Darker Things (The Lockman Chronicles #1)

by Rob Cornell

  How could she have known this would happen? Who in their right mind would even imagine such a screwed up nightmare?

  Now she sat and worried because her father had broken his pattern. He hadn’t called at his standard interval.

  She stood and went inside to find Mr. Creed. He sat in the living room, on a plaid couch, with a whole bunch of guns laid out on the coffee table.

  She froze at the sight.

  He looked up from the pistol he was cleaning. “He hasn’t called.”

  “I know.”

  “Something’s gone wrong.”

  “Are we going after him?”

  He frowned. “He would kill me if he found out I put you at risk. He would also kill me if he learned I had left you alone.”

  “He do a lot of that?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Killing? Only those who deserved it.”

  “Says who?”

  “No matter what you might come to think, your father is a good man. I’ll go to my grave vouching for him.”

  “So are we going after him?”

  He sighed through his nose and looked down at his arsenal. “You don’t know how to fire a gun by any chance?”

  Jessie laughed, the humor dial turned low. “You’re kidding, right?”

  * * *

  Lockman’s whole body belt like microwaved meat. He felt like his scalp had split open and something was trying to burrow out from inside his skull. His tongue felt like he had licked the frayed end of a downed power line. The handcuffs pinning his hands behind his back didn’t help, either.

  He sat on a metal chair in the middle of an open room framed with unfinished drywall. The exposed floorboards were streaked with a light coat of wood treatment. A rectangle cut in one wall waited for the door meant to fit there. Lockman didn’t have a good angle to see out that rough doorway, but it appeared to lead to more unfinished construction. No circulation, so the air in the room boiled.

  “Tanner,” he shouted. “I’m conscious. Let’s get this over with.”

  Footsteps thumped against more exposed floorboards in the hall outside of this room. A moment later, Tanner stepped into the doorway and leaned against the rough edge. “I had to Tase you three times before you finally stopped struggling.”

  “Go me.” Lockman twisted his neck, trying to work a kink free and maybe ease some of the pain in his head. “Where’s Dolan?”

  “He comes later. I wanted a shot at you first.”

  “He won’t like that.”

  “You think I give a fuck what a nut job terrorist thinks? He’s already paid me enough to retire and never worry about money again. Everything I do now has more to do with my curiosity.”

  “Money? That’s the reason you betrayed your country? Your friends?”

  “Would you rather I told you I believed in Dolan’s cause? That I want the veil between the natural and supernatural permanently drawn? I can play crazy, if that’s what works for you.”

  The same face. The same voice. But Lockman did not recognize the Benjamin Tanner standing before him now. “What do you want?”

  “Dolan is after an artifact that he believes only you can obtain.”

  “An artifact? You mean like those mojo devices we confiscated in Brazil?”

  “Very similar. There are powerful artifacts left behind from mortal cultures and supernatural intruders alike. Just laying around out there, waiting to be discovered and powered.”

  “Dolan’s pissing in the wrong pool if he thinks I know anything about some artifact. Those things we recovered from Brazil were all trashed.”

  “This isn’t about Brazil. This is about another device. One tuned specifically to raise the spirits of the mortal dead.”

  The hairs on Lockman’s arms stood on end despite the stagnate heat in the room. He thought of the specter he’d faced in Ryan’s basement. “He must already have his artifact. I’m pretty sure I had a run in with one of those spirits.”

  Tanner smiled, though he did not look at all amused. “That was a one shot deal. A really stupid idea, too, if you ask me. But Dolan doesn’t often ask my opinion when it comes to playing with the supernatural. No, this device wouldn’t raise just one spirit. It would raise thousands. Maybe even tens of thousands. A ghost army.”

  “And he thinks I know where it is.”

  “You do know where it is. You just don’t know you know.”

  Despite everything, Lockman laughed. “You were right. You can play crazy.”

  Tanner raised his eyebrows. “Since we’re on the topic of artifacts, did you know our dear Victor Creed has a nifty one of his own?”

  “Is that so?”

  “Do you want to know what it does?”

  “What’s the point of trying to turn me against Creed? You’ve got what you wanted. Leave him out of this.”

  “Unfortunately, we need his artifact, too.”

  “Then you’ll have to ask him for it.”

  Tanner sucked at his teeth and stared off for a moment. “I really want to tell you. The look on your face will be priceless.”

  “Quit dicking around.”

  His focus returned to Lockman. “Don’t you ever wonder why your childhood memories are so shaded?”

  “Are you going to take me to Dolan or not?”

  “You aren’t listening to me. I know the biggest secret about your life, Craig. A secret you don’t even know. Dolan and people like him aren’t the only ones using magic. You think the U.S. government hasn’t worked a little mojo here and there?”

  “I know about the experiments. The trials. I know they discovered they couldn’t replicate the results of the terrorists without inflicting serious emotional and physical harm to mortals to power the mojo. So they quit trying.”

  Tanner shook his head. “They never quit trying. There is too much at stake. They just quit trying to avoid the inevitable.”

  “So the U.S. is torturing and killing people to use magic? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “And you, Craig, are a prime example of what they managed to accomplish by wielding that power.”

