One Plus One (The Millionth Trilogy Book 3)

by Tony Faggioli

  But the Taliban had heard the rotors coming long before and had already melted away into the mountains, their day a big success, and though they had all searched for him, Waheeb’s body was never to be found.

  A month later, Parker and the rest of his unit were shipped home.

  That was the last time he ever made a promise to anyone about anything.

  Until now.

  All Parker could think of as they pulled up to the Travel Lodge was that he’d done it again—this time for the kids.

  He’d done it by the pool at the Fasano house without a second’s thought or hesitation.

  Just like the voice that spoke to Seth hoped he would. But it also left behind a little reminder, a single name, for Seth to pass on: Waheeb.

  To remind Parker that this time?

  This time he had to get it right.

  CHAPTER 14

  KYLE SOMEHOW SAW THEM before The Gray Man did: shimmers that became cuts and then violent cracks in the sky off to their left. Again he was struck by the utter facade of everyday life, how the trees and sidewalks, and now even the sky, were like painted images on rice paper that could be easily tossed aside by forces beyond human comprehension, forces of good and evil who wandered in and out of the world as if it were a spare room.

  There were three of them, blackish-gray demons, with ears like bats that sprung outward from the sides of their heads. They were about half a football field away, and even from this distance he could tell that they were large and muscular.

  “Hey, Gray!” Kyle shouted.

  From within their cocoon of light, traveling at the speed they were moving, they sped quickly past the creatures. The demons angled their bodies and banked hard to the left as they fell through the sky, swooping in behind Kyle and The Gray Man.

  “I see them,” The Gray Man said.

  “What are they?”

  “I have no idea. But we’ve come to someone’s attention and—”

  Kyle craned his neck over his shoulder to track the flight of the demons, but just as he realized they had no wings, they crossed into the tunnel of light that he and The Gray Man were traversing in and seemed to completely short circuit it. The Gray Man’s sentence was cut off and Kyle realized, to his horror, so was their method of travel.

  They were in free fall, from a good five thousand feet up in the sky.

  The Gray Man tried to grab him but it was no use. Kyle was out of his reach. He was on his own now. There was no two ways about it.

  This feeling was only compounded when all three demons immediately set upon The Gray Man, a blackish cloud of limbs and gnashing teeth enveloping him as he looked towards Kyle with a haunted expression.

  Kyle panicked. He didn’t know how to fly, or coast, or travel the way The Gray Man did. He had no parachute, no anything. As he fell, his lungs compressed in his chest and he spun his arms wildly. Then it was obvious what he had to do: he called on the blue.

  It came to him as if a levee had finally given way; it coursed through his body wild and free, hard and pure, instantly stabilizing his fall and leaving him stunned and breathless before launching him to where he told it he wanted to go: towards The Gray Man.

  By the time he was close enough to see that The Gray Man was shaking his head at him, it was too late. Kyle crashed into the falling group with such force that it temporarily separated everyone. Then, like magnets, the demons seemed to snap right back upon The Gray Man, except this time one of them grabbed a hold of Kyle too.

  He felt hell, the place he’d barely escaped, there in his mind, like a new horizon, like a confirmed destination. He felt it in the desperate mental pleas of The Gray Man, who was shouting in his head. Kyle! Break loose. Get away!

  And there was still time for that, still an opportunity. The demon that had grabbed him was barely hanging on. One burst of the blue into his face and maybe, just maybe, he could get away.

  Which of course would mean condemning The Gray Man to the same fate that he had actually rescued Kyle from in the first place.

  Logic tried to join the fall, clouds zipping past them like so many gobs of melted marshmallows. Wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t Kyle supposed to be some sort of chosen one? Or rescued one? Wouldn’t The Gray Man himself, if given the luxury of one more quiet chat over a cup of coffee and a warm slice of blueberry pie, tell Kyle that he should escape, that the whole point of all of this was him and his evolution, or whatever it was? Wouldn’t The Gray Man insist that his own sacrifice was a very small price to pay for that?

