by A J Rivers
Getting everything ready for this operation was such a flurry of activity and tension that the sudden calm of it going into action feels strange.
Armed with my gun, the unlock code for the front door, and every bit of adrenaline and caution I can muster, I stop at the steps to the old house before going in. It’s just as I remember it. Like the years have slipped away, and the moment I cross the door, I will slip seventeen years into the past.
I let myself in. As soon as I step beyond the front door into the foyer, memories wash over me. The sound of my mother’s laughter floods my ears. I can almost catch the smell of her skin.
I walk over to the front door and press my back to it, sliding down to sit on the floor. From that position, I can see sunlight splashing through the glass at the top of the door, glowing in a late-afternoon rainbow on the stairs. I don’t look up. I don’t want to see the landing and risk catching a glimpse of myself sitting there, perpetually staring down and waiting to see my mother’s face.
It’s been so long since I’ve been in the house, I forgot how well isolated it really is. Far away from any neighbors or main roads, it is quiet, but slightly unnerving. Everyone is strategically placed around the grounds and back at the hotel where the files taken from my mother’s casket still sit. Now all I have to do is wait.
With nothing better to do, I go into the living room. I’m drawn to the couch. It’s not the same one that was there when I was a little girl, but close enough. I sit where Ron Murdock did the night my mother died. He was there to protect me, to watch over me since he couldn’t watch over her. I’m thankful for the memories I have of him now. I only wish there were more of them. I wish I knew his smile and the sound of his voice. The smiles in the pictures of him I’ve seen aren’t enough. I want to know who he was when he wasn’t on duty.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting watching TV when I hear the wail of a siren in the distance. It’s short and far enough away to barely be audible, but it grabs my attention. I move to turn the channel and suddenly feel eyes on my back.
“Hoping to catch a replay of your statement, Emma?”
The voice isn’t familiar, but I have no doubt who’s standing behind me. I turn to face him without hesitation.
Anson is taller and even more imposing than he looks on the surveillance footage. His black hood is pulled up over his head like it was when he walked down the street away from the bus station, but as he takes a step toward me, he pushes it back, revealing his thick hair tied in a ponytail at the back of his neck.
“It really is too bad, you know,” he says.
“What is?” I ask. My hand is already on my holster. I won’t make the same mistake I did last time.
“You were so close. But you just couldn’t figure it out. Just like I thought.”
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Testing me.”
He laughs.
“I guess it makes sense you would simplify it so much. The Great Emma Griffin. People treat you like you’re the second coming like you have some sort of inhuman ability. But you’re nothing. I had to prove that. I had to prove all this worship over you is ridiculous,” he says.
“So, that’s it? You just wanted to give me a mystery you didn’t think I could solve? To what? To prove I’m human?”
“To prove you aren’t worth the admiration. You aren’t worth the distraction. It didn’t start this way. At first, I just wanted to know who you are. I heard your name every day. I listened to the stories, the dreams, the fantasies. You became everything, and I needed to understand it. I needed to know what it was about you that made you so exalted, so precious. But then I realized that wasn’t enough.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of black gloves, putting them on slowly before drawing a large knife out of a hilt under his sweatshirt. “I needed to rid the world of you, to bring you down so order could be restored.”
“Order through chaos?” I ask.
“I can’t expect you to understand. You may be his daughter, but you will never be what he once was. What I believe he can be again. He just has to remember. He needs his mind clear so he can see the truth again. And that begins with you being gone.”
Anson rushes me with the knife held up by his shoulder. That one position tells me everything about his motivation. A knife held up above the head is meant to slash. One held at the shoulder gains more force, enough to plunge deep and impale.
I’m able to dart out of his way and run around the opposite end of the couch. I raise my gun and fire two quick shots in succession, but he ducks low, advancing on me as the bullets whiz over his back. I train my weapon on him and am about to squeeze the trigger when a voice behind me stops us both in our tracks.
“Stop!”
I immediately leap out to the side and turn, putting my back away from both men.
Anson’s fingers twitch and roll, adjusting his grip on the knife. His eyes both darken and go wide.
“Lotan,” Anson says.
My gun held firm in my grasp, I aim first at Anson, then at Jonah, then back to Anson, my eyes darting back and forth to make sure neither one makes a sudden move. Anson holds his knife up at an angle midway between both of us. And from where I am, I can’t see if Jonah has a weapon. But knowing him, I’m certain he has something up his sleeve.
We’re in a standoff.
I suddenly realize both men have gotten inside without incident.
Where are Sam, Eric, and Dean?
Chapter Forty
My heart pounds so hard against my ribs I worry they’ll crack and each tremble of blood through my veins makes my hands shake and my stomach churn. I take a slow, measured step back, but Anson’s long stride brings him inches away from me in a split second.
“Don’t touch her.”
