Dead End

by Jeramy Gates

  “No, it’s fine. I’m at the Informant’s house.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d be there already. Did you bring the stereo cams?”

  “I didn’t think about it.”

  “That’s okay. Just photograph anything that looks important.”

  Val stared down at the empty chair. “I think I’ve already found something.” She snapped a quick photo and sent it to Matt. “What do you make of that?”

  “Whoa!” he exclaimed as the image arrived. “This is in the Informant’s house? You’re kidding… He was holding someone captive? What does this mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Good grief. How deep does this rabbit hole go? Oh, that reminds me. I’ve got some more dirt on this guy. It might help.”

  Val froze as she heard voices outside. She glanced around the room, looking for a way to get up to the window. She noticed a folding stepstool squeezed into the corner behind the workbench. She grabbed it, and unfolded it under the nearest window.

  “Did you hear me?” Matt said. “Val?”

  She made a shushing noise as she climbed the stool. Very carefully, she lifted her head just far enough to see the property outside. She was looking across the lawn at the side of the house, adjacent to the lane. She followed the sound of the voices and realized it was two joggers on the other side of the hedge. She caught a glimpse of running shoes between the leaves, and saw a pony tail bouncing along at the top of the hedge.

  “It’s all right,” she said in a low voice. “Just some joggers.” She climbed off the stool, shaking her head. “Who jogs in the rain, anyway?”

  “Umm, Portland,” Matt reminded. “When else would they jog? Anyway, as I was saying before you so rudely shushed me, I found out Alexander was a senator.”

  “A senator?” Val stared off into space.

  “Briefly. He held a senate seat for two years, apparently in New Hampshire.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was a scandal. Something about him and a prostitute.”

  “That explains the family portraits,” Val mused. “Let me guess: he’s divorced.”

  “Oh yeah. Nasty one, too.”

  “Got anything else?”

  “I’m still looking. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

  “Perfect.”

  Val hung up and found her herself alone in the gloomy silence. She became aware of the sound of rain pelting the driveway outside. The chair sat before her, a remnant of a long-lost moment in time. She couldn’t help thinking about what had happened there. Had Alexander tortured someone? Had he killed someone? Was the Informant a killer, too? It just didn’t quite add up. He didn’t seem the type. He was too old, for one thing. Not physically strong enough.

  She had to wonder what -if anything- this had to do with the Collector. Did the Informant have more to do with the tragedy in her life than she’d suspected? Could he have been working with the killer all this time? The mere thought of it sent anger churning up inside of her.

  Val approached the chair. She stared down at it, thinking, wondering. Finally, she dropped into it. She sat there with her eyes closed, her posture upright, shoulders thrust back, her cane resting against her knee. She felt the cushion underneath her, the tattered bonds teasing the skin of her wrists. She smelled the place, the ancient dust and mildew and concrete. The sound of nothing filled her ears, of dead air in an empty space and the dull, distant patter of rain.

  Val went back in time, back to her own kitchen six years ago. It seemed a lifetime now, a memory hazing over mercifully with age. But the pain remained sharp -as sharp as the knife he’d held to her throat. The same knife he’d used to kill Kyle and Tom.

  Had someone died in this chair, she wondered. Murdered by the Collector, or perhaps the Informant? It was ironic that this was how the Informant himself had died. Is this how his journey had begun, just as it had ended?

  Why? she wondered. Why had the Collector killed him?

  Was this what awaited her; another chair like this one? Was this how he would finally kill her, too? She opened her eyes and sat staring across the darkened basement, her gaze distant, her face a pale grim mask that seemed to glow in the darkness, the torture chair beneath her like a deathly black throne.

  Chapter 6

  It was noon when Val turned off the highway and onto the familiar dirt road leading through the farmland outside Idaho Falls. Random wild trees sprouted up along the road -quaking aspens, elms, maples- and beyond, she saw an endless field of green leading towards the jagged, irregular peaks of the Tetons.

  The old homestead came into a view: a white two-story farmhouse with hunter green trim, a wide covered porch, a tall red barn with sliding doors on the front… and the at once familiar and terrifying circle of stones that marked the old dry well.

  Valkyrie wasn’t sure exactly how she’d come to be here. She had left Oregon with the intention of going to visit an old friend in Nevada while waiting to hear from Matt. Somehow, the road had brought her here instead. She rolled to a stop just outside the property and sat there, staring. It looked almost exactly the way she had left it. The old chicken coop was gone now, but it had been in bad shape already. She didn’t see any sign of a replacement, or any other type of livestock, either. Not the farming type, this new owner, she thought. Factory to table, the freshest poison available…

  She tried to shake off the old thoughts that came bubbling to the surface. That was the old Val, the one who cared about things like that. The one who had been horrified to learn that genetically modified crops didn’t just have animal and insect genes inserted into them; they had also been designed to produce their own pesticides. Pesticides inside the plants! And people who didn’t know better had been feeding these pesticides to their children, thinking GMOs were no different from plants that had been selectively bred…

  She sighed. That wasn’t her battle anymore. Her world was a place where black-eyed monsters crept into homes in the night, raping, torturing, killing… Where, in order to find justice, a victim might have to find her own dark place deep inside, and learn to draw on that strength and use it to destroy her enemy before he could bring any more lives to ruin. It was a world of shadowy faces and dark conspiracies, and to walk in such a place, one must become what one hates and fears the most.