  Kyle was never good with logic. He usually relied on his emotions and his feelings, and they’d mostly served him well, until the day he’d cheated on his wife. Then they’d proven to be not so reliable. But now? He was going to follow them anyway; he cared too much about his friend. And he was not going to allow this to happen.

  The blue exploded out of his hand in a thin burst that struck a glancing blow across the neck of the demon latched onto his ankle, partially severing its head. The force of the fall and the pressing wind caught the lip of the wound and slowly tore its head the rest of the way off. It was a moment of hope. Now, two on two, they’d have a better chance.

  When the sky ripped again it was with a sharp crack that split Kyle’s eardrums. A larger hole this time. They all fell through.

  Instinctively Kyle let loose with a body-wide burst of the blue that diverted their course across the great expanse on the other side of the portal, an expanse that seemed to be a black, far-off section of the universe, and away from a small supernova nearby, which Kyle instinctively knew was some sort of gateway to hell the creatures intended them for.

  They careened wildly towards a large meteor, ashen and barren, below and to the right of them. It was there that The Gray Man seemed to gain some leverage on the two remaining demons as he slowed their descent and then steered them all to the surface of the meteor. It wasn’t a gentle landing though. The four of them bounced and rolled, all in separate directions, Kyle feeling the skin of his left temple grind across the fine sandpaper surface of the meteor, skin giving way in sheets of pain. He reached out to try to stop his motion, and was finally able to grip a small section of rock that held firm, stopping his roll.

  The first thing he realized was that he could still breathe. How? Then he felt it: in his lungs and veins and heart. The blue had spread through him internally, like a second system of blood. He could’ve never imagined such a thing, and therefore he could’ve never called it into action, which meant that something, somehow, was protecting him even when he didn’t know how to protect himself. He wondered if maybe the blue was alive in a way, with cognitive powers all its own.

  Standing on wobbly knees he saw The Gray Man rise as well. The two remaining demons seemed momentarily confused.

  Then, The Gray Man’s voice was in his head: They’re not as strong here.

  I know, Kyle thought back. It was obvious that words would do no good in a place that carried no sounds.

  Keep them at a distance, The Gray Man ordered.

  The demons turned and faced them. They were at least twelve feet tall. Their eyes, red beads swimming in opaque circles, were slanted downward and reached almost to their ears. Their mouths were pulled back in grimaces, exposing small piranha-like teeth.

  It’s an even fight, Kyle said. You take the one closest to you and I’ll take the one closest to me.

  In a bar, back in the real world, it would’ve made perfect sense.

  But in this place, with who they were up against, not so much.

  As Kyle watched in stunned disbelief, the creatures craned their necks, as if popping a few vertebras to release some tension after a long day, and then proceeded to reach up to their faces. As they did so, their hands became more elongated and their fingertips much sharper.

  Then, with zero hesitation, they simply dug their fingers into their faces, through their own skin, their cheekbones splitting first, then their noses and eye sockets, then as one hand pulled upwards through their s
kulls, the other pulled downwards through their torsos. And slowly, deliberately, every bone in them gave way as they tore themselves completely in half.

  The Gray Man, either sensing something was coming or just trying to jump on a tactical advantage, leaped forwards to attack but was repelled by an unseen force field. Kyle, taking his cue, fired a bolt of blue at them, but it simply careened off into space where it disappeared among some stars.

  Still, it made no sense. Kyle wondered why their opponents were killing themselves.

  Because they aren’t, The Gray Man said. He was becoming more of himself around Kyle now, even though Kyle wished he wasn’t, because his voice was tinged with deep concern.

  In front of them, the creature-halves held static in the air and then, like an Etch-A-Sketch moving with a laser dot and at top speed, Kyle watched in awe as each half restored itself in zipping lines of crisscrossing currents.

  The two were now four.

