The Absence of Screams: A Thriller

by Ben Follows

O'Reilly walked up to him, put a hand on his shoulder, then left the bathroom.

  72

  Danielle breathed in the cool breeze as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

  Orange and yellow leaves flipped through the air.

  They walked to Todd's car, past the unmarked police van. Todd glanced at it as they passed.

  He readjusted the recording device by pretending the zipper on his hoodie was broken.

  Danielle climbed into the passenger seat of Todd's car.

  "Can we go to my place?" said Danielle. "I need to grab my things."

  Todd raised an eyebrow. "You want to move in now?"

  "Why not?" She smiled. "I don't want to spend another moment in that house. There's nothing but bad memories."

  Todd turned on the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, grinning.

  In his rear-view mirror, the unmarked van followed.

  "Why do you look so down?" said Danielle as they turned down the driveway toward the Shembly house.

  Todd looked up at the house. It looked empty. He wondered what was inside. He hadn't been there since the night Marcus Devereaux had attacked him.

  "I'm fine," said Todd, unable to come up with anything better. "This place has bad memories."

  "I agree," said Danielle. "Let's go in and get my stuff as quickly as we can."

  There were fresh tire tracks leading up to the barn. Todd figured it was probably a police vehicle which had come to check the house.

  Danielle leaned over as he parked, putting her hand on his thigh. "Come inside with me," she said. "I'll need help with the suitcases."

  Todd nodded, feeling his heart thump in his chest.

  They walked to the front door. Danielle used her keys to unlock the front door.

  Once they were inside, Danielle walked to the second floor.

  Todd looked around, feeling a foreboding feeling that he couldn't place his finger on.

  Something creaked in the basement and Todd jerked his head downwards. He remained as quiet as possible, listening again for the sound.

  After a few moments of silence, he stepped into the living room.

  The photo albums were still spread along the floor as they had been the last time he was here.

  Todd looked through the pictures depicting Danielle's life. From dozens of pictures, she smiled at her parents and out at Todd.

  Knowing what he knew now, it made sense why Marcus had been going through these pictures, why it had seemed to matter so much.

  "Todd!" Danielle shouted from above. "Can you help me carry something?"

  "Be right there." He looked at the photos one more time and walked to the stairs.

  There was another creak.

  Todd froze, grabbing the recording device. "There was a noise," he whispered quietly so only the recording device would pick it up. "Please tell me you heard that."

  After a few seconds, he swallowed and continued.

  He reached the top of the stairs and followed the sounds to Charles and Tatiana's room. He hesitated at the threshold to the room for a moment.

  Danielle was crouching over a suitcase. She looked up, then past him, into the doorway.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  Todd spun.

  Ricky stood in the doorway. He held a gun pointed directly at Todd. In his other hand, he held a cigar.

  Ricky waved and smiled. "Hey, Todd. How's it going?"

  He pulled the trigger.

  The bullet hit Todd in the thigh.

  Todd screamed, grabbing his leg as it began to bleed.

  "Danielle, let’s go." Ricky holstered his gun and looked down at Todd. "Todd, I'll be back for you. We have much to discuss."

  "I'm ready." Danielle stood.

  She stepped around Todd as though he was an obstacle to avoid.

  He reached for her leg and she shook him off.

  Ricky draped his arm over Danielle's shoulders as they left the room. He dropped the cigar onto the bedroom floor and stomped it out.

  Danielle nodded. "How's Marcus doing?"

  "Just a bit more and he'll sign anything that we give to him," said Ricky.

  The door to the bedroom closed. Danielle never looked back.

  Todd grabbed onto his leg and gasped as the pain spread through his body.

  In that moment, all his doubt evaporated.

  He grabbed the recording device on his chest. Between his deep breaths to quell the pain, he said, "Ricky and Marcus are here. I've been shot. Please help!"

  73

  Marcus paused when he heard the gunshot from the house above him.

