“How does Mulvaney even know we have him?” Pipi said.
“We told him,” Maggie said.
Pipi shook her head. “Jesus Christ.”
“I had to,” Newt said.
“No, you didn’t,” Pipi said. “You didn’t have to—you wanted to.”
The room went quiet.
“Fine,” Pipi said finally. “You take care of the loose ends like I asked, and you can take Bruce to see him. But total secrecy at all times.”
“Are we really going to do this?” Maggie asked once she and Newt left Pipi’s office.
“I’ll do it,” Newt said. “There’s no reason to get your hands dirty.”
“No, I’ll help,” Maggie said. “But I want to know one thing.”
“Okay.”
“What were the two of you laughing about when I came in the office?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, that?”
“Yes, Newt, that.”
“I told Pipi you and I were back together,” Newt said.
“You told Pipi we’re a couple again?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“That waySo she Pipi knew she no longer didn’t hadve to transfer Chad to Fargo anymore,” Newt said.
ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI
AUGUST 2, 2011
THE HEAD CURATOR of the St. Louis World’s Fair Museum climbed the ladder and reached out to adjust the spotlight on the glass case below. Then he climbed back down and checked to see if he’d positioned it properly. Yes, it was perfect.
The item in the case was a six-inch knife. Engraved on the blade were the words First Place, Landers, Frary & Clark Hunting Competition, 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair.
The knife arrived in a box in the mail several days earlier. There was no card or letter inside.
Just the knife.
No return address.
The only indication of where the knife came from was the Washington, DC, postmark.
The curator gazed at the knife and shook his head in wonder. The knife was weathered and worn, as if it had been places. Seen things. Been used.
Where had it been for the past the 107 years? In whose hands had the knife been held? How had it been used? Did someone hunt with it? Kill a deer maybe? These were questions that would probably never be answered.
The only thing the curator knew for sure was that the knife was one of the most extraordinary donations they’d ever received.
“Your travels are over,” the curator told the knife, as if it could somehow hear him. “Welcome home.”
MIDLOTHIAN, ILLINOIS
AUGUST 20, 2011
VIJAY SHARMA WAS sitting in a chair in his trailer having his makeup done when a production assistant ran in and told him the news. “We just found suitcases filled with bones!”
“A suitcase filled with bones?” Sharma said.
“No. Three of them—three suitcases, each with bones in them!”
In a matter of seconds, a run-of-the-mill on-location broadcast from a cemetery had turned into the chance for a ratings bonanza.
Sharma desperately needed a hit. His show—How Stupid Can You Be?—hadn’t had anything over a 2.9 Nielsen since the premier episode almost two years earlier. Sharma thought viewers had tuned in to see him that night. They hadn’t. They’d tuned in to see the sexiest man in the world—billionaire playboy, Koda Mulvaney.
Now he had bones. And if there was one thing he knew from twenty years in TV, it was that the only thing better than a sexy body was a dead one.
“Show me,” Sharma said.
Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery was located near the city of Midlothian, Illinois, thirty miles south of Chicago and well-known for its history of ghost sightings and paranormal phenomenon.
Originally built in 1834, the cemetery was abandoned long ago, which made it the perfect make-out spot for teenagers. And as everyone knows, nothing makes a girl slide closer to a boy than a good ghost story. After that, anything could happen—including ghost sightings—the most famous of which was reported by Sheldon Newkirk and his underage girlfriend. Her name was withheld for obvious reasons.
Newkirk insisted that, while the couple was sitting and talking in his car at the edge of the lake, an apparition walked out of the water and approached their car. When pressed for a description, all the couple could say was that the man was very large. And wet.
That was in the spring of 1970. After that, reports of sightings increased considerably. As did the number of teenagers making out in the cemetery.
All of which gave Vijay Sharma the idea to challenge six young couples to sit in their cars in the cemetery overnight, with Sharma roaming the area and providing the play-by-play.
Now, as luck would have it, one of the production interns spotted a suitcase floating in the water only feet from the shore. When he waded out to pull it ashore, he discovered it was tied to two additional suitcases.
Sharma looked down at the three open suitcases. “Dear God, we’ve got three dead bodies,” Sharma said with glee. “Let’s get someone over here to start filming.”
“I don’t think there are three bodies,” the intern said. “See, one case has a skull in it. Another has the feet. I think it’s one person who got chopped up and put in three cases.”
“Even better,” Sharma said.
“So what about the kids?” the production assistant asked.
“Send them home,” Sharma said.
“Uh, shouldn’t we call the police?” the intern asked. “I mean, unless whoever this is chopped themselves up, we’ve got a murder here.”
“You’re right,” Sharma said, looking up at the darkening sky. “We need to call the police. But not until the sun goes down. Flashing police lights are a lot more dramatic in the dark.”
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
AUGUST 24, 2011
AS INSTRUCTED, BRUCE, Koda, and Robyn stood near the elevators on the lower level of the parking garage at the Sheraton Inner Harbor Hotel, which was where they’d been instructed to stay.
“What do we do now?” Robyn asked.
“Nothing,” Bruce said. “We wait.”
