99 Souls

  “...back...”

  “...our right...”

  Mark, who only had one of his ears covered by the headphones, heard it and reacted. “Stay here,” he said to everyone in the command center.

  He hopped out and walked around the van. Reporters had started to gather on the other side of the police tape that cordoned off Trevor’s property and the road in front of it. The writers were demanding answers to their questions while their associates took photographs. However, the uniformed officers guarding the scene didn’t respond.

  So far, there were just a few journalists, all gathered together, but more were certainly coming.

  Only one of the teams to have arrived so far worked for a television station. With its satellite dish mounted to the top of a van and its call letters plastered across the side, the station was easy to identify.

  WSB.

  Shit.

  It was Trout’s station.

  “Hey! Mark!” Tom shouted when he saw his childhood friend. Unlike the print journalists who had gathered at the tape, Tom was standing by his van with a paper bib tucked into the collar of his shirt. A young woman was applying make-up to his face.

  Closer to the back of the WSB van, a camera man set up his tripod. Apparently, they were planning to stay a while.

  Mark nodded to Tom.

  Tom pulled off the paper bib and jogged toward the tape. “Can we talk?”

  Mark waved him through.

  As the two stepped away from the reporters, the print guys shouted about favoritism. Once they were far enough from the police tape to hear each other without raising their voices, Tom asked, “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  Tom nodded at the two-story Victorian behind Mark. “You guys found one of the ‘God is Blind’ killers in there.”

  Mark looked away, not sure if he should lie.

  “Come on. It’s not like one of my guys didn’t hear it on the police scanner. I want the details. You owe me. I didn’t have to put that small-time story on the air about a missing child earlier today, especially not after your partner made more out of it than there was.”

  Tom’s eyes got wide as he put the pieces together. “Is that missing boy in there?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  “I’m right, aren’t I? The boy’s in there.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t deny it, either.”

  “Fine,” Mark said. “You’re right. We’re trying to get him out, and right now we don’t know how many other hostages are inside or if our perp is working alone. I’ll give you an exclusive after we’re done here, but keep as much as you can to yourself for now. This guy’s unstable. He’s killed a cop and I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

  “Exclusive?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, I won’t broadcast anything the other stations aren’t. But you better keep your word.”

  “I always have,” Mark answered.

  Chapter 51

  “THERE ARE ALSO LITTLE THINGS THAT make live worth living,” Sarah said to Trevor. “Like the joy you feel when you see a rainbow or your first kiss, or—”

  “This has been fun, Sarah, but time is running out for Brandon. How are the cops coming with my request?”

  “They’re working on it. I promise they are. But I’m afraid...”

  “Of what?”

  “What if they can’t get you what you want in time? Brandon has a life ahead of him. I know he’s your son, but he’s mine, too. I want him to live it.”

  “Then I suppose you should hurry them up.”

  THE RRV ROLLED to another vent.

  As the driver examined the foyer, he noticed a tall, thin man walk in front of the camera. He switched on the audio.

  “THEY’RE DOING everything they can,” Sarah said. “I don’t know if an hour’s enough time.”

  She braced herself, expecting Trevor to make more threats against her son. But he said nothing. That worried her.

  “Are you there?” she asked.

  The officers in the command center looked at each other. They could hear him breathing on the other end. He crossed the room, his footfalls quick.

  At the same time, Steven Hartwell jumped up from his chair, “You’re not going to believe this!” he exclaimed.

  AS TREVOR PACED the foyer, he found himself reflecting on the gray-eyed creatures he had killed in this room.

  Humans called them angels. To Trevor, they were simply God’s gray-eyed creatures. They had no name, and he refused to refer to them by the one man had given to them. To be called an angel, one should be kind, pure, innocent. Only his children were angels.

  When Sarah said she worried if an hour was enough time, he thought, You’ll make it enough time! But before the words could come out of his mouth, he saw something poking out of the vent along the far wall.

  It was no bigger than his thumbnail.

  He went to get a better look. He yanked the RRV’s periscope up. The rover’s body slammed against the top of the vent. The periscope dislodged and Trevor pulled it all the way through the grate.

  The wires hanging from it looked like veins dangling from a disjointed limb.

  He tossed it aside, then simultaneously used one hand to hang up the cordless and the other to rip the cover off the vent.

  “WHAT THE FUCK!?” shouted the guy manning the RRV, as he watched the periscope’s view go blurry and wild before it turned into static.

  “Get it out of there!” said the guy on the laptop.

  The driver flipped the switch from periscope to wheels and used his thumb to press the left stick down, which would send the rover backward.

  THE RRV BEGAN to move, but not fast enough.

  Trevor reached a hand into the vent and grabbed the rover. As he pulled it out, its wheels struggled for traction.

  When he had the RRV fully extracted from the vent, he crushed it underfoot. Metal bent. Electronics snapped. Wheels stopped spinning.

  BARELY SECONDS AFTER Trevor hung up on Sarah, Frank Norcross received a frantic call over his radio announcing that the RRV had been destroyed.

