The Tower

by Gregg Hurwitz

  Jade looked at her disdainfully. The doorbell rang, and he left to answer it without responding to her question.

  Tony smiled broadly as he pushed past Jade and walked into the entranceway. “There’s these two sperm swimming. And they’re exhausted. They’ve been at it forever, seems like hours. Finally, one turns to the other and says, ‘Hey! How much longer we got?’ Other sperm looks back at him and says. ‘Who you kidding? We just got past the esophagus!’” His laughter started as soon as he finished the joke.

  Jade laughed, three notes descending the scale.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” Tony said.

  “You are in.”

  “Farther in?”

  “Would you like to come farther in?” Jade asked flatly, turning his back on Tony and heading to the living room.

  “Why certainly. I’d be delighted.” Jade watched Tony’s face when he saw Travers sitting on the floor. He could tell Tony was impressed by her.

  “You didn’t tell me your partner was here,” he said.

  “One of your friends, I’m surprised he doesn’t think I’m the maid,” Travers shot back without looking up.

  Tony turned to face Jade, his eyebrows raised. “And all the charm of a rottweiler.”

  “Rabid,” Jade said. “A rabid rottweiler.”

  Travers kept flipping pages.

  Tony took a step back and pointedly looked Jade up and down. A pair of ripped shorts, no shirt, no shoes and socks. “You didn’t have to get all dressed up just because I was coming over.”

  Jade grabbed the leg of his shorts. “What, this old thing?” he said.

  Travers smiled, but still refused to look up.

  “I gotta hop in the shower,” Jade said. “Play nice with the rottweiler.” He disappeared down the hall.

  Tony sat down heavily on the couch. “So. I see you’ve met the ever unpredictable Jade Marlow.”

  Travers looked up at Tony and studied him carefully. There was a softness to his face, and she wasn’t surprised to see the wedding band on his finger. She decided she liked him. “You could say I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “Frustrating, huh?”

  “And more. Sometimes he’s impossible. I take that back. He’s always impossible.”

  Tony laughed and extended his hand. “Tony Razzoni.”

  “I know. You’re one of the only people he talks about civilly. Anyone else I figure he would’ve shot at the door.”

  “I’ve dodged a few of his bullets,” Tony said. He chuckled. “He’s very intense.”

  Travers slammed down the file she’d been studying. “Intense? About what? About himself? He doesn’t give a shit about anything else. The victims, the families—nothing.”

  She immediately regretted her outburst, embarrassed to be showing emotion about someone she presumably didn’t like.

  Tony ran his hand over the stubble on his chin, and looked at her knowingly. She hated that he knew Jade was under her skin.

  “I met a guy a few years back, ran track with Jade at UCLA,” he said. “Said Jade trained like nobody else—put in five-hour practices six days a week. In his junior year, he was a strong candidate for team captain. That’s rare, you know, for a junior. The night of the election, he didn’t show up. Most guys woulda killed to be captain, but he didn’t even show up. Guy I talked to said he just didn’t want it. But I think he was afraid of the responsibility, didn’t want to run the risk of letting anyone down.” Tony paused for so long that Travers thought he was done with the story.

  “He won every single regular season meet in his junior and senior years. And he knew he would, the guy said. Even back when he missed that election on purpose.”

  Tony looked away from her, leaning back and spreading his arms across the top of the couch. “Guess he just didn’t care, huh?”

  They sat in silence, Travers flipping through a criminal psychology textbook and Tony picking at his nails.

  39

  ALLANDER heard a truck pull into the driveway and then a man’s deep voice followed by children’s laughter. He had found a shotgun mounted on the wall of the study, upstairs, and a box of shells in the cabinet beneath. Now he sat in quiet anticipation, shotgun across his knees.

  The front door opened and Earl entered the house. In his late fifties, he had a head of curly gray hair, and his skin was wind-blasted from years of working outside. Like his wife, Earl was a teacher. Allander had determined this fact earlier by looking through the photo album in the living room. That’s why he waited for him.

