But Frank? Can I control him? And what will Mother do if he is alive? Leona gets what she wants. And that’s the problem. Like an unresolved melody, he searched for the notes to set it right. But there she was. I will never get what I want. But what if … it’s not her left standing? Could I do it? Could she? He sat and pondered and realized he’d struck on a crucial truth about his mother. That not only was she capable of killing him, but the more he thought of it, the more certain he became. While it hadn’t shown on her face, killing Jackson infuriated her. Based on a lifetime’s observation, people who crossed Leona met with misfortune, not with pop star fame.
He got up, and as he had the night he killed Jackson, he rewrote mother’s script. He glanced at his watch. Little Jen still had an hour left to her infusion, then it would take another fifteen minutes for Frank to get away and follow his directions to the barn. By then, it would be over. One less living repository of his marvelous formula. He pictured himself consoling Frank, while simultaneously giving him an ultimatum. He’d do it in a gentle way. They’d kiss. Face it Dalton, you like the guy. There was still the matter of the detective … but that could be a simple fix. Tell Frank to break it off, or else. Besides, Dalton knew he was a catch, better looking, younger, rich, and talented. Frank would want for nothing, and once Mother was no longer a factor … We will be unstoppable. I will give you everything, Frank Garfield.
He walked into a darkened stall. Using his cell’s flashlight, he spotted a pile of rags. Those will do. He poked a hole in the can and dribbled the linseed oil and then arranged it on its side, as if it had rusted through in place. DIY gone tragically wrong. People should read the warnings on the label.
He pulled out a lighter. And touched the flame to a grimy bit of plaid. It flickered, nearly went out, and then blossomed with flashes of orange, blue, and gold. Oil trickled onto the straw-strewn floor, the flame danced across it. The air crackled and dense gray, almost black, smoke rose and spread.
‘Nearly forgot …’ He walked back to the trap door and pulled out the piece of wood he’d wedged through the ring. That would have been stupid.
He would have loved to stay and watch. But now was not the time for amateur-hour mistakes.
He walked away from the structure and searched for evidence he might have left. Just a barn, old hay, and an unfortunate woman who’d gone for a hike, had a bad fall, and …
The sky had darkened. A drop landed on his cheek, and then another. Not good. But OK. Not even a full downpour would stop the conflagration. Too much fuel. The thing is done. Sorry, Grace.
He hurried to his car as the skies opened with a wind-whipped torrent. It pounded cozily on the roof as he bounced down the rutted path. The windshield clouded with condensation. He wiped it with his sleeve. He cranked up the defroster.
Something crashed into the hood. The windshield shook and nearly shattered. He slammed on the brakes. Through the misted glass a big animal flew back and landed with a thud. ‘Shit!’ The car fishtailed. It skidded on the loose surface, but not before hitting whatever it was a second time. The right front tire raised up and he heard the crunch of bones.
‘Shit.’
He got out. Thinking it was a deer, and knowing that if it were badly injured or dead he’d need to get rid of it. What he found was quite different.
He stared in disbelief as rain soaked his hair and dribbled down his back. ‘You have got to be kidding. Catalyst my ass.’ There, sprawled flat, legs clearly broken, left arm half under his front tire, and blood trickling from her nose lay Candace Garfield in mud-caked hospital scrubs and a single rubber-ribbed hospital sock.
He nudged her in the ribs with the tip of his boot. She didn’t move. He knelt and felt for a pulse.
Dead. Crap! One body charred beyond recognition could be an accident. Two, ‘Not good.’
He lost no time.
Just get it done and get out of here. He backed up to free her arm, and drove around in front of her. He popped the trunk and with a grunt, hoisted her up. He hugged her into his chest, his nostrils filled with a rank mix of sweat, urine and feces. He bent her at the hips and shoved her head-first into the trunk.
He glanced back at the ruts his tires had made. Not good. Rain pounded down through the woodsy canopy, it formed jagged rivulets which pooled in the tire gashes. I did not need this. Something shiny at the path’s edge pulled his gaze. Great. He retrieved a large kitchen knife. There was blood on the blade and smeared on the handle. He tossed it in back with Candace Garfield’s body, slammed the trunk, and drove off.