  Lockman tried to stand. His cuffed hands looped behind the chair took the chair up with him and prevented him from straightening his legs enough to stand. The chair, and him with it, slammed back into place. “Enough bullshit, Tanner.”

  “You know I’m telling the truth.”

  “Look at me. Do I look like a supernatural to you? I’m pure mortal.”

  “Oh, you’re mortal all right. You’re just not the mortal you think you are.”

  Lockman glared at Tanner. He wouldn’t play into the prick’s mind games. Tanner had already done enough damage by betraying him. That made everything out of his mouth ninety-nine percent lie as far as Lockman was concerned.

  “That artifact Creed has? They call it a soul machine, which always sounded like a good band name to me. It has the ability to transfer and store mortal souls.”

  A tremor rode up Lockman’s spine. Even in the stuffy room, a chill came over him as if he stood in the shadow of a giant foot about to stomp out his world.

  “You are not Craig Lockman. There is no such thing as Craig Lockman. The person you think you are today is a mishmash of souls pieced together to make a perfect agent loyal to the United States of America. Your true identity is held within that artifact. Safe to retrieve whenever the need for intelligence arises.”

  Lockman couldn’t keep his silence any longer. “You expect me to believe anything you say?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Once Dolan has you and the artifact, you’ll be back to your old self whether you want to believe it or not.”

  “And who is that? Who was I supposed to be?”

  Tanner smirked. “This is the best part. You were Dolan’s right hand. His best friend and greatest asset. Right before the Agency captured you, you hid the artifact Dolan wants so badly. But I would bet Dolan wants more than just the artifact. Otherwise, we could have gone after the soul machine and tried to extract the necessary inform
ation without you. No, I think Otto misses his old best friend, his most ardent supporter.”

  Lockman pulled his wrists apart, charged with the feeling he could break the chain on the cuffs based on rage alone. The chain resisted him. His blood pulsed in his face.

  “Relax,” Tanner said. “You’ve got a long day before Dolan can fix what the Agency did to you.” He checked his watch. “I imagine Creed will come after you soon enough, once he realizes you haven’t checked in. Then we can all go back to his place to gather the soul machine. Delivering you and the means to fix you is sure to earn me a bonus.”

  “I thought you said you had enough.”

  “To retire on comfortably, sure. But I always wanted a private jet. Have lunch in Paris. Dinner in New York. And I’ll need something nice to replace the car you destroyed.” He shrugged. “Guess I can never have enough.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  For an old guy, Mr. Creed drove a sweet car. They pushed almost ninety-five miles per-hour on the I-94 East. The old Mustang had to have been built before Jessie was even born, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at it. Glossy, gray sheen to its paint. A motor that sounded like a napping tiger having a good dream. Too freaking cool.

  Something about the car made her think about Ryan. She could see him driving something like it when he finally got his license. Only he wouldn’t get his license, would he?

  She tried to draw back from the thought. Too late. Tears swelled in her eyes.

  “He’s going to be okay,” Mr. Creed said. “Your dad is a tough son of a bitch.”

  She wiped her face. “Yeah.” She didn’t feel the need to correct him. She wondered, though, if something did happen to Craig if she would cry for him? Had she known him long enough? Did she really know him at all?

  Mr. Creed reached across her lap and opened the glove box. He pulled out an antique of a cell phone. Jessie had seen video cameras smaller than the chunk of electronics in his hand.

  He flipped the phone open, doubling its clunky size and hit a single button, the whole time weaving through traffic with a NASCAR driver’s ease.

  “Rodriquez,” he said after a pause. “It’s Creed. Are you secure?” He paused a moment. “That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  Creed tipped the receiver away from his mouth. “Backup.”

  “I thought you were retired.”

  “I’ve made a point to stay in touch with some of the team, just in case.”

  “You all knew something like this was going to happen. You knew Dolan would find Craig eventually, didn’t you?”

  “We had to plan for it.”

  “Why? What is the big deal about one guy?”

  “Your dad...” He held up a finger and put the phone’s receiver back to his mouth. “Yes. Condition black. Can you activate the chip? Good. And gather the others. We convene on his location ASAP.” He flipped the phone closed and handed it to Jessie. “Put that back in the glove box for me?”

  She turned it around in her hands before putting it away. “Big phone.”

  “Old tech. But it does the trick when I need a secure line.”

  “So what’s condition black?”

  “What we’ve prepared for in case of a situation like this.”

  “How do we even find him? You talked like you knew right where he was.”

  Mr. Creed dug another device out of his pocket. This one a little more sleek. “GPS,” he said. “Your dad has a tracking device implanted in his heel.”

  “Are you for real?”

  He tapped a few buttons on the device then set it on the dashboard. “You have no idea how important your dad is.”

  “You keep saying stuff like that, but you won’t tell me why.”

  His brow creased. He gave her a disappointed glance. “Don’t you want your dad back?”

  “I never had him to begin with. I haven’t had a chance to think what I want.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “Maybe. But you’re not going to convince me by repeating that over and over.” She hesitated when she saw his face tighten. “Not me you’re trying to convince, is it?”

