F Wilson - The Dark at the End

As they waited for Thompson to enter the loft building, Jack said, “One last question: When you let Hans and Fritz through the door-”

“Hans and Fritz?”

“The two German guys. Why did you step out and close it?”

“Obvious, I should think: I didn’t want to risk blood spatters on my suit or coat.”

“Right. Obvious.”

As soon as Thompson was through the entrance, Drexler handed Jack the balled-up remnants of the duct tape that had bound him, then hurried across the street.

Jack watched him go. So weird. Could he trust Drexler to hold up his end of the bargain? Well, at least as long as their goals remained-to use his term-confluent. Jack harbored no doubt that if Drexler got a better offer, their deal would be as dead as Szeto and the Katzenjammers.

Ernst caught up to Thompson just as he was entering the big, open elevator.

“Mister Thompson. Hold that.”

Thompson smiled. “Well, well. Look who got invited to the party. I didn’t know if Tyleski had got to you or not.”

“Tyleski?” The name threw Ernst for a second, then he remembered. “Oh, yes. That was the name he gave you.”

“Bogus as all hell.” He raised the paper sack he was carrying. “But these will bring out the truth. Before the night is over, we’ll know everything about this guy.”

Ernst removed the Taser from his pocket and held it up.

“This will help too.”

“That’s way too tame, man.”

“But if he is the one who Tasered us last summer, it is only fair, no?”

Thompson grinned. “Well, maybe for appetizers.”

The elevator stopped at the top floor and he let Thompson lead the way across the foyer.

“Hey, everybody,” he said as he opened the door to the loft. “It’s party ti-”

He stopped dead one step inside the threshold. Ernst was expecting that but purposely ran into him from behind, pushing him farther into the room.

“Oh, shit!” Thompson cried. “Oh, fuck!”

Ernst put on a suitably shocked expression and pushed past him. Perhaps only partially put on. It always surprised him how much blood the human body contained. And when it ran out through multiple large exit wounds, it formed pools of remarkable size. These three pools had merged into a crimson lake. Clotting had begun.

Thompson seemed mesmerized by the blood, but he tore his gaze away and focused on the empty chair.

“He’s gone!”

“Yes, I can see that,” Ernst said.

“But how? Szeto and I taped him into that chair ourselves. No way he could have gotten out.”

Ernst stepped around the pool of blood and inspected the chair.

“Tape? What tape? There is no tape here.”

“There’s gotta be!” Thompson’s eyes looked ready to pop from his head. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Szeto once told me he thought he was a ninja.”

“A ninja? Naw, he was just some American guy, but this-this is like supernatural!” He looked around. “We better get out of here.”

“I think that is wise.”

“What about the bodies?”

This encounter had served its purpose. The Order would want answers. Ernst would say he arrived and found them all dead. Thompson would back that up. But Ernst would wonder aloud about Thompson… the last to see the three men alive… or had they been alive when he’d left? He claimed to have taped the stranger into the chair, but no tape was evident when Ernst arrived… could he be working with the stranger?

The Order would find no evidence of that, but the questions would focus attention on Thompson while Ernst searched for clues to the One’s whereabouts.

Even better, the One might contact him. Since he could no longer go to Szeto for “minor logistical support,” as he’d called it, would he turn again to Ernst Drexler? Ernst hoped so.

If that happened, and if Ernst regained the One’s trust and favor, the deal with Jack would be null and void.

A sharp intake of breath hissed between Gia’s teeth as she parted the hair on the right side of Jack’s head.

“Oh, Jack, your scalp’s all bruised.”

He knew. He’d felt the squishy blood under the skin there earlier. Not the first time he’d been knocked cold, but the first time in years. Doc Hargus had called it a hematoma back then-not subdural, subcutaneous.

He pressed his fingers against the area now. Odd… no squish. The last one had lasted a week.

And his headache. Last time he’d been knocked out his head had pounded for days.

More proof that he was being changed in preparation for Glaeken’s impending demise.

She dabbed at the area with a cold, wet washcloth.

“You’ve got a little dried blood here from these little tiny scratches.”

Which were probably bigger an hour ago.

“Oh, and look. Here’s a teeny piece of glass.”

“I can shower all that away.”

“No, let me help.”

Normally this kind of attention would make him claustrophobic. If she were a nurse in an ER, he’d be pushing her away. But injuries, even minor ones, brought out Gia’s nurturing side. With every passing year Vicky needed less and less nurturing, so she had a lot stored up.

Gia never made him claustrophobic. The closer the better.

“Two injuries in two days,” she said as she picked at the glass. “I hope you’re not going to be making a habit of this.”

He smiled at her. “If tonight ends like last night…”

“Don’t count on that. You’ve got me worried now. I mean, you seem to be getting hurt lately. First your arm and now this. You never used to get hurt. Are they connected?”

“In a way.”

“What way?”

“Long story. All part of a bigger problem. But this particular part of the problem has been solved.”

She stopped dabbing at his scalp. “Solved… do I want to know the details?”

“Probably not.”

She sighed. “Okay. No details. But just tell me: Is the person responsible for these injuries in a position to cause more injuries?”

“No.”

“Okay. Good. That’s enough.” She slipped her arms around his shoulders and hugged. “I worry about you, you know.”

“I know.”

Her attitude had switched a hundred and eighty degrees from last night. The arm wound had seemed old then, well on its way to healing. But this one was fresh. And he could feel her trembling inside.

Still holding him, she said, “Don’t you feel it’s all unraveling?”

“‘All’?”

“The world.”

“What makes you think it was ever truly raveled?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, unfortunately I do.”

Was she sensing Rasalom’s ascent? Ever since her coma she seemed sensitized to the Conflict. She’d seen what she interpreted as a landscape of the future while she was out, and it had ended in impenetrable darkness this coming spring.

And spring was only weeks away.

Her hug tightened. “I’m worried.”

“I know.”

“Not for myself, so much. I’m worried for you. But most of all I’m worried for Vicky. There’s so much I want for her. I want her to fall in love, I want her to have a chance at motherhood, I want her to…”

“Live long and prosper?”

She laughed softly. “Exactly, Mister Spock. Actually, that’s the least of what I want for her. I want everything for her, or at least a chance at it.”

“I’ll do my damnedest to see that she gets that chance.”

No more needed to be said.

Dawn was going crazy with boredom.

Mind numbing. The only way to describe it. She didn’t know how long she could keep up the surveillance on Dr. Heinze before totally losing it and committing mass murder.