“Go figure,” Derrick said.
Rick clenched his fists again; his eyes narrowed on Derrick. The intensity was such that Clara took another step back, more in the hallway than the kitchen now.
“Oh sure, maybe it was me,” Derrick shrugged. “Maybe I’m sitting here e-mailing Straker and Scarberry every single plan you come up with just to fuck you up and get you captured once again. Maybe with my ass sitting in the van I allowed…”
Derrick flinched as though he expected Rick to strike him. He pushed the computer away and looked up. His head jerked back when he realized Rick’s left hand rested on the pistol butt. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“You know, now that I think about it, you could have done just that.” Rick bent forward leaning his weight on the table. “None of us would have known. We know nothing about what you do on that god damned thing.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Derrick waved his hands in the air and then placed them against the sides of his head. “What am I asking? Yes, you are out of your mind.”
“You’re looking very nervous sitting there.” Rick brought his weapon out from its holster and pointed it at Derrick.
“I don’t believe this! You’re holding a gun at me? Again?”
Again? Clara wondered when the last time had been. Rick obviously hadn’t shot the guy, or they wouldn’t be working together now. Was he mad enough, or suspicious enough, to shoot Derrick now? Clara couldn’t imagine Derrick screwing them that way. He was the one responsible for getting the crew back together.
“If you have any answers at all, I want them.” Rick held the gun steady, aimed right at Derrick’s forehead.
“Jennie, would you please talk to this…”
Derrick stopped mid-sentence when Jen turned her back to him. Damn. She believed he’d fucked them too! Either that or she just didn’t care if he got shot.
Derrick watched Jen march out of the kitchen, banging elbows with Clara, who couldn’t duck out of the way quickly enough. What would Rick do now? Even novice Clara felt the power shift in the room. Surely, Rick wouldn’t let it continue. His nostrils flared, his brows dipped into a V between his eyes.
“Well fine!” Derrick rocketed out of the chair, slamming the chair off the windowsill beneath the picture window. “You want answers, Rick? You think I’m the problem? That I’m the reason you almost got caught again tonight?” He took a breath. “Well, I’m not the problem, buddy. It’s you!”
Uh-oh. This wouldn’t end well. Clara nearly turned and followed in Jen’s footsteps. She moved around upstairs, it sounded like she was slamming doors.
Rick’s eyes widened, first with anger, then bewilderment. He opened his mouth, but Derrick raised his voice. “You jump into situations without a bit of goddamned thought, planning, or care whatsoever. I mean, come on, you were back for twenty-four hours and immediately target the general’s home? And you wonder how they knew? Did anyone really need to tell them?”
Rick’s expression changed, from pissed off parent to scolded child.
“It was stupid, Rick, and you were stupid to go out in the field so fast, after such an obvious target. Worse yet, you dragged us with you.” Derrick’s voice rose, losing its anger and gaining confidence and assurance. “It was the same non-thinking stupidity you showed all those years ago on that bridge, Rick. All the clues were there. Hell, I warned you! I said you were getting overconfident and sloppy, but did you listen? Of course not, you were too concerned about your fucking rep and the goddamned hiring price!”
Rick lowered the gun, laying it on the table.
“There was a huge target on your back. You knew it and you decided to finish the mission anyway. We almost all got caught that night.”
“Yeah, and you all escaped because I…”
“Yeah, you sacrificed yourself so we could all escape a situation you put us in! You’re lucky they didn’t kill you, Rick, but you lost…well, everything. You lost everything and they made sure you wouldn’t even know it! You shouldn’t have even been there, Rick. We shouldn’t have been there. We could have let that one go, but you wouldn’t hear of it, now would you?”
Derrick wagged his right hand, first at the doorway where Jen had disappeared, and then at his own chest. “It’s because of us you are you again. Actually, it’s mostly because of me. I found you. And you have to be all stupid and reckless again. And for what? So you could…”
“Derrick!” Rick interrupted. “I know they screwed up my head, turned me into a pussy, but do you want to know the one good thing about that whole fucking awful experience?”
