Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix

by phill syron-jones

He walked up to her, his face several inches from hers and he smiled softly. “Welcome,” he said, then suddenly swung about and walked off as the guards bound her hands and led her towards a wooden chair that sat in the middle of the dusty floor. She struggled and fought, flooring two of the men, causing another to trip as they fell. Fortunately her legs were free, so she made for cover. As she was almost there McCall felt a sharp pain in the leg, and as she crashed to ground she saw a dart with multi-colored strands sticking out of her upper leg.

  “You bastar—” she uttered.

  The blond man walked forwards and looked down at her. He smiled proudly. “What a woman,” he said as he watched the men carry her off to the chair.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  The mid-Manhattan library was bustling with crowds of people. Students rushed here and there in search of project information, others just sat alone and read. A figure passed unnoticed, books and folders in hand; the person made their way to the archive vault, then went to a dimly lit part of the room and found a computer. Sitting down, the stranger began to type, feeding names into the database to find out any information on the orphanage where the murdered women had lived.

  The computer monitor flashed with life as it brought up photographs and news cuttings from newspaper articles. There were stories of a mass rapist in the area, and another tale of a mother who had to give one of her twins away because of a house fire that had killed the husband, as she was unable to cope alone with the troublesome one of the pair so she had placed one of them into an orphanage. More photographs came up of the orphanage, some of the pictures were of the children who were all lined up hoping to be chosen for adoption. One group photograph had the three girls, standing side by side dressed exactly the same and almost looking identical. The shadowy figure stood up and moved to the printer, which was happily spurting out page after page of information. Once the person had collected all the sheets, they moved back to the computer and closed the pages down. Moving back into the crowds outside the library, the figure vanished.

  FIFTY-NINE

  McCall forced her eyes open but they felt heavy. She was slightly disorientated and giddy from the poison that had infected her system after the dart had entered her leg. A splash of cold water suddenly brought her fully awake, gasping for air from the shock of the quick shower. She looked round and found herself tied to the chair she had seen just before unconsciousness. McCall closed her eyes to a squint, then slowly opened them, letting them adjust to the light and the effects of the drugs that were still upsetting her. Detective McCall looked round slowly, taking in as much detail as possible. She noticed that she was in the middle of the large empty floor space, and all that appeared to be in the room was her chair and a desk, which sat neatly under the large walkway she had seen earlier. Looking up, she saw that this structure traversed right round until it met with a large area in which there was another door.

  The blond man who had been in charge of her capture sat on the desk and poured a glass of water into a crystal glass, picking it up as he walked towards her. He offered the glass to her lips, but she turned her head quickly. Stepping back slightly he smiled, saying: “My dear detective, if we were going to kill you we would not have tranquilized you, we would have simply shot you.”

  The prisoner saw his point and took a sip of the water. She looked up to the balcony and saw a procession of armed men taking up position above her, then her gaze settled back to her blond captor.

  “Welcome, Detective,” announced a strange voice. She tried to turn around to get a look at this new foe.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked. “I must warn you they will be looking for me and Officer Paris.” Her thoughts suddenly were of her back-up, feeling ashamed that up until now she had forgotten about him.

  “Where is he?” she yelled. Sam desperately hoped that he was alive but she feared the worst. She was bluffing, pretending he was still around, aware that she had to try something.

  “Really, my dear, I thought you were braver and more intelligent than that,” he tutted.

  “Well, can’t blame a girl for trying.” Her words brought a smile to the blond man’s face.

  “Firstly nobody will be looking for you for some time,” continued the blond man. “And secondly we would like to know how much the police know?” Sounds seemed to come from all directions, and she struggled to pinpoint its source.

  “Who are you?” she asked as her head weaved from left to right to catch a glimpse of the other person.

  “My name is of no importance. However who or what I am is very important. You see, I’m a fixer; I fix things for people who require things to be done. You know, meetings, whether it be for business or death.” The blond man smiled and shook his head. “Sometimes, it’s both at the same time.” She heard footsteps from somewhere but, again, couldn’t pinpoint them.

  “We are just parts in a grand scheme, you see, and so we move back to the question, what do the police know? I promise I will kill you quickly. If you don’t answer me, well let’s just say the boys haven’t had a date for a while.”

  McCall struggled with her bonds to no avail.

  “My dear Detective, just tell us what we want to know and it will be over.”

  She was afraid, knowing that whether she talked or not, either way she was dead. This time there was no Steel to come bursting in to save her, she was alone. From the left corner of the room she saw a shape coming towards her. Turning to look, McCall saw a tall thin man, who looked destitute. His hair seemed to be tousled and unkempt, as though he had just woken up.

  As he grew nearer he took off his jacket and threw it to one side, then removed his raggedy tie and shirt.

  “We have our parts to play, Detective.” He walked past her and disappeared into a room just opposite.

  She struggled to catch sight of him, just as his words echoed through the building:

  “Even you, and of course the late Detective Steel.”

  Her head dropped at the mention of his name, and a flood of emotion swept through her. Anger, hatred, sorrow, even guilt. Then from behind her there was the TAP, TAP, TAP of shoes stepping on the dusty floor, and she looked to locate the sound and her mouth fell open. There before her stood Doctor Davidson.

