by Ethan Cross
The Sheriff shook his head. “You would’ve known. It wouldn’t have served our purpose. You can’t just fake being a man like Ackerman. The plan was to capture you when you stumbled onto the murder scene and tie both of you up in the same room. You needed to be confronted with the face of evil. You needed to stare into the darkness of his soul and see the kind of man that we hunt. A man like Ackerman can’t be rehabilitated or reasoned with. He was an animal. It might not have been his fault and a part of me feels for the man, but ultimately, he was a killer and would have continued to hurt innocent people until someone stopped him. Letting him roam free or even putting him in prison, is like … throwing a great white into a pool full of kids.”
“Ackerman saved us. He actually seemed to be repentant. When we were at the school in Asherton, he asked me about forgiveness. If he really was redeemed at the very end of his life, killing him before would have denied him that and condemned his soul. We don’t have the right.”
“And how many people had to die for him to find his way? What about their souls? Does he have the right?”
“He could have been captured and locked away in a cell where he couldn’t hurt anyone. Then, he would have had his whole life to think about all that he’d done.”
“I used to have a friend who worked at this maximum security prison. He told me a story about this man who had killed multiple people. One day, they were serving eggs, and this killer complained that his eggs were runny. The server, of course, asked him who he thought he was and basically told him to sit down and shut up. The killer sat his tray to the side and then kicked the server in the throat. The man died almost instantly—all over some runny eggs. Killer didn’t care. He was already serving multiple life sentences. And our tax dollars clothe, shelter, and feed that monster.”
The Sheriff leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I understand where you’re coming from, but we play a simple game of mathematics, kid. We bring one death to a murderer in order to save the lives of the killer’s many potential victims. It’s not perfect, but it’s the only way to truly protect the innocent.”
Marcus sighed. “Why play this game in the first place? Why not just have the conversation we’re havin’ now?”
“This has been no game, kid. You could think of it more as an entrance exam, but honestly, I’ve known all along that you were the man that I was looking for. All of this has been more for you to discover that for yourself. We’ve tried and failed in the past doing as you said. The men we recruited weren’t prepared for the demons they would face—inside and outside. They would hesitate. People died. And there was no amount of simulation that could prepare them. That’s when we devised this method of recruitment. We threw you into a situation that forced you to confront your abilities and your destiny.
“That’s why I chose an assassination plot. I wanted to put you in a position where you had to face saving the life of another person in power that was potentially a murderer. I felt that wrestling with those implications would force you to deal with your feelings about killing Mavros—bring it right to the forefront of your mind. We had a whole intricate plan worked out where you would try to stop me in San Antonio, but with Ackerman on the loose and people dying, I had Andrew cut our little drama short. We were going to bring you in after we completed the final act and then go after Ackerman together, but you bolted from the gravesite and went after him on your own. Which I suppose proves that you’re ready, but you wouldn’t have been before confronting who you are. Before you can move forward and discover what lies ahead, you have to come to terms with the road behind you.”
“Come to terms with the road behind me? I’ve killed in cold blood. How am I supposed to come to terms with that? How can you expect me to work for you doing more of the same? Is that really my destiny … to be a killer?”
The Sheriff shrugged. “I’m sorry, kid. Nothing is black and white. If you’re looking for a perfect world, you got off on the wrong exit. This world is filled with shades of gray, and every decision is a double-edged sword for which both sides can be argued. More often than not, there is no right choice, just the lesser of two evils. I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did. I wish that I could quote some scripture or words of wisdom that would help you reconcile all this, but I can’t. All I can say is that, in the end, you have to look deep inside yourself. Deep down in your soul, you know whether the things you’ve done are right or wrong.”
“Let me ask you this,” the Sheriff said softly as he leaned in close. “Do you really feel guilty for killing Mavros? Is that what haunts you? Or is it the fact that you took another human being’s life but didn’t feel guilty at all?”
Marcus held the Sheriff’s gaze for a few seconds but then looked away. His eyes stung with tears.
“It scared you, didn’t it? It scared you because it made you wonder what separated a man like you from a man like Ackerman. It made you question what you were truly capable of. That’s the real secret from your past that’s been haunting you, isn’t it?”
Marcus lowered his head and closed his eyes, trying to hold the tears inside. “I should have felt something. I should have felt guilt and remorse and a thousand other emotions that a normal person would feel after killing someone, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything. Ackerman commented that he could kill Maggie as easily as flipping a light switch. Those words stuck with me. Because that’s as easy as it was. I just raised the gun and turned out his light.” The tears broke free and rolled down his face. “You’re right. Ever since that night in New York, I’ve been wondering how thin the line is between me and someone like Ackerman. When he said those words, I found out exactly how thin that line is. And yes … it scares me.”
