The Edge of Reason

by Melinda Snodgrass

  The door shook and pushed back. Richard strained to hold it, but the combined weight of the two men on the other side overwhelmed him. Springing back, Richard went pelting for the basement stairs. The sudden release of pressure sent Bruce and Andresson plunging and staggering into the basement. The door banged against the wall.

  The muscles in his thighs strained as Richard took the steps two at a time. He made it halfway up before a hand caught him by the ankle and jerked. He fell full length on the stairs, cracking his chin, teeth snapping together on his tongue. Pain seared through his skull. Bruce twisted a hand in the collar of Richard’s shirt and dragged him to his feet.

  “Bring him down here!” Andresson ordered.

  Choking from the pressure on this throat, Richard was half dragged, half carried back into the basement. On one wall were racks of wine. On the other, ranks of filing cabinets.

  Bruce frog-marched Richard up to Andresson. He transferred his grip from the collar to Richard’s upper arms. The confinement raised old fears. Richard felt his belly muscles quivering.

  “Show me how it works,” Andresson repeated.

  “You were in the church,” Richard said, forcing insolence.

  “You had your back to me. When you came around it was there. What’s the goddamn trick?” Andresson demanded.

  “It’s really quite simple.” There was a flicker of frustration and dull anger in Andresson’s black eyes, and Richard knew he had the tool to release Andresson’s pent-up rage. For an instant Richard hesitated because he was afraid, but it had to be done. He had to have proof. “Or at least it was for me.” Richard laid a subtle emphasis on the pronoun. “But maybe I shouldn’t be surprised you can’t figure it out.”

  Snake quick, the sharp toe of Andresson’s cowboy boot took Richard in the nuts. Pain exploded from his groin through the top of his head and a scream gurgled up carried on a wave of rushing vomit. Richard clutched himself and curled into a fetal crouch.

  “Disrespect me, you little faggot. Now, you’re going to tell me what I want to know. When I go up to Mr. Grenier again I’m going to damn well know how to use this fucking thing.”

  “I doubt it,” Richard whispered. “You’re too stupid.”

  Andresson shoved the hilt through his belt, and nodded to Bruce. The big man jerked Richard upright, and held him while Andresson laid into Richard’s gut with punishing, rhythmic blows. At first Richard managed to keep his muscles taut, absorbing the punches, but pain from his abused testicles and growing terror of those clutching hands broke his concentration. His belly muscles softened, and the next punch bent him double.

  As Richard folded, Andresson’s fist met Richard’s face in a hard upper cut, driving his lips against the edge of his teeth. The taste and smell of blood was added to the rank smell and sour taste of vomit and the sharp reek of sweat.

  “How does it work?” Andresson asked.

  “No,” Richard gasped. The fist took him in the corner of his right eye.

  The beating went on. One eye was swelling shut. Blood trickled down his chin from a cut on his lip. His cheekbones hurt. Richard withdrew deep inside his mind, trying to block out the escalating pain. Tried to focus on the passing minutes. Hang on. Hang on. Two more minutes. Five minutes. Time. I’ve got to buy time.

  They were gathered around the coffee table in the living room of the penthouse. Kenntnis swept several large art books onto the floor, and set down the silver bowl. A small bit of water sloshed over onto the elaborate wood inlay. Angela instinctively wiped it up with the cuff of her jacket.

  Rhiana huddled on the sofa, fingers writhing nervously through her long black hair. Cross, looking like a Peruvian mummy, just skin stretched on bone, sat in an armchair.

  “Have you ever done a scrying?” Kenntnis asked the girl. Rhiana shook her head. “We take something of Richard’s. We drop it into the water, you focus, and search for him.”

  “Based on this other letter, we know where he’s gone,” the judge said.

  Angela studied the senior Oort from beneath her lashes. There were similarities. Richard had his father’s jaw and there was the same slenderness of frame though Robert Oort was taller, perhaps five foot nine or ten. His blue eyes were unusual, with a dark halo around the iris. He had bequeathed that trait to his son. But unlike his son, Robert Oort’s eyes didn’t look like they ever showed much warmth or humor.

