.”

  Sophie stood up, careful to keep her hands out of his reach.

  “Wait,” he said. “There’s more.”

  “I’ve heard enough. Thanks for wasting my time.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m asking you, Ms. Porter. Don’t leave yet. Please.”

  “Sorry, man. Places to be.” She turned and took long strides toward the door of the pizzeria, careful not to look back.

  She’d almost made it to her car when she felt the gun against her back.

  “Get in the car,” Rodgers said. “We’re going for a ride.”

  5.

  They took her car, Sophie driving and Rodgers in the passenger seat, sticking the gun into her side harder than was necessary. She’d been sure he was taking her to his house so he could lock her up in his torture chamber or something, but instead he took her to the center of town. City Hall was closed for the evening, but Rodgers produced a key and walked them right through the front door. Why a prison guard had a key to City Hall, she did not know.

  After directing her up three flights of stairs, he waved his gun toward a ladder. “You go first.”

  Sophie grimaced and pulled herself up. She counted ten rungs before she reached the trapdoor at the top. She twisted the handle and shoved it open, struggling against the heavy metal of the door. Sunlight poured into the dim hallway below. She squinted against the sun and climbed out onto the roof of Rook Mountain City Hall.

  She looked around the rooftop, hoping to see another trapdoor she could escape through, but there was nothing. Just a flat roof, some air conditioning units, and a long drop on four sides.

  Rodgers pulled himself onto the roof, stood up, and brushed off his pants. He smiled at Sophie.

  “Why are you doing this, Rodgers? What do you want from me?”

  He pointed the gun at her. “That is an excellent question. And I’m not sure I know the answer. But I’m hoping to figure that out right quick.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a round object Sophie recognized as a compass.

  “You see this?” he asked. He flipped it around so Sophie could see both sides of it. On the back was the symbol she’d seen tattooed on the two kids’ hands. A broken clock.

  He waved the compass in front of her as he spoke. “I found this compass in the prison yard about ten years back. Right after Zed came to town, actually. Back when we all thought he was a crazy drifter. No idea how it got in the prison yard. Shouldn’t have been possible. But there it was. I thought it was beautiful, so I hung on to it rather than turning it into the warden.”

  Sophie backed away. Rodgers seemed to be losing control of the composure he had displayed earlier. He might freak out and shoot her at any moment. On the other hand, it also upped her odds of being able to take him out.

  He continued, “Later, after the Unfeathered came, we had this ru
le that said we were supposed to turn over anything with the broken clock symbol to the selectmen. By then I thought of this thing as my good luck charm.”

  He looked at her, and she saw there were tears in his eyes. “That’s my biggest regret. Not turning in this thing when I had the chance. Maybe if I had, maybe if Zed had this compass, things wouldn’t have gone down like they did on this rooftop. That son of a bitch Hinkle and his freak show of a family somehow sent Zed away. I keep thinking maybe this compass could have helped.”

  Sophie spoke cautiously. “Maybe… maybe I can help. Charles Taylor and this Zed guy both disappeared, right? Maybe the disappearances are related. Maybe we can—”

  “You don’t understand!” he shouted. “You weren’t here. To you, Zed’s a name in a story on some news website. You never heard him speak or knew the way it felt when he smiled at you. He was a great man.”

  She held up her hands. “Okay. Great man. Got it.”

  He giggled, a surprisingly high-pitched sound coming from this big man. “You know the crazy part? This compass never even worked right. Instead of pointing north, you know where it pointed? At Charles Taylor.”

  She squinted at him. “What?”

  “Until the day Zed disappeared and time started again. Then the compass started pointing here. Toward City Hall. The place where Zed disappeared.”

  “So that’s why you brought me here?”

  He shook his head. “No. The reason I brought you here—the reason I talked to you at all in that parking lot at the prison—is because the compass changed. The minute you showed up this morning, the needle stopped pointing at City Hall and started pointing at you.”

  She stepped back again. Her feet were close to the edge now, mere inches away. “Why the hell would it do that?”

  “I don’t know!” Rodgers screamed. “Look.” He paced back and forth while staring at the compass. “Still pointing at you. Wherever I go, it’s locked on you. I hoped if I brought you here, to the place the compass used to point, something would happen. But it’s not working!”

  He stomped toward her and pushed the barrel of the gun into the center of her chest. “Who are you really? What’s so special about you? Why did you come to Rook Mountain?”

  “You know.” She struggled to keep the quiver out of her voice. “You know why I’m here.”

  He shook the compass wildly through the air. “Come on! I’ve done everything right, everything I possibly could do. Why aren’t you working?”

  Her eyes darted to the trap door. Rodgers stood between her and it, but there was a chance. If she took off running, darted around him, maybe—

  He flashed a joyless grin. “He’s coming back, you know.”

  “So I keep hearing,” she muttered. “Some kids at the gas station were saying the same thing. They had these tattoos. Maybe you need to talk to them.”

  He groaned. “You think I haven’t already? They’ve been loyal to Zed, I gotta give them that. But they’re dangerous. People think they’re nothing to worry about because they’re kids, but the things they’re planning are no joke, I promise you that.”

  “Okay. So let’s go to them. Maybe they can help.”

  Rodgers gave his head a violent shake. She could feel the presence of the edge of the building. Her stomach clenched at the thought of the gun in front of her and the drop inches behind her.

