Onyx Webb 9

by Diandra Archer

  “Take a good look, Stan,” Kara said. “This is the last time you’re going to see any of them, so drink it in now while you can.

  “Oh, no, you’re not thinking about bringing them with you, are you?” Kara said. “My God, you really are out of your mind.”

  Stan Lee rolled the cart with the glass jar containing Juniper Cole’s legs down the dirt tunnel, careful to avoid hitting any of the exposed tree roots along the way.

  They might get everything else, Stan Lee thought, but they sure in hell weren’t getting his most-prized trophy—especially after the events of the evening.

  Stan Lee had always known there was something special about Juniper, and not because her legs were the first he’d successfully amputated and managed to keep. It was something about her attitude. Her poise. Unlike him, Juniper was centered somehow.

  Stan Lee remembered how Juniper fought the urge to scream or cry or pull on her restraints. Not like the others who whimpered and begged—like Skylar Savage from the local news station. God, what a whiny little thing she turned out to be.

  But not Juniper.

  Juniper cried when it happened, sure. Who wouldn’t? But beyond that, she’d refused to show him the thing he wanted to see most: fear.

  Stan Lee also remembered asking Juniper what her middle name was. It was Ann, without an e on the end—just like his mother’s. Juniper Ann Cole. Mary Ann Mungehr.

  That made her special too.

  Stan Lee had never met anyone like Juniper before—and he’d never met anyone like her since.

  And now, he’d seen her again. Tonight at the party—standing there in the same blue prom dress she’d been wearing the night he took her from the park near the fountain.

  Back from the dead.

  2:05 A.M. EST

  INSIDE DECLAN’S AMBULANCE

  THE AMBULANCE REACHED the main road outside the mansion gate and the driver looked back. “What in the hell just happened back there?” he asked.

  Tommy and Robyn exchanged a look. “When we get to the hospital, we’ll talk,” Tommy said. “Right now, let’s worry about—”

  “May and Constantine, are they—dead?” the driver asked, shaken and doing his best to keep his eyes on the icy road and his hands firmly on the steering wheel.

  “Have you got medical training, or do you only drive?” Robyn asked.

  “I’m a trained EMT.”

  Smart girl, Tommy thought. “Let’s switch places,” Tommy said. “You come back here and tend to him, and I’ll drive.”

  The EMT pulled on a pair of disposable rubber gloves and then tossed a pair to Robyn.

  “I’m not trained to—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll show you what to do,” the EMT said, grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting open Declan’s tuxedo shirt.

  “Okay,” Robyn said nervously, pulling the gloves on.

  “First, get that bowtie off his neck,” the EMT said as he collected various items from a set of metal shelves secured to the ambulance wall. Whatever had taken place inside the house must have happened very quickly since removing the bowtie to ensure the victim could breathe would have been one of the first things May and Constantine would have done.

  Robyn undid the knot on Declan’s bowtie, pulled it from beneath his collar, and tossed it on the floor. “Okay, it’s off.”

  The EMT used a pair of scissors to cut open Declan’s tuxedo shirt and then wiped his abdomen with a cloth to reveal the stab wound—which was bigger than he hoped, measuring approximately 1¼ inches wide.

  “What’s your name?” the EMT asked.

  “Robyn.”

  “Okay, Robyn, here’s what I need you to do,” the EMT said, handing Robyn a piece of sterile gauze. “Place the gauze over the wound and press down on it with your left hand, like this, to slow the flow of blood. Now, place your right hand here and press hard. We want to cut off as much blood coming through the artery from his heart. Got it?”

  Robyn nodded and did as she’d been instructed.

  “There’s an intersection coming up. Do I need to make any turns?” Tommy called back.

  The EMT leaned over and looked through the windshield. “No, not yet. We’ve still got a good eight miles to go.”

  “Okay,” Tommy said.

  The EMT listened to Declan’s breathing and watched his chest for movement. “His respiratory condition is good. How old is he?”

  Robyn shrugged. “I’m guessing he’s—”

  “He’s eighty-eight,” Tommy called from the driver’s seat.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Robyn asked.