Jen appeared at Clara’s elbow. Clara looked up at her with a relieved smile. It seemed as though the emergency was over.
At Rick’s words, Derrick’s look of self-confidence changed to one of confusion. He responded with a shrug. Rick looked first at Jen, then Clara. Seemingly satisfied that they too, hadn’t ganged up on him, he continued his defense to Derrick, “At least in all that time, I didn’t have to deal with your constant insistence…on calling me stupid!”
“Rick, for god sakes, what are you talking…”
Before he could finish, Rick snatched up the pistol, pointed it, and squeezed the trigger. A loud bang filled the room. The bullet shot out—to Clara it seemed like slow motion—with a little burst of smoke, it whizzed on a straight path and slammed into Derrick’s chest. The momentum shoved him backward into the windowsill.
“I…” Rick stepped forward. “…am not…” Rick fired another shot into Derrick’s chest. “…Stupid!”
He squeezed the trigger a third time.
Derrick’s body crashed through the picture window and disappeared. Shards of window sprinkled down like fine rain. Derrick hit the ground with such force that the sound of impact carried all the way to the kitchen.
The room fell eerily silent.
Rick set the gun back on the table. He walked to the window, glass crunching like popcorn under his boots. He leaned out and looked down. Only a lump of blue was visible in the dawn light. Derrick sprawled, his legs spread, one arm folded underneath him. No movement. Rick’s stomach gurgled. “I-I did not mean to d-do that. I just…I lost it.”
His lower lip trembled, a tear dripped from his right eye. He didn’t stop its downward descent along his cheek. He rubbed the scar on his forehead.
Rick faced Jen and Clara who hadn’t moved from the doorway. Four eyes focused on him. Clara seemed nervous but wore a curious smile. Jen’s brows raised, but that was the only sign of emotion she showed.
“I didn’t mean to do that!” Rage clutched his stomach. Bile bubbled into his throat. Within seconds, the rage emoted to sorrow. And then confusion. What had he done? Oh God, what had he done?
He made a fist and held it in front of his face, pressing his fingers tight. Tighter, digging his fingernails into his palm. Tighter, feeling the knuckles protest. Tighter, until his entire arm began to shake. He turned back to the window, rubbing the lump on his forehead with his thumb.
“I don’t feel…I don’t feel right. I-I think I want to be alone right now.”
“That is a good idea,” Jen responded, authority returning to her voice. She placed her arm over Clara’s shoulders. “I promised you a new wardrobe. I think now would be a good time to get it. Let’s go shopping.”
“Now?” Clara asked. “The stores are closed, no?”
“That’s the best time to shop.” Jen placed her hands on Clara’s shoulders, turned her around, and nudged her toward the door. “No crowds. Deal with this, Rick. We’ll be back later. Then we’ll figure out where we go from here.”
“Straker…” Rick said.
“He’ll have to wait.”
“I can’t leave it all…like this…unresolved.” Rick still peered out the window.
Jen went back to him and kissed him on the dimple in his chin. “We have no choice, Hon. Soon. We will have to disappear, at least for a while.”
Rick opened his mouth but ended up saying nothing.
“We’ll figure it out, Rick.”
Jen returned to Clara. “Come on, it’s time to go.”
Clara pulled the door open. “We’re really going to break into stores?”
“After tonight, Sweetie, you will never again need to knock on a door in order to enter a room.”
The door slammed shut but Rick barely noticed. He stared at Derrick’s laptop. He was sure the thing stared back at him. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he shouted at the computer.
He covered his face with his hands. “What the hell is happening to me?”
Rick dropped into Derrick’s chair, sobbing.
