Текст книги "Heartless"

Автор книги: Patrick T. Phelps

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Alexander,” Ken said as Alexander had finished arranging the rags, “I have resources that are instructed to find me if I don’t check in every hour. I haven’t spoken to them in over three hours, meaning that they will be here any second. And when they arrive, I will have to beg them to spare your life.”

“Daddy,” Alexander said softly. “Your only resource left in this world was assumed dead on arrival twenty-two years ago.”

With that, Alexander lit the long stretch of rags, which accepted the offered match and slowly turned to low flame. “This fire will certainly capture the attention of the local fire department, but I am afraid to tell you that the department is a volunteer one. Their response will be tardy. And, given the assumption that there is nothing worth risking a life over in this warehouse, they will risk nothing. What I am telling you, dear daddy, is that no one will know you are in this warehouse, screaming and pleading for your life until you can no longer scream or plead.

“Your imagined plan of vengeance was, in fact, nothing more than a way to line your pockets. Mine, however, has nothing to do with revenue. Didn’t you wonder why I suggested that your name and your other son’s name should be included on our ‘lists?’ You assumed having your family listed as targeted victims would provide you cover. I included your names not as a clue but as a thorough list. You were so quick to agree to add your own family’s names to the list of targets, yet you never questioned why I wanted to add them.”

As the flame slowly worked its devouring way from one rage to the next, Alexander walked to the door. As he reached it and pushed it open, he turned, faced Ken and said, “It is nice, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about, you sick, twisted freak?”

“Your twin boys, together again. It’s nice, in its own sick, twisted way.”

The door slammed shut.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Derek understood that his presence anywhere near the vicinity of Hilburn would not be welcomed by the state police or by the NYPD who were certain to have been informed of his “freelancing” involvement. Captain Smith was probably too busy to be tracking his cell phone but not too busy to pass along his name and picture to the NYPD detectives.

When his Google Maps indicated that he was within a mile of Hilburn, Derek pulled in the nearest strip mall, parked his car, grabbed his backpack and started off towards Hilburn on foot. A quick glance at the time suggested that he find a way to kill some time so he could use the cover of darkness to conceal his entrance into Hilburn, which he was certain was being watched by at least several pairs of eyes.

As he spotted a Thai restaurant in the strip mall, he decided that consuming some spicy duck would be as good a way as any to spend a few hours. As he walked in the door, his cell phone rang.

“Derek Cole,” he said.

“It’s Janet O’Connell. I can’t get in touch with either my husband or my son. I need you to find them and make sure they are alright.”

“Janet,” Derek said, “if I’m right about my suspicions, I’m within a mile of them right now.”

“I’m getting on a plane in thirty minutes to fly home. Please, call me the second you see them and let me know everything.”

“I will.”

“And Derek?” Janet added. “Please don’t hurt Alexander. He’s my son, too.”

Janet paused after ending her call with Derek. As she glanced at the boarding pass she had printed out and was holding her hands, she wondered if what she was planning would cause problems. She was told, after all, to stay put, to not talk with anyone, and to wait. Her husband was always very good at giving clear directions.

Janet and Ken met shortly after she had graduated from college. She, the daughter of a self-made millionaire, and he, a struggling entrepreneur with a drive and passion that both attracted and concerned her. She never doubted that Ken would be wildly successful. He wouldn’t have accepted anything less. And with Janet’s father providing a generous amount of startup capital, she knew it would only be a matter of time before her husband would be even more successful that her father.

It took only three years for Ken’s business ideas, hard work, and determination to pay off. He started with a used car lot and then expanded to own seven lots spread across the Chicago area. Within 18 months, she was standing next to her husband, cutting the ribbon to open the first O’Connell Jeep Chrysler Dodge dealership. Within two years, there were two more ribbon-cutting ceremonies, a move out of an apartment that had grown too middle class and into a palatial home and the decision to start a family.

“I’m not interested in a big family,” her husband told her. “One son should be enough. If you produce a daughter first, we keep going but, no matter what, we stop at three kids.”

She agreed once she realized that having four or five kids like she had wished for didn’t make sense.

“A family of five or more creates problems,” Ken insisted. “We stop at no more than three kids, two if I get my son.”

Ken always had solid reasons behind his ideas. She learned to trust him, and after their third year of marriage, her belly expanded with twins, she decided that questioning his directions served no purpose. Her mother did the same in her marriage, and things worked out well for her. She began to understand that her decision to marry Ken assumed a willing acceptance of the role she needed to play.