THIRTY-NINE
It was one p.m. when Frank pulled the IV needle from Jen’s tiny hand.
‘You look scared,’ she said.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t lie to me.’
‘This time it should work,’ Frank said, aware his audience extended beyond Jen and her exhausted mother.
‘The others are all doing so well,’ Marnie Owens said. ‘Why didn’t it work with Jen?’
‘I don’t know,’ he lied. Because to have voiced the truth, that pharma magnate Leona Lang stole it for herself, would have horrible consequences. ‘Hold pressure,’ he said as he applied a thin gauze pad and followed it with a Looney Tunes bandage. ‘I have to go.’ He smiled. Everyone must think it’s business as usual. His gut churned. Will they let me out of here?
‘You’re going to look for Doctor Grace?’ Jen asked.
He nodded and headed towards the door. He expected it to be locked. It wasn’t. He thought there’d be guards outside. There weren’t.
Like a white-coated rat led to cheese, he headed towards the elevators. Between the expansive glass, open atrium, and the cameras overhead he knew that everything he said or did was observed. They can’t see inside my head. And that was the problem. Because however he turned things, he found no good solution. Dalton and Leona called the shots, they’d done so from the beginning. His attempts to keep control over the process now seemed naïve. Past is past. I follow my breath as it goes in, and I follow my breath as it goes out.
He smiled to the families, high-fived Ben and fist pumped Lakeesha. He managed a ‘good afternoon’ to the guards who seemed to have a new set of orders that included letting him walk out the front doors. So much for worrying about me getting killed by my crazy mother.
Outside, a driving rain sent roiling sheets of water down the U-shaped drive. There was an empty UNICO SUV parked and waiting. He looked around, thought of his mother who was out there somewhere, likely with a butcher knife with his name on it.
The wind and rain brought visibility down to near zero. If I can’t see her, maybe she can’t see me. Right.
He got in. There was a key fob on the passenger seat.
Even without Dalton’s directions, he knew the place he’d been told to go. Grace, Sean, and he had hiked for several miles along the Shepaugh River. They’d speculated on what the various properties they’d passed would cost, including a strange one that was both modern, in an eighties kind of way, and derelict. There’d been a large barn out back. Lots of beer bottles and a few discarded condoms. A good spot for teens to hang out, get high, and mess around.
He headed out. The wipers on high couldn’t keep pace with the downpour.
A siren wailed in the distance. And then another. Blinded by rain, he drove fast. A cop car came up behind him with lights and sirens. You’ve got to be kidding.
He pulled to the curb, and expected them to stop behind him. They flew past, followed by a fire engine, and an ambulance. With a sick certainty he headed after them. He rounded a curb. Through gusts of rain he glimpsed dense black smoke. The emergency vehicles disappeared down an easy-to-miss dirt road. He followed as more sirens screamed at his back.
The unpaved road was pitted and thick with mud and loose rock. Blue and red flashers filled the cab. He smelled smoke. He passed the weird house and an algae-filled pool. He caught glimpses of the swollen river below. Wind howled overhead, as if in competition w
ith the sirens. Trees, thick with spring leaves, cracked, branches snapped and fell.
He hadn’t remembered the barn being so far back. It seemed forever, but then he was there.
Orange flames engulfed the front of it and shot thirty feet high.
He slammed on the brakes, and ran out. ‘Somebody’s in there!’ He shouted to the cops and fire fighters. ‘Grace Lewis is in there.’
He didn’t wait for a response as he ran around the back. His lungs filled with smoke. The rear of the barn had not yet been touched by the flames; he found a door, yanked it open and ran in.
It was a mistake. He was blinded by flame and smoke. ‘Grace!’ he yelled. ‘Grace! Grace!’ He covered his nose with his shirt. Waves of heat pulsed around him. ‘Grace.’ He pulled out his cell and dialed her number. He stood still and waited. His pulse raced. But through the sirens, the crackling flames, and driving rain, he heard the marimba setting of her phone. It came from deeper inside. ‘She’s in here,’ he yelled.