****
The room was shaking. Why was the room shaking? Maybe it was an earthquake. Usually, that was accompanied by crashing sounds, breaking glass. But there was nothing…nothing except, what was that? It sounded like crickets. Derrick opened his eyes—and saw…trees and sky. Dark, almost-black trees. Pink, yellow, and orange sky. What the fuck was going on? Reality returned with a vengeance. The fucker had actually shot him this time. Above was the gaping hole of the picture window he’d flown through. Like a bird. Shit, if he’d had wings…
How many feet had he fallen anyway? Thirteen feet per story, times two. Shit. He blinked, blinded by the redness of the sun squirting between some branches. How the hell long had he been here? Why hadn’t Jen come down to check on him? Called an ambulance?
God, somebody stop the ground from shaking.
How bad was he anyway? Start at the bottom. He wiggled his toes. No pain. He flexed both legs. No pain. He wiggled his fingers. No pain, but only his left fingers seemed to be working. He moved the left arm. Seemed okay. But he couldn’t move the right one, there seemed to be something pressing on it. Think brain, what’s going on? He’d taken a tumble out the window, how could something be—
Damned idiot. He was laying on it.
Derrick leaned a bit to one side. Pain shot up and into his head like there were rockets going off. The arm came free. He tried the fingers. Again the pain. Now, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Seemed to be everywhere. That’s when he realized the ground wasn’t moving; it was him, shivering.
Slowly, he brought his left hand up and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He unbuttoned the next button and then the one below that. With the three buttons undone, he stroked the stiff Kevlar vest with pride.
Paranoia did have its advan…
Suddenly, the sun went out; interrupted by the introduction of a large shadow. With great effort and pain, Derrick tipped his head back. Three men stood over him. He didn’t recognize the two on either end, but he did recognize the big one in the middle. He uttered one word. “Scarberry.”
Wow, things just weren’t going well at all.
Jake dropped to his knees beside Derrick and placed his hand over his mouth. A handgun glinted in the light. Jake stabbed the thing into Derrick’s forehead. “Don’t make a sound, don’t make any sudden movements.”
Like he could!
“Be cooperative and I won’t stain the backyard with your brain fluids. Understood?”
Derrick made a single up and down movement with his head.
“Good. Now answer my question, and don’t you dare lie to me. Where is Rick Rasner?”
Derrick looked to the last place he’d seen the man in question—the second floor picture window. Jake took Derrick’s cue and looked up also.
“Thank you,” Jake said, then he slammed his fist into Derrick’s jaw.
That was the last thing Derrick saw.
****
Guilt.
It was a feeling Rick found very distasteful and unfamiliar. His head hurt and he couldn’t get himself to stop thinking about what he had done. Acid still churned in his gut sending spurts of it into his throat. The house was quiet; it was the first time his actions caused Jen to desert him.
What was worse, he couldn’t figure out why he experienced such an emotional response. He had never felt guilty before, even after killing people he considered good friends. Granted, Derrick was less like a friend and more like a brother, but it shouldn’t have made a difference one way or the other. Rick had even killed Colonel Duke whom he looked up to like a father—an abusive asshole of a father, but someone he looked up to nonetheless. He killed the Colonel, his father figure, in cold blood, and hadn’t felt so much as an ounce of guilt.
Even the reasons he gave Jen for bringing Clara along from the Brookhill residence were only part of the truth. Sure, he did see the potential in the young girl, an uncanny intelligence behind her rage. He saw her as someone he wanted to mentor, but those were all minor reasons. In truth, he felt sorry for her. If he didn’t liberate her, she would continue to rot in institutions for the rest of her life. Her potential would be wasted, she would know only misery. He couldn’t let that happen.
The old Rick Rasner would never have cared about this kid one way or another. If anything, he’d have ended her misery with a bullet to the head and then left just as satisfied he had done the right thing.
Rick touched his head. Sweat dribbled down his brow. His fingers rubbed across the scar on his temple. Derrick said the chip in his head shorted out, but what if he was wrong? What if the chip had caused him to sit at the kitchen table for hours while staring at the gun in his hands? What if the chip made him shoot Derrick? No, that was him, but the sorrow afterward, a sign the chip was still screwing up his brain?
Or had the past seven years softened him, made him less callous?
“What the hell is happening?” No one there to hear.
