by Hill, Casey
‘I’m not,’ Sheldon said, his expression somber. ‘I’m not risking this son of a bitch getting away just because we don’t know where to find him. The bastard threatened to kill my daughter. He’s not just going to walk away from this.’ The writer shook the chain on his ankle. ‘Though I wouldn’t mind having my leg free while I work.’
‘We’re going to need bigger bolt cutters then.’ Reilly realized that the conversation had quickly transitioned from the theoretical into working out the logistics.
‘And you might want a better choice of weapon just in case Lennox does suddenly show up.’ Sheldon opened the laptop. ‘Is there anyone you can call for backup? Because, no offense, but I hate to think of you going up against this psycho alone. I’ve already seen him take out men twice your size.’
Reilly stood and took her phone from her pocket. She gave Sheldon a half-smile. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m actually a black belt. Or, at least, I was when I was twelve.’ She frowned at the lack of signal on her phone. ‘But there is one person I need to call. He can bring me a weapon and anything we need to get that chain off. You get started on your finale and I’ll take care of the weapons.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Sheldon turned toward the laptop and Reilly headed for the door. Before she got there, she heard the writer add in a soft voice. ‘I’ll try my best to make sure we get your friend back.’
‘I certainly hope so.’ Reilly could barely speak around the lump in her throat. It took a moment, but she managed to squash down her anxiety. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. She was stronger than this.
She stepped out into the blinding late-morning sun. The heat rolled over her, leaving her sweating and struggling for air in seconds. She wasn’t sure which was worse, outside with clean, muggy air or inside where the climate-controlled atmosphere was fetid and foul.
She shook her head. She had more things to worry about than the air quality. It was time to make the call she’d been dreading. She didn’t want to do it, but she was running out of time.
She hit her speed dial and waited. Two rings and a familiar voice greeted her.
Reilly took a deep breath. ‘Daniel, I need your help.’
Todd punched the door again without expecting any results.
For, as substandard as it had appeared, the door was as solid as any Todd had ever seen. Pain flared, hot and bright, through his knuckles, but he welcomed it. It sharpened him, made him focus. Besides, if Fisher succeeded, bruised and possibly cracked knuckles were going to be the least of Todd’s concerns.
He’d examined every inch of his prison. No cracks in the floor or walls. While the ceiling seemed to only consist of flooring from above, it was too solid to break through, same as the door. He’d yelled enough to know that either the house was empty or there was a layer of soundproofing he’d missed. He was willing to bet it was the former rather than the latter.
Todd plopped down on the cot. No windows to see where he was, to gauge the passage of time or try to use as a means of escape. Unless he could pull a Shawshank and dig his way out with a spoon, he was screwed. He was also pretty sure Andy Dufresne hadn’t actually used a spoon, but the general idea remained the same. He was stuck.
That left him only one option. Wait. Wait until Fisher came back down to get him. Overpower the director and take him down. If only he could get rid of the damn cattle prod. Todd didn’t want to mess with that again. He could still smell the singe of burned hair, taste the copper on his tongue from where he’d bitten it. He had a new-found sympathy for cows.
This time, he’d ask for the chloroform. Fisher would have to come close to administer it, and when he did, Todd would be ready. It was time to put those self-defense lessons to work.
Granted, the stuff they’d made them do at the Academy had been over a decade ago, but it was either that or figure out a way to make a weapon from a couple of dead bugs and a threadbare pillow.
He was fairly sure that even John McClane in his best Die Hard days couldn’t have worked with so little. But it didn’t matter what he used. He had to try. For Bradley. For Holly. He had to bring Wesley Fisher to justice, make him pay for what he’d done.
Todd just wasn’t sure how he was going to do that while locked in a basement.
CHAPTER 41
Anxiety etched Daniel’s face as he moved across the parking lot.
Reilly hadn’t told him much, only that she needed help with a lead she was chasing, that Todd was in trouble and that she couldn’t use the Feds or local cops. Telling someone that their only son had been kidnapped wasn’t exactly the type of news that engendered lengthy discussion. Daniel had simply gathered the things Reilly had asked for, then got in the car and drove.
