Dead End

by Jeramy Gates

  “What about Blackstar?” Val said. “What about all the people you were going to kill?”

  “Oh, that hasn’t changed. I’m still going to kill them.” He looked thoughtful, and a smile came to his lips. “Oh, I see. You’re telling me that it can go back to being like it used to be. You’re saying I should let you go, so you can keep trying to stop me. But that won’t work. It wouldn’t be the same.”

  “What did they do to you?”

  “I was on assignment in Syria. I was ferreting out a group of rebels by selling them small arms and explosives. My handler at Blackstar said to make the deal so we could track them back to their base. I agreed to meet with them. But then something happened. Maybe they thought my cover was blown, or maybe they changed their minds about making the deal. Maybe they were just using me as bait.”

  “They tried to kill you,” Val said. It wasn’t a question. She’d seen the video.

  “They didn’t expect me to survive,” Lester said. “That’s where they screwed up. They should have killed me. When the mission went off the rails, they disbanded the program and disavowed any knowledge of me. They left me there, captured by rebels. Do you know what Syrian rebels do to someone they think is a spy? Let me show you!”

  He pulled off his shirt and turned around, revealing a patchwork of nasty red scars on his back. “They tied me into a chair, and nailed my feet to the floor so I wouldn’t move while they ripped out my fingernails. Then they hung me from the ceiling. They sliced patches of skin off and then burned the exposed flesh with a red-hot iron. After that, they whipped me with a leather strap. Are you starting to get the picture?”

  He pulled his shirt back over his shoulders and turned to face her. Val searched her mind, but found nothing to say. This was the man who had slaughtered her family. As horrible as his experience had been, it didn’t justify the things he had done since then.

  “Tom didn’t do it,” she said at last, her voice little more than a whisper.

  He leaned closer. “What?”

  “My husband. He had nothing to do with what happened to you.”

  “That’s not true! He built that drone. And when I came to him, when I asked him to identify the other people involved, do you know what your husband told me? ‘Go to hell,’ he said. As if I hadn’t already been there! How could he not know?”

  She frowned. “That’s why you killed my family? Because Tom wouldn’t help you get revenge?”

  He gave a slight shrug. “Ironic, isn’t it? He protected those people -the same people who left me for dead. I had to let him know what it felt like. I had to show him what it’s like when you’re abandoned. When you finally realize that you’re going to die, and no one is going to help. It didn’t quite work out that way though, did it? Somebody got it in her mind to escape, and nearly ruined my entire plan.”

  “It worked,” she said under her breath.

  “Huh?” His face twisted into a confused frown.

  “It worked. You didn’t show Tom, but you showed me. Two days at the bottom of that well, waiting to die, knowing no one would ever find me. I died down there…”

  “Huh,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I never thought about it like that.” His maniacal smile returned, and he pulled close, gazing into her face. “See? I told you we’re the same.” Val rolled her eyes, averting her gaze.

  “When this all began,” he said, “I was just looking for one person. That’s all. I just wanted the person responsible -the person who made the decision to pull the trigger that day. If Tom had cooperated, none of this would have happened. I might not even have killed him, and you-”

  “Liar,” she said, her lips curling in a snarl. “Nothing would be different. You might tell yourself this is about revenge, but it’s not. It’s just about killing.”

  She expected him to hit her. Instead, his face went blank as he seemed to consider the comment. Maybe the truth was so obvious that even in his own mind, Lester couldn’t argue it. He paused reflectively, and when he spoke again, he took the conversation in a different direction, as if he hadn’t even heard her:

  “After you disappeared that night, I stuck around to finish the job. I knew you’d show up eventually. But when they found you, they said you were paralyzed: that you were in a coma, and even if you came out of it, you’d never walk again. You were all over the news. I decided to let it be. You were already as good as dead. I guess I underestimated you. We all did.”

  Val smiled. It was true. No one had thought she would walk again, much less go on to track down the man who’d murdered her family. Even now, hanging from that rafter with cold numbness working down her arms, she felt a sense of pride in that. She still believed she was going to kill him. She didn’t know how, but she was determined.

  Lester tilted his head, giving her a funny look. “You know, it just occurred to me that your boyfriend might not be alone. Why didn’t I think of that before? What’s wrong with me lately? Have you been trying to distract me with all this talk?”

  Val smiled. Lester raced out the door. As he vanished into the night, she went back to work on the rope.

  Valkyrie had kept the tiny blade hidden during their talk, cupped in the palm of her hand. Moving it back into a workable position now proved difficult. Her fingers were numb and cold, and by the time she had the blade in place, she could barely feel it. Only by craning her head back could she catch a glimpse of her work. It was painful, jolting to her spine, but necessary.

  At this point, Val wasn’t even sure she’d feel it if she started sawing on her own fingers. She might not know until she saw the blood start to flow…

  When the rope gave way, it almost startled her. Her arms came down, and the blade slipped between her trembling fingers to clatter onto the floor. She doubled over. The room spun, spots dancing in her vision. Her hands trembled, and waves of pain rolled through her spine. Tears came unbidden to her eyes. Valkyrie dropped to her knees, doubling over. She heard the sound of her palms slapping down on the hard-packed earth, but felt only pinpricks. The pain was so bad that for a few seconds, she couldn’t even breathe.

