Lies (The David Chance Series Book 3)

by Hileman, John Michael

  "You have no authority here," said David slowly.

  "Curious," said the man. "Where is your fear? Don’t you love your daughter?" He continued studying David's face.

  "You are a liar. Go ahead and shoot her. Prove me wrong."

  "What are you doing, David?!" said Sharon's shaking voice.

  "It's okay. He can't do what he’s threatening. God’s protecting us."

  The officer withdrew and let out a laugh. "Is that what you think? Then—where is your son? Where was God when we took him?"

  David got to his feet. "Then kill us. What are you waiting for?"

  "You," he said, shoving the gun toward him, "I can't kill. But them. I could blow their brains out in front of your eyes." His lip curled. "But we have much more pain in store for you." The last word sounded like it tasted bitter in his mouth. "Killing them would be nothing compared to watching them suffer at the news of your son being found mutilated."

  "Enough!" David stepped in front of his wife and daughter. "Get out!"

  The officer continued to talk as he backed up. "Letting them live will be so much sweeter. I look forward to their cries of anguish adding to your torture."

  David shoved him back with both hands. "Get OUT!"

  "Your pain is just beginning, David Chance."

  He brought the weapon up.

  Pointed.

  And pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 12

  Castle met Jon and Canary outside of WKKT Talk 107.3 and led them through narrow white corridors to a cluttered radio booth at the back of the station where radio personality Tommy Roan was arguing with a large silver microphone just beyond a thick glass door. Four speakers near the ceiling allowed his voice to fill the hallway. When he took a breath, another voice filled it. It was the voice of an irate woman from the Cape who had apparently lived in Mass. her whole life, which, in her mind, gave her the right to speak out against the governor's new immigration policy. The conversation escalated quickly, then ended with the woman saying, "Well, if you'd spend less time stuffing your fat face with donuts and more time listening to the people of this state..."

  The woman's voice cut off, and Tommy shook his head. "Thanks for the call, Helen." He chuckled. "There you go. If you don't have an argument, resort to name calling. Good tactic." He tapped his finger on the monitor screen to his right and said, "Hello James, you're on the phone with Tommy Roan. What do you think about the governor’s new bill?"

  Jon noticed a woman sitting behind a large glass window on the right wall of the studio. She gave them a wave, got up from her chair, and came out through a door nearby.

  Castle turned toward her. "This is our producer, Amy Peterson. Amy, this is the young man I told you about."

  She reached a hand out. "Thanks for coming in, Mr. Blake." She gave an expectant look at Canary.

  "Jillian," said Canary, offering her hand. "Jillian Mack."

  Jon gave her a surprised look, though he didn't know why he was surprised. Of course she wouldn't give her hacker name. But was Jillian her real name? He rolled the sound in his mind. Jillian Mack— he liked it.

  "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mack." Amy looked at Castle. "We're ready any time you are."

  Jon looked up at the speakers and at the headset on Tommy Roan's rather large head. "How will this work for..." he almost said Canary, but caught himself. "How will this work for Jillian? She won't be able to hear the conversation."

  "We've set up a monitor with speech to text translation. It's far from perfect, but Tommy will rephrase the questions so Jillian can read his lips." She looked at Canary and over enunciated her words. "Will that work for you?"

  Canary smiled at the producers attempt, and nodded.

  "Great," said Castle, "let's get you kids plugged in."

  The producer guided them into the room, and Tommy offered a broad white smile and a wave with his thick fingers. He pressed a button and spoke (even though the caller was in mid sentence.) "We'll be going to you after this caller. You ready?"

  Jon gave a silent confirmation, being unsure whether or not anyone could hear him through the two microphones sitting on the Formica table. Tommy released his finger and continued his conversation without missing a beat.

  Nerves twisted in Jon's belly. He had never listened to talk radio in his life, but he had heard of Tommy Roan; his program was the number one syndicated talk show in New England. It went out to radios across dozens of states. Millions of people listened from their cars as they crawled to work in rush hour traffic. Millions tuned in at work and at home. Millions were about to hear him share his message. But what would it be? What would they have him say? He hadn't put much thought into it, but now, with the big silver mic sitting half a foot away from his face, doubt began to creep in. What if they embarrassed him again? How would he ever recover?

  "Jon," said a strong male voice in his head.

  I don't know if I can do this, he thought.

  "If you obey, the entire world will be in awe of your power. Do you want power, Jon? Do you want respect?"

  It wasn't power he craved. But the promise of respect gave him a twinge of satisfaction. Several long years of depression and antisocial behavior, mixed with the constant reminder of his poverty, had made him an outcast in high school. But with the help of these creatures, could he be reborn?

  "People will adore you and fear you. Is this what you want, Jon?"

  Fear me?

  "They will fear what you can do. They will fear their secrets being revealed. But they don't understand that we will usher in an age without secrets. You will lead them to this future, Jon, and your name will be remembered long after this age has faded into antiquity. Is this what you want?"

  Yes. It's what I want.

