The Dark at the End (Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

  6

  “Nothing?” Dawn said, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “We do nothing?”

  Jack noticed a couple of people in the deli/sandwich shop glancing their way and made a calming gesture.

  “Let’s keep this between just the three of us, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said at a lower volume. “But my baby’s in there. I can totally feel it.”

  Jack watched her. Dawn looked more animated than he’d ever seen her. After her call, he and Weezy had driven directly from Jersey to Long Island by way of the Verrazano and Brooklyn. They’d stayed in touch much of the time, with only a few cell dead spots along the way. When Dawn had called to say Dr. Heinze was leaving the beach house, Jack had told her to follow him as far as the nearest town and find someplace like a coffee shop where she could wait for them. She’d resisted at first, preferring to stay where she was, but had finally agreed.

  She’d found a Citarella with a view of a windmill, and waited. The three of them occupied a rear table, with Jack facing the two women.

  Jack decided she looked more than animated. She looked wired. Not the state of someone who’d be easy to convince that slow and steady was going to win this race. So he’d have to let her convince herself.

  He said, “I agree a hundred percent: Everything points to your baby being in that house. What do you think we should do?”

  She shrugged as if the answer was too obvious. “Go in and get him.”

  “Really? How many people are inside?”

  From her spot beside Dawn, Weezy gave him an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

  “Well, I know Georges is there, and I assume Mr. Osala and … Gilda.”

  Lots of poison in that last name. From what Jack had gathered, Osala’s housekeeper had given Dawn a pretty hard time while she was a not-so-voluntary guest at the Fifth Avenue digs.

  “Can’t assume. You do a home invasion, you’d damn well better know what you’re getting into.”

  She lowered her voice further. “Well, you have a gun—I’ve seen it. You could use it to make them give us the baby.”

  “They could have guns too, and things could get ugly, endangering us and your baby. But let’s say they’re unarmed. What if they refuse to give up the baby? Who do I shoot?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Gilda.”

  “Really? Shoot her dead or just wound her?”

  She looked away. “All right … I guess not.”

  “Okay. But let’s assume we do cow them and they hand over your baby. Where do you take him? They know where you live. Reprisals could follow. Not only that, you signed him away for adoption. Maybe Mr. Osala adopted him. You have no legal right to that baby, so they could send the police after you—and Weezy and me, as well—for kidnapping.”

  She leaned back, looking defeated. “Okay, okay, okay, but I can’t believe there isn’t something we can do.”

  Weezy put an arm around her shoulders. “We talked about this on the way here and we think we’ve come up with a plan.”

  He was glad she’d sat next to Dawn; that way it didn’t seem like the two adults against her. Jack had to keep reminding himself that she was only nineteen.

  “Right,” Jack said. “A full frontal assault is a last resort. We need to determine exactly what we’re dealing with and find a way to spirit your baby out of there without being seen. But before we try that, we need to set up a way for you to drop out of sight afterward. You’ll be their prime suspect, but if they can’t find you…”

  Jack had no idea if he could pull this off. Really … how do you hide a woman who has a baby with a tentacle growing out of each armpit? But he was going to try his damnedest.

  The only way he could see even a glimmer of hope of success was to take out Rasalom first. Do that and Georges and Gilda would lose their center, their purpose for staying with the baby. They might be glad to have someone take the child off their hands. But even if they weren’t, grabbing the baby would be much easier with their Mr. Osala out of the picture. In the aftermath of his death, Jack could very likely swoop in and snatch the child from right under their noses.

  A plan began to form …

  “First thing we need is an observation post. You say you found a house that’s a good vantage point?”

  Dawn nodded. “But I don’t see how we can camp out there very long without someone noticing.”

  Jack agreed. “It has a garage?”

  Another nod.

  “Okay, we need to find out who owns it and—”

  “It has an oar over the door carved with ‘The O’Donnell’s’—that’s with an apostrophe s.”

  “Perfect. Time to learn all about the O’Donnells.”

  7

  It took longer than expected. Not because the O’Donnells were particularly secretive, but because the Internet still wasn’t up to snuff after the crash.

  First thing after leaving the coffee shop, the three of them drove to the county seat and looked up the lot and block number of the property jointly owned by Francis and Marie O’Donnell who were listed as residents of Riviera Beach, Florida. From there to the local library where they used a computer to track the couple. Bits and pieces from multiple sites sketched out the details Jack needed. Francis: seventy-six and a former stockbroker who retired from Bear Stearns well before the meltdown. Marie: seventy-four and a former high school teacher.

  Jack made the assumption that, barring a family emergency, a couple in their midseventies with a primary residence in South Florida would keep their distance from the bitter cold of Long Island in March.

  So he decided to move in.

  He left Weezy and Dawn in the Hamptons and made the long trip to his apartment to retrieve his break-in kit and a few other goodies.

  Darkness had fallen by the time he returned. Weezy dropped him off at the end of the street and he walked the rest of the way. He had a bad moment when he reached the place and found lights on in the front room and an upstairs window. But a few cautious peeks inside showed no signs of life: he spotted a timer in the socket feeding the light in the front window. No doubt the same story upstairs. A good policy for the owner: The place looked occupied to anyone driving by.

