The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  The girl’s eyes widened. “We? But I thought—”

  There was a blur of motion, a loud, sharp sound. The girl’s head snapped to the side. She gasped and let out a sob as bright red blossomed on her cheek.

  “You’ll question nothing,” the unseen man said. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “M-Michael. You’re going to save my Michael.”

  The man slapped her again. This time, she screamed.

  “You’re here to pay for your sins.”

  The image froze.

  “Enough,” Blade said. “Let’s just see if we can use that last one to find Teryn. I can’t watch any more of this.”

  As much as Ozzy wanted to agree, he knew they didn’t have enough information. They couldn’t defeat an enemy they didn’t understand. “One more,” he said. “We have to look at one of the final episodes. To see how they end.”

  “Fine. You watch it.” Blade clicked on the file named s2e8, then closed his eyes. “I can’t,” he said. “I just…can’t.”

  “All right. That’s fine.”

  This video was a little over four hours long. It started the same way—except the hooded girl was so battered and bloodied, there was hardly any untouched skin left. Ozzy had to shove a fist in his mouth to keep from vomiting.

  When the hood was yanked off, he came close to losing it anyway.

  “It’s her,” he said in hoarse tones. “Oh, God, that’s the girl Fischer had.”

  She stared blankly at the camera, but her head kept falling forward. She lifted it a little and whispered, “Alma. My name is Alma.”

  “Is it?”

  The off-camera male voice was different from the first video. It wasn’t Fischer—the girl hadn’t been quite this beaten when Ozzy found her. But it could’ve been Corvair.

  After a long silence, Alma said, “Brian…my boy.”

  A hand held up a syringe in front of the camera. “I have something for you, darling.”

  “Yes. Please…”

  Alma didn’t resist the injection. Once more, she managed to lift her head. “Are you my last teacher?”

  “I am.”

  The girl let out a long sigh of relief. And the shadow of the man in the room with her advanced.

  Ozzy grabbed for the mouse and clicked stop. “I can’t watch it all,” he said. “But I need to see the end. Fuck’s sake, how can they do this?”

  “I don’t know, man.” Blade’s eyes were still closed, and he looked alarmingly pale. “But make it fast, okay?”

  “Yeah.” He clicked on the timeline toward the end of the video. A few seconds of play was enough to make him skip ahead further—he was raping her. At the next jump, she was kneeling, whispering something over and over. He skipped ahead again.

  Hands around her throat. She didn’t even try to fight it as the light left her eyes and her body went slack. The hands released her, and she dropped to the floor.

  Ozzy stopped the video. “She’s dead,” he said flatly. “They killed her. They recorded her dying, the sick bastards.”

  Blade released a sharp breath. “I know why Teryn went with them.”

  “Why?”

  “These Magi are helping people their victims care about,” he said. “‘Save my Michael,’ the first one. Then ‘Brian, my boy.’ They’re convincing them to die, to trade their lives for someone they love.” He looked up slowly. “They must’ve told her they could save Presley.”

  “Everything they have,” Ozzy said. “For a gift they can’t use.”

  “We need to watch Teryn’s video.”

  Before he could react, Blade clicked on ‘s6e1.’

  Ozzy expected to see the girl hooded and tied to a chair, same as the others. She was naked like them—but she was standing, tied to a hanging beam in front of a television, which provided the only illumination wherever she was. There were angry red welts along her arms and legs, and her face was streaked black with tears and running makeup.

  The TV showed her in one of the playrooms with a client. Every time the recording got explicit, there was a sharp crack, and Teryn screamed as she was struck by someone offscreen in the shadows.

  “Shit.” Ozzy turned away from the monitor fast. “Why didn’t it start at the beginning like the other ones?”

  Blade let out a strangled sound and concentrated on the keyboard. Whatever he typed made a bunch of windows pop up in front of the video player, obscuring the worst of the view. Finally, he looked up.

  “This isn’t a recording,” he said. “It’s a live feed. And I can trace it.”

