Amnesia

by Michael Cross

  “They’re good,” he replies. “They ain’t that good. You can get better in Bangor. Maybe Rockland.”

  “Scenery’s not as nice,” I fire back. “Hiking trails here are amazing.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Sorry Sheriff, but is there a problem here?” I ask. “I get the feeling you’re watching me. Like everywhere I go. I mean, I’m flattered and all, but you’re not really my type.”

  “You sure do got a smart mouth on you.”

  “Had it all my life,” I quip. “I’ve been told it’s one of my best qualities.”

  “How much longer you gonna be in town?”

  I pop a fry into my mouth and chew. “Sorry, I thought this was a free country,” I state. “I thought we were able to move about freely through all fifty states.”

  Sheriff Cedars is glaring at me so hard; I swear he’s trying to shoot fireballs out of them and consume me in flame. Safe to say I’m probably not going to make his Christmas card list.

  “Listen up, I don’t like you,” he grunts. “You say you’re just passin’ through, so I think it’d be in your best interest to move on.”

  “And if I want to stay a while and enjoy this beautiful town of yours?”

  He shrugs his thick shoulders. “Tough to say. But there’s a lot of forest land around here,” he replies. “People disappear in the woods all the time. They just go in and never come back out. Bears and whatnot got a real taste for human flesh.”

  I chuckle. “Is that your idea of a veiled threat, Sheriff?” I ask. “If so, you really need to work on your subtlety.”

  “Not a threat,” he insists, though his tone suggests otherwise. “Just a statement of fact.”

  “Noted. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” I cross my arms and match his glare with my own. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So, I guess I’ll see you around then. You have yourself a good night, Sheriff.”

  He lets his gaze, so full of hostility, linger on me for a long moment. I don’t blink. I know he’s trying to intimidate me. Make me break eye contact, so I appear weak. But I don’t give him the satisfaction. I glare daggers right back at him, not betraying anything in my face.

  Finally, without another word, he turns and lumbers off. I can feel the hatred wafting off him like heat from a bonfire.

  You have a real way with people, you know. Always have.

  I ignore the voice and finish up my meal, trying to figure out a way to keep the Sheriff off my ass. I’m getting to the critical point of this op. Everything has been scouted—and it’s a good thing I got a look at the interior layout of the house since I won’t have to spend time searching every room for where the man is sleeping. With the date of his confirmation hearing fast approaching, it’s almost time to execute my op and potentially deny the Hellfire Club a fourth seat on the Court, staving off a potential disaster for this country.

  But I’m not going to be able to do a damn thing if the Sheriff is riding in my back pocket. It just means I’ll have to be extra vigilant about watching for tails. The silver lining is that I doubt these small-town yokels have much experience in the way of tailing somebody and will likely stand out like a hooker in church to me.

  Having finished up my meal, I gather up my tray and my sandwich for later to drop off at the trash can. Hope’s cousin Sara is behind the counter, and she gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “You and Sheriff Cedars seemed pretty cozy out there,” she says.

  I chuckle. “That’s probably not the word I’d use.”

  Sara shifts on her feet and chews on her bottom lip viciously. She looks like she’s got something she needs to say, and I’ve already got a feeling what’s on her mind. I don’t want to get drawn into family drama, so I turn to head for the door when her voice stops me.

  “C—can I talk to you for a minute?”

  I pause with my back to her for a moment, then turn back to her and nod. “Sure.”

  She tells her co-worker that she’s taking her ten, then comes around the counter and ushers me out the front door. We walk over to my car, and she leans back against it. Sara fishes a pack of cigarettes out of her apron and shakes one out. With a trembling hand, she puts it between her lips, then fumbles with her lighter. She’s shaking so hard; she can’t get it lit. I gently pluck it out of her fingers and light it for her. She gives me a grateful smile as she draws in a deep breath.

  “T—thank you,” Sara says as she exhales a thick plume of smoke.

  “Sure.”