  He used a bump key to enter the house through the rear door into the utility room. The place felt delightfully warm to Jack after the frigid wind off the bay, but still a little cool for the comfort of a couple of septuagenarians. A good sign, but he needed to be absolutely sure the place was empty. He hurried through the first floor, then through the bedrooms upstairs. All empty.

  Back on the first floor, he used quick flashes of his penlight to find a thermostat. They’d left it set on fifty-five. He upped that ten degrees and heard a furnace go on. He tried a faucet. No water. Took him a few minutes to find the shut-off valve; he turned it back on.

  He called Weezy and gave her the all-clear, then went out by the garage—a one-car garage, unfortunately. But they’d found a spot in the trees down by the highway, not a hundred yards from the O’Donnells’ back door, to stash the SUV. A padlock on the simple gate latch held the garage’s old-fashioned double doors closed. He shimmed it open and waited.

  A few minutes later a car appeared with its headlights out. Jack swung the garage doors open and held them until Dawn’s Volvo was inside, then closed up and replaced the padlock without securing it. Weezy and Dawn emerged from the garage’s rear door with the bare-necessities groceries they’d picked up in Amagansett. Weezy had her backpack with her precious Compendium slung over her shoulder.

  “Okay,” he said as they unpacked the bags in the kitchen. “We’ve got heat, water, and power.”

  The backwash of light from the front room provided enough illumination to allow them to see what they were doing.

  “All the comforts of home,” Weezy said.

  “Not quite. We need to stay out of the front room while the light is on. Same for the lighted room upstairs. The owners may have hired some security people to drive by now and then, or they may
have some sort of neighborhood watch. We don’t want to risk someone spotting movement in a supposedly empty house.”

  The women nodded.

  “I’ll find a blanket to drape over the bathroom window, so we can at least put that light on when we need it, but otherwise no lights.”

  Dawn looked at him. “Sounds like you think we’re going to be here a long time.”

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  She looked from Jack to Weezy. “I’ve got a feeling there’s another agenda here.”

  No dummy, this girl.

  Weezy said, “I want you to get your baby back. But…”

  Dawn turned to Jack. “But what?”

  “Mister Osala is important too,” he said.

  She frowned. “Why?”

  Okay. Time to lay out as much as he could for her. He gestured to the kitchen table.

  “Maybe we should sit down and discuss this.”

  They pulled out chairs and seated themselves in the near dark.

  Jack said, “Where do I begin, Weez?”

  She cleared her throat. “I think we should keep this on as mundane a level as possible.”

  Explain it without mentioning the Otherness and the Ally? Not easy, but it would keep them from looking like head cases.

  “Worth a try.”

  She leaned toward Dawn. “There’s a war going on. It’s being fought behind the scenes. Mister Osala is a very big player in that war. He’s not a detective, your mother never hired him to protect you—in fact, your mother never met or even heard of him. Everything he told you is a lie.”

  “Then why—?”

  “He leads a cult. You saw their symbol on the back of your obstetrician’s watch. They think they can take over the world.”

  Dawn slapped her hands on the table. “Oh, I don’t believe this!”

  Jack saw where Weezy was going.

  “You don’t have to believe it,” he said. “What’s important to know is that Osala believes it. And he believes your baby is the key to that takeover.”

  Jack didn’t know if that was true—he had no idea what Rasalom had planned for the baby—but it might be. And even if he was wrong, it sounded good. Whatever it took to widen Dawn’s focus from just her baby to a bigger picture.

  “But that’s crazy!”

  Weezy said, “No argument. But crazy or not, the baby is why he took you in during your pregnancy and dumped you as soon as you delivered. That’s why he spirited the baby away.”

  “And that,” Jack said, tapping the table, “is why he’s got to figure into what we do here.”

  “But I just want my baby back.”

  Jack hit her with an angle he thought would lock her in.

  “Do you want to keep your baby once you find him?”

  “Of course!”

  “Well, you can depend on Osala to do his damnedest to get him back. So unless we deal with Osala here and now, you and your baby could spend the rest of your lives on the run.”

  Dawn leaned forward. “What do you mean by ‘deal’ with him?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  A pause, then, “You’re a little scary, you know that?”

  “Scarier than the guy who locked you away in his apartment for months on end and then stole your baby?”

  Another pause. “Score one for you. But how does this affect what we’re doing here?”

  “Okay,” Jack said. “We’re working with only two facts right now: Osala’s driver is over there, and the pediatric surgeon present during your labor has paid a visit. Everything else is assumption. We can assume your baby is there but we need to establish that as a fact. And even if we do, we can’t move until we can establish beyond a doubt that Osala is there.”

  “But why?”

  Jack thought he’d made that obvious but Dawn’s tunnel vision persisted.

  “So that when you take the baby and leave, I can make sure no one hounds your trail.”