  “Live?” Ozzy grated. “You mean that’s…happening, right now?”

  “Yeah.” Blade sounded as sick as he felt. He worked the keys rapidly, barely glancing at the screen as he typed. “Okay, look,” he said. “This isn’t going to be easy, or fast. It’s definitely MacroCon tech—so it’s gonna be a bitch to untangle.”

  “That is Corvair on the video, then.”

  “Most likely.” The audio suddenly produced a long, drawn-out cry that chilled his blood. Blade winced and punched a button, and the sound cut out abruptly. “Jesus,” he whispered, staring hard at the keyboard. “I don’t know if that twenty hours we’re supposed to have will be enough.”

  Ozzy’s jaw clenched. “It has to be.”

  “You want to try hacking this clusterfuck, man? Because I don’t think your fists are gonna make it go any faster.” Blade cut himself off and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Believe me, I don’t want to wait a second longer than we have to here. But the fact is, we probably need the downtime.”

  “I’m—”

  “Don’t say you’re fine. Even I can’t pretend I’m not feeling that last round.”

  Ozzy started to protest again, but the man was right. His muscles still felt like jelly after the Taser treatment. He was sore everywhere, and his busted rib was a hot mass of pain. “All right,” he finally said. “So what should we do?”

  “You try to get some sleep.” Blade gestured toward the cab of the ambulance van. “It’ll take me a while to get the trace going, and…set up a few other things while I’m in their system. When everything’s running, I’ll wake you up and you can monitor while I rest.”

  He nodded. It was as good a plan as any—probably the best shot they had at finding Teryn before it was too late. He doubted he’d actually sleep. But as he made his way to the front of the van, his eyelids drooped and his limbs grew impossibly heavy, as though his body had suddenly realized it wasn’t needed for a while and decided to shut down without his consent.

  He almost didn’t make it to the seat before he passed out.

  Chapter 39

  This girl was the sweetest one yet.

  Corvair left her sobbing on the floor while he went to choose a few more toys. She was so pliant, so willing to do anything he told her. The perfect obedient slave—unlike her boss. Though Miss Solange played the game well, she had a bit more fire and backbone than he liked in a woman. He demanded complete submission, and Teryn was giving it.

  It’d almost be a shame when they killed her.

  He was headed for the main room of the cabin and the locked cabinet where he kept the heavy gear when someone knocked on the door, drawing a snarl from him. He’d been very clear with his instructions. No disturbances, not even to report the mission accomplished. If those two idiot soldiers had come here despite his orders, he’d shoot them where they stood. They were replaceable.

  But when he checked the security camera, he found someone highly unexpected.

  He opened the door with a sullen glare—as much displeasure as he dared show to his lunatic partner. “Colonel,” he said. “A bit early, aren’t you?” As in eight or nine hours early, he thought bitterly.

  Fischer walked past him and inside without so much as a glance. “Where is she?”

  “Oh, I sent her to Paris for a lovely vacation,” he said as he shut the cabin door. “Where do you think she is? In the back room.”

  He was
slammed against the wall before he knew what was happening, and the colonel was suddenly in his face. “Is there some reason you failed to inform me about Captain Stone?” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Back off, psycho.”

  The colonel released his grip slowly and fixed him with an icy glare. “We have to terminate the operation, right now.”

  “Please,” Corvair snorted. “I’ve already handled him, and his little hacker pal.”

  “Oh, have you. Then why are they tracing your feed?”

  He blinked in surprise. “They’re dead. I gave the order myself—Tom and Jerry took them out hours ago.”

  Without a word, Fischer produced a phone, swiping and tapping a few times before turning the screen toward him. On it was a video of Stone intently watching a bank of monitors. The time readout at the bottom of the screen was current.

  “Goddamn it,” Corvair snapped. “Where is he?”

  “In the back of Jerry’s van.” The colonel slid the phone back in his pocket, his expression cold. “Blade broke into the system and hacked the darknet. So now we have to terminate the subject, and bring them in for questioning to find out what they’ve done. How much they know, and who they told. They’ve had plenty of time—they might have exposed us already.”

