by David Wright
“Can I please go now?” she asked. “Every minute I’m in here is a minute I’m not looking for my daughter.”
Mathews maintained his calm façade, and said, “Certainly. Just give us one moment, please.” He smiled at Emilia, then ushered John from the room. With the door closed, Mathews met his eyes, “I need you to get the info from her.”
John swallowed, unsure he’d heard his boss correctly. “What?”
“I need you to find out what she saw. Extract the memory.”
“I’m not killing her,” John said. “Can’t we get Skinner in here? He can get her memories without burning her to death.”
“We don’t have time. Skinner is in New York chasing down a lead on something else for me. We have no idea what came through the portal. And we need to get on top of this now, John.”
“We’re not killing a civilian! She just lost her kid for Christ’s sake!”
Any pretense that John was anything close to Mathews’ equal faded like vapor as his boss’s face twisted into a display of impatient anger. “If we don’t find out what happened, many more civilians could die, and likely will. You know what we’re up against, John. You know what Jacob is capable of. We’re talking about the greater good here. Must we really have this conversation again?”
“There’s a difference between killing Harbingers and a civilian!” John tried to keep the growl from his voice. “I’ll be the company hitman, fine, but not if it means killing innocents.”
“I’m not asking, John. Get in there, now.”
The look in Mathews’ eyes was the only threat given, or needed. Omega held the trump card — Hope. They knew where she was. John didn’t. They’d already made it perfectly clear that they would do whatever they had to if it meant keeping him in line.
He glared at Mathews.
One slave, and one master. So long as Omega held Hope over John, the equation would never change.
He went back through the door, and looked back at Mathews as if to ask, “Will you be joining me?”
Mathews turned his back to John.
Pussy.
John returned to the room alone and met the weeping woman’s tormented eyes. The concern inside them had deepened, as if sensing his hesitancy.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
John approached the table and sat opposite Emilia. Her eyes found his gloved hands, and she looked back up. “Did you find her? Did you find Kayla?”
John shook his head then opened his mouth. His voice wore the slightest crack. “Is there anything else you can remember about who came through the portal?” He hoped she would remember something, anything, which would allow him to spare her life.
Emilia’s face flushed with frustrated anger. “I told you all everything I know. Please, can I leave now?”
John slipped off his gloves, and Emilia’s eyes fell to his hands, as if somehow sensing the danger in his empty palms.
He held out his hands, without saying a word, hoping she’d take them as she’d taken Mathews’.
She reached out, her fingers stretching out to embrace his.
No!
He yanked his hands back, startling Emilia.
“What the—”
John ignored her, jumped out of his chair and then stormed through the doorway and back into the hallway where Mathews stood, staring past John into the room.
Before Mathews could open his mouth, John shook his head, “I’m not doing it.”
Mathews gritted his teeth, then pushed past John and went back into the room. What is he doing? John turned just as Mathews retrieved his gun from inside his jacket and fired at Emilia, directly into her chest.
John screamed, then raced into the room, his hands ready to suck the life from Mathews.
Mathews’ gun fell to the floor as an onyx blade dropped from his sleeve and landed in his palm. He thrust the blade out between himself and John, a warning for John to keep his distance.
“You know what this will do to you. So I suggest you get to work. Draw her memories before she bleeds out.”
John swallowed his anger and fell to his knees beside Emilia, sprawled on the ground, looking up at John, confused and crying as her body emptied itself of her blood.
John whispered, “I’m so sorry” as he set his hands on her head. He wished that there was a way to do this that didn’t hurt the victims so badly. If only he could kill with a gentle touch, to offer a painless exit.
As they bonded, his fire spread through Emilia, sending her body into convulsions, and her eyes into giant balls bulging from her head. Her mouth opened wide enough for a scream, but none escaped. As her body blistered, John felt Emilia’s memories surging through him in a tsunami of rolling emotions.
He closed his eyes to focus on the torrent, trying to ignore the overwhelming fear and pain coursing through her and into him, searching for the memories he needed from the million inside.
He found them — reliving the woman’s final moments, experiencing her creeping unease as the weather changed, her fear turned to terror as Kayla chased after the dog, then her unflinching horror as the portal opened before her.
He watched as something appeared on the other side of the portal. Whatever it was, was moving fast. It was large and dark, though its form too blurred to clearly see. John slowed the memory, and watched as the blur grew to more than a shadow.
It was a man, but not a human.
It was his brother, Jacob — back on Earth.
But why?
And where is Caleb?
As John stared into the memory of his evil brother’s eyes, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were staring at death incarnate. Is Duncan right? Is whatever waiting on the portal’s other side gathering forces? If so, why?
John held a single certainty: No one was safe until Jacob was found.
* * * *
CHAPTER 2 — Abigail
“Is that her?” Abigail asked, staring through the binoculars at the woman standing outside the nightclub with a small huddle of partiers, laughing and smiling like she hadn’t murdered her 2-year-old son four years before. “She looks so different than she does on TV.”
