Conviction

by Dwayne Gill

  Cane nodded. Even after years of hugs, they still seemed foreign to him.

  “I’m sorry Kristy’s asleep already. She has to work in the morning. She suspected you’d come by, but she couldn’t wait up any longer.”

  “It’s no problem,” said Cane. “I’m glad she’s resting.” Kristy didn’t have the easiest time sleeping.

  “I, on the other hand, will need help falling asleep tonight.” Helen held up a half-empty bottle of wine and smiled. “It’s been five years. To the day.”

  Cane knew. It was why he came tonight. Helen seemed to handle the anniversaries worse than Kristy.

  Helen poured another glass of wine to the top and sipped it. She was graceful even when she was tipsy.

  “How’s she been?” asked Cane.

  Helen was finishing a sip as he asked. She smiled and set her glass down on the kitchen counter. “Better,” she said. “She’s holding a steady job now. She has her bad days, but she’s making progress.”

  Cane was glad to hear it. Kristy had tried and failed to stay employed the past few years.

  “She still seeing her doctor?” asked Cane.

  “Yes,” said Helen. “Once a week.” Her doctor had warned that some never recover from the trauma that Kristy suffered. Over the years, the doctor’s advice had remained constant: be patient.

  “Would you like something to eat?” asked Helen.

  “No, thank you,” said Cane.

  Helen picked her glass back up, downed the rest of the wine, and poured another. Cane could see the alcohol’s effect on her; she was swaying as she stood, and her words were slurring a little.

  “I just want her to be okay,” said Helen. “I want my baby to be okay.” Her voice broke as she cried.

  Cane had sensed it coming; he’d seen her drink on tough nights in the past. Helen wasn’t a frequent drinker, so on the rare occasion she indulged, she didn’t hold it well. Cane walked over, put his arm around her shoulder, and she fell against him. It was all he knew to do at the moment, as he’d learned from prior anniversaries.

  They moved to the living room and sat on the couch where Helen continued to drink. She reminisced about good times she and Kristy shared, some bad ones, and her emotions took over again.

  “After Dan died, I joined a victim’s group for battered women,” said Helen. “I couldn’t go while he was alive.”

  Cane had heard the story several times. Dan, her late husband, had abused both her and Kristy. In fact, when she told Cane about the battered women’s group the first time, it gave him an idea for some side work.

  “I never brought Kristy with me. I could have. She needed help too; I saw Dan abuse her with my own eyes. But there I was, talking and crying with other women while my baby girl suffered alone. All I could think of was helping myself.”

  Cane could sense her guilt as strongly as the first time she confided in him.

  “I guess I thought because she was young and had her whole life ahead of her, she’d be okay.”

  Kristy was eight when Dan died.

  “We all do things we wish we could take back,” said Cane.

  She slumped over on the sofa and struggled to hold herself up. “Do you feel guilty about anything?” she asked.

  Cane didn’t answer. If he felt emotions like others, guilt would likely overwhelm him. He could list dozens of things he’d done that would make the average person blush.

  “I wonder if I had done more when she was younger, if she would’ve handled…” said Helen.

  “She’s doing better,” said Cane. “And she’ll keep getting stronger.”

  Helen sighed; this seemed to encourage her.

  “She’s made it through this because of you,” said Helen. Cane doubted that.

  “You’ve made her feel safe,” said Helen. “She thinks you’re always watching over her.”

  “I’ll always watch over both of you,” said Cane.

  Helen looked at him and smiled. “I know.”

  The two were silent a few moments. It appeared Helen was fighting the urge to pass out.

  “I wish I could’ve been there to see him die,” said Helen.

  Cane wasn’t sure if she was referring to Dan or the Blue Rose Killer.

  “Tell me how scared he was to die,” said Helen.

  The Blue Rose Killer. Cane had skirted this question on prior occasions; he didn’t know if Helen actually wanted to know, for she only asked when she drank.

