Evil Like Me

by Steve Bradshaw

  Why did he do that? Petty watched in terror. There was no way out. But the gun on the gravel started to spin. My God! And like a fat rat running to a woodpile, it scooted across the road into the ditch. Bender’s face changed. His lips began to stretch to his ears, and his eye pushed out of the socket. He grabbed his throat gasping for air, and then fell face down on the ground where he shook and kicked and then was still.

  “Why’d he throw his gun in the ditch?” one said. “What’s wrong with em?” the other said. In the still night came a light breeze. It cut through the dark woods and delivered the pungent smell of farm animals.

  Confused but undeterred, the sheriff aimed his gun at Dr. Petty. “I don’t know what just happened, but the guy said things could get weird. We got nothin’ to lose lady. I’m gonna give you one chance to produce Keller. We’re gettin’ paid a lot of money to deliver that boy. Now I got two dead people to get rid of. Guess three’s just as easy.”

  The bull elk jumped the drainage ditch and walked between the sheriff and Dr. Petty. It stopped in the headlights and turned its head to Wilcox’s cruiser. The four guns backed a few feet, and for the first time saw the herd surrounding them.

  “Think they’re attracted to the light,” one said.

  “Don’t get them riled. Don’t need a stampede.”

  “They don’t see a lot of bright lights in the middle of the woods.”

  The sheriff said, “I hunt elk around here. I never saw one that big.”

  “What killed Bender?”

  “Gotta be that Keller psychic boy,” The sheriff said. He cocked his gun at Petty.”

  “He’s in the car,” Petty said.

  They squinted past the headlights. “Nope. He’s standin’ next to it. Come here Keller.”

  She turned. Keller had his hands in his pockets and hood over his head. His eyes were locked on the four with guns. When she turned back, it was different. The four were frozen like she and Wilcox back on Dewar, and their guns were spinning on the gravel at their feet. She watched as each slid across the road and into the ditch like Bender’s.

  “Hunter, are you … ?” But then she remembered Bender’s face. She watched him die like Dr. Proust. She saw the crippling terror, the facial deformation, the atrial fibrillation, and the cardiac arrest. Hunter Keller is a killer.

  “Do not kill these people, Hunter.”

  “They will kill you and Mr. Wilcox,” he said. “They do bad things. More are hurt.”

  “I know you see the future. But it is not your responsibility to fix the world.”

  Wilcox moaned. Petty turned and ran to him.

  “I see their victims. They must be stopped.”

  “I know you do, Hunter. But the only way you can live in peace is to live like the rest of us. We cope with tragedies and wrongs. We trust law enforcement and the courtrooms and juries of our peers. If you bypass the legal process, you become one of them.”

  “But I see those hurt before they are stopped,” Keller said. “If I can save innocent lives before societal justice arrives, I must. These four men do not deserve to live.”

  Propped in her arms Wilcox opened his eyes and blinked his way back into the world. The muscular legs of the giant bull elk were a few feet away. Bender was face down on the gravel road. Through the legs of the elk Wilcox saw the four men in a frozen stance.

  “Nobody’s gonna believe this shit,” he said. “Is Keller doin’ this?”

  Checking his wound she whispered, “He stopped Bender, Tony. He controls those men like Cankor on Dewar. They can’t move. I told him not to kill them. He’s not listening.”

  Wilcox struggled to get his head around things as he regained consciousness. Are those guys floating a little off the ground or is this another illusion—hypnotism or some trick. This stuff is impossible: people frozen or floating, guns sliding, and wild animals standin’ around.

  Wilcox tried to stand, but Petty held him down. “You’re lucky,” she said.

  “Then why does my head and ass hurt?” he grumbled. “And I feel like puking.”

  “Bender shot you, Tony. The bullet clipped your rectus femoris and buried in the vastus lateralis, no orthopedic or vascular damage—minimal bleeding.”

  “You mean I took a bullet in my butt?”

  “Yes. And when you fell, your head hit hard enough to knock you out. Assuming we survive the night, we can get the bullet out anytime. Best to just leave it alone for now. I don’t want to encourage bleeding.”