  Valkyrie stared at the well where it had all begun, where she had almost died. She tried to fight back the surge of memories that came bubbling up from the depths of her subconscious. So many things rushing at her all at once. There was more to this place than just one night, she thought. There were hundreds of memories here. Not just murder and death. Good memories. There, by the porch, Kyle had helped her plant tulip bulbs when he was just two years old. And a few steps away, she had watched Tom teach Kyle to ride his first bike. There had been birthdays, holidays, trips into town and back, thousands of treks from the bus stop at the end of the lane after school.

  Yet it was the well that held her focus. Somehow, Valkyrie found herself gently releasing the brake pedal and idling forward into the drive. She parked and stood outside the car, leaning on her cane, staring at the well. A cool breeze caressed her skin, and she inhaled the familiar scent of wild grass. Fresh, country air, she thought. Snow on the mountains. Home. That’s what it was supposed to be, but it wasn’t anymore. No place would ever be home again.

  Chapter 7

  “One hour on the computer,” Lynette Webster told her daughters, “if you clear your plates.”

  Sophie and Ava let out simultaneous cheers. Lynette watched with a sly smile as the nine-year-old twins went racing into the kitchen. “Just the robot game,” she called after them. “No guns.”

  “We know,” Ava said in an exasperated tone. “It’s the only game you let us play.”

  An exaggeration perhaps, but close enough to the truth. At least the robot game, in which the girls would mine simple materials to build homes, vehicles and such, was relatively wholesome, if not particularly educational. L
ynette had mixed feelings about the technology. It was a necessary evil she supposed, especially for this younger generation. The tech would follow them from cradle to grave, much in the way that television and radio had done for previous generations. Like those earlier inventions, it had great potential, both for good and evil. At best it would keep them connected, expand their horizons, and stimulate their minds. But she tried not to think about the internet at its worst.

  Even for Lynette and her husband Paul, both of whom fell into that undefined group somewhere between the tail end of Gen X and the birth of the Millennials, the digital world had become indispensable. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d left the house without her phone. Or gone two hours without checking for updated posts.

  Lynette watched the girls start up their game on the living room PC. Her smile broadened as she saw them working together, deciding what they would build this session. It was truly remarkable, the way it brought them together.

  She glanced at the clock. It was twelve-thirty. That gave her plenty of time to finish the day’s bookkeeping after the girls’ computer time. Presuming the girls could keep the noise down for the afternoon. If not, she’d be back to working after dinner again. That was the price she paid for being a stay-at-home CPA and homeschooling her kids. But at least she had this precious time with her children, and she didn’t have to worry about handing them over to strangers all day.

  Satisfied that they were playing nicely, Lynette wandered into the kitchen to do the dishes. On her way there, it occurred to her that she hadn’t figured out dinner yet. She paused to glance in the fridge. “Eggplant,” she decided. “Eggplant parmesan… and salad.”

  The girls wouldn’t be thrilled, but Paul would. And this way, she didn’t have to make a trip to the store. She had become quite adept at making meals out of odds and ends. Not that she couldn’t afford a shopping trip. Really, it was all about the time, of which she never had enough- Lynette turned and gasped as through the kitchen window, she saw a tall dark figure standing in the driveway. The sudden appearance of this stranger caught her so off guard it sent her heart racing. She licked her lips, moving closer to the window.

  It was a woman, Lynette realized. She visibly relaxed. She didn’t know why. It just felt less threatening, knowing that it was a woman. But who was she? And what was she doing here? Lynette hurried to the door, telling the girls to stay put as she stepped out onto the porch.

  “Hello,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  The woman turned to stare at her. She was tall, dressed in black and wearing a long coat. She was standing in front of a dust-covered SUV, which also was black. An air of mystery seemed to surround the woman, but it was her face that Lynette found striking. The woman was beautiful, with chiseled features and dark, fierce, riveting eyes. The woman’s features morphed into a half-smile.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, approaching the porch. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t realize you were home.”

  Lynette tilted her head, perplexed. “I don’t understand… I think you maybe have the wrong place.”

  “Maybe,” the woman said. She started to turn away.

  “Wait! I know who you are. You’re the woman who used to own this place, aren’t you?” The look on the woman’s face answered Lynette’s question. She stepped off the porch and held out her hand. “I thought so. It’s Valkyrie, right? I’m Lynette Webster.”

  They shook hands, and Lynette’s smile faded. “Oh, I just remembered… I’m so sorry. I heard what happened here… the home invasion. If there’s anything we can do-”

  “It’s all right,” Val said. “It was a long time ago.”

  “We haven’t changed the place much. You can look around, if you’d like.”

  It was clear from the look on Valkyrie’s face that she was about to say “No thanks,” but the girls came running out of the house at that moment. They leapt off the porch, sneakers crunching in the gravel driveway as they raced to their mother’s side. They stood next to her, staring up at Valkyrie with curious faces.