  “They all die the same,” said Cane. “A man like that knows how to commit violence but not how to receive it. Once he sees the person in front of him is equally or more capable of violence than he is, he feels true fear. He knew he would die when he faced a monster worse than himself.”

  “You’re not worse than that psycho,” said Helen.

  “There’re others that would disagree.”

  Helen looked up at him again, meeting his eyes, struggling to keep focus. “You saved my baby girl,” she said. “And me. I don’t care what else bad you’ve done. You’re a good man.”

  Cane wondered if she’d feel that way if she knew everything about him.

  “Families accept each other just as they are because we’re all flawed,” said Helen. “You. Are. Family. Nothing will change that. You’re like a son to me.”

  Helen had never spoken that way before, and she had never referred to him as family. A foreign feeling washed over Cane, but he liked it.

  When he looked again at Helen, she had lost the battle to remain conscious. Her right arm had fallen over and hung off the sofa, and on the floor below her lay a worn artificial blue rose, a token of the killer that nearly stole her daughter’s life.

  He carried Helen upstairs to her bedroom. She was still wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which Cane could do nothing to remedy, but he pulled her sandals off to make her a little more comfortable. After covering her, he turned off the lamp beside her bed and left.

  Cane dreaded the anniversary visits, not because of the company but because he hated to see the two of them hurting so deeply. Things were much better now than in the beginning though. The year following the tragedy, they spent most of the visits crying. As time went on, they could talk about things unrelated to Kristy’s abduction, and Cane enjoyed that. He only wanted them both to move forward and enjoy their lives again.

  Cane left through the back door, arming their security system as he exited. He ducked down the alley behind their house and into the cover of darkness. He varied his routes when he visited, always parked far away, and never in the same place twice.

  The streets were quiet. Cane always felt more alive after visiting Kristy and Helen, even on difficult nights like this. He became lost in his thoughts, realizing how different he was from the man that nearly ran over Kristy. Back then, he didn’t think he could feel certain emotions; now he struggled to suppress them. He thought about what life would be like as a normal man with no dark past looming over him, a life not spent hiding from those that wanted him. Was it possible for him to blend in with the rest of humanity? Could he have a family of his own?

  These walks were the only time Cane had the chance to ponder these things; being in the Campbell’s presence filled him with hope, inspiration, and optimism absent from his normal train of thought. Once he reached his car, reality would resume, and he’d be the same old Cane. Ruthless. Stoic.

  As Cane approached his car, however, he realized tonight wouldn’t be the same as others. From a distance, he saw something attached to the back bumper but couldn’t tell what it was. He stopped, listened, and looked around him but saw nothing suspicious, so he approached to get a better look. A device was duct-taped to the trunk of his car that he didn’t recognize until he removed it.

  It was a cassette player, a device last used by most people decades ago. Cane had seen a few in his lifetime, but none this small. The only other ones he’d seen were part of the old stereos with cassette decks on the side and CD player on top.

  Cane didn’t want to remain beside
his vehicle and exposed, so he got in and drove away, checking behind him for anyone following. Five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a closed convenience store, turned off his lights, and killed the engine. He looked at the cassette player and wondered who left it. There’s only one way to find out, he thought.

  Cane pressed the “play” button and listened to a female voice. He didn’t recognize it, but it was soft and pleasant, much like Helen’s. He turned up the volume as loud as it would go.

  Cane, I’m sorry if I alarmed you. I know you’re not used to someone finding you. Trust me, it was hard to do. I mean you no harm. I’m a friend.

  Be very careful with the information I give you. In fact, trust no one.

  I need your help. There’s a girl staying at the Holiday Inn in Brookline, Massachusetts, near MIT, and she’s in grave danger. Her name is Natalie Lawrence, and she’ll be staying in room 313 this Friday night. Some terrible men will try to kill her at midnight. I think you know these men. They have strange birthmarks on their right forearms.

