The Absence of Screams: A Thriller

by Ben Follows

  Marcus tried to think through his haze. He vaguely remembered Todd from the Shembly house. It seemed as though kicking Todd and fleeing from the cops with Charles's bank records was an eternity ago, back in the distant past when he could use his legs.

  “They’ll hear a gunshot,” said Danielle, still ignoring Marcus, whose shoulder she had been crying into less than five minutes prior. “It's easier to rationalize the sound of a breaking lamp than a gunshot."

  Ricky holstered his gun. “Fine, we’ll take them both with us. Call the Shembly’s. Looks like we’re going to need their money. Get your idiot father back in the wheelchair.”

  Ricky stomped through the room. He grabbed his phone and laptop and walked into the hallway, slamming the door on his way out.

  Danielle looked down on her father with no more sympathy than she would have given an ant.

  She leaned over and straightened his wheelchair before reaching down and grabbing his arm with her good hand.

  She hefted him up with a grunt. Marcus pulled himself the rest of the way into the wheelchair.

  “He’s using you,” said Marcus as Danielle turned his wheelchair around to face her. “He just wants the money.”

  “Shut up,” said Danielle, wagging a finger in his face. “Don’t say another word.”

  “Danielle, please. We can get away from all this. We can be a family.”

  “You killed my mother,” said Danielle, “and I intend to punish you for that.”

  “Tatiana Shembly? She wasn’t your mother. She kidnapped you!“

  Danielle shook her head. “She was more of a parent than you ever were.”

  Marcus stared at her. “Cassandra was your real mother. The Shembly's killed your real mother.“

  Danielle laughed and looked at him incredulously. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t fucking know.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  Danielle shook her head, then began to remove her shirt, pulling it over her arm in the sling.

  Marcus looked away.

  “Marcus,” she said, “I need you to look.”

  Marcus turned back and gasped.

  Danielle was facing away from him. Her bare back was covered in scars.

  They were old and worn into the skin. They crisscrossed and doubled back on themselves. There were cuts and gashes, some wider than others, some that emerged from the skin and others that went into it.

  Marcus wasn't able to speak for a few moments. When he finally managed to speak, he said, “How did this happen?"

  “These came courtesy of Cassandra Devereaux, the woman you claim was my mother.” Danielle pulled her shirt back on and turned to face Marcus. “Does that seem like something a mother would do?"

  “Please,” said Marcus, “there must be some mistake. You’re remembering wrong. It’s PTSD from going through something awful.”

  Danielle shook her head. “Cassandra was always kind until she started drinking. Sometimes she hit me with the bottles so hard they would shatter. On the rare occasions you came home, she wouldn’t drink. My theory was that she didn't want you to know how bad it had gotten. Those days were my favorites, because I wouldn’t get hurt, and there was hope you would take me away. She would act nice, but I saw through the act. I had no idea how you didn’t.”

  Marcus swallowed. “Why did you never find me?”

  “The night the Shembly’s came and took me away was the happiest of my life. Seeing Aunt Jamie shoot Cassandra was miraculous." She looked down at Marcus, breathing heavily. "Cassandra was the devil, and you started a foundation in her name.”

  Marcus didn't reply for a few moments. He didn't know what to say.

  Finally, he said, “I didn't know."

  “You should have!” Danielle screamed, grabbing onto the arms of the wheelchair and getting in Marcus's face. “It was your responsibility to know! You should have been there to protect me!"

  “I was in the military!” shouted Marcus. “I was protecting our country! I was making the world safer for you!”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it!”

  “It isn't!"

  Danielle walked a few steps away, let out a long breath, then turned back to him. “Then why didn’t you go back?”

  Marcus opened his mouth to speak then closed it.

  “That’s right,” said Danielle, putting her index finger right in his face. “The army would've taken you back. You didn’t want to, did you? But you couldn’t come up with a reason that didn’t make you seem weak. You had learned what it was like to be shot, and it terrified you. It took all the fun and heroism out of going to war. Then Angela Weber came along with an idea that would make you seem like a hero. You'd start a foundation for missing children and she'd make up the lie you were paralyzed in the attack."

  "It wasn't like that," said Marcus, but his voice was weak and he couldn't meet Danielle's eyes.

  Danielle smirked. "It was an impressive set of moves to cover up that lie. I haven’t quite figured out how she pulled it off. It must have started while you were still in the hospital after the attack. Nothing else makes sense.”

  “I did it for you."

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Danielle stood and adjusted the sling which held her injured arm. None of the cuts and bruises from jumping out of the car seemed relevant after Marcus had seen the massive gashes in her back.

  "Then why did I do it?" said Marcus. He felt empty, like his soul had been ripped out of him through a tiny crack.

  “Because you’re a coward," she said. "Because you didn’t want anyone to know you that you failed to protect your family. Why didn’t you ever check where the money was going? Why didn’t you check what Angela was doing behind your back?”

  Marcus looked at the floor. “I trusted her.”

  Danielle shook her head. “No, you didn’t care. Admit it, Marcus. You don’t care if no children are ever found because of that bullshit foundation. I’ll bet you were terrified of going to war. You were terrified of getting shot again. You wanted the world to see you as a hero instead of the coward you are.”

