by Peter Darley
“Somewhere remote, where I’ll be able to see you haven’t come with the police or the FBI. Wherever it is, bitch, I’ll be watching it, so don’t think you can screw me over.”
She shuddered at his words. He sounded nothing like the Brandon Drake she once knew. “You know the place,” she said. “Our place. It’s forty miles from anywhere. You can watch from the ridge and see that I’ll be alone in a vast mountain range.”
“That cabin place?”
“Yes.” She glanced at her watch and calculated the time it would take her to get to Aspen in the Porsche. It would be at least a fifteen hour drive, and it was already 6:00 p.m. “I’ll be there by tomorrow morning. I’ll drive through the night.”
“Done.” The call ended.
She touched her jacket pocket and felt for the keys to the Porsche. She hadn’t thought to give them back to Tyler.
The front door was ahead of her, and she knew she had to head straight for it. She couldn’t even say goodbye to Emily. Nobody could know where she was going. I have to protect them.
As quietly as possible, she opened the door and ran to the guest house.
Once inside, she entered her bedroom and rummaged around one of her drawers. Quickly, she found the key to the cabin. Slipping it into her pocket, she ran out again.
She climbing into the Porsche and started the engine. As the tires screeched, she saw Emily running out of the house in the rear view mirror, pleading with her to stop. “I’m so sorry. I love you, Em.”
Leaving a cloud of dust across the driveway, she gunned the car forward.
***
Tyler and Nikki arrived home at just past 11:00 p.m. to see the yard filled with FBI vehicles, and Tyler’s anger rose. “I am so goddamn tired of this. My brother was captured. Isn’t that good enough?”
“Just take it easy, baby,” Nikki said. “Maybe they just want Belinda and Emily’s statements.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He stepped out of the Ferrari and quickly noticed an empty space. “Where the hell is my Porsche?”
Angrily, he thrust the front door open and saw a crowd of federal agents in the hallway. The incessant mumble of chatter filled the air. Charlton made his way through the crowd to greet them. “What the hell is going on this time, Dad?”
“Tyler, it’s serious,” Charlton said. “I didn’t want to worry you, but yesterday, there was a major incident at Langley, and Brandon escaped.”
“What?”
“There’s more. Belinda had a call earlier this afternoon. She jumped in your Porsche and took off without saying a word to anyone.”
Tyler looked at Nikki in horror. “Oh, my God. Do they know who called her?”
“No, but they suspect it was Brandon.”
“You think she’s gone somewhere to meet him?”
“More than likely.”
Tyler made his way through the FBI agents. “Is Emily OK?”
“I’m here,” Emily’s voice came through the crowd.
He noticed her eyes were swollen, indicating she’d been crying. He quickened his pace toward her and gave her a hug. “Oh, dammit, Sis. Why would she do something like that?”
“We were making coffee and the phone rang. Inez took the call and then came in saying it was someone who wanted to talk to Belinda. She went out to take the call, but I stayed in the kitchen. I thought it might’ve been private business, and I didn’t want to eavesdrop.”
“Hey, hey. It’s OK. You said Inez took the call initially?”
“Yes. She’s over there.” Emily pointed across to the corner of the downstairs office through the open door.
Tyler could see Inez was shaken. “Inez? Are you all right?”
“I-I feel so guilty, Mr. Faraday,” she said, tearful and quivering.
“But why, Inez?”
“I took the call and passed it on to her. If I hadn’t—”
“No, Inez, that’s crazy. You haven’t done anything wrong. But maybe you can help. What did this person sound like?”
“Like I told the FBI men, he sounded hard. His voice was deep.”
Tyler closed his eyes, crushed. That sounds like Brandon. “Did you hear anything else? Anything at all?”
“That’s what I’m trying to remember. I was cleaning this office when Ms. Reese was on the phone. Her voice was so quiet, I couldn’t really make anything out. I wasn’t really listening.”
“That’s all right, Inez. Just keep trying to remember. If there’s anything, even a word that comes to mind, you let us know, OK?”
“OK.”
It was coming up to midnight. Inez had remained at the ranch, determined to recall anything Belinda might have said. There was something, but she couldn’t be sure she’d heard it right.
She walked into the living room and knocked on the open door. Four FBI men sat with Tyler, Nikki, Emily and Charlton.
Charlton looked up as she entered. “Is everything all right, Inez?”
“Mr. Faraday, I think I remember something, but I’m not sure if I heard it right.”
Tyler snapped his head toward her. “What, Inez? What did it sound like?”
“Well, what she was saying was very faint, like a distant buzzing sound. But I remember something that sounded like ‘rich’.”
Tyler looked away, frowning. “Rich? Rich? Nah, that can’t be right. Anything else, Inez? Any other words with it?”
“Not really. ‘From the rich’, I think she said.”
He shook his head, bewildered. Everybody’s eyes were on him. Then he looked up again with sudden realization. “Inez, are you sure the word wasn’t ridge?”
“It could have been . . . Yes, I think you’re right. It could have been ridge.”
Tyler stood urgently and turned to the FBI officers. “She’s gone to the cabin. Alone.”
