The Unstable One: A Murphy Thriller Book 1 (Markus Murphy)

by Mike McCrary

  Lady Brubaker puts a gun between the pilot’s eyes. She hands him a piece of paper then jams a roll of cash into his chest. The pilot returns to the cockpit.

  She twirls her gun in the air.

  Two men move in.

  Murphy vaguely recognizes their faces. They were in the escape video, maybe. Friends of Brubaker, without question. The men bind the hands and feet of the doctor and the heart-eating agent, then drag them thrashing out from the plane.

  Lady Brubaker leans over Murphy.

  “So.” Plays with his hair, speaks soft and gentle. “We’ve got some stuff to talk about.”

  Chapter 28

  Murphy’s eyes open wide.

  Lids flutter like butterfly wings.

  Slow to a blink, working, seeking moisture.

  Same, but this time, it’s different. Very different. This time Murphy is on a plane headed to God knows where.

  Lady Brubaker sits across from him and gives him a finger-curl wave.

  Words escape Murphy.

  What does one say at a moment like this? There’s no playbook here. There’s only one person on the planet who knows what he’s going through. And, unfortunately, it is her.

  This Lady Brubaker.

  Part psychopath.

  Perhaps part Kate. Deep down he knows. Knows there’s no perhaps about it.

  He looks to her.

  She at him. She too seems lost for words.

  “Hi.” Only thing he can think of.

  “Hello.” She smiles at the effort.

  They blink. Beats crawl. Only the hum of the engines fills the tension between them. His wound pulses as he stares blankly. They share so much. So much to say to one another and no way in hell to say any of it.

  He keeps running through the situation, trying to find a shred of logic. But he keeps slamming into one fact he cannot overcome. Inside this woman—this Lady Brubaker—is another woman.

  One he loves dearly. Well, at least a part of him loves part of her dearly.

  Sense. An abstract concept. Something others might experience. The idea of the world making any kind of sense to him from here on out is a joke. The rest of the world might turn to religion for answers. Science might hold some comfort for others. Endless entertainment content coupled with endless supplies of tasty fat helps numb the brutal truths of the world for most.

  No easy answers, he thinks, not for us.

  Us?

  The shared, unsound mind of Murphy and Noah. Lonely is something they both know. Both grew up with fathers absent and mothers that were questionable at best. Spent large chunks of their lives convincing themselves they needed nothing from anybody.

  Noah learned differently, learned there is a place in the world for caring people.

  Learned it from Kate.

  Can Murphy learn the same?

  Us.

  Us indeed.

  Murphy and Noah hold no answers. Not sure what questions to even ask. They can only stare at Brubaker sitting across the aisle holding that gun. Their world is now and forever trapped in slippery chaos. Amen.

  Nice Guy Noah wants to reach out and hold her.

  Wants to tell her everything will be okay.

  Murphy has serious doubts.

  “What are you going to do?” he asks.

  “Well.” She plops a cherry lollipop in her mouth. “You're going to take this plane back to New York. But first, you are going to drop me off. Me and my boys are only hitching a ride.”

  “Oh, where to?”

  “Not important.” She sucks the lolly then shoves it in her cheek. “I don't want to be on this plane too long. It’s not the company, of course. There's a good chance those frisky friends of ours might try and burn us out of the sky.”

  There's a cough.

  More like a gag.

  Murphy turns.

  Sitting in the corner of the plane is a bound and gagged Eryk Pruitt. He looks far worse off than when Murphy saw him last. Sweat runs down his forehead. Face red. His eyes bulge. His arms are bound together at the forearms with tape.

  One hand is heavily bandaged.

  Upon closer inspection, Murphy sees the hand is not there. The arm is heavily bandaged, to be sure, but there’s red seeping through the wrist. A covered stump where a hand once was. Tortured, Murphy guesses. Pruitt put up a good fight—a good fight for a tech geek god—but in the end, mean and crazy wins.

  Nice Guy Noah is having a hard time processing.

