Lies (The David Chance Series Book 3)

by Hileman, John Michael

  Chapter 20

  Brad's broken body writhed on the carpet in front of David as splattered pools of blood soaked into the pale carpet around him. His sweat-slicked hair stuck to his bloody face, and his chest gasped for short breaths.

  "See this, David?" said the officer, clutching a clump of Brad's hair and pulling him up. "You are responsible for this. But you can stop it."

  David's eyes flicked down to the knife sitting in front of him.

  "That's right. Use it on yourself. Prove you have what it takes to save your son. Cut yourself. Now."

  Brad spit out a mouthful of blood so he could speak. "Don't listen to him."

  The officer kicked him in the ribs with a combat boot. A long slow wheeze forced its way out of Brad's throat as his body curled on the carpet.

  "Do it! Cut yourself! Prove you have what it takes to save your son!"

  David grabbed the knife and pulled it toward himself.

  "Don't," whispered Brad. His pleading eyes looked up from the ground.

  This was only going to get worse. The demons had made their point. They were given authority to hurt Brad far beyond what David was able to stand. He didn't understand why God would allow such a thing, but he couldn't deny the truth of it. If he didn’t comply with their demands, the next blow might leave his friend permanently damaged—or dead. He couldn't live with that. He gripped the cold handle tightly in his hands and closed his eyes.

  Brad's voice gurgled. "Don't!"

  With a powerful stroke David slid the blade across his thigh. He braced himself for the worst pain imaginable, but it didn't hurt nearly as bad as he’d expected. It could have been the endorphins coursing through his veins, or adrenaline. He didn't know. But he was grateful for whatever had kept the pain at bay. He looked down at the slit in his leg and the blood seeping out. His stomach rolled.

  The demon sprang across the office and pushed him back against the couch. "Let's see how you did." His hand went to the wound and peeled the flesh open. Searing pain shot through his leg. "Good! Very good! He’ll do it! We knew you would! Now," he said, climbing back to his feet, "I will release your friend."

  He walked to the door and opened it. Two men in construction clothes came in and clutched Brad by the armpits and ankles. His friend cried out in pain as they hoisted him and dragged him away.

  As the door slammed shut, David turned a fierce eye toward his adversary. "How do I know he’ll be safe."

  "What?" said the officer, with a wounded expression. "Is my word not good enough for you?"

  David fumed.

  "Don't worry, you'll have your proof. It's all you creatures whine about."

  He walked over to the other side of the office and slid a closet door open. Inside, gagged and bound on the floor, was his son. David's body lurched forward.

  The officer threw a hand out. "Stop!" His eyes leveled on David's. "Don't."

  Ben's eyes blinked as they adjusted to the light in the room. Then he saw his father and began to struggle fiercely against his bindings as he cried out with desperate grunts.

  The demon plucked two white headphone cords from Ben's ears. "Calm down, kid. Your father has come to rescue you." He turned an evil smile toward David. "Isn't that right, David?"

  "It's gonna be okay, Ben. You'll be okay." His chest surged with an almost uncontrollable emotion.

  With one hand the officer lifted Ben off the floor and dragged him over to the office chair Brad had been sitting in. Ben's eyes filled with tears.

  "You'll be all right, son. I promise."

  "This is what we’ll do," said the officer, walking behind the chair to pick something up off the desk. "I will give you this pill, and you will eat it." He brought the pill to David, and David held his hand out. The tiny pill plopped into his palm. It was green and chalky and left a residue as it rolled. "When I am confident you have ingested the pill, I will release your son. If you choose not to take the pill," his face tilted, "well, we know where that decision will lead us. As you saw, it is up to you how much pain your son will have to endure."

  David looked down at the blood stains on the carpet, a stark reminder of the reality of his words. "I'll do what you say, but can I at least say goodbye to my son and hear his voice one last time?"

  Ben's eyes flooded more as his tiny body squirmed in the chair. If he had been larger he would have burst free of his bonds and rescued his father. That was the kind of son he was, the kind that made his father proud.

