Absolution: The Clandestine Saga Book 4

by ID Johnson

  “Hey, Cass. You sound wide awake. How’s it going?” Cadence asked, flopping over on her stomach on the bed.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to call me for, like, an hour,” Cassidy replied.

  “It’s not even eight o’clock yet,” Cadence reminded her.

  There was a sigh and Cadence could practically see her rolling her eyes. “I know, but you said you’d call me first thing so….”

  “I was up late. Killing a Vampire,” Cadence explained. “Not an easy thing to do and a little taxing on the energy level.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Cassidy said. “So who is this Brandon guy?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly. “And why does he seem to think he knows me? He hasn’t been hanging out on the rooftop has he?”

  “No,” Cadence assured her. “No one’s been hanging out on your rooftop for a while.” Ever since Elliott had died anyway. They had yet to reassign someone to trail her, relying on the Guardians and Hunters in the area to keep Cadence’s family safe. There were presently no Vampire sightings in Shenandoah, but she made a mental note to talk to Aaron about it. “I guess there’s really no easy way to say this, so I’ll just tell you. He’s Elliott’s son.”

  The phone was silent for a long while. Just when Cadence was about to check to see if she was still alive, Cassidy said, “Elliott has a son?”

  “Yes,” Cadence affirmed. “He actually has a couple of other kids as well, but they never Transformed, and they’re much older than us. But Brandon is his child from a woman he was dating in the nineties. He never knew she had a baby.” Cadence could see no reason to go into details about Elliott’s relationship with Amanda.

  Again, Cassidy was very quiet. “I don’t know whether to be really happy that there’s part of him left or to be really sad that he never knew.”

  “I know,” Cadence agreed. “I felt the same way when I stopped to think about it for a few minutes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the first time I saw Brandon I was elated. He’s like mini-Elliott. And he acts a lot like him, too, Cass. He’s sarcastic and rude. Funny as hell. Oh, and he’s an amazing liar.”

  “Okay,” Cassidy said slowly. “I didn’t realize that was an asset.”

  “It is when you’re trying to convince humans that they didn’t just see a Vampire,” Cadence explained. “But anyway, that’s who you met last night. He hasn’t committed to Transforming yet, though. I think he wants to finish high school first.”

  “And then you think he’s going to come and train with you?” Cassidy asked.

  “I hope so. I’m not sure,” Cadence replied, flipping over to her back.

  “Well, it’s nice that you’ll have someone there with you who reminds you of Elliott,” Cassidy said with a tone of melancholy in her voice.

  “Yep,” Cadence agreed not really willing to elaborate. “So what are your plans for today?”

  “I’m not sure. I think it depends if Lucy and Emma ever wake up. Dad’s going to make pancakes, but I can’t get either one of them to budge.”

  “What time did you go to sleep last night? You called me after eleven,” Cadence reminded her.

  “I don’t know. One or two, I guess,” Cassidy admitted.

  “Well, they’re probably a little tired then.”

  “I know. But I was hoping they’d wake up soon so we could eat and they’d go home because….” There was a lilt in her voice as if she was going to say more but she was hesitant.

  “Because?”

  “Because… I wanted to see if maybe you would come and get me today and let me spend the rest of the weekend with you. We have Monday off for parent teacher conferences, so it would be the perfect time,” she finally spat out quickly, all in a rush, before she chickened out.

  “Cass….”

  “Please, Cadence? You’re always saying that I can come and spend the weekend with you, and you’ll show me around, but you never do it.”

  “I know, but Cass….”

  “Please?”

  “Cass….”

  “PLEASE??”

  Cadence groaned. “Fine! But can I please go back to sleep for a few hours? I’ll be there around… noon.”

  “Make it ten,” Cassidy bargained.

  “Eleven,” Cadence countered.

  “Ten-thirty?”

  “Never?”

  “See you at eleven,” Cassidy said and promptly hung up the phone before Cadence could change her mind.