Over the 26 years of their marriage, Janet learned to keep her ideas to herself. While there were times when she questioned her husband’s decisions, she knew that he was much smarter than she was and had an ability to make things work out for the best. An ability she didn’t see in herself.

She certainly didn’t like many things about her relationship. The nights her husband wouldn’t come home and offered no excuse as to why. The private conversations he would have with business associates, lawyers, accountants and people that Janet felt a particular unease about having in her home. She hated when he told her to “mind her business and mind her place” when she began to offer a suggestion.

In the back of her mind, she knew he was unfaithful and was leading a life very distant from the life she and he were living. Distant and different. But saying anything would risk so much. And who was she to tell him, a man who had given her so much, that she didn’t like how she was being treated? She had a beautiful home, wanted for nothing, and had an enviable position in her community of friends and acquaintances.

But the uneasy stirring in her soul never became silent. At night, as she slept alone, she forced herself to ignore her feelings and to push down her anger. Despite her efforts, the feelings returned each morning and stayed with her through each of her days. She expected that one day, some day, Ken would go too far and then, only then would she make her voice heard.

But was this the day to make herself heard? Ken and Thomas were nowhere to be found. He had told her the day he dropped her off at the airport in Chicago that he’d probably be difficult to get a hold of and that Thomas would out of cell range most of the time. The fact that Derek Cole, a complete stranger, suggested that her husband may be involved in something criminal didn’t surprise her. She couldn’t accept, however, that her son, Thomas, would have involved himself in any of his father’s activities.

She sat down on the edge of her bed in the resort, looking out over the resort’s grounds. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the racing and conflicting thoughts.

“I’m being such a fool,” she said. “Ken always has a plan, and his plans always work out in the end.”

She glanced at the boarding pass in her hand and began to chuckle.

“What exactly could I do anyway?” she said as she crumpled the boarding pass and tossed it on the ground. “It’s simply too nice of a day to spend on a plane.”

She stood and walked over to the room’s door. She paused for a brief moment as she turned and looked at the crumpled boarding pass lying on the floor.

“Ken will make sure Thomas is fine. I just know it.”

Janet made her way to the poolside bar. She ordered a double vodka martini, then found her place in a lounge chair overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean.

Spending two hours in a Thai restaurant turned out to be significantly more difficult than Derek expected. He dragged out ordering his meal for as long as he felt would be tolerated, ordered several glasses of iced tea, and ate as slowly as he could. An hour after he walked into the restaurant, his waitress dropped off his bill and asked if he needed anything else.

“Not right yet,” he responded. “I just want to let my food digest before heading back out.”

At the ninety-minute mark, the owner of the restaurant stopped by Derek’s table to see if everything was okay and asked if Derek needed directions to wherever he was going to.

By the time the second hour drew to a close, the waitress and owner both suggested that Derek find a more comfortable place to finish his digestion.

“I’m actually thinking about getting another order,” he said.

“Kitchen closed now. Come back in three hour,” the owner said in an accent more similar to someone from China than from Thailand.

It was close to four o’clock when Derek started walking down the road that led to Hilburn. He veered off the road and followed an overgrown path that seemed to lead behind the largest of the Hilburn campus’s buildings and up a small, tree covered hill. When he reached the highest point of the hill, Derek sat down and surveyed the area. He could see a marked patrol car parked near the side of the obviously abandoned hospital, several cars parked near other smaller buildings, and a few people walking around the campus. He trained his eyes on the darkened windows of the hospital, hoping to catch some movement.

With the combination of the afternoon sun, the patrol car, and the people walking around the campus all as factors, Derek decided that waiting another few hours for the sun to set would be his best course of action.

He laid down on the path, being sure to conceal his body from anyone looking up towards the hill. After setting his iPhone alarm to vibrate in three hours and using his backpack for a pillow, Derek fell asleep. After only forty minutes, his iPhone began to vibrate.

“Derek, it’s Ralph Fox. Where the hell are ya?”

Still drowsy, Derek told Ralph where he was and what his plans were.

“Well you better be damned careful. Just got word that your prime suspect Ken O’Connell was found dead in an old warehouse down your way.”

“What?” Derek said, too loudly for someone trying hard not to make his position known.

“Fire department got a call of a structure fire. Got there quick enough to put the fire out but not quick enough to save your boss from dying of smoke inhalation.”

“Anyone else in the warehouse?”

“Nope, and before ya ask, ain’t got no leads about who the arsonist was.”

“Think Alexander turned on his dear old dad?”

“Hell of a turn, if you ask,” Ralph said. “Not sure exactly what you expect to gain by getting yourself into that old hospital, but it don’t seem like there’s much reason for you to risk your own neck.”