  “Yes,” said Kenntnis. “But there are fifteen buildings on the property. We don’t want to have to search them all.”

  “Anybody got anything of Richard’s?” Angela asked.

  They all looked at each other. Weber started for the door. “I’ll go over to his apartment. Get something. What kind of something you want?” he asked Kenntnis.

  “You’ve got him,” Cross said in a whispering croak, and pointed at Robert Oort. “Blood and bone.” They all regarded the judge, whose expression went from careful control to outright confusion.

  Kenntnis turned and picked up an elaborate Mogul dagger in a gold and jeweled sheath off an end table. The knife emerged with a soft shush of steel on leather. “Yes, half the DNA is probably more helpful than a psychometric object, no matter how often Richard handled it.”

  Angela could see the flight response struggling to overcome the judge’s cool demeanor. “Are you all insane?”

  Weber stepped in. “Look, Your Honor, I know it sounds crazy, but it’s all true. I’ve seen shit that … well … that’s just unbelievable, and will scare the crap out of you. Let them try.”

  “And if nothing happens?” Oort asked.

  “Then your old lady was fucking somebody else when she got knocked up,” said Cross. He pointed at Rhiana. “She’s good. If Richard’s your kid she’ll find him.”

  “Or we’re all crazy and you can have us arrested or committed, or whatever,” Weber added.

  Oort considered for a moment then walked up to the table and held out his hand for the knife. Kenntnis gave a little half bow and handed over the dagger. Oort gripped the jeweled handle, and flexed his left hand several times, preparing himself to cut.

  Angela took the knife away from him. “Look, I’m trained to cut flesh with sharp objects. Why don’t you let me?”

  Oort looked down at her. “You’re a scientist, a physician. Do you believe any of this?”

  “All of it,” Angela said. They looked at each other for a long time; then Oort gave a sharp nod and held his hand out over the silver bowl.

  Angela tested the edge on her thumb. It was razor sharp. She weighed the balance of the blade and cut quickly, parting the skin. Drops of blood struck the water, and swirled away in slow eddies, deep red in the center fading to rose at the edges.

  “That’s probably enough,” Cross croaked.

  “Get me some bandages and antiseptic,” Angela ordered.

  “There’s a first aid kit in the cabinet in the front bathroom,” Kenntnis said to Weber. The cop went.

  “Got a penny?” Cross asked Rhiana. She nodded.

  Weber returned with a first aid kit. Angela went to work bandaging the judge’s hand. Rhiana chanted quietly. The penny flared. The judge jumped.

  “Now what?” Rhiana asked, looking from Cross to Kenntnis.

  “Since you’ve never done this before, I’d put it in the water,” Cross whispered. “Give yourself all the help you can.”

  Rhiana dropped in the penny. It spun beneath the water, creating a whirlpool effect. The bloodstained water glowed.

  “Now find him,” Cross ordered.

  Rhiana, her face tight with concentration, held the edges of the bowl between her hands and bent over the water.

  Angela gave the bandage a final pat, and edged closer to the table, craning to see. She felt Richard’s father standing stiffly behind her, his sharp, nervous breaths ruffling her hair.

  The water swirled wildly, then froze. Richard hung limply in the grip of a big man. A smaller man was delivering a brutal beating. Blood ran from a cut over Richard’s eye, his nose, his l
ips. Both eyes were blackened.

  “Oh, God, Richard,” the judge said.

  “Pull back,” Cross instructed Rhiana. “Show us the fucking building.” The water swirled and stilled again, showing a large stone and timber building.

  “Cocky, cocky,” murmured Kenntnis. “That’s the main house. Okay, let’s go.”

  Kenntnis began issuing orders. “Weber, contact local law enforcement and try to get a warrant and backup. Given Grenier’s standing in the community it won’t be easy, but try. Angela,” he turned to her. “Judging from the scrying, Richard’s going to be in bad shape. You need to get him on his feet … fast. Have something special, and I don’t care if it’s legal, in your black bag.”

  “Okay, then I’m going to have to meet you at the airport.” She pointed at Weber. “And wait for me. I need to walk through under the umbrella of your badge.”

