Kill Devil

by Mike Dellosso

  “So he was going to have me take him out.”

  “And then let you take the fall for it. An unstable rogue agent with an ax to grind.”

  So Connelly wasn’t evil after all. It was all lies from Murphy. Manipulation. And the fact that he’d used Karen—or at least the image of Karen—to perpetrate his crime made Jed blister with anger. He pulled Lilly closer and stroked Karen’s hand.

  “What about the man who tried to kill me in the plane? Who was he? Who did he work for?”

  Carson tightened his lips and lowered his brow. “We’re not sure yet. Best guess? He worked for a rival program that needed Connelly alive.”

  “Rival program?”

  “Our government isn’t as pure as they teach you in seventh grade.”

  “No kidding.”

  “All governments are corrupt, and ours is no different. There are any number of ghost programs with agendas that don’t exactly line up with the American spirit or the will of the people. At least not most of the people.”

  “Centralia was one of those programs.”

  Carson stopped pacing. “Yes. And there are others, some with competing priorities.”

  “If the American people only knew.”

  “We make sure they don’t. Our republic is a fragile animal. It’s based on trust, trust from the people that politicians, officials, bureaucrats—government in general—have their best interests in mind. If that trust erodes, democracy falls apart and is usually replaced by chaos.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “Once the president is out, Connelly will assume the office. There will be a new cabinet, new staff. Everyone will be replaced. Connelly and his people are still discovering how deep or far the roots of Centralia run. There will have to be a mass cleansing.”

  “And the unknowing populace? What will they think? What will happen to our fragile republic?”

  “They’ll never know the truth, not the whole of it anyway. It’s our job to make sure they don’t.”

  Jed touched Karen’s arm. “I know the truth. So what happens to us?”

  “When your wife is strong enough, they’re going to move your family to central Maine. Get you set up with a new identity, a new life.”

  “Maine, huh?”

  “Middle of nowhere.”

  The middle of nowhere didn’t sound so bad, actually. It was remote enough for them to stay off the grid but close enough to not get lost. At least it wasn’t Siberia. “So we’re the victims and we get exiled?”

  Carson smiled. “Kind of. Unfortunately when this stuff goes down, not everyone can come out a winner. It’s for your safety . . . and ours.”

  “We were exiled before and they still found us.”

  “There was still blood flowing through Centralia’s veins. We’ve lopped off the beast’s head now.”

  “And what about those other programs? The other ghosts?”

  Carson eyed Jed for a few beats. “There will always be ghosts. We’ll hunt them down one by one and eliminate them.” He paused and looked from Lilly to Karen, then back to Jed. “There’s one other thing you need to do before we can move you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s a surgeon who can get that implant out of your head. No more voices, no more hallucinations. How’s that sound?”

  “The sooner the better.”

  FORTY-THREE

  • • •

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  Jed, Karen, and Lilly stood in the parking lot of the hospital with Tiffany and Agent Carson. Jed’s left arm was in the immobilizer, and now he had a square gauze bandage above his ear as well. Karen’s neck was bandaged, but over the weeks the wrapping had grown smaller and smaller to its current size of no larger than a playing card. Her voice was still hoarse and raspy. The bullet had passed through Jed’s shoulder, entered her neck, nicked the carotid artery and her larynx, ricocheted off her fifth cervical vertebra, and exited her neck posteriorly. A millimeter in any direction and it would have killed her for sure.

  Lilly held Jed’s hand and leaned against her mother’s hip.

  Karen hugged Tiffany. “Where will you go now?”

  Tiffany shrugged. “They’re relocating me, too. Got me a new job and some new digs.”

  Jed hugged her too. “I know I’ve said it before, but thank you for all you did. You’ll be okay?”

  “Absolutely. I’m adaptable. Roll with it, you know?” She smiled. “It might be kinda cool, starting over and everything. Like a new chance at life. I got a lot to think about, a lot to sort through. New beginnings are good, right?”