The Sheriff’s eyes shone with warmth and understanding. “I may not have all the answers, kid, but I know one thing for certain. You are nothing like Ackerman. The two of you are at completely opposite ends of the spectrum. Maybe the reason that you didn’t feel guilty about Mavros is because you knew in your heart that it was the right thing to do? You protected more than just the girl in the car that night. You protected every victim that would have come after her. Evil will flourish if there are no good men to stand against it, and that’s what would have happened with Mavros. He would have continued to prey on the innocent until someone had the courage to do what was right and stand against him—even if that meant standing alone.”
The Sheriff stood and placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “You’ve got all the time you need to think about my offer. But in my opinion, people can be categorized into three groups. You are either a shepherd, a wolf, or one of the flock. I can say with absolute certainty that you are not one of the wolves. Now, you have to decide whether you are a protector and a shepherd … or are you just one of the flock?”
*
The Director left Marcus to his thoughts and joined the others. Allen walked up and said, “How’s he taking it?”
“Pretty well, considering the situation.”
“Do you think he’ll accept?”
“It’s too early to say for sure, but I believe that he will.”
“Good. I’m getting too old for this.” Allen hesitated, thrummed his fingers against his glass, and ran a hand through his gray-white hair. “Are you going to tell Marcus about … the connection between himself and Ackerman?”
“No.”
“You don’t think he needs to know the truth?”
“Ackerman’s dead. Marcus never needs to know.”
78
The Dempsey brothers had not been mistreated as children. They didn’t have a father who molested them or a mother who didn’t love them. On the contrary, their parents were loving, caring providers. Their father had been a carpenter and their mother a housewife. The boys went to parks and played Frisbee with their dog, Bobby. They went on family vacations with destinations comprised of national landmarks and roadside tourist traps. They were normal. They were just like everyone else.
Andy Dempsey, the younger of the two
boys, imagined that was why it was such a shock to everyone when he and his big brother, Michael, murdered their parents and burned down their ancestral home. He liked to shock people. And people always seemed to be so astonished right before they died, as if they thought they would live forever.
He reached out and pulled a Baby Ruth from the shelf. He tore open the wrapper and bit off a large chunk. He didn’t look up to see if the convenience store attendant had given him a dirty look or called the cops. He didn’t have to. The attendant and the only other patron were tied up on the floor in the back room. He knew that fact because he and his brother had put them there.
He watched Michael empty the contents of the cash register into a paper sack. It wasn’t much money, but that’s not why they did this. They did it for the thrill. It was fun being the bad guys.
“We’re done here,” Michael said. “Let’s clean up.”
Andy smiled. Time to have some fun.
The two brothers entered the back room through a door marked, Employees Only. Inside the room, two people knelt with their hands behind their backs.
“Is there more money hidden around here somewhere?” Michael said to the attendant.
“No,” the man said with a sob. “You’ve got everything. You don’t have to hurt anyone.”
Andy smiled at the man’s comments, but Michael was expressionless. “That poses a problem, friend,” Michael said. “You’ve seen our faces, and that’s just unacceptable.”
“I guess we should have worn those masks,” Andy said.
The brothers chuckled together.
Michael’s face turned back to stone as he peered down at the helpless attendant. “Guess we’ll just have to kill them.”
The attendant started to speak, but Michael silenced him. The man fell dead to the tile floor, a pool of crimson spreading around him and a smoking hole in his forehead.
The woman, a beautiful blonde in a red t-shirt and jeans, remained on her knees with her eyes clenched together. She had apparently decided that she would face her inevitable death where she was.
Michael pointed the gun at her face.
“Wait,” Andy said just before Michael pulled the trigger.
“What is it, little brother?”
“I want to keep her,” he said. “We can have some fun with her later when we’ve got time to do it right.”
Michael shook his head and sighed. “Alright, little brother, but if you’re going to have a pet, then she’s your responsibility. I don’t want to hear a peep out of her.”
He smiled like a little boy on Christmas morning. “I promise. I’ll take care of her. She won’t be a problem.”
“She had better not be. If at any point I decide that she is, then I’m going to splatter her brains along the side of the road and let the buzzards give her a proper burial.”
He just smiled and threw the sobbing woman over his shoulder. Then, the brothers walked out to their car, and he threw her in the trunk. He was already fantasizing about what he would do to her later.
The brothers climbed into the Buick Skylark and peeled out of the parking lot, still stinking from the death that they had left in their wake.
*
A few hours and a few hundred miles later, the Dempsey brothers pulled into the parking lot of a small diner. It was getting late and almost time to stop for the night. Andy couldn’t wait. His heart was ready to burst from the anticipation. The woman in the trunk hadn’t even made a sound, and back at the convenience store, she hadn’t tried to crawl away or shown fear like the others. She was tough. He couldn’t wait to make her scream.
“Why don’t we just forget about this meeting?” he said.
Michael jutted out his lower jaw and stared into the distance, as if trying to center himself. “We can’t keep doing this forever. They’re going to catch us. We’ll either end up dead or locked in a cage. Is that what you want?”
“Cops ain’t smart enough or fast enough to catch us.”