  NAPOLEON MADE his way methodically down the street, one step at a time and with a wary eye in the crow’s direction. The damned thing had evidently gotten a good taste of that trash can lid, because it was keeping its distance now. At present, it was on a telephone wire overhead, doing a little hop-skip down the line in that ominous, mischievous lurch characteristic of crows. Unlike with other birds, there was nothing graceful about crows, nothing hopeful. This one was no different. It occasionally came close enough for Napoleon to see its flat black eyes, contrasted against the sheen of its shiny black feathers.

  If Napoleon advanced twenty feet or so, it would retreat an equal distance, as if it were mocking him with the obviousness of its intent to continue watching him.

  And that’s when it dawned on Napoleon that going to Union Station right now and calling Parker was the worst idea ever. He would lead whatever forces behind this bird right to them—to Parker and the Fasano children.

  He was so disappointed by this thought that he hadn’t realize he’d slowed his pace. He thought of stopping altogether. Surely this would force the crow’s hand and maybe even make it go back on the attack again. If so, maybe he could kill it and then be free to get to Parker.

  It was odd, because he was used to being the one doing the following. But he was also used to the notion of not making it obvious. That was the whole point, really, seeing where your target was naturally headed. But whoever was guiding the crow was not interested in stealth or deception.

  Which meant that it either already knew where Napoleon was going or didn’t care.

  After another four blocks he reached Boylston, which was busy with traffic in both directions. There was a liquor store on the corner nearest him and a Shell gas station across the street. With no cell phone he couldn’t call Uber—something he had just learned how to do from the pimply-faced rookie at the reception desk a few months back—but up ahead there was a bus stop. He could ask the driver for the right lines to take, but now something else was going on: his gut was churning. A sort of urgency had developed there, and was spreading to his nerves.

  Parker needed him. In a bad way. He could flat out feel it.

  He looked over at the gas station and noticed a red, white and blue Independent cab gassing up, its rates spelled out in faded decals on the rear door. The cab had seen better days, probably back in the ’90s, and it looked like one could say the same for the cabbie. He was leaning against the back edge of the car, staring at the ground, one hand resting on the nozzle.

  Reaching into his pockets, Napoleon found a wrinkled five; not enough for a cab. But he still had his badge. That would get him what he wanted. He darted across the street and approached the cabbie. “Hey!”

  The cabbie was Middle Eastern with a worn face and graying beard, which he scratched at as he looked towards Napoleon. “What’s up?”

  “I need a ride.”

  “Not really on the clock yet, but since my wife’s the boss and fetches the calls from home, she won’t mind. Where to?”

  That’s the million dollar question, Napoleon thought. Instead he said, “Doesn’t matter,” and flashed his badge at the cabbie. “I’m being followed and I need a ride out of this area. Now.”

  The cabbie’s suddenly bunched up face made it clear that he thought Napoleon was on crack. “Yeah, right, buddy. Funny joke. What are you, homeless or something? You find that on the street or what?”

  Thinking quickly, Napoleon replied succinctly and firmly. “Look. I’ve been undercover. It’s gone upside down on me. Look at the photo closely; you’ll see it’s me.”

  The cabbie squinted at the ID, his eyes dancing to Napoleon’s face a few times. It was a little disconcerting. Did he really look that much differently now? Evidently, yes.

  Meanwhile, the crow had landed on the air/water machine nearby and was bobbing its head in a “yeah-yeah” sort of movement.

  Napoleon gritted his teeth. Fucking crows.

  “Look buddy—” the cabbie began.

  But Napoleon was in no mood. His gut was churning even worse now. “‘Look buddy’ nothing. I’m a police officer in need of your car. You can just give me a ride and be on with your day or I can take it and call the number on the side to tell your wife where I’ve left it and screw you out of a day’s worth of fares. You decide.”

  The man looked at Napoleon angrily as he chewed on his lower lip, which was dry and cracked. “Fine. Shit. Okay.”