  Kate would never do anything like this. She wouldn’t know how. Her heart wouldn’t allow it.

  Murphy makes a mental note.

  Nothing is out of bounds with Brubaker.

  “Don’t worry. Your girlfriend?” She lays the lolly down on a cocktail napkin. “Talking about that hard-ass that was with you? She’s okay. She’s taking a nap in the trunk of a car in Baghdad. So’s that doctor. Different car. Somebody will find them, once the drugs are done with them.”

  “Why?” sneaks out from his lips. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Fairly complicated.”

  “I’m fairly bright.”

  “Not enough time, Murphy,” she says. “No time to talk it all through, but…” She smiles big, thumbing toward the back of the plane. They have pulled a curtain closed, hiding the back. “I’ve put together a little something for us.”

  Murphy looks to the back.

  “What?”

  “Come on.” She stands, extending a hand to him. “I’ll help you. Think you’ll like it.”

  Murphy looks to her hand. Open. Inviting. So many reasons to not accept it.

  “Whatcha got back there?” Murphy asks, taking her hand.

  “Only one way to find out.”

  She carefully pulls him up from his seat. Hurts like hell, no question, but not as bad as he expected. Standing pulls at the wound but he pushes through the initial surge of blinding pain. It decreases with each passing second before leveling off at holy shit this hurts.

  He must be drowning in pain meds.

  That’s the only way being upright is possible.

  Brubaker places his arm over her shoulder. He braces himself using a combination of her body and the plane’s seats, hoping the dizziness will subside. Walking is hard at first, but with her help, each step gets a little easier.

  “Ready?” she asks, as if speaking to a child.

  Murphy nods as his body goes tight.

  Ready for anything.

  Brubaker pulls open the curtain.

  Chapter 29

  There’s a table with a cheap semblance of a red tablecloth spread across it.

  Two plates, two soft drink cups, with a single candle between them.

  The plates hold hamburgers and fries.

  “Did the best I could,” she says. “Not a lot to work with. Found some of it on the plane, got lucky there. Got the burgers from the hotel. Had to heat them up in the back.”

  Did she pick those up after she stabbed me?

  What the hell?

  He lets it go.

  She helps Murphy into a chair, making sure he’s at least somewhat comfortable. She shoos one of the men from the escape video out of the area. Murphy can only assume the other one is in the cockpit with the pilot monitoring shit.

  Murphy and Brubaker are all alone now. She spreads her hands out, showing off the table she’s obviously spent some time creating. Spent some time thinking about it. Took care to get the details as close to perfect as the situation will allow.

  Noah drags Murphy into a memory.

  A first date.

  He sees Noah and Kate.

  They went to a greasy-awesome hamburger joint near campus. A true dive. A glorious college shithole. A burger joint that used candles and cheap red tablecloths as mechanisms for the delivery of charm. Noah and Kate snuck in some cheap wine—the kind with the name of a fake farm and names of fruit that don’t exist on the label—pouring the crap vino into the joint’s somewhat clean soft drink cups.

  Brubaker fills the c
up in front of Murphy’s side of the table.

  “With all the medication shredding through you, wine would put you in a coma.” She pours herself some before taking her seat. “So, we’ll have to work with grape juice. Apologies.”

  “I can’t believe you did this.” Part excited. Part anxious.

  “Nice, right?”

  As they dig into the burgers—Murphy is starving—he never takes his eyes off of her. More like he’s studying her. Mainly her eyes. There’s the sexy coldness he saw at the hotel bar, but there’s something else too. He can almost see Kate behind those wild, mean green eyes.

  She’s back there.

  He knows it.

  You don’t know shit, Murphy thinks.

  We can help her, Noah fires back.

  Brubaker snaps her fingers. “Hey, come back.” She smiles. “I know there’s a lot going on in there, but I need you here. Time is not endless.”

  “Okay.” Murphy nods. “Fire away.”

  “Oh, almost forgot.” She wipes her mouth before gently turning over his arm.

  The devil tattoo is gone.