  "No," said the officer with a chill in his voice. "The only sounds you will hear from your son are the sounds of him screeching in agony, if you don't do as we've instructed."

  David looked at the pill. Could he do it? Could he take his own life in exchange for his son? His chest quaked with fear and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Why was this happening? It didn't make sense. God had always provided a way of escape. Why not now? Would he allow these demons to pressure him into killing himself?

  The officer's voice took on a darker quality. "Would you like some water to wash down your poison?"

  David's ribs shuddered. His head dipped.

  "I'll take that as a yes," said the man, strolling to the wet bar embedded in the wall. He crouched down, opened the fridge, and pawed around inside. "Here we go. This will work." He pulled something out, stood, and poured it into a glass. When he turned, the clear liquid glinted in the sunlight. He walked over and placed the glass on the coffee table.

  David looked down at it with a dead stare.

  "Drink up."

  Slowly, he reached out and took the glass into his hand.

  Ben strained against his bindings.

  "It'll be all right, Ben. God has a plan. No matter what happens. Trust him. Do you understand me?"

  Ben's meek nod reminded him again of the kind of son he had been given. He was strong and independent, but when the rubber met the road, he did what his father and mother told him to do. They didn't have to wonder if he would disobey as soon as their backs were turned. That was not Ben's nature. Like his father, he had been born with a deep rooted value for truth and honesty.

  A smell drifted up from the cup in David's hand. His nose twitched. "What is this?" He pulled it up and sniffed. "Is this Vodka?"

  The officer's brows lifted. "Is that a problem?"

  He looked at the grain alcohol swirling in the cup. "If today is the day I die, I'm not going to stand before God with alcohol on my breath."

  The look on the man’s face was almost comical. "The ignorance of humanity astounds us. What makes you think you'll have breath when you stand before God?!"

  "I'm not drinking it."

  "Suit yourself. Choke the pill down for all I care."

  David squeezed the tablet in his hand, more of the green powder coated his palm. Was it not bad enough that he had to poison himself? Would he also have to taste the bitterness of his poison as he waited for pain and death to take him? It all felt so horribly unjust—but maybe that was how they wanted it to feel. His mind bucked the idea. What did it matter what they wanted? Weren't they just doing what God allowed? Where did their schemes end and God's authority begin?

  He looked up from the pill and brought the eager face of his adversary into focus. Was it worth asking? These creatures were not capable of an honest answer. Were they? Yet the deepest reaches of his gut begged the question. "Why?" he said weakly. "Why does God allow you to do this to us?"

  The man looked surprised by the question, but he recovered quickly. "He believes you're suffering makes you into something better." His bottom lip turned up. "I think it's sadistic, myself. How can he call himself good yet allow everyone who trusts in him to suffer horrible trials and pain? The ones who draw closest to him actually suffer the most. Does that make sense to you?"

  David stared. Was it really the nature of God to allow his followers to be tortured? It seemed like a strange way to thank his devoted followers.

  The man waved an impatient hand. "Enough chit chat. Do what you said."

 
; David's jaw tightened. "Do what you said. You said I’d have proof that Brad has been freed."

  Chapter 21

  Jon stepped out of the limo on the downtown street and straightened his black dress shirt. Canary, whom he had begun calling Jillian, came around and positioned herself at his side. They’d barely had a moment to speak all morning as Castle had rushed them from appointment to appointment and miracle to miracle. When they concluded their business, he would enjoy recounting the day and what it all meant.

  Castle's voice called out from inside the limo. "The news team says they’re just around the corner." Sure enough, as he spoke, the car appeared at the intersection down the street. It drove past and parked a few parking spaces up.

  Jon reached out and clasped Jillian's hand. Her face warmed as her grip tightened. "Are you ready for more insanity?" he said, caressing her face with his eyes.

  She stepped in closer. "Are you?"

  "I don't know," he said. "It’s kind of fun seeing how they react. Don’t you think?"

  Her full lips curled. "I don't know if fun is the word I would use, but I love watching you in action."

