He leaned closer until his face was under the direct beam, shining from the desk light. “Or should I say us.”
Paul’s eyes, one the color of pea soup, the other ice blue, glowered back at me. “You-your one of them?” I choked out, still unable to comprehend what I was seeing.
“So you do know? I’m impressed. I knew you were sneaking around looking for missing records and having private meetings with police detectives, but I didn’t anticipate you’d uncovered this much, so fast.” He clapped his hands together in mocking applause. “If you weren’t such a goody-goody, you might prove useful to our cause.”
“As if,” I said. “I look forward to seeing you—and your group—brought to its knees, and I will do everything in my power to see that happen.”
Paul slid a hip onto the desk and examined his fingernails. “Bold threat, but you’re just a social worker trying to fit into a privileged life you don’t deserve. What can you do?” he said, issuing a subtle challenge.
Whether he knew a taunt would prompt me to defend myself, I didn’t know, but rise to the occasion I did. I was terrified of what his very existence suggested, and even more terrified that he, or they, assumed no one could stop them. But then I was just one woman. What was I compared to a secret group so corrupt, so evil, they thought they could control destiny? Bend God’s will?
I glanced around hoping to see a cavalry of angels coming to my rescue. But from what I could see, I couldn’t have been more alone. Where was God when I needed Him? Be brave, Marlie, the voice inside my head urged. Courage, after all, isn’t the absence of fear, but the will to move forward in the face of it. Paul had tried to control me that morning in the kitchen with insults and riddles. Only, then I’d seen him as just a pathetic manipulator, now he was something different all together. Something I didn’t understand—someone I now feared.
I couldn’t allow him to gain the upper hand. I had to force myself to see him as the quibbling little man I’d always thought he was. I had to believe it.
“You’re wrong, I’m not afraid of you. What can you do to me?” I thrust a finger at him. “You’re nothing but a scheming, sad little man.”
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” he said, the words seething from his lips.
I didn’t allow even a flinch. “I pity men like you. Small and insecure, who know they can’t rise to the top on their own because they don’t have what it takes.”
His hands curled into tight little balls. “I will crush you like the weak, repugnant, waste of existence you are.”
I should have stopped. I should have turned away. I should have thought twice about further offending a man so hell-bent on controlling destiny that he would mutilate his own body to do so. Except I just had one, well two, more things to say.
“You’re just a coward hiding behind the mask of another. And that makes you a pretender. An imposter,” I added. “Doesn’t it?”
I barely had a chance to register the peril I’d put myself in when, a split second later, the handle of the pistol came toward me as a voice I didn’t recognize, roared, “Enough!”
I was in a room without walls. All around me, a white expanse seemed to stretch forever. In front of me, a carousel turned, spinning so fast I couldn’t make out the faces of the people holding tight to the gold encrusted poles. A man in a tailored dark suit hastened toward me with what I felt was an urgent message. I’d been here before. Only, the last time, I wasn’t given time to hear what he had to say. Fearing I would be drawn away again without an answer, I tried to move toward him, to meet him halfway, only my feet wouldn’t go.
“What do you want?’ I called out. But he just kept coming. “Please, there isn’t time,” I tried again. “Please . . .”
And still, there was no reply. Instead, his steps halted as his gaze captured mine. Extending a hand toward the whirling carousel, I followed the tips of his fingers to see that now there were faces. Visible for only a second before engulfed once more in the centripetal force of the carousel, the despairing look in each one’s eyes showed fear. I had the sudden urge to leap to their aid—to save them.
“How can I help when I can’t move?” I asked as the scene faded away.
My face stung with every throb that radiated from what felt like a lump growing out of my cheekbone. Fire advanced like hot threads winding their way up my left arm. I tried to move it, to press my other hand to the heat to stop its progress, but I couldn’t. And that was when consciousness crashed in upon me. My eyelids flew open bringing me the rest of the way back.
My wrists were restrained. Not again, I groaned.
“Welcome back,” Paul said. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d have another chance to talk before you died.”
I looked up, which I found difficult considering my head held the weight of a cinderblock, to see him leaning against the side of Daniel’s desk, his legs crossed at the ankle. The fingers of his right hand rolled a syringe one-way and then the other.
“What did you do to me?” I asked, remembering only that he’d knocked me to the floor. What had come next, I couldn’t recall, but the heavy feeling in my head and chest, coupled with the blur in my vision and parched mouth, told me that a blow to the face was the least of my worries.
“You’ve obviously never experienced heroin, Miss Evans,” Paul said. “But then this isn’t just your average street variety drug. It’s my special blend.”
My gaze fell to the source of the burn coming from my arm to see a puncture mark circled in a red welt. It blurred to two, then three, and then again to one. I tried to pull against the restraints but my arms were so weak I couldn’t get them to budge.
“You shot me up?” I slurred through numb lips. “Why?”
“Because it’s what I do,” he said. “A hobby of sorts.”
“You inject people with drugs for fun? Does Daniel know what a sick bastard you are?”
He turned his palm up. “He knows I enjoy my work.”
“And what work is that?”
Paul leaned down to level his face with mine. “Ridding this world of useless people for starters.”
