by Ren Hamilton
“Not a problem,” the voice said. “In fact, we’d like to do a personal interview, if that’s all right with you.”
“Oh. Um…all right,” Copie agreed, beaming. “Shall I come down to the station tomorrow then?”
“Actually, it would be better if we could send someone over tonight.”
Copie frowned. “Tonight? Isn’t it too late?”
The voice laughed. “We work around the clock here and we don’t want to take the chance of you having a change of heart or deciding to give the story to someone else.”
“Oh. I see. Okay.”
“Are you at home right now?”
“No, I’m at the university film lab. It will take me a while to shut everything down.”
“Just give me the address to the film lab. Do you have all of the photos with you? Print and digital copies?”
A simple question, but Copie felt a cold warning tug at his senses. He dismissed it as excitement. “Yes, all of the photos are with me. I guess I’ll just wait here then.”
After giving the address, he hung up and went into the bathroom. He rinsed his face and wished for a toothbrush. He hadn’t intended on speaking to a journalist with nasty coffee breath. His reflection stared back at him from the dusty mirror over the sink. His tiny braids had gone askew from nervously running his fingers across his head. His eyes were too wide, and his brown skin looked slightly ashen. He supposed he was just tired, but still, something in his mind screamed out danger.
His instincts had always been strong and he’d relied on them. But why were his instincts telling him to run now? Run from what? From success? No way. Not this time. He deserved this success. His instincts could kiss his ass.
* * * *
Now this is the real miracle, Russell thought as he hung up the phone. He’d been covering the news desk nights ever since Craig moved to Los Angeles. Russell would have been perfectly happy working on the projects they’d been doing forever. It was fun, and proved lucrative at times. Shit, especially the last one Shep paid them for. But Craig had dissolved their business, leaving Russell with no direction. Now he had to work the graveyard shift, earning a dog shit salary until he figured out what he wanted to do with his life.
But that wasn’t entirely true. He knew what he wanted to do. Russell had told Shep in no uncertain terms that he’d like to be involved with the Forest Bluffs group. He’d promised to be helpful with whatever Shep asked of him and to stay out of the way when he wasn’t needed. He’d even agreed to call Joey’s new ramshackle sleepover camp ‘a church’ and of course, to never reveal the deception he knew the apparition to be.
Shep told him that once things settled down, he’d see if he could find something for Russell to do. And God knew Russell would do anything for Shep. Shep had everything he wanted, including a seemingly endless supply of cash. Now it was time to prove his loyalty. Russell was about to save the day for Shep. Odd that he would be manning the news desk when the call came in from that photographer. It was like…fate. Shep would be grateful.
One of the weird baby-talking brothers answered the phone and Russell ordered him to fetch Shepherd, saying it was an emergency. The brother tried to argue that Shep was very busy, and had asked not to be disturbed. After some foul language and abusive threats on Russell’s part, Shep was finally summoned to the phone.
“Hey Russell. How’s TV land?”
“The job sucks, but we’ve got bigger problems. You’d better listen to this.” Russell told him about the call from the photographer, claiming to have pictures of the apparition. He’d even boasted proof that it was a hoax, Russell told him. Something about a bow on a nightgown. When Russell finished talking, he was met with silence. “Shep? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Listen, Russell. Does he have all of the pictures with him?”
“He says he does. I got his home address just in case. He’s expecting a reporter to go down to the university to meet with him tonight. I called you right away. Figure you can head down there and pretend to be from the station. See what he’s got. I can erase his call from the station logs.”
“You did the right thing. You’re really saving our asses here. Thanks, man.”
Russell beamed with gratification. “You’re welcome. I’d do anything for you. You know that.”
“Do you have a press pass?”
“I can get one. Are you asking me to go with you?”
“You were the one he spoke to, and you’ve got legit credentials. I don’t want to spook him. He might shut down and hide what he’s got. You can go in ahead of us, feel the situation out, see exactly what he’s got. We’ll wait outside. Are you in?”