  Weezy rested her hand atop Dawn’s. “Larger issues than you and your baby are at stake here, Dawn. You don’t need to know the details, but you were right: We have another agenda. But it dovetails perfectly with yours. We’ll help you get and keep your baby, but you’ve got to promise us you’ll play it Jack’s way and let him decide the timing. That way we’ll all walk away with what we came for.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Of course you have a choice,” Jack told her. “But if you do something rash, we could all come away empty-handed.”

  “Rash?” She sounded offended. “Like what?”

  “Like going over there and peeking in the windows to see if you can spot the baby.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “On target?” Jack said.

  She sighed and he saw her nod in the dim light. “Yeah.”

  He’d figured if she hadn’t already thought of that, it wouldn’t be long before she did. Might as well get it on the table.

  “Just promise me, Dawn, that the only window you’ll peek through is one of those upstairs, okay?”

  A reluctant tone: “Okay. But somebody needs to look in that house.”

  “I agree. And that would be me. Dark is the best time. In fact, I’ll take a look right now.”

  8

  The bayfront mansion occupied an oversize lot—at least triple, maybe quadruple. The excess land on either side had been left untended and filled with a tangle of wild bayberry. The leaves had dropped in the fall and the bare branches scratched and tugged at Jack as he made his way toward the west side of the house.

  Before approaching the mansion, he’d done a quick reconnoiter of the neighborhood. Half a dozen houses occupied this end of the street. He already knew about the mansion and the O’Donnell house, so he checked out the others. All four were empty. Still had to be careful, though. Never knew who was going to drive by.

  When he reached the yard proper, he encountered an expanse of three-quarter-inch gravel that substituted for grass out here.

  Good thing it was March instead of summer. No way to cross those stones in silence. If the windows were open, he’d be busted. But even though they were all shut tight against the cold, he moved as carefully and silently as he could.

  The icy wind off the bay cut at him as he peeked through a lighted side window that looked in on the house’s great room. Probably should have been called a huge room. It had a high, raftered ceiling and took up the entire waterfront side of the first floor. An unbroken line of sliding-glass doors faced the water; the stained plank walls were bedizened with all the standard beach house paraphernalia: framed seascapes, sailboat-racing pennants, mounted fish, and an assortment of nets and buoys suspended among the rafters.

  Two people—a heavyset gray-haired woman on the sofa and a big guy in an easy chair—watched an appropriately large flat-screen TV.

  And off to the side … a white bassinet.

  Isn’t this cozy. Just a down-homey, Norman Rockwelly domestic scene.

  Okay, the guy had to be Georges, and the woman fit Dawn’s description of Gilda, the housekeeper. The baby himself wasn’t visible and no tentacles coiled in the air above the bassinet. But after Dr. Heinze’s visit today, the mere presence of the bassinet was enough.

  Only one thing missing: the Master of the house. Where was—?

  He stiffened at the sound of a high-pitched screech from within. Not human, and not like any animal he’d ever heard. Something between, that tickled the hairs on the back of his neck.

  He saw Georges jump in his chair—the screech had to have been much louder in there—but he didn’t rise. He looked like he’d heard it before. The woman, however, bounced her thick body off the couch and hurried in Jack’s direction. Another screech sounded as she approached and he saw her press her hands over her ears. He ducked back as she neared. When he peeked back in, Georges was still in his chair, eyes on the screen, and Gilda was nowhere in sight.

  That noise … had to be Dawn’s baby. But what kind of baby had a cry like that? Jack had
spent some time with Gia down in the St. Vincent’s pediatric AIDS ward before the hospital shut down. He’d heard a lot of distressed babies but never one that sounded like that.

  The sound didn’t repeat. Jack watched until Gilda reappeared from a side room. He’d hoped to see her carrying a baby but she was empty-handed. She returned to the sofa where she and Georges had a brief conversation before fixing their gazes on the screen again.

  Lowering to a crouch and stepping carefully, he moved around to the south side to what he estimated would be the window into the room she’d visited. He couldn’t stay here long because it faced the street where he was exposed to anyone driving past, but he felt compelled to peek. The streetlight behind him cast a skewed quadrangle of light across the floor within, ending at the legs of a crib. He saw the shadow of his head moving within the light, but the crib lay beyond it, sheathed in darkness.

  He spotted two bright points behind its railing—not glowing, merely reflecting the light from the window. Little eyes? But they seemed too high in the crib to belong to the baby. He’d have to be standing upright for them to be at that level. Jack’s knowledge about babies was on a par with his grasp of quantum mechanics, but he was pretty damn sure infants couldn’t stand at only two weeks of age.

  But then again, this was no ordinary baby. This little guy was full of oDNA, damn near a q’qr. Maybe …

  No way. But damn, they looked like eyes, and they seemed trained on him … but they didn’t blink.

  He ducked away for fear of triggering another screech.

  He shook off a chill. The previous Norman Rockwelly scene had taken an Addams Family turn.

  He returned to the great-room window and the really important question: Where was Rasalom?

  What did he do in his downtime, when he wasn’t plotting the end of the world? Hang upside down from a rafter? Jack couldn’t help a glance up to check among the junk up there.

  The rest of the house was dark, so he had to assume that Rasalom was either sleeping or absent. Jack couldn’t buy sleeping, so he’d have to go with his being somewhere else.