Devil's Den

by Jeff Altabef

  “How do we follow up on this stuff?” asks Kate. “I don’t know anyone who can help. You’re talking about government databases.”

  I stand, swing my arms behind my body, and stretch. It’s been two days since I’ve washed. I need to clean up and carefully consider what to do next. “I have some friends who can help. Can I use the shower? I ‘ve got to wash away some of this grime before my skin turns green.”

  “The showers are in the center of the hallway.” Kate hands me an identification card and a towel. “We only get five minutes of hot water, so be quick. You’ll need to buy it on my account with my identification card.”

  I take the card and towel, and grab a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of socks and underwear from my duffel. I’ll wear the pants I have on for a few more days before changing them. They’ll do for now. Laundry can wait.

  “I’ll be right back.” I remove a toothbrush and toothpaste from an outside pocket in my bag.

  Kate opens the door, and whispers, “Thanks.” Tears brim her eyes.

  She wants me to tell her that everything will be all right, but I won’t. They’d be hollow words. We don’t know what we’re up against yet, so I walk out without saying anything. If that makes me an asshole, so be it. I’ve been called worse. A lot worse.

  I promised myself I wouldn’t go back to my old life. I’d find myself first, find a way to change, but this is Kate and her daughter. How can I turn my back on them? To help Megan, I’ll have to reach back into my past, and that will cost me.

  “Fuck.” I mean it. I’m fucked.

  I trudge to the bathroom in the center of the hallway. There are two, both gender neutral, which is fine with me. I’m not shy, and I choose the first door. Inside, the place is crowded. It has six shower stalls and six toilets, and eight people waiting in line. I take my place in the back and the line moves quickly, probably because of the time restrictions. I walk into one of the newly vacated shower stalls on the end. After undressing I look at the options: a card reader placed near the controls for the shower and another one next to the soap dispenser.

  I tap Kate’s card against the card reader and turn the water to hot. It feels good splashing against my head and running down my body. At least it’s hot and not some tepid lukewarm crap. I tap the card against the soap dispenser and buy a squirt of soap. I don’t know how much it costs, but Kate will appreciate it in the end.

  I wash efficiently, a byproduct of my military training. Running my hands over my shoulders and back, my fingers trip against the scars left behind by a steel-tipped whip an overweight toad used to torture me. Caught in a desert I’d rather forget, the plump extremist tried to force me to talk. Bad choice.

  The demons helped me back then. They might be bad, but they have a will to live, and sometimes that makes them useful. They helped me work my hands free from the restraints, adding strength and dexterity, overcoming my exhaustion. When the toad laughed and reared the whip back for the tenth time, I jumped to my feet. I’ll never forget the look on his face. His eyes almost bulged from his head and his mouth opened, forming a perfect “O.” He knew at that moment, he was done, and it would be messy. He was right. I rewarded the demons, and he regretted the shabby treatment he showed me.

  In the end, the portly extremist and his three friends begged me to kill them. They eventually got their wish. I’m a people pleaser. I guess I just want to be liked.

  The scar on my stomach reflects my closest encounter with death. That one almost killed me, but a quick-thinking medic named Wilky saved me. He stopped the bleeding before I bled out. If the bullet had hit me another inch or two higher, it would have pierced my heart, and death would have come quickly. The Fates spared me, or maybe it was just blind luck. The thing about luck is that it has a way of leveling out over time. And there’s the scar on my chest where the demon tried to rip out my heart with his claws—two faint lines where the nails slashed into my flesh.

  I wash my face. A short, gruff-looking beard covers an angry line along my jaw. A Belgian assassin had a quick wrist, but a glass jaw. He managed to cut me, but when I punched him in the face, he went down, and should have stayed down. That scar bothers me the most. Not because it’s on my face, but because I could have prevented it. I should have anticipated his swipe with the knife, but he looked scared, and that fooled me into thinking he would run. He should have. He was alive when I left him, but even his mother wouldn’t recognize him. Sometimes the demons don’t want me to kill; sometimes they want a different type of punishment, a more apt one under the circumstances. They can be creative when called upon.

  The scars are part of me now as much as my blue eyes or the six toes on my right foot. Don’t ask. They’re living lessons about luck and preparation and, most importantly, what I’m capable of doing. The water turns to ice, so I shut if off. After toweling off and quickly dressing I return to the rest of the bathroom. The line has grown to ten deep, and some throw nasty glares my way. No one wants a stranger to add to the burden.

  I study them with a wary eye, looking for demons. They’re all harmless, just normal people getting ready for work. I could kill all ten in a few minutes if necessary. I imagine each move, each shot of my gun, each twist of the neck, or chop to the throat, and it’s as real to me as if it happened.

  Back at Kate’s door, my mental wrestling match finishes the way I knew it would, with me being pinned. A few contacts can help me, but only one is the best and the fastest. I’ll call the Fourteenth Colony, but it’ll cost me the most in the end.

  No one answers Kate’s door when I knock. I open it and call out for Kate, but she doesn’t respond.

  I draw the Smith and Wesson from my holster and click off the safety. Kate could be in one of the bedrooms, but my intuition tells me she’s not here.

