Psychological Damage (Gray Spear Society)

by Siegel, Alex

  "That was fast," he said. "Were you in bed?"

  "Yes. I was asleep."

  "But... never mind. The legate is calling a meeting."

  "Let me freshen up first," she said.

  She closed the door. After only a few seconds he heard the toilet flush. She emerged from the bedroom with freshly brushed hair.

  "It's too bad you never had a husband," he said. "He would appreciate that trick."

  They joined Atalanta and the legate in the main room. Atalanta guarded the door, and everybody else sat down.

  "Edward's capture forced me to reevaluate our priorities," the legate said. "Working on a new headquarters will have to wait. We need to rescue Edward first and foremost. The most expedient approach is the idea Dr. Smythe suggested a while back. We'll convince the Lost Child Initiative that Wesley has returned to Chicago. When the Brotherhood comes for him, we'll take some prisoners and kill the rest. Then we'll force our captives to tell us where Edward is. Unless somebody has a better suggestion."

  Nobody spoke.

  The legate nodded. "Now we just have to work out the details. How do we make the Lost Child Initiative believe Wesley is here?"

  "We could find another boy who looks like him," Atalanta suggested.

  "No." He shook his head. "I won't use an innocent child as bait."

  "I have an idea, sir," Smythe said. "The Brotherhood believes we are Satanists. Let's use that misconception against them. We can put out a flyer announcing that Lucifer's Child will speak at a gathering of devil worshippers in Chicago. The Brotherhood will have to check it out, even if they suspect a trap."

  "An interesting proposal," the legate said, "but what if real Satanists show up?"

  "I expect they will. We'll have to work around them. We need to pick the right location, sir. Somewhere isolated, where we can control all the variables, including the civilians. Obviously, this must happen late at night."

  The legate furrowed his brow. "Ethel, what's your opinion?"

  "It will be difficult, sir," Ethel said. "The rest of my team will help with the preparation, but they can't stay for the fight. That leaves just us four, and no offense, sir, but you and Smythe aren't the most elite fighters. The Brotherhood will outnumber us more than twenty to one, and they'll be ready for a full scale battle. With civilians in the mix, it's a recipe for chaos."

  "So, you don't like the idea?"

  "I never said that, sir." She grinned. "Sounds like an entertaining night."

  The legate snorted with amusement. "Atalanta, do you have anything to add?"

  "The Brotherhood can bring a thousand men," Atalanta said calmly, "and it wouldn't matter to me."

  "In the face of such confidence, how can I say no?"

  * * *

  Marina was back in the small office of Sergeant Kenneth Liscombe. She didn't understand how he could function in such a crowded space. Piles of folders on every surface left little room for so much as a cup of coffee. Yet the officer sat in his old fashioned, wooden chair with a confident smile. His gray hair was neatly combed.

  "I was surprised when you called," he said. "I thought you had given up on the Pavlova murder case."

  "The more I thought about it," she said, "the more it stunk. I had to dig a little deeper."

  "I guess even female FBI agents can have cop instincts."

  She was sure he had just insulted her, but she let it go. "The statement by Dmitry Pavlova sounded fishy. I was hoping you had more information about him."

  "That's a long shot. You were lucky we had the first file. But we can check cold case storage."

  They stood and left the office. As they walked through the large police station, Marina drew curious looks. Her beauty always grabbed attention, and she wore a tailored, blue suit that was a couple of pay grades above everybody else's outfit. She had dressed the part of a senior FBI agent.

  She and Liscombe went down two flights of stairs to the basement. The concrete ceiling and exposed pipes reminded her of Spears headquarters back in Chicago. Unadorned walls were painted pale blue.

  Liscombe used a keypad to get into one of the storage rooms. Row after row of metal shelves held cardboard boxes. Some material was stacked in the corners and along the walls. Widely spaced fluorescent fixtures provided uneven light.

  "Is this mess organized in any way?" Marina said.

  "That's the good news. We hired some college kids a few years ago to create a computer index. It took them all summer."

  He turned on an old, dusty computer in the corner. After it finally booted, he started typing.