  “Great doc. Now help me up. I can’t let Keller kill these assholes.”

  Leaning against the front fender, Wilcox found Keller by the passenger door. The bull elk backed out of the light opening a clear path for Keller to do what he does.

  “Keller, listen to me. I don’t like these slime balls any more than you, but even I am not authorized to shoot the bastards. Do not kill these people, Keller. I was starting to think you were nothing like these people. You’re not a killer. Show me I’m right about that.”

  “I killed the Russian,” Keller said. “He held the gun to your head. He was pulling the trigger. I had to stop him. These four are very bad men, too. They will kill seven people before they die.”

  “You cannot kill people based on the future. Bender shot a police officer and had a gun to my head—that is justifiable homicide. But we cannot justify the execution of four people under our control. We have laws. These bastards are innocent until proven guilty in a courtroom. You cannot be their judge, jury, and executioner—not in America.”

  Wilcox pulled out his gun and aimed at Keller. “I have one bullet, son. I don’t like everything about our legal process, but it works most of the time. Don’t make me shoot you.”

  “Tony, don’t,” Petty said. “Just talk to him.”

  Another breeze crossed the road lifting debris. When it left, dead leaves settled and one of the four ran across the road, jumped the ditch, and crashed into a tree trunk. They watched him slide to the ground out cold. Wilcox lowered his gun. “Bet that hurt like hell.”

  Unsure of what she witnessed, Petty watched in silence.

  One by one, they ran across the road, jumped the ditch, and slammed into the tree. Thirty seconds later there was a pile of four.

  “Are they breathing?” Wilcox asked as he turned the gun back on Keller.

  “They will wake in an hour,” Keller said. “It will take two days to walk out of Bald Knob. They will be picked up on charges—they killed two White County Sheriff Deputies. The ballistics and DNA from the scene will convict them. The other two will be charged for petty crimes. They will kill again.”

  “Sometimes life is not fair.”

  “I see all of it,” Keller said.

  “You remember what you said to me? You said I can’t stop all the bad people in the world. I live with that, Keller. But I do what I can. I believe in the end it matters.”

  Keller came around to the front of the cruiser. The bull elk stood like spectators. “I don’t know what the hell happened out here, but we need to leave. We need to lock the guns in the trunk of the sheriff’s car. We take the cell phones and break the radios. Keller, move the cars in the ditches. I want keys and distributor caps.”

  As Petty dressed Wilcox’s wound, they watched him move the cars into the ditches. The herd of elk melted into the woods.

  “I don’t get the animals,” Wilcox said.

  “They communicate with him,” Petty said. She patted the bandage. “Bleeding stopped.” She flashed lights and Keller started to return to the car.

  “Is it me, or did it look like those guys were a few inches off the ground when they moved across the road and hit the tree?”

  “I didn’t see that,” Petty said.

  “I think he caused the accident in Blytheville—the whitetail migration. They said they never saw anything like it before.”

  “You don’t know,” Petty said. “There could be a logical explanation.”

  “He was in the truck before it happened. I talk
ed to the guy while he was driving. He said Keller was there. Got out after he said the trucker was gonna die that night.”

  Keller got in the car and they stopped talking. They went down the gravel road twenty miles in silence. Wilcox sat there with his aching leg and head, and rehashing the bizarre events of the last twelve hours. He worked hundreds of homicides, dealt with all kinds of killers. Looking back at Keller sleeping, he still didn’t know if Keller was a victim or primary suspect.

  Are you killing bad people, Keller? Is that what this is about? Wilcox rubbed his head, but nothing helped. I get it—you know two of the four bastards back there are gonna kill again. You want to stop ’em before they do. You want to help the victims that get lost in the legal cracks. I just can’t let you do it.

  They pulled up to the edge of the paved highway. “Now what,” Petty asked.