  He smirked. "I love watching you watch me."

  As had been the case all morning, they were interrupted by Castle who had finished his phone call. Jon kept Jillian's hand in his as Castle climbed out onto the sidewalk. "Does this location work for you?" he said, straightening his pinstriped suit.

  Jon's first instinct was to shrug. He didn't know if it worked or not. They hadn't told him why they wanted to meet with News Channel Seven downtown instead of at the studio. Whether or not it worked was beyond Jon. He looked around. "We're good for now," he said, noncommittally.

  If things needed to change, they would let him know.

  An attractive dark-haired woman climbed out of the driver’s side of the news car while a big burly guy with a mustache climbed out the passenger side. They passed each other at the back of the car, and the man opened the trunk. The woman turned to face Jon. It was David's friend, Karen Knight.

  She noticed him and a smile formed. He pulled Jillian forward and Karen bridged the distance. Castle walked briskly around. "Morning, Karen. Thanks for coming."

  Karen's face lit up even more. "Are you kidding me? How could I turn this up?" Her eyes flitted to Jon. "Looks like you've had a busy morning."

  He acknowledged her nonchalant half greeting and suppressed a smirk. She was like all the rest, smug and over confident. But he was confident that, in a few short minutes, he would do to her what he had done to the rest. With all of her beauty, her power clothes, and her city attitude, she was an ant to them, an ant to him. Crushing her would be effortless.

  "Are we ready?" she said over her shoulder.

  The cameraman planted his monopod and a red light came on. "Sure thing, darlin’."

  She snapped a look at Castle. "Do you want to be in this?"

  "No. Just Jon and Jillian," he said, stepping off the curb.

  She turned her back to talk with her cameraman.

  Castle's commanding voice drew her back. "And, Karen..."

  "Yes?" she said, spinning back around and flipping her hair out of her face.

  He leveled his eyes. "Keep to the script. Got it?"

  "Got it," she said, ripping her eyes from him and turning back to the man with the bushy mustache. "Ready?"

  The big man's cheeks lifted. "Already rollin, sweetheart.’"

  She spun once more and locked onto Jon. "We're just going to chat and record it. The segment will be edited back at the station, so no pressure, okay?"

  He nodded.

  She straightened herself. "Tell me, Jonathan Blake. Why are you telling lies about David Chance."

  Castle’s irritated voice cut through the air. "I said, stay on script, Karen."

  "You promised me a news story."

  "I'm sorry about this, Jon. But I did warn you she wouldn't cooperate. We’ll get another reporter. It’ll only take a few minutes."

  She turned on him like a prowling animal. "Perhaps you would like to tell our viewers why you're afraid to tell the truth, Castle? Maybe we can make this about you."

  "Get that camera off of me, Turner," he said, shoving his finger at the cameraman, "or you'll be standing in the unemployment line right behind her."

  Jon felt the alien presence overtaking him again. His hand lifted. "It's okay, Brent. I don't mind answering the question."

  The camera was back on him, and Karen came in closer with the microphone.

  "I don't have anything to hide, Karen. That's why I asked for you." He felt his expression warm toward her. "What lies do you believe I am spreading?"

  She pulled the microphone back to her lips. "I work with David. I've watched him struggle with these messages. You didn't have anything to do with them."

  "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but your friend is a liar."

  "I've seen him receive messages. If he's lying, he's the best actor I've ever seen."

  "Have you ever asked him to find a message?"

  "Yes. What's your point?"

  "How does that work out?"

  Her face soured. "Are you implying that..."

  "Answer the question, Karen. Is he able to get these messages on demand?"

  "No, and it frustrates him. But I don't see how..."

  "You're right, Karen. It frustrates him, but not for the reason you think."

  "Look. I know David Chance. There is no way you have been feeding him these messages."

  "What if I tell you something, something personal about you?"

  "You'll have to do more than parlor tricks to make me believe David Chance was lying about all those messages."