  A footstep sounds in the hallway behind me, and I spin, the Smith and Wesson held at chest level.

  Kate holds two mugs of coffee. She spills a bit from one as I startle her, and she rolls her eyes. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  There she goes again with the annoying eye roll. I tighten my grip on the gun before I lower it, flip the safety on, and holster the weapon. When she enters the apartment, I close the door and take a mug from her. “I didn’t know where you were, so I was concerned. Sue me.”

  “Yes, I know. Always prepare for the worst. How many times did I try to sneak up on you and not once did I get the better of you?”

  The question sounds like a trap.

  “Too many times,” she says with more than a little trace of anger. “I should have gotten a cup back at the store, and I know how addicted you are to caffeine. I made it light and sweet, the way you like it.”

  “You remembered.”

  “Of course, I remembered. You were always so particular about your coffee.” She shoots me a half-smile.

  I don’t know what that means. Has she forgiven me? Or has she granted me a temporary truce while we search for Megan? Could it mean something more? Things are always complicated between Kate and me. I’m supposed to know what she’s thinking without asking. Asking is always bad. She hates that. It means I don’t care, which is stupid. Why would I ask if I don’t care?

  Either way, it’s best to lock down my feelings for her out of the way. Better to focus on the coffee. I take a sip.

  “This is perfect. Coffee’s too bitter black.” I feel a little stupid talking about coffee, but it’s safe. If I say something about us, it’s bound to be wrong. She expects me to know what to say, and I’m totally clueless. Better to feel stupid than get in a row with her right now.

  She turns her back on me. At least she didn’t roll her eyes this time. That’s progress.

  I remove my phone from my front pocket and dial my friend, Mary. Only a little older than Megan, she’s at the heart of the Fourteenth Colony’s operations. She has a photographic memory, a talent for hacking, and believes deeply that the country can still change and avoid a bloody civil war. I doubt she’s right, bu
t I’m hopeful.

  She answers on the second ring. “Steven, is that you?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “We hadn’t heard from you in over three months. We were starting to get a little worried. Are you ready to come back?”

  “Doesn’t the Fourteenth Colony believe in non-violent change? Non-violence is a foreign language to me.”

  Mary chuckles. “I noticed, and you know we favor a peaceful approach. But when everything breaks down, a little ass-kicking comes in handy. That’s why we need you. You’re our ass-kicker.”

  “I’m not ready to come back yet, but I have a problem you might be able to help me with. If you’re willing.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “A daughter of a friend of mine has been abducted...”

  I explain the situation, keeping the descriptions short and focusing on the most important elements. “I have a photo of the van and license number, good shots of the assailant’s faces, and a close-up of the symbol on the chain.”

  She doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll jump on this right away. It’ll take me a few days to hack into the government databases. With Rachel’s help, I’d get immediate access and you’d get answers sooner. But if I—”

  “If you tell Rachel, Sheppard will know, and I’ll owe him. I know how it works. It’s okay. Go through Rachel. We don’t have time to waste.”

  “You’ve got it. I’ll call you back when I know something useful.”

  “I owe you.”

  Mary’s voice deepens with emotion, which surprises me. Everything is logical with her, but this time, she speaks from her heart. “You’re family to me, Steven. I don’t keep score with family.” She disconnects the call.

  She doesn’t keep score, but others will. I’ll have to add her to my list of people who can text me for help at any time. That’ll make five.

  Kate stares at me, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “So, what’s this Fourteenth Colony?”

  The Fourteenth Colony is a covert rebel faction that puts their lives in danger for their collective principles. I don’t always agree with their methods, and I’m not sure they’ll succeed, but they have courage. I’m sworn to keep them secret, so I can’t discuss them with anyone, even Kate, which is sure to piss her off.

  I tiptoe on a balance beam, keeping my description short and vague. “They want to change the country to become more balanced. They believe everyone deserves a chance at success, not just those born wealthy. They’d like to end the Originalist rule.”

  “Do they want to start a revolution? I’ve heard talk of such groups. The ghettos are arming themselves and many of the lower districts too. It won’t take much to start a war.”

  “They want to bring about change through nonviolent means. You’d like them.”

  She huffs, and it’s clear she doesn’t believe me. “If they’re nonviolent, what do they want with you?”

  “Nonviolence has limits. I’m the person they turn to when they reach those limits.”

  “It sounds like you don’t want to work for them again. Why not?” She shoots me a piercing gaze. She sees through my bullshit. Probably because she knew me so well before I learned to lie, so it’s useless to spin a story now.

  “I’d like to make my own decisions for once. Decide who I am before I work for someone else. They’re the best and the fastest at hacking and they have useful government connections. If anyone can track down these leads, Mary will do it for us.”

  I’m not going to mention my growing demon problems. Finding Megan is more than enough for Kate to focus on. She doesn’t need my problems weighing her down. Heck, I don’t need my problems weighing me down either.

  She locks her gaze onto me. “Are you going to say anything else about them or is it all a secret? Just like your super-secret work for the government that no one’s supposed to know about. So secret you can’t tell me, for my own good. As if spies would march into the apartment and shoot me dead if I knew whatever secret you can’t tell me.”

