by D. N. Leo
She stepped down from the steps to the lawn. Her weird earrings jingled, making an unpleasant sound with her every step. Madeline wished it would stop as it made her head ring.
The woman looked at Madeline. “I’m glad to see you again, too!”
“You know why we’re here, Mrs. Hanson. I know you’re disappointed to see her alive.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ciaran. This young lady was just here asking for directions a couple of days ago. She must have found what she wanted, given my instructions. Aren’t you grateful for my help, Madeline?”
“How do you know my name? I didn’t introduce myself.”
Madeline remembered the jingle of Mrs. Hanson’s earrings now. She had heard that sound when she’d hallucinated about the Roman soldiers. They were the sounds that made her head ring, her eyes droop, and ended up with her driving into the walls.
Madeline grabbed Ciaran’s arm, pulling him backward. “Her earrings, the sound of her earrings is what caused my hallucination at the walls. Don’t listen to it.”
Mrs. Hanson grinned widely, showing her black and rotting teeth.
“They contacted you, didn’t they Mrs. Hanson? They’ve made an appearance.” Ciaran advanced on the woman.
Mrs. Hanson grunted out her words. “Greedy people are supposed to die!”
“You don’t care about those greedy people. I know what you want. You’re as greedy as they are. They killed my friend. Tell me where they are.”
The woman laughed. “If I don’t tell you, what will you do? Kill this old woman? So much for the gentlemen I used to know? And all that because of this bitch?”
“Don’t call her names!” Ciaran growled. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll leave you in peace.”
Mrs. Hanson laughed—a crooked laugh that pulled at the muscles on her face and made it look as if she was in pain. “You think you can blackmail me?”
“I don’t think it. I do it. I know where you get the supplies to make your evil drugs. I can stop it right now. With one phone call.”
“Don’t you dare!” The woman flew at Ciaran and shoved him backward. Madeline darted in front of him and shoved the woman away.
She gave the old woman a stern stare. “He wouldn’t hit a woman, but I wouldn’t mind a cat fight.”
“Try me!” she screamed, but the scream came out more like a croak. She swung her head so that her earrings jingled loudly. Madeline grabbed her ears and stepped back.
Mrs. Hanson shook her arms so that the bells dangling on her beaded wristbands sang as well. The sound from the earrings was the worst, though. Mrs. Hanson looked as if she was dancing.
Ciaran stepped in front of Madeline. “Go to the car and wait for me there,” he directed.
“No.”
“Go, Madeline!”
Mrs. Hanson swung her earrings more violently. Madeline thought her nose and ears would bleed. She heard Mrs. Hanson laughing. Her laugh was loud now, and the ringing noise pierced her brain like a well-sharpened knife. Thousands of knives. Madeline heard Ciaran calling to her, asking her to leave. She could feel him grabbing her, pulling her away.
The noise was pounding in her head.
No, she wouldn’t run. Not from an old woman with weird earrings. The old woman had killed Robert. His blood was on her hands, as well as on Madeline’s. In her mind, Madeline saw Robert’s widow and his orphan. She remembered now what happened at Fosse Way. What she had seen were not Roman soldiers. They were men with rifles wearing masks. They had bells on their rifles, and clothes that made the same sound.
Madeline shrugged off Ciaran’s grip and rushed toward the old woman. She grabbed her dangling earrings and pulled hard. The sound stopped. The woman screamed in pain as blood poured out of her torn ear lobes. Then the old woman grunted, and the sound coming out of her mouth was deep and demonic.
She pulled a knife from beneath her clothing and ran back toward Madeline.
Seeing the flash of the knife, Madeline stepped back, and Ciaran darted toward her from behind. Madeline tripped on a small stone, tumbled, and fell on her back. The old woman growled and jumped on top of Madeline, arcing the knife up in the air and preparing to stab downward.
Ciaran grabbed the old woman’s hand. The old woman looked at him as if she had been waiting for just that moment. She didn’t jerk her hand out of Ciaran’s. It happened in front of Madeline’s eyes as if it were a slow-motion movie. The old woman turned the knife and pulled it toward herself, along with Ciaran’s hand.
