“He wanted a comfortable getup for the stakeout.”
Eddie turned again. “He rattled off every Yankees statistic during the game like he was fucking Rain Man.”
“He likes the Yankees.”
Eddie shook his head. “He’s a nut. And I can’t believe the both of us are here waiting for Evan Hillier to leave at midnight, like he’s fucking Cinderella. I guarantee nothing happens at midnight.”
Kyle didn’t say anything.
“And think about this,” Eddie continued. “Liam’s the only one who made the connection between the strokes and Hillier.”
“So?”
“So maybe he’s more involved in these deaths than we know.”
“What do you mean more involved? You think Liam had something to do with those people dying?”
Eddie shrugged. “Why not? He’s the only one who made this insane connection.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Kyle said. “His own niece was one of the victims.”
“Right,” Eddie agreed. “And she was also the only one not to die.”
“C’mon, though,” Kyle said. “Why would he possibly want to kill these kids and put his own niece in a coma?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie said. “Why did Hannibal Lecter eat people? Cuz he was a psychopath, that’s why. Just like rapper boy.”
Kyle remained quiet and tossed the theory around. Could Liam have had any involvement? And even if he did, how would he be doing it? Was he the one who could control people’s energy?
“Shit,” Eddie said as he watched Kyle silently absorb the possibility. “You really think that nut might actually be killing these people, don’t you?”
Kyle was about to answer when he caught Liam’s stocky body walking back with a bag of Twizzlers, one hanging from his mouth.
Liam opened the door and settled into his seat, offering each of them a piece. Neither accepted, and neither said anything as Eddie continued to peer at Liam with narrowed eyes through the rearview mirror, making no attempt to mask his suspicions.
Kyle couldn’t help but join.
Even if Liam wasn’t the one doing the actual killings, Kyle thought, could he know more than he was letting on?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
He slept until it was time to go, too exhausted to deal with any daily activities. He just wanted the day to pass so he could get on with what he had to do, get on with the fix he so desperately needed.
He dragged himself out of bed and slipped on his jeans and T-shirt, too tired to even consider taking a shower. He just wanted the fix, as quickly as possible.
But it wasn’t easy. In fact, it was getting harder and harder. He wasn’t as young as he used to be. His body had been through years of abuse, stripped away and worn down. And the amount of hits he now needed to keep things going was wearing him down even more. He slid open the glass door to his balcony and looked over the city—a city full of people who had unknowingly become both fans of his work, and his prey. The sun had set long ago, so the sounds from below had a muffled but energetic din. He sipped the shot of espresso he’d just made, the jolt of caffeine helping to wake him from his haze. The downpour of a few hours ago had washed away the day’s heat and allowed for a bit of a breeze to swirl through the hot, sticky air. He usually enjoyed his time out on the balcony alone with his thoughts, embracing the solitude and the bright lights littering the lively canvas visible below. But not lately. Not when his body was stuck in a constant loop of either craving another dose or dealing with the aches and pains of being without one. And it kept getting worse, especially in his mind. Things were beginning to become cloudy, hazy. He had difficulty focusing. The rest of his nervous system was being affected as well. His hands had begun to sporadically tremble, his eyes twitch.
But he had to endure.
There was still a long haul in front of him, and he didn’t want the wheels to fall off.
So he’d deal with the pains, battle through his frayed nerves, and ward off the urges.
Then he’d worry about all of that after the season.
And if he couldn’t get himself right by then, so be it. It will have been worth it. Just hearing the chants. Hearing the praise. Seeing the smiles. Reading the headlines.
Yes, he thought as he finished his espresso, it was most definitely worth it.
He was making up for lost time.
He walked back inside, placed the tiny cup in the kitchen sink, and slipped the dark baseball cap into his back pocket. He left his apartment and headed to the elevator, ready to get another fix and happy he would finally rid himself of the minor trembles and cloudiness. Happy he’d be able to turn his increasingly frail body back into what he was used to, even if it would only be temporary.
As he rode the elevator down, he wondered if he had already passed the point of no return. He wondered if his recent binge had stripped his body and mind so raw, abused it so much with the drastic swings, that he’d never be able to get right again. He honestly didn’t know. He was in unchartered territory.
Corin kept telling him to stop, and that was without any real knowledge as to how bad things were, without knowing he might never be useful to the man again.
But he ignored Corin. And as he exited the elevator, knowing in a few hours or so he would be reveling in the temporary high and his body and mind would once again trick him into believing everything was fine, he was ignoring the man again.
Then he did what he always did—took his troubling thoughts about what was happening to him and tucked them away.
It made enjoying the performance that much better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eddie wouldn’t let it go.
Not that Kyle expected him to. It wasn’t in the man’s DNA to let anything go.
“Liam,” Eddie said, turning around from his perch in the driver’s seat. “Why is it that you’re the only one who made the connection between these strokes and Hillier’s starts?”
“I guess no one else cared to look.”
