by Chad Huskins
She started to apologize, but Mr. Manning answered.
“Well,” he said, looking thoughtfully down at his hands. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Mrs. Krenshaw chimed in. Kaley watched her lips move, but detected only sounds. It was like Charlie Brown’s teacher—no real words coming out, wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa.
The great eye was back. It looked left, right, and finally down at Principal Manning. No, she told it. You can’t have him. You can’t have any more.
Whispers from all around. Kaley caught only snippets. “She says we can’t…the wall…if we wanted to…need a greater opening…we need to wait on the pitbull to bring us the other one, we need to the sister…as he promised…”
The pitbull? Spencer? What did he promise you?
“We need the other one…can’t hold…without…”
You’re not taking my sister, either. I don’t care what he offered you.
“She hears us. She can hear us! We must be close again. Yes, yes, yes, yessssss, we must be very close!”
You can’t have him, you can’t have anybody else. Especially not her!
“We will wait for the laughing man to kill the sister—”
“You can’t have her!” she screamed defiantly at the great eye, rising to her feet and balling her fists.
Ripples went out from her, through the water and up the walls, onto the ceiling and quaking along the Connection. Even Shannon felt it, Kaley sensed. All at once, the great eye turned to her, hesitating as she met its gaze. Finally, it blinked and retreated back into the Deep.
In front of her, Mr. Manning had pushed himself away from the desk in surprise. Mrs. Krenshaw had simply frozen, her pen now inert. “Kaley?” she said. “Are you all right?”
“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m tired. I’m tired of being afraid of them.”
“Of who, Kaley?”
“They can’t have her.” She was breathing like she’d run a marathon.
“Who?”
“They can’t have her.”
Here came another whisper. “We already have her.”
“If you have her, why haven’t you killed her?” she shouted. “Who are you? What do you want with Shannon? Tell me, god damn it!”
“Mrs. Krenshaw,” said Mr. Manning calmly, rising from his seat. “Would you please go and fetch Nurse Anderton?”
When the school counselor was gone, Kaley was alone with Mr. Manning. Neither one of them were moving. He was keeping an eye on her, and she was keeping an eye out for the eye. More ripples were appearing in the water. The squid-thing moved through the water above her. “Mr. Manning?” she whispered.
“Yes, Kaley?”
“I need you to go and get my sister. Or send someone after her. Please!” She wasn’t looking at the principal, she was watching the changes to the room.
“Why?”
“Because she’s in danger.”
“How do you know—”
“Because I just do! Now please, call my aunt and tell her to take Shan out of school now!” They’re coming for her. Oh, God, they’re coming for Shan!
“I can’t do that, Kaley. That would be up to Ms. Jimenez, the principal at Cartersville Elementary.”
Just then, the bell rang. It was now time for the fourth and final period of the day.
“Call her, then. Tell her…” Tell her what? she thought. Kaley’s mind was grasping at straws, and it finally found one long and strong enough. You can’t tell them something they won’t believe, so tell them something they will. It should’ve occurred to her sooner, but her mind was locked by the horrors she’d seen today. “There’s something I never told the police. I need to tell them right away. It’s about that night in Atlanta. I need to make a call!”
Mr. Manning watched her carefully, searching for a deception. “What is it, Kaley?”
“I have to tell them. They can do something about it. Shannon may be in trouble because of it. Just get me a phone!” Her words were somewhat convincing—Mr. Manning had already expressed his sympathies, and his own sister’s tragedy—but Kaley’s charm was now augmenting her case, reaching out to Mr. Manning and coercing.
“You want to call the police in Atlanta?” he said.
No, Kaley thought. They might not listen to me. I need someone who was there that night. Someone who experienced at least some of it. Someone who was there for all that strangeness. “I need you to call Detective Leon Hulsey. I can give you his number.”
When his cell started ringing, Leon just let it go to voicemail. He was in the middle of his third set. He was back to lifting 180 again. That was good for him, having taken such a long break from working out. It was good to get back to the bench; the exercise pushed his endorphins and lifted his spirits.