  The EMT ignored the question as he placed a blood pressure cuff around Declan’s left arm, continuing the process of taking his vitals. Just because a stabbing victim was breathing, and their pulse was strong did not mean their condition couldn’t take a sudden turn for the worse.

  The ambulance fishtailed slightly, and the EMT and Robyn both lost their balance. “Sorry, icy roads,” Tommy said.

  The EMT leaned in and secured the Velcro strap on the blood pressure cuff and placed a stethoscope on Declan’s chest.

  Declan’s blood pressure was a hundred over sixty-four, which was lower than the EMT had hoped—but it was a hell of a lot better than zero over zero.

  “Mr. Mulvaney, can you hear me?” the EMT said loudly. There was no response—which, in and of itself, wasn’t surprising. One of the main ways a human body dealt with pain was to shut down various internal activities—including the brain. In other words, unconsciousness was nature’s morphine.

  “Here’s some fresh dressings,” the EMT said, handing Robyn a sizeable stack of white cotton gauze.

  Robyn pulled the bloody gauze away and placed the fresh gauze over the wound and pressed down.

  Declan released an audible groan.

  “Okay. It looks like he’s regaining consciousness,” the EMT said as he pulled a blanket from a shelf and opened it. “Robyn, I’m going to cover him up to keep his body temperature from lowering. Keep your hands right where they are and keep pressing, okay?”

  Robyn nodded.

  A moment later, Declan opened his eyes and looked up at Robyn. “Look who it is,” Declan said. “My favorite girl.”

  2:06 A.M. EST

  INSIDE THE PANIC ROOM

  KODA ENETERED THE panic room with Krissy in tow and saw the relieved look on Bruce’s face.

  “Thank God,” Bruce said. “We had two ghosts come into the study in the past two minutes. Fortunately, they didn’t find the panic room. Now, let’s get—”

  “What about Juniper?” Quinn said.

  Koda glanced around the panic room. “Yeah, where’s Juniper?”

  “She went to get the governor,” Stormy said over his shoulder from his seat at the TV console.

  Noah and Alec rushed into the room, each of them breathing heavily. Alec was holding his guitar.

  “You went back for your guitar?” Krissy said.

  Alec shrugged and collapsed in the corner.

  “Did anyone see Graeme?” Olympia asked. “Don’t even think about closing that door until Graeme gets back.”

  “Let me see if I can find them,” Stormy said as he scanned the screens in front of him.

  “Two minutes,” Bruce said. “They get here in two minutes or—”

  “Wait! What about my mom?” Krissy said. “Where’s my mom?”

  The panic room suddenly went silent, with several people exchanging knowing glances.

  “Your mom is safe,” Bruce lied.

  “I see Juniper,” Stormy said. “She’s coming this way, and she’s got the governor. Now, let me see if I can find Graeme.”

  “Glad to see you’re alive, Governor,” Quinn said after Juniper led the ashen-looking man into the panic room.

  “Where in the hell is Declan?” the governor snapped.

  “My father was attacked and has been taken to the hospital,” Bruce said.

  “Attacked? How?”

  “With a knife,” Bruce said.


  “By the Southern Gentleman after you’d gone out to your helicopter,” Koda said.

  “The Southern Gentleman? That’s ridiculous! The man’s an icon. Why would he attack Declan?” the governor asked. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What about ghosts?” Quinn asked. “Do you believe in them now?”

  The governor didn’t answer.

  “Stormy, any sight of Graeme?” Bruce asked.

  Stormy shook his head.

  Bruce placed his finger on the optical scanner and began punching numbers into the keypad.

  “No,” Olympia said. “We’re waiting for Graeme.”

  “Graeme’s a big boy. He can take care of himself,” Bruce said.

  Olympia walked to the corner of the room and grabbed the sawed-off shotgun and pointed it at Bruce. “I said, no. We’re waiting for Graeme.”

  “Put that down,” Bruce said. “We all know the gun isn’t loaded.”

  “Oh, yeah? Tell that to the last two ghosts I blasted.”

  If Bruce wasn’t sure the gun wasn’t loaded before, he was certain now. “The last two ghosts you blasted? It’s a double-barrel shotgun. That means it’s empty.”

