Stillness

by Eldon Farrell

  Floored by the possible implications that the more she thinks about them become harder to ignore, she moves her cursor on screen to click another link.

  The click behind her stops her cold.

  She’s never heard the hammer being drawn back on a gun before, yet somehow she knows exactly what it sounds like.

  “Hands where I can see them.”

  The sheriff’s voice is unmistakable in its ability to make her skin crawl. She slowly raises her hands away from the keyboard and only then sees his reflection on the monitor.

  The gun in his hand is pointed right at the back of her head.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Saving my skin,” he answers “And for that I need your help sweetheart.”

  Daring to chance a look over her shoulder she sees the lecherous look on his face and it causes her to gag slightly.

  Coming around to stand beside her he aims his gun at her face saying, “I need you to make a phone call. That’s it, just one phone call to your boyfriend and I’ll go. Easy huh?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  With his left hand he touches his vile lips pretending to be deep in thought before lashing out his other hand and pistol whipping her. The blow sends her sprawling to the floor. Her head cracks off the edge of the table on her way down.

  “Don’t piss me off girl,” Walt seethes “I’m not in the mood.”

  Feeling the trickle of blood running down the side of her head she looks up at him as his large body looms over her.

  “You’re going to call your FBI buddy and tell him you’re in trouble.” Handing her a phone he says, “You’re going to do it now.”

  Defiant she rasps “And if I refuse, you going to hit me again Sheriff? Why don’t you put the gun down and try hitting me?”

  “Oh,” he sneers “You are a pistol aren’t you?”

  “And you’re a criminal,” she says rising up to one knee “I know what you’ve been doing Sheriff.”

  “That’s a shame,” he says, “You see that’s just the kind of knowledge that can get a girl killed.” Cocking the gun at her face again he orders “Make the call. NOW.”

  Chapter 47

  Your mother’s dead…I’m sorry for your loss.

  The words were incomprehensible to her. She heard them yet could make no sense of them. It’s as if they were spoken in another language.

  Mom…?

  Rushing from the room she raced to the nearest bathroom and locked herself inside. Diving for the toilet she dry heaved into the bowl.

  Alone and frightened and confused, she sits there weeping as the knocking begins on the bathroom door. Tears drip from her eyelashes into the bowl as she struggles to gain control of herself.

  Shaking unsteadily she stands up and staggers over to the sink. The pounding on the door continues as she looks into the mirror.

  Her blond hair is matted and dirty and hangs limply in front of her face. Cupping water in her hands she splashes it on her face to try and clean up. Nothing though can wash the loss from within her. Where once there was great joy now there is only sorrow.

  Blinking away more tears she opens the bathroom door and rushes past the angry woman waiting to use the facilities.

  Heading back to Scott’s room she sees that the cop has left. For that, she is grateful.

  Sitting by his bedside Jaime Lincoln listens to the sound of his ventilator mix with her quiet sobs. It’s a sick noise that claws at her already fragile heart.

  I can’t lose you too Scott. Please…please get better. I need you…

  Burying her face in his sheets she cries softly to herself. The ventilator continues a rhythmic up and down motion mocking her prayers for recovery.

  Trembling from the force of her sobs the litany of lost loved ones comes unbidden to her.

  Cody…Dominique…Mom…

  And Dad…where are you Dad?

  She called him this morning before she heard about her mother and got no answer at the house. It worried her at the time and absolutely terrifies her now.

  How are you taking the news Dad?

  She brings a hand to her mouth as a terrible thought occurs to her. Do you know about Mom yet? What if I have to be the one to tell you?

  She knows that she should try and call him again but the thought of having to be the one to tell him the news keeps her frozen in place.

  I can’t do that. Please God, don’t make me do that.

  So instead she reaches out and takes Scott’s hand in her own. Squeezing it tightly she holds on for her very life. One hour, she thinks. I’ll try calling him in one hour.

  Moving closer to Scott she lifts his hand between her own to her lips kissing it tenderly. Closing her eyes she starts to pray.

  She asks God to bring Scott back to her. She asks Him to save her from having to tell her father about her mother. She prays for the strength to remain hopeful in the face of such overwhelming despair.

  The air in the tiny interrogation room seems to close in around him. A dense chill seeps into his bones as he listens to Kazim continue to speak in his rich Middle Eastern accent.

  “I have done some things in my time at the facility that in hind sight I’m not proud of. But at the time I did them I was following orders and that somehow made it all right.

  “I did not think of the consequences at all until Nikolai went missing and even then I didn’t give them much thought. I know that was wrong, but it was just easier not knowing. I think some part of me always suspected that what we were doing was wrong, but I selfishly thought that if I didn’t know the details it wouldn’t be my responsibility.

  “Then Nikolai went missing and people started dying. I knew Chimera was behind it but still I stayed quiet and soldiered on.

  “I broke into Markov’s apartment to erase any link between him and Chimera. I swapped out his hard drive and unknowingly framed that Sullivan kid. Yes, my crimes are many I admit, but they pale in comparison.