On his new big screen, he had an episode of Mad Men playing. A couple of his buddies at the precinct kept raving about the series, but seven episodes in he still didn’t see what the big fuss was about.
Leon laid back down, set his palms apart at the appropriate length, and hit another set. Lifting that much weight wasn’t just muscle, a lot of it was mental. It took focus to balance the weight right, keep the shoulders and elbows just so, and ensure that there was alignment with the wrists. A perfect exercise for taking one’s mind off of things.
A clean set of twelve, and then he racked it. The bar thunked when he replaced it. He sat up, reached for a towel to wipe his brow and neck. The cell phone was ringing again, and again he let it go to voicemail. He laid back down for another set, and when he finished he rose up, checked the number on his cell, and didn’t recognize it. He tossed his towel away and was about to get up and go grab another Aquafina from the fridge when the phone rang in his hand. He answered, “Yeah?”
“Detective Hulsey?”
A little girl’s voice, sweet and precocious, and very familiar. “Who is this?”
“It’s Kaley. Kaley Dupré.” A pause. “Do you remember me?”
Former APD Detective Leon Hulsey searched for the remote, found it beneath the towel he’d tossed, and lowered the volume on the TV. A million emotions suddenly flooded him. He hadn’t heard from the Dupré family since they took his advice and moved into Bentley Drive in Cartersville. This was the girl—the girl—involved with the case that altered his life. The last he’d heard, the family was doing okay in Cartersville.
“Kaley?” he said, unable to keep the smile from his face. “Of course I remember. How are ya, little miss?” He could not be angry with her for his situation. It was not her fault at all what had happened. It was Leon’s fault, and nobody else’s, for not turning in his brother-in-law who owned the city’s largest chop shop.
There was a sound like sniffling from the other end. “I’m at school right now, but I need to talk to you. Something’s come up.”
The hairs on the back of his head stood up. He didn’t know why, only that he now shut the TV off completely. “What is it?”
“You, uh, you told me to call you if I ever remembered anything else about that night.”
Leon thought about that for a second. “Kaley…I’m, uh…I don’t know how much you know about me, but I’m not—”
“I know you’re not a detective anymore. They’ve got you on suspension, or something. I saw it on the news.”
Shame burrowed deep within him. “Then why are you calling, girl? If you have any information about the case, the Rainbow Room, any of it, you really ought to call the police.”
“They’ll just keep asking question after question—‘How do you know this?’ and ‘How do you know that?’—you know they will. I need someone who can act.”
“Act on what?”
Hesitation. Then, “I’ve been getting weird calls at night.”
At once, Leon started looking for pen and paper. “What kind of calls? Threatening?”
“Yeah. They say they’re coming for Shannon.”
“Coming for her, how? When?”
“They say they’re gonna get her at school. Today.”
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br /> Leon started taking notes. “Jesus. Why haven’t you told anybody?”
“I didn’t take them seriously, but now I’m afraid.”
“Okay,” he said, fumbling wih the cap on his pen and biting back a curse when he dropped it. “All right, uh, I’ll call and tell the people at Cartersville Police, and then I’ll tell some of my guys at the precinct.”
“Good, but you come too.”
“What? Kaley, I can’t—”
“Just come! Nobody else can protect her! My Aunt Tabitha is like an hour away, and she can’t protect Shannon, anyways! Not from these people! You’re closer! I know you moved here after they suspended you, my mom heard it from somebody. Just go and help Shan!” she shouted. At once, something shot into the core of his heart and soul, an immediacy that wasn’t there before. Her words had a way of influencing. “Detective Hulsey, I don’t care what you did wrong, you didn’t give up on looking for us that night, and I know you won’t give up on us now.”
How was he going to say no to that? “I…okay. Okay, you got it.”
“There’s something else, very important. Can you get a message to that Interpol agency?”