  He jerked the wheel, cutting into the next lane, and barely avoided clipping the bumper of an SUV in front of them. His gaze stayed locked on the road. He did not answer her question.

  “You don’t think he’ll give up whatever top secret info he has over to Dolan, do you?”

  Creed shifted gears and pounded the gas, pushing the speedometer needle over one-hundred.

  “Well, do you?”

  “Craig is a good man,” he said, as if it answered anything.

  Jessie tightened her seatbelt and hunkered down. She never felt so lost in her entire life. She would give up her makeup, piercings, and wardrobe like Mom and Alec wanted her to, just to get her old life back.

  She would even admit to Mom that she loved her. She would give anything to tell her that now.

  * * *

  “You really think Creed is going to stumble into a lame trap like this?”

  Tanner sat on the floor of the room, his back against the wall, his legs straight out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, lounging like he had all the time in the world. He kept his gun in his lap, casual. He checked his watch.

  “You don’t know a whole heck of a lot about your value, do you?”

  “If you’re going to start up that BS about my real soul, you can skip it.”

  “An asset like you, you think someone like Creed would let you fall easily into enemy hands?”

  “I’m not worth risking his life. Besides, he has a more important duty.”

  “Protecting your daughter? Forget that, bro. He’d drop her in a flat instant if it came down to a choice between the two of you.”

  Lockman’s arms ached from hanging behind him for so long, the circulation stunted. He tried to adjust, but didn’t find much comfort. “Don’t you think your plan would have worked a little better if you hadn’t taken me from the cemetery? They’ll never find me here.”

  Tanner leaned his head back against the wall and laughed. “It’s so sick how short the leash they have on you is, yet you don’t even realize you’re choking.”

  “That’s supposed to mean something to me?”

  “You have a tracking device planted in your right foot. Creed knows exactly where you are.”

  “Fine. Let’s say you’re right. When he shows up and finds you on your ass there, what’s the big plan? Talk him to death like you’re doing to me?”

  Tanner scrunched up his face. “Please. I have backup.”

  “More vamps?”

  “Better. Angels.”

  Lockman gaped at Tanner for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious.

  Tanner cracked a grin. “I’m screwing with you. I’m not dumb enough to trust supernaturals to have my back.” He holstered his pistol, stood, brushed off his slacks. “He’ll be here soon. If you excuse me, I have to make sure my men know to keep the old man alive, but anyone else is expendable.”

  Lockman jerked against his restraints. The chair jumped and slammed back to the floor. The sound echoed like a shot in the bare room. “You better hope he doesn’t have any backup. Because if I get my hands on you, you’ll wish you’d killed me when you had the chance.”

  Tanner must have thought his teeth sparkled considering how much of them he showed when he smiled. “You’re such a badass. Gives me chills.” He pretended to shiver then strode out of the room.

  Lockman leaned forward and got on his feet, bringing the chair off the floor. He could do a half-assed duck walk with the chair pinned behind him, but he wouldn’t get far. He rocked backward and slammed back into place. He thrashed and jerked against the cuffs. A waste of energy. He only tightened the cramps in his arms. All he could do was wait and hope—first off that Creed had managed to round up some form of backup, and second, that he didn’t have Jessie with him when he came.

  * * *

  Dolan grip
ped the head of the young soldier with the shaved scalp and slammed his skull against the concrete wall a second time. The sound of the crunch satisfied Dolan’s angry hands. The red blood smeared across the soldier’s pale pate soothed his crazed eyes. But it took three more strikes against the wall, until the soldier slipped out of his grip to the floor with part of his head smashed in like an overripe pumpkin, to quell the rage pumping in his heart.

  The four other soldiers who had rushed to report their findings after the commotion from the imps stood in a semi-circle around Dolan. They stared. None of them dared speak.

  Dolan pointed at the body on the floor. “This could have been any one of you.” He heaved a few breaths, winded from his sudden burst of violence. “It might still be if you fuckers don’t get out there and find our escapee and the fucktard that helped her.”

  The female with the blonde brush cut stood at attention. “Sir, all of us? Half of our mortal contingent is on the field. Now that we’ve lost Charles and,” she nodded at the dead man, “Mortimer, that would leave you with limited mortal support at HQ.”

  Dolan’s ears turned hot. He regretted the day he told his mortal followers they were his soldiers. Some of them took it to heart and used such ridiculous lingo, he didn’t understand them half the time. “I have imps. What the fuck do I need mortals for?”

  The blonde flinched. “Yes, sir.”

  He waited. They all stood there ogling the corpse at Dolan’s feet. He lifted his arms and waved them. “What are you waiting for?”

  The soldiers filed out. Dolan watched them go. Once they were out of sight, he kicked the man on the floor. Fucking mortals and their consciences. He should have killed the woman himself. Here he thought he was giving that young soldier an opportunity of a lifetime. Control over the supernatural. But no. The boy pussied out and ran for it instead.

  Now Dolan had an angry ghost on the loose and no way to contain it, which wouldn’t be such a big deal if the ghost weren’t angry with him.

  He almost regretted melting the vampires. Almost.