  “You?” she yelled. “How the hell are you messed up in this?” All she wanted to do at this point was to break free and kick his ass. Steel had said all along that there was someone on the inside, but the Doctor?

  “Now, Detective, tell me what you know?” the doctor asked again, but she had the feeling that he wouldn’t repeat it another time. To the side of them a cell phone chimed, they both turned to see the blond man take the call. “Yes, yes, I understand, yes, but.... What time?” He clicked the off button and put it into his jacket pocket, he waved for Eric to come over. Eric excused himself politely and walked towards his waiting colleague. The two men stood for a moment discussing something in a whisper. From what she could gather the discussion was heated, because their arms flew erratically flew in all directions. Finally they calmed down, and the blond man put a hand on Eric’s shoulder and waved for the other men to follow.

  “Are you sure you don’t want...?” Eric raised a hand and flipped it in a go on motion, as he waited for the last of them to leave. Eric slowly circled the incapacitated McCall. Finally the heavy door shut with a loud CLANG.

  “What now, Davidson?” The anger in her had made her oblivious to her fear, but in answer he just smiled widely at her and, reaching into the vest pocket of his suit, he took out a pocket watch. As he flicked the antique watch open she heard the tinkling chime of music. He looked at the time, smiled, then put back the watch.

  “As it happens I have a very important meeting to attend,” said Davidson. “So if you will excuse me, I’ll be off. But don’t worry I’ll be back to continue our little chat.” He was maddeningly polite and calm.

  “Tell me what this is all about, Davidson!” she screamed at him as he turned to leave.

  He stoppe
d and turned to face her, and his menacing grin sent a shiver down her sweat-soaked spine.

  “You really don’t know do you?”

  And in that moment of clarity he knew everything was back on schedule. He walked towards her and drew a huge revolver, whose barrel was a good eight inches, slowly from its holster under his left arm. She gazed in horror at the massive polished steel cannon he now wielded.

  “What? Couldn’t you find anything bigger than that?” she asked, trying to cover her terror.

  He raised the pistol so that it was level with her head. McCall saw the menacing reflection of light reflected down the spine of the barrel. She stared back at him with scorn, as she watched him target her down the sights of the cannon. An evil smirk crept across his pale sweat-beaded face, and at the same time he was twisting the barrel and changing stance as if he was trying to pose for the perfect picture. Suddenly the sadistic grin vanished as his hand fell downwards and the shining revolver came to rest at the side of his leg.

  “You know, my only regret is that Detective Steel will not be here to see me kill you.”

  McCall noticed the genuine look of sadness on the face of the tall thin man as he walked right up to her and knelt down. She was choked by the potent waft of cologne, body odour and deodorant, making her want to vomit.

  “You see, detective, for me it’s not about killing it’s all about how it’s done. Yes, sure, anybody can pick up a weapon and take a life, but for me it’s about art.”

  She looked at him, slightly puzzled.

  “You see for me the act of creating something wondrous is the reward.”

  McCall saw a spark of pleasure in his eyes as he spoke of the act, as if he were a painter or sculptor creating a masterpiece, rather than some insane killer.

  “So why kill those women, Doc?”

  Her question seemed to amuse him. He stood up from his perched position with a large grin on his face. “You REALLY don’t know anything, do you, Detective?” he said, crossing his long arms in front of his body and shaking his head in disbelief. He walked over to the desk and sat upon it, allowing his legs to dangle, swinging idly, like those of an amused and excited child.

  “You thought we were on to you?” She asked. “You thought when we arrived it would be more of us?” She had questions, too many questions.

  “The only one who was close to figuring everything out was Steel!” he answered. “But he couldn’t say anything because he didn’t know who to trust. Yes, poor Detective Steel, he will be missed.” He held a false look of sadness that made her truly furious. McCall fought and struggled with the ropes binding her, causing him to stand and raise his weapon once more.

  “Oh my dear Detective, you really do want to kill me don’t you?”

  She glared at him with a burning desire to see his head removed from his shoulders. She stopped struggling and composed herself; then she smiled and looked up at him.

  “So Doc, since you’re going to kill me anyway, why not just tell me what this is all about?”

  He smiled back and shook his pale head, then he raised his arm and targeted McCall down the sights of the canon.

  “My dear, this is not some film where the villain gives up the plot and then is foiled by the dashing hero just in the nick of time. No, I’m afraid you need to figure this one out for yourself.” He looked up into the air for a second as if to think for a moment, then just as quickly his gaze returned to McCall and he aimed the weapon towards her once again. “Well, with whatever time you have left anyway.” He smiled a sickly smile and drew closer towards her. His movements were slow and deliberate, almost as if he was dancing towards her.

  “No? No ideas? Nothing?” His voice was filled with disappointment. “Well, tell you what, let’s see if Detective Steel had any more luck shall we?”

  Her face was filled with confusion until a familiar voice came from the shadows:

  “McCall, are you OK?”

  She nodded.

  “Of course she is.” The tall man sounded almost insulted by the very question. “Anyway, Detective, your theory if you please.”

