99 Souls

by Gabriel Burns

  “Good. At least we got that. Anyone else here have the training to speak to him until the negotiator arrives?” Mark asked.

  Frank shook his head.

  Damn. Right now, the only thing worse than doing the wrong thing was doing nothing, Mark told himself. Left alone in the house, Trevor’s nerves could get the better of him and he could decide to kill hostages. “All right. I’ll talk to him until the negotiator arrives.”

  Sensing his insecurity, Frank asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to wait?”

  “I’m sure.” Mark lifted the receiver to his ear and pressed zero.

  The phone rang twelve times before he hung up.

  Somehow, he had to get their suspect to answer. He glanced around the small commander center for a bullhorn. When he didn’t see one, he asked, “You got a loudspeaker around here anywhere?”

  “In my car.”

  “Go get it for me.”

  After Frank left, Mark stepped out of the van. The house was surrounded by a ten-foot-tall wrought iron fence with square top spear points and center-punched pickets. From where he stood, he had an unobstructed view.

  Mark stared at the house while he waited. He was overcome by the feeling that there was a darkness to it that was more sinister than any other place he’d been—almost as if it were a living, breathing, evil thing.

  “Hey,” said Frank from behind, to get his attention. Mark turned around and Frank handed him the bullhorn. “Here ya go.”

  Mark nodded thanks. With the bullhorn held up to his lips, he said, “We know you’re in there. We need you to answer the phone. We all want this to end well, okay? But that can’t happen if you don’t talk to us.”

  He lowered the bullhorn and watched the windows for a sign that Trevor understood.

  “What do you think?” asked Frank.

  “I think we should try to call him again.”

  Mark preceded Frank as they climbed back into the mobile command center, where Steven was still working at the computer. “What’s he doing over there, anyway?” Mark asked.

  “Getting as much information as he can on our suspect.”

  “Seriously?” He turned to Steven. “What have you got?”

  “Not yet,” Steven answered, without taking his eyes off the screen.

  “What do you mean ‘not yet’?”

  “There’s something screwy here. I need to sort it out.”

  Mark sighed. There was no reason to press Steven on it. He knew bad information got people killed. He’d just have to wing it for now. He tried the phone again. This time someone answered.

  “I’m here,” said a dry, calm voice.

  “Thank you for picking up.”

  Frank put on a pair of headphones that were wired into the phone line so he could listen in.

  “You’re right. We both want this to end well.” For reasons he couldn’t identify, the voice gave Mark chills.

  “Let’s make that happen, then. Could you tell me if everyone in there is still alive?”

  “For now,” Trevor lied.

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “That’s up to you.”

  Sweat beaded on Mark’s forehead. He had been in the hot seat plenty of times. As a patrol officer, he’d had a gun pulled on him twice during routine traffic stops. Once, when he was working undercover, he’d been beaten to just this side of death. Since becoming a detective, he’d been in five shootouts and four standoffs, during which he’d been shot in the arm and the chest. He’d survived the latter only because he had been wearing a bulletproof vest. However, none of those situations had prepared him for this.

  Les stepped into the command center and placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

  “How many people have you got in there?” Mark asked.

  “Why would I tell you that?”

  “Did you find the cop?” Frank whispered to Les.

  Les shook her head no.

  “Ask him if he’s got the cop,” Frank whispered to Hammond, and Hammond did.

  “I do,” said Trevor.

  Since she couldn’t hear what Trevor was saying, Les looked questioningly at Frank.

  He nodded.

  “Is he alive?” Mark asked.

  “He is.”

  “And Brandon Winslow?”

  “Who?”

  “The boy you abducted last night.”

  “Ah, him... Yes, he is here. Alive.”

  “Who else do you have in there?”

  “You ask a lot of questions. I think it’s my turn to ask one. Is Brandon’s mother there?”

  Mark wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his jacket and looked to Frank for what he should say.

  Frank shook his head.

  “No,” Mark told Trevor.

  “That’s too bad. I think I’d rather speak to her.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You should get her here. That is... if you’re serious about making sure these hostages get out alive.”

  Trevor hung up.

  “What do we do?” Les asked.

  “We can’t let him talk to Sarah,” Mark said.

  Frank tossed his headphones onto the desk. “What choice do we have?”

  “I’ll call him back. I can reason with him.”

  Frank grabbed Mark’s wrist as he was reaching for the receiver. “No. You wanted to keep him on the phone so you could keep him calm, right? Well, right now, all he wants to do is speak to Brandon’s mother. It’s a simple request, and one we should grant. At the very least, it should buy us some time until the real negotiator arrives.”

  Chapter 46

  BEFORE MARK WAS WILLING TO CONCEDE, he insisted the lieutenant find out how far away the negotiator was.

  “Twenty minutes,” Frank told him, when he got off his cell phone.

  Mark, Les, and Frank were standing on the street outside the command center. They discussed their options while the sun crawled toward the horizon and a growing number of onlookers gathering on the other side of the police tape.

  “That’s a long time,” Mark said, putting his hands on his hips.