  "You're a lucky gal," he said. "Dmitry Pavlova has his own case file. Looks like the double murder was only part of the story."

  He walked through the rows of shelves, found a particular box, and pulled out a file.

  As he examined the contents, he frowned. "This guy was a real sick bastard. He raped his own niece. Held her prisoner."

  Marina looked over his shoulder at the file. There was a picture of her as a teenager. She had a black eye, a cut lip, and scrapes on her cheek. Sudden anger made her shiver.

  Liscombe looked up. "You look a lot like the victim. Same hair and everything. Hey..."

  She stabbed her fingernails into his neck and injected venom. As he passed out, she caught him so he wouldn't hit his head on the floor.

  She flipped through the file. There were more ugly pictures of bruises and ligature marks. She found her own statement to the police, written seventeen years ago in broken English. The words made her face feel hot, but they explained so much. All the insane violence in her life had a root cause. Dmitry had made her into a monster.

  But she could still change. The anger would no longer control her actions. Instead of lashing out every time, she would make rational choices or do nothing at all.

  The file contained notes written in police terminology. This was Aaron's area of expertise, so she walked out with the entire file.

  She found Aaron playing checkers with Wesley on the grass in a small park. The man and the boy stared at the board with almost identical expressions of concentration. Marina decided Aaron would've made a good father. It was unfortunate the option had been taken from him.

  Yvonne stood guard a short distance away. She appeared alert as she watched her surroundings. Marina smiled a little. The old Yvonne, relentless slayer of evil, had returned to the battlefield. This was grim news for God's enemies.

  Marina gave the file to Aaron. His face became pale as he studied the photographs. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

  "When we catch this guy," he said, "he is going to feel a lot of pain."

  "First, though," Marina said, "we have to catch him. It's too bad we can't call headquarters. Edward could use his computer skills to search every government database in the country. We'd have Dmitry's current address in ten minutes. Oh, well." She shrugged. "I guess we'll have to do it the slow way. Do you see anything in the file?"

  He methodically examined each piece of paper.

  "Not a lot," he said. "There are some basic facts: Dmitry's date of birth and so on. The police took statements and pictures, but that's all we got. Let's think about this. A Russian immigrant hiding from the law would need cash first and foremost. He'd need a job. Do you remember if your uncle had any useful skills?"

  It was hard for her to imagine Dmitry as good at anything other than drinking vodka.

  "I think he made some money as a plumber," she said.

  "Did he have a license?" Aaron said.

  "I doubt it."

  He thumbed through the file. "The police talked to a plumber. Yevgeny Turgenev."

  "I remember that guy." She nodded. "He visited the house. He was one of Dmitry's regular buddies."

  "Then he is our first stop." He tapped the file. "We'll try one of those people search sites on the internet to get his address."

  "It's been a long time. Yevgeny might not remember much."

  Aaron looked at Wesley. "You're good at making people remember. W
ill you help?"

  "Sure." Wesley nodded. "This path leads to the truth."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aaron knocked on the front door of a two story duplex. Marina and Wesley stood a safe distance behind him.

  A pudgy man with gray hair opened the door. Yellow stains discolored his teeth. The skin on his face was as wrinkled as tree bark.

  "Yevgeny Turgenev?" Aaron said.

  The old man nodded. "What do you want?"

  "We have a few questions."

  "Are you the police?"

  "Not quite," Aaron said.

  He shoved the door open and walked into the house. He looked around for signs of danger.

  "Hey!" Yevgeny said. "Get out! I'm warning you!"

  Aaron patted him on the head. "We'll get out after we're done."

  Marina and Wesley followed Aaron inside.

  Yevgeny looked at Marina and his eyes opened wide. "Marina? Is that you?"

  "You remember me." She smiled. "How nice."

  Aaron grabbed Yevgeny firmly by the arm and marched him into a living room. All the furniture was covered with brown leather. It had probably looked nice once, but now the leather was cracked and foam stuffing had leaked out in many places. The room smelled like booze. Aaron shoved Yevgeny down onto a chair.

  "Dmitry Pavlova," Aaron said, "your good friend. Tell me about him."