She stabbed the knife deep into her chest.
From the back, Shaun, the gardener, walked out and saw Ciaran’s hand still on the hilt of the knife which had been plunged into Mrs. Hanson’s body.
“Oh, God! Oh, my God! Mrs. Hanson!” He stumbled backward, fell, and then stood up and ran.
Madeline rolled away. Mrs. Hanson lay on the ground, grinning ghoulishly back at Madeline and Ciaran. She reached her hand up, grabbed Ciaran’s shirt, and pulled him down.
“Blood on your hands. Blood in your soul. I curse you, Ciaran . . . for the young soul that died for you . . . It’s time. The enemies are coming . . .”
The old woman stared into nothing. Dead eyes.
Ciaran yanked himself free of the woman’s grip. Then he just stood there, looking incredulously at the blood on his hands.
26
“Are you okay?” Ciaran held Madeline’s shoulders and looked into her eyes while they waited for the elevator in the foyer of One Hyde Park. “You were very quiet on the way back.”
She could give him a white lie to get this over and done with, but he had figured out she was lousy in that regard. And those intense gray eyes were so filled with genuine concern and emotion that she would feel like a bitch lying to him.
“Well, it’s not every day that I see someone die in front of me. You were shakier than me, though. I pulled you from the scene, remember?” She sighed. I lied to him anyway, she thought.
He lifted her chin. “On the contrary, you were too steady for the situation. And that’s what I’m concerned about.”
“Hey!” She pushed his hand away. “You think I eat people for breakfast?” She put her hands defensively on her hips. Damn, should have known he would see that.
“One day, you’ll have to tell me about what happened to you, Madeline.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
He shrugged.
“My personal life is none of your business.” She jabbed a finger at his shoulder.
Ciaran nodded. “Someone is using you to get to me. That’s my business, and I’m entitled to know what’s relevant. If you don’t want me to know about your past, I won’t ask again.”
She nodded and looked away.
“Lindsay will have a car picking us up in ten minutes. We’re going to the police station to give information as witnesses.”
“These police, are they yours?”
Ciaran chuckled. “If you mean do they live in our pocket, no. Detective Adamson is a good friend of Lindsay’s. We don’t bribe, Madeline.”
“Why did Mrs. Hanson kill herself? Just for a chance to frame us?”
“It’s not her we talked to. Remember how I threatened to cut her supplies with a phone call?”
Madeline nodded.
“I did that to her ten years ago. She no longer makes medicines that require those supplies. So what’s running in her head now is like an old tape recorder of behaviour and thought patterns.”
Madeline’s eyes widened. “You knew it back there? You were testing her?”
“That used to be a woman. But it’s not anymore, I’m afraid.”
“What? She was abducted by aliens, and they replaced her human brain with a robotic one?”
Ciaran chuckled and shook his head.
“She was possessed by a demon of her past?”
Ciaran grinned. “You have a very unusual thought process, Madeline.”
“So tell me!”
“You don’
t want me to know your stories, so you don’t get to know mine.”
Damn, Madeline cursed silently.
The elevator opened. At the same time, Madeline’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Unknown ID.
Ciaran nodded. She picked up, and Zen’s voice oozed out from the other end of the line, “Hello, old friend. Remember me?”
Ciaran shook his head.
“Look, Zen, I’m in the middle of something right now. Call me back later, okay?” She hung up. Then she saw the look on Ciaran’s face. “What?”
“You’re quite good dealing with criminal minds.” He smiled. “I’m impressed.”
“It comes with the job,” she muttered. They walked into the elevator and ignored the buzzing phone.
Madeline and Ciaran entered the grand hallway of the apartment to find a man standing there with his back to Madeline and Ciaran. He was looking out the window, down to the city.
“I thought you were in Australia,” Ciaran said.