  Tommy Roan’s voice drew Jon's attention back. "We've been talking about the tragedy of flight 304 for weeks now, speculating on claims of miracles and divine intervention, but today we have Jon Blake in the studio to bring perspective to the many rumors that are flying around. Also with us is his beautiful companion, Jillian Mack, who I'm told is completely deaf. She is reading what we say from real time text translation. How’s that working, Jillian?"

  "I wish I had one of these all the time," she said with clear enunciation and a hint of humor in her voice.

  Tommy laughed. "Amazing. You don't sound deaf. You talk perfectly, and beautifully, I might add."

  Canary blushed. "I was taught by a neurosurgeon. It was an experimental procedure."

  "Well, it looks like we have more than one mystery to talk about," he said with a smile.

  As they talked, Jon felt the alien influence beginning to take full control of his senses once again.

  "Oh, yeah," crooned a voice in his mind, "this is going to be fun."

  Chapter 13

  David leapt back as the gun went off and the door frame exploded into a hundred wooden splinters. Through the concussive whine filling his head his mind scrambled to understand what had happened. Was it a warning shot? He shielded his face and looked up.

  Without another word the officer holstered his weapon then walked through the living room and out the front door as if nothing had happened.

  "Are you alright, David?" squealed Sharon, examining him desperately with her hands. But her attention was not on him long; Emily's hysterical crying drew her into the kitchen and under the table, where the little girl had fled from the sound.

  David forced himself to follow the officer. From the open front door he could see that he had stopped on the sidewalk and was talking to Collins who had apparently just arrived. It looked like a casual conversation. Had the demon left, or was it baiting him? Drawing him in close. Deadly close.

  David shouted out the door. "Be careful!"

  Both men looked his way.

  "Is there a problem, Mr. Chance?" said the officer, cautiously resting his hand on his weapon. He turned his body to face Agent Collins.

  Collins swooped his coat aside to reveal the FBI badge on his belt. Hi
s other hand was in a position to draw, if necessary.

  David's brain locked up. "No! They're just…" Great! Now what? His knee-jerk reaction had made things worse. "Be careful of the, uh, grass. It's slippery." Slippery? Really?

  Both men gave the grass a cursory glance.

  "Never mind," called David, "I thought the sprinkler was on. It's not." Inside, he was dying a thousand deaths.

  The officer continued on his way, and Collins watched silently. When the cop had rounded the squad car, he took one last look at them both as though assessing that the situation was stable—not realizing he was the destabilizing force. He climbed in and drove off.

  "He was one of them," said David when the car was far enough away.

  Collins came up the path. "It took me a second, but I caught on." One side of his face tightened. "Watch out, the grass is slippery?"

  "I thought he might draw on you. Then I realized I'd just made it worse."

  Collins patted him on the shoulder as they stepped through the threshold together. "What happened in here?"

  "He shot up my house!"

  "Is anyone hurt?"

  "No. Just the house."

  "Really …" said Collins with an odd inflection in his voice.

  David looked around. Sharon and Emily were no longer in the kitchen. "Honey?"

  "We're in the bathroom! Em had an accident," called Sharon from upstairs.

  His poor daughter. He couldn't imagine how terrifying all this was for her. Would she recover, or would she spend the rest of her life haunted by the thought that anyone—even men sworn to protect her—could turn into monsters?

  Collins rubbed his head. "That officer came in here, shot up the place, but didn't hurt you or your family?"

  "No. He wasn't allowed to."

  "What do you mean he wasn't allowed to?"

  "God wouldn't let him," said David without hesitation.

  Collins took the comment in stride and reigned in what could have been a more sarcastic tone. "God wouldn't allow him to?"

  "Yeah. We're protected."

  "Okay. Whether demonic or extra-terrestrial, it is clear that someone of great authority is restraining these forces from doing what they want to do to you. But, given what we now know, it's a strange turn of events."

  "What do you mean 'given what you now know'?"

  "Do you remember that sympathizer I told you about?"

  "Yeah."

  "He said you are now their direct target."

  David shook his head. "That doesn't surprise me. I've been quite a thorn in their side."

  "You don't understand, David. You're not just a thorn, they believe you are the one they have been searching for, the single human they fear so much that they were willing to destroy Massachusetts and half the eastern seaboard to get him. There is no way they would just come in here and shoot up your house."

  "What are you talking about? All this is because of one man?"

  "They have a prophecy that a man will rise up from the city of Boston, unite the entire country, and break down the walls of division in Washington."

  "What?" David stepped back. "But I'm no one. I'm not even gainfully employed."

  "It's you. You’re the reason for the assassination attempt, the dirty bomb, the X11 virus..."

  "Hold on. Elliot closed down the lab. There is no virus."

  "It was not weaponized, but what they have is still quite deadly. Our forensics team believes it was what killed everyone on flight 304."

  David threw his hands up. "So if it is me, why am I still alive? Why take my son?"

  "That is a very good question."

  "And, why threaten me?"

  A ring filled the air.

