by Paul Seiple
“You’re crazy, old man.”
“Am I now? Let me ask you this, let’s say the cops come here and ask the staff if they’ve seen anything suspicious today. Who’s the first person coming to mind? It’s the guy dressed in all black, sweating profusely, and ordering beer.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Have you seen that Sawyer guy on the news the FBI caught?”
“The escaped killer?”
“Yes. Do you know how they caught him in the first place? He left his license at a crime. Do you think he meant to do that?”
“I’m better than Sawyer.”
“And that thinking is exactly why I have no desire to work with you.” Norman took the glass of wine from the waitress. He waited until she walked away. “Your ego will be the death of you. I’m The Morning Star Killer. I’ve traveled wherever I’ve wanted for years unnoticed. I know what I’m talking about, besides my days of trying to end the world are over.”
“Death sentence do that to you?” The Vendor asked, turning his nose up as he took a sip of the wine.
“My priorities have changed.” Norman sipped the wine and closed his eyes. “That’s good wine.” He sat the glass down. “Listen, you’re too rough around the edges for this plan of yours to be successful. I asked you to meet me at five…”
“You were late too,” The Vendor said.
Norman smiled and sipped wine. “I was fifteen minutes early. I watched you pace back and forth before coming in here. That’s another target you painted on yourself.”
“Traffic in Uptown is a bitch.”
Norman placed a finger to his lips to let The Vendor know he didn’t care for his excuse. “Prepare for all obstacles.”
“Don’t coach me, old man. Every person I poisoned will die. I know what I’m doing.”
“Why are you doing it?” Norman asked. “Why do you feel the need to bring upon this plague?”
“The details are not important. Let’s just say a few years ago I had a life-altering moment that changed the way I view the world.”
“Fair enough.” Norman stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“This meeting is over.” Norman pulled a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it onto the table. “I wish you well in your endeavors.” He turned to leave.
“That’s it?”
Norman stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “You can keep the change.”
The Vendor grunted. Rage took away his ability to speak. He was seething. Norman could almost feel the heat on his back. He smiled to the hostess as he walked out of the wine bar. The meeting couldn’t have gone any better. The Vendor didn’t know it, but he was part of Norman’s plan. From the beginning, he would be the distraction Norman needed to occupy Beamer’s attention. Questioning The Vendor’s ability to spread the plague ignited a fire inside of him that would make him more determined to succeed. He wouldn’t, but Wallace didn’t need him to. The Vendor’s only purpose was to add a layer of invisibility to Norman.
10
James Beamer
Quantico, Virginia
“Paper, rock, scissors? Come on, one more time?” I asked.
“Nope. Your fans await the great James Beamer. No way in hell I’m going out there and getting booed,” Jill said.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“About the great part?” Jill asked.
“Oh no. About the getting booed part.” I smiled.
“See, that’s why you have no friends, James.”
“You’re my friend.”
“Not by choice.”
Jill smirked at me. It was as common as breathing. We had this banter before every press conference. I hated them. I would much rather be out catching bad guys than telling the world how I do it. But as Reid used to tell me, it makes the world feel safer knowing we are on its side.
“Can a guy get a decent cup of coffee around here? I see some things never change.”
“Reid!” Jill swung her arms around Reid’s neck.
“Be careful with him. He’s not as young as he used to be,” I said.
Jill pushed Reid away. “You’re right. We wouldn’t want Grandpa breaking a hip.” She smiled. “It’s really good to see you.”
“Really? You could have fooled me,” Reid said. “But what do I know; I’m just an old man. Probably dementia is sitting in.”
“Probably,” Jill said. She playfully hit Reid on his arm.
“So, let’s get this thing over with so we can get to the good stuff,” Reid said.
“The good stuff?” Jill asked.
“James has a lead on Wallace.”
“I wouldn’t call it a lead, more of a ‘needle in a haystack’ kind of thing.”
“Find that needle and we can sew that Evil asshole shut for good,” Reid said.
Jill chuckled and shook her head. “What the hell is the senile old man talking about, James?”
I told Jill the theory that Wallace could be behind the poisonings in North Carolina as doubt grew. There hadn’t been a word uttered from the “Evil asshole” in years. Wallace was old. The rational side of me didn’t think Wallace had anything to do with what happened in Charlotte. But Reid was positive he was behind it and rather than wasting energy arguing with him, I got on board.
“All right, Beamer, you’re up,” Agent Danielson said, racing by after his briefing on recent killings on I-85.
I slammed my fist into my open palm. “Come on. Rock, paper, scissors.”
“No way, I’m going to sucker this old man into taking me for a real cup of coffee,” Jill said, wrapping herself around Reid’s arm.
“Agent Beamer, Ken McBride with Channel 7, what precautions are being taken to make sure Sawyer doesn’t escape again?”
Aggressive reporters packed the room, talking over each other just to spit out the same question. This was the third time in ten minutes someone asked me about Sawyer’s ability to escape.