A firefighter ran towards him. He shouted. ‘Mister, get out of there.’
‘No.’ He pressed her number again and ran towards the source of the ring.
The firefighter was joined by a cop. ‘Mister, if we have to pull you out of here … ’
A section of the front collapsed. It kicked up clouds of dust and smoke. Hay strands sparked and ignited in midair as they whirled skyward.
‘Grace!’ He followed the marimba and spotted a pull-handle. The sound came from underground. A cellar. The metal ring was a few feet from the flames, but the heat was unbearable, like being cooked. He couldn’t breathe. He dropped to his knees, and crawled towards the trapdoor.
He grasped the ring, and recoiled as it burned his palm. He ripped off his rain-soaked shirt and both heard and felt it sizzle as he covered the ring, and pulled. At first, there was no movement and then it yanked back and open.
Cool air rushed up.
‘Grace.’ He looked down. It was pitch black, but he could see a bit of light colored something. He flicked to the flashlight on his cell. ‘Grace.’
She was curled on her side, not moving. ‘She’s down here,’ he yelled and was overcome with coughing and raw fear. ‘Down here,’ he croaked, wondering if the cop and fire fighter had followed. There was a metal ladder beneath the trap-door hinge, and he climbed down.
The air was better, but he knew there was no time. He knelt by her side. ‘Grace. Grace.’ He had a sick dread. He shook her shoulders and ran his knuckles hard against her sternum.
She moaned and pushed him away. ‘Stop that. Where? Frank?’
‘Can you get up?’
‘What’s burning?’
‘We are if we don’t get out of here.’
Something crashed above, as another portion of the façade fell. Flaming wisps of hay floated into the cellar. ‘Where are we?’
He helped her sit. She coughed, and by the light of his cell he saw the dark red mark on her temple. ‘He hit you.’
‘I don’t remember.’
Adrenalin, fear, and rage, surged. ‘Grace. We need to climb that ladder. Don’t stand, crawl.’ And then I’m coming for you, Dalton and Leona. He wondered if it might not be better to ride things out in the cellar, but he felt heat through the floor above, and imagined the two of them discovered hours or days later, fully cooked, like a campfire Dutch oven cake.
‘Let’s go.’
Things fell all around. The trapdoor shook. Precious oxygen was sucked from the air by ravenous flames. ‘Come on.’ He dragged her up.
She was unsteady. He couldn’t tell if it was from the blow to the head, the smoke, the heat, or something else. ‘Grip tight,’ he whispered.
‘Ow.’ She recoiled from the metal ladder. ‘It’s too hot. I can’t. This won’t work.’
‘It’s the only way. Here.’ He gave her his shirt, wrapped it around her hands, and pushed her up the chain-link ladder. She paused as her head cleared the opening. ‘Oh my God. Frank. No.’
‘Can you see the back door?’ He held his breath. And heard a different voice.
‘Frank,’ a man shouted.
Sean. Fear surged anew. ‘Stay back.’ He tried to shout, but doubled over with coughs. His throat and nose burned. His shirt landed at his feet. Grace was gone from sight. He tested the metal of the ladder with a finger. It burned.
He wrapped his hands and willed himself upwards. The metal singed his bare chest and shoulders. He made it up but the smoke was too dense to see. He collapsed to his knees and with his head to the ground he squinted. His eyes burned. He couldn’t find the door, or Grace. I’m going to die.
‘Frank.’
He couldn’t speak. Move. He ambled crablike towards Sean’s voice. It seemed miles away, and he knew with certainty, I’m not going to make it. I’m going to die.
But then someone, Sean, and a firefighter grabbed him. They threw something over his head and half carried and half dragged him out. Not a word was said as they muscled him out of the inferno and through the blazing ring of fire around the door.
Frank tripped on the doorframe and tumbled forward. Sean grabbed him, lost balance, and the two of them landed on their butts. ‘Where’s Grace?’ he wheezed, as rain landed cool on his fevered skin.