  “Take a right,” Wilcox said.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “Lookin’ for Highway 64. We’ll take it to U.S. 49 and go north. Let’s hope they won’t be lookin’ in Blytheville. We’ll get some rest and leave in the morning for Shelby County. I got a place where we can hide and figure out what the hell to do next.”

  Petty pulled onto the highway and accelerated. “Maybe we’ll survive this yet.”

  When they dropped over the first hill, lights popped on and left a second gravel road.

  Thirty-Five

  “The mole has very small eyes and it always lives under ground.”

  Leonardo DaVinci

  *

  “Are they dead?” he whispered into the secured phone …

  The private plane was 5,000 feet over Kentucky. It would land in Memphis in the hour. High-tech equipment on the government jet scrambled all communications. They could talk freely, when the cabin was secured. Baldwin waited for the attendant to latch the door.

  His cover story was a visit to the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. He would be receiving an award—the one held in abeyance a year to fit the U.S. Attorney General’s busy schedule. Although Alfred Baldwin liked all forms of personal adulation, this time he did not intend on spending more than an hour at 450 Mulberry. The award meant nothing to him. As a matter of fact, his true Memphis agenda was far more in line with his veiled, liberal philosophies. Few knew Baldwin opposed the fundamentals of liberty and justice for all. He preferred control of the masses. The hidden purposes of his visit to Memphis were known by even fewer.

  “Not dead yet,” Swenson said. “Dr. Petty, Detective Wilcox, and Hunter Keller are alive and well, somewhere between Bald Knob, Arkansas and Memphis, Tennessee. At the moment we do not know their exact location. We will before the night is out.” He spoke without confidence.

  Baldwin always pushed. He believed without his personal involvement nothing happened right. “Day after day I receive nothing but disturbing information from you, John. We missed Hunter Keller in Memphis four times. God knows we got absolutely nowhere in Sikeston, Broken Bow, or Dewar. What a damn big mess.”

  “He’s getting stronger. We will find him. We must.”

  Baldwin poured bourbon on the rocks looking at his cell phone. I’ve never liked you. You’re a skinny, little man with pseudo-psychic skills that make you seem smarter than you are. You saw the answers to your tests all through medical school. You did not understand a damn thing. Still don’t. Now I’ve got to deal with another wimpy associate who always falls short.

  “I don’t need to remind you, we’ve been looking for him for five years now.”

  “I know, Alfred,” Swenson replied with no emotion. “Where is this going?” With a half-smile he looked across the dark room. “What more would you like done, sir?”

  Baldwin downed his drink and tumbled the cube in his mouth. I’d like to arrange for your burial at sea, he thought as he rolled the diminished sliver of ice to a cheek. “I don’t want any more screw-ups, John. I want my trip to Memphis to be a productive one. I want Hunter Keller once and for all, no maybes or excuses.”

  “This is about Stringtown, isn’t it? It’s always about Stringtown.”

  “We could go there.”

  “You still blame me,” Swenson said.

  “Arnold and Alma Keller were the two most gifted remote viewers in the program. They suddenly decide to leave. They have a child we know nothing about for thirty years, John. How could you miss such vital information every step of the way?”

  “They set it up as an adoption. There was no easy way to uncover it.”

  “You should have dug deeper. How many people find babies in boxes in snowstorms?”

  “In the ‘70s adoptions were 175,000 a year,” Swenson recited. “We’ve been over this ground many times. Even today more than a million people live with their adoptive parents. These kinds of numbers are impossible to work through rapidly. Even with an army of investigators, we would miss it. The Kellers were smart. They knew how to hide it.”

  “After learning he existed, Alma and Arnold are executed and Hunter disappears. We lose the most powerful psychokinetic man on the planet. I hold you accountable. He was your job.”

  “You know the problems chasing a man with his abilities. Psychokinetics are only part of his skill sets. His innate, precognitive skills allow him to avoid undesired futures.”

  “And now we lose him and Wilcox and Petty in Arkansas,” Baldwin boiled. “Time’s running out. Our enemies are closing in like piranha after fresh meat.”