  Jed scrunched his face. “Except for when your new beginnings need new beginnings. That gets old.”

  “You guys will be fine,” Tiffany said. “You have each other.”

  “And God is always gonna be with us,” Lilly said. “And that’s all we really need.”

  Tiffany bent down eye to eye with the little girl. “You’re a true believer, aren’t you?”

  Jed put his arm around Lilly’s shoulder. “We all are, Tiffany.” He kissed the top of his daughter’s head. He then leaned over and kissed Karen. Except for the bandage on her neck and the sandpaper in her voice, she was back to her old self, more alive than ever.

  Tiffany reached into her pocket and retrieved a folded piece of paper. “I’m not allowed to give out my phone number or tell where I’m being relocated, but this is a secure e-mail address. You know, just in case you need to contact me about anything.”

  Jed took the paper. “Thanks, Tiff. We’ll be in touch.”

  She smiled. “Good. I’d like that.”

  Tiffany gave them each one more hug, then turned and left without looking back.

  Jed pulled Lilly close. “Well, I guess we better head out, huh?”

  Carson handed Jed a key chain. “Here you go. We’ll escort you as far as Augusta; then you’re on your own.”

  “Got it.” The government had provided Jed with a new maroon Honda Pilot. It would be a nice family vehicle. They’d also cleaned out the cabin in Idaho and transported the Patricks’ belongings to their home in Maine. Everything would be set up for them when they arrived.

  Carson handed Jed a package. “Your new identities. Birth certificates. Social Security cards. Maine driver’s licenses.”

  Jed didn’t bother opening the package; he’d have Karen do it once they were on the road. “Marriage certificate?”

  “It’s in there.”

  “The works, huh?”

  “Your entire life,” Carson said.

  Jed turned the package over in his hand. “Our entire lives wrapped up in one neat little envelope. Like we were born yesterday.”

  Carson smiled, then bent to one knee before Lilly. She stepped close and he wrapped her in his arms. “You take care, little sister, you hear?”

  She nodded and wiped a tear from her eye.

  Carson ruffled her hair. “Aw, you guys will be just fine. I know it.”

  “God will be with us.”

  “He sure will.”

  Jed had been notified earlier that he’d been set up with a nice government retirement package. He wouldn’t have to work another day in his life if he didn’t want to. He was to tell the locals that he was a work-at-home government contractor. That’s it. No details. Karen was a stay-at-home mom and Lilly would be homeschooled.

  Carson shook Jed’s hand, nodded to Karen and Lilly, then turned and got in his black Chevy Tahoe. Another agent Jed had not met sat in the passenger seat.

  Lilly looked up at Jed. “Will we see Miss Tiffany again?”

  “I don’t know,” Jed said. “What do you think?”

  Lilly smiled.

  Jed squeezed her. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He turned to Karen. “You ready for this?”

  She nodded. “I’m always ready for a fresh start.”

  ONE

  • • •

  Peter Ryan rolled to his side and peeled open his eyes. Hazy, early-morning light filtered throu
gh the blinds and cast the bedroom in a strange, dull, watery hue. For a moment, his mind fogged by the remnants of a dream filled with mystery and anxiety, he thought he was still in the same unfamiliar house, exploring room after room until he came to that one room, the room with the locked door that would allow him no entrance. He closed his eyes.

  Peter pawed at the door, smacked it with an open hand. He had to open it; behind it was something . . . something . . . A shadow moved along the gap between the door and the worn wood flooring. Peter took a step away from the door and held his breath. The shadow was there again. Back and forth it paced, slowly, to the beat of some unheard funeral dirge. Somebody was in that room. Peter groped and grasped at the doorknob once again, tried to turn it, twist it, but it felt as if it were one with the wood of the door, as if the entire contraption had been carved from a single slab of oak.

