by J. E. Taylor
The day slipped from bad to worse when he got a message from his landlord. His lease in the apartment building next to the hospital expired and the unit had already been rented to another party. All the hotels in Brooksfield were booked solid this weekend, so his only real option, short of the chair next to Jennifer’s hospital bed, was the cottage. And that didn’t’ thrill him.
He checked in with the hospital hoping for some sort of lifeline, but Jennifer’s condition hadn’t changed and the prospect of seeing her father left him lingering at the Ryan’s house longer than he anticipated. He stood at the rock wall transfixed by the ocean while the crowd thinned to only family.
A throat cleared behind him.
Steve turned and slid off his sunglasses.
Dan Connor approached Steve. “Agent Williams?”
Steve nodded and raised the scotch to his lips, taking a sip.
“Agent Murphy wasn’t able to make it?”
Of all the questions Dan had rattling around in his head, Steve wasn’t prepared when this one popped out his mouth. Remnants of scotch slipped down the wrong pipe and he choked, coughing up the burning liquid while shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed and coughed a couple more times before the last of the sting dissipated. He cleared his throat and took another sip of the scotch to sooth his irritated throat. “I’m sorry, but Agent Murphy died earlier this week.”
Dan’s eyes went wide and his eyelids fluttered, blinking in quick succession at the new information.
“He was killed the day I spoke to you,” Steve said and downed the rest of the amber liquid in his glass.
“Any connection to Eric?” Trepidation made his voice quiver.
Steve nodded and Dan’s carefully preserved façade cracked, tears filled his eyes and his lips pressed together—his mind shuffled memories as quickly as a Las Vegas blackjack dealer.
“Why did my son die?” Dan blurted as his private slideshow slowed.
Steve turned toward the ocean. “For the same reason Jack died.” The tide of emotion rolled, turning the numbness into a ball of despair pressing on his chest. He pitched the glass as far as he could, watching it arch, falling and smashing on the rocks below and for a moment he wondered if he should follow suit, perhaps swan dive into the jagged granite below. He pulled his gaze from the drop, forcing his attention back to Dan. “They both knew me.”
The sudden onslaught of anguish choked Steve and he turned away, pushing the wave back into oblivion. He shoved his hands in his pockets listening to Dan’s stuttering thoughts.
But… but… why?
Steve inhaled through his nose. “Unfortunately, your son was paired with the wrong agent, and because of that, he’s dead,” Steve turned and leaned on the rocks offering the slightest of shrugs.
“What the hell did you do?”
“I was just doing my job. The man who killed Eric is the Slasher and I killed his brother during a botched hostage stand-off and now he’s targeting my family and friends,” Steve said.
Dan’s eyebrows creased and he studied Steve, his face scrunched in contemplation. The news stories that hit the airwaves last year came to the forefront of his mind. Holy shit.
Steve ignored Dan’s mental scan of the newspaper articles and news footage. “I’m sorry Eric got caught in the crossfire. He was an exceptional kid and didn’t deserve this.” Steve shifted, dropping his gaze back to the ground in front of him wishing he knew what to say to make Dan’s pained expression ease.
“Leave him alone Dan,” Chris approached. “He’s had a tough week.”
Dan spun on Chris. “And I haven’t?”
Chris lifted his hands. “The same fucker that killed Eric killed his parents this week too.”
Steve sent a glare in Chris’s direction for airing his personal business and then shifted his gaze to Dan’s wide eyes.
“Is that true?”
Steve nodded. “He blew up my month old daughter last spring and my wife is still in a coma,” he said before Chris could spill the rest of his sorry existence.
Dan’s eyes hardened and his jaw tightened—the anger almost palpable on the air. He turned toward Chris and his silent demand brought the hairs at the nape of Steve’s neck on end.
If you find the bastard, make him suffer.
Chris nodded. “I intend to.”
Dan exchanged a glance with Steve and then walked away, leaving Steve staring at the ocean with Chris by his side.
“He knows who you are?” Steve glanced at Chris, receiving a nod in response. “What about your in-laws?”
Chris burst out laughing. “No, no they don’t. My father-in-law would shoot me.”
Steve glanced back at the house. Why the hell wouldn’t Dan turn you in? You turned his life upside down.
“Lack of proof,” Chris answered his train of thought. “That’s why no one came forward. Besides, it would have implicated his kids. Both Eric and Emily knew about me.”
“I’m still in the FBI,” he answered and looked back at the sailboats drifting by.
“I’m aware of that.”
Steve surveyed the horizon. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“I know what it’s like to be alone.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Sure you will,” Chris said, his voice mocking. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked toward the house with his guide dog leading the way.
Steve stared at the harbor traffic, mesmerized by the soothing sounds emanating from the water. Focusing on the gentle lapping of the tide was enough to block out the thoughts coming from the remaining people and he sighed—thankful for a few moments of peace.
“My parents are glad you were able to make it,” CJ said from behind Steve, breaking his trance.
Steve glanced in his direction, taking a moment to scan the back yard. Everyone had retired to the house and he turned, bringing gaze to the child in front of him. “I need something from you.”