“Yup,” Larry nodded, staring through his own binoculars beside her in the van a block from the club. “That’s the Karen McKenna.”
Abigail zoomed in on the child killer. She didn’t look anything at all like the sad-faced mother in the orange jumpsuit Abigail watched on the news footage she found online. Looking at her, with her well-tended blonde tresses and pretty new dress, from the diamonds around her neck to the shiny shoes on her feet, you’d never know she was a monster. She looked so normal.
Abigail looked at the people with her, two men and a woman, all of them laughing and smiling like Karen. “Do you think the people with her know who she is?”
“Everyone knows who she is,” Larry said. “She’s a fucking celebrity.”
“How can they stand to be with her? Do they think she’s innocent?”
“Well, she did get off,” Larry said. “But I don’t think it matters much to people like that. She’s famous.”
“She’s famous for killing her child!” Abigail said, laying down her binoculars and looking at Larry. No matter how many bad people they’d killed, and no matter how many horrible things had happened to Abigail in her 12 years on the planet, she was still surprised at the dark depths of humanity.
“Fame is fame,” Larry said, still peering through his binoculars. “Ah, there he is.”
Abigail raised her binoculars and followed Larry’s line of sight until it ended at the muscular bald man standing behind Karen. He was wearing a dark suit and a Bluetooth ear piece, as if he were Secret Service, rather than Murder Mommy’s bodyguard.
“Think we can take him?”Abigail asked. “Without killing him?”
Larry looked over, grinning. “I dunno, he’s got one of those douche bag Bluetooths, isn’t that an offense worthy of punishment?”
Abigail laughed, even though she was too hungry
to feel the humor in Larry’s joke. “If that were the case, we’d never run out of people for me to feed on!”
“Yeah, you really need to relax the rules a little, Abi. I say we add ironic hipsters to our list. We could hit the Apple store, Starbucks and that vegan place that just opened up on Crouch Avenue and stock up for the year.”
Abigail looked through the binoculars again and saw Karen and her bodyguard retrieving a Mercedes from the valet.
“Looks like it’s showtime,” Larry said, setting his binoculars on the seat, and keying the engine. “You sure you’re up for this?”
Abigail turned to Larry, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “Besides, I don’t know how much longer I can go.”
Larry looked Abigail up and down. Though he hid his reaction well, she could tell he was concerned. Her skin was almost gray, like it always got when she went too long between feedings. And while she didn’t think she was staring at the edge of death, as she had been once five months before, the hunger did weaken her significantly. And it hurt — a pain that she somehow felt both in her head and her gut, though she wasn’t actually eating people, but rather their life force.
“OK,” Larry said, putting the van into drive and drifting into the street to follow the notorious Karen McKenna from the club.
They were tailing the Mercedes for nearly 10 minutes when Abigail finally asked what she knew Larry was dreading to hear — a question he’d already answered a dozen times before.
“What if she didn’t do it?”
“She did,” Larry said, holding his eyes to the road. “We’ve gone over this, Abi. Several times.”
“But the jury must’ve had some reason to let her go.”
“Juries fuck up,” Larry said. “All the time. In this case, everyone fucked up. From the police botching evidence, to the prosecutors being too stupid to work around it to the judge. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if her daddy paid off half the jury!”
Abigail sighed, “Yeah, I guess.”
“Guess nothing,” Larry said. “She did it. Goddamn, she practically did a Google search for ‘How can I, Karen Theresa McKenna, murder my child and get away with it?’”
Abigail chortled, this time a sincere, deep belly laugh.
“You’re right,” she said. “You know how I get.”
Larry’s sigh said far more than any words he might have used. Abigail looked down at her gloved hands, then back up at Larry, “I’m not gonna wimp out this time. I promise.”
“I don’t mind if you do,” Larry said. “I know you don’t want to kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it. I get it. That’s what makes you so much better than all these fuckers, Abi, believe me. If it doesn’t happen tonight, I’ll find someone else.”
Abigail shook her head. “No, I don’t want to put you in danger again. We’ll kill her. Tonight, I swear.”
A promise followed by a swear — there was no way Abigail could back out now.
**
They sat outside Karen’s house — one of many her father had scattered across the country — waiting for the bodyguard to return to his car after walking Karen inside and presumably checking the place out. She’d been free for more than two years, and out of the news for one, yet judging from her bodyguard’s actions, you’d think there were constant threats against her life. Maybe there were.
Abigail remembered the red anger burning from the sea of faces in the footage Larry had shown her from when the “innocent” verdict was read. Though the murder happened in Miami, and they were clear across the country in California, the case drew international attention, mostly because of Karen’s father, Peter McKenna, billionaire owner of the globally recognized timeshare company, McKenna Resorts. Abigail figured some other people wanting to see justice had probably made threats on her life, though she doubted many would go to the lengths she and Larry would to dispense justice.
