by Jon Land
This time, when he opened his eyes, the color had returned to the world, and the wave of dizziness and nausea had abated. Before it could return, Ben yanked open the door and strode straight for the elevator, paying a clerk perched within a cubicle enclosed by steel grating no heed, even when his voice shouted after him.
“Hey! Hey!”
Ben took the elevator to the third floor, the room number from Max’s text message committed to memory now. The room in question had a shiny door latch that didn’t match the others along the hall, as if the last one had been broken by a well-placed boot or ram.
Ben tried the knob, knocked when it didn’t turn.
His son Max answered, almost eighteen now, still looking much more like a boy than a man. Long, floppy hair covering his ears and face all the way to his brow, and a scruffy beard more the result of laziness with a razor than an attempt to grow one. His naturally athletic, muscular frame, nothing like Ben’s, or his mother Melissa’s for that matter, contained in a black leather jacket and shapeless jeans worn over black lace-up boots.
“Dad.”
The word stretching out his lips to make it sound like two syllables.
“She’s in here,” Max continued, easing the door all the way open. “On the bed.”
Ben closed the door behind him and spotted Vicky Denton lying on her back, arms spread eagle. Her mouth hung open, drool sliding down one side, the gaping window unable to chase the stench of vomit Max must have cleaned up from the room.
“What’s she on?”
“Ecstasy. I think.”
“You think?”
“It’s what she told me she was buying. But she had a stash of Vikes and Oxy too,” Max elaborated, referring to Vicodin and Oxycodone. “I found out who her dealer is,” the boy finished, and left it there.
It was the way he left it, together with the restrained conviction painted over features gone utterly flat, that left Ben unsettled. He’d seen that look before from his son, not often but often enough, and what followed was never pleasant.
“You didn’t call a rescue,” Ben said, in what had started out as a question.
“Vicky made me promise not to, before she passed out. So I called you instead.”
Ben was no doctor, nor a paramedic, but his many adventures and visits to exotic or, at least, distant places left him quite the expert on all things first aid, from splinting broken bones to recognizing the symptoms of some dangerous disease. But he’d had no experience with drug overdoses. Still, he moved to the bed and checked Vicky’s pulse and vitals.
“I did that already,” Max told him. “Besides being zonked on drugs, she’s fine. Otherwise, I would’ve broken my promise and called nine-one-one.”
Ben checked her pupils with a grimy lamp held before her eyes and made sure her breathing was regular.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“You need to ask me that?”
“I’m talking about with you. You’re sweating like you just stepped out of a steam room.”
“Try raising a seventeen-year-old.”
“Eighteen before you know it And, no, I’m not going to ask you for a car again.”
Ben tried to smile, unsettled as always by his son’s proclivity for staying one step ahead of him, always seeming to be several seconds ahead of the rest of the world. When Max was a younger boy, they’d set a goal of climbing the tallest peak on every continent. They’d climbed Kilimanjaro when Max was all of thirteen, and he’d saved both their lives by pulling both of them to safety, seconds before a world-shaking rumble preceded an avalanche that would’ve otherwise entombed them. Another time Max had yelled “Stop!” at a green light, and Ben had jammed on the brakes just in time to avoid a car flying through the intersection that otherwise would’ve obliterated their car.
Their list of peaks to scale remained unfinished, most notably Everest, and Ben felt a lump form in his throat, needing to choke off tears every time he considered they may have climbed their last mountain together.
“My car’s parked just outside,” he told Max, clearing his throat to disguise it cracking. “If we can get her walking, that’s her taxi home.”
“To our place. Please, Dad, until she sobers up.”
Ben nodded grudgingly, as much because he could never say no to Max, as to spare Vicky Dale Denton’s wrath, especially today. Matter of fact, he kind of liked the idea of sticking it to the son of a bitch.
He moved aside to let Max tend to Vicky, see if he could rouse her.
“What’s his name, Max?”
“Who?”
“Vicky’s drug dealer.”
“I don’t know.”
“You said you did.”
“I must’ve meant I will. After I talk to Vicky,” the boy said, turning enough his way for Ben to catch that look again.
Mad Max …
That’s what Dale Denton had said the kids at school called his son. It was why Max had never played organized sports, even though he was one of the best athletes at every school he’d attended. The boy had tried, really had after his father pushed him, but things had happened.
Strange things.
Bad things.
Inexplicable things.
He’d told Dr. Kirsch that Max was born with a birthmark identical in all respects to the one touching the rock had left on him, the very touch that was killing him now. And he’d already snatched a hair sample from the brush the boy seldom used to work his tangles of waves into shape, and brought it to CyberGen, so Max’s DNA could be tested. See if the boy had inherited whatever was afflicting Ben.
The mere possibility set him trembling. He’d long been convinced that touching the rock that had left its mark, had been responsible for the miracle of Max’s birth. The fact that it might also be responsible for his premature death was unthinkable, a strange and bizarre twisting of circumstances that threatened to render Ben’s entire life meaningless.