  You must save Natalie. She’s more important than you know, and you’ll see why later. I can’t explain how catastrophic it would be for you to fail or to ignore this message.

  I know you better than you think. I know what Red Delta did; I know that you’ve since looked for a purpose apart from it. I’ll lead you to that purpose, Cane. There is a threat out there that’s far greater than any you’ve ever conceived of.

  And only you can stop it.

  When you find Natalie, she’ll have an address in her purse. Bring her to the address to receive further instructions.

  When eliminating the assassin or assassins, take something with you of theirs. Something containing their DNA. There’s something you need to see.

  I want you to believe me. And I know how to show you the truth. Trust me, this is just the beginning.

  The recording turned to static. Cane listened two more times before cranking his car and leaving.

  Tonight just got interesting, he thought.

  Taking Measures

  Wednesday, 9/6/2028 11:10 p.m.

  Perkins, Florida

  It took Cane ten minutes to reach his house, a beat-up old shack a friend had set him up in. It was in a secluded area, was in decent shape, and best of all, only a short drive away from Helen and Kristy. He parked beside Lynks’s large van, or what he called his “mobile center,” and went inside. It was late by Lynks’s standards, but he was still awake, sitting on the sofa reading a book. He glanced up at Cane and gave a slight smile.

  “How’d it go?” asked Lynks.

  “Helen was drowning her sorrows,” said Cane. “Kristy was asleep. She has work in the morning.” Cane nodded as he saw Lynks’s eyes light up with approval. “She has a job now. A steady job.”

  Lynks had only met the Campbells a few times, but he’d grown to care for them. Cane knew Lynks would be glad to hear about Kristy’s employment. He set his book down, got up, and stretched. “That’s great!” he said. “Do you know where she’s working?”

  Cane cursed himself for forgetting to ask.

  “A job’s a job,” said Lynks. “It’s a step in the right direction.”

  Cane nodded. He appreciated Lynks’s support, even when Cane had insisted on living close to them.

  He and Lynks were like brothers, in more than one sense of the word. Their respective mothers gave them to Red Delta within days of each other, as did the twenty other boys’ when they were babies. They became friends early on, were later paired together in the field, and when the program shut down, they fled and hid together.

  They complemented each other well; Lynks had never excelled in the physical aspects of training and field work but was smart. His knowledge of all things tech-related had proved invaluable in their years together.

  Cane’s first childhood memory involved Lynks. He was five years old. Two of the other trainees were teasing Lynks, which had become common due to his small size. Lynks wasn’t strong, tall, or confident, and some of the others were there to remind him of it. None of the boys had yet to encounter the brutal physical challenges that would remedy a lot of bullying and selfish attitudes, but then again, no training could’ve thwarted young boys from antagonizing someone they perceived as weaker. It was in their nature.

  When two of the boys, Joe and Connor, took the bullying to another level and punched Lynks, Cane came to his aid. The skirmish was brief, and though Cane had no combat training yet, he still overpowered the two bullies and made them cry.

  After the officers broke up the fight, they sent Cane and Lynks to see Captain Bowman, the man in charge of the program. Bowman was a hard man, military through and through, and he wasn’t amused by the fight. He also knew Joe and Connor had a reputation for bullying and that Lynks had been the recipient of much of their torment. Bowman had an interesting approach toward the boys; he wasn’t so concerned about the whole of them becoming a unit or trusting each other, for they were to be assassins, not a team. This mindset differed from what they taught him when he joined the army where teamwork, trust, loyalty, and selflessness were stressed beyond all else and were necessary attributes; however, to survive and thrive out in the field, the boys would be on their own. There would be no team that had your back if things went sideways, and the boys would only ever be able to trust themselves. Not only did Bowman tolerate selfishness—he stressed its importance. Therefore, there was no room for compassion amongst the trainees.

  “Lynks, what happened today, son? You can’t let those boys bully you.” Bowman’s deep, authoritative voice held the boys’ attention, as it always did. “You won’t always have Cane to watch your back.”