  “Do I want to know what you’re getting?” Weber asked.

  “No.”

  Angela turned away to grab her purse and found herself looking at Rhiana as the girl fished the penny out of the bloody water. Rhiana brought the penny up to her lips. There was a spark, and the fire jumped from the penny and vanished between her lips. Angela was dimly aware of Kenntnis telling Cross that as soon as they found Richard, Cross should get the sword into his hands, but it didn’t really register because she was watching Rhiana lick the blood delicately off her fingers. It was disturbing, but before she could say anything or even ponder the significance, an altercation had begun.

  Angela heard Cross say in a loud, rude and aggrieved voice, “Excuse me!” When she looked over Oort senior and the homeless god each had a hand on the hilt.

  “My son left this in my keeping.” There was a tug of war, then Kenntnis with one of his sly smiles nodded to Cross who, grumbling, released the hilt.

  “Excuse me,” said Rhiana and there was a catch in her voice. “I need a minute.” She ran out of the room.

  “I believe you said you have a plane?” the judge said.

  Angela, Weber, Kenntnis and Cross exchanged glances.

  “Quick learner,” grunted the homeless god.

  Chapter TWENTY-NINE

  “What the hell are you doing!” It was Grenier, roaring out his fury. He seized Andresson by the hair and yanked him away from Richard. Bruce released Richard like he was toxic. It didn’t even hurt to hit the floor. It was just a relief to lie there.

  “I didn’t want a mark on him. We were the injured party here, and now you’ve gone and done this!” Grenier pulled the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and fastidiously wiped his fingers and hand.

  Richard realized he was wiping away the grease from Andresson’s unwashed hair. He also realized that Grenier was no longer wearing the twin to Richard’s now bloodstained shirt. A day had passed, and that gave him hope.

  Andresson climbed to his feet, glaring hatred at Grenier. The older man gave him a look of disdain. Which Richard thought took some real guts, because Andresson frankly scared the crap out of him.

  “Well, it’s too late now,” Grenier said. He walked over to Richard, and bending down, began to blot the blood flowing from Richard’s nose. Richard felt his nose shift in a way it wasn’t supposed to. He whimpered. “Richard, dear boy, please tell Doug how to use the sword.”

  “No,” Richard said thickly.

  The butterfly knife came out and opened with a rattle. Andresson lunged toward Richard’s eyes. “Tell me or I’ll fucking blind you.”

  Richard cried out, shrinking back. He threw his hands up in front of his face. The point of the knife slashed across his palm. Grenier close-lined Andresson and thrust him back. Andresson swung hard at Grenier, and popped him on the temple. Grenier couldn’t seem to credit that he had been hit. But Richard had seen the behavior often enough. Violent criminals didn’t have an edit button. Andresson wanted to hurt Richard. Grenier had gotten in his way. Andresson had struck out without thought of the consequences. But Bruce knew who paid his salary. He kicked the knife out of the young man’s hand, and gathered Andresson into a bear hug.

  Grenier’s eyes flicked between Richard and Andresson. Richard found himself thinking about the Italian shirt again, and suddenly Richard knew what he was seeing. Even bloodied and bruised, Richard was of Grenier’s class. Andresson was a tool forced upon Grenier because of an accident of genetics.

  “Do you really want to give him the sword?” Richard whispered. “He’ll have the power to destroy you.”

  “What choice do I have?” Grenier said in an equally low tone. “You persist in playing the hero.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t offered me the right incentive,” Richard said. It was hard to look coy with his eyes swelling shut, but he tried.

  “Bring Detective Oort upstairs,” Grenier said to Bruce. The big man released Andresson, grabbed Richard under the arms and hauled him to his feet.

  “Hey! What the fuck is this shit?” Andresson began.

  Grenier walked over until he and Andresson were nose to nose. “Douglas, you are on very thin ice right now. You are proving to be a disappointment, so I suggest you not annoy me.”

  “Fuck you!” And Andresson flung himself away up the stairs.

  “You want me to get him, boss?” Bruce asked.

