by Ren Hamilton
“Kelinda’s one of the revered now?” Robin asked, looking surprised.
Patrick laughed. “She’s like the fucking Queen of Sheba out there.”
Robin shook her head. “She used to be so practical. I still can’t believe she’s involved with this madness. It’s like she’s completely changed.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Patrick said, thinking of the little blood and wine party he’d witnessed.
Litner’s pen tapping had moved from his temple to the top of his desk. The speed of the tapping seemed to increase with his anxiety level. “Who’s in charge out there? Is it Joey Duvaine?”
“No. Joey is just the front man. Shep is the one running things. Joey is the great and powerful Wizard of Oz, but Shep is definitely the man behind the curtain.”
“I knew it!” Robin said.
“I didn’t say Joey was innocent, Robin. He may not be running the show, but he is the star player.”
Robin looked disappointed. “So, did you see the new guy? The one from the cave?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Oh, yes. Klee’s very sweet, but his back was still bleeding. I could see it oozing through his shirt for Christ sakes.”
Litner actually shuddered. “Is there anything else I should know before we move on to new information?”
Patrick thought. So much had happened in the past week. “Oh, as you’d guess, they realize that Juris is missing, and Shep’s not happy about it. He told me Juris was on my watch when he disappeared. I played dumb, but they’re not going to stop looking for him. It’s one of the things they’re most adamant about. All five brothers need to be together. Nobody gets left behind. They talk like that all the time. It’s touching in a creepy dysfunctional family sort of way.”
“Juris has been moved to a classified location. It was part of the deal we made with him for not snapping Copie’s neck.” Litner paused, shaking his head. “I swear that kid Copie has nine lives. Anyway, the odds of them finding Juris is unlikely, but we still have to move fast. Get me those samples, Obrien. I don’t care if you have to dance a jig and sing Praise the Lord. Just get the samples and get out of there.”
“I’ll have them by next week’s meeting. I assure you. So what’s this new information you have?”
Agent Litner’s dark blue eyes flickered with a smile as he pulled an orange folder out of his desk drawer. “I have a surprise for the two of you. I found Wesley J. Shepherd, your elusive name in the dirt.”
“What?” Robin and Patrick said the word simultaneously. Litner looked pleased with himself, like the only kid in class who had the answer to a complicated math problem.
“Who is he?” Patrick demanded. “Is he related to Shep somehow? Is he connected to the doctor? Is he—”
“Slow down.” Litner held a hand up. “For starters, Wesley Jackson Shepherd is a man who does not want to be found. I consider myself damn good at finding people, and I had a bitch of a time tracking him. I came up with a lot of Wesley Shepherds that just weren’t the right one. Our Wesley has changed his name seven times in the past thirty years. He now goes by the name Jonathan Jones.”
“How inventive,” Patrick said. “So how did you determine that this particular Wesley is the one we’re looking for?”
Litner blinked slowly. “Because this Wesley J. Shepherd is the surviving son of a couple that was killed in a cave collapse at Pearl Chasm fifty-two years ago.”
He let them absorb the information. “Wow,” Patrick said softly. “That’s…a strange coincidence.”
Litner remained stone-faced, but his pen tapping had ceased. He was back in control.
“So there’s our connection to Pearl Chasm,” Robin said, “But what do we have besides the last name that connects him to Shep, or the dead doctor for that matter?”
“Well, I’m not sure about the doctor, but I believe I know where our old buddy Zirub got his fake name from. It was Wesley’s parents, the ones that died in the cave.” Litner pulled a photocopy of a newspaper article from the folder and handed it to them. “Look at the first names of the deceased.”
Patrick and Robin scanned the article.
A young Massachusetts couple died on Saturday after a cave collapsed at the popular Pearl Chasm Park in Western Massachusetts, leaving orphaned their only child, ten-year-old Wesley. The recreational park has been closed indefinitely pending an evaluation of the caves and hiking trails. Services for Melvin and Eugenia Shepherd will be held on Wednesday.
