“You need me to write publicity releases for you?”
“That’s tiresome, Frank. You’re more than just a travel writer. Not long ago, you were something else. Someone else. Someone with skills and tenacity, a seasoned hand. I’m an expert at seeing people’s true skills and your true skills lie somewhere outside the jacket of travel writer. What do you really do?”
“There’s no secret about what I do.”
“You’re full of secrets, Frank Lovelady. I like that about you. It makes you oh so much more interesting than other men. There’s something about you that takes me someplace long ago.” She paused. “You should be flattered. I’m rarely this interested in men.”
I took a breath and calmed myself, stared into the camera lens. “I’m not flattered. I’m pissed. I came looking for information and you give me this. You think you can just walk away from this? You think I’ll just take this? You’re crazy.”
More laughter. “Oh, Frank. If you could see yourself. You don’t even know how special you are. Would a little travel writer be shouting defiance and threats now? I don’t think so. Who are you, Frank Lovelady? Where did you learn what you know? I think as a condition of employment you must tell me this.”
“Fuck you, crazy lady.”
That stopped her laughter. “Manners, Frank. I hate rudeness and I won’t tolerate it in my employees.”
I had to laugh at that. “You don’t get it? What part of no don’t you understand? N-O spells now. You going to kill me now? What you going to do? I’m not going to work for you. You don’t know the first thing about me and how I work. You don’t know how I operate. You’re a psycho on a power trip.”
“We’ll talk more later, Frank. When you’ve had a chance to think things over. I’ll arrange a little look around for you. Don’t give Armando any reason to hurt you. He has my permission to kill you if you get out of hand. And if you don’t live, how will you ever know what’s going on? You have questions and I have the answers. Be civil and you’ll get the answers you want. But you may not like the answers you get. You may not like them at all.”
A faint hiss, and then silence. I was alone with my thoughts and the voice that intruded at odd intervals.
Where are you, Frank?
Shut up.
I lay back on the bed, crossed my ankles, crossed my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. There was a hum, maybe from the grilled air vent. It sounded like a distant chorus of voices, their words all slurred together but with the distinct cadence of speech.
They were talking about me.
I knew it. There was nothing I could do about it.
“Shut up!” I said. My voice was loud in the cell.
Two things I’d learned from a lifetime in special operations were to eat when you could and to sleep when you could. I’d been fed and now I had nothing else to do but sleep.
If I could shake that voice in my head.
I willed myself to relax, to stop listening for voices that weren’t there, to get what rest I could. It was night, the breakfast either an attempt to throw me psychologically or else just the only thing they knew how to prepare. There’s a trick to getting your rest in the lull of combat. You want the body to relax and the mind to disengage it’s gears, so you drift into the half-sleep that comes before deep sleep. Your body gets rest, and the mind gets some too, even while part of it is alert and scanning for danger in your environment. You relax yourself, first tensing and then releasing each muscle, starting at your feet and up your torso till you reach your head. Your breathing slows, becomes shallow, and you float gently on the tide of early sleep.
I went there.
But the buzz of distant voices didn’t go away. My gut wrenched with the memory of the early signs of my breakdown. I’d gone at least two, maybe three days without my medication. Maybe I was hearing things, maybe I wasn’t…I didn’t know.
That was the frightening thing.
There wasn’t much I could do right now. I could try to overpower my guards when they came for me, but they’d thought that out. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t try. It just meant it would be harder. She wanted me to work for her. Maybe I should say yes. Not right away, that would be too obvious, but say yes eventually and see where that got me. It might get me to a place where I could escape – or fight. I wanted to kill Armando, all three of them. And I wanted my knife back. An odd thought. But real.
What was happening to my mind?
I slipped into that half-awake state hypnotists like to use. I felt my spirit slipping free of the fleshy constraints of my tired body. It rose high, through the ceiling and up through the sprawling building till I hovered in the dark, then walked among the night stars till I descended over Minneapolis, circling the string of lakes and dropping beside Lake Harriet to my house, where the lights gleamed…and I was in my front room and Rake and Marcos and Ryan and Sarah were there.
“I can’t see him,” Rake said. “I only get faint impressions. They have him, though. I know that.”
“Where?” Marcos said. “Where do they have him?”
“Someplace small, underground…that’s all I get. Something is interfering with me. I don’t know what. They may have him drugged. That would interfere with the signal line.”
“What can we do?” Ryan said. “Can we go to the police?”
“And tell them what?” Marcos said. “That a psychic says Frank’s been kidnapped? They’d laugh us out of the station.”
“We could go to that woman, Miss Emerald,” Sarah said. “She’s the one behind all this.”
“That could work,” Marcos said.
I tried to reach out to them, but it was as if I were trapped in a bell jar, able to see but not to touch, not to warn them off and tell them where I was, even though I didn’t even know myself. Something called me back, away and up and through the night sky and back down to the isolated farm and into the cell, one of many, where I turned in my sleep.
I woke in a sweat, shouting, “Don’t go! Don’t go near her!”
And I heard the metallic tinkle of her distant laughter.