  “I just want my family back," he begged. "I just want you back.”

  Danielle turned and walked away from him. “We were never a family. Stop lying to yourself. You're a coward, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

  Marcus looked up at Danielle.

  She took a hesitant step back.

  He said, “After all I’ve done over the last few days to save you from the Shembly’s and Ricky, you dare to call me a coward? I've risked everything to save you. I risked going to jail. I risked being publically embarrassed. I risked being revealed as a fraud. I lost my legs, and I still kept coming. I faced down Ricky’s goons and his guns, and I still kept coming. So, you tell me, does that sound like cowardice to you?”

  Danielle hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “Too little, too late.” She walked to the door. “We’ll be back in a few minutes. If you do anything, Ricky will put a bullet in your head.”

  Marcus swallowed, watching her leave. “I’m sorry about Cassandra.”

  Danielle stopped in the doorway and turned back. “What?”

  Marcus turned to look at her. “I’m sorry about what happened. I should have been there. I should have been better.”

  Danielle paused, her mouth slightly agape. “Thank you,” she said.

  “However,” said Marcus, “that doesn’t justify any of what you're doing, just like it doesn’t justify any of what I did. You’re right. I was a coward, and I should be better."

  Danielle shook her head. "That doesn't change anything."

  "From what I’ve seen," said Marcus, continuing as though he hadn't been interrupted, "you don’t want to be better. You want to let yourself be a victim of your past. You are better than that. You’ll be throwing everything away if you go with Ricky. He’s poison. He's already dragging you down to his level. You deserve better. He’s using you for the money. As soon as he has it, he’ll take it and run. T
hat’s the best-case scenario.”

  Danielle hesitated in the doorway, looking into the empty air as though thinking through her options, then looked up at Marcus, looking him in her gaze.

  “You don’t know me," she said. "You never did. Stop trying to act like you do.”

  She left, leaving Marcus alone. He stared at the door for a long time.

  The door remained firmly shut. It wasn't until a few minutes later that Marcus realized how Ricky knew about the Shembly's cottage in Frederick Sound and how he had found it so quickly.

  Danielle had told him.

  55

  O’Reilly leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.

  She'd just finished reading Charles Shembly's signed confession for the third time, and it was flawless. Any judge would buy the story, and any jury on the planet would convict Charles of second degree murder.

  Charles and Jamie had both been moved to holding cells.

  She placed the confession on the desk and looked at Cockerton, sitting a few feet away. “Anything new on the others?”

  He shook his head and pointed behind her.

  She turned and saw Detective Peters was walking toward them. He had his hands in his pockets and heavy bags beneath his eyes.

  “Did you see my e-mail?” he said.

  “No,” said O’Reilly, turning and opening her e-mail on the computer. There was a new e-mail from Peters, marked urgent. "Did something happen?”

  “The Shembly's got a ransom demand.”

  “What?” O’Reilly opened up the e-mail and clicked on the attachment, a one minute long audio file. “Are you sure?”

  “They called 911,” said Peters. “The dispatcher did a good job. We’ve received a lot of tips since it went out on the news. They’re mostly bullshit, but we have reason to believe this one is real.”

  "They called the cops with a ransom demand?" She grinned. They may as well have turned themselves in. "Maybe these guys aren't as professional as we thought."

  Cockerton nodded and put his hands together, leaning toward the computer. He seemed nervous.

  O’Reilly played the audio file. Cockerton leaned in and they both listened.

  “911,” said the dispatcher on the recording, “What’s your emergency?”

  “I have information regarding the Danielle Shembly case.” The caller was using a voice-changer to make his voice sound robotic.

  “Can I get your name?”

  “I know where Danielle Shembly is.”

  “Where is she?”

  “At ten PM tonight, we will be at the empty field by the shopping plaza on Ninth Street in Harper's Mill. I want a hundred grand in unmarked bills."

  “Can you prove you have her?”

  There was the sound of the handset moving.

  “Please,” said Danielle, her voice a pained screech that made the detectives jump in their seats. “Help me! Please, give him whatever he wants. Just give him what he wants!”

  The robotic voice returned. “Is that enough proof?”

  “Is there anything else?” said the dispatcher. There was a quiver in her voice.

  “I want Charles Shembly and Jamie Kessington to make the swap. There will be no cops on the field, or I will kill Danielle. They'll take the money into the open field and hand it off to the people I send.”

  "How will we get Danielle back?” said the dispatcher.

  “If you follow my instructions, I will call this number tell you where to pick her up. Is that clear?”

  “Yes. Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

  The line went dead.

  O’Reilly said, “Did you get a trace?”

  “No," said Peters, "Ten seconds short.”

  “That was probably the mysterious Ricky Marcus told the general about.”

  Peters nodded. “It could also be Todd Anderson. We still don't know where he is, or if he's involved.”

  O’Reilly looked at Peters. “You still think Todd is the guilty one here? We found the defective gun at the Shembly's cottage in Frederick Sound. That part of his story holds up.”