Robin gasped. Patrick looked up at Agent Litner. “Do those names sound familiar?” Litner asked.
Patrick nodded. “Melvin and Eugenia Shepherd. Melvin Eugene Shepherd. I don’t suppose this is a coincidence.”
“There are too many coincidences,” Litner said. “This is our man. Shep knows this Wesley character somehow. More than knows him. He took his dead parents’ names as his own.”
“Why would Zirub take this couple’s names as his own?” Robin said. “What’s the connection?”
Litner drummed his hands on the desk. “I don’t know. Why don’t we ask Wesley J. Shepherd?”
“Where is he?” Patrick asked.
“That’s the best part,” Litner said. “Wesley J. Shepherd, also known as Jonathan Jones, is alive and well, and living in Layton, New Hampshire.”
“Are you shitting me? That’s only—”
“Just over an hour away,” Litner said. “Wesley was ten years old when his parents died, and that was fifty-two years ago. That would make him sixty-two years old now. I say we pay the man a visit.”
Patrick looked at Robin and then back at Litner. “Today?”
“Yes, today. You don’t have to catch the boat back to Forest Bluffs until five o’clock. We have plenty of time to make the drive, ask the man some questions, and have you back in time to catch the boat. What do you say?”
Patrick smiled. “I say you’re a genius, Litner.”
“Well, I do what I can. Did anyone follow you today?”
Patrick remembered Allisto, and his heart sank. “Yes. Allisto followed me. I’m sure he’s lurking right outside the building somewhere.”
Agent Litner grinned. “I figured as much.” He picked up the phone. “Yeah, it’s me. Could you send Frankie in now? Thanks.” Litner hung up and leaned back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head.
“Who’s Frankie?”
“You’ll see.”
The door opened and a large man walked through it. He was about six foot three, muscular with short wavy reddish blond hair. His physical appearance was nearly identical to Patrick’s. Robin laughed. “Holy shit! Patrick it’s you!”
Patrick stared in disbelief at this man who looked more like him than his own brother. Frankie smiled. “You must be Patrick.”
Patrick stood and shook the man’s hand. “Frankie?”
The big man looked to Litner for instructions. Agent Litner stood and walked out from behind his desk. “Robin and I will step out for a moment. I want the two of you to change clothes. We’re going to send Frankie out the front doors in the hopes that Allisto will take the bait and follow him. Make it quick. Time is a luxury we don’t have today.”
“I’d stay and watch the two of you change, but it would just be too weird,” Robin joked.
Robin and Litner left the room. Once they were gone, Patrick and Frankie changed clothes wordlessly. Patrick wondered if Frankie worked for Litner. He was in far better shape than Patrick was. Frankie’s stomach was a flat rippling mass of toned abdominal muscles. Patrick’s own gut needed some work. He hadn’t exactly had time to get to the gym lately.
Minutes later, Patrick, Robin and Agent Litner watched a monitor that showed a surveillance camera’s view of the front steps of the building and the surrounding street. They watched as Frankie, dressed now in Patrick’s Boston Celtics tee shirt and jeans, trotted casually down the front steps and walked off down the city sidewalk. Thirty seconds later, Allisto’s head of black curls appeared from behind a hotdog stand, an
d he shuffled down the street after Frankie. Litner nodded his satisfaction as he watched Allisto trail the phony Patrick. “These brothers may be shrouded in the mysteries of another world, but in this world, they’re predictable as hell.”
****
They were getting close to something. Patrick felt it like maniacal butterflies doing a frenzied ballet in his stomach. His temples pulsed slightly and the scar on his wrist tingled. He was no longer in denial about his perceptions; his senses had been heightened somehow with the transmission of Joey’s blood. He was unsure why the tingling was happening now though. He couldn’t sense Joey at the moment, but maybe he was freaking out back at Forest Bluffs over something and it was affecting the blood bond.
Agent Litner drove, with Patrick beside him and Robin in the back. The gold pen was out and the temple beating was in full swing, growing more rapid as they passed each sign that read “Layton”. Robin leaned forward between the two front seats. “Would you stop that pen tapping please? Christ, Litner! You’re going to give yourself a brain hemorrhage.”