If Todd had been taken by the same man they’d been investigating, he knew there wasn’t any time to waste. Daniel already knew more than he cared for about the same man’s dark, twisted mind.
He reached Reilly, his face full of questions, and he could immediately see how stressed she was and that her nerves were stretched to the point of snapping. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. He has Todd.’
Daniel’s face paled and he took a step toward her. ‘How do you know?’
‘It’s that guy we met at the hotel – Fisher’s co-producer; he told us where to find him.’ Reilly back-tracked the explanation, realizing that they’d very briefly encountered Lennox at the time but had no reason to believe him a suspect in either Sheldon’s kidnapping or the murders. ‘He’s our killer and our kidnapper.’
Reilly watched her old friend attempt to gather himself; to muster his usual calm, calculated state of mind when dealing with a psychotic criminal.
‘But how do you know he has Todd? And where are the Feds . . . the detectives?’ He looked around, baffled by the absence of law enforcement.
‘The reason I called you here is because, like we suspected, the murderer, Lennox, kidnapped the screenwriter.’ As Daniel struggled to come to terms with what was going on, Reilly motioned for him to follow her into the storage unit. ‘Mr Sheldon?’
‘Ah, the backup.’ The writer squinted up at Reilly before turning to Daniel. ‘Drew Sheldon, nice to meet you. Please excuse the mess. The maid hasn’t been in for a while.’
‘Is he for real?’ Daniel’s voice held an understandable edge.
‘Your backup doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.’ Sheldon turned back to his laptop.
‘That monster has my son, so unless—’
‘And that monster threatened my daughter,’ Sheldon’s snapped. ‘You’re not the only parent here.’
‘Reilly—’
‘Did he at least bring something to get this damn chain off my ankle?’ Sheldon directed his question to Reilly.
‘Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?’ Daniel turned to Reilly. ‘You call me, ask me to bring a gun and a chain cutter, tell me that madman has kidnapped my son and then show me some writer chained to a cot in a storage unit—’
‘Daniel,’ Reilly interrupted, the last of her patience having evaporated with the heated exchange between the two men. ‘Lennox, a failed producer, took Sheldon to make him write a script for his movie. This morning, he brought Todd here and because he can’t get to his ultimate target, Wesley Fisher, we think that he’s going to use Todd in the finale of his film. Drew is supposed to complete the script as soon as possible or Lennox is going to go after his daughter.’
‘But how did Lennox get Todd?’ Daniel started to speak.
‘Do you mind?’ Sheldon spoke up. ‘If you’re going to do the whole lengthy explanation thing, could you at least give me some peace and quiet to work? I’ve got a lot to do and not a lot of time in which to do it.’
Reilly motioned for Daniel to follow her. They stood in the doorway, allowing them to be in the shade and further away from the stench surrounding the writer.
‘I know you’re worried and you’re right.’ For Daniel’s sake, Reilly tried to dampen down he
r own panic and keep her voice firm, professional, the way he had done back when he’d come to Dublin to help her deal with her own family crisis.
She knew that bogging themselves down in the how’s and why’s of Lennox capturing Todd would only complicate things and delay them further. ‘Sheldon’s right, we don’t have a lot of time. Lennox took Todd somewhere, we don’t know where and we don’t have any way to track him. With all the police and Feds around, I don’t think the guy would be stupid enough to head back to the hotel any time soon and certainly not with a captive. I suggested to Sheldon that we could wait for him to come back here for the script but, long story short, Lennox has some sort of share program set up so he doesn’t have to come back, not until he’s ready to get rid of Sheldon. There’s a GPS on the laptop so we can’t take Sheldon out of here to write. He volunteered to stay here a bit longer and finish the script because he doesn’t trust Lennox and is worried about his daughter. Once he’s uploaded it, he’ll give us the location of where he’s setting the scene and we can pick Todd and Lennox up there.’