  “When Tesla ran and they called me to bring him back I should’ve listened to my instincts. I knew something wasn’t right. Why would he run? What was he running from? These are questions I should’ve asked but didn’t.

  “I followed my orders and brought him back because it wasn’t really until I found him in that motel room, that I got a good look at what I had become.

  “He had unknowingly called one of our assets wanting to tell his story—it’s how I found him. I used his trust against him. He was so terrified that I was going to kill him. Can you believe that?

  “He actually thought I was sent to kill him. At the time I thought he was nuts but he got me to thinking—his fear is what got me asking all the questions I had ignored for years. Sadly what I learned confirmed that he has good reason to fear for his life.”

  “You’re referring to Arthur Wellesley and what Tesla confessed in his affidavit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you willing to testify in court about what you know?”

  “Whatever you need me to do.”

  “And what about your buddy?” Caleb asks, “Do you think Tesla will testify?”

  Kazim nods saying, “I do but you must get him out of there soon. If Cummings becomes aware of what I know…I fear for his life.”

  The vibration of his cell phone on his hip causes Caleb to stand up raising a finger to Kazim. “Excuse me a moment.”

  Answering the call he immediately recognizes Lynne’s voice and realizes that something is wrong.

  “Lynne?” he asks, “Are you okay? You sound different.”

  “I’m sorry Caleb.”

  “Sorry? Lynne what’s going on?” Getting no response he repeats “Lynne? Lynne you there?”

  “She’s tied up at the moment.”

  The gruff male voice startles Caleb for a moment before he places it in his memory. “Walt? Is that you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “What are you doing with Lynne?” Unconsciously he tightens his grip on his p
hone. “I’ve been looking for you Walt. I need to talk to you.”

  The laugh that echoes across the line stabs Caleb right between the eyes. It’s not a friendly laugh.

  “You need to listen to me,” Walt sneers.

  “All right, I’m listening.”

  “I have something you want, don’t bother trying to deny it, we both know that I’m right. You want her back; you come to the basement of the Board of Health building. Your girl’s got twenty minutes so I wouldn’t dally.”

  “Walt,” Caleb tries to talk him down “This isn’t helping you. Let Lynne go and we can talk. Cummings isn’t worth this.”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  The call is disconnected leaving Caleb holding his phone to his ear listening to dead air for a few seconds. Gathering his thoughts he whips the door open and hollers “Where’s Starling?”

  “He’s out right now,” the answer comes back.

  “All right,” Caleb forms a plan of action “Dodson, you and Smith are with me. Owens,” he grabs the officer by the shirt and points at the interrogation room “No one goes in this room. No one, understand?”

  He nods as Dodson asks, “What’s going on?”

  “We’re going after the Sheriff,” Caleb looks each man in the eye “He’s taken Lynne hostage in the basement of the Board of Health building. We’ve got eighteen minutes.”

  The Board of Health building is at most two blocks away from the Police Station. The trip takes less than three minutes yet for Caleb it seems to take far too long.

  With Dodson and Smith flanking him he throws the front door wide open and swings his Glock around the empty lobby.

  They move in a choreographed fashion, covering all the dark corners and angles where an enemy might hide on their way to the basement stairs.

  She’ll be all right.

  Checking his watch Caleb sees that he still has twelve of the original twenty minutes remaining.

  She has to be all right.

  At the top of the staircase he pauses and quickly glances down the darkened narrow space. Holding up two fingers to his eyes he alerts his backup to stay focused and keep their eyes open.

  He’d certainly feel better if he had some Bureau help backing him up. He can’t be certain if these two will actually take down the Sheriff if the shot becomes necessary. But for Lynne’s sake, he has to hope they will do their job.

  With a slight nod at them he steps down on the first step and proceeds slowly down into the bowels of the building. They trail three or four steps behind him.

  As the bottom of the staircase comes into sight he sees flickering light overhead illuminating the hallway. There are several closed doors on each side along the length of the corridor.

  Trying the first door he finds it locked and moves on. Walt would leave the door unlocked he presumes.

  Their steps echo softly off the tile floor carrying down the hallway to the only open door. It’s on his left way at the far end and immediately grabs his attention as the most likely location.

  Silently he waves Smith to the other side of the hallway and directs Dodson to remain close behind him as he points towards the open door.

  Reaching the door he holds up a hand to stop Smith from crossing the threshold where soft light from inside the room spills out onto the floor in front of them. Eyeing both of his backup for any signs of nervousness, Caleb is pleased to find none.

  Checking his watch he sees he has six minutes remaining. Not for the first time the thought of a trap enters his mind.

  This has all the trademarks of a trap. The long corridor leading in…only one unlocked door…only one way in and one way out and we’re expected. Our odds are not the greatest.

  But Lynne needs me.

  Taking a calming breath he tightens his grip on his gun, nods the go at his backup, and then ducks into the room.

  The shot sends him to the ground.

  David and Goliath.

  Standing before the imposing edifice on Cobblestone Place, Alex Banister feels like David versus Goliath. Never a violent person the enormity of what he’s about to attempt dwarfs him.