  “Ugh,” Cadence groaned. The last thing she wanted to do was drive to Shenandoah. She missed her family, but there was just so much going on. Now really was not the best timing. Nevertheless, she had made a promise to her sister, and she would keep her promise. Just as soon as she got done with her nap.

  ***

  Despite being thousands of miles away, Giovani was capable of using his telepathy to talk to his friend Robert in Iowa from anywhere. Just like the IAC that the Hunters and Guardians used, Vampires relied on telepathy to communicate with each other. While not all of them were as skilled as others, it was one of Giovani’s specialties. He could tune into Robert anywhere in the world, and the two of them could carry on a conversation almost as if they were on the phone.

  After a few moments of catching up, Giovani finally got to his primary purpose for making the connection. “I need your help.”

  “What is it?” Robert asked, always willing to assist.

  “The window of opportunity is quickly closing. If we are to destroy the Hunter Leader, we must act quickly. I have met with an ancient Vampire, and he has given me his advice, but I’m not sure what our next step must be,” Giovani explained.

  “What did he suggest?”

  “He said that we must find a human so innately evil that, upon Resurrecting, he will be all powerful and able to defeat her single-handedly. Do you think such a person even exists, brother?”

  Robert was quiet for a few moments before he finally responded. “I believe there is someone who can do just that. But he may be difficult to access.”

  Giovani’s ears perked at the new information. “Who is it? Where can I find him?”

  “You need to get to Philadelphia,” Robert replied.

  It only took a moment for Giovani to realize whom Robert had in mind. Though he was living underground in a foreign country, he had heard of the Jogging Path Killer. “You’re brilliant!” Giovani exclaimed. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Robert didn’t bother to gloat. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asked.

  “There is one more thing, the main reason I have contacted you. We need some bait, and I need you to collect it,” Giovani explained.

  “Tell me more,” Robert insisted, intrigued. He liked the sound of collecting a victim to lure Cadence in. “You know I’ll do whatever I can to assist you in your mission, brother.”

  “That’s exactly what I needed to hear,” Giovani replied, a broad smile growing across his face. If this plan worked--no, when it worked--it would just be a matter of time before they had Cadence Findley at last.

  ***

  “How do you want to handle this?” Dixon asked, seeing Gibbon approach the building. He had ridden in on a shabby 12-speed bicycle, which he didn’t even bother to secure to the bike rack. Despite being at least fifty pounds of muscle heavier, he was easily recognizable. He was about six feet tall, shaved head, with a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, just like in his mug shot.

  “We’ve got to be careful,” Watson replied, not taking her eyes off of the mark. “I don’t want to risk tipping him off that we are here and having him take off on us.”

  “On a bike?” Dixon asked, scoffing.

  Watson shot him a look that made him stop mid-chuckle. “There are other ways of getting away, Dixon. He could highjack a car, disappear into those woods over there. He’s a pretty resourceful guy, so let’s just think this through. He didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, so we should have a few minutes to put a plan in place.”

 
Dixon was quiet for a few moments, staring at the building intensely as Watson did the same. “As far as we know, we only have two exits, right? Front door, back door?”

  “Affirmative,” Watson replied. “I don’t believe there are any interior doors connecting to the other businesses, at least there didn’t seem to be any on the blueprints I looked at last night.”

  “Okay. But we’ve got a full panel of glass windows facing the street on this side. What about the back?”

  “All brick,” Watson assured him. “If he’s going out the back, he’s using the door.”

  Dixon nodded. “All right, so we put ten, fifteen uniforms on that back exit, spread them out across the parking lot, create a perimeter. Same in the front but back away from the windows. Set up roadblocks out here, get some back up, and we go in the front door. Seems easy enough.”

  “Make it happen,” Watson agreed, though she knew it was going to be anything but easy. Steven Gibbon was a wild animal, and wild animals didn’t come into cages easily.

