F Wilson - The Dark at the End

“Rather ironic, don’t you think, that while you’ve been stalking me, I’ve been looking for you?”

“I assumed that,” Jack said.

“Am I so predictable?”

“After you learned that Weezy Myers was Weezy Connell of Johnson, En-Jay, and her brother Eddie was a member of the Order, I figured it wouldn’t take you long to start wondering what had happened to the third musketeer.”

“Yes, it was idle at first. Then I learned that you had seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth.”

“Still on Earth, just off the radar.”

“But now you’re here. Any particular reason?”

“A little conversation.”

“Nothing else?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how the conversation goes.”

That had just enough of an ominous ring to bunch the muscles at the back of Ernst’s neck.

“Will we be a while?”

“Depends.”

Ernst didn’t ask again on what. Instead he pointed to the green bottle in Jack’s hand.

“I could use one of those. Shall I get you another?”

“Thanks. I’ll come with you.”

He realized it had been too much to hope for Jack to leave him alone in the kitchen, but it had been worth a try.

“I need to put some food away as well.”

A few months ago he’d found a wonderful German butcher, a man who made superb bratwurst. Brats had always been a comfort food for him, but over the years he had avoided too many of them for health reasons. After yesterday he didn’t see much point in worrying about his health, and he was in desperate need of comfort.

Jack hovered as he placed the perishables in the refrigerator, and Ernst thought about that term.

Perishable… we’re all perishable, but am I about to perish?

He removed a pair of bottles.

“Hope you don’t mind that I helped myself,” Jack said. “Not too many people stock Grolsch. Hard to resist.”

Keep him talking…

“Yes, the Dutch make excellent lagers, but not quite up to my favorite-Marzen.”

He found an opener and popped the caps. He handed a bottle to Jack and grabbed a Pilsner glass for himself-he didn’t drink from bottles. They returned to the front room where Ernst made a show of searching for coasters. He knew exactly where they were but opened two wrong drawers first. He pulled a Taser from the second and palmed it, thumbing the ON switch before quickly slipping it into his suit coat pocket as he pretended to discover the coasters in the third.

Now he felt a little safer. He had no idea how this might turn out, but at least he could protect himself.

He handed Jack a coaster and they settled into upholstered chairs, facing across a glass-top table.

“If I may ask,” he said, keeping his tone light, “how did you, as you phrase it, drop off the radar so completely? After a cursory search found no trace of you, I put some very skilled people to work looking for you. They came up with nothing.”

He shrugged. “I was never on the radar. Never bothered applying for a Social Security number, always worked for cash.” A quick smile. “You always paid me cash, remember?”

Ernst nodded. He remembered. Petty cash.

“A long time ago.” Half a lifetime.

“Why were you so intent on finding me?”

“You were a blank space that needed filling in. A mystery man. Brother Connell said you were a repairman, but I began to wonder if you might be related to another mystery man.”

“Really? And who might that be?”

How did he phrase this? Should he choose his words carefully? Why? Jack’s appearance here pretty much confirmed his suspicions, although he still found it hard to believe.

Might as well simply come out and say it.

“Someone involved with the Connells was using deadly force against the Order.”

Not a trace of surprise in Jack’s eyes as he said, “Now why would anyone do that? I mean, considering the caliber of people you sent against them.”

Ernst felt his saliva began to evaporate. Jack had just admitted to being that man. One thing to suspect, but to have it confirmed in such a matter-of-fact tone…

The skinny, innocent kid who had mowed the Lodge’s lawn had grown into a cold-blooded killer. Granted, he had been facing equally cold-blooded killers, but he had proved just as ruthless and much more efficient.

Ernst was trapped here with a very, very dangerous man. Was he armed? Of course he was.

Keep him talking.

He forced calm and shook his head. No need to fake bafflement. “How did that boy pulling the lawn mower behind his bike wind up…?” He shook his head again.

“Necessity.”

“What could-?”

He held up a hand. “I didn’t come here to tell my life story.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I’ve got a question, and you’ve got the answer. At least I’m assuming you do.”

Only “a” question? That was a relief. But what would happen if he couldn’t answer it?

“You seem awfully sure of that. Let’s see if you’re right. Go ahead: Ask.”

Jack spoke and the question seemed to hover in the air between them. Clear, succinct, to the point. He could almost see the words floating before him, but he couldn’t quite grasp their meaning. It sounded as if he’d said… but no… he couldn’t have.

“Pardon?”

“How do I go about finding the One?”

Ernst’s muscles seized, freezing him in place. His first impression had been correct. He’d truly asked about the One. But… impossible. He couldn’t know about him.

And then Ernst flashed back on a conversation with the One, perhaps a month ago. He had appeared in Ernst’s office and asked what he knew about the Order’s Lodge in Johnson, New Jersey. He’d made Ernst recount his stay there in excruciating detail. Ernst hadn’t perceived it at the time, but in light of what was transpiring at this moment, it occurred to him that the One had seemed especially interested in the young groundskeeper and his girlfriend who had invaded the Lodge one night with near disastrous consequences. Ernst had thought he was interested in the event, but now it was clear he’d been interested in Jack.

An unexpected symmetry: the One asking about Jack, and now Jack asking about the One.

“The one?” Ernst fought to maintain a neutral, mildly curious expression as he took a sip of his beer. He noticed the glass shaking in his hand. “The one what?”

Jack looked annoyed and the mild brown eyes hardened. “No games. I asked you a straight question. I expect a straight answer. You know exactly who I’m talking about: the One… the point man for the Otherness… Rasalom.”

Ernst choked and spewed beer across the table.

“Don’t speak his name!”

But a bigger shock than hearing the name said aloud was the realization that Jack knew it. Only the High Council of Seven and precious few others were privileged with the One’s name. Even Ernst wasn’t supposed to know it, but he’d heard it from his father shortly before he died.

Jack merely stared at him, waiting.

Ernst stared back as other connections formed. Jack knew something only a few in the Order were aware of. So had another man… the bearded man who’d accosted him in Central Park. He’d known about the One and the Fhinntmanchca. He’d pressed a good Austrian pistol under his chin and asked him questions.

And then Tasered him.

He remembered the feel of the current jolting through him, running from the back of his neck down his spine and limbs, coursing through his chest. Pain and helplessness-his useless muscles felt as if they’d melted.

He remembered the humiliation.

He imagined a beard on Jack and-yes… no question. Ernst had never seen the adult Jack, so he hadn’t recognized him through the beard. No doubt about it.