“I’m kind of invested in this whole thing at this point. Plus, I feel like I owe Stanley and Michelle some peace of mind.”

“You don’t owe them nothin’, in my opinion.”

“Maybe not,” Derek said, “but I feel for Michelle. Kind of have a connection.”

“Ya just gotta make me one promise,” Ralph said.

“What’s that?”

“If things start to get ugly, you get your butt the hell out of the area and let the police handle things.”

“I still need to find out about Thomas O’Connell. If he’s at risk, I am obligated to keep him safe. But if things do turn, I’ll get out.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

William Straus was awake. Thanks to his usually sharp but currently cloudy mind, he knew that he had to keep perfectly still with his eyes closed. He needed to think, to determine his next move. To do so, he needed to know exactly where he was, who was around him, and what was near him that could be used as a weapon. The gun that he had packed as part of his Plan B was in his duffle bag that he placed on the desk in the hub room of ward C. If he was anywhere close to the hub, his first move would be towards the duffle bag.

He thought back to his last memory. He remembered that Alexander had suggested that they should visit Ward C. He recalled throwing himself out of his car, screaming to get someone’s attention, then everything turning black.

His logical conclusion was that he was in Ward C, probably on Alexander’s old bed, based on the familiarity and the lack of pillows. He listened but could hear nothing. No movement, no breathing, and no sounds coming from outside of his immediate area. He lifted his right eye lid just enough to afford him a view and confirmed his thoughts. From what he could see through the dimly lit room, he was alone.

He opened his eyes fully and slowly let his sight roam as far as he could without turning his head. When he was confident that he was alone, he lifted his head. The pain he felt was immediate. Sharp, stabbing, shooting pain. It started from the back of his head and traveled down his entire spine, sending the muscles in his lower back into contractions. Despite the extreme pain, Straus lifted his head off the mattress, glanced around the room identifying familiar objects and shapes, then tried to sit upright. It was then that he realized that his left arm was tied securely to the bed’s frame. So tight that his attempt at testing the knot caused the thin rope to dig into his wrist.

But he was alone in the room. He wondered if Alexander had been apprehended by the police or if Alexander’s father had shown up and was now speaking with him, discussing what terms for release they would present.

Straus rolled to the left side of the mattress, sat up, and began exploring the rope’s knot with his right hand. The battery powered lights that he had positioned in the room had either spent their battery’s life or had been turned off, making his attempt to loosen the knot an entirely kinesthetic attempt. The pain in the rear of his head was throbbing, reminding Straus that something, perhaps something serious, was wrong. He tentatively reached his free hand to his head and felt examined his skull.

“No blood,” he thought. “Just a nasty lump. That’s good”

He continued exploring his body with this free hand and discovered nothing was out of place, bleeding, or twisted into any shape that would prevent him from running once he freed himself from the rope.

He was so attentive to listening for sounds that he almost didn’t notice the wafting smells that suddenly caught his attention. He paused, straining his mind to place the scents.

“Smoke?” he thought. “And something else.”

The smell of stale, distant smoke, was certain but it was mixed with another smell: a smell both blended and separated from the smoky aroma. A distinct and familiar scent that, perhaps due to the throbbing pain that demanded much of his mental energies, could not be labeled as he sat, bound, and still on the mattress. It drew him, called to him, offering a glimmer of comfort and of hope. As his faculties slowly became fully awake, he identified the smell. It was not a pleasant scent yet, to Straus, it was the greatest aroma he could have ever hoped for.

“Tell me, Doctor Straus,” the wafer thin voice of Alexander sounded, cutting through the darkness and pushing the scent from Straus’s mind, “how long had you been arranging your response?”

“Alexander?” Straus answered, quickly twisting his body on the bed towards the origination of the voice. “Let me free. Now!”

“Again, tell me how long you had been arranging your response?”

“What are you talking about? What response?” Straus barked.

“Your response to the recent events that have unfolded.”

“I don’t know what you are referring to, but if you untie me, I am certain that you and I can reach an agreement that will make you, your father, and me happy.”

“My father only wanted money from you, Doctor Straus. Money from you and the rest of the doctors involved. In the end, it was his greed that consumed him. Burned him to the ground, I imagine. I myself have very little use for money, and I’m afraid that there is nothing else you can bring to any negotiating table, should you ever be present at one.”

“Alexander,” Straus said, then paused, “you need me. I can smell what’s going on with your body. You need me. My expertise is what I have as my bargaining chip.”

“You can smell me?” Alexander asked. “How bizarre.”

“That day at the lodge. The day you murdered Jacob Curtis and Peter Adams.”