“Of course,” Russell said with enthusiasm. “I’d love to help.”
“Russell, do you know what you’re agreeing to?”
Russell paused, uneasy. “What do you mean?”
“We can’t have people going around calling Joey a fake. Not with proof to back them up. We just can’t have that. Do you understand?”
Russell shifted in his seat. “Well, um, you’re just going to steal the pictures, right? I mean…” Russell laughed nervously. “I mean, you don’t intend to hurt the photographer.”
Shep was silent for a moment. “Russell, are you happy working at the television station? Is that your dream life?”
“No! I hate it here. You know I hate it. Why?”
“Because I think it’s time you joined us at Forest Bluffs. You’d like that. Wouldn’t you?”
Russell was ecstatic. Whatever uneasiness he’d felt melted away at the prospect of spending every day with Shep. “I’d like that very much, Shepherd. Very much.”
“Then you’ll help us?”
Russell paused. “Whatever you need.”
****
Out at Forest Bluffs, Shep slammed the phone down hard and Kelinda jumped. She was at the kitchen table, picking at a plate of food and trying desperately to get Joey’s attention. Joey was drunk, slumped in his chair with a bottle of rum. Shep stormed over and snatched Kelinda’s plate from the table, smashing it to the floor. Kelinda shrieked as he wound up and kicked the table over.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded.
“I told you,” he said, pointing. “I told you not to wear that fucking nightgown!”
He went downstairs to the den where the brothers were attempting to play pool. Margol had the stick backwards as he shot randomly at the balls. “Let’s go!” he yelled. “We’ve got a situation to take care of.” They brightened. They loved a mission. “Allisto, do you still have the key to the work shed?”
“Yes, brother.”
“Good. We’re going to need some explosives.”
* * * *
The loud knock startled Copie, who had amazingly dozed off. “Be right there!” he yelled, jamming a stick of wintergreen gum into his mouth. He opened the door to a young man with thick glasses and short wavy black hair. He held up a press pass. “Copeland Smith? I’m Russell from the station. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yeah, come on in.” Copie led him into the film lab. “Would you like some coffee or something?”
“No, I’m fine,” he said.
“Okay. Suit yourself.”
Russell leaned in and studied Copie now, his brow furrowed. “Jesus. You’re just a kid. How old are you?”
Copie puffed himself up. “I’m old enough,” he said. Russell continued to stare at him, an awkward hesitance in his eyes. Copie frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Fine!” Russell smiled. “Why?”
“Because you’re looking at me like I have a terminal disease or something.” Russell laughed. A throat cleared outside the door and Copie glanced back. “Is somebody out there?”
“Oh, that’s just my cameraman. He’ll be in when he’s ready. Let’s see these photos of yours, shall we?” Russell rubbed his hands in a gesture of excitement.
“Sure. Come on over here.” Copie led Russell to the computer station where the image of the ap
parition glowed on the screen. Russell gazed at it, a dreamy smile edging his lips. Copie picked up an envelope and dumped out the hard copies. “As you can see here,” Copie leaned in to show Russell, “the decorative bow is clearly visible on the neckline of the garment. In this picture, I’ve outlined it with a pencil.”
Still smiling, Russell took the picture and glanced at it, then his attention was diverted back to the glowing monitor. “May I?” he asked, pointing to the keyboard.
Copie nodded. “Sure. Go nuts.”
Russell sat down and commenced a furious tapping of keys. Copie watched in amazement as the image gained clarity. Russell played around with the lighting and managed to tweak the apparition into a far cleaner image than Copie had been able to achieve. “I’ve got to admit, I was hoping someone would get a picture of this,” he said.
Copie leaned in, grinning at the image, which had un-obscured detail now. “Wow! You’re really good at that.”
Russell examined the paper photos. “It looked real, don’t you think, Copeland? From the ground?”