  Yevgeny looked at Marina again. "Oh, no. You want to know about..." He swallowed.

  "Yes." She nodded. "That's exactly why we're here."

  Yevgeny jumped out of his chair with surprising swiftness for an old man. He ran out of the room and headed towards the back of the house. Aaron sighed.

  A few seconds later he heard a thump and a howl of pain. Yevgeny returned, escorted by Yvonne. His right arm hung limply. She carried a baseball bat on her shoulder.

  Aaron pushed him back into his chair. "I have a theory. After Dmitry escaped the police, he came to you. He needed a friend he could trust. Tell me I'm wrong."

  "You're wrong," Yevgeny said loudly. "I never saw Dmitry again."

  "He's lying," Wesley said.

  "Did you know he was keeping Marina prisoner?" Aaron asked. "That he was using her for sex?"

  "No! I didn't know anything about that!" Yevgeny exclaimed.

  Aaron turned to Wesley.

  The boy shook his head. "Another lie."

  "Shut up you stupid kid!" Yevgeny yelled. "After the parents were killed, I never went over to the house. I never saw Marina. I couldn't know what Dmitry was doing to her."

  Aaron knelt in front of Yevgeny. "But you suspected. He told you things that didn't sound right. You could've called the police or checked on her yourself. Instead, you ignored her suffering."

  Yevgeny was shaking like a leaf and his eyes rolled around. The guilt on his face was as clear as day. "Who are you?"

  "That's not important."

  "Aaron," Yvonne said. "May I speak with you privately?"

  Aaron looked up at her. "Sure."

  The two of them walked to the far corner of the room.

  "There is something you need to know about me," she said in a hushed voice. "To stay in peak fighting condition, I need to eat. My supercharged metabolism burns energy like crazy. If I miss meals, I lose strength, and we can't afford that while on a mission."

  "We'll have a big lunch after this."

  "No, I need to eat my way and soon." She showed him her hand, and wriggling white tendrils extended from her palm. "I'm already feeling weak. Live humans are the best source of nutrients for me. The thing is, Yevgeny will die."

  Aaron drew back. "He can't answer questions if he's dead."

  "He'll live long enough to tell us everything he knows. Trust me. I'll have him singing like a bird in under a minute. But you're in charge so it's your call."

  "Hmm." Aaron looked over at Yevgeny.

  "One other point," Yvonne said. "He knows Marina's real identity, which makes him a security risk. According to the rules of the Society, we can't leave him alive anyway."

  Aaron frowned. Yevgeny was a small fish who had wandered into shark infested waters. Death was an extreme punishment for his sins. However, it appeared he was doomed to suffer the fate of anybody who crossed the path of the Spears.

  "We'll do it your way," Aaron said.

  Yvonne nodded. She walked over to Yevgeny and put her small hand on the back of his neck.

  "No!" Marina yelled. "You're not doing that."

  "What other choice do we have?" Yvonne said.

  "Violence isn't the only answer."

  Yvonne grinned. "That's sounds funny coming from you."

  "I'm going to change. I'll never kill again. I'm a pacifist now." Marina sliced the air with her hand.

  "It doesn't matter what you call yourself. You can't change the rules."

  Marina knelt in front of Yevgeny and put her hands together. "Please! Tell us what you know about my uncle. Don't hold anything back. It's your only chance."

  He shook his head. "Dmitry was my friend. He made some terrible mistakes, and I'm very sorry about what happened to you, but I won't betray him."

  "For the love of God, don't fight us." She grabbed his knee. "I'm begging."

  He just stared at her.

  She grimaced and then abruptly ran out of the house.

  "Marina!" Aaron called, but she was already gone.

  Yvonne lowered her eyes.

  Suddenly, all the muscles in Yevgeny's body locked up. He tried to scream but no air came out. His eyes rolled back in his head. It looked like he was being electrocuted.

  "What are you doing?" Aaron said.

  "Digesting his spine," Yvonne said calmly.

  "You're paralyzing him?"

  "He'll still be able to talk and feel pain."

