For Everything a Reason

by Paul Cave

  Joseph acknowledged then that these things – objects that had no real value – were the simple components of his life: the things that bound his family as one. Their car, unspectacular in its appearance, had taken them to many places of enjoyment: the zoo, picnics in summer, ball games and a thousand other places that made up the jigsaw of their life – their time spent together.

  Then, in the next second, something dark uncoiled from Joseph’s gut. Rage thrashed its way free. Joseph swelled with hatred and anger: how dare someone – something, anything, threaten his family! He pushed against the shutter with a force unmatched.

  “MAN OF STEEL!” he roared.

  A single high-pitched squeal sounded, and then the shutter gave way, clamouring noisily against the roof of the garage.

  In the next second Joseph was up and running. He barrelled into the garage and barged his way through the connecting doorway. His living room came into view. Everything looked as it should have – no twisting of realities in this alternative universe. Joseph raced across the room to reach the base of the stairs. Darkness filled the landing above.

  “Joseph..!” Marianna screamed.

  He hit the stairs three at a time, reaching the landing in just four long strides. Instinct guided him directly to their bedroom. There, he found the door shut tight. He wasted no time trying to open it conventionally. Instead, he reared back before kicking it open with his boot. The door flew off its hinges and disappeared into darkness. Joseph stepped inside.

  Marianna was laid out on the bed. Something terrifying hung above her. A dark monstrosity, with a huge body and long tendrils for arms, hooked barbs at their ends, was suspended above her. Joseph watched as she tried to slip from the bed. With the snap of a bullwhip, one of the arms lashed out. She twisted away and the hook missed her by mere inches.

  “Marianna!” Joseph cried out.

  She turned towards him, her eyes full of fear. The ‘thing’ scuttled around, using its hooked arms to manoeuvre. The hideous face of Yurius fixed on Joseph, peering down on him with blood-red eyes. The body split at the centre, as a gaping mouth opened to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.

  Joseph took a faltering step back. The ‘thing’ grinned, and the gesture was both terrifying and ghastly.

  “Big Bear…” the ‘thing’ said, in a rasping wet hiss.

  Joseph regained his composure. “Get away from her, you son-of-a-bitch!”

  Yurius’s mouth opened even wider and a white, ulcerated tongue rolled out. The tip of the organ flicked towards him. Sickened, Joseph ducked out of the way. He maintained his momentum and reached the centre of the room.

  “Joseph,” Marianna said.

  “I’m here,” he announced, climbing up beside her.

  The thing had turned back towards them. Now so close, Joseph could smell the putrid stench of death coming from the thing’s open maw. The cavity opened wider, and Joseph caught a glimpse of something rotten within. Henry Jones, his face bloated and white, hung at the back of the thing’s throat.

  The old man’s eyes were open, white like dead fish eyes, and they were staring towards him. Joseph squeezed his eyelids shut.

  “Hold on,” Joseph ordered. He felt Marianna’s arms cut into him. Joseph waited for an opening. The hooks swept from one side of the room to the other. Occasionally, they caught against the walls or ceiling, and as they did, the very fabric of existence ripped open to reveal inky-black darkness beyond.

  Joseph saw his chance.

  The flailing tentacles split to find purchase in the ceiling. Barbs dug deep, and a twisting of worms fell from the resultant tears.

  With Marianna clinging to his back, Joseph leapt to his feet. He catapulted over the writhing worms, his boots squelching down on a few, and dashed towards the open doorway.

  A barb lashed out to catch Joseph’s shoulder. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. His next step took him outside. Now on the landing, he moved towards the stairs. But the hook held him back. He twisted his head and found the barb buried deep into the flesh of his right shoulder. He couldn’t feel any pain, and so dragged both him and Marianna away from the bedroom. His skin split to reveal an open wound. He yanked harder, and the hook pulled clear in a tearing of flesh.