“Of course someone else looked,” Eddie sneered. “Every parent of every one of those victims looked. Just like you looked. Their kids didn’t have any symptoms either. They obviously searched for answers to try and figure out why their son or daughter suddenly had a burst aneurysm for no reason at all.”
Liam scratched his scraggly beard. “I guess they aren’t big enough Yankees fans to think of the connection.”
“It’s got nothing to do with that,” Eddie said. “You know that. You know no one’s even made a connection between energy transfers and these strokes to begin with. Why not?” Eddie’s eyes dug in. “Why were you the only one able to do it?”
Liam paused as he stuffed another piece of licorice in his mouth. “Probably because Hillier has the perfect cover-up,” he said with little emotion. “Did Kyle tell you about the guy from KnightWare?”
“Yeah.”
“Well that’s the same reason why their guy’s so valuable to them,” Liam said. “No one thinks it was a murder because there’s no evidence left behind. The death looks like one of natural causes. There’s no trail, no drugs, no marks, no trace of anything.”
“But you’re not answering my question,” Eddie said. “Why you? What made you even think to go there?”
Liam didn’t answer, and his calm façade quickly melted. His eyes went wide, his skin turned a shade paler and he stopped chewing the Twizzler. Kyle and Eddie turned and followed where Liam’s eyes were focusing, out the windshield, at the garage door, which was now fully opened.
A black Pathfinder was leaving.
Evan Hillier’s Pathfinder.
Eddie quickly pulled out and followed Hillier’s car as it made a left onto Park, then another onto Seventy-second Street heading east.
“You’re too close,” Liam said, his head sandwiched between the two front bucket seats, his eyes fixed on the Pathfinder’s taillights. “You should have a car or two between us, not be directly behind him. He’ll see you.”
�
��I am a few car lengths behind,” Eddie said. “I can’t help it if no one’s between us.”
“You should turn off your lights.”
Eddie glanced back at him. “Turn off my lights? Are you serious? You really think that a car with no lights will be less noticeable? We’re not in the goddam bush, we’re in New York City.”
“I think he just looked at his rearview mirror,” Liam said, ignoring Eddie’s comments, still focused on Hillier. “I think he spotted us.”
“Would you calm the fuck down?” Eddie yelled.
They watched as the Pathfinder switched over to the right lane.
“Don’t switch yet, he’ll—”
Eddie lurched back again. “I swear to God, I’ll pull this fucking car over right now if you don’t shut the fuck up. Jesus,” he shook his head, “you’re worse than my damn kids.”
“Easy. Just relax.” Kyle shot a glance at Eddie and then turned to Liam as the car moved over to the right lane. “Let Eddie do the driving, okay? If he spots us, he spots us. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have no idea what he’s doing.”
Liam nodded and Kyle turned back to see Hillier heading onto the southbound ramp for the FDR. Eddie followed a few cars behind, the Pathfinder staying in the left lane all the way down to the tip of Manhattan, taking the last exit and looping around toward Water Street. Once on Water Street, the Pathfinder pulled into a parking spot outside a McDonald’s.
Even though he’d prepared for it, Kyle was still stunned that Liam had been right. But how right was he?
Where was Hillier heading, and what on earth was he going to do when he got there?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
He pulled into the parking spot, put on his baseball cap and crossed the street. His phone vibrated as soon as he reached the other side. He glanced at the number.
Corin.
He pressed ignore, knowing what the man was doing—checking up on him, trying to convince him to stop what he was about to do, being the only person who could convince him given that Corin was the only person who knew.
He’d let Corin in on his secret as soon as he realized he’d actually be able to do it. In fact, he didn’t just tell Corin what he was going to do, he’d given the man a small demonstration when they’d met at an outdoor café a few months earlier. Corin, of course, had shown up right on time. Just as he always did, not wanting to disappoint one of his best clients. And Corin didn’t act that way just to appease him and stroke his ego. He had an investment to protect, and did so by always making sure his client’s health came first; carefully scheduling assignments at appropriate intervals to prevent burn-out and too much wear and tear. Corin would even go so far as to reject offers with enormous price tags if they didn’t fit his rigid schedule, always keeping an eye out for the long term.
The day they met at the café, Corin knew immediately that his investment had been tampered with. He could tell his client had taken an assignment on his own as soon as they sat down at the table. All he had to do was look at the wide pupils staring back across at him.
“So,” Corin said as he sipped his coffee, letting the cool April morning breeze tussle the remaining strands of hair that sat atop his near-bald head, “are we here for you to tell me that you’ve signed with someone else?”
He shook his head and told Corin no, that wasn’t the case.
“Then what’s with the unscheduled excursion? Moonlighting or a joyride?”
“Experimenting.”
“Experimenting?” Corin asked as he relaxed his stocky frame back in the chair. “Do you think that’s wise knowing the risks involved?”
“No one will know.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Corin said. “I’m talking about your health.”
“I’ll be fine.”
But Corin didn’t buy it. And his client didn’t expect him to. He just needed Corin to know that he’d be out of commission for a while.