He was on his way to his bedroom. In the top drawer of the nightstand, his Glock was there, fully loaded with safety on, and in its holster. “Interpol?” he said.
“Yeah, the ones that busted up the Rainbow Room after it was all over?”
Leon wondered where this was going. “Uh, sure. I guess I could contact some people. Why?”
“I’ve…I’ve been remembering some things. Repressed memories coming back, or whatever. A place called the Ruffa Docks, out at the Port of Chelyabinsk, in Russia. And a couple of log cabins out in the middle of nowhere, belonging to some guy named Zakhar Ogorodvoff, or something like that. Tell them…tell Interpol I heard Dmitry and the others talking about these places. In Chelyabinsk. Siberia, Russia. Got it?”
Good thing Leon had learned shorthand. “Yeah, got it.”
“And Pelletier’s there, too.”
That gave Leon pause. He set the notepad down, and said, “Pelletier? Spencer Pelletier? You’re sure?”
“Just tell them. He’s wearing a blue shirt and a slim black jacket, some Wrangler jeans, and black boots. He’s also growing a scraggly beard.”
“How can you know all of this, Kal—”
“Please just do it!”
He sighed. “All right. I’ll make the calls on my way to get Shannon. And Kaley? I know you’re a smart girl, so you know whoever’s coming for Shannon, they’re coming for you, too.”
A brief pause. “I know.”
“All right, well, hand the phone over to the closest adult to you. I’m on it, don’t worry.”
A second later, a man came on the line. “This is Principal Stephen Manning.”
“Mr. Manning, sir,” Leon said, running out the door, into the wind without a jacket. “My name is Detective Leon Hulsey. I’m with the Atlanta PD. Did you hear everything Kaley Dupré just told me?”
“I did, yes.”
“Do you have a full-time security officer at your school?”
“We do.”
“Good,” he said, clipping the Glock to his side. “Tell them to keep her in a safe place, perhaps an office inside the library, or any another secure location you can think of where she can’t be easily found. Uh, let’s see…” He trailed off, massaging his temples, trying to think of the appropriate response. “Okay, uh, make the call to Cartersville Elementary and tell the staff there to do the same for her sister, Shannon Dupré. Can you do that?”
“I can.”
“Good. Have someone else make the call to the Cartersville Police Department to tell them they need an escort for both girls. In case they don’t know it, inform them that the Dupré sisters have been in contact with a dangerous criminal syndicate in the past and that that syndicate may be coming to do them harm today. Do you copy?”
“I do, yes.”
Leon was back in the saddle again, like he’d never left it. “All right. I’m going to inform my people at Atlanta PD of the situation, and bring you some help should you need it.”
“Are the people coming after them that dangerous?” asked Principal Manning.
“Yes sir,” he said, sliding into his car. It was the same black four-door Nissan sedan that Spencer Pelletier had stolen from him seven months ago. “About the most dangerous people you can imagine.”
Leon Hulsey didn’t know how right he was.
Kaley watched Principal Manning hang up the phone. He immediately looked to Vice Principal Lowe and said, “Look after her. I’m going to find Officer Bauer.” She watched him go, and wondered how effective her plan might be.
It felt better knowing she had others out there to help. And it also felt better knowing that Spencer was about to get a lot more trouble than he bargained for. She didn’t know what the Prisoner had meant, but if for some reason Spencer had promised him and the Others Shannon’s life, well, there was nothing else for it. He was a monster anyway, and he might still have children as hostages, if he hadn’t killed them already. And if the Others were after Shan, well, having police around her at all times was better than nothing at all, she supposed.
Then Kaley recalled Mrs. Cartwright and the events in the girl’s bathroom just three hours earlier, and wondered if anything could ever be enough.
Something plopped in the water behind her, like a pebble in a pond. She turned, saw a large shadow moving in the Deep, then looked down at the water, which was now halfway to her knees. Please, God, do something. Stop all of this. Please do your job and stop this.
