The Darkness Gathers: A Novel

by Lisa Unger

  His father was taken to prison and Jed was sent to live with his uncle Bill and aunt Mary. They were fine; it wasn’t one of those sob stories where he’d been molested, on top of everything else. They were just sort of dull blue-collar people without much imagination or emotion. They fed him, clothed him, made sure he did his homework. They treated him like he was made of blown glass, so aware of what he had experienced that they were afraid to look at him cross-eyed. He was pretty sure he had been normal before his mother died. He had been a Boy Scout, played on a Little League team. But maybe not; maybe murder was in his blood, a dominant gene inherited from his father.

  He had just stepped off the school bus and was walking up his drive when his next-door neighbor invited him into her garage. “Come look at this, Jed,” she’d called. She was a pretty young mother who had a new baby. Her name was Cheryl, and she had blond hair like silk and skin like velvet. The baby slept peacefully against her chest. “Look,” she said as he followed her. And he saw in the corner of her garage, nestled under a workbench, a mottled Maine coon cat in a sheepskin bed, surrounded by suckling kittens. “Isn’t that wonderful?” she asked him with a smile. “Cool,” he’d answered with typical adolescent reticence. “Maybe Bill and Mary will let you have one.”

  “Yeah. I’ll ask.”

  The sight had awakened an evil within him. All the rest of the afternoon, he couldn’t put the image out of his mind. A burning agitation grew inside him; a deep ache of loneliness, anger, and fear felt like a cancer eating away at him. He went to his room and did not come out when called for dinner. After he did his homework, he tried to sleep, but he couldn’t. After tossing for hours, he left his bed in the night, taking a knife from the wood block on the kitchen counter.

  He was too young then to put words to the way he felt when he walked in the open side door to his neighbor’s garage. He heard the soft mewing of the kittens and watched them, warm and soft, next to their mother. Their eyes were still mostly closed and their little bodies wriggled slowly with oblivious innocence and peace. He hated them, wanted to smash each of them on the floor like tennis balls. The mother issued a low growl. She must have sensed him there. She was a big cat. So Jed reached in quickly with one hand and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, picked her up, and, with the other hand, slit her throat. He held the body away from him until it stopped moving. Then he put it back in its bed next to the kittens, who continued their soft mewing.

  The release could only be compared to orgasm, though it wasn’t a sexual pleasure he derived. He just felt … better, like a normal boy. He felt like he had when he still lived with his parents, not angry and afraid. Not alone. And for months, he was interested again in baseball and music. Intellectually, he knew what he had done was wrong, but he couldn’t help the way he felt.

  He had heard her screams before anyone the next morning, had sort of been waiting for them.

  “Oh God, Rick!” she yelled, her cries carrying in the quiet, sunny suburban morning. “Who could do such a thing? What kind of monster?”

  Only he really knew the answer to that question. Only he really knew what kind of monster he was. But it wasn’t that romantic. It wasn’t like he had some sick agenda like on Profiler or something. He’d just stumbled on something that took the pain away. He was more like an alcoholic or a drug addict than anything else.

  Of course, it had escalated from there. Like any addict, he needed more and more, trying to recapture that first high. He didn’t have all this intellectual perspective when he’d killed Marion Strong. But he’d matured. He didn’t need to kill any longer to feel whole, to feel right. He had forgiven and accepted himself. He could control his impulses now … most of them. But that wasn’t going to help David and Eleanor Strong.

  The neighborhood was dark now, and all the lights were out at the Strong house. He grabbed his backpack and slid out of the car. He didn’t shut the door all the way, just enough to make sure the interior lights were out. Then he moved carefully into the trees surrounding the yard.