“How do you think you’re going to feel in a few days?” Corin asked, his eyes digging into the man like a father scolding his son. “Look at you. You went for the whole thing, didn’t you?”
“It’s the only way I’ll have enough to be able to do it.”
Still in the dark about what was happening, Corin leaned in and asked, “Do what?”
But he didn’t answer Corin’s question. Instead, he flung his cup at Corin and watched as Corin jumped back and let it fly by and crash to the ground, the lid popping open and coffee bursting out.
“What the hell was that?” Corin asked.
“A test.”
Corin stared at him, trying to make sense of the bizarre behavior.
“Now look at my eyes,” he told Corin. “Focus on them.”
“What are you talking about? Why?”
“Relax and just focus on them. Focus on my eyes.”
He had already known Corin was a match. He’d felt it when they first met years earlier. What he didn’t know was if he’d be able to do anything more. But he began studying a variety of different methods teaching him how to transfer what he had, and read up on how it was possible that his action potential cells might have a slight mutation. So he assumed it should work, that he’d be able to transfer at least some of what he was able to absorb.
He locked eyes with Corin while telling him as calmly as possible to look right at him, to keep focusing on his eyes. And Corin obliged. He comforted Corin, telling him he was doing a good job, that he just needed to keep relaxing, keep focusing. But Corin was only tangentially listening, already complying without even having to hear the words. The connection had been made. They were locked. But it was different than what he was used to. He didn’t feel a surge, a rush. And he didn’t want to. It was peaceful and calm. And he kept it that way, slightly pushing his own energy away.
After a few moments he slowly stopped and pulled away, then asked, “How do you feel?”
Corin shrugged his shoulders and said he felt fine. “Should I not feel fine?”
“Feel any change?”
“Not really,” Corin said, looking for the cup of coffee that was no longer where he left it.
But before he was able to ask where it was, the cup was flung across the table. This time Corin caught it on the fly, only a few drops spilling onto his wrist.
It was then that Corin realized what had just happened, what had been done, and his first reaction was it wasn’t going to be good for business. Not good at all.
And Corin had been right, the man thought as he tucked his cell phone into his pocket and let the memories of the meeting slip back into the corners of his mind.
It hadn’t been good for business. But that was okay. This was about something else now.
And he was intent on seeing it through whether it jeopardized his health or not, and there was nothing Corin could say to change his mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The streets that far downtown were nearly empty at that time of night, so Eddie had no problem finding a spot after Hillier parked his Pathfinder.
Liam kept his eyes trained on Hillier as Eddie pulled into the spot. “He’s jogging across the street.”
Kyle turned and looked at the massive white building sitting squarely at the tip of Manhattan, the big blue letters lighting up the night: “STATEN ISLAND FERRY.”
“The ferry terminal?” Kyle asked as they exited the car and jogged across the street, keeping Hillier in their sights.
The question floated unanswered as they followed Hillier through the terminal’s entrance with the rest of the sparse after-midnight crowd funneling onto the twelve-thirty ferry departing for Staten Island.
“Why is he getting on the ferry?” Kyle asked as he kept his distance from Hillier, still remaining close enough to see he was wearing pretty much the same get-up as the man Kyle had seen the night Allie collapsed—jeans and a dark T-shirt, the brim of a dark baseball cap pulled tightly over his eyes hiding his famous face so he could blend in with the light crowd.
/>
“He’s looking for a victim,” Liam said, his puffy eyes glued to the man’s every move, his pupils dancing like a child waking on Christmas morning.
Kyle looked around at the crowd boarding the ferry. There were plenty of young people, plenty of potential victims. But he couldn’t believe that was what Evan Hillier was really doing—searching for his next kill. He couldn’t believe Liam’s seemingly crazed theories were proving to be right. But what else could explain the Yankees pitcher getting on a ferry headed to Staten Island at twelve-thirty in the morning the night before a start?
They followed Hillier onto the massive orange boat’s middle deck, watching him sift through the rows and rows of plastic seats, his hands tucked into his pockets, head down to avoid the bright lights. He selected a seat toward the end of a row, close to an exit leading to one of the ferry’s perimeter decks. The closest person to him was a young woman dressed in jean shorts and a white T-shirt, long red nails operating a smartphone, her face covered by long jet-black hair. She was about a row away from Hillier.
“What do you really think he’s doing?” Eddie whispered to Kyle out of Liam’s earshot. “You don’t think he’s really, you know, looking to blow up someone’s brain, do you?”
Kyle shrugged. He didn’t know what to think. The whole scene was so surreal. He couldn’t believe it was actually taking place. He’d been listening to Liam hypothesize about someone lurking around New York City killing people by siphoning their energy, knowing it just wasn’t possible. Yet here it was, happening right in front of him. All of the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Everything Liam had been saying was being borne out right before him. He could tell himself all he wanted to that it wasn’t happening, pinch himself until he bled, but about ten rows in front of them Evan Hillier, the Yankees’ new ace, appeared to be searching the Staten Island Ferry for his next victim.
TPG Page 12