  “He won’t go far. Tell Willie to bring him and the hilt to my office. Or just the hilt, if Doug isn’t inclined to join us.”

  Cross, Rhiana, Oort and Kenntnis waited on the tarmac beside the Gulfstream GV. Kenntnis cocked an eyebrow at the sight of the large duffle Weber carried.

  “Guns and body armor,” Damon grunted.

  “I do hope you had a complacent inspector.”

  “I went straight to the supervisor. Talked about federal judges, flashed my badge, waved the coroner at them.” He patted Angela on the top of her head.

  “All right, this is us going now,” Cross said and started to climb the stairs into the plane.

  The others followed. Kenntnis remained on the tarmac. Rhiana looked back. Her expression was troubled. “You’re not coming with us?”

  “No. Cross will help you.”

  “Look at him! He’s barely functioning. He could shatter at any moment. I need someone to help me, advise me.”

  Kenntnis looked up at Cross, who stood in the door of the plane. The homeless god shrugged. “Do as you please, but I told you I had a bad feeling.”

  Rhiana gave Kenntnis a tremulous smile. “I didn’t think you could be spooked by ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’”

  Kenntnis joined them on the plane.

  The pretty, perky assistant provided an ice pack, aspirin and a glass of cognac. She seemed unfazed by Richard’s condition. They sat in Grenier’s study, an elegant room filled with glass-fronted bookcases, a Queen Anne desk and a number of opaque mirrors. Grenier sat behind the desk, his hands folded serenely on the blotter. To either side of the desk, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on a grove of pines. A wind had risen and sang with a bass groan in the branches, shaking loose the thin layer of snow that had fallen. Judging by the light and the position of the sun, it was midmorning. Richard realized he had been imprisoned for two nights and a day. His thoughts went to the miles separating New Mexico and Virginia, and where along that route his friends might be. Assuming they were coming, of course.

  The cognac stung the cuts in and on his mouth, but Richard forced himself to keep taking small sips. He needed the stimulant.

  “So, what is it you want?” Grenier asked.

  “I know you’ve been making inquiries about me,” Richard said.

  “Please don’t state the obvious,” Grenier drawled. “You don’t have a lot of leeway here.”

  “Well, I’m assuming you found Drew.”

  Grenier maintained the bored tone, but Richard saw the subtle tightening of his shoulders. “Yes.”

  “And he’s talked to you?” Richard asked.

  “Yes. Your behavior at the funeral got him quite worried. He thought you were going to
break your silence. Our offer to prevent that was all the incentive he needed.”

  “Well, that’s what I want. I want to hurt Drew. I want him to go to jail. I want to wreck him financially.” Richard shrugged. “If you can make and break presidents, Drew should be easy.”

  “Simple vengeance? And here I thought you were a little hero,” Grenier said.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Richard said.

  Grenier keyed the intercom on his desk. “Ellie, has Willie found Doug? I want him now.”

  Richard held up a finger. “No, you start the ball rolling first.”

  “You make a lot of demands.”

  Richard forced a smile. He wasn’t sure if it came out as cocky or just a grimace. “I’m worth it.”

  Grenier left the desk. “And by the way. Willie is going to be holding a gun to your head, literally, when you do draw the sword. You will not threaten me. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  The door opened and Andresson walked in. No, correct that, thought Richard, he’s swaggering. That can’t be good. Willie, his brow creased with concern, walked behind him. He was carrying a piece of newspaper. On it were small pieces of gray lucite.

  There was a sudden tightness beneath Richard’s breast bone.

  “Mr. Grenier, Doug was out at the wood pile using the ax on that … hilt … thing. I’m sorry, sir, I hope this isn’t a problem.” He laid the paper gingerly on the desk in front of Grenier.

  Grenier stared at the shards as if he’d just heard the market had dropped to zero.

  Andresson strolled up to the desk, perched on the edge and began cleaning under his nails with the sterling silver letter opener. “Just doing a little experimentation, Mark,” Andresson said with a grin. “Is it supposed to … uh … fall apart like that?” Andresson gave a braying laugh. “He played you, dude, and you never even saw it.”