  “Fine,” Olympia said, tossing the gun on the floor. “I’m going to look for Graeme. Screw yourself.”

  Olympia turned and walked out of the safe room, and every eye turned to Bruce.

  “That was her choice to leave,” Bruce said. “Now, anyone else want out before I lock the door?”

  “I, for one, am glad she left,” Bunny Whitlock said. “It can get pretty stuffy in here, so the fewer people the—”

  “Shut up, Bunny,” Bruce said.

  “Once you lock the door, how long do we have to stay in?” Simon asked.

  “I’ll set the timer for four hours,” Bruce said.

  “So, we’d be locked in until six?” Noah asked.

  “Two plus four is six,” Alec said.

  A moment later, the lights flickered.

  Then they went out entirely.

  “Relax, everyone,” Stormy said in the darkness. “The safe room has an emergency generator. The lights will come back on in just a moment.”

  Ten seconds passed and—as promised—the emergency generator kicked on, bringing the lights in the room to a level about half as bright as they had been.

  A moment after that, the closed-circuit TVs came back on as well. “What in the hell is that?” Noah said, pointing at the screen in the center of the console.

  Everyone came over to look at the dark form in the center of the ballroom. “My, God, it looks like Bigfoot,” Simon said.

  “I know what it is,” Juniper said and then turned to Quinn. “Quinn, I’ve got to leave.”

  “Leave? Why?”

  “I know what it is,” Juniper said. “It’s the dark entity I met in the upstairs bedroom. It followed me here, and it isn’t going to leave until it gets what it wants.”

  “What does it want?” Koda asked.

  “Me,” Juniper said. “It wants me.”

  2:08 A.M. EST

  INSIDE DECLAN’S AMBULANCE

  ROBYN WISHED SHE could wipe her tears away, but she needed to keep her hands pressing on Declan’s stab wound and chest.

  “I don’t remember getting to the ambulance,” Declan said as the EMT shined a light in his eyes.

  “Graeme and I took you,” Robyn said. “With Tommy.”

  “Tommy? Tommy’s here?”

  “Yeah, Dec, I’m here,” Tommy said over his shoulder from behind the steering wheel of the ambulance.

  Declan grimaced in pain. “Maybe I’m pressing too hard,” Robyn said to the EMT.

  “No, keep applying pressure,” the EMT said as he pulled open one of the supply cabinet drawers. “I’ll give him some morphine for the pain.”

  “Fanning said you were there at the party,” Declan said through gritted teeth.

  “Fanning? You telling me that dirt-bag priest was there tonight?” Tommy asked.

  “Yeah. He seems to have a problem letting go of the past,” Declan said, forcing a smile.

  “Yeah. He’s the gift that keeps on giving, huh?”

  “He told me you had a secret you wanted to get off your chest,” Declan said.

  “He did, did he?” Tommy said, clutching the steering wheel.

  “Yeah, but don’t worry about it,” Declan said. “I already know.”

  “You do?”

  “You could have told me earlier, Tom. It wouldn’t have changed anything between us.”

  “What do you think—?”

  “I know you’re gay, Tom,” Declan said. “I came down to Key West after you called asking for the money, and I saw you.”

  “What?”

  “I saw you through the curtains—with the man you brought home,” Declan said. “I’m telling you, Tom—it’s okay.”

  Tommy shouted back at the EMT, “Hey, could we switch back again? I need to talk to my friend.”

  “Come here where I can see you,” Declan said after the ambulance driver returned to his place behind the wheel.

  Declan watched as Tommy Bilazzo’s large form appeared, towering over him.

  “I’m not gay, Dec,” Tommy said. “I’m dead.”

  “Come closer,” Declan said, and Tommy kneeled next to Declan and took his bloody hand in his.

  “I’m right here,” Tommy said. “Long time, huh?”

  “Better late than never. You look exactly as you did the last time I saw you.”

  “There’s a good reason for that,” Tommy said. “The last day we saw each other is the day I died.”

  “How?”

  “Chucky Bags,” Tommy said. “I went to my apartment to grab my stuff, and he was waiting for me.”