  The world faded into darkness. She forgot everything else. Carver’s body on the floor beside her, the killer stalking somewhere outside, armed and ready to kill her -none of this meant anything. She only knew pain. She fought back the cries that threatened to erupt out of her chest, the helpless tears that wanted to come pouring out of her. She fought it all: the pain, the fear, the waves of misery sweeping up to engulf her. She clenched her teeth, sucking in a breath, steeling herself. This wouldn’t kill her. Not yet. Not after all she had been through. This wasn’t over yet, and she wouldn’t give up until she’d finished what she came to do.

  Gradually, the pain subsided. Her guts unclenched and the sick feeling gave way to shivers. She sucked in a deep breath, and suddenly became aware of her surroundings once again. She reached out to touch Carver’s face. His sharp stubble bit into her palm. She dragged her tingling fingertips over his open eye, closing the lid. His face looked serene, the tips of his blond bangs falling across that black eye patch.

  “I don’t want to die in my sleep,” he had told her once. “I want to see it coming. I want to know-”

  She gave him a weak smile. “It was a good death,” she whispered.

  Val was still there, on her knees next to his body, when the door was flung open. Lightning crashed outside, illuminating the silhouette standing in the doorway. The killer took it all in with a glance. Realizing his prey had somehow escaped, he moved into the room. At the same time, Valkyrie snatched Carver’s pistol from the floor. She fumbled with both hands as Lester came at her. In her haste, she almost dropped it.

  Val fell back, working to get a finger inside the trigger guard. She landed on her rump as the weapon came up. The muscles in her back went agonizingly tight. She felt the familiar shape of the trigger against her tingling fingertip, and squeezed without bothering to aim.

  The explosion of gunfire lit the roo
m, and the boom set bells ringing in her ears. Lester howled. He stumbled back, crashing into the doorframe. Val fired again, and saw a tiny burst of light where the bullet hit the stone wall next to him. Fragments rained down, and a puff of dust hovered in the air.

  The killer ducked. He turned, raising his right arm instinctively to shield himself, and stumbled out into the darkness. Valkyrie fired again, but he was gone. She had no idea whether any of her shots had hit him.

  Valkyrie pushed to her feet. There, against the wall, was her cane. She took it, leaning heavily on it as she approached the threshold. Another stroke of lightning lit up the sky. There, fifty yards away, she saw Hurt’s lurching figure. He ran with an awkward gait towards the staircase, and she smiled as she realized she’d wounded him. It was almost over now. Then a thought struck:

  Carver’s boat! That was the only way he could have found his way out to the island. He must have brought a boat, and now Hurt was going for it -he was trying to escape. Val rushed after him.

  Every step rattled her spine. The tingling sensation in her fingertips remained, but she could feel her strength returning. She felt cold, and that at least was something. Up ahead, the killer paused at the top of the stairs to look back at her. Val raised the pistol and fired again. The shot went wide, but he ducked and went racing down into the darkness.

  Val wanted to run after him, but she couldn’t. The pain was too great. She paused to gather her strength and catch her breath. After a few moments, she walked the last hundred yards to the overlook. By the time she got there, the sailboat was already drifting away from the pier. The stormy sea boiled around it, clouds churning in the sky. The wind whipped up, lashing her hair across her face and flapping the fabric of her coat. Moment by moment, foot by foot, her prey made his escape. All she could do was watch.

  He might still die, she thought. The bullet wound might kill him, or the ocean…

  The wind tugged at her jacket, and that was when Val remembered the object in her pocket. She tucked Carver’s pistol into her shoulder holster and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small rectangular device made of plastic, with a red button on top and an extendable metal rod. Her eyes widened. If the device in her hand was what she thought it was, that must mean Carver and Matt had devised a second trigger for the explosives. Had he brought them here? Had he retrieved the pack, and brought it with him to use against the Collector?

  Still hardly believing, she extended the antenna. Offshore, the boat rolled over the waves, Lester Hurt’s dark figure barely visible now on the deck. Val narrowed her eyes. She pressed the button.

  Instantly, the sailboat erupted in a fiery explosion. The boat split down the middle. The blast blew a hole in the surface of the ocean, and then punched into the heavens, forming into a small mushroom cloud. Waves rolled out like mini tsunamis. She couldn’t take her eyes off the event, even when the noise died away and the flames scattered into a few floating cinders that rained down and bobbed across the waves.

  The wind was biting cold on her face, forming tears in her eyes. She became aware of a chopping sound, a rapid thud-thud-thud that grew louder and slower as it approached. A helicopter appeared in the clouds overhead, throwing down a spotlight beam that danced around her. To the west, she saw the lights of a Coast Guard cruiser moving in her direction. Through a bullhorn, a voice from the chopper said, “Drop your weapon, and put your hands in the air.”

  Where had they come from? How did they know? Matt, she realized. This was his doing. It had to be.

  “Drop your weapon!” the voice repeated.

  Valkyrie smiled. She tossed the trigger device over the cliff, along with Carver’s pistol. They vanished into the darkness below, swallowed up by the churning black waves.