  Free now, he bounded towards the stairs. From behind came a wail of anger and resentment. Joseph ducked his head down in an attempt to shield his ears from the terrible moaning. He took the stairs blindly, leaping down them in just three strides, and in the next second he arrived back in the living room.

  He froze.

  Jake was over by the door that connected the main house to the garage. Behind him, with a lethal blade in hand, stood the young police officer, Gore. A river of blood ran freely from the wound in Gore’s neck. Blood gushed out over his uniform to gather in a thick pool around his boots. One of Gore’s hands had Jake by a handful of hair, while the other held the serrated blade at the young boy’s throat.

  Gore’s eyes were like Henry Jones’ covered by milky films. They focused on Joseph. “Big Bear…” Gore rasped, in a parody of the Russian killer. Joseph just stood there, immobilised by fear. The blade at Jake’s throat glinted with intent. Suddenly, from above them, came a mighty crash of thunder. The plaster split and a tentacle burst from a hole. Gore’s mouth opened in a silent scream.

  The barbed tentacle wrapped itself around the officer’s neck, squeezing as tightly as an Anaconda. Gore’s milky-white eyes bulged outwards. The blade slipped from his fingers and then he was pulled from his feet and swept up towards the open ceiling. Joseph reached out to snag Jake before he was taken along with the officer. The boy lost a handful of his scalp, Gore’s bleached fingers holding onto a dark tuft of hair. Not waiting to see what terrible fate befell Gore, Joseph tucked his son under one arm and barged into the garage. With Marianna on his back and Jake under his arm, Joseph hit the shutter head-on, his shoulder ramming it with a deafening clatter.

  And, in the next second, he was back in the light.

  ***

  Carter hammered against Joseph’s chest again, his fist now numb from his repeated attempts. Below his fist, Joseph lay grey and motionless. Carter leaned over to breathe into Joseph’s mouth, filling his lungs, forcing his chest to rise.

  “C’mon – goddamn you!” he cursed.

  Joseph’s shirt had been ripped away to expose his chest. Three angry bruises had turned his dark skin to deepest black. Two were spreading out around his abdomen, growing with every minute; the third, directly over his heart, black and circular, like an extra nipple. Tossed to one side lay the bullet-proof vest that he’d been wearing – something Detective Tyler had insisted he use.

  The third bullet – the one that Yurius had fired whilst standing over Joseph – had stopped his heart dead. Carter understood this without question. He could find no pulse. No wisp of breath. He hammered Joseph’s chest again in an attempt to restart his heart. Joseph lay there, limp and lifeless.

  “C’mon Joseph – work with me,” Carter said.

  The detective returned to Joseph’s mouth. He filled his lungs again, and then hit him with his fist directly over the breastbone.

  A gasp came from Joseph. Then a clicking noise sounded from somewhere at the back of his throat. His eyes opened and he looked around with terror before the face above came into focus.

  “Jake?” he croaked. “Did I get him out?”

  Carter looked puzzled for a second. Of course, he thought then. Out of the car – the trunk – that’s what he meant.

  “Yes, Joseph, you got him out.”

  Joseph’s eyes swam under a film of tears. “Is he alive?”

  Carter took Joseph’s hand and said, “Yes, Joseph, he’s alive…”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Joseph was back in the hospital room. This time, though, he was here as a concerned visitor – not the patient. Jake occupied the bed, his small face poking out from the above the sheet. Sitting opposite him was Marianna. She looked away from Jake and fixed Joseph with her de
ep brown eyes.

  “I love you,” she said, softly. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks.

  “Hey,” Joseph soothed. He reached over Jake to take her hand. “We’re all safe now. Jake’s fine, and I’m gonna be okay.”

  She nodded. Earlier, one of the other detectives had brought her here, and they’d arrived outside the main foyer in time to meet the ambulance. Both Joseph and Carter had stepped out; concern etched into their features and they had helped lower the gantry before rushing Jake inside.

  After a couple of basic tests Doctor Greenwood had explained that a sedative had been used on Jake, a simple anaesthetic that would soon work itself out of the boy’s bloodstream. Joseph and Marianna had collapsed into each other’s arms, weeping with relief.

