His knuckles now cut and bloodstained he stands over the limp Alex whose breath is coming in short ragged gasps.
Spitting blood of his own on the floor Donald reaches down and grabs a hold of one ankle. Dragging the dead weight of his attacker in his own weakened condition proves to be difficult.
Eventually he gets him outside, hauling him down the front steps, rapping Alex’s head off each of the three steps. Leaving him lying face up in the grass he looms over him taunting.
“You shouldn’t have come here Alex. Look at you, you’re pathetic. The great righteous hero,” sniffing contemptuously he continues “Some hero. You were my best friend and you screwed around with my wife behind my back for how long?
“And then you look at me like I’m the monster. But think about it Alex. Whatever I am is because of what you did. You made me this way!
“You ever think about that huh? That maybe I’m not responsible for what happened to Angela and Victoria—that maybe you are. Or maybe you’d rather just blame me because it’s easier than dealing with your own guilt.
“Either way, we’re done here. You found your way onto my property you can find your way off.”
Stumbling unsteadily back up the front steps he shouts over his shoulder “This friendship is over!”
From high above the clouds open up and rain begins to fall lightly on Alex as he lies near unconscious sick with the knowledge that he’s failed.
The sting of the raindrops in his wounds cannot compare to the pain in his heart and as he passes out he welcomes the enveloping shadows.
Chapter 48
“Daddy!”
The tow-headed little boy jumps excitedly from one foot to the other trying to get his father’s attention. “Daddy watch me! Are you watching?”
“I’m watching,” his father says turning to look at him.
The little boy beams from the attention and only gradually starts to focus on what he’s doing. Balancing on his bicycle seat he starts to pedal the small BMX.
The bike was a gift from his parents for turning five. It’s got bright blue tires with multi-colored plastic beads on the spokes that rattle as the wheels turn.
He’s riding it for the first time without the training wheels. Going a short distance he grips the handlebar brakes stopping to turn and look at his father. “Did you see? Were you watching?”
Swelling with pride his father kneels down beside his only son and pats him on the top of the head. “Yes, Will I saw. You can ride your bike all by yourself.”
Will smiles and nods and starts rambling about this and that in the way only a five year old can talk—fast and excited with no real point at all.
Wiping a tear from his cheek, Bobby Sullivan hugs his son telling him “Wait until your mother sees what a big boy you’re becoming.”
“I can do it again!” Will announces excitedly “I can. Watch!”
Placing his feet on the pedals again he rides away from his father. Showing off his new skill he hasn’t a care in the world.
Closing his eyes Will fights back tears at the memory of what his life used to be like. He’s holding the picture of his parents from his wallet as another memory enthralls him.
“It’ll be alright dear,” Maggie Sullivan rustles her son’s hair as she comforts him.
They’re sitting in the waiting room of the hospital with Will holding an ice pack to his lip. He cut it falling off the swing set in their backyard. At only four years old he’s trying his best to be a big boy and not cry yet he can’t steady his bottom lip.
Hugging him close to her she kisses the top of his head as he squeezes her as tight as his tiny hands are able to. The scent of lavender and jasmine fills his nostrils. It’s the familiar scent of his mother and always makes him feel safer.
“Is Daddy coming?”
“Yes dear, he’s on his way. But you’re going to be okay. A few stitches and you’ll be good as new. You’ll be back on the swings before you know it.”
He shakes his head petulantly. “No. No more swings, they’re bad.”
“You listen to your mother now William.” She cups his chin in her hand and raises his head to look at her. “You love the swings; you must never give up on what you love.
“Promise me that you won’t give up. Always remember that anything worth doing is difficult at first. But with effort, you can do anything you want. You believe your mom don’t you?”
Resting his head against her stomach again he mumbles that he does.
Stroking his hair she feels his warm breath on her skin and feels her own heart aligning with his. They’re a tangle of limbs wrapped around one another that even from a distance reveals their love of each other.
This Rockwell tableau may disappear but the love and the memory never will.
Caressing his mother’s image with his thumb, Will whispers to her “I never gave up Mom. You’re going to have justice. I’m going to bring them down for what they did to you and Dad.”
The crash from the kitchen startles him to his feet. The picture flutters softly to the floor as he rushes off to see what happened.
“Mary,” he calls out “Are you all right Mary?”
Entering the kitchen he sees her lying face down on the floor with the remains of broken dishes scattered around her.
“Mary!”
He rushes to her and as he kneels down beside her he feels the cold steel blade of a knife press against the soft flesh of his neck.
“That’s close enough.” An unfamiliar voice propelled by hot breath whispers in his ear. “Stand up…nice and easy.”
Feeling the sharp edge biting into his neck Will does as he’s told. Rising slowly he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s reflection in the microwave door. The man is large and even in the darkened glass looks like military.
Chimera…
“Hello Will,” the man turns him around pushing him back against the refrigerator door keeping the knife tightly pressed on his jugular vein. “A moment of your time. You have something I want. I won’t ask nicely twice.”
They know about the file!
Stammering a reply he says, “Wh-what do you want?”