  Peters shrugged. “We can’t cross anything out.”

  O’Reilly turned to Cockerton, who shrugged his agreement. She checked her watch.

  It was 5:45 PM. They had just over four hours.

  Cockerton nodded and they stood.

  “We'll need to let Charles and Jamie listen to the recording," said O'Reilly. "Getting the money is up to them."

  “What if it's a trap?" said Peters.

  "Then we'll be ready for it. Right now, the ball is in the kidnapper’s court. This might be our only chance to save Danielle."

  Cockerton leaned back in his chair, watching the conversation and being unable to join in without slowing down the pace. O'Reilly knew that if there was anything he wanted to add or took objection to, he would tell her later, once they were alone and no one would be around to hear his voice.

  Peters frowned. “Doesn't Shembly have almost exactly a hundred-grand saved up as his rainy-day fund over the last decade or so?”

  O'Reilly nodded. “A hundred and four grand including the twenty grand he withdrew. We checked with the banker.”

  Peters smirked. “That is a massive rainy day fund.”

  “It’s enough to start a new life and live off for a few years while everything calms down. He always knew retribution would come eventually.”

  “I’ll bet he didn’t expect it to come like this.”

  She nodded. “What about the twins?”

  “The Shembly’s gave us the number of a family friend. They were picked up. It won’t be an issue.”

  O'Reilly stood. “Good. I'll speak to the Shembly's about the exchange." She turned to Peters. "Thanks for all your help. We'll get to work on setting up the exchange.”

  56

  Todd's wrists were chaffing from the restraints that held his hands over his head to the bedposts. He had tried desperately to pull on them, but the bedposts hadn't budged.

  His head was pounding where Danielle had hit him with the lamp. He had turned just in time to see her swinging the lamp at him like a baseball bat.

  It had hit his right ear, making his head ring.

  He'd been barely conscious as Ricky and Danielle had forced him onto the bed, tied his arms to the bedposts, gagged him with a t-shirt.

  Then they had left.

  He had no idea how long it had been. The ringing had slowed, but his head still throbbed and he was unable to focus on anything for more than a few seconds at a time.

  He glanced at the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, feeling the need for a smoke.

  He yanked on the restraints. They dug into the skin of his wrists, but the bedposts, once again, didn't budge.

  The door opened. Todd grunted through the shirt that gagged him.

  Danielle and Ricky entered the room and closed the door behind them. Without a word, they walked over to the bed.

  He grunted through his restraints, but none of the noises he was able to make had any impact on them.

  Ricky and Danielle untied the restraints from the bed, holding the ropes which ended at his wrists.

  They pulled him off the bed.

  Todd barely caught himself as he hit the floor with his knee and pitched forward, screaming through the gag.

  They pulled him to his feet and led him outside.

  Rain pounded down on the roof above them. The sky had gotten darker still.

  Todd thought through his options.

  Clearly the motel was almost completely empty, or Ricky wouldn't have chosen it. Maybe he could slow them down enough to give himself some time to come up with an escape plan. The rain decreased visibility to the point where he wasn't even sure if that would be helpful.

  "Don't think about it," said Ricky softly, as though he could read Todd's thoughts. "If you try anything, I will kill you. You are disposable."

  Todd stumbled, unable to use his arms to balance himself, but Ricky pulled back on his restrai
nts and he levelled out.

  Ricky chuckled to himself.

  Todd was ushered into the staircase.

  Navigating the stairs was difficult enough with the throbbing in his head, let alone being held by the two makeshift ropes from behind as he was shoved down the stairs.

  He stumbled several times as they made their way down the stairs. A black van was waiting. There was a decal for catering services on the side.

  Tears filled Todd's eyes as his arms were twisted behind him. He was dragged through the rain toward the van.

  Danielle released the rope she was holding, allowing Todd's left hand to hang down with no pressure on it.

  He didn't dare do anything. He could feel Ricky's eyes boring into the back of his head. The moment he did anything, he was certain Ricky would put a bullet in him.

  Danielle opened the back of the van. There were computers on one side and various weapons tied on the other side. The weapons were secured and locked.

  Danielle shoved Todd into the van.

  He stumbled along the metal floor until he hit the back of the second row of seats. He turned around just as the doors slammed shut, sentencing him to near darkness. The only light came from the front of the truck.

  His hands were free to move. He reached up and untied the gag from his mouth. He took in a deep breath and stretched out his arms.

  Danielle and Ricky climbed into the front seats of the van and turned on the engine. Neither said anything to Todd as the van jerked to a start and pulled out of the motel parking lot.

  Someone grunted close to him.

  Todd jumped and looked at the source of the grunt.

  He hadn't realized until that moment that there was someone else in the back of the van. He had assumed the awkwardly slumped over form was supplies.

  The figure sat up.

  In the occasional light coming through the front of the van from streetlights in the storm, he saw the mangled form of a man, his legs twisted underneath him in a position that made Todd cringe.

  “Hello,” said the figure softly. His voice was vaguely familiar, as though from a half-forgotten dream. He glanced toward the front of the van. "You're Todd, aren't you?"