  “Might as well be hours,” Frank said. “I’m sure our suspect knows we’re here for more than one kidnapped boy.”

  “I think we should put her on,” Les said, while Mark lit another cigarette.

  He looked at her with surprise. He had figured Les would want to keep Sarah as removed from the situation as possible. “Are you sure? That’s her son in there, you know. She couldn’t possibly maintain control in a situation like that.”

  “Don’t underestimate her. She’s already proven herself to be one tough cookie. Anyway, if he dies because we didn’t put her on the phone... I hate to think what that would do to her.”

  “You sure?” Mark asked her.

  “I’m sure.”

  Mark took another drag from his cigarette, giving himself time to mull this over. “Get her.”

  WHEN LES RETURNED WITH Sarah and Jim, Mark asked her, “You understand what we need you to do?”

  “I think so.” Sarah noticed that Frank seemed concerned, and that the concern was for her. She could imagine how she must look to him. Eyes bloodshot and sunken from lack of sleep. Her hair unkempt, clothes ill-fitting. Self-consciously, she brushed her bangs away from her forehead, then turned her attention back to Mark. “You need me to keep him busy until the negotiator gets here.”

  Mark dropped his cigarette on the ground. Grinding it out with the toe of his shoe, he said, “That’s about the size of it. Are you up for it?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Let’s get to it.”

  Frank pointed to the mobile command center. “Everyone in the van.”

  They crowded inside, ignoring Steven Hartwell.

  Sarah was overwhelmed by the sophistication of the mobile command center. She had expected to find outdated electronics running outdated software. She had expected it to be dingy and dark. Instead, it contained the sleek mobile work stations that had imp
ressed Mark and a dizzying number of switches and lights.

  Frank plugged in three more headsets so everyone, including Jim, could listen in on the conversation. Frank made sure Sarah was ready, then told her how to dial the house.

  “Find out what he wants,” Frank said, just before she pressed zero.

  Trevor answered, but didn’t say a word.

  After a long silence, Sarah asked, “Hello?”

  “Sarah. It’s nice to speak to you.” Trevor’s words flowed off his tongue with a melody that she didn’t remember him having before.

  “How is Brandon?” Sarah noticed a tremor in her voice. She tried to control it. “Is he okay?”

  “I give you my word, his soul is safe.”

  Although that was a strange way to answer the question, she didn’t dwell on it. She was just glad to hear he was alive. “Can I speak to him?”

  “Not right now, I’m afraid.”

  Waving his fingers in the air, Frank prodded her to move on.

  “What do you want?” she blurted out.

  Still, Trevor’s voice remained calm. “Do you know why I asked for you? I want somebody who will be honest with me. I know you won’t play games. After all, you don’t want to see anything bad happen to your son.”

  Sarah nervously twisted the phone cord around her finger. “Okay, so what do you want?”

  “I want safe passage out of the country.”

  Frank shook his head no.

  “I don’t think they’re going to do that,” Sarah said.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just...” She trailed off.

  The silence weighed heavy between them until he said: “You know what I’ve done... Then you know what I’m capable of... Imagine what I’ll do if I don’t get what I want.”

  “Please, just let my son go. You’ve still got the cop. You don’t need Brandon to negotiate your way out of this.”

  WHEN SWAT HAD ARRIVED, snipers had taken up positions around the house, making sure every window and door was covered. And while Sarah was on the phone with Trevor, one of those snipers found himself with a head shot.

  Perched in a tree across the street from the perp’s house, David Bernhard was watching one of the few windows that was unobstructed by curtains when Trevor stepped into view. He used his scope to lock in on his target and his headset to radio the news to Lieutenant Frank Norcross. “I got eyes on him. Green light requested.”

  Frank, who had his headphones covering only one ear, heard the announcement from the walkie-talkie attached to his waist and immediately responded. “Green light! Green light! Take it!”

  David licked his lips. After making sure his hands were steady and his crosshairs were spot on, he pulled the trigger.

  TREVOR TOOK A STEP away from the window at that very moment.

  The bullet shattered the pane and buzzed past him, slicing a hole through a leather wingback chair in the living room before lodging itself in the floor.

  As glass shattered, Trevor dove to the ground. The near miss reminded him how his life was no longer protected by the will of God, but this was the closest he had ever come to dying. The fear of death and the excitement of surviving were new, adrenaline-inducing sensations.

  Still holding his cordless, Trevor pushed himself to his knees and peeked out the window. He couldn’t see the sniper, but he could see that the creatures surrounding his house had doubled in number. Where the bullet had passed through them, their hazy, glowing bodies had been pulled apart. The light and space of which they were made trailed after the bullet like smeared yellow paint.

  The beings sucked that light back into themselves and became whole again.

  Trevor ducked below the window frame and jerked the curtain closed before the sniper could take another shot.

  From the phone, he heard Sarah’s desperate voice. It sounded tinny. “Are you there? What happened? Can you speak to me?”

  He put the phone to his ear. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted.

  “I didn’t—”

  “You think it’s a good idea for them to take a shot at me when your son is in here?”