“See now,” the man’s dark eyes stare coldly at him as he says, “That’s the kind of answer that I don’t want to hear. More to the point, that’s the kind of answer you don’t want to give.
“Play stupid one more time and you’ll see just what I can do with this twelve-inch K-bar. I’ll carve you up like a pumpkin and you’ll be begging to tell me whatever I want to know. Get the picture?”
Will nods slightly as he feels the blade dig deeper sending a drop of blood running down his neck. His pulse racing he tries to think of anything he can do to escape this predicament.
His mind however refuses to focus on anything beyond the rather dangerous looking man and the sharp knife in his hand.
“The file—where is it?”
“I don’t have it.”
The man’s eyes narrow prompting Will to plead “I swear it’s the truth. I don’t have it anymore.”
“Who has it?” If a serpent could talk, Will swears that’s the voice it would have.
“The FBI,” he answers unsteadily.
“Well then,” the man lets up on the knife saying, “I guess you’re of no use to me at all.”
Will’s eyes widen as he watches the knife drawn back and in a blur race towards his throat.
Living in a small town has many disadvantages.
For one you can never seem to do anything without everyone knowing about it. Anonymity is just not an option in a small town. From the day you’re born until the day you leave or die—for better or for worse—you’re famous.
Then of course there are all the things you can’t do in a small town. There’s no mall to hang out at, there’s no new people to meet if you’re sick of the old people, and you’ll certainly never find the kind of opportunities in a small town that you’ll find in a big city.
But living in a small town has
its advantages as well. Gridlock is a foreign word, there are very few traffic lights, and you can get anywhere you want to go in a short amount of time.
It’s this last one that Walt is taking advantage of.
Standing in the shadows of an alleyway just out of sight of the Police Station he watches the exodus of squad cars.
Through the drizzling rain he sees their blue and red lights twirling as the vehicles race the few blocks to the Board of Health building.
Smiling he hurries his wide girth across the street to make use of another small town advantage.
A small police force.
Rolling to his right as he hits the floor, Caleb tries to locate the shooter. His gaze is immediately drawn to Lynne.
Lynne.
She’s tied to a chair with a gag stuffed in her mouth. The sight sickens him. He can’t bear to see her this way yet he won’t dare look away.
He can tell she’s trying to say something by her muffled sounds and the way she’s rocking the chair slightly, but he can’t make it out.
“Do you see anything?” he yells over to his backup.
The second report sends his head ducking even closer to the floor. “Where are the shots coming from?”
He glances away from Lynne towards Smith to see him shrug his shoulders.
Another gunshot rings in his ears. Something’s wrong.
Rising to his knees he surveys the room as two more shots echo loudly.
“Get down!” Dodson warns.
“Smith stay with her!” he barks “Dodson cover me!”
“What are you doing?”
Without answering Caleb stalks forward sweeping the room as he goes. Gunshots continue to echo in the room—each one further confirming his suspicion.
It was after the third shot that he realized it—none of the shots hit anything. Even if the shooter had atrocious aim they’d hit something—a wall if nothing else.
Yet these shots hit nothing at all.
Three rows away from Lynne he finds a computer turned on and running an MP3 file. Another succession of gunshots resonates close to him before he shuts the file down. The report of gunfire disappears immediately. Making eye contact with his surprised backup he holsters his sidearm and orders “You guys sweep the rest of the room.”
Rushing back to Lynne’s side he quickly removes the gag from her mouth and sets to work on her restraints.
“He isn’t here,” she blurts out as soon as the gag is removed. “He’s after Kazim.”
Stopping momentarily Caleb resumes working on the knots as he hollers to Dodson “Take Smith and get back to the station house.”
“What if the Sheriff is still here?”
“He isn’t,” Caleb and Lynne answer in unison.
Nodding Dodson and Smith hurry from the room leaving Caleb alone with Lynne. He grabs her in a desperate embrace squeezing her close to him. “You had me worried there for a minute.”
“I had myself worried too.”
The embrace is warm and comforting and Lynne squeezes back hungrily. This man’s arms around her feel right, they feel safe.
“What were you doing down here anyway?” he asks breaking the embrace.
Rubbing her sore wrists Lynne says, “Getting answers. I know why Wellesley was killed.”
“Tell me later,” Caleb pulls her to her feet saying, “Right now we’ve got a score to settle with the Sheriff.”
“I’ll second that. But first,” Lynne leans over and kisses him lightly on the mouth. “Thanks for coming to my rescue Agent.”
Caressing her cheek Caleb leans in for another longer kiss muttering “My pleasure.”
The kiss is soft and affectionate and sets the downy hair on her arms on end. Slowly pulling away she bites her bottom lip as she holds his gaze. Finally looking away coyly she says “We better get going.”
“Yeah,” Caleb admits reluctantly “Duty calls. Let’s go catch some bad guys.”
In the eight years that Shane Owens has been a cop he’s never drawn his weapon in the line of duty. That is until now.
Not normally a jumpy or nervous guy, there’s still something about the noises he heard coming from the lobby that have his hackles raised. Leaving the safety on, he extends his arms out bringing the gun up to shoulder level.