With a roar of frustration, Rick stood up and heaved the pistol against the kitchen cabinet. The gun bounced off and thumped to the floor. Hauling in a deep breath, he managed to calm himself.
Energy spent, he slumped back into the chair, Derrick’s favorite chair. The gun lay on the floor four feet away, an innocent pawn in the events of this early morning. He dug his heels into the tile and pulled the chair toward his weapon. He reached down and grabbed it. He’d told Clara never to part with her weapon, that it was tantamount to power and success.
That’s when he spotted the red dot on the laptop’s monitor. What the hell…
Rick dove to the floor just as the screen shattered and the laptop blasted across the table. It tumbled off the edge and thumped on the floor. Rick thought how angry Derrick would be. He scurried on hands and knees toward the door, but in the hallway, he realized he’d committed a chief transgression—he’d separated himself from his gun.
He wanted it.
He needed it.
Rick wheeled back to the room and crawled to his gun, keeping low, staying close to the cabinets. A shower of bullets began again. One hit the cabinet door just inches from his head. The door exploded off its hinges and dropped in front of him. Rick backed away, slithering on his elbows, putting distance between himself and his firearm, his power.
The gun was only a few feet away, but it might as well have been miles away. In the hallway, he was an open target for anyone who came through the door. “Shit!”
The staircase leading to the basement! Derrick stored weapons there. Hopefully, he kept them ready for use. Knowing Derrick…
****
“Shit!” Jake shouted from the branch outside the kitchen window. He’d spent considerable time lining up the shot, more time than he remembered needing for such a shot years ago. The delay had cost him and now his target had fled—fled, but was still inside the house. He wouldn’t get away.
Jake jumped down, landing on the balls of his feet. Even though he’d had a clear shot at Rick Rasner’s back, he’d somehow known this wouldn’t end quickly or easily. He was having that kind of night.
Gun drawn, he eyed the solid wood door in front of him. Solid wood. Shit. He ducked his head and charged forward, firing a swift kick to the area just below the knob. The panel cracked and, for a moment, he thought nothing would happen. All at once, the door swung open.
Just like a haunted house, it squeak
ed and bared the insides of the building. Jake stepped through the doorway, eyes scanning in all directions. He entered a dark and dank basement, a lot larger than he’d expected.
The only light came from the open door behind him, casting everything in silhouette. It was enough light, however, for him to see Rick Rasner to his left. The man stood against the wall, a few steps from a set of stairs.
Rick’s eyes narrowed in rage. He reached for the door near him.
Jake spun the gun toward that same door and fired. Rick leaped back. Before Jake could get off another shot, Rick dove between two large bookcases in the middle of the room.
Damn him.
Jake took a few mincing steps forward, moving the gun in a wide arc, shining the red beam around the room. “You have to come out sometime,” he said, watching for movement.
No response. He brought the gun up and supported it with his left hand. “Come at me and it’s a bullet in your head. Go near that door. Bullet! Stick your nose out from your hiding place, I’m shooting it off.”
“That’s some big talk, Scarberry. But you seem to be all alone down here. No back-up for you this time?”
Jake took another step forward. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the voice came from. “You’re alone too, Rasner. I’m guessing you don’t have a weapon on you, either. If you did, you’d have come at me with it already.”
Jake continued to point the red beam on either side of the large bookshelves. His heart beat with an excitement and anticipation he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He hated working for Straker, but this was worth it. His target was trapped like a rat. The same target who made Jake’s life miserable. The same target who turned the tables and killed Jake’s brother. The same target he’d thought dead all this time. Soon, he would be.
This time, Jake would make sure.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jen eased the Lincoln onto Milton Drive and then up the driveway. She stopped in front of the garage at Derrick’s neighbor’s house. She sat there, examining their current headquarters through a break in the shrubbery, wondering if Rick was over his sudden attack of depression. She had spent much of the last two hours convincing herself that taking on assumed identities and staying in hiding for a while would be the best course of action. She was now ready to convince him.
The Rasner Effect Page 30