Copie shrugged. “I suppose it looked as real as any supernatural vision. Bear in mind that I have nothing to compare it to.”
Russell nodded as he spread the pictures out on the desk. “Oh, it looked real all right. I’m a fucking genius. Did you know that, Copeland?”
Copie cocked his head. “Excuse me?”
A young man with sandy curls stepped through the doorway. “Stop feeding your ego, Russell. We have business to attend to.”
A cold sensation grabbed Copie as he looked at the other man’s wide green eyes. He’d seen that face before, but couldn’t place it. Russell held up the pictures. “Hey, Shep! I don’t suppose you’d let me keep one of these as a souvenir. This is some of my best work!”
The other man smiled. “I don’t think so, Russell.”
Copie looked back and forth between them. Three more men stepped through the door, lanky, curly-haired youths that looked like they could have been brothers to the first. None of them had cameras. Copie’s eyes shifted back to the sandy-haired one. He remembered where he knew him from. He was the stranger from the church, the one that had pushed him and stolen his camera.
“Is there another computer file of this image? Or is this the only one?” Russell asked.
Copie backed away, pointing to the four new arrivals. “Wait a minute. Who the hell are they?”
Russell was tipped back in his chair, feet on the computer table. “These are my associates. The handsome guy right there is Shepherd, and the others are, um, oh shit, I can never remember their names.”
The one called Shepherd came forward while the others stood at the door like guards. “All right,” he said. “Let’s stop fucking around, kid.” He grabbed Copie by the throat and forced him into a chair. “Where do you store the computer image, and where are the rest of the pictures?”
Copie couldn’t find his voice, bewitched by the cold green eyes that stared down at him. “You don’t want to talk?” Shepherd said. “Let’s make a deal then.” He grabbed a pen and pressed it hard against the soft flesh beneath Copie’s eye. Copie whimpered. “How about, you tell me where the image is stored, and I don’t gouge out your eye. What do you say?”
“It’s on a flash drive!” Copie called out. “The drive is in there. I swear to God, it’s only on the flash drive. These aren’t even my computers! I’m just a student!”
Still holding the pen to Copie’s eye, Shep gestured to Russell, who popped the drive out of the computer and examined it. He pecked at the computer keyboard, scanning the files. Finally, he turned to Shep. “He’s telling the truth.”
“We can’t take any chances,” Shep said, releasing Copie. “We have to destroy everything here. Margol?”
“Yes, Shepherd,” the redhead answered.
“Check out his apartment just in case. Juris? Bring that other stuff in now. Allisto, help Juris set the charges.”
The blond and brunette left the room and Copie saw a break as they cleared away from the exit. He bolted for the door, thinking he was moving pretty fast until Shepherd grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back. Copie fought, but Shep and Russell ultimately subdued him and tied him to a chair with something that looked like dental floss. “This string will disintegrate in the blast,” Shep told Copie as he wound it around his legs. “When they find your body, it won’t be evident that you were restrained. It will look like an accident.”
His tone was casual, like they were discussing the weather, not the manner in which Copie would be murdered. “Please,” Copie said. “Don’t. I won’t tell.”
“I don’t want you to die, kid. I am sorry about all of this, but what can I say? You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Then let me go!” he pleaded. “Just destroy the pictures! I won’t say anything, I swear. And even if I did, I’d have no proof! Nobody would believe me. Please, you don’t have to do this.”
Shep shook his head. “Sorry. This project is too important to leave loose ends.”
Russell joined the others in their preparations. They had set up charges and now the curly haired ones were joyfully dousing the place with gasoline. Shepherd looked over at them and scowled. “Hey! Take it easy on the gas! I said bring one small can, not all of it. We need some for the trip to Pearl Chasm next week. Or have you forgotten that your beloved brother is still in prison?”
The others re-capped the canisters, looking guilty. They gathered their equipment and moved out, leaving Copie tied to a small metal chair. Shep smoothed a strip of duct tape over Copie’s mouth. “Good journey, kid. Happy trails.”