  Now, they were simply waiting it out.

  The door to the room opened slightly and Detective Carter popped his head inside.

  “Joseph, can I have a word?” he asked quietly.

  Marianna looked back concerned.

  Carter’s hand rose. “Nothing to worry about,” he added quickly.

  Joseph stood. He bent over Jake to kiss his forehead. Then he allowed his fingers to brush gently over Marianna’s cheek. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Marianna smiled. “Don’t be long.”

  “I won’t.” He turned away from them and slipped outside.

  In the hallway, Carter’s face went from concern to elation instantly. His eyes were on fire, burning with excitement. “Got a copy!” he declared, holding up the New York Times.

  “Front cover!” Joseph said.

  Carter spun full circle looking for a suitable place to rest the paper, finally settling on the chair that the uniformed officer had used, and spread it out over his lap. In the right-hand corner of the first page, an article started with the headline: Russian Mafia Supergrass Found Slaughtered!

  Carter took a moment to read the paragraph of text. The article continued on page 5, but the detective simply folded the paper in half before placing it at his feet.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said, shaking his head. “This is impossible.”

  “It’s there in black and white,” Joseph replied.

  “I know – but … still.”

  They stared at each other, both hoping the other could offer an explanation – anything that would shine some light on the baffling development that had transpired. The real Edward Jones had been murdered the day earlier, leaving both Joseph and Carter unable to guess who the guy posing as Jones really was.

  Carter looked towards both ends of the corridor. A pair of armed cops could be seen at each.

  He said, “I don’t know what to believe. First Henry Jones, then you and Jake, plus Presley Perkins, and now the FBI..?”

  “FBI?”

  Carter looked concerned. “They had us all duped – that’s for sure. Thing is, they all checked out. Captain Mendoza ran their IDs personally. All involved were either registered FBI or FSB agents – and all actively working in the field.”

  “Can’t the real Bureau arrest them?” Joseph asked.

  Carter smiled ruefully. “They’re all dead.”

  “What?” Joseph gawped.

  “They were using IDs taken from dead agents – recently dead agents. A simple click of a button and it would be easy to reactivate an agent, giving credibility to those masquerading as one.”

  “Who would have access to such a thing?”

  “Someone seriously connected,” Carter responded.

  Joseph shook his head. “What kind of motives must someone have to risk taking such a chance?”

  “Strong, powerful ones,” Carter replied.

  Joseph grunted a short concurrence. “What about the letter?”

  The detective shrugged. “I guess that’s for Viktor to worry about. Not us.”

  “Yeah – I guess you’re right.” Joseph felt uneasy still, unsure if it was right to feel safe now, or remain on guard. He huffed slightly, almost in defeat, deciding that he would have to rely on those around him to protect both him and his family. “Tyler? How’s she doing?” he asked finally.

  “She’s fine. Took one in the leg – it’s just a scratch really. Doc says she’ll be up and about in no time at all.”

  “And you?” Joseph asked.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah – how are you holding up?”

  Carter shuffled awkwardly for a second, looking down at his feet, uncomfortable at being on the end of Joseph’s curiosity.

  “I’m fine,” he mumbled finally.

  “C’mon Detective, level with me.”

  The detective offered him a weary sigh. “Guess justice was served – one way or another.”

  “So what are you gonna do now?” Joseph asked, understanding that Carter’s life had been on hold for the last three months.

  “Get busy living, I guess,” Carter said. “Perkins got his just deserts. Maybe now I can start grieving Billy’s loss. Take some time off, even.”

  Joseph reached out to lay his hand on Carter’s shoulder. “My door is always open. You want to talk some – you come over anytime. I got plenty of time on my hands, now that I’m retired. Could use the company, too.”

  Carter nodded with gratitude. “Thanks. I will.”

  “Hey,” Joseph began, “we ain’t out of the water just yet.”