  We stand together in an awkward silence that’s thick with anticipation. But this is her show, so I’m content to let her play it out.

  “So, Hope told me what she asked you,” she begins. “You know, ‘bout Tommy?”

  I nod to let her know I understand, just so she doesn’t have to spell it out. For all I know, Sheriff Cedars is lurking behind the next car over, listening to our conversation. As if picking up on my trepidation, she gives me a watery smile.

  “He’s gone,” she says. “Drove outta here in a huff.”

  “Okay.”

  “A—anyway, I wanted to ask you again if you’d consider it—”

  “I can’t, Sara. I’m really sorry, but I can’t,” I tell her. “Like I told Hope before, I’m not a killer.”

  Except for the federal judge you’re about to off, and not to mention the pile of bodies you’ve left in your wake over your career.

  “You was a soldier,” she replies softly. “And I don’t mean no disrespect, but I know you killed before. You got that look in your eye. I seen it in some of the other boys ‘round here who came back from war. There’s a hardness in their eyes—like I see in yours.”

  I clear my throat and look down at the ground. The woman is perceptive as hell and sharper than I would have given her credit for. She cuts through the noise and sees people a lot more clearly than I expected.

  “I wish I could help, Sara—”

  She physically deflates in front of me. I immediately feel the dark fingers of guilt squeezing tight around my heart. The truth is, I would love to help Hope. Tommy is a piece of human garbage and deserves to be punished. But I can’t afford the complication. Not right now, when I’m in such a precarious position as it is.

  “He’s beatin’ on her somethin’ fierce,” she presses. “But what I’m askin’ you—it ain’t for her.”

  I arch an eyebrow at her. “Not for her? What do you mean?”

  “It’s Lexi—her daughter.”

  “What about her?”

  Sara lowers her gaze to the ground, and I see her face darken. My mind flashes back to the confrontation in the parking lot with her and Tommy. It’s then I see the protective way she held her daughter to her and the stark terror in her face. It’s then the answer dawns on me.

  Of course Hope wouldn’t be asking for herself. After so many years of enduring Tommy’s beatings, she’s probably grown used to them. Has grown numb and immune to their effects. When he starts throwing haymakers at her, I can see her hiding behind that cool mask of indifference and letting her mind go somewhere else until the beating is over.

  Afterward, she resets and recalibrates her mind and body, going on pretending that she’s fine, and everything is okay until the next storm breaks. It’s the cycle of her life, and Hope is well used to it by now.

  But when I see her hand held protectively over her daughter in my mind’s eye once again, and the way she tried to physically insert herself between her daughter and Tommy, it clicks for me. I’m swept away by a wave of revulsion and rage.

  “Has Tommy—”

  Sara shakes her head. “Not yet. But I know it won’t be long before he’s at Lexi. I seen the way he looks at her. It ain’t right. Ain’t natural,” she pleads. “Hope has too, but she don’t know how to get her outta there. Not without Tommy trackin’ her down. He has to do that; it’ll be ten times worse for her—and for Lexi. I talked her into askin’ you, to begin with. Beli
eve me; it took everythin’ in her to ask.”

  Beating a woman is bad enough. But this thing with Lexi—it’s something else. It’s something horrible. Something evil. But ultimately, something I can’t do a damn thing about. I can’t afford the sort of heat or scrutiny Tommy turning up dead would bring down on me. Not when I have a job to do. And if I ever hope to find out who in the hell I am, I need to do the job.

  “I know what I’m askin’ of you. But me and Hope—we ain’t got no other options. Ain’t nobody in this town gonna stand up to Tommy like you did,” she says. “And you saw the way Sheriff Cedars took up for him. Even if—or more likely when—Hope turns up dead, that bastard ain’t gonna do nothin’ about it.”

  She’s not wrong. The Sheriff wouldn’t do a damn thing to help Hope. And if Tommy killed her, he’d do even less than that. The only finger he’d lift would be to whitewash what I have no doubt would be Hope’s murder. Tommy would never spend a minute inside a jail cell.