They left him alone. Copie wheeled his chair to the door, but he had no thumbs available to flick the lock. Panic assaulted him as he heard vehicle engines start up from outside somewhere. He was going to fry. He was going to fry for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No! Not like this! He swallowed his fear and forced himself to think, a reckless jumble of survival-driven thoughts. Then his eyes spotted the bathroom door, left open a crack from his last visit. The bathroom had a small window just above the toilet. He shuffled like a mad sand crab over to the door and thrust himself headfirst into the tiny room, using too much momentum, and nearly toppling over.
He put pressure against the string binding his lower legs, urging it to loosen just a bit. He was able to manage a crouching stand, with the chair strapped on his back like a tortoise shell. His arms still wouldn’t budge. He used his chin to drop the toilet seat cover. Resting his knees on the edge, he shuffled himself to the back of the cistern, positioning his head against the wall as he struggled to get up onto his toes. He wobbled unsteadily, becoming too aware that he had nothing to break his fall. One shoe-tip reached the toilet cover, and he groaned, using every bit of strength his foot had to hoist his weight to a standing position. The arch of his foot cramped and he thought he’d pass out from the pain. Then he was there, standing on top of the toilet, with the window in front of him.
He spotted a white van in the far lot, parking lights on. They were waiting to see if the blast was a success, no doubt. With this thought, Copie slammed his head into the glass. It didn’t break. A strangled scream came up from his throat and he slammed his head again. This time a jagged crack spider-webbed across the glass. Four more desperate thrusts and he was through the shattered window. But he was stuck.
The chair did not quite fit, so he was lodged half in and half out, like Winnie the Pooh stuck in Rabbit’s hole after eating too much honey. He cursed against the duct tape and tried wiggling himself forward, but the chair was wedged. From his waist up he was out in the open air, looking down at the grass a foot below. From the waist down, he was still in the bathroom.
An ear shattering explosion tore through the lab as one of the charges ignited. Copie prayed as tears streamed. Another explosion came in a rush of heat. This one blew the bathroom door in off its hinges. The corner of the door struck Copie just below the knees, sending him ripping forth in a ru
pture of splintered wood and spraying glass. He landed with a thud on the grass outside, his face and legs stinging with cuts. He squinted up at the window and saw thick flames licking into the bathroom.
With his last bit of strength, he forced himself and the chair into a painful roll, turning end over end until he was several yards from the building and could move no more. The final blast came with a belch of scorching heat, and Copie buried his face into the earth. Fragments of flaming debris landed daintily on his skin, burning him. The last thing he heard before he passed out was the sound of the van driving away.
Chapter Nineteen
The train stopped at the end of the line and Patrick got off. The red-haired Shep-alike got off the train too, but he proceeded quickly in the opposite direction. Patrick watched him walk off down the street. His stride was awkward, yet fluid at the same time. He seemed to be walking almost solely on the balls of his feet, as if both ankles were sprained. The other stalkers had moved that same way, like they had two wooden legs.
The redhead looked back over his shoulder, and Patrick froze. He had the large green eyes, straight, sculpted nose, and rosebud mouth. Baby face. Patrick swooned, a surreal disorientation seizing him as he stared at this new stranger. He seemed surprised to see Patrick staring back at him, and he quickly turned away, flipping the collar up on his jacket and quickening his pace. Patrick resisted the urge to chase him down and question him under the threat of death. His sanity was all he had left. He refused to lose it.
Turning his attention away from the departing stranger, he began walking home. He was surprised to see Robin Duvaine sitting on his front porch, waiting. She wore a baby blue tee shirt, white shorts, with a ball cap and sunglasses hiding her face. A few strands of honey blonde hair escaped from under the cap. He’d nearly forgotten her promise to contact him when she returned from Forest Bluffs. He trotted up the steps toward her. “Robin! How did it go? Did they try to poison your Kool-Aid?”