  After a moment of silence, he lunged for the dangling medal again.

  His fingers grazed against the sharp corners of the medal.

  He looked at the floor. His legs remained folded on the floor. Ricky had bandaged his toe and slowed the flow of blood, but the bandages were turning a deep red.

  Marcus took a deep breath and lunged upwards at the medal.

  He grabbed it with his thumb and forefinger. His grip was enough to hold himself up.

  His biceps strained.

  He gritted his teeth and pulled himself up another few centimeters.

  He grabbed the medal and pulled down as hard as he could. He fell from his chin-up position with the medal in his hand.

  He felt a swell of joy as the ribbon on the medal snapped and he held it in his hand.

  His arms snapped back as the handcuffs extended to their regular length.

  The medal slipped from his grip. The tips of his fingers grazed the medal as it twisted and turned in the air in front of his face.

  It fell past his eyes and hit the floor a few feet away. It bounced a few times then came to a rest.

  He stared at the medal, a few feet away.

  That medal had been his salvation, his key to escape from the hell that Ricky had brought him into. Now it may as well have been sitting on General Thompson's desk at the military base.

  He slouched in the cuffs, hanging with his arms fully extended.

  The basement door opened. Ricky and Danielle entered. Marcus stared at Danielle, tears returning to his eyes.

  "What do we have here?" said Danielle, walking up to the table. "You still haven't signed power of attorney over?"

  "Nope," said Ricky, taking his seat. He glanced at Marcus's foot and grinned.

  Danielle smirked at her father. "Let's use all of them."

  "Please," said Marcus. "You're my daughter. Let me go."

  Danielle picked up a pair of pliers and walked up to Marcus. She kicked the medal and she looked down.

  She laughed. "You got the medal down? Do you care that much about a participation medal?

  Marcus wiggled his arms.

  "Quit Squirming!" said Danielle. "This can stop at any time. All you need to do is sign the form. How does that sound?"

  "Do your worst," said Marcus. "I'm not signing shit."

  Danielle sighed. "Too bad."

  She pinched his cheek and squeezed the pliers shut over them.

  Marcus screamed.

  74

  "Let's go," said O'Reilly, taking off the headphones.

  Dennis moved to the driver’s seat of the van and started the engine. They were parked on the side of the road, just outside the view of the Shembly house.

  Dennis hit the gas and they pulled onto the driveway.

  O'Reilly grabbed her radio and called for backup. She told the dispatcher to send every available cop, then climbed into passenger seat.

  "You aren't coming in," she said, checking her gun was ready.

  Dennis glanced over at her. "If you think you're going in alone, you're crazy."

  "Dennis, this isn't an argument. I promised Dryden no harm would come to you."

  Dennis shook his head. "You won't go into danger without backup."

  "This isn't an argument."

  "I'm coming in."

  "I can handle this. "

  "I'm coming in and there's nothing you can do about it." Dennis loo
ked past her through the passenger window and his eyes opened wide. "Get down!"

  O'Reilly spun to look out the passenger window.

  Three people stepped out of the wheat on the side of the driveway, holding assault rifles.

  O'Reilly didn't recognize two of the three, but when she saw the third, her entire world seemed to move in slow motion.

  She looked at Matt Cockerton as he raised the assault rifle and pointed it at them.

  All three opened fire on the truck.

  The bullets ripped through the windows and the back of the truck.

  O'Reilly ducked down, covering her head with her hands as glass and bullets surrounded her.

  "Hold on!" Dennis shouted.

  Dennis wrenched the wheel to the left.

  Shafts of sunlight came through the bullet holes which covered the van. Their surveillance equipment sparked and fizzled.

  The van swerved to the left, bouncing as it left the road and entered the wheat.

  Wheat crunched beneath the tires. They drove until O'Reilly was certain they were going to go into the neighbor’s property.

  The truck abruptly stopped, the front of the truck imploding as it hit something.