  His hand released Jillian's and clutched Karen's white knuckled fist as it waved the microphone in front of his face. She tried to pull away, but he felt inhuman strength as he resisted her efforts. Slowly, with eyes locked on hers, he drew her hand and microphone toward his chest. "Don't be afraid, Karen. I won't reveal your secrets. I only want to prove to you that what I say is true."

  Terror flickered in her eyes.

  "I see coffee all over your desk at home." His voice was slow and contemplative. "Was there no time to clean it up before you left for work?"

  Her voice came out slow. "How do you know that?"

  "You had a steel grey shirt on, but decided to go with the white one."

  Her face grew poisonous. "Let- go- of my hand."

  He felt his grip release. She stumbled back.

  His lips continued. "You left the coffee because you don't care. You left the shirt hanging off the bed because it blends in with the disarray of your entire house. You're hiding an intense pain from your colleagues and the public."

  Her posture and countenance turned wild. "I'm warning you! Stop. Now!"

  He stared intently at her. "I have wonderful news, Karen."

  "Stop it!"

  "Karen."

  "I won’t listen to another word!" She turned. "Come on, Larry. We’re leaving."

  "Karen." He waited for her to turn and level her eyes on him. "Your husband—is alive."

  "Wh- Why are you doing this?!" Her eyes pleaded.

  He felt his head tip. He stared absently at the ground, as though he were working something out, but it wasn't him working it out. There was no inspiration, no flashes of imagery or psychic impression. From his perspective, it was all an act. He was just a hollow puppet. "There is something else. Oh!" he said, as though suddenly understanding. "That's why I was supposed to be here."

  Karen's eyes were erratic. "What? What are you seeing?"

  Had they convinced her? Did she believe now?

  "Brad isn't just alive," he said, snapping his eyes back to her. "He's here."

  A scream filled the air, startling everyone but him. The alien control held his body in stasis as pandemonium broke out up the street. Karen and her cameraman started jogging toward a crowd that had formed in front of a nearby business. Jon felt his muscles push him into a jog, followi
ng them. "Make way!" yelled Karen, as she came closer. "Make way! Coming through!"

  Two women moved aside to let her in. Larry came in behind, blocking the way.

  "Excuse me," said Jon's voice, as his hands shoved an older woman aside. He looked into the center of people and saw Karen holding the head of a blood-stained man. The tears streaming from her eyes made it clear who the man was.

  "Get an ambulance!" she screamed, emotion wracking her face. "Someone, please! Get an ambulance!"

  Jon pushed in and crouched near them. "He’ll be all right, Karen. His life is not in danger."

  She gripped Brad’s head and washed his bloody face with her tears. He was not responding. Her face pivoted toward Jon. It was a smeared wet mess. "How do you know these things?!"

  "Does it matter?" said his voice.

  "Yes!" Her face was hard, but her quivering chin revealed her weakness. "I want to know who did this to my husband, and right now, all evidence leads to you."

  "Me?" As the word burst from his lips, he realized it had not come from his alien guests.

  "The only way you could know these things is if you are behind all of this."

  "I didn't," he stammered. "I'm not the one who did this!"

  The sound of a muffled ringtone caused Karen to pat for her phone. She fished it out and put it to her ear. "Yes? Who is this?" There was a short pause. "I'm on a sidewalk downtown. Why?" She listened again. "Yes! I'm with my husband. I'm sorry, who is this? Hello? Hello!"

  Chapter 22

  The officer let his arm drop, his phone dangled from his pinched fingers. "Satisfied?"

  David searched for his voice. "Yes," he said at last.

  "Good. Let's get this done then. Shall we?"

  They had done as they promised. They had released Brad. Karen confirmed it. The only question left was, did he have the courage to eat the pill before his son suffered the same torture Brad had? He opened his hand again and looked at it lying against a splotch of cloudy green stamped to his palm. How had it come to this?

  He looked at his son with his sweaty hair matted against his face and the gag in his mouth. His family had suffered terribly. Would his sacrifice allow their suffering to end? Would the demons leave his family alone? Without another thought he slapped his hand to his mouth. As the pill hit his throat, he swallowed with all his might.