  As if wiped away from his arm. Only a round, red circle of raw skin where the devil’s face once was. A thin coat of ointment covers it.

  “We took the liberty. Hope you’re cool with that, Murphy.”

  “Was told that would kill me.”

  “I’m sure they told you a lot of things. Most of it bullshit.” She tears off a bite of her burger. A pickle drops to the plate. She chews. Considers. Picks up the pickle then flings it aside. “Now, with that devil gone, they don’t own you. They can't manipulate your emotions. Chemically, at least. They can’t control your brain via satellites with casual swipes and taps.”

  “Freedom is nice, I hear.”

  “It is. Thank you are the words you’re looking for.”

  “That’s great. Just great.”

  “You are so welcome.” She takes his blank face in her hands.

  Murphy shakes her hands free, shoves some fries in his mouth.

  Tastes like lukewarm heaven.

  “I’ve given power back to you,” she says. “Some at least. It may take a little while for all the chemicals to flow out of your system. We've injected you with some things that should speed up the process.”

  “How did you know what to give me? Was Brubaker a kindly nurse in a former life?”

  “Hardly.” She dismisses the question with a wave and another bite. “We dug through the files. Asked some questions of the staff and got some medical intel on their process. Asked about techniques, next steps, and whatnot.”

  “Asked? That what we’re calling it now?”

  “Not nice conversations. None of it pleasant.” She takes his hand. “You’re allowed to feel what you actually feel now. Not the feelings they choose to feed you.”

  “Sounds refreshing.”

  She scrunches her nose. “Not going to lie, this process isn’t going to be pretty or smooth. Both sides of you will combine. Evolve. Grow into something—sorry, someone—new.”

  Murphy pulls his hand back.

  She shrugs, returning to her burger.

  “Not gonna be fun. Not gonna be a stroll through the park. Pretty rough ride, actually, but you will start to remember things. Truly feel those things as they become part of you. And let me be clear on something. If I’m being honest, it’s gonna fucking hurt.”

  He can only stare back.

  “Really, really bad.” She takes a bite.

  Neither Murphy nor Noah find words to use.

  She motions for him to eat.

  “I'm going to call you,” she says. “I saved a number into your special little phone, the one they gave you. So now you have another number—mine. When I call you, I’m going to invite you to a location, and I’d like it if you bring Thompson and Peyton with you. If you can, of course.”

  She’s not making a request.

  This is an order, perhaps even a big-time threat.

  “They're not going listen to me.” He tears off a bite, wanting to keep the casual dinner conversation vibe going as long as possible.

  “Oh, they’ll listen. They will listen to you like never before,” she says. “You’ll convince them to come. Use that charm. Just get them there and they will give us what we want.”

  “Us? We?”

  “Yes, us and we.” She smirks. “You’re just like us.” She motions beyond the curtain. “You’re like a full-on hero to the rest of my friends. You should meet them sometime.”

  “They say you should never meet your heroes.” Murphy leans back. “I’d only disappoint.”

  “Doubtful. Considering you’re a bit of a god to them.” She checks the time. Pushes the plate away from her. “So, it’s settled. I’ll call you. And you bring those assholes. Okay?”

  “What do they have? What do you think they’re going to do?”

  “Man. They did a number on you, didn’t they?” Brubaker leans in, eyes wild and wide. “They are going tell us where to find them.”

  “Them?”

  “Of course.” She holds up her grape juice for a toast. “They are going to explain how to get our girls back.”

  Her words hit Murphy like a freight train.

  How is it possible he’s forgotten about his children, again?

  How can a man forget about his girls?

  Emotions flood. His ears buzz. Face burns hot.

  “They have them,” she says. “They’ve had them all along.”

  He can’t breathe.

  “Not the kind of something you can cover up with a quick joke.” She tilts her head. “Is it?”

  “Where are they?”

  “We’re going to find out.”

  “Kate—”

  “She’s here. She’s listening.” A tear rolls. Her lip quivers. “Never really went away.”