The picture of Gentry lying in the alley flashed in my head. “You’re the serial killer? Why would you want to do that to those people? Take their eyes?”
“Serial killer, no,” he said, wagging a finger. “But have I done this before? Yes, many times. And the eyes symbolize the quest for truth, understanding, and knowledge. Some, I took to preserve the truth their eyes exposed. Others I took because, even in death, they didn’t deserve the privilege of sight.”
His blatant confession brought on a brief instant of clarity. “And you got away with it for so long by removing the records or manipulating someone to do it for you, someone like Daniel,” I garbled. “And being that the person you killed was replaced by an imposter, no one reported them missing.”
“That is correct.”
“You’re a demented man, you know that?” I said, wanting to keep him talking long enough to allow my head to clear. Hopefully by then I could come up with a plan to release myself. Or, God-willing, give someone time to rescue me. “And what other hobbies do you enjoy?” I asked.
He looked to the ceiling in thought for a second. “It’s not really a hobby, per say, as much as my calling,” he said. “You see, I’m the one who makes this all possible.” He motioned up and down, over his body. “In my former life I was a doctor, a very prominent reconstructive plastic surgeon. You might recollect them honoring me at the ball?”
Through the haze in my mind, I thought back, recalling the mention of a deceased pioneer in the field of plastic surgery.
“I remember,” I admitted. “But why go to such extremes?”
“Like Daniel, I joined the Iphiclesians in college, frustrated over the corruption and greed of those who continue to govern this country—the stupidity of the voting public who keeps electing them. Painstakingly, over the years, I climbed the ladder to the upper echelons of the Society of Iphicles
ians, the secret ranks, where I tried to convince them that we could achieve our goals much faster if we removed specific individuals of influence and replaced them with ourselves—the elite like myself and my lover, I’m sure you remember her from the cemetery—those willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.
“Our eye color is my artist’s mark. And proof of our superiority, our sacrifice. But some of the Society’s leaders disagreed. Men like Gentry’s father. They were weak. You have them to thank for saving your life the first time,” he added as a side-note.
I gave him a confused look and he explained. “When you tried to impose your misguided suggestions and opinions on Finn . . .”
Tears surged to my eyes. As I’d come to suspect, the Iphiclesians had been responsible for Finn leaving me—and for his death.
“I thought I was done with your meddling but then Anna-Beth had to bring you around again,” he said, then steered the conversation back to the Iphiclesians. “Slowly, I weeded them out until there was none left in the top ranks that opposed me. But I became frustrated with the imperfection of surgeries and started studying genetics, looking for a way to alter appearance more perfectly—permanently. Paul, the original Paul, couldn’t effectively control Daniel, or that first wife of his, any longer. Daniel was, and still is, our shining star. Our next best chance at achieving our goals.”
He straightened, laid the syringe on the desk. “The others were a disappointment, too weak to carry out their missions, too susceptible to persuasion.” He snapped his fingers. “You’re all so easily led from the light to the darkness; so willing to blur the division between black and white, to lose yourselves in the gray where good intentions can be used for evil, where evil can masquerade as good.”
His words faded out just as a flash of lightning split the darkness, bringing me back.
“Human nature?” I said, trying to follow his twisted train of thought. Trying to keep myself alert.
“Humans want to touch and to be touched, our hearts crave to be loved, our minds to be stimulated. But what we want takes effort and most are lazy by nature, tire quickly and search for an easier way. Their minds, thirsty for knowledge in this age of technology, become weak from visual stimulus. Like many once-great ancient civilizations, our society has forgotten how to think, how to reason, and instead looks to others to tell them what to believe, what to care about, and what to fear.”
My head grew heavy, my chin bouncing off my chest.
“Fear—a personal favorite of mine—has proven to be the most effective tool. Fear is our power.”
In the distance, thunder rolled like a hoard of rogue bowling balls barreling angrily toward unwavering pins.
“Yet here we are,” I asserted into the conversation. “Me tied up and you trying to control me with fear. Fear is only a temporary power because, eventually, we ‘simple-minded masses’ will get tired of being scared, of running, and we turn to fight. Our will to survive is stronger than you think. Eventually we’ll catch on to you, and when that happens, you’ll pay a severe price.”
“Well said, Marlie,” he nodded. “Like I said before, you could have been very valuable to me, and to your husband, on the campaign trail had you just learned to behave. It’s why I allowed you to live this long, you know. And had you been content to simply live the comfortable life Daniel’s wealth and power could have afforded you, we wouldn’t be at this unfortunate crossroad.”
“There are more important things in life than money, power, and position,” I said. At the moment, freedom topped my list.
“You’re absolutely correct, though I bet you’d have a hard time convincing very many others. You’ve seen it yourself. The greed and the lack of morality running rampant in our society.” He gave me a pitying look. “Why do you care, or even want, to save a civilization that is determined to fail?”
“And why do you want to hurt them?”
