Shapeshifter: 1

by J. F. Gonzalez

  Carol spit out the toothpaste, her eyes suddenly wide with fear. "Are you sure? Maybe it's just-"

  The knocking came again. Three light raps.

  They both froze. Mark's heart was pounding. "Stay here," he whispered. He crept slowly toward the door, his senses on full alert. Something told him that he shouldn't go right up to the door and peer out the peephole because whatever was on the other side was dangerous; whoever was on the other side was hunting them. He hung back, sniffing the air and he picked up the scent right away: the sharp, metallic scent of madness. "Bernard," he whispered.

  Carol had ventured a step into the room but she hung back, afraid. Mark retreated, the hairs along his arms rising. "It's Bernard," he whispered.

  "Bernard? How-"

  The door shuddered with a heavy thud as something slammed against it from the other side. The sound of it startled them and they jumped back. Mark grabbed Carol's hand and pulled her into the bathroom. The door shuddered again and this time there was a splintering crack; it would only take a few more slams before it splintered open.

  "Stay here!" Mark headed back into the bedroom, his adrenaline surging.

  "Mark, don't go out there!" She followed him out, trying to pull at him and he shoved her back into the bathroom. Whoever was slamming against the door wasn't doing a very good job of it; the door was barely splintered and the more he slammed against it, the more noise he made. Which meant it had to be Bernard. A man with an Ivy League education and who lived an upwardly mobile professional life wouldn't know how to bust a door down if his life depended on it.

  Mark positioned himself by the north wall, which would be out of the line of sight for whoever was trying to break in. The door splintered more as Bernard-or whoever the hell it was-kept throwing himself against it. Mark could now hear the grunts of the person on the other side and he caught their scent, too. It was definitely Bernard.

  "Get down!" Mark yelled to Carol.

  Carol ducked down behind the bed and the door finally gave on Bernard's last blow, snapping open with the splintering of wood.

  Mark got a brief glimpse of Bernard as he stumbled into the room; even after all the work it had taken to break the door down his clothes didn't look the least bit rumpled. He looked around the room wildly, his right hand clutching a handgun. Mark sprang at him, slamming into the bigger man. As their bodies hit the floor he heard the loud report of the gun as a shot went off.

  Mark's anger exploded. He pinned the hand that held the handgun to the floor and grunted as he tried to hold Bernard down. Bernard's left hand shot up and struck Mark in the face. Mark barely felt it; already he could feel instinct taking over and he silently tried to empty himself out to allow the change to occur. The last eight months of murderous, hateful emotions that he had harbored toward Bernard Roberts were all coming to the surface and they manifested themselves in a fighting rage. Bernard hit Mark twice, once in the face, the second blow glanced off his chest. Mark barely felt them. A growl rose deep in his chest and he squeezed the hand that held the gun. Bernard grimaced in pain. "I'm going to kill you," Bernard hissed.

  "It's going to be the other way around," Mark growled. His left hand locked around Bernard's throat.

  Bernard struggled wildly, almost throwing Mark off. He struggled to get his hand free, but Mark applied a vice-like pressure to it. Mark grimaced, sweat running down his brow as he tried to will the change to come over him.

  Suddenly Carol was looming over them both. She stepped down on the gun and tried to take it from Bernard's fingers. "Give it up, Bernard!"

  "Fuck you!" Bernard's mad eyes rolled up at her with blinding hate.

  Mark locked his fingers around Bernard's windpipe and pressed down.

  Bernard gave one last burst of energy as he struggled. His mouth opened as he tried to suck in air and failed. He went limp suddenly, his eyes closing. Mark tightened his grip around Bernard's throat.

  "Mark, let go," Carol said. She reached down and pulled the gun from Bernard's grip, which had loosened with Bernard's unconsciousness. She threw the firearm on the bed.

  The last eight months flashed before Mark's eyes; Bernard's threats, sitting in his office watching himself on the security video as he tried to fight the change; Bernard showing him the gun and the silver bullets, telling him what he would do if he didn't follow his orders.