Anson turns his head slowly to look at the older man standing just feet away from him. I didn’t turn the lights on while I was watching TV. The sun setting outside creates shadows throughout the room. But they’re not dark enough for me to hide in. It’s just enough to blanket both men in gray that both conceals and accentuates their features and movements. They both seem larger cloaked in the coming evening, but I can no longer see their eyes or the details of their faces. I inch closer to a table lamp, but Anson points his blade directly at me.
“Don’t move,” he warns. “This is perfect. A moment better than I could have even dreamed of. Look at this, Lotan. Your worshipped and revered Emma is standing right here in front of you because of me. Because I found her, and I brought her here.”
“You didn’t bring her here,” Jonah growls back. “She made the choice to come.”
“Only because she thought she solved mysteries I created for her. And she was wrong. She blamed an innocent. Perhaps not fully innocent, but not a killer. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Doesn’t that show you who she really is?” Anson asks.
“You have always been so loyal to me. You are so pliable, so trainable. You’ve always been quick to do my bidding. With you, I have known I would never be questioned because you had none of your own.”
Anson’s face darkens.
“How could you say that? After everything I’ve done for you? The systems I’ve designed and sabotaged. The weapons I’ve created. You would never have achieved half of what you have if it wasn’t for me. But that’s exactly why I needed to do this. It was for you, Lotan. I wanted to remind you.”
“To remind me? You’ve lost faith in me?”
“Yes,” Anson says. “When I first learned of Leviathan and heard the name Lotan, I had no idea what it was or what to expect. But so quickly, I learned it was my home. My place in this world. I’ve never felt like other people. I always believed there was more in the world. More to accomplish. A higher calling. And that’s what you gave to me. You taught me about the transformative, primordial power of chaos. I woke up. I came alive. The world became a place full of opportunity, and I was eager to pursue all of it. To follow you as you pursued it.”
“And like I said, you’ve been a loyal servant. Up until now.”
As they’re talking, attention totally rapt on each other, I square myself, calculating the exact angle I’ll need to fire. I’ll only have one shot at this.
“You threw everything away,” Anson says, his voice rising shrill as his emotions start to take over. “You stopped caring! Your grasp on the missions you created started to slip!”
I move slowly, closer to the table, and manage to turn on the lamp, giving slightly more light to the room. Anson whips back around to face me, pointing the blade of his knife directly at the soft base of my throat.
“I told you not to move,” he growls. “Why won’t you listen? Why won’t you learn? You are outwitted. Outsmarted.”
He spins around again, and I see the men are now closer. They are gradually easing across the room toward each other like a magnetic force is drawing them. “Why were you so wrapped up in her? She became your only focus. You didn’t care about anything else anymore, and your power and control were slipping through your fingers. I had to step up. There’s nothing I could do. I couldn’t watch Leviathan fall. I wanted to bring you back and restore you to your glory. But if I couldn’t, I would take your place.”
My heart gives another hard pound. I’m very aware of Anson’s peripheral vision. I slowly and carefully lift my gun at an angle. I don’t know what other weapons might be among us, so I have to be careful as to not spark the violence.
“You’ve done well,” says Jonah.
Anson looks as shocked as I feel.
“I have?” he asks.
“Yes. You did what a true and powerful leader must do. You recognized the failings of those about you. You became willing to take them down to restore the purity of the mission. Yes, I believed Emma was far more than she is. You’ve proven that to me now. She wasn’t able to complete a basic task set in front of her. She lacks the devotion and faith of heart to believe in who she truly is. You could see that about her, while I was blind to it. For that, I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“What will we do with her?” Anson asks, the words coming out cold and flat. Subservient.
“There’s no need for her anymore. She outlived her usefulness. I no longer see a place for her among us. If there is a spot beside me in Leviathan, she won’t fill it.”
I swallow hard, not letting myself get distracted or overwhelmed. All that matters right now is getting through this. My eyes lock on the knife, and my finger rests on the trigger. If I miss by even a fraction of an inch, the knife could cut open my throat. I take a deep breath and look one final time over Anson’s shoulder. Eyes so much like mine stare back at me.
And one eye with a glass shard scar.
In a rapid movement, I collapse my left leg behind me, falling to the floor. At the same moment, I fire directly into Anson’s wrist. The bullet hits perfectly. Anson lets out a pained scream. The knife falls to the floor in a spray of blood. It clatters just inches away from where I’ve moved. I use my falling momentum to kick out with my right foot right in his knee. It’s not much, but it accomplishes exactly what I wanted: he stumbles to the ground.
Anson lifts his eyes to me, howling in rage, and clamors to tackle me, but it’s too late. The massive man is pinned to the floor, his arms behind his back. I quickly scamper up and burrow the muzzle into the base of his neck.
“What do you think of her now?” sneers Jonah. He looks up at me and smiles.
Of course, it isn’t Jonah. It’s his twin.
My father.
I pull a pair of handcuffs out of my pocket and cuff Anson’s hands behind his back. Leaning down close enough so I can put my mouth almost on his ear, I whisper, “I win.”
I get to my feet, and my father gathers me in his arms. His face buries in the side of my neck, I fill my hands with his shirt, clutching him close.
