Cody McFadyen - Shadow Man

"All you'll have to do is fill in some specifics and print it off."

"Good."

My cell phone rings after we've pulled up to the FBI building and are heading toward the entrance.

"This is Agent Barrett."

"Greetings, Agent Barrett." The voice is clear and undisguised. I motion for everyone to be silent.

"Hello, Dr. Hillstead."

"Bravo to you, Smoky. Bravo. I have to say, I wondered if Renee Parker would ever come back to haunt me. I broke one of the commandments with her--I hadn't found you yet, but I displayed my work regardless. I just couldn't help myself. I thought after twenty-five years . . . ah well. Best-laid plans. And giving Street the locket and book, well . . . he begged me for something . And he really did deserve a token. He was such a good student. Very enthusiastic." He chuckles. "Of course, I played around with the idea of trying to pin her murder on him, but here we are. Ah well."

His voice is the same, but its tone and the way he uses it are different. He speaks with a kind of sick frivolity and a properness I never heard from him in his office.

"You know?" I ask.

"Of course I know. I just stated that I have wondered about Renee, did I not? It wouldn't have been prudent of me to wonder and not prepare for this eventuality. Of course, this changes the game for good."

"How is that?"

"Why--you know my identity. You know who I am. That means the end of me. Me and mine have always existed in the shadows, Agent Barrett. We don't aspire to the light, nor do we thrive in it. Such a shame too. Do you know how many years I had to sit and listen to you people whine, while I searched for my Abberline? The endless hours of pretending to care, and worse--having to truly help these weak and broken worms, just so I could continue my search?" He sighs. "And find you I did. Perhaps I did too well."

"It doesn't have to be that way, Dr. Hillstead. I can bring you in."

He chuckles. "I don't think so, Smoky. We'll address that in a moment. First, I have a confession to make to you. Do you remember that night with Joseph Sands, my dear?"

I am calm. His words don't anger me. "You know I do, Peter."

"Did you ever read the file? In full, I mean? Including the notes regarding his ingress into your home?"

"I read the file. Minus the ballistics report you had removed, of course. Why?"

Silence. I imagine I can hear him smiling. "Do you remember if there were any signs of forced entry?"

I am about to tell him that I am bored of this. That I want to know where he is. Something stops me. I think about what he said and try to recall what I had read. I remember. "There weren't any signs of forced entry."

"That's correct. Would you like to know why?"

I don't respond.

I think of Ronnie Barnes, the dates. Barnes died on the nineteenth and Sands killed my family on the nineteenth.

"For the most obvious reason, Smoky. He had a key. Why force a lock if you can just walk in the door?" He laughs. "You're allowed one guess as to how he acquired that key." A pause. "Why--from me, dearest Smoky. From me."

I can see my reaction in James's and Alan's eyes. Alan takes one step away from me, and looks very, very cautious. I'm not surprised. I have been stricken speechless by the need to murder that runs through me, replacing the blood in my veins.

My head is filled with the roar of shotguns. My eyes are burning, and the rage--it is that same rage I felt tied to the bed as Joseph Sands hurt and destroyed my Matt.

My Matt and my Alexa, the loves of my life. The scars that disfigured my face and body, that twist my heart and nearly crippled my soul. Months of nightmares, waking screaming, oceans of tears. Funerals and gravestones, the smell of cemetery dirt. Cigarettes and despair and the kindness of strangers.

This monster, smiling at the other end of this phone, he has left a legacy of ruination. Don Rawlings. Me. Bonnie. He has crumbled our hopes in his hands like bread, feeding the crumbs to things that slink through the dark. He's fed on our pain like a ghoul at a grave. He is not all the evil in the world. I know this. But for now he is the source of it in mine. He is my rape, Matt's screams, the look of surprise as my bullet killed Alexa. He is the dead babies Don Rawlings dreams of, the end of my childhood friend, Callie lying in the hospital, and the gray exhaustion of his mother as she withers away, an ancient rose.

"Where are you?" I whisper.

I can hear his smile. "Touched a nerve there, I think. Good." He pauses. "It was your last test, Smoky. If you could survive Sands, then you truly were my Abberline." His voice sounds almost gentle. Wistful.

"Where are you?" I repeat.

He laughs. "I will tell you where I am, but first I need to introduce you to someone. Say hello to Agent Barrett."

I hear the phone come up against an ear. "S-Smoky?"

I am jolted, a shock from a car battery.

Elaina. Everything has moved so fast, Keenan and Shantz haven't been replaced yet. I curse myself, stupid, stupid, stupid!

"I have her here with me, Smoky. Along with someone else, someone smaller. Someone who can't talk on the phone because, well--she can't talk these days." He laughs. "Can you say deja vu?"

I am drowning. I'm surrounded by air, but I can't breathe. Time is now moving to the beat of my heart, one long, slow lub-a-dub after another. This isn't fear I'm feeling, it's terror. Soul-drenching, gutgrinding, hysterical, babbling terror. I'm surprised that my voice is calm when I speak.

"Where are you, Peter? Just tell me, and I'll come to you." I don't ask him not to harm them. I wouldn't believe him anyway.

"Here are the rules, Smoky. I'm at my home. Elaina is naked and tied to my bed. Little Bonnie is snuggled in my arms. Sound familiar? If you are not here in twenty-five minutes, I will kill Elaina, and things for Bonnie will get very familiar indeed. If I see any police or SWAT team personnel, or even suspect they are here, I will kill them both. You may bring your team, but otherwise, this is between you and me. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Time starts--now."

He hangs up.

"What the hell is going on?" Alan asks.

I don't answer. I look at Alan. His eyes are intense, worried, ready. Alan was always ready. Especially when it came to being a friend. I feel my own breathing, in and out, in and out.

A great, disconnected calm has settled over me. I'm on a beach, alone, with a seashell pressed to my ear. It gives off that faint, seashell roar. Is this shock? I wonder.

I don't think so. I don't think so at all. This is Hillstead, getting what he's wanted all along.

Me as him. Ready to murder without thought, regret, or moral quandary. Ready to feel about killing like I would about pulling a weed. I put my hands on Alan's shoulders, look up into his face. "Listen to me, Alan. I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to be ready for it. I need you to hold it together. I'm going to take care of it."

He doesn't speak. It all comes out in his eyes, the beginning of alarm, the start of understanding.

"He's got Elaina and Bonnie," I say.

My hands are still on his shoulders and I feel the muscles spasm, feel his whole body shake once, hard. His eyes never leave mine. "He's got them, and he wants me, and we're going to where he has them. Once we're there, whatever it takes, we make him dead and them okay." I grip his shoulders, really dig into them. "Do you understand me? I'm going to take care of it."

He looks at me for a long time. James is quiet, waiting.

"He's going to try to take himself out and take you with him," Alan says.

I nod. "I know. I guess I'll have to be faster."