  And as wrong and terrible of a fact as that is, there is nothing I can do.

  “I’m sorry, Sara,” I repeat. “I just—I can’t.”

  Tears well in her eyes, but she raises her head and looks straight into mine. Her lower lip quivers, and yet, she lifts her chin and has an expression of absolute defiance painted on her face. She’s scared, but she’s angry as hell.

  “When Tommy kills Hope and does whatever he’s gonna do with Lexi, that’s gonna be on you,” she hisses. “You have a chance to stop that man from destroying two lives, but you can’t be bothered.”

  “Sara, that’s not fair—”

  She walks away from me without another word, stomping back to the restaurant. I watch as she flings the door open and looks back at me with an expression of absolute disgust before she disappears inside.

  I remember a time when you wouldn’t let something like that happen. A time when you had to be everybody’s white knight and tried to correct all the wrongs in this world. What happened to that man?

  “I could answer that question if I remembered that man,” I mutter.

  With a sigh, I unlock the car and open the door, dropping into the driver’s seat. I stare through the windshield for a moment, letting my mind spin out of control before I force myself to stop. To breathe. To clear my mind and lay out all the reasons, I can’t do anything to help Hope.

  I start the car and drive off, feeling the heat of Sara’s glare upon my skin and a crushing weight of guilt pressing down on me that is quickly becoming unbearable.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Present Day…

  I step into the darkened house, my weapon at the ready. I sweep left and then right, making sure I’m alone here on the ground floor. I am. Closing the door softly behind me, I move through the first floor of the house, making sure to clear every room. No shortcuts. No surprises. And no screwups.

  With the first floor clear, I head for the stairs and begin to ascend, making sure to stay to the far right, where there’s less of a chance of the treads squeaking beneath my weight. The barrel of my gun raised, I continue sweeping left and right, my night vision goggles lighting up the darkness like the sun at noon.

  I make it to the second-floor landing, my stomach tight but feeling surprisingly cool and unaffected. I’m not as nervous as I probably should be. I’m pretty positive it’s my training and instincts taking control. I know that I’ve been in this sort of situation before. I can feel it.

  Moving lightly and swiftly, I head down the hallway, straight for Blankenship’s bedroom. At the end of the hall, I stand before his door and take in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Clutching my weapon in one hand, I reach down with the other and slowly turn the knob. When the latch clicks softly, I push the door inward and step through with my weapon raised.

  I see Blankenship’s ghostly green form stretched out beneath the covers. The sound of his snoring, loud and regular, fills the room. This is it. This is the point of no return. I could back out of the house now and walk away from all of this.

  Or I could see it through.

  A million different thoughts flash through my mind at light speed. I think about all I learned from Publius and his articles on the Call. All I learned about the Hellfire Club. I weigh that against my need to know who I am—and the knowledge that even if I complete this job, High Priestess Delta is going to string out the process of giving me the information I so desperately want. I’ll be nothing more than a monkey dancing to her tune, for as long as she wants me to.

  Despite all I’ve learned, I still don’t know who the good guys and bad guys are in this melodrama. Hell, if there are even good or bad guys at all. I mean, at the end of the day, is what the Hellfire Club doing any different from the objectives of the Tower? Their methods are similar—they want to put their people in positions of power and influence to achieve their goals.

  It’s the goals I’m having trouble defining. According to Publius, the Hellfire Club wants to make this a world that benefits the rich and screws over everybody else. But what about the Tower? What are their goals? Delta has suggested they run counter to the Hellfire Club and want to do the greatest good for the greatest number of people, but how can I take her at her word?

  I feel like I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t in this whole scenario. I need to make a decision, and I need to do it quickly. I frown at the sleeping form of Judge Blankenship, gripped by indecision.