  She thought about her borrowed Glock, and remembered that Lester had taken it onto the boat with him. All the evidence was gone now, she realized, sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic, along with whatever ashes remained of the Collector. The only remaining evidence was the knife -his knife, with Lester’s fingerprints and no one else’s all over it. Maybe it would even have the DNA of some of his victims.

  Finally, it was over. Her smile widened.

  Chapter 27

  The Coast Guard handed Valkyrie over to the state police, who in turn took her to a hospital for a medical evaluation before releasing custody to the Feds. The attending doctor took an x-ray of her back and examined her other injuries before declaring them minor. It was a slow night, and Valkyrie seemed to have piqued his curiosity. The doctor was young and attractive, probably not even thirty judging by his looks, and he seemed eager to make conversation.

  “That’s some amazing work they did to your spine,” he observed, looking over the x-ray. “Twenty years ago, this kind of surgery wasn’t even possible. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “If you say so.” The blank stare Valkyrie gave him seemed to shake him. The young physician gave her a faltering look. He straightened, masking his emotions with a dispassionate look.

  “I understand FBI agents are waiting for you outside.”

  “I suppose they would be,” she said.

  “You don’t seem to be... Do you mind me asking…?”

  “Why they are waiting for me?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What I did?” An amused smile crept over her features. “I killed someone.”

  His eyes widened. “Oh, I see.” He turned to leave, but she stopped him.

  “Don’t you want to know who?”

  The doctor hesitated at the door, with his back to her. Slowly, he turned to face her. “Your husband? Boyfriend?”

  Val locked eyes with him. “I killed the man who raped me, murdered my son and my husband, and left me for dead. He was a serial killer. He tortured and killed two dozen people over the last six years, maybe more.”

  The doctor wore a look of undisguised disbelief. “I don’t understand,” he said. “If that’s all true, why would they arrest you?”

  “For doing their job.” Then, in a more serious tone: “It’s still called murder, even when it’s justified.”

  The doc shook his head. He reached into his coat and drew out a shrink-wrapped package of pills. “This is just a sample pack,” he said, “but they should get you through a few days. Go easy, they’re prescription strength. And they do contain opiates, so they can be habit forming.”

  Val thanked him. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have considered taking medicine that powerful, but after the last two days, she was afraid she’d be back in a wheelchair if she didn’t do something to relax her muscles. She took one, and then realizing that the police would probably confiscate them, took another. With any luck, they’d knock her out for a few hours.

  At ten a.m., Val found herself alone in an FBI interrogation room in Boston. The pills had done their job, and for the first time in two days, the pain was gone. Unfortunately, she remained wide awake and at the mercy of the slow grind of the law. She hadn’t been officially arrested yet, or charged with any crimes, but the long wait told her they were working up to it. Holding her in this fashion allowed them to treat her like a criminal, denying her sleep or food, with the goal of breaking down her will to resist. When she was exhausted and desperate enough, they’d try to coax out a confession. It wasn’t exactly a new or clever tactic, and as far as she could tell it usually only worked on the weakest of minds. The feds liked to stick to the classics.

  Val spent an hour in this fashion, with no water to drink, no food, no trips to the restroom -not even so much as an offer. She could hear bits and pieces of conversation in the hallway outside, or in the room next door, and she could see the heads of people passing by through the small window in the door. She couldn’t be sure who -if anyone- watched her through the one-way glass on the wall, but it seemed almost certain that someone was there.

  At last, the door opened. In walked Special Agent Roger Castillo. He carried a stack of files under his arm. Another agent followed him in, pushing a small cart with a portab
le coffee station. He pushed the coffee station up next to the table. Castillo thanked him, and the man left.

  “Coffee?” Castillo said, sinking into the chair across from her. He took one of the paper cups and filled it for himself.

  “I’m not sure,” Valkyrie mused. “Will I need the energy?”

  He gave her a slight smile. “I don’t really see any way around it.”

  The door opened again. An attractive woman with short blonde hair stepped inside. She wore an expensive pantsuit with a gold bracelet and matching gold earrings. Val immediately recognized her.

  “Senator Booker,” Castillo said. “We were just about to begin. Senator, this is Valkyrie Smith.”

  “We’ve met,” the senator said, giving Val a nod. She dropped into the empty chair next to Castillo. “Go ahead, Mr. Castillo. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  He turned his attention to Valkyrie as he opened the top file. “We’ve been tracking you for a long time, Mrs. Smith. Let me be the first to say that -everything else aside- you have my sincere condolences for what happened to you and your family. However, that is no excuse to go on a vigilante rampage across half the country.” He glanced back and forth between her and the file as he spoke, but he paused now, weaving his fingers together on the table, to stare at her. “What do you have to say for yourself Mrs. Smith?”

  “Call me Valkyrie.”

  “All right.”

  She stared at him, and he stared back. After a few seconds, he became irritated. “I asked you a question.”

  Valkyrie stared at him, calm, slightly amused. Castillo gave the senator a sideways glance as he ran his hand through his hair. “All right,” he said. “If that’s how it’s going to be, how do you like this…”