CJ’s eyes narrowed. “No, you don’t. You have enough with Eric’s powers.”
“It isn’t enough. What you’ve got, what you could give me…”
“You want some of my power to kill him, and killing is wrong.” His blue eyes grew hard and unyielding reminding Steve of his father and Steve squashed the chill that wanted to creep up his spine.
“How old are you, CJ?”
“Nine.”
“You’re too young to understand.”
“No, I’m not. I know. I remember.” CJ’s mind opened, giving Steve a glimpse at the memory of the warehouse five years ago along with the murderous thoughts that swarmed his four-year-old senses at the sight of his father nailed to a cross above them and his sister dead beside him.
Steve smiled a sad, knowing smile. “But you don’t know, CJ. What would you have done if you woke up and everyone else was dead and you were the only one left?”
“Killing is still wrong,” he said but his voice waivered.
“You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything.”
CJ tilted his head and bit the corner of his lip, studying Steve. “I’m still not gonna help you kill someone, no matter how bad he is.”
Steve took a deep breath. “But you’d let your Dad kill him?”
The complete dissolution of CJ’s composure happened before Steve’s eyes. CJ’s jaw went slack and his eyes widened with both shock and horror. Steve immediately regretted asking the question but he forged on.
“If it isn’t me, it will be your father,” he said. The turmoil in the boy made Steve feel dirty, slimy, like a used car salesman swindling an old lady. “You want to protect your father?”
CJ nodded. “Yes.” The word was barely a whisper.
“Then give me what I want.”
CJ opened his mouth to speak when his gaze snapped to the house and the luster faded from his skin, revealing pale fear.
Chris came barreling out of the back door, practically dragging the guide dog in his wake. His face a mask of anger that ma
de CJ gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously in his throat.
Don’t you dare. He sent the thought out with such force that both Steve and CJ winced at the decibels resounding in their heads.
“CJ, get inside.”
CJ scrambled away at his father’s request.
Chris turned on Steve. “You son of a bitch,” he growled. “CJ is just a child.” He pointed accurately toward the house, looking squarely at Steve like he could see him.
“He’s gifted and has the ability to transfer it,” Steve said.
Chris threw a punch and it connected with Steve’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. “You dare come into my home and threaten my son?” The words came out low through Chris’s clenched jaw.
Steve scrambled to his feet. “I didn’t threaten him. I manipulated him, there’s a difference.”
Chris reached out and grabbed Steve’s shirt, pulling him close. “No,” he snarled. “You cannot use my son.”
“Perhaps you’d like to spend the rest of your life in jail?” Steve shot back with the same ferocity. He broke Chris’s hold and stepped away.
Chris cocked his head to the right, his lips pressed together in disgust.
Steve’s airway closed under the clamping of an invisible force and his hand flew to his neck. The sudden strain of no oxygen bulged his eyes and he clawed at his tie, loosening it frantically, but the air still didn’t flow. Dizziness mixed with panic in his blood and he took a staggering step backwards.
Chris stepped forward leaning in close to Steve. “You really want to fuck with me?” He reached up and pulled off his sunglasses, staring accurately into Steve’s eyes.
Steve shivered, shaking his head and croaking “No.” No voice escaped the iron hold. No, I want to kill the son of a bitch!
Chris released Steve and slid his glasses back on.
Steve sucked large volumes of air into his lungs and leaned over, his hands on his knees, his muscles trembling under the knowledge the man before him could snap him like a twig without lifting a finger. He took some time getting his bearings back and his thoughts in order. “I don’t just want to kill him either. I want him to suffer,” he said, standing straight again.
“You don’t have a clue of how to make someone suffer,” Chris answered. “And you wouldn’t have the foggiest idea of how to use this power. It’d probably blow your circuits clean and land you in an asylum.”
Steve swung and his fist stopped inches from Chris’s face, hitting an invisible barrier as strong as a granite wall. Steve let out a roar of frustration.
“It’s taken me years to get this level of control,” Chris said. “And it wasn’t easy. Jessica’s power was nothing compared to the small infusion CJ gave me.” He paused and turned toward the house. “Shit. Dan is watching.”
“A lot of people are watching,” Steve said. He had already heard the undertones of thought coming from the house but was concentrating on Chris. He turned toward the ocean. “I would prefer to leave you and your family out of my vendetta.”
“You’re shit out of luck there, son. He made the mistake of shooting Eric, now it’s a personal crusade of mine.”
“Your son thinks killing is wrong.”
Chris let out a laugh. “He’s nine.”
“He’s right,” Steve said.
“Mhm,” Chris responded and snapped his fingers. His German shepherd came to his side and he rubbed the dog behind the ears for a moment before returning his attention to Steve. “Yet you’re willing to cross the line.”
Steve scanned the marina letting his gaze drift to the open ocean. He turned toward Chris. “He needs to pay and a prison cell just isn’t enough.”
“You realize if you cross the line like this, you will never see your daughter again.”
“What the hell are you babbling about?”
“Heaven.”
“You believe in heaven?” Steve laughed.
A bitter smile crossed Chris’s lips. “Yeah, but I’ll never see it,” he answered and shuffled a foot on the grass. “There’s a special place in hell just for me.”