  Clenching my jaw, I finally decide that since I can’t trust either side right now, I’ll trust in Publius—then sort everything else out later. Publius is a neutral observer and seems to be interested in nothing more than bringing the truth to light. Publius, whoever they are, has declared the Hellfire Club to be an existential threat to this country. And for the moment, that’s good enough for me.

  I raise the goggles to the top of my head and give my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Once I’m sure I’m not going to blind myself, I reach over and flip on the light switch. The judge doesn’t even stir. Stepping forward, I kick the bed.

  “Wakey, wakey, Judge Blankenship,” I call out. “It’s time for your reckoning.”

  Blankenship sits upright so fast; he practically hits the roof. He coughs and spits, stammering as he tries to wake up and assess the situation as fast as he can. He assesses the weapon I’ve got trained on him pretty quickly and presses his back against the headboard of his bed, his eyes wide, his breathing fast and ragged.

  “Wh—who are you?” he gasps.

  My balaclava is still down over my face, so the judge can only see my eyes. The man is trembling like a leaf in a stiff breeze and looks to be on the verge of pissing himself. I’m sure waking up to see a man in black tactical gear with a mask over his face, and a high-powered weapon pointed at you is about the most shocking way to wake up.

  I should shoot him and be done with it. No muss, no fuss. But I have an opportunity to flesh out my base of knowledge, and I’d be an idiot to pass it up. Information is the coin of the realm, and right now, I’m a pauper. That’s something that needs to change. Having more information might lead me to answers about who I am—and might give me an advantage when dealing with the Tower.

  “Who are you?” he repeats, doing his best to make his voice sound authoritative.

  “Who controls the Hellfire Club?”

  A shadow of uncertainty crosses his face as he looks at me. But then he gets control of himself again and narrows his eyes as he clenches his jaw. Despite the flicker of fear I see in his face, he tries to maintain an expression of righteous indignity, doing his best to assert control of the situation—despite having a weapon pointed at his face.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks.

  “I was in your secret office. I saw your class photos,” I inform him. “I saw your lapel pin.”

  I’ll give Blankenship credit; he’s not easily rattled. He controls his emotions well and seems to be keeping himself on an even keel. But I can see the tells—the twitch of his eye, the clearing of h
is throat.

  “Let me ask you again, who controls the Hellfire Club?” I ask.

  “Do you really expect an answer to that question?”

  “Do you really want a bullet in the face?”

  He stares me down, conjuring up the dismissive arrogance common to his kind. But I can see in his face that he knows the jig is up and there’s no use in lying anymore. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to give up what he knows.

  “You can kill me, but they’ve got a stable full of candidates to replace me,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “We’ve been at this a very long time.”

  “So I gathered,” I reply. “But just like a cockroach infestation, you and your kind can and will be exterminated.”

  He laughs softly. “You’re optimistic. That’s cute,” he says. “You’re with this so-called Tower, I assume?”

  I don’t say anything—mostly because I don’t know much about it. I’m surprised he knows of the Tower’s existence, but I suppose I shouldn’t be. I suppose it would be more surprising if an organization as well organized and funded as the Hellfire Club didn’t know who their adversaries were.

  “Are you going to answer my questions?” I press.

  “No,” he says simply.

  “Last chance,” I tell him. “Who controls the Hellfire Club?”

  He rolls his eyes and waves at me dismissively. He glares at me with disgust, like I’m a roach on the wall. There comes a point when you have to realize you’re pumping a dry well and that you’re not going to get anything out of it—no matter how hard you pump. And I think I’ve reached that point with Blankenship.

  “Nothing to say?” I ask. “Not even concern for your wife? Your children?”

  “This—Tower you’re a part of, we’ve been aware of your activities for some time now.” His voice is thick with arrogance, and he completely ignores my mention of his family. I want to be shocked, but somehow, I’m not. Assholes like him are no better than Tommy. “But like the groups who came before you, we will wipe you out of existence.”

  “Too bad you won’t be around to see it.”