  “Shit!” he said. That was it. They were blind. Trevor was pissed. Brandon would die.

  Chapter 52

  “GET HIM BACK ON THE PHONE,” the negotiator told Sarah. “Right now. Get him back on the phone.”

  Sarah pushed down the receiver to clear the line, then pressed zero.

  The tension in the air thickened with every ring. After two minutes, she hung up.

  Mark, Frank, and Jeff threw off their headphones and all started speaking at once, pointing fingers and assigning blame for the shit-storm that was unfolding under their watch. Each insisted he knew what they should do next.

  “Guys!” Steven Hartwell shouted, his face stricken with excitement and terror. “Listen to me! This is important!”

  “What is it, E.T.?” Norcross asked.

  “It’s about the ‘God is Blind’ murders.”

  Everyone stopped talking to hear what he had to say.

  “Trevor Borin is the ‘God is Blind’ murderer.”

  “We know that,” Frank said.

  “No, I mean he’s the only one. He’s it. You bring him in and the killings stop.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Mark asked.

  “I cross-checked the U.S. Passport database against the dates bodies have been found. He’s been in every country where a murder happened at the time the murder occurred.”

  Everyone was silent for a moment as they absorbed the news. Once the weight of the revelation sank in, the officers began arguing about how to proceed.

  “Why don’t we use a flashbang?” Les interjected.

  A flashbang, also known as a stun grenade, is an explosive device that produces a bright flash of light and a loud noise. It was intended to disorient anybody within range. While deemed non-lethal, it was rarely used when civilian hostages—especially children—were involved. The concussive no
ise produced could permanently damage one’s hearing and the heat could ignite flammable materials or cause serious burns.

  Les felt sick when she imagined using it if her son were in there, but it seemed like a better solution than any that were on the table. The worst, and the one that was getting the most attention, was the idea of armed officers charging through the front and back doors without any sort of distraction.

  “What’s a flashbang?” Sarah asked.

  “It’s a small explosion of light and sound used to disorient the perp,” Les said, wanting to downplay the dangers of the device.

  “Will it hurt Brandon?”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  Frank shrugged. “Should be.”

  “‘Should be?’ What’s that mean?”

  “Sarah,” Mark said, “with the way things are going, we need to act now. This is our best chance for getting Brandon out alive.”

  “Jeff?” Sarah asked.

  Jeff bit his lip. “Frank, what did your guys see inside before our suspect destroyed the RRV?”

  Frank radioed the officers who had been manning the vehicle, then reported: “As far as they could tell, he’s working alone.”

  “What about the number of hostages?”

  “We’re not sure. Didn’t see any, but they could be upstairs.”

  “Then, Sarah, I agree at this point. After finding the RRV, he’ll be even more insistent about having his demands met quickly, and even more likely to kill Brandon when they aren’t.”

  Sarah’s face tensed and her eyes glistened like she was about to cry.

  “I need to get my men in place,” Frank said. He hopped out of the command center and started shouting orders.

  Jim put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders to comfort her. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

  Chapter 53

  TREVOR HAD KNOWN FROM THE BEGINNING that they wouldn’t likely give him safe passage out of the country, but with his house was surrounded and unable to cloak himself, he didn’t know what else to do.

  Now, with the bullet hole in his floor and the crushed RRV by his feet, he was certain that the police weren’t going to let him walk away. Whether Brandon lived or died (not that the option of Brandon living actually existed), they planned on taking him into custody.

  He paced the foyer, ignoring his ringing phone.

  Over the centuries, Trevor had educated himself on all kinds of religions. Often he found them absurd, yet he could feel that his way out of this situation was buried somewhere in that mass of knowledge.

  As he walked himself through the philosophies of Greek and Roman mythology, Witchcraft and Paganism, then to Voodoo, he remembered a trick practiced by some Voodoo priests.

  Using techniques that only they knew, they were able to bring the deceased back to life in a hypnotized state—a ritual referred to as zombification.

  Though Trevor had never been taught the secrets that make this resurrection possible, he’d learned enough from these priests to send his own subjects into a highly suggestible state. He had later perfected his technique so that he could execute it in mere seconds, which was how he was able to calm his children or render them unconscious by just his touch.

  Brandon’s doll, the only one not yet in the duffle bag, sat on the small table in the foyer. Looking at it, Trevor recalled watching through the peephole when Brandon cracked the piece of porcelain with just his thoughts. He remembered how he had exploded the water glass at the old woman’s house. Brandon’s gift would be much stronger when he could access it fully.

  For Brandon’s conscious mind, the power of this gift still hid behind many locked doors that would take years to open. However, if Trevor brought him back in a state of hypnosis, the boy would have immediate access to that power. Trevor wasn’t entirely sure how to pull this off, but he had some gifts at his disposal that the priests didn’t have. Hopefully, they’d allow him to bypass their rituals. Even if it didn’t work, he had to try. After all, who else would guard his dolls? Who would collect the rest of his children to protect them from mankind until the apocalypse came to pass? No one.