  “Viktor and Yurius?”

  “Yeah.”

  The detective’s face clouded over. “Yeah – we still need to tread with caution. At least until the real FEDs have brought them in.”

  “You think they got Edward Jones’ letter?” Joseph asked.

  “Edward Jones?”

  “Whoever he may have been?” Joseph said.

  “Possibly…” Carter replied.

  “You think they’ll like what they find inside?”

  “Possibly not.” Carter concluded.

  They stood silent for a moment, wondering what ramifications the mysterious letter may have on the Russian criminal kingpin and his hitman brother. Finally, Joseph took the detective’s hand. He shook it gently. “Thank you, Thomas. For everything.”

  Carter was momentarily lost for words. Then, with a slight nod, he said, “For everything a reason – I guess.”

  Joseph smiled slightly. He couldn’t argue that nothing good had come from this, even with the terrible loss of his old friend and coach, Profit. Two killers had been taken off the streets today, with two more to follow shortly, in Viktor and Yurius – if they had not already met their fates. And now, although Carter had many months of sadness still ahead of him, he could finally begin the grieving process, and then, just maybe, rejoin the rest of the living.

  “For everything a reason,” Joseph repeated, finally understanding.

  The detective nodded, and then slipped past Joseph, ready to continue with his investigation, eager to bring an end to this whole affair.

  Joseph watched him go. As the detective rounded the corner, the starched lab coat of Doctor Greenwood replaced him. The physician looked excited and was taking long strides to reach room 2b. He was carrying a thin folder underneath his arm. He looked up to see Joseph waiting for him.

  Greenwood broke into a pleased smile. “Mr. Ruebins, I have great news!” He held up the folder and said, “Got your results back from the MRI scan…”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Viktor checked the time again. He fidgeted awkwardly, now becoming worried about the morning’s events. Yurius’s call had been abruptly cut off, and Pyotr Krylov had not called to tell him what had happened. The bank of TV screens at his side flashed hypnotically, the sound down to its lowest, and mute faces talked – conspired – together in silent whispers. Even Nikolay could not be found at his normal place of work. Viktor had the whole place to himself. And he didn’t like it one bit.

  A loud hammering from the rear of the building jolted him almost out of his skin. He jumped to his feet, turning towards the noise, and then back to the corridor that led to the main doorway.

 
; “Nikolay..!” he called, checking to see if the old doorman was around.

  No reply came.

  The thump, thump for attention came again.

  Viktor pulled the pistol from his waistband. The weapon was identical to Dirty Harry’s – a gleaming .44 Magnum – and tipped downwards slightly, due to Viktor’s inability to hold it correctly.

  “Nikolay…” he called again, but in a forced whisper this time. Now, he was fearful of revealing his presence.

  The old Russian was nowhere to be seen. Viktor checked the time. 9:45AM. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries, and it was too early for his working girls to arrive. The thumping continued, and Viktor’s heart beat harder with every rap.

  He moved towards the rear, his Magnum weighing heavily in his hand. He stopped at the doorway. A thin shaft of light, like a laser beam, shone from the eyehole. Viktor moved forward to look outside. He stopped. What if someone was standing outside just waiting for the eyehole to blink out? Ready to fire into the door at point-blank range. He hesitated then.

  “Viktor!” someone called.

  Yurius, the Russian boss realised.

  “Let me in,” Yurius demanded.

  Viktor swapped the Magnum to his other hand, then reached out to slide the heavy-duty deadbolt free. He pulled the door open to find his brother standing before him. Yurius looked uncharacteristically shaken.

  “What?” Viktor asked.

  Yurius pushed his way inside. He headed quickly into the main room. Viktor slammed the door shut, fixed the bolt back in place, and then followed his brother.

  Yurius was pacing up and down. He turned, opened his mouth to speak, shook his head, and then sat heavily on the sofa.

  Viktor walked around to stand before his brother. “What happened? I haven’t heard from Krylov, yet. Where is he?”