With a sidelong glance at the interrogation room door he starts to move forward. Agent Fine’s words are replaying in his mind about no one gaining access to that room, causing him a moment’s pause.
Should I leave the room unguarded?
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts he’s convinced that it won’t take too long to investigate the noise in the lobby. I’ll be back before anyone knows otherwise. After all, there’s no one else here. Who’s gonna know?
With his gun still out in front of him he hugs the wall as he moves forward. Reaching the end of the hallway he takes a silent breath as another noise drifts around the corner. I’m not alone.
This close the noise sounds like someone rummaging through desk drawers, ruling out anyone who’s just here looking for help. Whatever this person is looking for it’s not help.
Chancing a peek around the corner he can’t believe what he sees. The uniform, the wide back, the now audible grunts, all serve to identify the Sheriff. Breaking out in a cold sweat he struggles to steady his now shaking hands.
In eight years he’s also never managed to get over his fear of Walt Anjou.
It happened when he was just a rookie riding along with the Sheriff. They pulled over this guy who started mouthing off to them. Walt clubbed the guy two, three times before the guy knew what hit him.
He was down on the ground bleeding from his mouth as he screamed police brutality. That was when Walt told Shane to look away for a minute.
Shane did but couldn’t help but sneak a curious glance back to see Walt hovering over the guy. The look in his eyes—it was like a curtain had been pulled back to reveal the dark current flowing beneath. The murderous expression on his face scared Shane so bad that he almost quit the force after that night.
Not surprising, the guy never pressed charges and Walt never mentioned it again. But Shane has never forgotten it. He knows he caught a glimpse of something that night.
Eight years ago on the side of the road he saw past the cloak of the Sheriff to the real Walt Anjou—cold, hard, and vicious.
Now he’s alone in the station with Walt, who’s wanted for questioning by the FBI and he knows that when he turns this corner it will be to once again face the real Walt Anjou.
“Hands where I can see them Sheriff.”
“Bout time you showed up,” Walt keeps his back to Shane saying “I was thinking I might have to turn over a desk out here to get your attention.”
Turning to look at him he can smell the fear that he inspires. Taking a step towards him prompts Owens to squeal “Hands up Sheriff.”
“Or what? You gonna shoot me Shane? Cause you know there are laws against that.”
“Don’t come any closer,” Shane says as he steps backward. “I’m warning you.”
“You’re warning me?” Walt repeats incredulously “Boy you look about as nervous as a priest in a whorehouse. Why don’t you get that gun outta my face and we’ll talk.”
It happens so fast. Shane just glances behind him at the interrogation room for a split second and in that moment Walt rushes him like a bull charging a matador. For a big man he moves remarkably fast.
An easy two hundred pounds separates the men in stature and the collision sends the gun flying out of Shane’s hands as the wind explodes out of his diaphragm.
Slammed back against the wall with Walt’s beefy fingers pressing his massive weight against his throat, desperation comes alive in him. Grasping at his thick wrists, Shane tries to pry apart the chokehold that’s slowly causing him to blackout.
Staring into the same cold maniacal eyes that he saw eight years ago, fear blooms in him as his oxygen starved brain screams at him to do anything to break free.
As tiny lights begin to flash in his corneas out of pure instinct his knee rises up and connects with a fleshly part of Walt’s abdomen. The hands come away from his throat long enough for him to take one gulp of air before the heavy fist connects flush with his jaw.
He crumples to the floor unconscious.
Knowing that time is short, Walt steps over the prone body of his officer heading towards the interrogation room. Turning his ravenous eyes to the door Walt pulls the hammer back on his revolver before throwing the door open and coming face to face with his shackled quarry.
“Hello Kazim,” he trains the revolver on his head saying, “Time to go.”
Remaining stoic Kazim lifts his right arm slightly to rattle the attached chain. “Where am I going?” he asks sarcastically.
Stuffing his left hand into his pocket Walt produces a tiny key held between his large fingers. Tossing it onto the table he orders “Unlock the chain from the table and cuff yourself. Hands behind your back.”
Doing as he’s told Kazim unlocks the cuffs and putting his hands behind his back relocks them. Shuffling closer to him Walt grabs the cuffs roughly testing them before hauling Kazim to his feet.
“Walk,” he orders as he stabs the barrel of the revolver between two ribs.
“Why should I?” Kazim asks, “If you’re going to kill me anyway, why should I make it easy on you?”
“Who said I was going to kill you?” Walt whispers in his ear “Think of this as…a prisoner transfer. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.” Grabbing his arm roughly he snorts “I think we both know who I’m talking about.”
“So then he’ll kill me—I fail to see the difference.”
Walt pushes him forward to get him walking. “I don’t know what he’ll do to you. Frankly it’s not my concern.”
“You think he won’t betray you too?”
Checking to make sure the hallway is still empty Walt drags Kazim out of the room. Pushing him towards the back of the station he answers “You kidding? You’re my ticket back.”
Chapter 49
Stillness Page 32