Provocation hardened his gaze. “Because it’s my duty, my calling; because the human race is determined to follow the same destructive cycle over and over—enlightenment, industry, prosperity, gluttony, apathy, and then captivity—I’m just speeding up the process. And, most importantly, because I can. And it’s not just politicians I can use to control the masses. I can fill the Internet and movie theaters with pornography, images that ruin marriages and relationships with ideals no flesh and blood woman, or man, could ever live up to. Imagine starving oneself of nourishment to become a fantasy that only exists at the hand of an editing tool, denying one’s body of food because some fashion icon deems it’s sexy. It’s comical, really.”
Another strike of lightning brought a quick rumble of thunder. The light on the desk flickered. The storm was growing nearer.
“And then there’s war and propaganda. You’re all too lazy to search, to find the truth. You deserve what’s coming. You practically asked for it with your apathy,” he said then his manner shifted again, back to appeasing. “And that’s the beauty of it all. I can. And after I’ve gained control of the US, there will be no limit to the leaders—the dictators—I’ll have access to.”
A bolt of lightning crashed right over the house, causing the hair on my head and neck to stand on end. “No!” I said, in a sudden panic. “I won’t let you do this.”
“What do you care? You won’t be here when it happens,” he said, lifting the syringe and then flicking the tube a few times. He balled his fist, making a show of the ring on his pinky. “You see, there are two sides to this dragon. One without the other would not form the Sankofa. I am the past, the intellect. Daniel is the future, the charismatic. Daniel will be President and I his most trusted advisor. Together we will form the first link in the chain that will change this country.” Leaning down, he tightened the rubber strap around my bicep and tapped the inside of my forearm. “The world’s destiny depends on it.”
I gazed up at him, my vision diffused by a rocky sea of tears. “What about Bridger and Bodie?” I asked, gagging on the pain of losing them.
Gliding the back of his hand down my cheek, he danced his fingertips across my lips. “We all tried to warn you, didn’t we? But you wouldn’t listen.”
I jerked away from his touch. “What about Bridger and Bodie?”
“They survived losing their real mother, didn’t they?” he dismissed as he bent down and pressed the needle to my arm.
My skin resisted the cold metal before relenting and allowing the needle to slide in. “Wait—”
“Goodbye, Marlie.” His eyes, abominable and keen, bid me farewell. “I wish I could say that it’s been a pleasure.”
The needle pushed through my skin. The heat began to grow, advancing like noxious roots, winding their way up my arm to poison my heart, my mind. My eyes grew heavy again. Images of peace and beauty I knew weren’t real, danced amidst the fog. The world was fading, and there was not a thing I could do.
It’s now or never, God. If you’re out there please help me. Please. I prayed over and over until the words started to blur in my head and fade.
The room was dark now. I had sunk to a place of nothingness. Here, I was light. I was invincible. I was free. And it was here I’d decided I wanted to stay, where there was no more pain, no heartache, where there was nothing, nothing at all. The serenity held for what seemed only moments when there was a commotion, a loud popping sound, followed by the sensation that I was falling. My shoulder hit the floor.
It hurt. I could feel again. The entire right side of my body flooded with pain. My eyes snapped open, and I could see. My hands were no longer restrained.
No sooner did I hit the floor than another body fell just feet away. It was Herbert. His eyes looked at me unseeing. The sound of Paul’s voice, harsh and spewing obscenities, came next. Another crash. Feet shuffled in black, thick-soled shoes, more obscenities and then again nothing.
I was gone.
Chapter Twenty-six
How long have you been a drug addict, Mrs. Cannon?” Detective Ripley asked for about the tenth time.
>
My head was throbbing. My stomach and esophagus burned from throwing up repeatedly. The hospital mattress I’d woken up on to find myself not quite dead yet felt like a sheet pulled over a dry riverbed. My hospital gown was stiff from all the times my body had alternated between hot sweats and cold flashes. I glanced over at the window—night again—then to the stout, uniformed officer standing erect at the door; and finally, to Ripley’s partner. He held a pen to a notepad, poised and ready to record my answer.
I inhaled as deeply as my tight chest would allow. “I already told you, I don’t take drugs,” I said, wondering if there was another way I could answer, a clearer way to say it. “Can you call Anna-Beth again?”
“I’m sure she’ll call back when she gets the message,” Ripley said, then got back to business. “You had a significant amount of drugs in your blood stream. A designer drug, highly addictive, and so deadly we’ve been trackin’ it for years but have yet to identify the source. Needle marks on your arm, your fingerprints on the syringe.” He sent me a last-chance stare. “I’m goin’ to ask you one more time, would you like to revise your statement?”
I swallowed what felt like a wad of cotton. “No,” I said, the decisiveness in my voice waning. Given my weakened state, I didn’t know how long I could continue to resist answering his questions.
Slipping a peek to Daniel lurking in the far corner, I tried to read his expression. His eyes, his lips, even his skin looked blank. His lack of expression was most alarming to me. Since I’d woken up, he’d been present but staying at a safe distance. Not once did he hold my hand as I retched over a plastic pan or pressed a cold cloth to my face when the sweats were unbearable. I could only assume he was doing exactly what Paul had advised him to do—distancing himself from me. Plausible deniability. That, or Daniel had been sent here to watch me, to make sure I didn’t expose them.
Replacing Gentry Page 21