  SARAH LOOKED TO THOSE around her for an answer. She wasn’t aware a shot had been authorized.

  Frank put his hand over the receiver she was holding and told her.

  Her eyes became watery. “I didn’t know what they were doing. I swear, I didn’t. Please, please don’t take it out on Brandon. I’m here. I want to work with you. I’ll make sure you get whatever you want. Please!”

  “You better.”

  “I will. Please, don’t do anything to Brandon.”

  “Brandon is safe as long as you get me on my way out of the country within an hour.” Trevor hung up the phone.

  Sarah slammed the receiver down and spun around to face Frank and Mark. Les and Jim, who had been standing on her other side during the call, were now behind her. “You could have gotten my son killed!”

  “What was that about, Lieutenant?” Mark asked Frank, equally enraged. “I told you all orders were to come through me. I’m running this scene, not you!”

  “There wasn’t time to go through a committee,” Frank fired back. “One of my men had a shot and I told him to take it. I’d do it again. I’ll let you run strategy all you want, but if our perp walks in front of an open window and my team only has seconds to act, you can bet your ass there’s not going to be a vote.”

  Although Frank was in better shape than Mark, Mark shoved him across the van. “Don’t be a goddamn cowboy!”

  Les stepped forward, putting one hand on each of their chests. “Calm down, boys.”

  “You know what he’s a part of,” Mark said. “This is the closest we’ve come to bringing down the ‘God is Blind’ killers. It’s not just about getting Brandon out alive. We need to know what he knows.”

  “Wait. What?” Sarah asked. She sat down in one of the workstation chairs. All she had gathered from the conversation in the car on the way over was that there might be more hostages in the house than just Brandon. Apparently it was much worse than that. Her fear of being targeted by the “Got is Blind” killers had come to fruition.

  Jim’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” Mark said. “I found out on our way to the house. I didn’t want to alarm you, but maybe it’s best you know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Oh, my God.” Sarah put a balled fist to her mouth and bit down.

  “Frank’s not going to do something stupid like that again. Are you, Frank?”

  Frank shook his head no.

  “We’re going to get Brandon out of this alive. I promise.”

  Just then, a crackling voice came over Frank’s radio: “You better get out here.”

  “What’s going on?” Sarah asked.

  “I’ll find out,” Frank said, then exited the van.

  STANDING OUTSIDE THE gate, Frank could see that Trevor’s front door had been opened a crack. As he waited for something to happen, he hoped the near-death experience had scared the kidnapper into surrendering. He imagined their perp was just on the other side of the door, working up the courage to step out.

  But when the door swung open, it wasn’t Trevor they saw.

  A limp, unidentifiable body was flung out the door. It arced upward, tumbling feet over head, before landing several steps away from the porch.

  The front door closed.

  At first, everyone—officers and onlookers alike—stared in silent shock as they imagined the strength it must take to toss a two-hundred-pound man as easily as a stuffed doll.

  When the shock wore off, Frank realized that the discarded body was that of a cop. It had to be Noah Bramston, he determined.

  He yanked his radio from his belt. “Go, go, go! That’s one of ours! Get him out of here!”

  As commotion flared, Sarah pushed her way out of the van to see what was going on. Mark and Les followed her.

  Four officers, dressed in riot gear, charged forward with pol
ycarbonate shields held out in front of them. They lifted the body and carried it off the property. They didn’t stop to determine if the officer was alive before loading him into the back of an ambulance with the help of the EMTs.

  The ambulance driver flipped on the siren and sped away.

  Sarah grabbed hold of the iron fence surrounding the property. “You bastard!” she shouted. “Jesus, look at that! That could have been Brandon!” She turned around. Looking from Frank to Mark to Les, she said, “You can’t let that happen to Brandon. You just can’t! No more shooting.”

  “No more shooting,” Mark promised.

  “You gotta get him out of there.” She wiped her tears away with trembling hands.

  TREVOR GRABBED A duffle bag from the hall closet and hurried down to the basement. He placed it on the floor in front of his ceramic dolls, then grabbed a stack of old, paint-stained rags from one corner.

  Before he began wrapping each doll and putting them in his bag, he took a moment to look over his collection. These dolls represented just a small fraction of his total offspring. Even so, he was proud to have found so many of them.

  Their souls stared back at him, watching him through lifeless eyes. He kneeled and placed his hands over his heart. With their souls listening to him through lifeless ears, he said, “I love all of you.” And knowing that their souls were afraid, that they were unable to tremble in their lifeless bodies, he tried to comfort them by adding: “Your wait is almost over.”

  He lifted one of the rags so all the dolls could see it. “We’re leaving this house. I’m going to wrap each of you in a rag like this to protect you until we reach our destination. It will be dark for a long time, but don’t be scared.”

  He picked the first doll off the shelf: Nicole Archer. She had been a biologist working at the University of Virginia. Her short, frizzy brown hair, tiny eyes, and round cheeks had been exquisitely replicated in her doll.

  After caressing her hair with one finger, he wrapped her up, placed her in the duffle bag, and moved on to the next one.