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “They still believe in the Regulations. Do you know what that means?” He pressed the gun barrel harder against her chest and vertigo washed over her. “It means they’d take my compass. It’s one of the Tools. That’s what they called them, Tools. And they’d kill me for hiding it all this time. No, we can’t work with them.”

  She put her hand over his. “Rodgers… Tim… I can help you. The compass is trying to tell you I can help.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not like that. The compass has chosen you. I think it wants justice. What Regulations have you broken, Sophie Porter?”

  At that moment, Sophie decided she’d had enough of being held at gunpoint by a crazy person. Heather had died when she was struck in the back of the head with an aluminum baseball bat. She probably never knew what hit her, and she never had the chance to react. Sophie did have the chance, and she was sure as hell going to take it. She sucked in a quick breath. The surge of adrenaline rushing through her gave the world an over-saturated quality.

  She planted her foot behind her, hoping it would find solid ground rather than air. She pushed off that back foot and drove the heel of her hand upward into Rodgers’ nose with all her strength.

  He howled in pain and stumbled backwards.

  She watched him stagger for only a moment before she took off toward the trapdoor. She pumped her arms and ran with all her might. When she was nearly there, she dove and slid as she'd been taught in softball so many years ago. But this wasn’t dirt, and the rough concrete dug into her arms and hands as she slid. She felt her pants tear and the skin of her knees being stripped away.

  It didn’t matter. She was here. The handle of the trapdoor was in her hand. She pulled on it and found it was heavier than she’d expected. She wasn’t about to let that stop her. She pulled harder and the door rose with a satisfying moan.

  Something grabbed her around her waist. An arm was wrapped around her, flinging her backward, and suddenly she was on her ass six feet away from the trapdoor. She grunted in pain, surprise and frustration.

  Rodgers glowered down at her, dark blood streaming from his nose into his mouth and down his neck. His face was streaked with wet lines of tears, but his teeth were gritted. He still clutched the compass in his right hand. The gun was jammed down the back of his pants.

  “Leaving isn’t an option. The compass wants you here.”

  She scooted backwards away from him as fast as she could, then stumbled to her feet. If she couldn’t escape, she’d have to fight him. He took a step toward her, and she threw a punch. Her feet weren’t set like last time, though, and her swing was wild and desperate. The blow ricocheted off his cheek, barely slowing him down.

  He was almost to her now. She feigned another punch and used the moment it bought her to set her back foot. She stomped, driving her front foot into his knee, putting all the adrenaline coursing through her into slamming her foot against him as hard as possible.

  He yelped in pain and crouched down, grabbing for the injured knee.

  She kicked again, this time aiming for his chin, but he ducked and she hit his shoulder. She staggered to keep her balance. Rodgers growled, and sprang up off the ground, crashing into her. She toppled backwards grabbing at him as she fell, hoping to bring him down with her. The expected impact with the ground never came, and she realized they’d gone over the edge a moment before she saw the side of the building rushing past her.

  Her stomach somersaulted as the air rushed past her face. She clutched at Rodgers as they fell, groping for something, anything, to hold on to. Her hand closed around something hard and cold—the compass, she realized—and she gripped it hard, holding on as if the object could save her.

  “Sanctuary!” he screamed.

  Unbidden, Sophie’s voice joined his. She whispered the word just as she had so many times with Heather on the balcony outside her parents’ bedroom.

  “Sanctuary.”

  And then it was nighttime, and she was lying in the mud in a strange and unfamiliar place as the rain fell around her.

  IN THE WOODS (PART ONE)

  Frank swallowed hard, pushing down the lump in his throat.

  He looked at Mason. What did he really know about this man? He hadn’t offered up any real information so far, other than claiming Jake was dead. He’d only used the term uncle after Frank revealed his own relationship to Jake. And saying Jake was dead? Seemed like a pretty good plan if you wanted someone to stop looking for him.

  “You’re lying.” Frank was surprised at the choked, throaty quality of his own voice.

  “I’m not,” Mason r
eplied softly.

  “You say he’s been dead more than fifty years.”

  Mason nodded.

  “My brother’s not even forty years old. You see how I might have some trouble believing he’s been dead that long?”

  Mason gave a weary laugh. “I’ve lived in these woods all my life. I’ve never set foot in Tennessee or any of the other places my dad and mom used to tell me about. But the way I understand it, time has its wires crossed between here and there.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means fifty years here doesn’t exactly add up to fifty years on the outside. The way my dad told it, you might have some experience with time getting weird.”

  Frank clenched his fists. The air felt thick in his lungs, hard to push in and out, and the sour taste in his mouth was only getting worse.

  “You don’t want to believe me, that’s your affair,” Mason said. “But I’m guessing you came through the mirror, same as my dad did. I’m guessing you were hoping to take him back to Rook Mountain. Back to his wife, Christine, and his son, Trevor.”

  Frank said nothing. He blinked back the tears pooling in his eyes.

  “See?” Mason asked. “I do know a thing or two about a thing or two.”

  “H-How’d he die?” Frank asked. The words stuck in his throat like they didn’t want to be said, like saying the thing might make it true.

  “He died protecting his friends.” Mason turned away from Frank and started down the trail. “Come on. Let’s head to my place. I want to collect a few things. Then I can show you where it happened.”

  Frank nodded absently and followed the older man. His nephew. Frank heard his own feet thumping against the trail as he walked, but he didn’t feel it. He felt numb. Hollow. If what this man said was true…No, he wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. He’d come too far, endured too much, to be fifty years too late.