  As he rounded the corner into the backyard, a rather dim amber light over the deck came on, activated by a motion sensor. Jed stood very still, his back pressed against the white aluminum siding, but the sudden light didn’t seem to bring any reaction from inside the house. After a moment of holding his breath, he continued toward the back door. The yard was surrounded on all sides by thick, dark trees that he couldn’t identify in the night, but they provided excellent cover. The backyard could not be seen from any of the surrounding properties. He walked up three low steps onto the leaf-covered deck and easily picked the lock on the simple doorknob. People who were stupid enough to have such poor security deserved what they got.

  The door led him into a small laundry room that smelled strongly of Bounce fabric softener, a scent he recognized and associated with freedom. They hadn’t used any fabric softener on the prison hospital uniforms. They had used the cheapest brand of detergent, so the uniforms never seemed clean, were always scratchy, and irritated his sensitive skin. It annoyed him just thinking about it.

  The laundry room was connected to the kitchen, which was illuminated by a pink seashell night-light nestled beside a toaster oven. He slid over the green-and-white linoleum floor and sneered at the imitation Tiffany lamp that hung over the dark wood and wrought-iron table in the breakfast nook. The counter was cluttered with ribboned baskets, a hideous wooden duck napkin holder, and a bunch of other country-kitsch crap. Bad taste was another thing he found unspeakably annoying. What inspired such poor decorating decisions? he wondered as he pulled a roll of duct tape and a large sheathed hunting knife from his backpack. Jed McIntyre did not like guns. They were loud and unpredictable, not to mention lazy and sloppy. Anyone could shoot another person. It took skill, speed, and stealth to kill someone with a knife. He took off his parka and laid it next to the backpack on the floor.

  The stairs were heavily carpeted, so moving silently to the second level was easier than it might have been on bare wood. He placed the duct tape around his wrist like a bracelet and the knife in the waistband of his pants. There were no more night-lights, a detail of which he was glad, because they created shadows. So he imagined himself a wraith in the darkness, one with the night, and slowly ascended to the master bedroom, which he was guessing was the first room at the top of the stairs. He could hear the softly labored breathing of sleep as he reached the top landing.

  When he turned the corner into the bedroom, the digital clock glowed green at 1:33 A.M., casting a strange light over the two sleeping forms, one large and round, one smaller and flatter. He’d need to dispense with David Strong first, so that he could take his time with Eleanor. He unsheathed the hooked, serrated blade of the knife and moved in slowly. Keeping his breathing shallow and footsteps light, he moved toward the bed.

  It was too late when he noticed what he should have noticed at the door—that only one of the forms was breathing. As his hand reached out to pull back the bedclothes, a large black form sprang like a panther, and in an instant Jed McIntyre was on his back on the floor, the wind knocked out of him, a knee on his chest, the nose of a gun to his forehead.

  A cheerful Australian greeting sounded in the darkness. “Hullo, mate. Can’t be having you lurking about in the night. Can we?”

  chapter thirty-five

  She slept finally, uncomfortably, seeming to want to turn on her side and curl up the way she normally slept at home. In spite of the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the restless, helpless unease he always felt on airplanes, he felt more relaxed now that she was asleep. She looked small and tired; he reached out and touched her forehead, which was cool and dry.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure what he was sorry about. He just had the vague feeling in his heart that he had let her down. Tatiana was safe, but they had walked away, leaving countless others to their fates at the hands of demons. Lydia knew they were beaten, standing at the fireplace. There was a look of angry resignation
on her face that he had never seen before. And he had grieved a little in that moment for her usual smart-ass defiance, her inability to accept defeat. But there was a clear choice to be made. They could get themselves killed, or live to fight another day. At least Sasa Fitore had gotten what he deserved. And the party wasn’t over yet. There were still Nathan Quinn and Jed McIntyre to deal with.

  She hadn’t said anything really since she’d said good-bye to Tatiana. She’d walked away from Jacob without a word at the airport. But Jeffrey didn’t hate him as much as he knew Lydia would now. In his own way, Jeffrey believed, Jacob was still one of the good guys. He was fighting a battle that couldn’t be won, choosing lesser evils, making the most of hollow victories. Without his involvement, Jeffrey and Lydia would probably be dead right now. But of course, his and Jacob’s partnership would have to end. There were too many secrets, too much going on behind his back. Jeffrey needed to fight his battles on solid ground, needed to be able to distinguish between enemies and allies.