  Corvair’s fury eclipsed the concern, boiling his blood. “Tom and Jerry?”

  “Missing. We’ll have to presume them dead, for now.” Fischer shook his head briefly. “I did warn you not to underestimate Stone.”

  He bared his teeth at the colonel. “Save it. Just tell me the plan.”

  Fischer was already headed for the back room. “They’re looking for the subject,” he said. “So, we’ll let them find her.”

  “What?”

  The colonel remained calm. “They’ve eliminated our delivery team. We’re going to use them as replacements.” He opened the door to the room and walked in, with Corvair right behind him. “And once they’ve delivered the package, they’ll come to us. On our terms.”

  “You really are insane,” he said sharply enough to rouse the girl, who stirred and moaned. “She’s our leverage. Why would you throw that away?”

  Fischer gave him a chilling smile. “I’ve taken the liberty of securing…better leverage,” he said. The phone came out again, and he pulled up another video.

  Corvair looked. And grinned. “Perfect.”

  “I never do anything less.”

  He ignored the barbed comment. “It’s a shame to kill her so soon, though,” he said. “We could get a lot more out of her.”

  “The lessons are over,” the colonel said.

  That got the girl’s attention. She struggled to right herself, tried to focus her tear-stained eyes on them. “No. Please,” she whispered. “I can l-learn.”

  “I am sorry about this,” Fischer said softly as he approached the girl, drawing a low-caliber pistol. “But we have to cut your program short. There’s been interference.”

  “Please.” She’d gotten to her knees, but could go no further. “I’ll do anything. You promised you’d find a heart for Presley.”

  “And so we have.” The colonel stopped in front of her and placed a hand on her chest. “It’s a perfect match.”

  The girl sobbed. Her smile was beautiful and terrible, fearless and relieved. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Oh, thank you.” She raised her face to his, black tears glistening on her cheeks. “I really will be with her forever.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  Fischer let his hand linger on her a moment longer, and then circled behind her kneeling, trembling form. “We’ll need the oxygen and tubing,” he said to Corvair. “This must be done carefully, so the heart remains viable. Brain death only.”

  “Right.” He started from the room, and then paused. The fury over losing hours of play time with this perfect specimen had been throttled for now—but he intended to unleash it on the one responsible for ruining things. “When we question them…I want that hacker freak,” he said. “No one else touches him.”

  “Blade is all yours,” the colonel said. “I have plans for Captain Stone.”

  His grin spoke for both of them.

  Chapter 40

  The cabin was quieter than Roman had expected.

  He’d traced the video feed to this place, on a secluded road ten miles outside of Tomasburg. They were taking every precaution on the approach—the ambulance van was parked half a mile away, and they’d killed the lights just before making the turn. Stone was armed with a selection of destructive tools from Tom’s box. Roman had retrieved his gun from Kat’s office.

  There should’ve been a few guards here, at least. Or a vehicle in the driveway. Lights inside. Something. But the place seemed deserted. The only indication that it wasn’t completely abandoned was a pair of glowing lanterns at the end of the driveway.

  Either Corvair was a hell of a lot cockier than they’d figured, or this wasn’t the actual source of the feed.

  “You sure this is the right place,” Stone half-whispered.

  “Yeah.” He refused to admit defeat—at least, not yet. There had to be something here. “Bastard’s probably holed up in a back room, or maybe a basement.”

  Stone didn’t respond, and he couldn’t blame the man. He wasn’t exactly convincing himself with this back-room stuff.

  “All right. We going in?”

  “Yeah.”

  Roman nodded, drew the gun and started forward. He’d talked Stone into letting him lead, anticipating some form of electronic security he’d have to break through or disable. But he didn’t see any light, not even a faint glow that would indicate a keypad or a sensor. There was only the shadowed shape of the cabin.