“Please don’t forget about the stranger I murdered as well. He deserves to be remembered as much as the others.”

“Jacob Curtis was there to tell you news. Did he tell you what we had discovered?”

“I am afraid to say that the words got caught in his throat. But, please tell me, Doctor. I am curious.”

“Did he tell you that he had good news?”

“In fact, he did mention good news. He was almost giddy with excitement.”

“Untie me, and I will tell you,” Straus said, his authoritative voice discovered.

“I struggle to see the benefit of releasing your bonds, Doctor. I struggle.”

“Jacob Curtis did have good news, but that’s not all the news he had.”

“A mystery. How wonderful! Do tell, Doctor Straus.”

“Untie me,” he commanded.

“My struggle for a reason continues,” Alexander said.

Alexander moved from the hub into the bedroom where Straus was sitting. With him he carried a small, battery powered lantern. The fading glow offering its dying light in a small, irregular shape around Alexander. His face and hand were all that Straus could see, seemingly floating into the bedroom. The grayness of his complexion, accentuated by the cool light.

As Alexander entered the room, the smell became more potent. Straus drew a deep breath through his nose, smiled, then craned his neck to better see Alexander.

“You don’t smell it, do you?”

“You need first to identify what ‘it’ is that I should be smelling.”

“Untie me.”

“Tell me what it is that is giving you the confidence to utter commands.”

“The good news,” Straus continued without hesitation, “was that the last test we subjected you to proved, at last, to be successful. We injected your cells with a virus, the cure for which has avoided thousands of doctors around the world.”

“And that virus was?” Alexander said, then moved closer to Straus.

The smell began to overcome Straus. He covered his mouth and nose with his free hand as his eyes began to reflexively water.

“The HIV virus, Alexander. It was the virus that causes AIDS. I’m sure you’ve read about it during your studies.”

“I have. And the results of the test?”

“Your cells seem to provide an effective defense against the virus. In fact, the virus was killed so quickly when introduced to your cells that we had to run the test over several times to be certain. You, Alexander, are the cure to a worldwide epidemic.”

“How exciting,” Alexander said, his sarcasm practically spewing from his mouth. “And what of the other news?”

Straus sensed concern in Alexander’s voice and tone, though his facial expressions remained unchanged.

“Untie me, and I will tell you not only the other news, but I will also tell you how you can prevent your quickly approaching death.”

“Come come, Doctor. Your arrogance surprises even me.”

“Have you noticed that your senses are diminishing? The fact that you can’t even smell the odor your body is releasing should be a sign.”

“And how can you prove that a smell exists? Perhaps your clever mind is latching on to some imagined way to earn your release.”

“I can’t prove it,” Straus admitted. “But I don’t need to prove to you what will soon be evident. If, of course, my estimations are accurate. Tell me, have you noticed that you can’t smell things as easily as you were once able to?”

“And if I have noticed?”

“Jacob wasn’t going to tell you himself. He was waiting for me to arrive to deliver the rest of the news, but then you and your father interrupted things. Do you want to know the rest of the story, Alexander?”

“If only to satisfy my curiosity, yes.”

“The virus, though destroyed by your cells, has also made your cells dependent on it. Without the virus, your cells are decomposing at an alarming rate. Thus, the smell of decay that you carry around with you. The fact that you can’t smell it tells me that, as expected, your brain is rotting away. Slowly but surely, I promise you. However, when I discovered the rapidity at which the virus was breaking down your cells, I also discovered a simple cure.”

“And that would be?”

“Unknown to you and will remain so if you kill me. And based on just how horrible you smell, it will remain forever unknown unless you release me, now.”

The power of the blow Alexander delivered directly to Straus’s face, sent Straus’s head snapping back. His nose was crushed and several of Straus’s teeth were reduced to shards of bone. The blood and broken teeth poured into Straus’s throat, making him cough up a terrible mixture of red and white. He slumped to his side, twisting his left arm beneath him into a position that it was not designed for.

Before he could welcome unconsciousness, Straus felt the iron grip of Alexander’s hand grab his hair and pull his head straight. His body fell limp to his side, and only his head was held upright.

“I’ve grown tired of your games, Doctor Straus,” he heard Alexander say. “Tell me the rest of the news or, I assure you, you will die a very painful and very slow death.”

Straus struggled to speak, but his thoughts were scrambled. Words that needed to be said were locked behind the veil of semi-unconsciousness and crushing pain.

“Tell me, Straus,” he heard again. His head was being shaken much too forcefully for his already damaged neck and brain.

Then, the darkness returned.