  Swenson leaned back in his leather chair holding his cell phone in his palm. He made eye contact with the man on the sofa across from him, as Baldwin whined and complained on speaker. The man on the sofa sucked his fat cigar. It lit his hard face, and then the long orange ash waned and smoldered in the cloud that filled the room.

  “I can say the Memphis program is back on track,” Swenson crowed.

  “What does that mean?” Baldwin asked.

  “We’ve confirmed the five homicides in the region are remote viewers or their descendants. We confirmed cause and manner of death. We got to Memphis in time, and have an opportunity to get Hunter Keller. He was at each homicide. There will be more in the Midsouth.”

  “You fail to factor-in Mr. Keller’s blocking skills,” Baldwin said.

  “We’ve developed another way to locate and penetrate. His blocks will not work much longer.”

  “How do you propose to do that?” Baldwin asked.

  “It is best you not know, Alfred.”

  “I’m stronger than you, Swenson.”

  “I know. You tell me that often,” Swenson said with a hint of disrespect. “I cannot share details because I know very little for the same reason. Different elements are held by different people. No one person has all. It is necessary to protect our advances.” Swenson winked at the menacing shadow with the cigar across the room.

  “We’ve had some successes in Memphis,” Swenson said. “We’ve confirmed the forensics and learned more about remote-homicide. Green and Blanchard have been eliminated—the clearance and removal of Russian moles is a major step forward. And Dr. Tanner, of course, is no longer a leak. I’m sure that brought you some enjoyment.”

  “I do not draw pleasure from shooting a man. It was a military operation—simple as that.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I stand corrected. Regardless, Memphis is pivotal.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Baldwin asked as his plane started its descent.

  “When you arrive, we will be presented with the opportunity. Unfortunately, Wilcox and Petty have seen too much. They know too much. They know psychotronics is a weapon of mass destruction garnering the undivided attention of the U.S. Government. And they know we will not allow anything or anyone to get in our way.

  “Very disturbing to say the least,” Baldwin said.

  “They will be in Memphis with Hunter Keller. We need to take care of everything tonight. Tanner was right.”

  “What makes you so certain they’ll be in Memphis?”

  Swenson got up and walke
d to the man with the cigar. He stood at the edge of the leather sofa looking down with a half-smile. “I just know.”

  “That’s not very reassuring,” Baldwin said lighting a cigarette.

  “Check into the Peabody as planned. I will contact you with updates. In twenty-four hours your headache will be gone, Alfred.”

  The cabin door opened. “I gotta go.” Baldwin pushed the phone into the arm of his seat and listened for the security beep to signal disconnection of the secured line. “What?”

  “We will be landing in ten minutes, sir.” The attendant backed his small head out the door. Baldwin heard it a hundred times before. His stent as attorney general was coming to an end, and his most important mission had to be successful. Baldwin moved his tongue over his teeth searching for residual bourbon and some peace. Memphis was the end of the road for him.

  Thirty-Six

  “How’d you get this number?” Wilcox said into the phone next to the bed in the cheap hotel. He held his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Petty, “We’re leaving!”

  “How we got the number is immaterial. The important thing is we’re talking now.”

  “Who are you?” Wilcox asked.

  “We’ve never met, officially.”

  “Who are you, asshole?” Wilcox barked a second time. “Your next words decide if we are done talking and I do a better job disappearing.”

  “Dr. Petty knows me. I worked with her recently. I had to depart unexpectedly. Something came up requiring my immediate attention.”

  “What do you want Swenson?”

  “Very good, detective.”

  “Ten seconds to be relevant.”

  “We need you and Dr. Petty in Memphis tomorrow. And please bring Hunter Keller.”

  “And why would I do what you want?”

  “Your friends mean something to you. If you fail to comply, we will terminate them.” Swenson smiled as the cigar ash got bright in the dark room.

  “I don’t have friends. Goodbye.”

  Swenson laughed. “I was told of your wit. Abby Patterson will be the first. Cam Baily will go next. They were both quite the challenge to acquire—feisty.”

  Wilcox squeezed the phone, his eyes burned. “I don’t believe you have them.”