They’d spent months researching Karen’s case. Larry reached out to people in his network who knew people involved — always keeping enough of a distance to avoid an eventual link back to Karen’s murder, of course. He had also done some black hat-type research, hacking into Karen McKenna’s cell and computer records, and finding several interesting tidbits that hadn’t even made the relentless press coverage, which made Larry all the more suspect of Peter McKenna paying people off.
Larry said that there was zero doubt in his mind that Karen McKenna murdered her son. For Abigail, that would have to be enough. Tonight, she would feed. And tonight, Karen’s son, Kyle, would finally find justice — once they took care of the bodyguard.
**
Abigail approached the bodyguard, sitting in his car on the street outside Karen’s house. She was wearing black pants and a purple long-sleeved shirt to cover her ungloved hands. As she moved close enough for the guard to finally notice her, she pulled her long dark hair away from her face to display her tearstained cheeks.
“Please, help me, Mister,” Abigail cried out as she broke into a run toward the car.
The guard lowered his phone and looked up, startled, then immediately pulled a gun on Abigail and aimed it at her.
Oh crap, he knows.
No — he’s just scared. Back up.
Abigail stuck with her ruse, stopping about six feet from the front of the car and raising her hands to show she meant no harm. “Please,” she cried, meeting his eyes. The bodyguard was muscular, with a movie star’s jaw. The type of guy who likely never lost his cool. “There’s a man after me!”
“What?” the guard said hopping from his car. He was tall.
Abigail stayed put. She could feel his suspicion as he looked her over, then up at the street behind her. “Who’s after you?”
Larry’s van surfaced from the black, high-brights blaring down on them.
“Oh, God! He found me!” Abigail cried out, starting to run past the man, as if fleeing Larry.
“It’s OK,” he said, looking down at Abigail in reassurance. “You’re OK.”
The guard turned back to the approaching van, lifted his gun, and took aim. With the man’s full attention on his aim, Abigail delivered a blast of energy at the back of his head, sending him to the ground.
Larry killed the van lights as he rolled up, jumped out from the driver’s side door, and slipped plastic restraints around the guard’s wrists. The guard moaned as he tried to open his eyes.
Larry shoved a rag in his mouth, then sprayed his face with something magickal which Larry called moon dust, though it also had another name Abigail didn’t remember. The man looked up at Larry, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell back, passed out. Larry grabbed his cell phone, dropped it in his pocket, then slipped his hands under the man’s armpits, hefted him up, pushed him back into his car and closed the door.
“OK, you ready?” Larry asked Abigail.
“Yes,” she said, even though she wasn’t.
**
Karen McKenna spotted Larry first, his black ski mask pulled tight over his face, as she came from her bathroom holding a glass of wine.
The glass fell to the floor, and sprayed shards of broken glass across the room as she turned to run toward her bedroom at the end of the hall.
Abigail, also wearing a mask, was waiting, aiming a pistol at the murderer.
“Stop!” Abigail shouted. Karen did exactly that, her eyes wide and nervous.
“W-What do you want?” she asked, falling a step back as she looked back and forth between Larry and Abigail.
“The truth,” Larry said, closing the distance between himself and the woman, then pressing his barrel of his gun into her temple.
Karen cried out, “Don’t! Please… I—I don’t know what you want.”
“He just told you,” Abigail said, her voice muffled, though she imagined Karen must’ve already figured out she was young based on her size alone.
“Truth about what?” Karen asked, staring at Larry, her whole body trembling.
Larry answered,
“What happened to your son?”
Something in Karen’s expression changed, fear twisting into something, which for a moment looked like the cousin of defiance. She buried it immediately, but not so fast that Abigail hadn’t noticed.
Karen started to cry, “Is that what this is about? Why can’t you people leave me alone? Someone killed him. I didn’t do it.”
“Bullshit,” Larry said. “You have five seconds to start getting honest.”
“Who are you people?” Karen yelled, looking from Larry to Abigail, then back to Larry.
Larry smiled, “Inquiring minds that wanna know. Five, four, three …”
Karen wiped tears from her cheeks. “I’m telling you the truth!”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Larry said.
Karen was facing Larry when Abigail pulled her hands from her pockets and moved in for the kill. Abigail had been worried that she’d have second thoughts about Karen’s guilt, but her hunger consumed her enough to drive rational thought far from her brain. It had been too long since she’d fed. The young, vibrant woman, supple and thrumming with energy, was waiting to be feasted upon — guilty or not.
Abigail’s hands found Karen’s shoulders, exposed by the gauzy scoop of her low cut dress, and connected.
Karen fell to the ground with a rattle, shaking as a scream lost its life inside her throat. Abigail closed her eyes, surrendering to the rushing currents of energy coursing from the woman’s body into her own, fleeing as if born to feed her.
The feeding was bliss …
... until memories started pouring into Abigail’s mind.
Having to see, experience, and worst of all, feel, her victims’ memories were always the hardest parts of feeding for Abigail. Because she fed on the worst sorts of people, their memories were usually filled with something Abigail was already too familiar with, abuse — upon victim first, and then from perpetrator later — an endless cycle of misery.