  “All you need to know is that they’ll help. The rest doesn’t involve you.”

  “Right. I know how important your work is to you. I’m not...”

  For a moment, I’m worried she’ll re-fight our last argument. It was a whopper; she started yelling and throwing things at me. The glass vase almost brained me, but the storm that’s building in her voice breaks suddenly and she looks different, caring. She sounds softer than before.

  “It’s all bullshit, you know. If you want to change, you change. They can’t make you do something you don’t want. You’ve always been too easily manipulated by a call to duty. You like to be the hero. You have a desperate need to be part of something bigger. But to change, you have to want to change. I don’t think you’re ready to be nonviolent. Fire still burns in your eyes.”

  My heart skips a beat. Does she see hellfire in my eyes? Is it too late for me already? “What type of fire?” I hold my breath and wait for her answer.

  “Intensity and a white-hot anger. It’s hotter than before. You looked like you wanted to kill Peterson when you grabbed him in the store.”

  I breathe easy. Hellfire would be trouble, intensity is manageable. “Honestly, I don’t know, Kate. I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

  I take a long, slow drink from my mug, mostly to end the conversation, but also for time to think. Kate used to know me better than I knew myself. Does she still see the true person inside, or have I changed so much she can’t recognize me anymore? Have I already turned into one of the demons I fear so much? Would she see the signs?

  Kate’s gaze is still assessing me, studying me as if she’s a psychologist and I’m her patient. It unnerves me, and suddenly the small apartment feels claustrophobic. Small spaces bother me. Not as an irrational phobia, but they squeeze me after a while. I can’t stay here alone with Kate and her piercing eyes any longer. My chest tightens.

  “Let’s get moving. I’m not waiting around for Mary. I’d like to talk to Megan’s friends. The two you mentioned that walked with her from school yesterday. They might have seen something useful or noticed something odd.”

  Kate finishes her coffee. “Eddie and Denise are twins. They live only a few blocks from here. They should still be home before school starts. I called them first last night, so they know Megan’s missing.”

  We escape the small apartment before it crushes me into powder, walk past Peterson’s store and turn right onto the twin’s street. Two blocks later, we stop outside of a traditional apartment building: brick façade, ten stories tall, decent-sized windows facing the street. It’s better looking from the outside than Kate’s. She presses a button on the directory and a buzzer unlocks the door for us.

  “They live on the fifth floor.” Kate glances at me. “Elevator or stairs?”

  “Stairs for me. I can use the exercise. You take the elevator if you want.”

  She opens the door to the staircase and we march up together. This is not one of the new communal buildings. Each apartment has its own bathroom and kitchen, and the doors look spaced reasonably apart.

  The door to apartment 51 opens before we reach it and two young faces, one male and the other female, appear. They look stressed. Both have puffy, red eyes and disheveled hair.

  I recognize them—two of the four faces from the photos in Megan’s room. The boy stands taller than me, but he weighs a good deal less. He’s reed thin, while the girl is average height and stockier. Though they’re built differently, their faces look similar: the same brown eyes, high cheekbones, and oval shape.

  “Come in,” says the girl.

  We step inside and the boy hugs Kate before the door closes. “We can’t believe this is happening.”

  The girl pulls her brother away from Kate and says, “Megan’s going to be fine. She’s as tough as they come.” She speaks softly, more for her brother’s sake than for Kate’s.

  Kate introduces me as a friend who’s helping get Megan back. She calls the two Mega
n’s best friends.

  “Are your parents home?” I ask, even though the apartment feels otherwise empty.

  “No,” says Denise. “They start work early.”

  She’s the stronger of the two. Eddie looks dazed and teary eyed. She walks us to the living room with a purposeful stride. There’s a couch and a few chairs, but no one sits.

  “Tell me about the last time you saw Megan,” I say.

  Denise answers, “We walked home from school as usual. We stopped where our street connects with hers. We checked to make sure no gangs were hanging around, and then we separated, and that’s the last time we saw her. We were supposed to study for the Assessment Test later, but she never answered her phone.”

  “Does she have any boyfriends or anyone who wants to harm her?”

  “No,” says Denise. “Ryan asked her out last month, but Megan wants to focus on the Assessment Test before she starts dating anyone. Everyone loves Megan. No one wants to hurt her.”

  Eddie blurts, “It’s our fault.”

  Denise glares at him. “Get a grip.”

  “I’m serious. We shouldn’t have left her alone.” Tears run down his cheeks. “So many kids go missing. She’s so stubborn. She said she’d be fine and I was silly. Now...”

  “Megan’s strong-willed,” Denise explains to me. “We’ve argued about leaving her alone in the past. We’ve tried to walk her to her door before, but she wouldn’t have it. No one can force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.” She turns to Eddy. “It’s not your fault. Stop being dramatic.”

  “How many other kids have gone missing?” I ask.

  Denise shrugs. “Five from our school this year.”

  “Five?” says Kate. “Megan never told me anything about that.”

  “She didn’t want to worry you,” says Denise.

  Five kids is a lot in three months—too many to be a coincidence. I glance at Kate. “I take it the school hasn’t said anything.”