  For Victoria…For Angela.

  Clenching his fist and with fire in his veins he mounts the front steps. With one well-placed kick he splinters the front door of the Lincoln residence. The clatter of the metal lock rings in his ears but no alarm sirens wail.

  Stepping inside he double clutches the tire iron in his right hand as he searches for his target. Finding the sitting room empty he looks up the long staircase letting loose a keening wail, “DONALD!”

  His voice is raw and resembles the howl of a pained animal. “Show yourself Donald! I know you’re here!”

  Moving to the dining room he swings the tire iron knocking the crystal off the table. The exquisite glass shatters against the moldings of the wall. Attacking the china husk he splinters the varnished wood and breaks the glass and china within.

  “Come on Donald,” he calls out “Face me. You can’t hide forever!”

  Tossing a chair aside he exits the dining room into the kitchen. This room too is empty causing a nagging thought to develop.

  Has Donald cleared out his staff in anticipation of my coming here? Am I expected?

  Shaking it off, he searches through the remaining rooms downstairs before stomping loudly up the staircase to the second floor.

  “I know you’re up here Donald!”

  Reaching the second floor landing he looks to his left down the corridor to find it empty. The click behind him sets him off in a rage.

  Roaring he savagely swings the tire iron with both hands and manages to knock the pistol out of Donald’s hand. The weapon clatters down the staircase to rest on the landing between floors.

  “Donald,” he snarls as he takes another swing barely missing his diving target. Backhanding a strike he connects flush with Donald’s chest sending him sprawling to the floor.

  Tossing the tire iron aside he straddles Donald and begins to land heavy blows to his head and face. Each fist sends his head cracking off the hardwood floor.

  Raising his hand for another blow he’s knocked off balance by Donald raising his legs and shoving him aside. Scrambling back to his feet Donald faces his adversary who’s still snarling and growling like a rabid dog.

  Licking the blood from his lips Donald sneers, “Why Alex, I thought we were friends?”

  Wild with rage Alex lunges at him. Donald sidesteps the attack while ramming Alex headfirst into the wall. The collision knocks the hanging pictures to the floor.

  Moving in Donald lands three blows to his ribs before Alex recovers and drives his elbow back into Donald’s face. Both of them stagger momentarily from their injuries before Alex resumes his attack.

  But the momentary lapse is enough for Donald to escape into a nearby bedroom and slam the door shut between them.

  Crashing into the door Alex punches and claws at the wood trying to get at Donald again. “Open this door you coward! What’s the matter, you can only beat on women?”

  Howling with frustration Alex drives his shoulder into the door repeatedly. The door shakes and rattles but doesn’t give way. Stepping back he lays boots to it, kicking it squarely by the lock.

  Hearing it splinter over the rush of blood in his ears he throws his weight against it again and is rewarded with the door flying open.

  The bedroom is empty as an adjoining door hangs open. Too late he realizes where Donald is as the tire iron is slipped over his head and wrenched against his throat.

  Gasping for breath he struggles against the hold as Donald whispers in his ear “I don’t believe you. You fuck my wife for how long and you show up here angry at me?”

  “You killed her,” Alex says as the iron is squeezed tighter “You ran my wife off the road.”

  “You fuck with my wife, I fuck with yours.”

  Throwing all his weight backwards Alex sends both of them stumbling out of the bedroom back into the hallway. They crash into the wall and the impac
t loosens Donald’s grip enough for Alex to gain some much needed oxygen.

  Recovering quickly Donald again tightens his hold as they roll down the wall headed for the top of the stairs. Recognizing what Alex is trying to do, Donald lets one hand go and tosses him sprawling to the floor.

  He’s on him in an instant with the tire iron raised overhead. Bringing it down Alex blocks it with his hands and the struggle for control is on. Donald however has the advantage of being standing over his prey.

  Knowing this, Alex can already feel his arms getting tired from the pressure of Donald’s weight. He needs to do something to improve his position.

  Subtlety he shifts closer to the top of the stairs. Looking up at Donald he sees the veins bulging in his neck as spittle hangs from his bloodied lip. It’s in his eyes though that he sees the recognition dawn first.

  No longer holding him off, Alex pulls him down sending them both over the edge and down the staircase. Each step seems to find a tender spot as they roll and fall alternately on top of each other.

  At the middle landing they separate from each other for good. The tire iron flies loose over the railing and clangs loudly on the floor below.

  Donald’s foot gets caught in one of the balustrades eliciting a cry of pain from him as his leg bends at an awkward angle. Alex continues to fall down the remaining steps to land hard on the unforgiving ground below.

  The dull smack of his head against the tile floor causes him to black out momentarily as the next thing he knows Donald is limping down the stairs towards him.

  He tries to move and get back to his feet but it’s no use. His arms are like rubber while he can’t feel his legs at all. Donald flips him over reveling in his helpless misery.

  Grabbing him by the front of his shirt he lifts him slightly off the floor before driving a straight shot into his jaw sending his head careening backwards off the tiles. Again and again he does this punctuating each brutal punch with “You…fucking…ass.”