  "Mark! Stop it, you're going to kill him!"

  All those months of living with the shame of knowing that he had been made a slave to this man. The shame he felt in being manipulated, in having his curse used against him ...

  "Mark!"

  He felt her hands grab his and try to pry his fingers off of Bernard's throat. He felt himself breaking down, the anger shattering his emotions.

  "Mark, honey, you've got to let him go." Carol's voice finally cut through the din. The fog cleared from his mind and suddenly he was on the floor hunched over Bernard's prone body, his left hand clutched around the executive's throat. Carol was beside him, crying, trying to loosen his grip from Bernard's throat.

  Mark released his grasp with a strangled cry. He fell back, panic suddenly taking center stage. "Oh my God," he moaned.

  "Come on, Mark, we've got to get out of here." Carol dragged Mark away and tried to get him to stand on his feet. Bernard didn't move; he was a large, lifeless lump on the motel room floor.

  An excited voice coming from outside cut through the fog. Mark blinked and looked down at Bernard's body, then looked around the room. The front door to their motel room was leaning against the wall, the frame cracked. Although the air blowing in from outside was freezing cold, Mark could barely feel it. He felt warm with the rush of adrenaline. Sweat dotted his brow.

  "Mark, we've got to get out of here!" It was Carol, leaning next to him, gripping his shoulders firmly.

  Mark looked at her and nodded. They stood up together, his arms reaching out to hold her.

  A big bearded man who resembled a lumberjack leaned in the room. His eyes widened when he saw the carnage and Bernard's body on the floor. "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?"

  "This guy just broke in and tried to kill us," Mark said, heading to where his and Carol's suitcases still lay unpacked.

  "Call the police," Carol said, her voice breaking.

  The guy gave a quick nod and disappeared.

  Mark slammed his suitcase closed and turned to Carol. "You okay?"

  "Of course," she said, the sobbing tone in her voice gone. "The minute men hear the sound of a woman breaking down, especially when they tell them to call the police, they head off to do exactly as they're told." She grinned.

  Mark hefted his suitcase up and handed Carol hers. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

  They headed straight outside to the car, not even glancing around to see if anybody-the night manager, other motel guests-were poking their heads outside to see what the commotion was all about. Carol unlocked the doors and they threw their baggage into the backseat. Carol started the car and peeled out of the driveway the minute Mark slammed the passenger car door shut, and they turned right, heading south down Route 11. The faint sounds of sirens emerged from the north as they headed back down the hills, away from the Three Rivers Lodge.

  PART THREE

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Frederick Johansen was staying in the Executive Suite of the Marriott in Newport Beach. It was by far his favorite hotel when he stayed in Orange County for business; it was right on the bustling harbor, and in the summer there were plenty of attractive women to ogle as they walked down the boardwalk. The area around the harbor itself sported fine seafood restaurants, quaint little gift shops, and a nice country club. A mile or so down the 55 Freeway was the South Coast Plaza, and not far from that was the Orange County Opera House. John Wayne Airport in Irvine was a quick hop, skip, and a jump away, and not two blocks from the airport was where Elaine Brewer, a high-class call girl that Fred often hired to accompany him to social mixers when he was in town, kept a condo. In fact, he ha
d just called Elaine and had arranged a date with her for tonight at her usual fee-fifteen hundred dollars. That fee would get him the enjoyment of her company for dinner, a stroll around Crystal Court, a massage and a bath in his room, and then a night of making love to that fabulous body. Fred really saw nothing wrong with employing Elaine's services. After all, he wasn't married anymore, and he didn't have the patience, nor the time it took, to cultivate new relationships. Plus, he could afford it. The only time he disapproved of employing the services of an escort was when you were married, like David Samuels had been. And look what had happened to him.

  Fred frowned. He knew that David hadn't been killed because he had been screwing around behind his wife's back with a similar woman, one that he kept as a mistress. David had been killed because Bernard Roberts saw it in his sick, twisted mind to eliminate him due to David's position on the Free State merger. Infidelity, and the bad karma it produced, had nothing to do with it.

