M Sellars - The Law Of Three

My phone call may have served to do nothing more than open a wound. It very simply could have been an inadvertent reminder of the dangerous uncertainty that I faced-and my melancholy, a possible harbinger that Ben’s promise to her could well be broken. Dwelling on the fact officially made me feel worse than I had before I dialed the number.

I breathed in a deep lungful of the chilly air then tilted my head back forward and glanced over at the door on the rear of the van. It had been several minutes since Agent Kavanaugh had left to hand over the information to the rest of the HNT. Considering that I hadn’t given over anything of much relevance, at least in my eyes, I was beginning to worry. Something was taking far too long.

With the momentary diversion from my migraine gone by the wayside, the pain had returned full force, hammering away even harder than before. As I sat there, I felt a creepy wave of gooseflesh climb up my back until it reached the base of my neck. I shivered with a chill as the sensation traveled back down my spine then spread out through my body. I fell into an eerie state of semi-catatonic nothingness that made me feel sick to my stomach.

I jumped with a start and caught an outbound breath in my throat as my cell phone began pealing out the William Tell Overture in dull electronic tones. When my muscles tensed, the various bruises I had acquired reported in sharply then settled back into dull aches with unwavering loyalty to the task. I forced my body to relax and rolled my head as I allowed myself to continue exhaling.

“Oh yeah, you’re real stable, aren’t you?” I chastised myself aloud.

I turned the face of the phone up and inspected the screen, fully expecting to see the words “Felicity Cell” in a blocky, liquid crystal font. Instead, I was greeted with the words “New Number” and a string of unfamiliar digits.

I stared at the display for a moment as the refrain began bleeping out again and then punched the center button and brought the device upward.

“Rowan Gant,” I said.

“It is about time you turned on your phone, Gant.” Eldon Porter’s voice issued from the speaker. “I have been trying to reach you for almost an hour now.”

“So sue me, asshole,” I replied.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I would rather just kill you.”

“Same here,” I shot back. “So shouldn’t you be talking to the hostage negotiator?”

“Agent McCoy bores me,” he remarked. “All give and take, I did for you, now you do for me. It is really very obvious that he does not see the point behind all of this.”

Each sentence chilled me even more than the frigid weather outside. His voice had returned to the flat, rehearsed tenor I had discussed with Agent Kavanaugh earlier. His sentences were overtly devoid of contractions and spoken with an air of self-anointed superiority. There was a purposeful calm about him-a frightening preparedness that struck me like a cold blade directly into my heart.

“And that point is?” I asked.

“I think you are well aware of that, Gant,” he replied.

“Yeah, just checking,” I quipped.

I knew from his tone there were literally no words from me that would keep him at bay. Not now. Not anymore. We were moving forward to the next phase.

I was wondering why the HNT hadn’t severed the connection by now. It took a few seconds for me to remember that this was the first time he had ever contacted me on my own cell, so it was a line they wouldn’t be monitoring.

Still, they knew about the two different cell phones he was using, so they should be on top of it, unless… A random idea flitted in from the left side of my brain to give me pause. If he had two cell phones, why couldn’t he have three? If he did, then chances were the HNT had no idea this call was even taking place.

“Well, whether he sees your point or not, he’s the only one who can negotiate with you,” I said. “So maybe I should just go get him.”

“I would not do that if I were you, Gant,” he answered coldly. “My negotiations with them are finished. This is between the two of us and no one else.”

My heart thumped in my throat, and I felt my adrenal gland begin pumping again. The waiting game had reached its end whether the FBI liked it or not, and it was all about to be over before they could turn to the next page in the playbook.

I was wrong. This wasn’t moving into the next phase. It was jumping directly to the end game.

I forced myself upward and barely missed clanging the back of my head on an equipment rack as I stumbled. I twisted to the side and started moving toward the back of the van. Agent Kavanaugh had said there would be someone right outside. My mind began racing, searching for a way to get that agent’s attention without tipping off Porter.

I realized I had to keep him talking, so I said the first thing that popped into my head. “So what did you call me for, Eldon?”

“I have a question for you, Gant,” he said.

“What’s that, Eldon?”

What I got back in reply was nothing short of a lit match pressed firmly against my already short fuse.

“How loud do you think I will be able to make your wife scream?”

I felt my face grow hot as repressed anger was released directly into my veins alongside the rushing adrenalin. My free hand balled into a solid fist, and at the same time, I heard the tight squeak of my skin against hard plastic as my other hand involuntarily attempted to crush the cell phone.

“You’re dead, Eldon,” I growled through clenched teeth. “Understand me? You are dead.”

“How bad do you want to kill me?” He spoke the question with the same nonchalance as someone asking for the correct time.

I snarled my retort, “I think I made that clear enough.”

He began his reply in an imperious voice. “Do you think you can get to me…”

“Not with cops everywhere,” I spat. “And you can bet that’s the only thing keeping you alive right now, you bastard.”

“I was not finished, Gant.”

“Ask me if I care.”

“You do.”

“I doubt it.”

“Now,” he began again. “What I was going to say is this: Do you think you can get to me before Miss Sullivan’s sentence has been duly and properly executed?”

His words struck me with as much force as a punch square to the jaw.

“You said this was between you and me!” I barked.

“Second floor, Gant. How fast are you?” he asked, then without waiting for an answer he pronounced, “Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live.”

“Porter!” I shouted.

Stealth was no longer an issue. I bolted for the back of the van, and in my haste, my hand missed the latch on the door as I threw myself against it. The sound of my shoulder thudding against the metal struck first and was followed immediately by the physical jolt vibrating through my frame.

Desperation-induced clumsiness was doing everything in its power to impede my progress as I fumbled with the lever. I felt my hand connect and pushed heavily downward on the latch then leaned into the door once again.

Sound was buzzing in the earpiece of the phone the whole time. Porter’s self-righteous voice continued rattling against my eardrum with sickening clarity. “Wherefore, since you, Millicent Renee Sullivan, are fallen into the damned heresies of Witches…”

“He’s doing it!” I was screaming even as the door was beginning to open. “He’s getting ready to…”

The rest of the words caught in my throat as an icy blast of wind hit me in the face. The door was swinging wide in surrender to my attack, and my momentum kept me moving forward. My stomach leapt then fell with an odd, tickling sensation as a split second of weightlessness struck. It was only then I realized I had launched myself into nothingness. I felt myself pitching forward and began to flail my arms in an attempt to regain my balance, but it was too late. My exit was anything but graceful as I completely missed the step and stumbled down to the wet pavement.