  He grabbed the doll and leapt up the stairs. In the guest bedroom, he found Brandon’s body on the floor where he had left it. Holding the doll in his left hand, he kneeled beside his son and placed his right palm on Brandon’s forehead.

  This time, instead of the light emerging from the darkness between his hand and his child, it emerged from between his hand and the doll. As it grew brighter, the overhead lamp buzzed, dimmed, flickered. The light swelled into a blinding flash that overtook the room, then disappeared.

  Trevor waited, but Brandon’s eyes didn’t flutter. His chest didn’t move with an intake of oxygen. He remained as still as he had when he was dead.

  With his hand still on Brandon’s forehead, Trevor was able to see into the blackness of his son’s unconsciousness. And in that blackness, he was able to see his son’s soul—a pulsating ball of light, stretching and straining at its edges, struggling to reclaim the body it once inhabited. It was during this transition that Voodoo priests managed to take control of their subjects.

  Connecting with Brandon’s soul, he was able to guide it back to its former shape and implant the idea that Trevor was his master. His voice was the only one Brandon need heed. His words were the only truth Brandon need know.

  As fast as he could, Trevor attached the soul to the heart and Brandon’s blood started to flow. He attached the soul to the lungs and Brandon started to breathe. He attached the soul to the brain and Brandon started to think.

  Trevor took his hand off his son’s forehead. “Open your eyes,” he commanded.

  Brandon did.

  Except for that single action, his body remained still. No emotion showed on his face. He was a living machine.

  “Stand up.”

  Brandon got to his feet.

  “Follow me.”

  Trevor led Brandon out of the room, down the stairs to the foyer.

  Every step Brandon took was without hesitation and without haste. He descended the stairs one slow step at a time.

  Trevor stopped at a window and Brandon did the same.

  “I’m going to pull back the curtain just a little,” Trevor said. “When I do, I want you to glance outside. Remember everything.”

  Brandon gave no indication that he understood, but Trevor knew he did. Trevor pushed the curtain aside barely an inch, and his son did as he’d been told.

  “Now go have a seat on the stairs.”

  He did.

  “Do you remember what you saw?”

  Sitting on the stairs with his feet planted on the floor and his hands on his knees, Brandon nodded.

  “You remember the police cars?”

  He nodded again.

  “The officers and bystanders?”

  He nodded a third time.

  “Every detail?”

  Brandon confirmed he did.

  “I want you to imagine that scene as I tell you to, and I want you to make your imagination real...”

  Chapter 54

  SWAT OFFICERS IN ARMORED BLACK uniforms, some holding ballistic shields, lined up at the front gate. As soon as the flashbang exploded, they would rush the house.

  Their first priority was to bring down Trevor, preferably alive. Despite the evidence, they couldn’t be certain he was the only one responsible for the “God is Blind” killings. They wanted the chance to interrogate him. It was possible that he traveled from one city to another to meet with others who participated in the killings or committed them under his direction.

  Their second was to save any hostages.

  Once again standing at the gate that surrounded Trevor’s property, Sarah paid more attention to the house than the officers. Her son was somewhere inside that old Victorian.

  Although she wasn’t more than twenty miles from her home, she felt as if her journey had taken her further than any one previous, perhaps because emotionally and psychologically, it had. She couldn’t shak
e the feeling that if she could get inside Trevor’s house, she could bring Brandon home alive.

  “What’s a flashbang?”

  “It’s a small explosion of light and sound, used to disorient the perp.”

  “Will it hurt Brandon?”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Should be.”

  Should be.

  But what if he’s in the room where the explosion is set off? Could a child survive the blast? If it was safe, why hadn’t they used it right away?

  There was something the police weren’t telling her.

  Sarah imagined herself running past the SWAT team into the house. They wouldn’t set off the flashbang or charge in once she was inside, she reasoned. Not right away, at least. They would want to regroup.

  Standing beside her, Jim put his hand on her back. “They’re going to get him out,” he said, but she didn’t hear him. She heard only the sound of her quickening heartbeat as she replayed that run in her head over and over.

  Action may not always bring happiness, but there is no happiness without action.

  This quote was from Benjamin Disraeli. It was exactly what she needed to hear.

  She broke into a run.

  “Shit. Sarah! What are you doing?” Jim shouted.

  She darted past the SWAT team, through the open gate, and headed for the front door. Ignoring the voices demanding she stop, she grabbed the door handle and turned it.

  To her surprise, it opened, and with everyone’s attention on her as she disappeared into the house, no one noticed when one of the reporter’s cars began to shake.

  Chapter 55

  TREVOR’S HOUSE WAS SURROUNDED BY dozens of vehicles, parked this way and that. They belonged to officers, journalists, and a few curious citizens that had seen the cops whiz past their houses and down the isolated road that led to Trevor’s. Many neighbors had shown up on foot. A few had driven as far as they could. Regardless of how they got there, they all crowded up to the police tape for a better view.