‘So we’re just supposed to sit here and wait for this guy to finish writing some death scene so Lennox can put Todd in it like he did with his other victims?’ Daniel glared down at her. ‘For God’s sake, Reilly . . .’
‘It’s the only option we have.’ Reilly’s tone softened at the anguish on her friend’s face. ‘There’s just no way the Feds will be able to find Todd before Lennox figures out Sheldon isn’t doing as he was told.’ She paused, then said, ‘And you know they’ll make you sit on the sidelines while they look. Could you really do that? I know I can’t.’
Daniel swore, his expression resigned as he realized she was right. ‘So how do we do this?’
‘Once Sheldon’s done with the script, we call Kent and tell the Feds that we’ve found our missing screenwriter. Sheldon’s agreed to say that I found him after he’d already finished his finale. We might get a slap on the wrist, but it’s not going to be their main concern. Once Kent and the department know the location of the perp, they’ll go after him and since we’re here . . .’
‘They’ll let us tag along,’ Daniel finished, nodding, understanding that at times like this nobody would be worrying too much about loose ends. That would happen afterward, once the killer was brought down.
Reilly nodded. ‘It’ll be crazy, lots of stuff going down during all of the chaos.’
‘All right. What’s the writer’s great idea? Have some kind of massive showdown at the police station?’
‘While the irony of that would be entertaining,’ Sheldon’s voice commented from the dark depths behind them, ‘I doubt Lennox would be quite that adventurous or stupid.’
‘All right then, Shakespeare,’ Daniel snapped. ‘What’s your big finale?’
The Maestro laughed out loud as he read what his pet writer had created. ‘Classic motif with a twist. Just a touch of irony. I like it.’
He’d been concerned that Sheldon wouldn’t be at his best at this point; that he’d be too worried about what would happen when it was all done. It wasn’t like the writer was entirely unintelligent. He knew that his life wasn’t going to be worth much when he was no longer needed.
He had always intended to kill Sheldon, of course. It wasn’t anything personal, but he had been truthful about making it as painless as possible as long as Sheldon had done his job. It now looked like it was going to be a syringe of morphine or a chloroform-laced pillow over the face rather than the other option. He was glad it was going this way. Aside from being painless for a man who’d helped him so much, it was so much less messy than a meat cleaver and bucket of toilet-bowl cleaner à la Misery.
He stood and crossed to the basement door, then reached for the doorknob and hesitated. The investigator had proven himself to be arrogant and cocky, a dangerous combination.
In hindsight, he probably should’ve left him in the handcuffs, but he’d seen way too many movies where guards or villains were strangled by a pair of cuffed hands. The Maestro reached for his weapon, considered it, then added a can of pepper spray for good measure.
He was nothing if not thorough.
He opened the door quickly, hoping to catch his prisoner off guard. It worked. Todd stood halfway down the stairs, a surprised look on his face. It didn’t last long, but the half-second was enough for him to get the cattle prod in place and kick the door shut.
The electricity crackled as he made his way slowly down the stairs, infinitely pleased with himself as pretty boy backed up.
‘Why don’t you have a seat?’ The Maestro gestured with the prod.
Todd scowled but did as he was told. That was good. The last thing he needed when composing the scene that would make him famous was a temperamental star. He’d had his fill of that with Bruce ‘Nut-job’ Reynolds.
‘Just give it up, Fisher,’ the investigator glared. ‘You’re never going to get away with this.’
The Maestro shook his head and smiled, amused. ‘You don’t have a clue, do you? I’m disappointed. And is that really the best line you can come up with? I’m glad I had someone write for you. Because, to be honest, you suck at improvisation. Good thing you didn’t decide to pursue a career in acting, though you certainly have the face for it.’ After a moment’s consideration, he decided against sitting too. This one was a bit more volatile than Sheldon.
‘Come on, you’ve seen all the movies.’ Todd’s voice changed tone. ‘You know how this ends. The bad guy makes a mistake, and either gets captured or dies. No matter what, he loses.’