“Well, Ken McBride from Channel 7, this time we fit Sawyer with concrete shoes, pierced his septum and attached a bell, but most importantly we fed him tacos from the food truck across the street. Ever had tacos from that truck? They sit in your gut like a pile of rocks. Sawyer isn’t going anywhere.”
A wave of laughter filtered through the room.
“Agent Beamer, Maddie Carter, Eyewitness News 8, did Sawyer say anything about the missing twelve-year-old girl who disappeared two days after he escaped? Do you think he had anything to do with her abduction?”
Savannah Miller never returned home from playing at her friend’s house a week earlier. For a moment, I flashed back to my daughter, Michelle. She was thirteen now. She wouldn’t even recognize me.
“Agent Beamer?”
Sawyer didn’t take Savannah Miller. After talking to her parents and finding out her home life wasn’t that great, I was convinced she ran away. Nearly three million kids have some sort of runaway experience.
“We are monitoring the Miller case very closely. I have every hope she will return home safely to a family who loves her.”
A tap on my shoulder caused me ignore the next question.
“James, there’s a call for you.”
“I’m kind of busy at the moment.”
“It came through the switchboard. Sounds really important.”
I stepped back and Agent Danielson replaced me at the podium. All the way to the nearest phone, only one thought crossed my mind — Norman Wallace. He had a flair for the dramatic. This was his calling card.
“Line seven,” Agent McMichael said, handing me the phone.
“Beamer.” My voice cracked with nervousness.
“Michael?”
The woman’s voice held the same hesitation.
“This is James Beamer.”
“Michael, it’s Rebecca.”
It’s Rebecca. Those words chilled my body like the cold touch of a spirit. Seven years. That’s how long it had been since I’d heard her voice. I shamed mys
elf for not recognizing it.
“Michael, are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“Michelle’s gone. She ran away this morning. I went to her room to wake her and…” Rebecca started to cry. Her words drowned in tears and guilt. “I…she…you have to find her.”
“Where are you, Rebecca?”
Jill and Reid walked into the room carrying coffee and laughing. I motioned for them to be quiet.
“San Diego. But she’s not going to stay here. She hates it. She’s going back to Carolina.”
“I’ll find her. Write this number down.” I gave Rebecca my cellular number. “Call me in about an hour.” I hung up.
“Hot date?” Jill asked.
“Rebecca?” Reid said. “It’s everything all right?”
I sat down, lowered my head, and tried to regulate my breathing.
“Rebecca? Your wife?” Jill asked.
“Michelle ran away.”
11
The Plague Vendor
Charlotte, North Carolina
A marathon of the Halloween movie series played in the background as The Vendor stared at the whiteboard mapping out the plan. Still furious that Norman Wallace mocked him, The Vendor would pull off Armageddon.
As the credits rolled for Halloween III: Season of the Witch, the Vendor turned his attention to the television. It was the only Halloween movie not to feature Michael Myers. The red-headed stepchild of the franchise and this film was his favorite. He had a little in common with the movie. He, too, was the red-headed stepchild of his family. Of three brothers, The Vendor was the only one not in law enforcement. One of his brothers was chief of police in Johnson City, Tennessee and the other was a detective in Memphis. The Vendor planned on carrying on the family tradition, but his attitude got him tossed from the police academy. When that happened he decided that if the good guys didn’t want him, the bad guys would surely welcome him with open arms.
After a commercial for Halloween IV, The Vendor turned his attention back to the whiteboard. The plan was simple — to kill some kids. Any day now, he would receive a package from the man he referred to as Death. He imagined Death riding in on a pale horse, but in reality everywhere Death went, he rolled. The man called Death lost the ability to walk in a mountain biking accident many years earlier. It was then he discovered his true calling — to give, and to take away, life.
The death agent would be the same as The Vendor had used at the restaurant. There wasn’t enough time before Halloween to experiment with mutations. This version killed, and that’s all they needed at the moment.
The Vendor picked up a permanent marker and wrote on a photo attached to the whiteboard. He made a slash with red ink through the face a Dr. Mack Root.
“It will be a pleasure removing you from this world, you fucking waste of oxygen.”
A few more slashes followed, and the photo was one big red blur. The Vendor looked at a map of the city pinned to the board with a magnet. There were four circles over the most popular neighborhoods in Charlotte. These were potential kill zones. He would choose one and deliver special treats for the kiddies on Halloween. He turned to the calendar covering a fist-sized hole in the wall; a red circle highlighted October 31.
“Three days away,” he said. The annoying song from Halloween III played in his head. The Vendor picked up a mask that resembled the plague doctors’ masks during the Black Death. He slipped the mask over his face. The long white snout stuck out like a Toucan’s beak. The eyes were just two holes covered in mesh and reminded him of a fly. He pulled the black hood of his hoodie over his head.
“Three more days to Halloween, Halloween.”
12
James Beamer
Quantico, Virginia
“Stay calm.” I kept repeating those words to myself as I paced my office. When Rebecca called, she gave me the last seven years of Michelle’s life condensed down into five minutes of incoherent gibberish. The one thing I took away from the conversation was that Michelle didn’t have the best home life. Not unlike the missing Savannah Miller. It wasn’t Rebecca’s fault. I knew she was a great mother. This was my fault. All my fault because my father was the devil.