  He pulled the nozzle out of the car and re-racked it before he got behind the wheel. Napoleon climbed in the backseat.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked again.

  “Just get on the freeway,” Napoleon said.

  He was getting old, he was tired and he’d just gotten back from hell, so he wanted to cut himself a little slack for not being the stupidest man alive as he watched the cabbie grab his cell phone off the dashboard, evidently to make a call, probably to the wife.

  He didn’t know Parker’s number by heart and he didn’t dare call the station to ask for it. They would flip and lose their minds if they knew he was back.

  But, then again, it didn’t have to be him who was calling…

  “Give me that!” Napoleon commanded.

  “What?”

  “I gotta call the station. You just get on the freeway before…” He had to get this guy moving, so Napoleon let his imagination take it from there. “Before the guys after me shoot us both.”

  It worked. The cabbie practically tossed him the phone while he put the car in gear and pealed out of the driveway. A block later they merged onto the ramp of the 10 Freeway.

  Napoleon saw the crow following behind, flying furiously to keep up, but it worked: slowly but surely it became a receding black dot over the freeway behind them.

  Napoleon sighed in relief and dialed the station house. After three rings, the clerk at the front desk of the station answered.

  Napoleon smiled at the irony. It was Cooper. The kid who had taught him about Uber. Damn. Now he would have to disguise his voice. Muffling his mouth, Napoleon leaned towards the back window of the cab, which he lowered a bit for background noise. “Who’s this again?” he asked.

  “Officer Cooper. How can I help?”

  “Cooper, it’s Detective Arias. I’m in the field and I need some help. Can you get me the cell phone number for Detective Parker?”

  There was a short hesitation that felt like a trip to the damned ballet.

  “Uh. Sure thing, Detective. But you know the scoop. I need your badge number before I can just go handing out that information.”

  Well, at least he hadn’t recognized Napoleon’s voice. Still. What now?

  “Shit, Cooper. C’mon. I can never remember that. You know me.” Napoleon thought of Arias and then went with it. “I’m about six-two. The other guys call me slugger? Best guy on the squad softball team? And I know you. Blond hair. You like the Red Sox, even though you’re originally from Philly. Fuck. Do I have to go on? I’m pressed here.”

  “Hey, Arias. Okay. I hear ya. But you sound different. You got
a cold or something?”

  Napoleon rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Bad one too.” A few coughs would’ve sounded too fake, so instead he cleared his throat for effect.

  “Got it. Here it is.”

  As he read off the number Napoleon tapped the cabbie on the shoulder and motioned for a pen and paper so he could write it down. Then he thanked Cooper for the number, thanked God that Arias wasn’t on shift at the moment and hung up.

  As the car wove its way through traffic on the 10, Napoleon dialed Parker’s number and looked out the window.

  The crow was still there in the sky, wings flapping furiously to keep up.

  They were in LA, which meant traffic and more traffic, but maybe if they could get to the 2 Freeway he could tell the cabbie to open it up.

  He didn’t know how fast a crow could fly, but no crow could outfly a car.

  Apprehension filled him from head to toe as Parker’s phone rang.

  It rang three times before it went to voicemail.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE MOTEL ROOM WAS small, but not as small as the trunk. Tamara sat on the edge of the bed while the monster sat in a corner of the room in a cloth chair, next to a small round table that was partially lit by one of the nightstand lamps he’d turned on. A pop-up advertisement card for the local Applebee’s was standing at attention, casting a shadow across his forearm. Except for the soft hum of the air conditioning unit, the room was quiet and still.

  She surmised that he’d picked the deadest motel around and asked for a room at the back of the complex, because when he parked and pulled her out of the trunk, there were no other cars around and not even the motel office was in sight. He’d backed the car up to the ground level room door, grabbed her out of the trunk and carried her rapidly six feet or so into the room, like a piece of luggage. He was bold. And reckless. And seemingly invincible. But not stupid. He’d made sure her gag was stuffed even tighter into her mouth than usual before he did any of it.