  Bowman looked at Cane with a stern expression. “I can’t fault you for what you did, but in the future, stay out of it. Lynks will need to defend himself. You worry about you.”

  When the two left Bowman’s office, Cane pulled Lynks to the side as they returned to their rooms.

  “The captain’s wrong,” said Cane. “I’ll always be here to watch your back.”

  And he did, though as the boys in the program got older, most outgrew their bullying ways. What they didn’t outgrow was trained out, with only a few exceptions. Both Joe and Connor seemed to have taken the incident personally and wouldn’t forget it, even years later in the field.

  The incident formed a bond between Cane and Lynks that wouldn’t falter, even twenty-one years later. Bowman paired them up early on, especially when he saw Lynks would likely never become the skilled assassin the program hoped to produce. The decision turned out to be a wise one as the two forged a partnership yielding priceless results.

  Cane pulled the cassette recorder out of his pocket and placed it on the kitchen table. Lynks stepped forward to examine it.

  “A cassette player? I haven’t seen one of these in a long time.” With gadgets, Lynks could be as giddy as a kid with a new toy. “Where’d you get this?” He looked at Cane, who wore a frown. “What’s wrong?”

  “Have a seat,” said Cane.

  Lynks sat, Cane pressed the “play” button, and they listened to the mystery woman together until the static took over.

  “Again,” said Lynks.

  After the third play-through, Lynks leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Let me guess. You want to entertain this.”

  “Yes. I’d like to see where it goes,” said Cane.

  Lynks sighed again, louder this time. “You realize this could be a set-up, right? Someone who wants to get you to a certain place at a specific time. I don’t like it.”

  Cane always appreciated Lynks’s caution, which had proved valuable over the years, but he disagreed this time. While they stayed busy, mostly, since leaving Red Delta, they had found it challenging to feel the same rush, the same purpose, that they sensed while in the field. This message promised something more, something substantial, and Cane couldn’t let that pass.

  “It’s not a set-up,” said Cane. “And if it was, it’d be a dumb one.”
Leaving a tape luring him to a location wouldn’t be the most well-thought-out plan. If this lady knew Cane as well as it seemed, she’d know giving him a heads-up would be a catastrophic error. However, he understood why Lynks was skeptical. Someone knew how to reach him, knew he visited Kristy and Helen, even knew what car he drove. It was an uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling for them both.

  “We’ll approach it carefully,” said Cane. Irritation was still clear on Lynks’s face, but he’d come around.

  “Can you look up this girl she mentioned? Natalie Lawrence?” asked Cane.

  “Yeah, let me get my laptop.” Lynks shuffled down the hall to his office and returned with his computer. He sat down at the kitchen table and typed.

  “Could you identify the lady on the tape by her voice?”

  Lynks frowned. “I’m not sure. I can try. I’d need to convert the cassette to digital audio, which is simple. I could run it through our old military database we shared with the CIA as long as they haven’t made sweeping changes.”

  “I’ll need everything you have on the hotel, too,” said Cane.

  “That’ll be easy,” said Lynks. “She said room 313, right?”

  Cane nodded. He thought about what the recording said about the men with marks on their forearms. It was no surprise she knew about these men; they had been all over the news for a long time. The phenomenon had started when Cane and Lynks were in Red Delta, and they witnessed the nationwide panic unfold. There were wild conspiracy theories floating around everywhere, and a lot of speculation, but there was never an official explanation. Men all across the country were disappearing from their families, their homes, and reappearing elsewhere, or sometimes remaining missing.

  Then there were the violent ones who sparked most of the conspiracy theories, marked men who went on random, violent killing sprees with no explanation or clear motive. Most of them disappeared afterward, but a few turned up dead. Rumors abounded concerning the destination of their dead bodies, some claiming the government swooped in, took them, and never provided a proper burial.