The man turned around. He was maybe an inch or so shorter than Ciaran, but they shared so many similarities that it didn’t take much thought for Madeline to guess they were brothers.
“I was. I’m sorry, I didn’t bring home any kangaroos or boomerangs as souvenirs. Plus, I went back to Spain last week, and then to Rome, and so forth . . .”
“I must have lost track of your extensive travel.”
The man winked at Madeline. “So as I’ve heard, this must be the lady, Madeline Roux!”
“I’m no lady, but you’ve got the name right. You’re Ciaran’s brother?”
“I hope he’s said nice things about me.”
“If you assume nothing is a nice thing,” Ciaran responded. “This is Tadgh, my brother. I’m sure you could tell. Apart from some physical similarities, I don’t believe we have much in common.”
“Oh, come on, Ciaran. We share our parents. Isn’t that enough?”
Tadgh came forward, took Madeline’s hand in his, and kissed her knuckles before she could react. Then he rushed forward quickly and gave Ciaran a bear hug that took him totally by surprise.
Apparently embarrassed, Ciaran shoved Tadgh aside, saying, “Grow up.”
Tadgh turned to Madeline. “I took off without saying goodbye to him, so he’s a bit testy at the moment.”
Madeline merely smiled.
“Mother would be very pleased to see you,” Ciaran said.
“I’m sure of it. I’m her favorite. But I’d like to flop on the couch here for a couple of days before I head to Dublin. That is, if it’s okay with you?”
“Don’t even ask,” Ciaran responded sarcastically. “Tadgh, Madeline and I have to run. But before we do, what do you want, really, apart from my couch?”
Tadgh looked at Madeline.
Ciaran said, “She’s in. So you can spill it. What is it that you want?”
“In? How far in?” Tadgh asked.
“All the way in,” Madeline responded. Too fast, damn it, she thought, judging by Ciaran’s reaction—or lack thereof.
Tadgh looked at Ciaran for a confirmation, but nothing came from him. “I’ve heard about Robert.”
“If that’s your main concern, you know where they live. Pay them a visit.”
“I saw a record of an entry at Mon Ciel lab.” Tadgh stared at Ciaran.
“It was me. Since when do you read security reports?”
“You haven’t used it for years. What could you possibly do in that rusty old lab except dig up your dead and buried problems?”
“You have no say in this. Get back to your travel extravaganza and leave the family business to those who are responsible,” Ciaran snarled.
Tadgh laughed and spoke to Madeline, “You see how lucky I am to have this big brother to take care of everything!”
“Then leave if you have a problem,” Ciaran growled. His migraine was coming back in waves.
Tadgh flopped onto the couch and stretched his arms out. “The thing is, Madeline, he’s only good ninety-nine percent of the time. When it’s time for the other one percent to take charge, he’s hopeless.”
Ciaran snatched Tadgh off the couch and threw him to the wall. A framed painting nearby dropped on the floor, and glass shattered everywhere.
“The computer said, ‘It’s time,’” Madeline said.
“Madeline!” Ciaran growled.
Tadgh narrowed his eyes. “Say again, Madeline?”
“Madeline . . .” Ciaran objected, but his vision blurred with the headache. He strode toward the medicine cabinet to take his painkillers.
Seizing the opportunity, Madeline spilled, “The computer in Ciaran’s office turned itself on and said, ‘It’s time, Ciaran. Enemies are nearby.’ Ciaran said Mrs. Hanson was replaying information in her dialogue that was ten years old—without even knowing it. And she stabbed herself to frame us.”
Ciaran had his eyes closed and was bracing his hands on the bench, waiting for the medication to take effect. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead. He said nothing.
“You’re going back to Mon Ceil, Ciaran,” Tadgh growled.
Ciaran opened his eyes. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”
“I don’t know what and where Mon Ciel is, but I have a problem here. Before my friend is safe and sound, I can’t go anywhere” Madeline said.
“They kidnapped her friend and used her to get to me,” Ciaran said.
“Oh, I see, they’ve gotten smarter!” Tadgh said.