  Earl stopped when he saw the outline of Allander’s figure in the darkness of the living room ahead. The boys hadn’t noticed Allander’s presence, and Earl’s eyes closed regretfully as he heard the door click shut behind them. With one muscular arm, he swept his two boys, aged ten and sixteen, behind his back.

  “You know,” Allander said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward until a sliver of light fell over his face. “You shouldn’t allow guns in the house. There’s an overwhelming likelihood that they’ll be used against members of your own family.” He smiled sweetly and waited to see a change of expression sweep across Earl’s face. He was not disappointed.

  “You’d better pray you didn’t touch her,” Earl said, his voice lowering to a snarl.

  “I don’t pray,” Allander replied. “And I did touch her.”

  Earl lunged forward, his fingers spread in fury. The hatred in his eyes was extraordinary. Allander knew the man would have no qualms about tearing the flesh from his body with his bare hands.

  The first shot hit Earl in the stomach and stopped his momentum, knocking him backward. He landed in a sitting position about two yards in front of Allander’s feet.

  His fingers pushed in and felt the rush of blood where his stomach wall had been. He raised his head to look at Allander just as the second shot blew much of it from his shoulders. Chunks of flesh landed in the entranceway, skidding past the children’s feet before sticking to the wall behind them. Blood sprayed the large mirror on the left side of the room.

  “Well, that was certainly a helpful exercise,” Allander said cheerily as he loaded two more shells into the shotgun and recocked it. “I hope no one else loses his head over this little matter.”

  The sixteen-year-old started to cry, his shoulders heaving. The younger brother remained silent, staring at Allander with wide eyes. He stepped back against the door, and Allander smiled as he saw his little pink fingers grasp the older boy’s hand.

  The boys sat back to back in two of the kitchen chairs, bound to their seats by thick duct tape coiled around their bodies just under their chests.

  The thrill of power rushed through Allander’s body, touching him to the bone. He almost had to shake it off like a chill. He had come to settle another score, to revisit the teachers with a bit of retribution. The children had just been an extra. He liked having them just as they were; he could perform any action he desired on them and they could do nothing about it. Very few people had ever experienced such complete control.

  Allander had been considerate enough to remove the mother’s body from the kitchen before he took the boys in there. He had even mopped up the blood. Fathers received their retribution publicly, but he could never show children their dead mother. She was safely out of sight, one room over in the family room.

  The older boy had stopped crying, but his breath still came with sobbing urgency. He shrank back from reality, shock glazing his now vacant eyes. The little one had not made a sound.

  “Well, my young friends, what are your names?” Allander asked politely. He was perched on a high stool facing the boys and he dug a kitchen knife into his seat absentmindedly, cleaving little peels of wood from the surface.

  “We’re not your friends, and we’re not telling you our names. We’re not telling you nothin’.” The ten-year-old jerked his head toward his older sibling. “Don’t tell him nothin’, Ted.”

  Allander smiled. “Well, if he doesn’t tell me nothing then he w
ould, in fact, be telling me something. A double negative makes a positive. Your advice isn’t concordant with your desires.”

  The ten-year-old looked at Allander and squinted his left eye to form what he thought of as an intimidating glare. “Well, we’re not tellin’ you anything then.”

  “So young, and so untender?” Allander laughed. “Very well. But I don’t think this one has much choice given his present condition.” Allander gestured to the older boy with a flick of his head. “They don’t talk much, you see, when they’re in shock.” His eyes narrowed and he dug the knife deeper into the stool. “It’s a very trying time.”

  He raised his eyes to the younger boy. “I will ask you one more time and then I will kill you and I will find out what your name was anyway by hunting around in your room and it will all have been an exercise in futility. So you’d best respond.”

  He leaned forward and stared at the boy eye to eye, their noses almost touching. “What is your name?” he purred.

  “My mom said not to give out my name to people.”