  There was an odd crackling noise. Yevgeny's right bicep had so much tension the tendons snapped, and the muscle contracted into a misshapen ball.

  Yvonne spoke into his ear. "I'm going to let you speak now, but do it quietly. Got it?"

  He gasped and coughed. The color in his face was pale in some spots and purple in others.

  "Tell us about Dmitry Pavlova," she said.

  He clenched his jaw. "No."

  "I don't understand why you're protecting this scumbag."

  All his muscles seized again. Blood dripped from his hands as he drove his own fingernails into his palms. His teeth cracked. The stench of feces filled the room. Aaron became worried Yevgeny would have a heart attack before Yvonne let him speak. Finally, the hellish torment stopped.

  "Let's try it again," Yvonne said in a clinical tone. "Dmitry Pavlova went missing. What happened to him after that?"

  "He changed his name to Nikolai," Yevgeny replied in a hoarse whisper. "Nikolai Serafimovich."

  She looked at Wesley.

  The boy nodded. "It's true."

  Aaron found a piece of paper and wrote down the name.

  "Good," Yvonne said. "Continue."

  "For about a year he worked on some of my side jobs," Yevgeny gasped. "He earned enough to survive. I don't know where he lived. One day he told me he had found something better. That's the last time I saw him."

  "That's all?"

  He nodded. His face was twitching.

  "Finish him," Wesley said.

  Yevgeny shuddered one more time. He began to shrivel and his eyes were sucked back into his skull.

  Aaron couldn't watch anymore. He left the house to search for Marina.

  He found her sitting on the front step with her face in her hands. She was crying softly. He sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.

  "I thought I had seen some ugly deaths," he muttered, "but Yvonne takes it to a new level."

  "The Lord's Executioner," she said through her tears.

  "It fits."

  "I just want the killing to end. I want to wake up from the nightmare I've lived for seventeen years."

  "I understand," he said. "It's not a bad thing to want that. It may not be practica
l though."

  "Practical?" She wiped her nose and stared at him with bloodshot eyes. "After what I've been through, you expect practical? Wesley opened my skull and pulled the truth out with meat hooks. His eyes are like spiritual chainsaws. I still don't know which way is up. I'm sorry, but practical is pretty far down my list right now. I'm just trying to get through the day without slashing my own throat."

  He hugged her. She rubbed her eyes.

  "We have a new name to search for," he said. "Nikolai Serafimovich."

  "I wish we could call Edward," she said. "Finding people is his job."

  "We can handle this one on our own. Don't forget I was a private detective for a while, and a police detective before that."

  Wesley and Yvonne came out of the house. Her muscles had swelled, stretching her clothes. Her pink skin was so taught and flawless it looked like latex. The stench of rotting fish followed her.

  Aaron was glad he couldn't see what had become of Yevgeny.

  "Ready to go?" Yvonne said.

  "Yes," Aaron said. "Absolutely."

  * * *

  Aaron was working on a laptop in "Cafe Cafe," a coffee shop in downtown St. Louis. The wireless internet was free and the coffee was excellent. He had a big, steaming mug close at hand.

  Marina and Wesley sat across the table from him. They were nibbling from a selection of pastries and making critical comments in a sarcastic tone, as if they were fine wine critics. The joking around had improved Marina's mood a little. She was almost smiling.

  Yvonne stood in a corner near the front door. Her oversized muscles looked weird on her slender frame. She had a clear view of all the entrances from her position. There was no humor in her expression.

  "Got him." Aaron clicked a key on his laptop. "Nikolai Serafimovich has an outstanding arrest warrant for felony pandering. He was a pimp. The warrant was issued fourteen years ago, but technically, it's still good."

  "Where?" Marina said.

  "Granite City, which I think is on the Illinois side of the Mississippi. We'll go there tomorrow morning. The detective we need to talk to is named Dan Joyce."

  * * *

  Edward couldn't think clearly. Lack of sleep, starvation, relentless abuse, and an ever changing cocktail of hallucinogenic drugs had reduced his mind to mush. He was starting to forget how he got here. His legs tingled so much they hurt.