Litner gave her a befuddled glance. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? You’re constantly beating yourself on the side of the head with that pen. It’s making me nuts!”
Litner stopped tapping and examined the pen curiously. “Huh. I never noticed.”
Patrick turned to Litner. “You never noticed that you were maiming yourself with your pen every time you got anxious?”
“I was not aware.” He looked at Patrick. “I really do that?”
Patrick pointed to Litner’s temple, where a red splotch was already forming. “It’s right here, and it’s all the time.”
Litner glanced in the rearview mirror. He rubbed the spot on his temple. “Well. That explains why I’m always sore there.”
Patrick looked back at Robin. “He’s a genius, you know.”
“I’m aware.”
The landscape became more rural and the trees crowded around them until there was only a narrow winding road surrounded by plush forest. They passed a metal sign that read ENTERING LAYTON. The last semblance of the civilized world disappeared when the asphalt gave way to gravel that kicked up under the tires, making pinging sounds. The day darkened around them as the forest shrouded the land from sunlight. “Are we still going the right way?” Patrick asked, peering out his window at the nothing.
“This leads to the road Jonathan Jones lives on,” Litner answered.
Robin rolled down her window and a pine-scented breeze filled the vehicle. “Wow, this is beautiful. Talk about off the beaten path.”
Litner turned the big black car left onto an even narrower gravel road that went into a steep climb. The car’s engine hummed as it climbed the shadowy road. They passed at least six signs that told them they were on a private way, and that trespassers would be prosecuted. The towering trees bowed over, forming a canopy above the road. At the top of the hill, the road leveled out, then it just stopped, becoming a small clearing that led to a driveway.
At the end of the driveway was a picturesque log cabin, sized more like a permanent home. Litner eased the car up the driveway and killed the engine. The sounds of birds and other woodland creatures bombarded them, mingling with a soothing trickle made by a stream that separated the side yard from the woods.
A large golden retriever came bounding toward the car to greet them with teeth bared and an alarmed, incessant bark. Robin rolled her window up quickly. Patrick was still looking at the surrounding landscape. “Wow. This guy is a real loner. There is absolutely nothing up here.”
“Nothing but this dog that looks about to eat us,” Robin said. The dog had jumped up onto the side of the car and was barking directly at Robin through her closed window.
“What is he hiding from up here?” Patrick asked.
Agent Litner looked at him pointedly. “You should never go into a situation with preconceived notions. It alters your judgment. If you assume the man we’re about to meet is hiding something, then you’re going to look for things that may not be there. For all we know, this guy knows absolutely nothing about Shep.”
“Hey, I hate to interrupt Tough Guy 101 class, but is anyone else worried about this dog?” Robin leaned back from the window. “Old Yeller here doesn’t seem happy to see us.”
Litner got out of the car and shut the door. Robin and Patrick stayed in their seats, watching. The dog immediately went at Litner, barking furiously with its snout wrinkled. “Stop it,” he said with authority. The dog’s nose smoothed and the barking ceased. It whimpered once then turned and slinked away toward the side yard.
Patrick and Robin exchanged a glance. “He’s such a freak,” Robin whispered. “Agent Beastmaster.”
“He should have a pet hawk,” Patrick said.
“A talking pet hawk,” Robin added.
Litner peered through the car window. “Are you coming?”
They made their way up a flagstone walkway that led to the front door of the log home. Somewhere a woodpecker hammered away. Squirrels made daring jumps across the endless treetops that surrounded the solitary house. Litner led the way with Patrick and Robin trailing nervously behind, both holding back their steps a bit. No one knew what they would find here. If it had something to do with Shep’s past, Patrick was betting it would be something weird.
Agent Litner gave three hard raps on the door. The dog watched them from the side of a shed several yards away. The door swung inward, and a young man of about twenty-one eyed them warily. He had short yellow hair with fringy bangs, pale blue eyes and flawless skin. His eyes were accentuated by the baby blue button-down he wore with a pair of tan shorts. The first thing Patrick thought was that he had eyes like Joey’s, so light blue that they were almost white.