  O'Reilly's face slammed into the airbag.

  She slowly sat up, rubbing her neck and checking her injuries. She had some cuts, but nothing severe.

  She looked over at Dennis and recoiled.

  Dennis was sitting back, breathing heavily and holding his midsection. He was covered in blood and shards of glass, one of which stuck from his stomach.

  "Go!" he said, looking at her. He leaned forward against the airbag, closed his eyes, and began muttering something O'Reilly couldn't understand.

  She took a deep breath and ripped out her airbag.

  She picked up her gun from the floor.

  She climbed out of the truck, trying to stop her legs from shaking. She turned and pointed her gun in the direction they'd come.

  There was no one visible in the path of crushed wheat they'd created.

  She felt lightheaded and had to put one hand on the van to steady herself. After a moment, it passed. She walked around to the front of the truck.

  The grill was wrapped around a solitary fence post. It looked as though there'd once been a gate here, and that its removal had never been finished. Three feet to either side and they would have been fine.

  A stalk of wheat snapped nearby.

  O'Reilly ducked past the front of the truck and into the wheat.

  She moved slowly so the movement of the wheat wouldn't tip off whoever was approaching. She held her gun at the ready and looked back through the wheat.

  Cockerton was approaching the van. He held the assault rifle at his waist. His eyes flicked back and forth.

  O'Reilly aimed her gun at him through the wheat, feeling betrayed in a way she'd never imagined.

  Cockerton strafed along the side of the truck and turned into the driver’s side window, pointing the assault rifle into Dennis's face.

  "Anything to say?" said Cockerton. O'Reilly could barely make out his high-pitched, strained voice.

  O'Reilly stepped out of the wheat. She aimed her gun at Cockerton.

  "Matt," said Dennis, leaning against the airbag. He looked up at Cockerton. "I'm sorry."

  O'Reilly froze at the edge of the wheat, watching the conversation unfold before her.

  "You're sorry for what?" said Cockerton.

  "It's my fault your brother died." Dennis coughed and spat blood onto the airbag. "Your brother's gun jammed. I froze up. I had spent so much time undercover that my instincts were messed up. I should have shot the Neo-Nazi, but I didn't. Your brother died because of it."

  Cockerton nodded, as though the answer confirmed his suspicions, and raised the gun.

  "Matt!" said O'Reilly, stepping out of the wheat and pointing her gun at him. "Don't do this."

  Cockerton looked back at her, sighing. He shook his head and pulled the trigger.

  Blood flew from Dennis's head where the bullet punctured his skull. He slumped onto the airbag, his face pressed into it.

  "No!" screamed O'Reilly.

  Cockerton turned around. He spread his arms out and smiled at O'Reilly.

  She surprised herself as she pulled the trigger.

  The bullet hit Cockerton in the chest. His eyes opened wide and he stumbled backwards.

  She fired again.

  She fired a third time.

  All three shots hit Cockerton's chest.

  Cockerton looked down at his bloody chest.

  He dropped the assault rifle and slumped against the side of the truck. He slid down the truck until he was seated on the ground.

  He looked up at her and smiled.

  He cleared his throat and spat onto the ground.

  "Matt," said O'Reilly through her tears, looking up at Dennis's lifeless body in the driver’s seat. "Why did you do that?"

  Cockerton cleared his throat. "It's Dennis's fault Carl died. That was justice."

  "You abandoned everyone who loves you. You betrayed us all. We cared about you, Matt. " Cockerton shook his head. "He should have been in prison. The justice system failed me."

  "You should have trusted the justice system."

  Cockerton looked up at her. "Do you know what he was muttering in his last moments?"

  O'Reilly shook her head.

  Cockerton cleared his throat. "He was begging God for forgiveness. It wasn't about Carl's death. He was praying for forgiveness for the people he killed while he was undercover."

  O'Reilly stared at him.