  Peter gasped and flipped open his eyes, expecting morning sunlight to rush in and blind him, but it was earlier than he thought. Dusty autumn light only filled the room enough to cast shadows, odd things with awkward angles and distorted proportions that hid in the corners and lurked where walls met floor.

  He couldn’t remember last night. What had he done? What time had he gone to bed? He’d slept so soundly, so deeply, as if he were dead and only now life had been reinfused into him. Sleep pulled at him, clung to his eyes and mind like a spiderweb. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. But even then, his mind kept wanting to return to some hazy fog, some place of gray void that would usher him back to the house, back to the second story, back to the door and that pacing shadow and the secrets it protected.

  He shifted his weight and moved to his back. Hands behind his head, he forced his eyes to stay open and ran them around the room. It was a habit of his, checking every room he entered, corner to corner. What he was checking for he didn’t know. Gremlins? Gnomes? The bogeyman? Or maybe just anything that appeared out of . . .

  There, in the far corner, between the dresser and the wall, a misplaced shadow. No straight sides, no angles. It was the form of a person, a woman. Karen. His wife.

  Peter lifted his head and squinted through light as murky as lake water. Why was . . . ?

  “Karen?”

  But she didn’t move.

  “Karen, is that you? What are you doing, babe?”

  Still no movement, not even a shift in weight or subtle pulsing of breath. For a moment, he didn’t know if he was awake or asleep or caught in some middle hinterland of half slumber where rules of reason were broken routinely, where men walked on the ceiling and cats talked and loved ones roamed the earth as shadowy specters.

  Peter reached for the lamp to his right and clicked it on. Light illuminated the room and dispelled the shadows. If he wasn’t awake before, he certainly was now. The corner was empty, the image of Karen gone.

  Propped on one elbow, Peter sighed, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. He kicked off the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sat there with his head in his hands, fingers woven through his hair. The remaining fog was dispersing; the cloudy water receded. His head felt heavy and thick as if someone had poured concrete into his cranium and sealed it shut again. The smell of toast and frying bacon reached him then, triggering his appetite. His mouth began to water. His stomach rumbled like an approaching storm.

  And that’s when it hit him, as suddenly and forcefully as if an unseen intruder had emerged from the fog, balled its bony hand, and punched him in the chest.

  He needed to see Karen, needed to tell her something.

  It was not some mere inclination either, like remembering to tell her he needed deodorant when she went to the supermarket. No, this was an urgent yearning, a need like he’d never experienced before. As if not only their happiness or comfort depended on it but her very existence. He had information she needed, information without which she would be empty and incomplete, yet he had no idea what that information was. His mind was a whiteboard that had been wiped clean.

  Had he forgotten to tell her something? He filed through the events of the past few days, trying to remember if a doctor’s office had called or the school. The dentist, another parent. But nothing was there. He’d gone to work at the university lab, spent the day there, and come home.

  But there was that void, wasn’t there? Last night was still a blank. He’d come home after work—he remembered that much—but after that things got cloudy. Karen and Lilly must have been home; he must have kissed them, asked them about their day. He must have eaten dinner with them. It was his routine. Evenings were family time, just the three of them. The way it always was. He must have had a normal evening. But sometimes, what must have happened and what actually happened could be two completely different animals, and this fact niggled in the back of Peter’s mind.

  Despite his failure to remember the events of the previous evening, the feeling was still there: he needed to find Karen. Maybe seeing her, talking to her, would be the trigger that would awaken his mind and bring whatever message he had for her bobbing to the surface.

  Downstairs, plates clattered softly and silverware clinked. The clock said it was 6:18.

  Karen was fixing breakfast for Lilly, probably packing her lunch, too, the two of them talking and laughing. They were both morning doves, up before sunrise, all sparkles and smiles and more talkative and lively than any Munchkin from Oz. Some mornings he’d lie in bed and listen to them gab and giggle with each other. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but just the sound of their voices, the happiness in them, brightened his morning.