Seconds later, a windowless cargo van pulled to a stop and the door slid open. A man in a dark suit and sunglasses sat in the passenger seat.
“Get in,” he said.
Bruce, Koda, and Robyn climbed into the van.
“Put your seatbelts on,” the man said.
“This thing looks like a prisoner transport,” Robyn said under her breath as she clicked her seatbelt closed.
“It is,” the man said.
WASHINGTON, DC
“I hope the ride over wasn’t too bad,” Newt said when the van arrived in the underground garage of St. Elizabeths Hospital.
“It seems like a lot of trouble for secrecy,” Bruce said. “None of us intend to say anything to anyone.”
“Yes, I’m sure you don’t,” Newt said. “No one intends to slip on a wet floor either, but accidents happen. Come on, and watch your step—there’s a lot of debris in the hallway, and some of the lights are out.”
Bruce, Robyn, and Koda followed Newt through a labyrinth of dingy, litter-strewn hallways, the building obviously abandoned for some time.
Newt stopped outside a closed door and knocked once, paused, and then knocked three more times.
A moment later, a man in a military-style uniform opened the door and the four of them entered. “In or out, sir?” the man asked.
“Out, please,” Newt said.
The man nodded and exited the room, closing the door behind him.
The room was empty except for a row of metal folding chairs facing a wall, which was covered with a curtain. “Have a seat, and I’ll explain the rules.”
Bruce, Koda, and Robyn sat down.
“Mr. Mungehr is in the room on the other side of a mirrored wall behind this curtain. He is restrained. Bruce will be the only one going in. Koda and Robyn, you will stay here in these chairs for the entire meeting, which you can watch throug
h the two-way mirror. You’ll also be able to hear the conversation,” Newt said, pointing at a set of speakers above the mirrors. “Are there any questions?”
“Yes,” Bruce said. “How long have I got?”
“Thirty minutes,” Newt said. “This will be the only time you will ever see Mr. Mungehr again. Make it count.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a cigarette?” Stan Lee asked after Bruce had settled into the chair across from him.
“I don’t smoke,” Bruce said. “But you know that already, don’t you? From all your years of watching.”
“Yes, I know everything—brother.”
“We’ve got thirty minutes,” Bruce said. “Let’s not waste it with childish insults.”
“You’ve got thirty minutes,” Stan Lee said. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
“Where are your legs?” Bruce asked.
“Out in a corn field,” Stan Lee said. “How’s the knee?”
“I meant your prosthetics,” Bruce said.
“They took them away,” Stan Lee said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You should ask Special Agent Drystad,” Stan Lee said.
“So is that why you kill women and take their legs?” Bruce asked. “Is that why you do it? Because you lost yours?”
“Everyone collects something,” Stan Lee said. “What was it Declan collected? Oh, yeah. Stolen art. I’m the one who turned him in, you know. The tunnel led from my house straight into the hidden art room in the basement. But you know that now, don’t you?”
“Tell me about my mother,” Bruce said.
“Is that what you want to spend your precious thirty minutes talking about? Mommy?”
Bruce remained silent.
“What’s to tell?” Stan Lee said. “She was a stripper raising two boys, and she died too young.”
“Keep going.”
“No,” Stan Lee said. “I want to ask you a question. If you answer it honestly, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“What?”
“How did it feel watching Declan die? Sadly, I had to run and didn’t get to stick around to enjoy it.”
“You are one sorry excuse for a human being, aren’t you?” Bruce said.
“That isn’t an answer to my question,” Stan Lee said. “Tell me how it felt, or it’s going to be a quiet twenty-six minutes.”
“Devastating, like I’d been stabbed myself.”
“Good,” Stan Lee said. “So what do you want to know about your mother?”
“Anything. Everything. What she was like,” Bruce said. “How she died. Did she love my father?”
“Yes, we both did. When Declan came into our lives, I thought the man hung the moon,” Stan Lee said. “Everything in my life got better when he arrived. For a time.”
“For a time? What changed?”
“What changed? What changed is that he abandoned us.”
“He left to pursue a business opportunity in Orlando.”
“Call it what you want, Bruce. He left without any way to reach him—for two years. She was alone with a new baby. You. With no job and no money.”
“So how did you get by?”
“She took a job working at a bowling alley that was also a strip club,” Stan Lee said. “That’s how Rocky Dredge got his hooks into her.”
“Dredge? He’s the one who killed her?”
“You know about that?”
“Declan left a tape when he died,” Bruce said. “I know about everything.”
“You don’t know everything,” Stan Lee said.
“What don’t I know? Tell me.”
“You’re named after Lenny Bruce. Did you know that?” Stan Lee asked.
“Were you there when she was murdered?” Bruce asked.
“Yes,” Stan Lee said. “So were you.”
“I was?” Bruce said, clearly shocked. “I don’t remember.”
“How could you? You were only two years old,” Stan Lee said.
“How did it happen?” Bruce said.
“It was my tenth birthday. I remember we got a box in the mail. Gifts from Florida. From Declan,” Stan Lee said. “A game. Scrabble. And Superman comic books. And a heart-shaped necklace for her. She asked me to help her put the necklace on. Then Rocky showed up.”