  He was maybe fifteen feet from the place when a floodlight beside the door snapped on. Swearing under his breath, he tensed to move fast.

  But nothing happened. And then he realized the front door was cracked open.

  “What the hell?” Stone muttered behind him. “I don’t like this.”

  “Tell me about it.” Everything about this had trap written all over it in big, bold letters. But if it was a trap, it was either a damned strange one, or the worst was waiting inside. “What should we do?”

  Stone hesitated for a long moment, and finally said, “We go in. But I’ll go first.”

  “Fine. It’s your funeral, man.”

  He waited while the big man crept past him, and followed closely. Stone paused at the door and took something out of an inside pocket—a small mirror mounted on the end of a rod. He must’ve gotten it out of the toolbox. With a glance at Roman, he eased the mirror through the opening, pushing the door just a touch to widen the gap.

  Another light clicked on inside. Roman really hoped it was motion-activated. His grip tightened on the gun as he watched Stone blanch, his eyes widening at whatever he saw in the mirror. “Jesus,” he said hoarsely. “She’s in there…”

  Before he could demand a look, Stone flung the door open and strode inside.

  “Are you nuts?” Roman hissed, rushing to keep up. “You can’t just walk in—”

  He choked to a stop when he caught sight of what Stone had already seen. There, in the center of the front room, was a wheeled stretcher. The figure strapped onto it was battered and still, eyes closed. There was a crudely taped tube down her throat with the other end attached to an oxygen tank. The mattress beneath her head was soaked in blood, turning her blonde hair crimson.

  A large sheet of paper had been taped to the side of the stretcher. The block letters printed on it read TO: HOSPITAL. MAKE IT FAST.

  “Oh, God.” Roman’s eyes burned as he forced himself to approach the gruesome sight. “Teryn…”

  Stone was already there, releasing the wheel locks. “Come on,” he said. “We need to move.”

  Somehow he managed to react quickly. He tucked the gun in his waistband, heading for the foot of the stretcher, and started pushing almost before Stone took the other end. “Tell me she’s alive,” he said, fi
ghting a swell of terrified panic. “I mean, she’s breathing. Isn’t she?”

  “Just move.”

  Roman flinched and pressed his lips together. It was better not to think about it—to focus on getting her outside, down to the ambulance. She had to be alive. Corvair wouldn’t have inserted a breathing tube if she wasn’t.

  But why the hell would Corvair just give her back in the first place?

  They got the stretcher through the door, and Stone stepped away, extending his lead. “Keep going,” he said. “Head for the road. I’m going to get the van and bring it down.”

  “Okay, but—”

  Stone took off running. He’d never seen a man move that fast.

  Shuddering, Roman concentrated on pushing the stretcher to the driveway, and then onto the road. He couldn’t look at Teryn for long. She was so still. Her skin was the wrong color, the shape of her head subtly distorted. And her lips were tinged blue.

  His mind knew she was gone, but his heart refused to believe it.

  After what seemed like eternity, but was actually just moments, the ambulance van screamed toward him and stopped with a shriek of slammed brakes. Stone jumped from the driver’s side and ran around the back, and Roman broke into a sprint. Together they collapsed and loaded the stretcher.

  “Get in,” Stone told him. “Stay with her. I’ll drive.”

  “Hurry.”

  He climbed in, pulling the doors shut behind him, and staggered over to collapse beside the stretcher. The van took off not a moment later. There was a lot of lurching as Stone made a rapid three-point turn and sped back toward Tomasburg. Roman held the stretcher steady as best he could until the ride smoothed out.

  Once it was relatively safe to let go, he pulled the prepaid phone out and dialed Kat’s number. This wasn’t the news he wanted to report—but she should know what to expect. After all, she was already at the hospital with Presley. The phone rang too many times, and finally kicked over to voicemail.

  She must’ve turned it off. The hospital didn’t allow cell phone use in patient areas. Usually Kat didn’t bother obeying that rule, but maybe she’d decided to play it safe this time.