  It took almost half an hour before they had everyone in place, and Watson was comfortable with the set up. They got someone on the back exit almost immediately, just in case, but she wanted to make sure they had every available officer in close proximity before she moved in. They also had a chopper close by ready to take to the air should Gibbon somehow escape on foot. Finally, around 7:30, she and Dixon approached the front entrance to Rocky’s Gym, hands on their weapons, badges in hand.

  There were about five other patrons in the establishment, as well as the gym employee working the front desk. He was the only one who noticed them when they walked in, and Watson silenced him with a finger and a sharp look. Gibbon was there, across the room, working with free weights, another patron nearby. This guy was shorter and much thinner. He was talking to Gibbon, as if he were asking him for tips.

  Watson was hopeful that the other man would notice her first, but he didn’t. As soon as Gibbon dropped the dumbbell, he glanced towards the door, and his expression changed immediately. No longer carefree, his face broke into a grimace, and Watson fingered her gun. “Steven Gibbon?” she called. “We need to ask you some questions about the murder of Maddison Rigby.”

  Gibbon glanced at the back door and could see that his other exit was also blocked. Instinctively, he grabbed the man next to him. Watson could not pull her weapon fast enough; he pulled a knife out of his pocket. It was a small, three-inch flip knife, but with it held to the other man’s neck, it could be potentially deadly. “Who the hell are you?” Gibbon screamed, his eyes wild with fear.

  “I’m Detective Abby Watson, Philly PD,” she said, showing him her badge. “You need to let him go, and come down to the station with us. We need to ask you some questions about your whereabouts last Tuesday night. Now, let your friend go, and drop the knife.”

  “I don’t know any Maddison--whatever you said,” Gibbon yelled back. “I was home last Tuesday. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave me alone.”

  “Steven, it’s fine, man,” Dixon tried. “Just drop the knife.”

  “Help,” the captive managed to screech out. He was clearly panicked, his eyes wide with terror. “I can’t breathe.” Gibbon had his arm clenched tightly around the other man’s neck, and the more nervous he became, the more he began to increase his grip.

  “Okay, look, we’ll put our guns down if you put the knife away, all right?” Watson promised. She slid her gun into her holster, put her badge in her pocket slowly, and raised her hands, Dixon doing the same.

  “What about them?” Gibbon asked, pointing at the back door with his head.

  Watson gestured at the officers standing right outside the back exit, and they slowly backed away. “Come on, Gibbon. You know you’re not walking out of here alone. Just let him go, and we’ll go talk about this. You say you don’t know Maddison Rigby, and you have an alibi for where you were last Tuesday night, then I’m sure we’ll have this cleared up in no time.”

  The gym patron began to make gurgling noises as his airway started to collapse.

  “You’re choking him,” Dixon said calmly, “and if you kill him, not only will you have no hostage, you’ll really be in trouble. Come on, let him go.”

  Gibbon seemed to consider Dixon’s words. He looked at the man whose neck he was crushing as if he was just seeing him for the first time. “If I let go of him, will you let me go?”

  “Let him go, and we’ll talk about it,” Watson offered.

  “I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill anyone,” Gibbon yelled, still putting pressure on his newest victim’s throat.

  “I believe you,” Watson said, her voice as serene as possible. “But we have a job to do. We have to bring you in and ask you some questions, okay? So just let him go, and come down to the station, answer our questions, and we’ll get this cleared up as quickly as we can. All right?”

  He hesitated, glancing at the blue face in his grasp and then back to the officer. “You really believe I didn’t do it, right?”

  “Of course I believe you.”

  Slowly, Gibbon released his victim, who fell to the ground grasping his throat. The blade slipped from his hands and clattered onto the weights on the floor next to his feet.

  As Dixon walked careful to the man on the floor to protect him from becoming involved again, Watson casually crossed the room to Gibbon. Though he no longer had the knife, there were various sizes of weights at his fingertips which could have easily been used as weapons. “Mr. Gibbon, could you come stand over here with me for a moment?” she asked in an attempt to get him out into the open before she handcuffed him. “I just want to make sure you’re the same Steven Gibbon we were asked to bring in.”