“I suppose there is,” Steve said. “I’m not so sure I believe in God anymore, anyway.” He glanced back at the ocean. “Not with the things I’ve seen.”
“You won’t have to worry about God or heaven if you do what you’re thinking.”
He would have never pegged Chris Ryan as a religious man and the contradiction struck him silent. Steve shifted, glancing at his watch. “I have to go. I’ve got to get my rental back to the airport before the agency closes.” And then I have to figure out how to get home.
“You want me to get a car service from the airport for you?”
Irritation rushed through his veins. “I hated when Eric got in my head, and I like the idea of you in there even less.”
Chris responded with a grin and a shrug. “So, do you need a lift?”
Steve was tempted to take him up on the offer, but thought better of it. “Nah, I’ll grab a taxi.”
“I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” Jessica said, her voice edged with anger as she walked up behind them.
Both men turned, surprised by the interruption.
Jessica glared at Steve. “I don’t appreciate you trying to use my son.” She slammed her index finger into his chest.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Steve replied, the flush in his cheeks immediate and hot.
“Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old,” she snapped and turned to her husband, dismissing Steve. “And you,” she began. “You’re as much in the dog house as he is.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at Steve. “Danny took CJ and Tommy for the night. I already told him we needed to give Agent Williams a ride.” She glanced back at Steve. “That little altercation provoked some interesting questions from my ex-husband.”
“I’m sorry, but he pissed me off,” Chris said.
Jessica slapped him across the face, sending his glasses flying. “My son is dead and you decide to create a scene the day of his funeral?”
Chris’s hand slowly rose to the cheek she hit, his mouth open in shock. “I’m, I’m sorry,” he stammered.
“Why would you do that?” Her voice choked with tears and Chris wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
“Why? Why did Eric have to die?” she whispered, looking at Steve.
“Because he was my friend,” Steve replied and bitterness filled the space between them. “That’s why.”
Jessica buried her face in Chris’s chest and sobbed.
The sight of another mother grieving formed a lump in his throat and Steve turned away, more determined to catch Kyle and make him pay.
“You can’t go after him,” Jessica said when the crying ceased.
Steve glanced over his shoulder at Chris but said nothing. He didn’t want him tagging along any more than Jessica did.
Chris didn’t speak and his thoughts were unattainable. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I have to. Eric saved my life. I owe it to him to hunt the bastard down.”
Jessica leaned her forehead on his chest, glancing sideways at Steve. Her glare said it all and Steve looked at the ground. “I’m aware it’s my fault,” he said at the same time Chris spoke.
“You can’t blame him, Jess, Eric was assigned to be his partner. It’s not Steve’s fault that our son is dead.” He pushed Jessica away, his blue eyes glimmering. “I plan on making that bastard regret the day he was born.”
“You can’t,” Jessica whispered.
“That’s where you’re wrong babe. I can. And I will.”
Jessica glanced between the two men, her lips flattened to a thin line.
“He needs to be dealt with,” Chris added.
“Then let him do it.” She pointed at Steve.
Chris shook his head. “No.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Steve asked.
Chris didn’t speak at first. “I’m already damned,” he said, looking past where Steve stood. “You aren’t.”
>
“Chris,” Jessica sighed. “This is wrong.”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “But it’s also wrong to let him go barreling after the son of a bitch alone.”
“He’s got the FBI behind him.”
“Eric was killed at Quantico,” Chris said. “With the FBI surrounding them.”
Jessica nodded and stepped away, heading toward the house without another word.
“Can you see where my glasses went?” Chris asked.
Steve reached down, picked up the glasses, and put them in Chris’s outstretched hand. “You can’t save me,” he said.
Chris smiled and slid the sunglasses on. “I can try.” He turned and snapped his fingers. His dog obediently led him into the house.
When Steve stepped in the back door, Chris was sitting on the couch, petting the dog with his eyebrows scrunched together, deep in thought.
Chris’s mind was complete static. Steve couldn’t get anything from him. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” Chris answered.
“I know your mind can’t just be blank,” Steve said. “You’re like me, knocking things around in your head all the time, but I can’t hear you very often.”
“Static,” Chris replied. “And you do it pretty good yourself, whether you know it or not.”
Steve’s eyebrows creased. “Static?”
“Yes, static. When you think of more than one thing at a time, it creates static and we can’t read your mind. Not a lot of people can do that. Most are linear in thought.”
Steve let that settle, thinking about the assault of thoughts at the airport and at the funerals over the past week. Jessica came into view in a pair of blue jeans and a white button up shirt, looking crisp and calm, but underneath, she was still fuming.
“So you can’t read my thoughts when I’m analyzing a situation?” Steve asked. That was one of the occasions his mind went off in different directions at once.
“No, but when you come to a conclusion, the thought’s there like a crack of thunder on a clear day.”
“So, you’re constantly thinking of more than one thing?”
“I’ve gotten used to doing it. CJ’s very attuned to our thoughts and this is the only way to keep him out.” He stood up. “But sometimes even this isn’t enough. CJ can force his way in, unlike either of us.” He pointed in the general direction of where he thought Jessica was and was off by a mile.