  “Oh yes. You might find yourself in a dangerous situation,” Allander said, laughing. “Besides, I don’t think your mother’s in a position to punish you anymore. Come now. Out with it.”

  The ten-year-old bit his lower lip for a minute and didn’t respond. Allander flipped the knife over once and caught it by the handle. He began to step off the stool.

  “Alex,” the boy said quickly. He never once removed his eyes from the knife’s blade.

  “Well, Alexander, you and I are going to have some fun. But first, I must take the precaution of removing your brother.”

  Alex still kept his eyes trained on the knife. A look of horror was creeping into his eyes; Allander could see it blossoming beneath the clear green irises.

  “Don’t you hurt him. Don’t you hurt Ted.”

  “Now whatever makes you think I would hurt Theodore?” Allander asked as he unwound the tape from the older boy’s torso.

  Ted stared blankly ahead. He stood and walked upstairs when Allander led him by the hand. As soon as Allander was out of view, Alex thrashed madly against his restraints, but could barely get the tape to stretch. He finally sank low in the chair and waited for Allander’s return.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Allander walked back into the kitchen. “Please pardon my absence,” he said quietly.

  He went over to the cupboard to get a glass, and as he lifted his arm, Alex saw the telltale splash of fresh blood. The young boy began to scream—long, drawn-out, blood-curdling shrieks of terror.

  Allander glanced down at his shirt and noticed the blood. “Well. I’m sorry you had to see that. Horribly inconsiderate of me, but you see, it’s important that it’s just the two of us. We wouldn’t want Theodore butting in and ruining all our fun, now would we?”

  He drank his water, setting the empty glass on the counter when he was done. Turning swiftly, Allander yanked a knife from the cutting block. He crossed the room in a flash, pressing the point of the blade to Alex’s throat. “WOULD WE?” he roared.

  Alex tried to stop his sobs. He was drooling now, and he tasted the salty mucus running down the back of his throat. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t get the words out because of his rapid breathing, so he just shook his head back and forth. No, no, we wouldn’t, his actions said.

  “Well, finally our tough little soldier has begun to crack under the pressure. But don’t feel badly. You’ve put up an impressive showing for a boy who has just lost a parent before his eyes. You’ll bless me for it one day. It’s what you really want.”

  Allander bent down and began to unwrap the duct tape from around Alex, talking as he worked. “We’re going to have a little wedding, you see. You’ll need to find some white clothes to put on and a veil—yes, yes, we do need a veil—and we’ll undergo a brief ceremony in which boy is wed to man.” He looked up and smiled at Alex lovingly. “We’ll be married in virgin splendor suitable to the Renaissance.”

  Allander worked at a particularly stubborn piece of tape that was stuck to Alex’s side. It ripped free, and he continued. “We’ll fuse before ourselves, before our own naked eyes, and we’ll find truth. We’ll find truth, not happiness, for the two rarely, if ever, coexist.”

  When his upper body was freed from the chair, Alex stood, the tape falling from his lap to the ground. Allander was still bent over, pulling the last pieces from the boy’s legs. When he finished, he rose slowly, bringing his mouth to Alex’s left ear.

  “I want you to know you’re going to die. For pulling that tough-soldier routine, for trying to intimidate me. Me.” Allander pointed at himself sharply, stabbing his chest with a finger. “I’m going to kill you no matter what you do. If you act cute, if you act tough, if you act nice—you’re going to die all the same. But if you cooperate, then I’ll kill you swiftly. Painlessly.”

  Alex stood dumbly in Allander’s grasp, and it took a moment for the words to sink in. Then, he suddenly seized Allander’s shoulders and brought his knee up, squarely catching his captor’s testicles. Allander grimaced, waiting for the wave of pain to hit him.

  As he fell to the floor, the boy slipped from his hands and disappeared. The searing pain took hold in his groin and spread like wild-fire through his lower stomach, and Allander screamed in agony, clutching himself.

  “YOU STUPID CHILD. I’LL CATCH YOU. I’LL CATCH YOU AND I’LL KEEP YOU FOR HOURS AND HOURS.” As he screamed, he sprayed droplets of saliva on the wooden floor.