“Where was I?” Bruce asked.
“You were over in the corner in your crib.”
“Go on.”
“Rocky thought she’d taken money from him. They fought. I tried to get him off her, but he was too strong. He punched her, and she went down. Hit her head, and that was it.”
“My crib, was it red?” Bruce asked.
“We bought it at a Salvation Army store. I painted it. You remember the crib?”
Bruce nodded. “And I think I remember you too.”
“You remember me?”
“Yes,” Bruce said. “I had a mobile with paper spiders. Right? You used to read to me? Itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout…”
“Yeah, well you cried a lot, and I had to do whatever I could to shut you up,” Stan Lee said.
“What happened to us after that?” Bruce asked.
“They took us to the orphanage out at the Dunning Asylum,” Stan Lee said.
“And what then?”
“Declan came for you, and he left me behind,” Stan Lee said. “That’s what. He abandoned me again.”
“That’s not what happened,” Bruce said, shaking his head.
“Yes, it is,” Stan Lee said. “I stood in the window and watched him carry you to the silver sports car and drive off with you.”
“He asked for you. The people at the hospital told him you were dead.”
“That’s a lie,” Stan Lee said.
“Damn it, he tried to get you. Jesus, is that why you killed him?” Bruce said, standing up, his chair shooting out from behind him. “You killed him for nothing? For something he didn’t do?”
Stan Lee remained quiet.
“And what about my wife? What about Nisa?” Bruce said, his face turning red. “Why did you kill her? Just to get back at me?”
“Yes,” Stan Lee said.
“But why? What did I do to you? What did Koda do to you? We didn’t even know you existed.”
“Admit it, Stan Lee. You fucked up,” Kara said from the far corner of the room.
Stan Lee turned and glared at Kara.
“What are you looking at?” Bruce asked.
“He’s right, you know,” Kara said. “All those years—the hatred, the stalking—and for what? For nothing.”
“Shut up,” Stan Lee said to the empty corner of the room.
“Who are you talking to?”
The door opened, and Newt stepped into the room. “I think we’re done here,” Newt said, grabbing Bruce by the elbow. “Come on.”
“Jesus Christ! He’s nuts, isn’t he?” Bruce said once he and Newt joined Koda and Robyn on the other side of the two-way mirror. “He was talking to some invisible person.”
“Her name is Kara,” Newt said. “She’s his tulpa.”
“His what?” Koda asked.
“His tulpa,” Newt said. “Kara is an entity Stan Lee created for coping with the world around him. The tulpa can act independently from him—a parallel consciousness with its own free will and emotions and complex personality—separate from Stan Lee’s entirely.”
“Kids have imaginary friends,” Bruce said. “Not adults.”
“Yes, normal children who have the capacity to assimilate into the world grow out of it,” Newt said. “But in Stan Lee’s case, that assimilation never took place. It got interrupted—first by seeing his mother murdered, and then the trauma at the asylum. My best guess is that’s the moment Kara took over. This is the reason we didn’t want to go to trial. We need to study him. No other serial killer like him has ever existed.”
“He was wrong,” Robyn said, interrupting the conversation.
“Wrong about what?” Koda asked.
<
br /> “He thinks he killed Declan,” Robyn said. “He didn’t.”
“Yes, Of course he did,” Bruce said. “I was there. I saw him—”
“You saw Declan get stabbed. You didn’t see him die,” Robyn said. “I did. I was there. Declan didn’t die from being stabbed.”
“What are you talking about?” Koda asked.
“Declan’s condition stabilized in the ambulance,” Robyn said. “But he asked Tommy to—to—”
“To what?” Bruce said.
“To take him,” Robyn said. “The way ghosts take people—like they did at the party.”
“But why?” Bruce asked.
“Declan was sick, Bruce. He was dying,” Robyn said. “He was tired of being in pain, so he asked his best friend to take him. And Tommy did.”
OGALLALA, NEBRASKA
SEPTEMBER 2, 2011
STEP RIGHT UP, all you hungry treasure seekers!” the auctioneer shouted as the manager of the Store-It-Cheap rental facility took a power saw to the lock on the metal roll-up door behind him. “You never know what hidden gems might be waiting on the other side!”
“Jesus, Bill, this ain’t Storage Wars,” one of the three people gathered in the hallway said. “It’s just me, Fred, and Susan—and Susan is with Fred. Get on with it, will you?”
Moments later, the saw finished buzzing its way through the lock. “Okay, let’s see what we have,” the auctioneer said.
The manager grabbed the handle and rolled the metal door all the way up, revealing a virtually empty unit.
Except for one thing.
A blanket was covering something sitting on the floor in the middle of the room.
“The bidding will start at five dollars,” the auctioneer said.
“Damn it, Bill, how in the hell are we supposed to know how much to bid if we can’t see anything but a damn blanket?” Fred said.
“Not my problem, Fred,” the auctioneer said. “That’s the idea of the thing—you take your chances. Sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you get squadoosh.”
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