‘She got out,’ Sean said. ‘We got to get away from this.’ He grabbed Frank’s hand, and with a fierce yank pulled him to his feet and away from the barn.
‘Where is she?’ Frank asked.
He blinked back and spotted her being ministered to by a pair of medics. There were fresh sirens in the distance. Sean’s hand smoothed circles on the bare skin of his back. ‘You’re going to be OK.’ His voice wavered.
Frank shook his head. ‘No. None of this is OK.’ He thought of the Langs. For the first time, things had not gone according to their plan. Grace had nearly died … as had he. They wouldn’t stop. Dalton’s threats hounded him. Even now, as the fire raged, he felt watched. And the danger extended beyond himself and Grace, to Sean, the children, their families. Anyone the Langs felt could control him. He also knew that he no longer served a purpose. They had what they came for. And now they wanted him dead. He turned into Sean.
‘How did you find me?’
‘I followed you from UNICO.’
‘You’ve had me under surveillance?’
‘Yeah. You didn’t answer my calls.’ Sean forced a smile. ‘OK, I turned into a stalker.’
‘You can’t be near me, Sean. You shouldn’t be here.’
Sean lowered his voice, and bumped his forehead to Frank’s. ‘I am exactly where I need to be.’ Rivulets of chill water streamed down their faces, as his lips met Frank’s.
Frank tried to think of all the reasons he needed to send Sean away. But couldn’t.
Grace ambled towards them, an oxygen mask on her forehead, and a soaked white sheet wrapped around her shoulders. She clutched her throat. And silently mouthed ‘Ow.’ The medics trailed after with a gurney.
‘Miss, we need to get you to the hospital.’
‘I’m OK.’ She coughed and couldn’t stop. Her face, already red, turned vivid beet as she gasped for breath. A medic took the mask off her forehead and put it over her face as her partner attached it to the oxygen tank strapped to their stretcher.
Frank looked at his oldest friend. This is because of me. My fault. She nearly died. He pulled back from Sean. ‘My mother. Did they find her?’
‘No.’ He tried to wrap Frank in his arms. ‘No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Frank said. He pushed away.
‘I know this was no accident. And I know that someone is going to pay for it.’
‘You don’t know who you’re up against.’
‘I do. We’ve got to get you and Grace out of here, and far away from the Langs.’
Frank faced Sean. ‘Please leave.’
Sean whispered. ‘No. Not happening.’
Despite everything, Frank couldn’t help but stare into Sean’s eyes.
What he saw was beautiful and too important to put in harm’s way. ‘They’re vicious. They will use those kids to get to me … They already have.’
‘What do you mean? And let’s get out of the rain. There …’ he pointed towards a small derelict lean-to. ‘Come on.’
‘They made me give them the compound … all of it,’ Frank said. He shivered. ‘They used the children.’
‘We get them out of here,’ Sean said.
Frank heard uncertainty in Sean’s voice. ‘They’re two steps ahead. Now that they have what they want … none of us matter. If they thought they could get away with it, they’d get rid of all traces of this experiment. Oh my, God.’
‘They’re not invulnerable. They’ve made mistakes. Like this. They wanted Grace dead. She’s not.’
Frank looked at the engulfed barn, the flames less high as the final walls caved. The firefighters hadn’t attempted to save the structure, but focused on preventing the conflagration from touching off a forest fire in the fuel-rich woods.
Grace argued with the medics who tried to coax her into their ambulance.
‘She’s not safe. Once they know she’s alive …’ His teeth chattered.
‘Understood.’ Sean looked down at a molded plastic horse trough. It was filled with brackish water and tadpoles scurried in its depths. ‘Sit, I’ll be right back.’
Frank watched as Sean jogged over to the medics. He showed them his shield, and pointed back at Frank. One nodded and motioned him towards the back. Grace took the opportunity to ditch the oxygen and head towards Frank.
A pair of state troopers, the same ones who’d been dispatched to his car accident also approached. ‘Dr Garfield, are you OK?’
Elixir Page 21