Michael shook his head. “It’s only a matter of time. We’ve tried not to leave a trail, but somebody will eventually get lucky or smart. We will go down, but not if we get out of the country now. Jamie can help us with that.”
“Do you really trust this guy?”
“I don’t trust anybody, but Jamie’s about as close as it gets. We go way back. Besides, it would take somebody scarier than us to make him turn.”
Andy grinned. “And there ain’t nobody scarier than us.”
Michael placed a hand on Andy’s shoulder and squeezed. “That’s right, little brother. So just stay cool. We’ll meet up with Jamie, take care of business, and then you can spend some time with your little playmate.”
The door swung open with a familiar ding that signified the entrance of new patrons. The place looked like one of the typical greasy-spoon restaurants found in abundance along lonely stretches of highway. At this hour, it was nearly abandoned. Other than he and Michael, there were only three people in the whole place.
The first was the cook, a man with short blonde hair. Judging by his athletic physique, he didn’t partake in any of the food that he prepared.
The second person was the waitress, a strikingly beautiful young blonde. She had shoulder-length hair pulled back in a ponytail, but some of the strands were loose and hung onto her face. Her skin was a dark tan that made her hair seem lighter than it actually was.
The third person was the only other customer. He wore a dark jacket and a New York Yankees baseball cap. He sat at the counter on a red and chrome swivel stool, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a hardback novel. A plate flooded with leftover syrup sat in front of him.
The brothers elected for a booth.
“What can I get you to drink?” the waitress said as she offered the menus.
Andy looked up at her with a toothy smile. “I’ll have some coffee—” He looked to her nametag in order to make his response more personal. “—Maggie.”
“Make that two,” Michael replied, eyeing his brother.
“Comin’ right up. I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
Michael leaned in close, a look of disdain on his face. “You’ve already got a plaything in the trunk. You stay cool, alright? Jamie’s going to be here soon. And I’m starving.”
The waitress returned with their coffees, and the brothers drank in greedy sips of the dark liquid. Andy stared at the waitress as she walked around the diner, cleaning off tables. “I’m thinking of trading up. The one in the trunk’s okay. She’ll be fun for a while, but there’s an intensity in that waitress’s eyes that makes my blood boil.”
Michael whispered in a harsh voice that left no room for discussion. “You listen good, little brother. You want her? Fine, we’ll take her. You want to kill them all? Fine. But you’re going to behave yourself until after we’ve taken care of business and I’ve enjoyed my meal. You always—”
“You boys just passing through … or are you visiting friends?” the man at the counter said, putting his book down but still looking forward.
The Dempsey brothers turned to the man. There was something strange about his behavior. Something wasn’t right.
“What difference does it make to you, mister?” Michael said with a hard edge to his voice. “Why don’t you just drink your coffee and mind your own business?”
“What if I’m prepared to make it my business?” the man at the counter said, still not turning to face them.
Michael gave Andy a look, and the younger brother lowered his hand to the gun tucked into his waistband. He felt dizzy and somewhat light-headed. He shook off the sensation and looked around the parking lot. Only a couple of cars. No cops. No S.W.A.T. team. Nothing. Still, he knew something wasn’t right. The guy at the counter was eerily calm, and he obviously wanted something. He felt like he was in a showdown in the middle of an old west saloon. He turned his full attention back to the man at the bar. “You some kinda cop, or just the welcoming committee?”
The man at the co
unter chuckled. “No,” he said. “Actually, I like to think of myself as more of a shepherd.”
The brothers exchanged confused looks.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Michael said.
The man casually turned to the two murderers. There was fire in his eyes. “I keep the wolves away.”
79
Francis Ackerman Jr. stared out across the dark waters of Lake Michigan. The lights of Chicago’s Navy Pier burned brightly at his back. He glanced in the direction of the Grand Ballroom and noticed a couple in their late twenties as they strolled past him. The woman gave him a strange look, as if she had seen him before but couldn’t quite make the connection.
Had she recognized him? He considered slitting their throats and tossing them into the water.
The familiar voice echoed in his mind. We’re going to play a game, Francis … You’re a monster … Kill her, and the pain will stop …
He clenched his fists with such force that his nails penetrated the skin. He concentrated on the pain. He lost himself within the sensation. No. Focus. You’re just being paranoid. He felt the rage begin to lose its color. She couldn’t have recognized me.
He changed his appearance on a regular basis. He had become a real master of disguise, but he hated living incognito. A part of him missed the old days, when he had killed whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But back then, he didn’t care about being caught. He didn’t care about dying. He liked the challenge of the cops being on his heels and being forced to tear through them in order to escape.
But things had changed now. He had discovered his place in the grand tapestry of the universe. He had found his purpose, and his journey was far from over. He was in for the long haul. His excitement swelled as he contemplated his plans for the future and all the games yet to be played.
He had been lying low for some time now. He had learned that he could suppress his hunger through meditation techniques and by cutting himself. Although he had experienced the occasional lapse, he felt that he was doing quite well, making real progress.