“You’re saying my friend’s kidnapping was just a manipulation to get to you? You knew the whole time? And my friend’s life is just a pawn for someone to get in touch with your family?” Madeline waved her arms in the air, frustrated. “For what? I don’t care how important your family is. Jo is everything to me. I’m done with this.” Madeline turned on her heel and strode toward the door.
Ciaran darted toward her and grabbed her arm. “I didn’t know at the beginning, Madeline. You have to trust me.”
“You don’t trust anyone. Why should I trust you?”
“My family has a lot at stake here. I understand your friend is important and I don’t take her kidnapping lightly. But I do think that there is a connection between that and our family business. If you stay with me, we can work things out.”
Madeline hesitated.
“You don’t have anything to give Zen, and he’ll be calling back any minute!”
“You’re not lying to me?”
“No. And we have to go to the police station now.”
Madeline nodded. Ciaran pulled Madeline into his arms and embraced her. In the background, Tadgh rolled his eyes.
27
Ciaran glanced quickly at Madeline on the passenger side of the car. She looked calm and collected. Her hand slid inside her handbag. He shook his head and reached over, gently taking the phone from her hand.
“We’ll sort this out and get Jo back, Madeline.”
“I know.” She smiled at him, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Thank you for your help at the police station.” Ciaran tried to break the silence.
“I didn’t really do anything. You had everything organized. Even if the gardener had gone to the police, he wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on.”
Ciaran smiled. “It’s not me. Lindsay had it organized.”
Madeline nodded and remained silent. She didn’t seem to want to talk any further. The closer to the time Zen would call, the more Ciaran saw her wits leaving her.
He looked at the road. The business traffic was heading toward the city while they were going in the opposite direction. The traffic movement was a metaphor for his life and his family—always against the odds.
Very soon, he’d open his home to Madeline. He barely knew her, but he couldn’t deny the comfort he felt when he was around her. Still, he didn’t need comfort, didn’t need safety, and didn’t need anyone’s protection. Hell, he’d let someone into his comfort zone once, and it had been a mistake he’d sworn he would n
ever repeat.
For now, Madeline was a victim, tangled in the mess he’d created in the past. So protecting her was a mission. Happy with his reasoning, he pressed the accelerator.
The phone rang.
“Let it ring a few times,” Ciaran said quickly. He veered to the side of the road and parked. Then he signaled.
He could see the screen flash on, and he cursed. He should have turned that video function off. Jo’s face was pressed against the screen at first, and then she was pulled back a bit by her hair, revealing a large bruise on her forehead and a black eye. She was barely conscious.
Ciaran felt his blood boil, and he saw that Madeline had lost it. Her hands shook, her lips trembled, and tears streamed down her face. She was in no condition to negotiate.
Ciaran grabbed the phone, pointed it to the floor, and twisted it around quickly to disorient the view at the other end. Then he turned the video off.
Zen’s voice came across. “Hello, sweet pea.”
“Who’s that?” Ciaran cleared his throat.
Zen’s voice came across reluctantly. “Uhmm . . . Maddie . . . are you there?”
“She’s busy. Who are you?”
“I need to talk to Madeline.”
“Why?” Ciaran snapped.
“Who the fuck are you?” Zen snarled.
Ciaran cut off the call.
Zen immediately called back. Ciaran picked up, “This is our company’s phone. One more harassing call to Madeline, and I’ll hand you over to the police.”
“Harassment? I ain’t harassing anyone. She promised me something. We had a deal. If I don’t get to talk to her, she’ll regret it.”
“Who are you?”
There was a pause. “Zen.”
“Ahhh, the idiot who wanted to talk to White Knight.”
“Who am I talking to?”
“Ciaran.”
“Ciaran LeBlanc? Are you fucking with me?”
Ciaran cut off the phone again. Zen called back. Ciaran let it ring a few times before picking it up. “Last chance, Zen. What do you want?”
“I want to talk to White Knight.”
“Talking.”
“I want White Knight, the avatar in hologames.”