  "I knew he was evil," said Cockerton. His voice got weaker and more strained as he got closer to his limit. "None of you listened to me."

  O'Reilly looked at Dennis's body. "He wasn't evil, he was put in a difficult situation.""

  "Of course," Cockerton cleared his throat, his voice weakening. "How can we forget how noble his intentions were?"

  "There were other ways you could have solved this."

  "I tried so many times, Emily." Cockerton shook his head incredulously. "Did you know you're the worst partner I ever had?"

  She stared at him. "What?"

  He sat up straighter and loosened his blood-soaked tie. He cleared his throat again.

  "You always went behind my back," he said. "You never asked for my input. You controlled everything. I wonder whether you liked me as a partner because it was the closest thing to having no partner at all. I was a man who can only speak a dozen sentences a day." He sighed. "I reached my breaking point, Emily. When Ricky came to me with that offer, I accepted without a second thought."

  He hacked out a cough and spat more bloody phlegm onto the ground.

  "How can you do this?" said O'Reilly.

  His eyes began to close. "This is the price I paid for my revenge. I would do it again in an instant. I wish you the best of luck."

  His eyes closed. His body went slack and his hands fell to the ground.

  O'Reilly stared at the two dead bodies in front of her. She covered her mouth as some bile came into her mouth. She walked to the edge of the wheat and vomited.

  She had just killed her partner.

  She had snuffed out his life.

  She thought of what Dennis had said to her about the good ones, about how most people didn't have it within them to kill someone.

  Apparently, she wasn't one of them.

  75

  O'Reilly looked up at the house.

  Todd was still in there.

  She dropped her gun to the ground and walked up to Cockerton. She took the assault rifle from his hands and checked it was loaded.

  A radio on Cockerton's waist crackled to life.

  A male voice said, "Cockerton? Where are you? I'm coming to help."

  O'Reilly grabbed the radio and clipped it to her waist. She looked out at the road. There was no indication of the backup she'd called for.

  She checked Cockerton's pockets and found another magazine for the assault rifle. She
slipped it into her pocket and retreated into the wheat.

  A few moments later, another figure came into view. It was the man who'd been on the side of the road with Cockerton. He was a broad-shouldered man wearing military garb. O'Reilly assumed he was a mercenary.

  The mercenary moved slowly, rifle raised.

  "Matt?" he said as he approached the truck. "Matt?"

  The mercenary turned the corner of the truck and saw Matt. His eyes opened wide.

  O'Reilly stepped out from the wheat during the mercenaries’ moment of shock and pulled the trigger on the assault rifle.

  She moved the gun back and forth, filling the truck with bullets. She tried to compensate for the recoil by hitting as wide an area as she could.

  When she finished firing the magazine, she replaced it and looked up. She couldn't see the mercenary, but she needed to be sure. She fired another flurry of bullets at the truck.

  She held the gun to her eye and moved up to the truck.

  The man was lying on the ground beside Matt, bleeding from a dozen spots all over his body. He stared into the air.

  O'Reilly put a few more bullets into the mercenaries’ chest, just to be safe. Killing him brought her none of the revulsion that killing Matt had brought, although the thought of not being one of the good ones once again passed through her mind.

  She leaned over and kicked away the mercenaries’ assault rifle.

  O'Reilly took one last look at the carnage around her, her eyes resting on Dennis sitting in the front seat. She swallowed and thought of how she was going to explain his death to Dryden and Kate. It turned out that all Kate's fears had been well founded.

  She decided to figure it out later and took off at a jog through the fields.

  At that moment, the sound of sirens came from the distance.

  76

  Todd tried the bedroom door for a third time. It was secured shut from the other side.

  He cursed and grabbed his injured leg. He was standing on his one good leg and using the door to steady himself.

  Using the bed and dressers as supports so he wouldn't put any weight on his injured leg, he hobbled to the window.

  He grunted in pain every time his leg grazed the floor.