  Fred glanced at his watch. Elaine was scheduled to show up at the hotel in forty minutes. He had just showered, shaved, and changed into evening clothes-black slacks, white shirt, black tie, and a black jacket. He had sat down on the bed to pull on his socks when he had slipped into this introspective funk. He was here in Newport Beach because Agent Strong wanted him to be in the area when they caught Bernard. Fred had complied, and had checked into the Marriott for the week. He had a few meetings and miscellaneous business to take care of in Orange County, and thanks to Federal Express, and fax machines, he could conduct his other business interests in the comfort of his room.

  At first, Fred wasn't going to go out at all. It was Friday evening and the weather forecast said rain by Saturday night. Fred had been in Orange County for the past few days and he hadn't seen Elaine since his arrival. He hadn't called her for fear of having those plans dashed if Agent Strong called with the news. When Thursday rolled around and no news followed, Fred had broken down and called her, arranging a date for tonight. Then what happens but Agent Strong calls him this morning to tell him the news that Bernard Roberts had been caught.

  "Three Rivers PD picked him up at the Three Rivers Lodge late last night," Agent Strong said. "Motherfucker was slicker than we thought. He knew exactly where to find them and he was one step ahead of us. They're extraditing him to Orange County today."

  Fred had wanted to know what the hell had happened and Agent Strong gave it to him in a nutshell: Bernard had driven up to Three Rivers and had checked into a motel down the road from the Three Rivers Lodge. Last night he had gone to the lodge and when he saw Carol Emrich's car in the parking lot, he had gone to the front desk and told the clerk that he was supposed to meet some friends there, a young couple named Mark Wiseman and Carol Emrich. The clerk had told him they were in room 17. He had broken the door down, only Mark must have been lying in wait because he tackled Bernard. The gun had gone off, there was a struggle, and somehow Bernard was choked into unconsciousness. "Carol Emrich and Mark Wiseman fled immediately after. Bernard was just regaining consciousness when the Three Rivers PD showed up and since they found a gun in the room they placed Bernard in custody. Of course, by then we had it over the wire that he was wanted for questioning and they held him for us."

  It was that wanted for questioning thing that bothered Fred. What is this wanted for questioning crap? I thought Agent Strong said that there's enough evidence to nail the bastard on fraud and embezzling?

  Agent Strong wouldn't comment further when Fred asked him about the charges. He only said he would call him later and then he had hung up.

  That one phone call had ruined Fred's whole day. He had been planning on catching up on some other business in his room, but instead he had gone down to the hotel bar and had a few drinks. Whenever something distressing emerged in his life, Fred always sought solace by retreating to the nearest barnot to drown his misery in alcohol, but to surround himself with people, to lose himself in his thoughts as the normal bustle of bar life floated behind him. It was his way of chilling out.

  After a few drinks he had taken a walk along the boardwalk, then had gone back to his room. There were no messages on his voice mail. The afternoon had zipped by and he supposed the best thing to do was just shower and get ready for his evening with Elaine. He doubted Agent Strong would call again today anyway, and if he did he wouldn't meet with the man until tomorrow.

  Frederick Johansen sighed and slipped into a pair of Tony Llama boots. He rose to his feet and inspected himself in a full-length mirror. His steel gray hair was combed and styled perfectly, the lines on his face only serving to accentuate his ruggedness. Women had always told him he was attractive as hell, and Fred had never really understood why. He was neither overweight nor skinny, nor was he built of rippling muscle. But now that he had attained the ripe old age of fifty-five, he supposed that he had gotten better looking with age, like a fine wine. He grinned at himself. The skinny, gawky kid that used to stare back at him from the mirror in high school had changed into quite a good-looking man, if he didn't say so himself. After almost forty years he was finally beginning to see that.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. He picked it up. "Yeah."

  "Fred, Agent Strong here."

  "What's up, Strong?"