“What cabin? Can you tell us where it is?” one of the officers said.
“More than that. I can take you there. You’re gonna need me.”
“Sir, I don’t think—”
“I’m going with you. It’s not up for debate.”
Charlton stepped toward him. “Tyler, just let these men—”
“I’m going with them, Dad.”
“So am I,” Emily said.
Forty-Six
Redux
Belinda drove at excessive speed through the night, aware she should’ve been exhausted. But there was no way she could’ve slept. Her anxiety had reached a pinnacle of intensity, her heart pounded incessantly, and she was plagued by bouts of shivering. She couldn’t even contemplate food.
Her mind had been in turmoil for the duration of the journey. She had a good life now, and people she could call a true family for the first time in her life. She didn’t want to die. She certainly didn’t want her baby to die.
But what other choice did she have? Brandon couldn’t be contained. He’d escaped from Leavenworth, the army had captured him again, and the FBI had collected him from Bragg. He still escaped. There was no stopping him. Unless she could bring him back to his former self, he would kill her and her baby, the Faradays, and countless others. It was a no-win situation. If she failed and lost her life, at the very least, he might spare the others. However, the terror wouldn’t leave her. She’d sobbed at the wheel until she had no more tears.
At 8:00 a.m. she arrived in Aspen. Having spent so much time living in the cabin, she was relatively familiar with the town and knew where she could rent a snowmobile.
She pulled up outside the store of a snowmobile rental place. Her body felt stiff as she climbed out of the Porsche, and it took a few moments for her to adjust.
The transaction was completed within thirty minutes. There was no warmth or levity about her, and she was aware of it. The employee persistently looked at her with concern, but once her identification and credit information had been verified, he provided her with a snowmobile. She suspected it was going to be a freezing ride and bought the necessary protective headwear and insulated clothing.
By 9:00
a.m. her journey from Aspen to the cabin had begun.
Along the thirty-seven mile distance, her instincts felt as though they were trying to pull her back toward the town. At 65 m.p.h., she would reach her destination—and her fate—within thirty minutes. Every second she felt as though she was walking the scaffold to the gallows.
She came to a vast terrain of pure snow with no trees in sight. When they used to cross it in the Turbo Swan, they knew the cabin was close. Once, it filled her with excitement. This time, only dread. A slight incline was approaching. Beyond it she would see her first view of the cabin in the distance.
A minute later, she could see it ahead of her. Oh, God. She swallowed hard, and her hand automatically relaxed its grip on the accelerator. I can’t do this. I just can’t.
But she knew she had to. She had no choice.
Terrified, she pulled up outside the cabin and climbed off the snow mobile. Stepping up onto the porch, her hands trembled as she fumbled around her pockets for the key.
She opened the door, relieved it was locked. There was no way Brandon would still have a key to the front door. He wasn’t in the cabin. She was sorely tempted to lock the door again but knew she couldn’t. He had to have access to her. There was no other way.
Looking around the living room, memories of such happy times came to her. She recalled the first time she’d stepped into the cabin after he’d saved her life.
She looked to the right and saw the rug beside the fireplace, upon which she’d made love to him for the first time. Oh, Brandon. How could it have come to this?
She moved over to the rear window and cast her gaze onto the forest of Aspen trees just beyond the clearing. In the center was Brandon’s grave. She recalled the extraordinary event at his funeral when his full-grown pet, a wild bear, appeared through the trees in anguish. It seemed to know Brandon was dead.
But Brandon wasn’t dead. Was it his ‘death’ the bear was mourning? Or a sixth sense of the knowledge of what he’d become? In a very real way, Brandon had died that day in Los Angeles. The monster that now walked around with his face wasn’t Brandon. It was a distorted, cruel antithesis of who Brandon had been.
The cabin was freezing. There were logs, kindling, newspapers, and matches still sitting beside the fireplace. She moved over to it and proceeded to light the fire.
Finally, she sat in Brandon’s leather recliner where she could keep an eye on the door, and awaited her fate.
An hour passed, and she began to feel strangely relaxed. The serenity of the cabin, the flickering of the flames from the log fire, and the beautiful memories gradually enabled her heavy eyelids to close.
A sudden, violent crashing sound drew her out of the first moments of slumber. Startled, she opened her eyes to see him standing in the doorway. The open door was cracked. He’d clearly kicked it in. His clothing was soiled and tattered, and the hood of what remained of his top was across his head. A few days’ growth was visible on his face.
Oh, my God. This is it. Cautiously, she stood. “B-Brandon, we can talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about, bitch!”
He took something out of his pocket—a small, silver, cylindrical device. Belinda recognized it immediately. She’d seen him use one just like it to cut through a door lock on the night of the Carringby attack. Caught in the grip of terror, she was paralyzed with fear. This is how I’m going to die. He’s going to cut me to shreds with a laser torch. “L-look around you, Brandon. Please. I beg you. Don’t you remember?”
He glanced around the room, but didn’t speak or show any reaction.
“Look at the fireplace. The rug,” she said imploringly. “We’d saved lives together with one phone call. Remember, Brandon? They were going to blow up Colton Ranch munitions factory. We stopped it. Right afterwards we made love on that same rug.”