“What’s the plan?” Reid asked.
“I don’t know. Rebecca thinks she’s going back to North Carolina.”
“Charlotte?” Jill asked.
“I would imagine so.”
“Makes sense. That’s where all of her happy memories are,” Jill said.
“Well, we are going to Charlotte anyway,” Reid said, lifting himself from the couch.
Charlotte, a city with a population of around 500,000 people. Finding Michelle would be the needle in the haystack we joked about earlier. Not knowing what she looked like made it more difficult. Seven years is a long time. I wouldn’t be able to pick my own daughter out of a line up. That made me sick to my stomach.
My cell rang again. MACK lit the screen in orange.
“What’s shaking, Vortex?” Mack asked.
“What?”
“Shaking. Vortex. Like in a Vortex mixer. One of those things used to mix liquids…Ah forget it. Just bad lab humor.”
“What’s going on, Mack?” My tone wasn’t of “I didn’t get that joke,” more of “I don’t have time for this.”
“Everything all right, James?”
“We are on our way to Charlotte.”
“We?”
“Reid and Jill are coming with me. You find out anything new on the Exitium case?”
“Yeah. I hit a breakthrough with the girl who wasn’t presenting. She recently had chickenpox. I think there is a correlation. But, then again, she only took a bite of the cupcake. Did you know chocolate is the archenemy of teenage girls? Anyway, either her body was still in fight mode thanks to chickenpox, or she didn’t ingest enough to do damage.”
“Do me a favor, meet us in Charlotte. I’m going to need your help.”
“No problem. What’s wrong?”
I held the phone without saying a word, long enough for Mack to call my name.
“Michelle ran away,” I said.
“Your Michelle?”
“Rebecca called and thinks she’s heading to Carolina. Charlotte is the only place she knows.”
“I’m leaving now,” Mack said.
I sat on the corner of my desk, trying to gain any semblance of composure. The gnawing question of “Did he know she was alive?” ate at me. Michelle wasn’t safe. The streets were never kind to thirteen-year-old runaways, but there was an added danger. Wallace wanted Michelle. There was nothing shielding her from him now. The obsession with Wallace grew like an aggressive cancer. Unlike Reid, I didn’t think every case had Wallace’s fingerprints attached to it. But I found myself retracing cases, trying to put Wallace at the scene. Was this his master plan all along? If he knew Michelle was alive, he knew I was alive. Was the mysterious outbreak a ruse to hide the true goal? With all attention on the Exitium case, Wallace could grab Michelle without a fight.
Reid sat on the couch. He kept tapping his knee with an antsy rhythm. Looking at him, I realized, I was turning into Reid Hoffman. My daughter was god knows where and in danger. And the only thing I could think about was catching Wallace. He was a demon, not in a biblical sense, but he possessed you, stole everything from you to the point where the only thing that mattered was stopping him. Reid missed out on many things, children, grandchildren, that personal island, all because of Wallace. I didn’t want to waste any more of my life chasing the ghost. My daughter deserved happiness. Rebecca deserved to be happy.
The Book of Revelation inspired Wallace. He always dreamed of playing a part in bringing the end times. I was going to make sure he had a starring role, but the script would be very different than Wallace imagined.
“I’m going to call out Wallace,” I said.
“What?” Reid said. His leg went still.
“I’m going to tell the media he is a suspect in the poisonings.”
“That’s
insane, James,” Reid said. “The bastard is ours. If we aren’t the ones to catch him…”
“Reid, you’ve spent your entire adult life chasing him. You’re the best agent I’ve ever known. But this has to end.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Jill said, putting her hand on Reid’s knee. “After 100 years of being married to you, Barbara deserves your full attention.” She smiled.
“I don’t know. Wallace is smart. It may not work,” Reid said. A hesitant pause spaced his words. Reid didn’t try to shield his doubt.
“Wallace feels secure in the shadows. Let’s see what happens when a little light shines on him.”
Reid exhaled hard and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re the one in charge now.”
13
Michelle Callahan
Winston-Salem, North Carolina
Michelle stepped off the bus, narrowly avoiding tripping over a woman sleeping at the curb. She knew the first place Rebecca would look for her would be Charlotte, so she chose the city where her father grew up. This area of Winston was nothing like the North Carolina she remembered while growing up in Charlotte. Only one street light worked, and the flickering effect from the dying bulb could send someone into a seizure. Total darkness was still an hour or so away. That didn’t give Michelle much time to find shelter for the night. She had a limited supply of money. When she hatched the plan to run away, the idea of living on the streets was something she faced head on. She was OK with it as long as she didn’t have to hear Dean’s voice any longer. They never connected. It was mostly Michelle’s fault. The wall that anger built was too tall for Dean to climb. Finally, he stopped trying. To Michelle, Dean was not her father and would never be.
A drop of water hit her cheek. She looked to the sky which was three shades of blue, all of them dark, and several more raindrops landed on her face.