  He pressed the button on the seat back and popped the air phone out. He slid his credit card in the slot and dialed.

  “Go,” answered Dax Chicago.

  “What’s the status of our situation?” he asked quietly.

  “You were dead right, man. He was right where you thought he’d be. And now … we’re in a holding pattern,” he answered, his mouth full of something he was eating.

  “As discussed.”

  “That’s right. Piece of cake.”

  “Don’t get relaxed. He’s not as stupid as he looks.”

  “No worries, mate. You always did worry too much.”

  “You don’t worry enough.”

  “The situation is under control,” Dax said calmly. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He hung up the phone with a sigh, wondering if he had acted too quickly, bringing Dax into an already volatile mix. But in a situation where the law didn’t apply, Jeffrey believed you had to ally yourself sometimes with lawless men. Dax certainly qualified. Besides, the game wasn’t nearly over. Dax would certainly be valuable when it came to that, no matter how they decided to proceed.

  He looked over at Lydia, who was wide awake and staring at him with her big smoky gray eyes. “Jeffrey,” she said, suspicion knitting her brow and narrowing her eyes, “what’s going on?”

  chapter thirty-six

  She exploded as soon as the elevator door to their apartment closed behind them. He’d been waiting for it since he told her about Dax on the airplane. Her face had gone pale, her lips pulled into a tight line. He thought she was going to blow right there, but instead, she just crawled over him and went to the bathroom. She looked almost normal when she came back. She sat down next to him again and gave him a cold smile.

  “Lydia …”

  She lifted a hand. “Stop. I don’t want to discuss what you’ve done right now.”

  Lydia was a brave, strong woman, but he knew that she was reaching the limits of what she could take. He could see it in the tension in her shoulders, in the taut muscles of her face, the dead expression in her eyes. He knew her so well, he could almost feel the tempest rolling within her. Depression setting in over her perceived failure in Albania, Nathan Quinn still to confront, the fear looming in the back of her mind with Jed McIntyre on the loose, now her grandparents being in jeopardy. For the duration of the flight, she sat ramrod-straight, eyes ahead, totally silent. Same deal on the cab ride home. His additional attempts at conversation were rebuffed with a withering stare.

  “What the fuck did you think you were doing?” she yelled, blowing off steam as soon as they were safe at home.

  “I don’t know why you’re so upset. You told me yourself to get a handle on him. I did that.”

  “I didn’t tell you to use my grandparents as bait.”

  “Fuck that,” he said, angry now, too, but refusing to raise his voice to her. “I didn’t use them as bait, and you bloody well know it. We anticipated his move and headed him off. There was no other way to track him. He’s not leaving a fucking trail of bread crumbs.”

  “And now what? You’ve got him caged up somewhere with Dax. For what? Why didn’t Dax just turn him over to the police for breaking and entering? What are you intending to do with him?”

  “Knowing what we know, do you really think it’s going to do us any good to turn him over to the police? If Nathan Quinn wants him out, he’s out. Don’t you see what we’re dealing with now? We can’t play by the rules here, Lydia. You are in danger. And I am going to do what it takes to protect you … whether you like it or not. Christ.”

  “I’m not a little girl, Jeffrey. I don’t need you to protect me. I should have been a part of this decision,” she said, lowering her voice and looking at him. She sat down on the couch and put her head in her hands. “I need you on my team, but I need to be a part of the game,” she said into her palms.

  He wasn’t going to argue with her and he had no intention of apologizing for doing what he felt was right and would do again. He sat down beside her.

  “What do we do with him now?” she asked, still not looking at him.

  “We make him go away.”

  “What does that mean, Jeffrey?”

  “Whatever you want it to mean.”