“Leave me alone,” Vicky moaned, her words slurring together, as she slapped Max’s hand away.
“I’m done leaving you alone,” the boy said back to her, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “Look what happens when I leave you alone. But it won’t be happening again. I’m going to see to that. Promise.”
The unspoken message in Max’s words left Ben chilled. He shut his mind to the thought, as Vicky began to stir.
“I think I can get her walking, Dad,” Max was saying. “We can get her to the car.”
* * *
And they did, Max riding in the backseat of the Mercedes SUV the whole way back to their Park Avenue penthouse. They drove straight into the garage, the parking space just a short walk from the elevator that served only the penthouse levels.
Ben had doctors he could summon discreetly, if Vicky’s condition worsened, or she lost consciousness again. But she was sitting up, by the time they pulled into the garage, smacking her lips dryly and begging for a mint or stick of gum to chase the bitter taste from her mouth. Otherwise, she remained silent, clearly embarrassed and not really addressing Ben until he threw the Mercedes into park.
“Thanks, Ben.”
She’d called him that since she could talk, while Max always called Dale “Mr. Denton,” when he called him anything at all.
They took the private elevator to the penthouse floor. Vicky clung to Max, seemed ready to melt into him, while Ben got the ornate fire door unlocked and held it open so Max could ease her through into the penthouse. Steering straight for his room, Ben noticed, as opposed to the guest room, his boots clacking against the bamboo flooring.
Ben’s wife Melissa appeared moments later, strands of rosary beads threaded through both hands. She had that “glow” about her that characterized her personal prayer sessions. Maybe the rosy glow came from the warmth over communing directly with God, a practice that started almost from the day Max was born, but had been ramped up substantially as of late. Or maybe the rosy glow was more of a heat flash, thanks to keeping the spare bedroom she’d transformed int
o her prayer hostel too warm.
“He’s not happy,” she said, her expression tight and pained. “He’s angry at us, Ben.”
“Who?”
“God.”
“I don’t really have time for this now.”
She moved to block his path. “You need to find it. Because I know bad times are coming, not just for us—for everyone. We must all pray, the three of us together, to forgive the sins behind what’s coming. We’re the ones who spawned it. Lilith told me that, and she’s been right about everything she’s always told me for years.”
“Lilith,” Ben repeated, shaking his head, “the little girl again … Did you take your pills?”
“No. I can’t hear Him when I take the pills. I need to keep my mind lucid, be sure I don’t miss anything. It makes my head hurt, but I don’t care.”
“You need to take your pills, Missy. I’ll get them for you.”
He started to move away, but she clamped a hand onto his arm. “He’s worried about Max.”
“Who?”
“The Lord. I’ve been waiting to tell you what He said.”
“I want you to take your pills before you tell me.”
Melissa nodded, grudgingly. “I’ll come with you.”
They went into the kitchen together where Ben pulled one pill each from three separate prescription bottles, handed them to his wife along with a glass of water, and made sure she swallowed them down.
“Lilith said Max’s soul is soiled, that he belongs to the Beast.”
“She’s got things wrong,” Ben said, unable to help himself. “There’s nothing wrong with Max’s soul. He’s as good and kind a boy as there is.”
“Lilith said Max was evil. And you know she’s right, Ben. You’ve seen the things Max can do as well as I have.”
Ben bristled. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You just can’t see it as clearly as I can, because you haven’t turned your ears to His word. Once you do, it’ll all be crystal clear. We need to help Max embrace the Lord, Ben. It’s his only hope.”
Ben could see her eyes growing sluggish and distant, as the medication began to take hold. Just a few more minutes, he told himself.
“He brought that girl home,” Melissa was saying now. “The devil’s spawn.”
“He just wants to help her.”
“Oh, I know what he wants. She corrupts him, turns him from the good.”
“They’re just friends, Missy. They’ve known each other all their lives.”
“We need to get him away from her, Ben. Lilith told me that too. She, she’s bad for Max. She…” Melissa looked dazed, her eyes glazed over. “Where was I? I can’t, I can’t remember.”
“I need to check on them.”
“Check on who? I think I need to lie down. Can I lie down?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Ben said, and led her into the bedroom.
“You need to watch him closely,” Melissa said, as he sat down with her on the edge of the bed. “And when you watch him, you need to see what Lilith warned me about. It’s there, but you have to let yourself see it.”
Ben eased her back, sliding a pair of pillows in place and positioning them just the way she liked.
“Promise me you’ll do that, Ben, promise me!”
“I promise,” Ben lied.
* * *
A private investigator he had on the payroll showed Denton the feed from the security camera outside some flophouse Denton couldn’t identify.
“That’s your daughter entering the building, and here she is leaving.”
He froze the screen on Victoria being supported by Max Younger, her boots turned inward, indicating her feet had been dragging. Another figure had advanced ahead of them, visible only from the rear. Denton couldn’t identify him, but he could identify the SUV toward which the man appeared to be walking.
“You want me to handle this, sir?” the cop asked him, his droll monotone indicating that was nothing new for him.