“I was worried you didn’t realize it was me,” he whispers.
I pull my head back, barely shaking away the tears before they spill out.
“Of course I knew it was you. I just can’t believe it.”
“There’s so much I have to tell you,” he says, “but for now, we have to deal with this scum. Do you have backup here?”
“Yes,” I nod. “They’re outside. They’re supposed to be watching the perimeter.”
“Call them,” Dad instructs. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I hand him my gun, take my phone out and dial Dean. The sound of a phone ringing in Anson’s pocket makes my hands clammy. He starts to laugh. Dad forces his face down on the floor, pressing the muzzle back to his neck.
“What did you do to him?” he snaps. “Where is he?”
“Tick tock, tick tock, Emma. Time’s running out for the son. You better find your precious baby brother,” Anson says in a queasy sing-song voice.
“Your brother?” Dad asks.
“Not my brother. My cousin.”
“Jonah’s son,” he realizes. “Dean is here?”
“He is. He’s supposed to be outside with Eric and Sam.”
Anson keeps laughing, the sound grumbling against the floor.
“We need to find him. I’ll secure him here.”
Before he can finish, I’ve taken off toward the door.
“Emma, stop!” he calls after me. “Don’t go out there alone.”
“I have to,” I call out behind me. “I can’t let something happen to him.”
I dart out into the lush green surroundings, thinking about what he said. It’s the same riddle he’s used before, but it meant something the last time. Tick tock, tick tock. I search my memories, trying to remember this place enough to understand what he could mean. Time is running out. What did he say?
I keep moving, not wanting to stand in one spot and possibly waste a single second. Tick tock, tick tock.
“Time’s running out for the son,” I murmur to myself.
I stop. The sun. Not Jonah’s son, but the sun.
I run to the back of the house as fast as I can. There’s a feature I remember back there that I used to love. I would watch it with my mother, spending lazy days stretched out on blankets in the grass, reading books, and eating tiny treats she baked for me.
The sundial is right where I remember it being. And to the side of it is a fountain with constantly pumped water. It usually acts as a birdbath or just a pretty feature to look at when enjoying the beautiful grounds. But right now, it’s an instrument of torture.
Dean kneels at the side of the fountain, bent back with his arms secured around the base of the fountain behind him, and his head tilted into the water. It flows down on his face, making him struggle and cough.
I run to him and lift his face out of the water. He gasps deeply, savoring the air, coughing up a fit.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He coughs so heavily he can’t even make words form.
“Deep breath,” I tell him.
I lower his head back so that I can work on the knots holding his hands in place. He thrashes and does his best to lift his face out of the water again.
“Knife in my pocket,” he sputters.
I grab the hunting blade out and snap it open so I can cut away the ropes. When they fall free, Dean gets to his feet, wiping his face with his hands and gasping for breath.
“Where are the others?” I ask.
“There was a siren. They went to go secure the entrances. Almost as soon as they were gone, Anson attacked me.”
“I know,” I say. “He’s inside right now with my father.”
“Emma,” Dean whispers. I think I know what he’s getting at, but I see the expression on his face, and I turn to look where he is.
Jonah— the real Jonah— stands just a few yards away. There’s blood on his hands and a wild look in his eyes. His left arm is clutched to his side, crudely wrapped in a bloodstained bandage.
I wrap my hand tighter around the hilt of the knife and run at him. He’s ready for me and catches me with his
shoulder in my chest, knocking me to the ground. My chest burns as I try to pull air back in, and I roll to my knees.
Dean jumps in before Jonah can attack, and they grapple. The fight turns vicious, and I scream at Dean to stop as he gets the upper hand, his fist smashing into Jonah’s bloodied face, then wailing his injured arm each time Jonah tries to fight back. But he won’t stop. I hold the knife poised, waiting for a moment when Dean won’t be in danger.
Suddenly, Jonah gains control. They roll to the side, Jonah’s wide back facing up toward me. I leap toward him and plunge the knife down right as my father runs out toward us.
Jonah lets out a scream and thrashes as Dean rolls away from him. Jonah stumbles to his feet unsteadily, fingers clawing at the grass as he tries to stand. He nearly makes it out from where Dean and I are, but Dad steps in and swings hard, smashing his fist across Jonah’s jaw, causing him to fall back to the ground. He tries to get back up, but he’s surrounded on all sides.
Jonah’s eyes burn with hatred at the three of us.
“It’s over, Jonah. I beat you,” I spit. “I beat both of you.”
“You little—”
I punch him in the face, and he crumples to the ground, semi-conscious.
“Do you have any more handcuffs?” Dad asks.
I shake my head.
“No, that was my only pair. Sam and Eric aren’t here, and Jonah’s hands are bloody.”
“We’ll find them. But we have to take care of him first.”
Dad reaches down and yanks Jonah up by his hair. Jonah’s eyes open, a trickle of blood streaming from his forehead over one of them as he stares at my father. Suddenly, my gun is out of my Dad’s pocket and pointed at the center of Jonah’s head, his finger on the trigger.