  “This is Valkyrie,” Lynette said to the girls. “She used to live here. Valkyrie, these are my daughters, Sophie and Ava.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” Valkyrie said, shaking their hands in turn.

  “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Val said. “I really can’t stay. I just wanted a look at the old place. I’d better be going.”

  “Are you sure? We’d be happy to have you stay for dinner.”

  Val declined. “I really must be going.” She glanced down at the twins. “You know girls, I know a secret about this old house. It’s in the little bedroom upstairs. Is that your room?”

  They nodded, wide-eyed. “What’s the secret?” Ava blurted. Sophie chimed in: “Yes, tell us!”

  Val smiled. “All right. I’ll tell you, but only if your mother approves.”

  They tugged on Lynette’s skirt, begging their mother to be let in on the secret. She smiled. “Hmm, now I’m a little curious myself. I think you’d better tell us.”

  “All right. If you look in the very back of the closet, you’ll find a strange door there. It’s tall and narrow, and it leads to a secret hideout. My son used to play there when he was a little boy. But you must promise not to go in there unless your mother says so.”

  “We promise!” they said, and immediately started pleading with their mother to see the room. Seeing Lynette’s look of concern, Val reassured her.

  “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. It’s just a small attic space. Tom used to say he was going to rip out that wall and expand the bedroom, but he never got around to it.”

  “All right,” Lynette said to her daughters. “But don’t touch anything until I get there!” Val smiled as they watched the girls race back into the house.

  “Are you sure you can’t stay?” Lynette said.

  “No. I just needed one last look. Thanks again. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

  “Not at all. You’re welcome back any time.”

  Chapter 8

  “What do you make of that?” said Braddock. The thirty-year-old cop’s dark bangs fell over the scar on his forehead as he turned to face agent Castillo. The visiting special agent swung the beam of his flashlight around to illuminate the strangely out of place dining room chair resting in the back of Levin Alexander’s basement. Castillo came closer, looking down at the dry shreds of old duct tape hanging from the armrests.

  “Looks like he held somebody captive here,” Braddock said. “Maybe it was this Smith woman you’re looking for?”

  “Hard to say,” Castillo mumbled. “Check the bonds and the chair for DNA samples. Overnight everything to the lab in DC.”

  “You don’t trust the lab here?”

  “I won’t be here. If we find any evidence, I want it close at hand.”

  “Sure. Anything else?”

  Castillo made a grunting noise that could have been either yes or no and wandered back to the staircase. He lit a cigarette on his way upstairs, ignoring the protests of the local uniforms as he wandered down the hall and into the living room. Two rookies were on their knees, sorting through the piles of unchecked mail.

  “Anything interesting?” he said.

  “Nothing unusual. Bills, bank statements, Christmas cards.”

  Castillo stepped around them and strode out onto the front porch. It was a cool, foggy morning. He had a view of the rooftops and trees down the hill, and the city stretching out below. It was nice enough, he supposed, if a person liked gray. His phone rang, and he put it to his ear.

  “Castillo.”

  “Rog, I’ve got something for you.” It was Jimbo, the chucklehead tech guy. Castillo couldn’t understand why the FBI allowed kids like that in. Wasn’t there a dress code, or at least something about tattoos and piercings? The kid looked like a creature out of a Tarzan novel.

  “What’ve you got?” he grumbled.

  “Levin Alexan
der worked for a contractor called Blackstar Fusion. He was a lobbyist.”

  “How long?”

  “About ten years.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No… is there something else I should be looking for?”

  “You’ll know when you find it,” Castillo grunted, and hung up. He flicked the stub of his cigarette onto the wet lawn, and lit another. He gazed into the tendrils of smoke rising from the ash, but his mind was a thousand miles away. What did Valkyrie Smith have to do with Levin Alexander? Why did she kill him? Was it an act of revenge, because he had held her hostage? No, it couldn’t have been Valkyrie tied up in that chair in the basement. But if not her, then who?

  Castillo had done some research on her background. She’d left a trail of angry law enforcement officers and mangled corpses in her wake all across the country. Some of those cops -the few who had bothered to return his calls- thought Valkyrie might be a serial killer. Or, that she might be working with one. One called her a vigilante and claimed she had impersonated an FBI agent in order to gain access to police resources.

  None of it made any sense. So far, the only lead he had was Blackstar. There was no reason to suspect anything going on at Blackstar, but the assassination of a lobbyist working for a government contractor did demand a closer look. He’d go there tomorrow, get inside under the pretense of informing them of Alexander’s death, and see how they reacted.

  In any case, it didn’t matter to Castillo if Valkyrie was a serial killer or a vigilante. Both were reason enough to go to prison, if not the gas chamber. Ironically, it wasn’t either of those things that spurred his interest in this case- His phone rang, and he answered. It was Jimbo again.

  “I found one more thing you might find interesting.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Blackstar is holding a big company shindig this weekend. There’s supposed to be all kinds of fat cats and politicians there. Some major announcement, apparently.”