12
“Turn…left…ahead…”
“I’m…not…blind…you…fucking…whore,” Spencer mocked. Kharlova Pereulok was a busy street, but because of the hospital’s presence the roads were well plowed and salted, making for a smooth drive.
Ahead, the hospital shone brilliantly through the haze of snowfall. Not only was every window lit up, but a very large sign was lit brighter than the Fourth of July, and pronounced the building Челябинский центр медицины катастроф: Chelyabinsk Emergency Medical Center.
The parking deck was around the east side of the building. Spencer composed himself as best he could, sat up straight, and drove up beside the booth’s attendant. He leaned out the window, hoping to mask the fact that the window had been recently shattered, and had a wad of rubles ready in hand. “V kakuyu storonu?” he asked, shivering as much from blood loss as from the cold: Which way?
The attendant pointed and said, “Tam, takim obrazom, vtoroy uroven. Nalevo. Zelenyy.”
Spencer believed he was being told to go straight up the ramp, to the second-level parking deck, then to take a left into the green zone. He nodded. “Khorosho. Spasibo,” he replied, and waved his thanks as he pulled away. The attendant shouted at him and ran to catch up, and Spencer came irritably to a stop. The attendant jogged up to his window and handed him a green card to hang from his rearview mirror. “Spasibo.”
So, up the ramp two levels, taking a left and looking for the green zone…There. He eased into an available parking space and got out at once. The parking deck was housed, so no snow or ice had made it in. Still, a terrible cross breeze was coming through and snapping at his new coat, potentially exposing his bloody clothing underneath.
He made it over to an elevator just as a man and a woman were stepping inside. The man held the elevator open for him. “Spasibo,” he muttered, tapping the button for the front lobby with a knuckle. Spencer kept his injured arm at his side, the bloody hand he’d sliced on the razor wire in his pocket. With his left hand, he thumbed down the iPhone’s touch screen, looking at all that he would need to gather to effectively treat his wound.
Beside him, the woman and the man were whispering. He caught snippets. One of their friends seemed to be going into labor tonight, and they were discussing what a bad night to have to get Alisa into an ambulance and take her to the hospital.
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Spencer looked at the woman questioningly. “Alisa? I’m here to see someone by that name, too. What’s her last name?” He’d probably murdered the Russian language trying to ask that, his focus was just that off.
It was the man who answered. “Rodchenko.”
“Ah, no,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “Different Alisa. But I hope everything is okay with her?”
The woman smiled and began explaining about how the ambulance got stuck twice in the ice and yatta yatta yatta. Spencer was nodding and smiling as he glanced down at the phone and perused.
Let’s see. He was running through a checklist. I’ll need some chemical hemostats. QuickClot, Celox, shit like that. Spencer had used some of that the night he fled Atlanta, dropping by Dodson’s Store one last time. It wasn’t terribly uncommon, and could be found in many First-Aid kits. Those ought to be on walls just about everywhere in the hospital. If not, he could likely ask someone to direct him to a part of the hospital that had it.
The elevator door chimed, and he stepped out ahead of the man and woman. The lobby had only light traffic. There was a large atrium with green marble floors, a tall ceiling, and a giant circular desk dominating the center of the room. Three nurses were working behind the counter, fingernails clacking away at keyboards. Above them was a giant clock. It was 10:50 PM.
Spencer was about to approach the nurses and show them his hand—he already had a story ready for the cut, and was prepared to speak urgently to get them to find him some clotting agents—but not five steps from the elevator, he spotted a First-Aid kit symbol, the universal cross sign, right on the wall beside the bathroom. He stepped inside the men’s room and, sure enough, there was a First-Aid kit on the wall beside the hand dryer. A man was washing his hands at the sink as Spencer walked over to the kit, tore it open, and fished out the QuickClot. He checked it. Nice. It was the no-bullshit kind, the zeolite-based stuff that militaries had been using for years, and only recently released for civilian hospital use.