  As he pulled back the hammer McCall saw the gun’s chamber revolve, lining up one of the huge rounds with its polished barrel. A familiar voice echoed around the large room. McCall tried to pinpoint its source but the acoustics made it difficult.

  “Well, to start with you are not Doctor Davidson, as much as I would have liked that to be the case, but no.” She recognized the voice to be that of John Steel.

  McCall stared up at the tall man in disbelief; he shrugged and smiled almost in an apologetic manner.

  “In fact your name isn’t even Eric,” Steel continued, still remaining in the shadows.

  “Go on.” The tall man, who was now no longer smiling, held McCall in his sights, ready to end her life at a single wrong word or movement from Steel.

  “You see McCall, long ago, let’s say about thirty years, shall we?”

  The tall man made a half shrug to acknowledge the assumption.

  “There were two brothers, twins to be exact,” Steel went on. “Anyway these boys grew up in wealthy surroundings and didn’t have a care in the world.”

  McCall could hear the voice move round them, as if Steel was somehow circling them.

  “Well, as these boys grew up the mother started to notice certain differences in the boys. Even though they were identical in appearance they were very different in personality. One was as good as gold, the other mischievous and dark. Years passed and life continued to be good until one day, when the boys were around seven or eight, there was an accident and part of the family home burnt down.”

  McCall noticed the tall man’s grip tighten on the pistol’s handle.

  “They called it an accident but the mother knew that little Steven Brooks had somehow caused the fire that had killed her husband. Of course she couldn’t prove this but she knew she must do something. So one of the boys had to go in an orphanage where he would be better looked after, allowing her more time to attend to her other son.”

  McCall looked up at the tall man with surprise. In turn he could see her evaluating Steel’s words.

  “Go on. Mr. Steel.” The tall man spoke as if he was almost amused.

  “Life was hard at the orphanage at the start. The boy was bullied and beaten by the other kids at first, apart from three girls that could have been sisters, they looked so alike. The girls took pity on the boy and cared for him, and oh how he learned to love these girls from afar. But life was hard, harder than any boy should endure, but eventually the other kids accepted him and he had a large happy family. However, because of his past the nuns made sure he was not available to be put up for adoption, so that no other family would have to suffer. As for the other brother he had an excellent education and the lifestyle of a prince, he was groomed for greatness.”

  McCall’s face registered her comprehension and she almost felt pity for the man who stood before her, but one thing puzzled her.

  “If you loved the girls so much, why did you want to kill them?” she asked him. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  Dr Davidson never flinched; he just stared down the gun’s barrel, cold and devoid of emotion. After everything Steel had explained, Sam McCall felt as if things were finally making sense. If this man had been through such hardship it was reasonable to suppose he’d become some kind of sociopath, certainly. But to kill people who cared for him? That was something else altogether.

  “Unfortunately this story is a little more messed up than you think,” Steel went on. “At first I thought about the brilliance of the murders: no clues left behind, nothing to fit the women together socially, only their past history, yes, brilliant. But then I began thinking that something didn’t sit right.”

  There was a sudden silence, which made Steven Brooks, aka Dr Davidson, look up and around, his weapon following his gaze.

  He rushed across to McCall and, as he stood behind her, he pressed the cold steel against her head.

&nbs
p; “No more games, Mr Steel,” he yelled nervously.

  McCall could almost feel the fear in the man behind her, and she wondered what it was about Steel that frightened him so much.

  “Come on, Mr Steel, you haven’t finished. You come out now, or I paint this room with the inside of her head.”

  Then from a corner of one of the empty lower rooms something fell. McCall flinched in shock as the huge handgun was fired in the direction of the noise, her ears ringing from the loud explosion. From another corner came another clatter, like a bottle rolling on the ground. He fired again.

  “What’s wrong, Mr Steel?” asked Brooks. “Are you afraid to face me?” He was yelling upwards, hoping the acoustics would travel. As Brooks placed the gun’s barrel against McCall’s head, she felt the metal’s warmth against her skin,

  “Enough of these games, Steel. If you will not come out I will bring you out.”

  A clatter to his left drew his attention but he did not fire in the direction of the noise, he merely smiled an evil grin and eased back the pistol’s hammer.

  “Last chance!” he yelled at the disused room. There was no response. McCall’s eyes widened as she felt the minute alteration of pressure against her had as the trigger was being pulled. The maniac laughed as he looked intently to his front. The hammer fell.

  Sam McCall couldn’t figure out why she had shut her eyes as she felt the sudden pressure being released as the hammer fell. It was as though not seeing anything would help in some way. Those brief seconds seemed like hours, during which so much passed through her mind.

  She opened one eye and looked up to find the confused killer still looking around the room and also downwards at his gun.

  Brooks had been keenly anticipating the appearance of a fountain of blood and bone, splashing vibrant color across the dusty floor. But instead of a loud crescendo of gunfire and the metallic scent of blood, brain matter and gunpowder, he had heard simply a dull crunch like the sound of a twig snapping underfoot. He looked down at his weapon to find a pencil jammed between the hammer and the breech. He was equally surprised to find Steel standing just behind him, smiling.