CHAPTER TEN
i.
I don’t know how long I slept. I opened my eyes and looked at the video camera and wondered who was watching me now. The speaker had been silent for a long time. I swung my feet onto the floor, strapped the Tevas on, then stood and stretched against the wall. I was tight, balled up, ready to fight. Maybe that time was nearer.
Frank, where are you?
Again.
As though it’d been waiting for me to wake up. There was a buzzing. Maybe it was from the speaker, maybe it was in my head. I couldn’t tell. I felt preternaturally keen, alert, all my senses on edge. Like a hunter. A hunter in a cage. A hunter, caught.
I didn’t like that thought.
I didn’t like some of the thoughts that pushed their way to the front of my consciousness, popping their heads in to say hello and bringing little images: Rake and Marcos in my front room; Sarah sleeping beside Ryan, her small breasts exposed; Miss Emerald naked except for high heels; Armando with my knife in his throat; me singing some nonsense tune.
I was humming under my breath.
I paced the cell, then dropped to the floor and did a slow series of push ups, then sit ups, then stretched. I went to the toilet and urinated, a dark yellow dribble. I was still dried out. I ran the tap till the tepid water cooled, and then I drank handful after handful.
Time passed and no one came.
I did isometrics against the wall, planting my feet and pushing against them as though I might move them back.
Nothing.
After a while I drank more water, letting it seep into all the dry places inside me. I felt like a desert under the sun. Everything seemed razor sharp, as though through an expensive camera lens making pictures for my mind. I recalled, with exquisite detail, small things like the mole on the hinge of Armando’s jaw, the slightly crooked line of Leroy’s hairline, the sheen of oil on the barrel of his shotgun, a thumbprint
on the lens of the video camera in my cell. Everything seemed clear.
“Are you clear, Frank?” It was a man’s voice, strangely familiar, coming from the door. “Are you happy being alone? Is this your life, Frank?”
“Who’s there?” I said. “You want to talk, come in here where I can see your face.”
“Who misses you when you’re gone, Frank? Do you have friends that miss you?”
“Fuck you,” I said.
I sat on the bed, facing the door, my arms crossed.
“Do you remember that time in Frankfurt? When you rose out of your body, over your target, your kill? Why don’t you do that now? Can you do that?”
I was suddenly sick to my stomach.
“Shut up,” I said.
“There’s nobody here but you, Frank. And us. All of us. We see you. We hear you. We can talk to you whenever we want. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I won’t listen to you. It won’t work.”
“Isn’t that what you said last time, Frank? No Zyprexa to keep us from you now. We’re going to prey on you like you prey on others. That’s what Miss Emerald smells on you, Frank. The scent of the killer. She knows the smell. You reek of it. Even her little thugs can tell. That’s why they’re so careful now…they know you for what you are. That’s what she wants. A killer, a killer like you. And why not? What have you got to lose? What have you got that’s so precious you can’t just walk away? That’s how you’ve built your life. You think your friends are going to care? Are they going to help you? There’s just you and us, Frank…like it’s always been. We brought her to you. She smells madness on you. She’s got it, too. You’re quite the couple, the two of you, Miss Emerald and Frank Lovelady. You could do a lot together…”
“Shut up!” I screamed.
Silence for a moment. “Frank…”
The loudspeaker buzzed into life, overriding the voices. “What the fuck is wrong with you, man? You going nuts? You just trying to get us in there so you can whip some kung fu on us?”
It was Armando. He laughed.
“You think we’re stupid, man?” he said. “We’re just laughing at your silly shit. Keep it up. We got it all on tape, it’s pretty funny.”
“Where is she?” I said. “Bring her now, I want to talk to her.”
“You don’t give orders, maricon. She comes when she wants to. Maybe she won’t think so much about you when she sees these tapes. Then you’ll get to be my girlfriend for a few hours before I cut your fucking throat. You like that, man? Think about that, you crazy maricon.”
“I want to talk to her,” I said.
“I’ll let her know,” Armando said, sarcasm in his voice. “Right away.”
The voices whispered, an occasional word bubbling with clarity: Frank, stay…Emerald wants you…give up…die…
I fought it down. I knew how to do that.
“You do that,” I said.
Tinny laughter from the speaker.
I was alone again. But not really.
Frank…Frank, listen to me…
That’s how they got their hook into you. First they get you to listen. Then you engage them. Then your thoughts circle endlessly on a no way out merry go round. To fight them you have to ignore them, focus on other things. Like not putting on a show for Armando and company’s amusement; like thinking through an escape plan; like planning the death of all those involved.
What were Marcos and the others doing? What were they thinking? I remembered the flash in my dream or my hallucination, of them confronting Miss Emerald. I didn’t want that. It would turn her attention to them from me and would have deadly consequences.
I wanted all her attention on me.
Frank, she wants what we want…listen to me, Frank…
Frank, where are you? Show me where you are…
Miss Emerald is one of us, Frank. She always has been. She’s just like you, she’s a killer too…
I promised myself that I would kill her.