  He now knows, without a shred of doubt.

  Kate is in there somewhere. He may be the only person on the planet who knows exactly what she's going through. Hurts to watch her struggle this way. Even knowing all that she's done.

  “Never, ever forget that they started this. We are the victims here.” She sips her juice. Wipes her eyes with her shaking hand. She takes in a deep breath, checking the time once more. “Now. I’m going to give you a little something to help you sleep the rest of the way to New York.”

  “Like what exactly?”

  “It’s called psilocybin.” She smiles. “Well, a cocktail of things, but mostly psilocybin.”

  “Not sure I—”

  “It’s a psychedelic. Don’t let that concern you, but it is a trip. One that I, and the rest of us, have been on. You’ll start seeing colors and geometric designs. It will be cool and lovely, and then, boom. An explosion of chatter between the areas of your mind that haven’t been able to communicate. It’s pretty crazy shit actually.”

  “Boom?”

  “Boom indeed.” She downs her grape juice. “But I want to leave you with a final thought. Something for you to chew on during your little journey inside yourself. And I want you to really dig into this.”

  She motions toward someone behind him.

  Murphy senses the two men behind him. “Wait—”

  “I want you to think about that night.” She's handed the syringe.

  “Don’t,” Murphy says.

  “I want you to think about the night of the car wreck.”

  Murphy's heart skips a beat.

  He feels the sharp steel torn from the car stab into his stomach. The memory of the pain is so vivid. Alive and dancing. The same sensation when her knife plunged into his stomach at the hotel.

  He can’t believe it.

  “Did you use pain as a marker? Did you stab me to jump-start my mind?”

  “I’ll let you work that out.” She grins. “Pain is powerful.”

  He remembers driving through the country that night.

  Him and her.

  Kate turning on the radio. Her rubbing his shoulders.

&n
bsp; The memory is similar, he’s seen it before, but this time it’s different. He’s not watching someone else drive.

  He’s driving.

  Noah and Murphy as one.

  The point of view of the memory is his own. He sees the road. He can remember the feel of the wheel. The glow from the speedometer and the radio is within reach.

  He can see Kate from the driver’s seat.

  His mind burns as he drives. There’s anxiety. Worry. Guilt. Problems churn over and over grinding in his mind. Thinking of all that’s wrong with their life. Money. The house is falling apart. The car held together with spit and hope. The girls.

  Kate is telling him things will be okay.

  Murphy is no longer a spectator in these memories. He is receiving a crash course in Kate. She’s kind. Strong. Beautiful. She’s everything Noah remembers Kate was. Murphy soaks in what Noah is feeling. Everything. He understands why he loves her. Who wouldn’t? She’s amazing in every way.

  Brubaker was right.

  His mind is blending, coming together as one now.

  Murphy and Noah becoming singular.

  “You were there,” he says, barely above a whisper.

  Something inside her comes unhinged. He can see it. She’s no longer able to hold it back.

  Brubaker’s unbreakable cool is shattered. It's all in her eyes. The rage. The sorrow. It’s there, as real as her thoughtful recreation of their first date.

  “Correct.” She nods as the tears form. “I was there. So was someone else we know.”

  She shoves the needle into Murphy's arm.

  “Stop.” Like ice-cold milk spreading, creeping through his veins.

  A metallic taste coats his tongue.

  He tries to get up from his chair. Pushes down hard with his hands with all he has. Strength has been reduced to nothing. All the manic power Murphy possesses rendered useless. He’s shoved back down like a limp doll. The two men hold on tight, strapping his arms down to the chair. Murphy thrashes, fighting with the little he has left to throw at them.

  His fists tight.

  Veins pop along his neck.

  Lady Brubaker looks to him. “Let your heart and soul do what they’re going to do. Stop fighting yourself. But don’t gloss over it either. Take it in. Let all the hurt and joy rush in, and then let it go when it’s done with you.” Her expression shifts, turning oddly cold as tears stream down her face. “Give your mind permission to make peace with it. All of it. I did.”