  Collins pulled a phone from his jacket and pressed it to his ear. "Hello. Collins." He listened intently. "Good. Have two teams head to the site, and contact local authorities. Since this is a kidnapping, we can bring them in on it. I want the building locked down. No one enters and no one leaves. I'm en route." He pulled the phone away. "We'll have to discuss aliens and demons later. We've found your son."

  Chapter 14

  David Chance watched the storefronts pass by the right side of the car as they rounded the I-93 off ramp and headed into the heart of Medford. Collins coordinated the assault on the Apex Plaza—the building Ben was being held in—through a Bluetooth earpiece.

  Sharon spoke tenderly to Emily in the back seat. "You'll be safe in the car, honey. Agent Collins will make sure you're safe."

  "But what if he turns mean?" said Emily in her mousy voice.

  The question surprised, David. He hadn't thought of that. What if the demons tried to control Collins or one of his men? Were they conditioned to resist them? Did such a conditioning exist? He doubted very much that any man-made tactic would work against an enemy with this kind of power.

  Sharon’s response surprised David. "Good guys can't turn mean."

  He envied her motherly way of taking something complicated and making it simple enough for a child to understand. He remembered back to what Collins had said about the blackout victims. They don't do anything they're not already inclined to do.

  "If you stay in the car and be a good girl," said Sharon, "you'll be safe. I promise."

  David looked out at a passing stop sign. His eyes bounced from the word stop to another sign with the word here in it. The message formed in his mind. Stop here.

  David's body tightened. "Stop the car!"

  The car lurched as Collins put on the brake. "Why? Do you see something?"

  "The messages say to stop here."

  "Where? At that store?" he said, indicating the Stop and Shop on the right side of the road.

  "I don't know. That could be it." David looked around. There didn't appear to be any danger on the road. The traffic was light and there was no merging traffic. "Let's drive in and look at the building."

  Collins pulled in and parked just past the entrance to the store. David jumped out and ran up to the door. There were several papers pasted to the inside of the glass, but his eyes only got gibberish as he bounced from word to word. He looked back at the car and shrugged.

  The back door of the black SUV opened. Sharon climbed out.

  "What are you doing?" he said.

  "I'm coming with you."

  "What about Emily?"

  "She's okay with Collins."

  He caught a glimpse of Emily's peeking face as Sharon shut the door. "All right," he said. "See if you can find something."

  He watched her face turn deadpan as her eyes began to flick from page to page. When she finished, she shot him a soured look. "What?"

  "It's weird seeing someone else do that."

  She gave a subtle acknowledgment and looked back at the doors.

  "Did you find anything?" he said, scanning the words with her.

  "I'm not sure. It think I got something, but it doesn't make any sense."

  "That sounds about right," he said wryly. "What’d you get?"

  "Pull green."

  "Okay," he said, pulling on the door handle." Remember that. Let's look inside. Maybe we'll find more."

  The sales counter for the small, cramped store was to the right of the entrance. David went toward the back wall of refrigerated soft drinks. Sharon went down the front, toward the candy, magazines and car maintenance products. A word on a hanging sign above David's head caught his attention. His mind peeled the word take from it. His eyes bounced to a bag of chips and pulled the words one and of. Then they hopped over to a small sign under the pastries and snatched the last word, each. Take one of each.

  "I have something," he called to Sharon.

  Sharon's voice responded. "Me too. I think."

  David ran his eyes along the chip names. Was he supposed to grab random bags of chips? He looked over the cookies and the pies and the boxes of crackers. Nothing stood out.

  "Digest the first two," said Sharon, still hidden on the other side of the aisle.

  "The first two what?" he said, bou
ncing his eyes from product to product.

  "I don't know."

  He turned and looked at the cooler. His eyes landed on the name of a red energy drink and the familiar sensation of truth tingled in his mind. "I think I have the first one," he said, grabbing the drink from the cooler. He almost cracked it open and began to drink, but caught himself. Was this something he had to do immediately? What possible reason could God have for making him drink an energy drink? Whatever it was—he decided it could wait until he’d purchased it.

  He walked sideways down the wall of coolers, and the word raspberry called out to him from a carton of yogurt. He reached in and grabbed it, grateful it wasn't the peach one. He never could stomach peach.

  Nothing else from the coolers caught his eye, so he continued on to a large table near the checkout counter. It had hot dogs, coffee, frozen drinks and pizza by the slice, but none of the words spoke to him. He started to back away to join Sharon at the magazine rack, but his eyes landed on a label that said mustard. The sensation fired off again, so he grabbed a couple of packets.

  Mustard, yogurt, and an energy drink? This was the weirdest set of messages yet. How could eating these items help him rescue his son?

  "What did you find?" said Sharon, coming up behind him.

  He turned and displayed the items.

  "Really?" she said.

  "This is what jumped out."

  "Why on earth..."

  "I don't know," he snapped. "I never understand why he makes me do these things—until later. It's no use speculating, believe me."

  "Okay," she said diplomatically. "Which ones did you grab first? My message said, digest the first two."

  His face scrunched. "Where did you see the word digest?"