  Gibbon seemed to accept that and cautiously took a few steps towards her, stepping away from all of the potential weapons he would have had within his grasp. Dixon had one hand on his weapon, now that Gibbon had his back to him, in the off chance Gibbon had another weapon on his person.

  “Thanks a lot for letting him go,” Watson said, knowing she needed to get medical attention to their most recent victim as quickly as possible without sending Gibbon into a panic. “Do you mind if I pat you down for my safety?” Gibbon shook his head no, so she continued. “Interlace your fingers and put them on top of your head, please.”

  Gibbon turned away from her and brought his arms up as if he were about to comply. However, just as his left arm came around, he turned and bolted past her towards the door. Watson yelled after him to stop, drawing her gun, as Dixon alerted the team outside of what was happening. As Steven Gibbon opened the door to Rocky’s Gym, the officers outside opened fire.

  ***

  Brandon was not up and at ‘em quite as early as usual that Saturday morning. He had been exhausted by the time he got home the night before, but it had taken him forever to fall asleep. There was just no way he could unsee what he had witnessed the night before. He finally dragged himself out of bed around ten o’clock, took a quick shower, and made his way to the kitchen hoping his mom had made some coffee. He was surprised to find there was actually some left in the pot, and she was sitting at the kitchen table herself. Usually, she’d get up, make some coffee, and stagger back to bed. He knew something must be up the second he walked in the room, but he decided to act nonchalant and let her bring it up in her own time.

  “Mornin’ Mom,” he said over his shoulder as he grabbed a mug and filled it up with the steamy black liquid. It was still hot, but it was stale, as if she had made it a few hours ago, and he considered pouring it out and starting over, except he knew how she felt about wasting anything.

  Amanda sat at the small, round kitchen table, a newspaper in front of her along with a small saucer containing a half-eaten piece of burnt toast. “What time did you get in last night?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.

  That didn’t take long, he thought. Though he had intended to go back to his room, Brandon took the rare opportunity to actually speak to his mother and crossed over to the ta
ble, pulling out a chair to join her. He was certain there was only one way this conversation would end, but at least she was coherent and willing to speak. “I’m not sure,” he lied. “I think it was around one. We stopped by Ralphio’s after the game and then just hung out and talked.”

  Bullshit artist that he was, she as not buying it; she knew him too well. “Ralphio’s closes at eleven,” she reminded him.

  Her eyes were slightly glazed, bloodshot, puffy. She looked exhausted. Her hands were shaking a bit. “Why are you up?” he asked, more concerned than just trying to change the subject. “You should go back to bed.”

  “I’m fine,” she said sharply. “Where did you go last night, Brandon?”

  “Nowhere, Mom,” he said, shrugging. “I told you. I was just hanging out with some friends. Are you done with this?” he asked, taking her plate without waiting for her to answer. He took it over to the trashcan, and opening the lid, he saw exactly what he expected to see; two empty glass bottles. He dropped the toast in and tossed the plate in the sink.

  “Brandon, I got a call from Chet’s mom this morning wanting to know when I started letting you date college girls,” she said, spinning around in her chair to face him, pulling her terrycloth robe shut over her nightgown as she did so. “What the hell was she talking about?”

  Despite her tone, it was all he could do to keep from laughing. He crossed back to the table but didn’t sit down this time, choosing to lean on the back of his chair instead. “Nothing, Mom,” he assured her. “She’s not in college. Chet’s an idiot. And she’s not my girlfriend. It was just this girl from the other town I met at another game, and we were just messing with him. It’s funny that he fell for it though.”

  She was not amused. “Brandon Michael,” she began, “if you get some girl pregnant and ruin your life the way…”

  “The way what, Mom? The way I ruined your life?” he asked finally beginning to lose his cool a little bit.

  “That’s not what I was going to say,” she said, her teeth clenched.