  She raised her eyes to him and shook her head slowly. “What happened to your whole ‘People Have Rights’ speech?”

  “Some people don’t deserve the rights they have.”

  “And we’re supposed to be in a position to decide who those people are?”

  No one would argue Jed McIntyre’s right to live in society, particularly not Lydia. He was an evil, twisted human being who had been unjustly released into the world by another arguably more evil and twisted human being, if such a comparison could be made, someone who had the money and the power to bend the rules of law to his will. Lydia recognized that if they played by the rules of morality that they had always followed, they would lose and lose ugly. But in the cosmic scheme of things, who was she to decide anyone’s fate? Even Jed McIntyre, who had brought nothing but horror and death to most people with whom he came in contact … maybe even his life had meaning, however elusive and incomprehensible that might seem. But how was she to know? Who was she to judge the value of a life? She placed a hand on her belly.

  “Before we decide what to do about Jed McIntyre, Jeffrey, there’s something I want you to know.”

  He looked at her, and in his eyes she saw all the things she loved about him. She saw his strength, his compassion, his honor, and his kindness glittering in the flecks of amber and green in his hazel eyes. She felt suddenly horrible for yelling at him, for making him account for loving her and wanting to keep her safe, for needing to take action to protect her. Because these were all the reasons she needed him in her life, and all the reasons why he was going to be a wonderful father.

  chapter thirty-seven

  “I wanted you to know that you did the right thing, Detective,” Lydia said into the receiver as Jeffrey sat across the kitchen table from her, his brow creased with worry.

  “I already knew that, Lydia. I did the only thing I could do,” said Manny on the other line, his voice serene. He sounded like he’d gotten some rest.

  “But I wanted you to know that she’s all right.”

  “Tatiana?”

  “Yes, she’s safe. I can’t tell you any more than that. But she’s alive, and we’ve all been played.”

  She heard him exhale on the other end of the phone in anger or relief or maybe both.

  “You told me to go where the money took me, and it led me straight to her,” she went on, glancing at Jeffrey, who nodded.

  “Well, she better hope that Nathan Quinn doesn’t do the same.”

  “Who? What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Jenna Quinn somehow managed to steal about a hundred million dollars from Quinn over the course of their brief marriage, siphoning money from Quinn Enterprises into a company she owned called American Equities. She has disappeared
, and the money with her.”

  “Really.”

  “It’s funny in a way. A man like that … so powerful as to be untouchable. Taken by his own wife,” he said, and chuckled as though he was really enjoying it.

  “Well, there’s even more to it than that. I’ll tell you the rest of it the next time I’m in Miami. Not over the phone, though,” she said, smiling.

  He paused a second before answering. “It’s not over yet, right? That’s why you’re calling to tell me this.”

  “You’re a smart man, Detective.”

  “And you’re a smart woman. So be careful.”

  “I will be. I understand the choice you made better today than I did, Manny.”

  He gave a little laugh. “Then be even more careful.”

  Lydia put down the phone, let her hand rest on the receiver for a second. She looked at Jeffrey, who was watching her with a kind of love combined with awe she hadn’t seen in his eyes before. He reached out a hand to touch her, as though she were made of glass.

  “I’m not one hundred percent comfortable with this,” he said, pulling on his distressed-leather bomber jacket. “There are too many variables.”

  “I know. But I think it’s the only way.”

  “It’s not the only way.”

  “It’s the only way I can live with.”

  He nodded and held her by the shoulders. “Remember this … protect yourself for me. That’s your first priority tonight.”

  She held him tightly around the waist, feeling the stiff Kevlar vest against her chest and the hardness of his gun on the inside of her arm, “Yours, too,” she said.

  “We’ll meet you behind the museum in Van Cortlandt Park at midnight.”

  They released each other reluctantly and Jeffrey stepped onto the elevator. “Don’t forget to put on your vest,” he said, tapping his chest as the door closed.