A chorus of voices mocked me.
I wanted to shout “Shut up!” but I couldn’t. Not with them watching.
My skin itched as though invisible insects wormed through my body hair.
Voices barely heard buzzed in my head.
The speaker grille vibrated, but the only sound was distant laughter.
Frank, let yourself go so I can find you…rise up and come to me if you can…
More madness.
I wanted to scream.
Then I did.
And I was alone with the echoing of my screams for a long time.
ii.
Voices came and went.
Then the speaker grille vibrated. I couldn’t tell if it was a hallucination or not.
“Frank, have you lost your mind?” A woman’s voice. “I think you’re playing with us. Speak to me, Frank.”
Emerald.
I couldn’t tell whether she was real or not. Something clenched in my gut as though my core was knotted, desperate to cling to what was left of me. The Me I felt slipping away.
Psychosis.
“I think you’re playing with us,” she said. “We’ll put a stop to this.”
Time passed.
The door swung open and Armando came into the room. He held a long handled dog’s noose, the kind dog catchers use, a long pole with a cable loop on the end. Leroy came in after him, a pistol in his hand, and then Petey. He held a big cattle prod. Miss Emerald stood in the door.
“We’re not amused,” she said.
I smiled at her. She was real.
“Fuck you,” I said.
Then I went for them. Hitting Petey was like running into a stone wall. He was ready for me. I kicked for his legs, but he raised his lead leg to avoid my shin kick and hit my pelvis with the cattle prod. I lost control of my legs and went down. He held the electrodes against me while I convulsed on the floor. Armando looped the thin steel cable of the control noose over my head and cinched it so tight that I blacked out. When I came to, my hands were cuffed behind my back, and the noose was snug around my neck.
“My little bitch is awake!” Armando said. He shook the pole, rattling my head.
I rolled on my side and looked up at Miss Emerald. There was a faint hint of excitement in her face. She was getting off on this. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of my anger.
“Great recruitment job,” I said. “Really makes me want to stick around.”
“Get him up,” she said.
Armando yanked me up. The noose was so tight that the cell swam around me from lack of oxygen. Leroy and Petey stood back, enjoying themselves. Miss Emerald went down the hallway, then Armando used the pole to guide me out of the cell after her. Petey walked beside me, waving his cattle prod like a parade marshal’s baton. Miss Emerald paused outside the big double doors at the end of the corridor. She entered a code on the keypad beside the doors. A heavy bolt was withdrawn electronically. Then we went into the room. It was a theater. There were rows of seats on both sides of the aisle, and a raised dais in the center, a stage. Racks of lights lined the ceiling.
Frank, where are you?
“What is this?” I said.
What is this, I said…
“It’s a place to stage entertainments,” Miss Emerald said. “Obviously.”
“What do you want?” I said.
“I did want you to join us, Frank. But perhaps you are too stubborn for that. So I may have to salvage my investment in you. Perhaps you can be…entertaining.”
She stepped up on the dais and looked down at me. “Come up here.”
Armando jerked the pole and forced me up on the stage. Lights came on and brightly illuminated us. It was so bright that the rest of the room disappeared into shadows. Miss Emerald stared at me. The harsh light threw into relief the carefully concealed wrinkles around her eyes, on her neck. Her eyes were as black and cold as a shark’s.
“You can be very entertaining, Frank. I’ve watched you in your cell. I don’t
know who you’re trying to fool. Or what you’re thinking. If you want to play the fool, you could play the fool out here. Some of our clients might be amused by the sight of you capering like the village idiot, talking to no one at all. I don’t find it amusing. I expect more from you. You disappoint me.”
She waited. “Well?”
I didn’t want to tell her anything. She could use it against me.
…tell her…
…don’t tell her…
…Frank, where are you?…
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said.
She sensed something behind my words, something I wanted to hide. “I’ve never seen you afraid before, Frank.”
She smiled, a vulpine skinning of her lips. “What are you not telling me, Frank? What are you worried about?”
“What do you think?” I said. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m not the one acting crazy, Frank. Do you really hear voices? Or is that a ploy to get us close to you so you can pull a James Bond trick and get away? Is there something about you I don’t know…yet?”
Armando laughed. “Maybe he is crazy.”
She silenced him with a glare. Leroy and Petey grinned at each other.
“So, tell me, Frank…do you hear voices?” she said.
…no…
…yes…
…she can see right to the frightened core struggling to maintain control, right past the part of you that’s working to figure out how you’ll get out of this…she can smell it on you, because she’s a crazy killer, just like you, Frank…just like you…
I stared her in the eye.
She nodded slowly, then laughed, a cruel sound. “Oh, Frank, that explains so much. I understand you much better now. What did you do before your…illness? Soldier? Spy? Something like that, I think. Not a policeman. You don’t have the temperament for that. And we’ve had you for several days now, so no medication…should we send someone to your house to fetch your medicine? Are you going to tell me what you need? We have doctors, Frank, good doctors. We can get a script for you. Such a little thing. Just tell me what you need…I understand now.”
Lovelady Page 17