  “So, that’s why you never came down to Orlando?” Declan asked.

  “Yeah, that’s the reason.”

  “What about Bags?”

  “Don’t worry. I got Chuckie good,” Tommy said. “And Fat Sal too. The last thing each of them saw was my ugly mug before they left this earth.”

  “Good,” Declan said. “You did them, and I did Phil for killing Mary Ann. What a den of thieves, huh?”

  “Yeah, about Phil Spilatro,” Tommy said, letting his words hang in the air.

  “What about him?” Declan said.

  “The guy who killed Mary Ann—well, it wasn’t Phil,” Tommy said. “It was that strip club slime ball, Rocky Dredge.”

  “But you told me it was Phil,” Declan rasped.

  “I lied.”

  “So, why’d you lie?”

  “Because Phil had it out for me—for both of us really—and I didn’t have the balls back then to do it myself.”

  “You knew I’d take care of him.”

  Tommy nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Dec.”

  Declan remained silent for several seconds. “It’s okay, Tom. Phil deserved it. We both know it.”

  “So, Dec, who did this to you?”

  Declan grimaced in pain. “It was Stan Lee.”

  “Stan Lee? Stan Lee, who?”

  “Mary Ann’s kid,” Declan said.

  “What? Why?” Tommy asked.

  Declan closed his eyes. “I thought he was dead. That’s what they told me when I went to Dunning for him and Bruce. Now I know—”

  “Are you sure? It’s been, what forty years? You could be wrong.”

  Declan shook his head. “No, I’m sure. It was him.”

  Suddenly, Robyn realized what she’d just heard. “Declan, are you saying the Southern Gentleman is Bruce’s half-brother?”

  Declan coughed and then nodded. “Yes.”

  “And Bruce has no idea?” Tommy said.

  Declan shook his head. “I never told Bruce anything about his past.”

  “Even Mary Ann?” Tommy asked. “Bruce doesn’t even know who his mother was? Or about Stan Lee?”

  Declan shook his head.

  Robyn leaned back, realizing that if the Southern Gentleman was Bruce’s half-broth
er...

  He was also Koda’s uncle.

  She also realized that while the two men she was sitting with were truly good men—and they were also murderers.

  2:10 A.M. EST

  MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

  PIPI ESPERANZA’S CURIOSITY finally got the best of her, and she grabbed her cell phone. As mad as she was at Maggie for her bad decisions with Newt, professionalism dictated she listen to Maggie’s voice mails.

  Four of them now.

  Five minutes later Pipi was left looking at the notes she’d taken while listening to Maggie’s voice mails. The short version of Maggie’s ramblings:

  The Leg Collector went around Charleston and Savannah performing under the alias the Southern Gentleman. Before that, he disguised himself as a police photographer named Sergent Elton Nahum—since deceased, but not really—and who was scheduled to serve as the master of ceremonies at an event hosted at the Mulvaney mansion in Charleston.

  Tonight.

  Pipi put her pen down.

  The messages were scattered. More than that—they sounded insane.

  The question was: why would they go out of their way to spin such a ridiculous story? Was Maggie trying to intentionally set Pipi up for another embarrassment at the bureau? Was Maggie trying to get her fired? Pipi wondered. Or was Newt orchestrating this out of a sense of revenge?

  It didn’t matter.

  Pipi wasn’t falling for it.

  Just how stupid did Newt and Maggie think she was?

  2:13 A.M. EST

  STAN LEE’S HOUSE

  STAN LEE WENT room to room and gathered the things he wanted to bring with him and set them near the front door of the house. He then went back to the bedroom and took off his white suit for what he knew would be the last time. He was surprised at the strong feeling of loss.

  When he was forced to stop being Sergent Elton Nahum because Detective Leo Igler discovered his mistake with the photos, he felt nothing. Nahum wasn’t important to him. And that he would no longer be able to maintain his identity as Glenn Oren Mattheus—the name under which he’d purchased the house—didn’t bother him either. For that matter, he didn’t even care when he abandoned his real identity as Stanton Lee Mungehr years earlier in favor of his various aliases.