He gasped and aimed the laser torch toward her, but she could see his hand was shaking.
“No, Brandon. Don’t do this. This isn’t who you are.” Her mind raced trying to find words that might break him down. “Remember Snooky, the little bear cub who used to come to you? You used to feed him out back.” She pointed to the side window. “Look out there. That’s where you fed him. Where you loved him. When we thought you were dead, he came to your funeral, Brandon. He came because he loved you. I love you. I. Love. You.”
She could see pain registering in his eyes, but he seemed to be fighting it. His shaking hand caused his grip on the laser torch to loosen.
“I . . . have to stop . . . you,” he growled. “I have . . . to stop . . . him.”
“Who, Brandon? Who do you have to stop?”
“The . . . Interceptor.”
Belinda smiled fleetingly, but she quickly succumbed to tears. Oh, Brandon. You’re still in there. You’re breaking him down. “We were happy here, Brandon. I know what you went through as a child. David told us both. You were brutalized. That can’t have felt good, can it?”
He staggered toward her, barely able to stand. “W-what does that have to do . . . with anything?”
“Everything. The one you call The Interceptor is trying to show you life doesn’t have to be that way. You have become the thing you despise the most. The Interceptor is trying to show you peace and happiness. So am I.”
“I . . . hate . . . you.”
She touched her abdomen, her voice choked. “Do you hate your baby, too? Do you remember Los Angeles, Brandon? Where you saved little children from the monsters in the night? If you kill me, your only child will die.”
Drake screamed and the laser torch fell from his grip as he collapsed onto the floor, gripping his head. Belinda saw the scar in the middle of his forehead deepen and turn a bright shade of red.
In the darkness, The Scorpion danced a ballet of aerial kicks with The Interceptor, but he couldn’t land a blow anywhere. Every time his foot would have connected with the helmet, The Interceptor vanished and reappeared behind him. It was always the same and the frustration was more than he could bear. This time, The Interceptor seemed faster and more powerful than ever.
He turned around to where the black-garbed warrior had reappeared and lunged forward. His fists shot out repeatedly with dazzling speed, but none of his punches touched The Interceptor.
“I told you how to do it, Scorp,” The Interceptor said. “Just let me take my helmet off.”
Drake’s rage became so powerful, it exceeded anything he’d ever felt before. “I hate you! Take it off, you fucking coward. Show yourself. Do it. DO IT!”
The Interceptor gripped his helmet and brought it up until it reached his nose. “It’s your anger that’s letting me do this, Scorp.” Bringing it up farther, it finally cleared his head.
Drake gazed upon him for the first time. It was his own face, albeit with longer hair. It almost touched his shoulders. There was compassion-like softness in his eyes. Immediately, Drake found himself struggling to look at him. It was as repellent as trying to look into a bright light.
“This is how I looked when I died, Scorp.”
Drake backed away from him, his heart suddenly gripped by fear. “Stay back!”
The Interceptor came toward him. “What’s the matter, Scorp? Too much for you? Or is it the hair?”
Drake raised his arms to his eyes to cover the vision, but somehow, he could see right through them.
“I tricked you, Scorp. I knew if you’d let me take the helmet off, you’d be screwed. You wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t face you. Sure, you’ve known I was you for quite awhile. But there’s knowing it . . . and then there’s seeing it. Belinda is amazing. She always was.”
“Stay away.”
The Interceptor reached out his hand into the void. “Look.”
Drake turned to where The Interceptor was indicating and images appeared in the darkness. He saw The Interceptor gliding Belinda Reese from the roof of a burning skyscraper, and his van facing a police blockade before exploding. The flyin
g car emerged from the flames. He saw Belinda caressing his face in the cabin and the two of them feeding the little bear cub outside.
The scene shifted to him saving her from two police officers. Then the two of them were safe inside the flying car facing the army and Treadwell.
They were running together out of a TV studio into the streets. He was then in a speeding SUV with David Spicer, racing along Cherry Mountain Canyon. The scene instantly switched to him running with Belinda Reese along the side of a train as the FBI pursued them.
He saw The Interceptor swinging down into a parking bay with Spicer and a unit of troops by his side. They were dispatching a group of Chinese child slavers.
Finally, he saw himself going down in the flying car and it exploding on impact.
“Now, you remember,” The Interceptor said. “You can’t fight this. This is the you the world loves.”
Drake became frantic in his attempt to shield his eyes from the visions, but his transparent arms wouldn’t allow it. “No,” he cried. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!”
“You’re going down, Scorp.” The Interceptor lunged at The Scorpion and gripped him by the throat, forcing him down through the blackness of the void.
However, The Scorpion reached up between The Interceptor’s arms and grasped his throat. Together, they continued to descend through the darkness, locked in a moment of Drake’s own inner struggle.
Belinda came steadily toward him as he writhed on the cabin floor. “Fight it, Brandon. I know you can hear me, baby.”
His face relaxed and the scar on his forehead faded, although the pain in his eyes was still apparent. “B-baby?”
Belinda beamed with joy. “Brandon?”