The Maestro laughed. ‘I don’t know what movies you’ve been watching lately, but the best thing about horror films is that the antagonist never really disappears. Ever seen Friday the 13th? How many Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween sequels are there? And they just keep on coming . . .’
‘But the killer did die in the first Friday the 13th,’ Todd countered. ‘Remember, it wasn’t actually Jason, but his mom. And the last woman standing chopped Mrs Voorhees’ head off with a machete.’
The Maestro smiled and shook his head. OK, so Todd knew movies. ‘But that wasn’t the end,’ he countered. ‘Jason’s mom may have died, but Jason got his revenge and he kept coming back for more.’
‘All right then, what about Scream?’ Todd asked.
‘Faulty comparison.’ The Maestro was beginning to enjoy the discussion. ‘Scream was originally written by Williamson as a trilogy satire to provide commentary on the horror genre. Though the fourth did end up proving my point that there’s always someone willing to come forward to fill an empty space. Nature does abhor a vacuum.’
‘True.’ Todd nodded. ‘There are copycats, but that just means the original killers were still captured or killed. The movies you mentioned before where the original killer – with the exception of Jason’s mother – either survives or returns, the killers are supernatural, which is how they keep coming back. You are not.’
The Maestro scowled. This wasn’t fun anymore. ‘You are forgetting something vitally important though, about all of those films. It’s never the cocky male hero who survives. Only the virginal heroine. And you are neither.’
‘Come on,’ Todd said, grinning maniacally. ‘I could play the virginal heroine just as well as . . . oh, who am I kidding? I couldn’t pretend to be a virgin any more than you could pretend to be talented.’
He’d had enough; the barb hit his ego harder than it should have. ‘I didn’t come down here to argue plotlines with you. I just came to let you know that we’re going to be leaving shortly. Sheldon came through. Looks like you’ll be getting your big break soon enough.’
‘Oh goody,’ Todd deadpanned, not looking nearly as terrified as the Maestro wanted him to be. ‘Like they say on TV, I’ve been dreaming of something like this all my life.’
‘It’s a classic that even a plebeian such as yourself should be able to appreciate,’ he went on, without acknowledging Todd’s quip. He needed to get back in the right mind-set to direct. ‘Comb
ined with enough bang for any dumb blockbuster audience.’ His eyes narrowed as he watched Todd’s muscles tense. ‘I was going to ask for your preferred method of being knocked out for our little trip to the train yard, but I think I’m going to play it safe.’
He darted forward before Todd could react and triggered enough voltage to make Todd’s body jerk and spasm. The investigator’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped onto the cot. The Maestro considered the unconscious body for a moment before heading upstairs to get his new bottle of chloroform.
Better safe than sorry.
CHAPTER 42
Reilly watched Sheldon pace back and forth, and fought back the urge to join him.
The screenwriter’s nerves had been showing from the moment he’d announced that the scene was finished. She had purposefully asked that he not share the location until the authorities arrived. She didn’t trust Daniel, or herself for that matter, not to act on it.
Reilly knew that the moment either of them heard where Todd would be, they wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from going straight there, and while that was what she wanted, she knew it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. And now they had to put personal involvement aside, try and forget it was Todd they were looking for, and start thinking smart. It was the only way to save him.
‘I thought you said they’d be here by now.’ Sheldon glanced back at the storage unit. Once Daniel had managed to get through the chain, the writer had asked if they could all move outside. Reilly couldn’t blame him. Given the length of the writer’s incarceration, the interior of that unit was pretty ripe. She didn’t envy the people who would have to clean it.
‘Yeah, well, Agent Kent said they were on their way,’ she replied, irritated too, ‘but he’s not exactly the fastest responder.’
‘Here’s the thing . . .’ Sheldon wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead, leaving streaks of dirt and other things Reilly wasn’t sure she wanted to identify. ‘The final scene’s a little time sensitive.’