  There was a hint of hesitancy in Agent Strong's voice and Fred caught it immediately. His stomach tightened. "This better not be what I think it is."

  "We had to release him."

  Although Fred was expecting this, hearing it was still stunning. He released a sigh. "What happened?"

  "There wasn't enough evidence to hold him on the embezzling charge," Agent Strong said, sounding disappointed. "It's going to take a few months to go through all his records and make a thorough investigation. In the meantime, the most he could be charged with at the motel was simple breaking and entering. He posted bail and was released this morning."

  "Goddammit!"

  "I'm sorry, Fred," Agent Strong said. He sounded defeated. "But ... well, legally we couldn't just hold him pending the investigation. The minute he was placed in custody he got on the phone with his lawyer. He was pretty much released the minute he reached Orange County"

  Fred closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, gripping the receiver tight in his other hand. "Okay," he said, opening his eyes. "He's out. Now what?"

  "All we can do is proceed to gather evidence against him for the embezzling, but that's going to be tougher now. His lawyer is already on to us and is preparing to file an injunction in court against the investigation."

  "Can he do that?"

  "Sure. Won't do much, though. Bernard obviously knows this. He's doing it to stall for time."

  "How long do you think it will take to get the evidence you need?"

  "With your help, hopefully a month."

  "And with this lawyer around to fuck things up?"

  Agent Strong sighed. "I don't know. Three, four months maybe."

  "Shit!"

  "We have to find Carol Emrich and Mark Wiseman."

  "No shit you've got to find them. Any news on where they might have gone?"

  "None." Embarrassment crept into Agent Strong's voice again. "I'm afraid that ... well ... it wasn't properly conveyed to the Three Rivers officials that Mark and Carol were wanted for questioning. They just about creamed their pants when they slapped the cuffs on Bernard. Small town cops like that ... they hardly ever deal with federal cases."

  "So after Bernard bursts in there and tries killing Mark, they overpower him, then hightail it the hell out of there and nobody bothered to follow up on where they might have gone?"

  Agent Strong paused for a moment. "I'm afraid so."

  Shit! Fred steeled himself against the anger that threatened to come out, fighting it down. "You did issue an APB on Carol Emrich and Mark Wiseman, right?"

  "Yes, we did."

  "And?"

  "Nothing so far. We know they ditched their car not far from the Three Rivers Lodge. A stolen car report
came in early this morning, not far from where Carol's Camaro was found. We think they got away in a 1988 Toyota Celica. They could be anywhere by now."

  "I want them found. I don't care if you can't pin murder charges on Mark; they can be sought as material witnesses against Bernard Roberts."

  "We're working on it," Agent Strong said. His voice sounded less nervous now, more in control. "We have people looking for them."

  "What's the next step regarding Bernard?"

  "That would be up to your board members, I guess," Agent Strong replied. "Legally we can't do anything except gather evidence and build our case. I would think that with suspicion of embezzling you could have him fired."

  "I'll arrange a phone conference on that as soon as possible," Fred said. "In the meantime, call me as soon as you get any news." He told the agent that he would be at the hotel for another two days and could be reached at his home in Phoenix afterward, and hung up.

  He felt drained, as if the suddenness of the news had zapped all his energy. He had been afraid this was going to happen. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to that but it had, and now they had to deal with it. He picked up the phone again and was just about to dial William Rose's number to talk strategy when he stopped. Why go through all this now? Bernard Roberts obviously knew that the events of the past week were grounds for his immediate termination; he would know that the board was made aware of the investigation into his embezzling. And besides, it was nearing five p.m. on a Friday evening; he might not be able to reach everybody on the board tonight. He could leave messages with them this weekend.

  There was a knock on the door to his suite. He turned toward it, smiling. Besides, there were other immediate needs to be taken care of.

  Feeling relaxed, pushing the latest problems to the back of his mind, Frederick Johansen answered his door and greeted Elaine Brewer with a hug and kiss that made her wonder what he was so happy about.

  Chapter Twenty-six