  Peter stood and stretched, then slipped into a pair of jeans before exiting the room. He stopped in the hallway and listened, but now the house was quiet, as silent and still as a mouseless church. The smell of bacon still hung in the air, drew him toward the kitchen, but the familiar morning sounds had ceased. The sudden silence was strange—eerily so—and the niggling returned.

  “Karen?” His voice echoed, bounced around the walls of the second floor, and found its way into the two-story foyer. But there was no answer.

  “Lilly?” He padded down the hall to his daughter’s bedroom, knocked on the door. Nothing.

  Slowly he turned the knob and opened the door.

  “Lil, you in here?” But she wasn’t. The room was empty. Her bed had been made, bedspread pulled to the pillow and folded neatly at the top. Her lamp was off, the night-light too. And the shades were open, allowing that eerie bluish light to fill the room. On her dresser, next to the lamp, was the Mickey Mouse watch they had gotten her for Christmas last year. Lilly loved that watch, never went anywhere without it.

  Peter checked the bathroom, the guest room, even the linen closet. But there was no one, not even a trace of them.

  Down the stairs he went, that urgency growing ever stronger and feeding the need to find Karen and put some life-rattling information center stage with high-intensity spotlights fixed on it. And with the urgency came a developing sense of panic.

  On the first floor he tried again. “Karen? Lilly?” He said their names loud enough that his voice carried from the foyer through the living room and family room to the kitchen. The only response was more stubborn silence.

  Maybe they’d gone outside. In the kitchen he checked the clock on the stove. 6:25. It wasn’t nearly time yet to leave for school, but they might have left early to run an errand before Karen dropped Lilly off. But why leave so early?

  He checked the garage and found both the Volkswagen and the Ford still there. The panic spread its wings and flapped them vigorously, threatening to take flight. Quickly he crossed the kitchen and stood before the sliding glass door leading out to the patio.

  Strange—he hadn’t noticed before, but the scents of breakfast were gone. Not a trace of bacon or toast hung in the still air. He’d forgotten about it until now, so intent was he on finding Karen and Lilly. It was as if he’d imagined the whole thing, as if his brain had somehow conjured the memory of the aroma. There was no frying pan
on the stove, and the toaster sat unplugged in the corner of the counter. Prickles climbed up the back of his neck. He slid open the glass door. The morning air was cool and damp. Dew glistened on the grass like droplets of liquid silver. But both the patio and backyard were empty. No Karen, no Lilly.

  Peter slid the door closed and turned to face the vacant house.

  “Karen!”

  Still no answer came, and the house was obviously in no mood to divulge their whereabouts. His chest tightened, that familiar feeling of panic and anxiety, of struggling to open a door locked fast.

  The basement. Maybe they’d gone down there to throw a load of laundry into the washing machine. At the door, facing the empty staircase and darkened underbelly of the house, he called again for his wife and daughter, but the outcome was no different.

  Had they gone for a walk before school?

  At the kitchen counter, he picked up his mobile phone and dialed Karen. If she had her phone on her, she’d answer. But after four rings it went to her voice mail. He didn’t bother leaving a message.

  Peter ran his fingers through his hair, leaned against the counter, and tried to focus, tried to remember. Had she gone out with someone? Maybe Sue or April had picked them up. Maybe they’d planned to drop off the kids at school and go shopping together. They’d done that before. Karen must have told him last night, and he was either too tired or preoccupied with something that her words went acknowledged but unheard.

  He picked up the phone again and punched the Greers’ contact.

  Sue answered on the second ring.

  “Sue, it’s Peter.”

  “Oh, hi, Peter.” She sounded surprised to hear his voice. If she was with Karen, she wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Do you know where Karen and Lilly are? Are they with you?”

  There was a long pause on the other end. In the background he could hear music and little Ava giggling and calling for Allison, her big sister. The sounds stood in stark contrast to the silence that presently engulfed him.