  Alex raced to a rounded room off the hallway and leaped inside, swinging the thick wooden door shut behind him. He let the large two-by-four fall into place in its iron holdings, and his muscles relaxed once he knew he was safely locked in. The circular room was the earthquake emergency zone in the house.

  The room was small and well-supported, so it had the stability of a door frame. Alex had practiced locking himself in during the earthquake drills that his mother ran from the small schoolroom downstairs.

  He reached up and felt for the wire chain that dangled from the single naked lightbulb. He pulled it, and the small room was cast in a dim yellow light. Shelves of food surrounded him, dozens of boxes containing snacks and meals.

  He sat back on a canvas bag of sugar and turned off the light. He noticed the knotted rope that extended through the small hole in the ceiling and he smiled. The school bell.

  Still on the kitchen floor, Allander rolled over on his back, clutching his injured testicles. He heard a soft ringing float through the air as the clapper struck its first tentative blows, and then the full glory of the school bell burst forth. Allander pulled himself to his knees, swearing loudly.

  He limped down the hallway, pausing at the door that he had heard swing shut. He pressed his ear to the door and whispered in. “Alex. I know you’re in there. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back. You won’t escape me. I’ll find you. And we’ll have even more fun then.”

  Alex felt the coolness of his sweat layer his body, the rope sliding through his hands. Allander waited until the break between strikes of the bell, and then leaned forward until his lips touched the thick door.

  He whispered, his voice just audible to the boy inside. “I’m going to hurt you, Alex. Hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine.” He waited until after the next toll, then continued. “I don’t think you understand. I’m really going to hurt you.”

  As Allander’s words reached him through the dank air of the small room, Alex realized that he would never have another night of restful sleep. Dead or alive, Allander would haunt him in his dreams and visions, in the waking and sleeping moments of the rest of his life.

  Alex sank down to a crouch and hugged his knees tightly. The trembling set in as he heard the front door open and close. He rang the bell again, then sat and waited for help.

  40

  THE first light of morning broke from over the mountains as Jade veered across four lanes to exit Highway 280 at Woodside. Travers kept a relaxed expression on her face, but
Jade saw her hand gripping the side of the passenger seat. They’d gotten the call from headquarters less than five minutes before. Already there were dogs out combing the woods and hills.

  He raced to the rural community, flying over dirt roads and potholes.

  “Woodside? Why Woodside?” Travers asked.

  Jade shook his head. “Don’t know. Could be he wanted to get somewhere random to throw us. Widen the range of our search, make it less effective.”

  “We have forty minutes between here and the first crime scene,” Travers said. “That’s a lot of room. It’ll be a pain in the ass to cover an area that large.”

  “McGuire said they were teachers,” Jade said, thinking aloud.

  He always does that, Travers thought. Ignores whatever he considers a digression. Just moves right on to whatever he’s thinking about. But it works, she reminded herself. That’s how he does it.

  “At a home school, whatever the fuck that is,” Jade continued. “Educators. The second group Leah told you he talked about.”

  “I hope to God there weren’t more children.”

  Jade swerved around a large pothole without slowing. “Yeah, well,” he said.

  When they arrived at the scene, the house was already swarming with FBI and press, among the latter the two men Jade had terrorized at the bar. The pack of reporters fought their way over to Jade, tripping through the tangle of cords and cameras.

  Although they were still at least fifteen yards away, they started with the questions.

  “The city’s in a panic and—”

  “Investigation dragging into the sixth day—”

  “Are you sure it’s Atlasia—”

  Jade cleared his throat calmly. “NO COMMENT!”

  The group of reporters halted and looked at each other, trying to decide whether or not to proceed. They decided on not.

  Travers spoke out of the side of her mouth as they walked past the frozen flock of reporters to meet McGuire at the front door. “Excellent poise, Marlow. Just what we meant by handling the press tactfully.”