“No,” said Denton, rising from his chair set before the laptop the cop had set down before him, “I think I’ll handle this one myself.”
* * *
“He said he’d send me away if this happened again,” Vicky told Max, rivulets of water from the bottle he’d given her dribbling out her lips, until she swiped a sleeve lightly across them.
“Rehab?”
“Worse. Boarding school.”
“Hey, I hear those places have the best drugs.… Er, that was a joke.”
“Ha-ha.”
Max pushed the hair from his face and felt it drop back down over his brow. “He’s not going to send you away.”
“No? And why’s that?”
“Because I’m not going to let him.”
Vicky turned away atop Max’s rumpled bedcovers. He’d been sitting adjacent to her on the bed’s edge, but now he lay down next to her, looking up from the second pairing of pillows. Clasped his hands behind his head and fixed his gaze on the paint swirls on the ceiling.
“You don’t know my father, Max. He’s a fucking monster.”
Max laughed.
“What’s funny about that?”
“Nothing, but you swearing is.”
“Fuck,” Vicky said.
Max laughed.
And then they were cuddling, Max’s face lost in her thick hair that was dampened at the edges by sweat, but still smelled of lilacs thanks to her floral-scented shampoo. Vicky ran her hand through his hair, the way she knew he liked.
“You look like a rock star.”
“I get mistaken for one all the time.”
“Which?”
“I forget now. It’s not important.”
Vicky sighed. “I wish I had your dad.”
“I don’t, because then we’d be brother and sister.”
“We’re already like twins. Born on the same day, same frigging blood type that, like, nobody else has, and practically raised together.”
“But not related,” Max reminded.
“Don’t let my father send me away, Max. Please.”
“I won’t. My dad will help.”
“Your dad’s no match for him.”
“And I am?”
Vicky slid from his grasp and propped herself up, the life back in her eyes. “I’ve got an idea.”
* * *
Ben opened the door to find Dale Denton standing there, dwarfed by a trio of his private security guards, all ex-military. They barged past him before saying a word.
“Where is she?” Denton asked, sweeping his eyes about the foyer and penthouse great room beyond.
“Who?”
“You know damn well who. Vicky, my daughter. You and that hooligan son of yours were spotted picking her up outside a rat’s nest of a hotel. I’m not sure if I should kick the shit out of you, or thank you for interrupting whatever they were up to.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Then what did happen?”
Ben wasn’t about to say. “You’ll have to ask Vicky about that.” He watched Denton’s three goons take up posts in the foyer, stopping just short of searching the penthouse without permission.
“Victoria,” Denton corrected. “My daughter’s name is Victoria.”
“Not according to her.”
Denton took a step closer, getting in Ben’s face, glowering. “Listen, partner, you want to argue with me about business, that’s your right. But when it comes to my daughter, keep the fuck away. Now, where is she?”
Ben shrugged. “Dale, look—”
“Where is she, Ben? Tell me how you’d be feeling right now, if the roles were reversed.”
Ben nodded. Grudgingly.
* * *
He led the way along the back hall to Max’s room. Only Denton accompanied him, his three goons remaining behind in the foyer.
“She needs help, Dale.”
“We all need help.” Denton started on again without him. “I’m getting my daughter a
nd getting the fuck out of here. I don’t want to hear another word from you.”
“Suit yourself,” Ben said.
But when he hurried to catch up with Denton, he felt suddenly weak and light-headed. He leaned against the wall for support, started to slump down it.
“Careful there, partner,” Denton said, from in front of Max’s door. “A man in your condition shouldn’t be overexerting himself.” Denton tried the door. “It’s locked.”
Ben pushed himself back to his feet and staggered to Max’s room, knocking on the door.
“Max?”
No answer.
“Max!” Ben tried louder, banging on the door this time.
When Max still didn’t answer, Denton threw a shoulder into it and shattered the door even with the knob. He surged inside, but froze with Ben just behind him.
Because the room was empty.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Siberia, Russia; 2008
The private jet landed at Tolmachevo Airport, twenty miles from the city of Novosibirsk, an industrial and scientific center in Siberia and also Russia’s third largest city. It wasn’t the closest airport to the site of what Father Jimenez would be investigating on behalf of the Vatican’s Miracle Commission, but it was the only one where they could obtain permission to land. A six-hour drive would follow to the site in question.
The town of Kusk here in West Siberia where something unimaginable had happened.
* * *
“Understand something, Pascal,” Martenko had warned him back at the Vatican. “Not everything the Vatican investigates is the purported work of God. Much of what we do involves quite the opposite.”
“Exorcisms, that sort of thing?”
“If by that sort of thing, you’re referring to the devil, then yes. In some regions disproving his involvement in something is far more important than proving the involvement of the Almighty.”
“I didn’t think Siberia was one of them.”
“It isn’t, per se. This particular case warrants an exception.”
“By which you mean…”
Jimenez let the thought dangle, expecting Martenko to complete it. Clouds had rolled in, covering the sun over the Vatican gardens, making for a much better fit for the look on Martenko’s face.