“May I help you?” he asked, his tone cautious but cordial.
“We’re sorry to intrude on you like this,” Litner said with a smile. “We’re looking for Jonathan Jones. Does he live here?”
Patrick noticed for the first time that Litner was not wearing his usual black suit. He’d given it over for a pair of brown dress slacks and a white polo shirt. The smile and relaxed demeanor were also unfamiliar. Litner was acting, playing a character.
“Jonathan Jones is my father,” the kid said. “He is here, but I’m afraid he’s quite ill. May I ask what this is about?”
“I am terribly sorry,” Litner said. “Nobody told us your father was ill. My name is Morgan, Roger Morgan. These are my associates, Patrick and Robin. We’re from the Massachusetts Historical Society. We just wanted to ask your father a few questions for a research project we’re doing. May we come in for a moment? We’ve driven quite a long way, and I’m afraid the lady has to use the bathroom.”
The yellow haired boy looked over Litner’s shoulder at Robin and Patrick. He smiled sheepishly, but Patrick saw something in his eyes. He had the look of a cornered animal. He was terrified of something. Of them? “Sure. Sure, come on in. You’ll have to forgive me if I seemed a bit rude. You see we don’t get many visitors up here, and the knock on the door took me by surprise.”
“Not at all,” Litner said. “I know I should have called first but the Historical Society didn’t have a number associated with your father.”
“Of course. It’s no trouble. Come in, please.”
Patrick wanted to laugh at all the cordiality going on, none of it genuine.
They followed the young man inside to a wide stone foyer. The house was deceivingly smaller looking on the outside. Inside, it was enormous. There was no second floor, and the ceilings were high, cathedral style. The place had a huge stone fireplace and wooded beams that ran midway along every wall. Plastic duck decoys decorated the mantle of the fireplace, with lots of pictures of hunting dogs and deer sipping at streams.
“It’s just down the hall to the left,” their host said to Robin.
“Excuse me?” Robin said.
“Didn’t you have to use the rest room?”
“Oh, yeah. T
hanks.”
As Robin passed, the kid offered his hand. “I’m Jon Jr. by the way. Nice to meet you.” Robin shook it, then proceeded down the hallway. Jon Jr. offered his hand to Agent Litner, and then to Patrick. His handshake was firm and his smile was warm, but he still looked spooked.
Robin returned and Jon led them into a large open sitting room with another fireplace. A genuine bear skin rug lay on the floor like a giant piece of roadkill.
Jon urged them all to sit. “I’m afraid my father has cancer of the pancreas,” he said.
“I’m so sorry,” Litner said humbly.
Jon nodded. “Thank you. He is dying. I’ve been up here caring for him for months now. Once the doctors told him there was no hope for recovery, he wanted to leave the hospital immediately. I knew he’d want to die up here. He loves this place.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” Robin said.
“Thank you.”
No one spoke for several seconds. Jon looked awkwardly at them as he sat with one buttock leaned against the arm of a chair, drumming fingers on his thigh. “So, Mr. uh, Morgan is it?”
“Roger Morgan,” Litner said, and flashed another happy guy smile.
“Perhaps you should tell me what this is about. My father may be too weak to speak with you. He has good days and bad days. I’d be happy to answer whatever questions I can. Why is the historical society interested in my father?”
Patrick’s eyes were drawn to a closed door just outside the room they were in. Was Wesley J. Shepherd, a.k.a. Jonathan Jones in there, withering away like an autumn flower? He pictured a sixty-two-year-old man lying in a bed, shrunken by the cancer that conquered his body. It made him sad and ashamed at their deception. They shouldn’t be here, intruding on this family.
“I know this must be a terrible time for you, Jon, and I appreciate your cooperation,” Litner said. “I’ll get right to the point. We’re doing a piece for a New England news program about natural caves in the area, and Pearl Chasm in particular.”
