by Ren Hamilton
“You’re scaring me,” he whispered. “I mean it, Shep. You’re acting really crazy.”
“You don’t have to be afraid. You’re part of it now. Can’t you feel it? Didn’t you feel it when you threw me? It went through you!”
“What went through me?”
“Power. Energy. Blood.”
Patrick pointed at Shep. “Crazy. Crazy. Crazy.”
“Have it your way. I won’t try to stop you. And I do care about you, regardless of what you think. But you can’t hide from it. It’s inside you. We’re all tied together now. You, Joey, and me. Bonded forever.”
“Lucky me,” Patrick said and went for the door. Sweating profusely, he grabbed the knob and was happy to find that it opened.
Margol was outside waiting for him. Hadn’t he been in the library? Damn they were fast. “Where are you going, Patrick?”
“Anywhere but here, Margol.”
Margol looked over Patrick’s shoulder at Shep, waiting for instructions.
“Let him go,” Shep said. Margol stepped aside and Patrick went out the door. He walked past Joey and Kelinda in the kitchen, and both gave him an odd look. They’d probably heard the noise from his physical altercation with Shep.
He kept walking right out the front door and proceeded down the driveway. The front gates opened for him as he approached, and he stepped out onto the street. He felt better already. Nobody came after him, and nobody tried to stop him. He walked up Ocean Way, letting the sea breeze lick his face. He was going home. He was going home if he had to walk, swim, or crawl all the way. He’d nearly made it to the stop sign at the bottom of the hill when the first pain ripped through his head.
He fell into the scrubby blueberry bushes that ran along the side of the road. It felt like someone had stuck a hot poker into his ear and through his brain. He hung his head for a moment and the pain dulled to a light throbbing. He was all right again. No big deal, he told himself. People get headaches, right? He started to walk when the second pain hit him and he stopped in his tracks, gasping. He forced his feet to keep moving. The pain intensified, becoming a flash of white across his eyes.
Collapsing onto the road, a montage of images played in his mind. He saw Joey falling from the church roof. Joey getting stabbed repeatedly in the chest. Joey getting shot. With each new image, another shudder of white-hot pain shot through Patrick’s skull and down his spine.
As he crawled backwards a few feet, crab-style, the images faded slightly, dulling the pain. Still sliding on his rear end, he went back up the hill, back toward the house, sweating and panting. A few more feet and the images stopped altogether. The pain subsided, but his body was shocked and trembling uncontrollably.
He may have passed out, as some time later he became aware again and found himself lying on his side, shivering. A chipmunk ran out of the bushes then retreated back. A motorcycle rumbled by. Its driver gave Patrick a double glance before he sped off down the road. Patrick stood up slowly, feeling better. He took a cautious step down the hill and the searing pain started to return. Defeated, he turned and headed back toward Joey’s house. It was only when the salty wetness leaked onto his lips that he realized he was crying. This was bad. This was beyond bad. He couldn’t leave Forest Bluffs. He was in a world of trouble.
****
The front gates at the driveway remained opened when he returned, like a giant pair of jaws welcoming him back into the belly of the beast. He walked through them and up the front lawn but did not go back into the house. He was too frightened to face anyone. Instead, he walked around the side of the house and meandered through the back yard and into the woods. Nobody stopped him. Clearly, they knew now that he could not leave, so there was no need to monitor him anymore. Joey’s blood had taken over the watch.
He walked off into the thick woods until he was a good distance from the house, then sat down on a large flat boulder. He was flanked on all sides by trees, the chirping sounds of the forest engulfing him. Lying back on the rock, he watched beams of sunlight cut through the trees above. He sobbed. What was he going to do? This changed everything. If he couldn’t leave Joey, then he couldn’t leave Forest Bluffs. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t get the sample to Litner. He couldn’t go back to Robin.
Looking up above him at the treetops, he prayed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed, but he asked God to please help him out of this mess. He added that God was, after all, indirectly responsible for this. Had he kept a better watch over his minions, Shepherd would not be walking the earth in the first place. He wasn’t sure if blaming God was a good idea, but he finished the prayer with an Amen, and closed his eyes.
A hand pressed down on his mouth. Patrick’s scream was stifled as he tried to jump up, the strong hand holding his head firm to the stone. He hadn’t heard anyone approach.
Patrick tried a second time to sit up when the cold butt of a gun pressed against his temple. “Don’t make a sound,” an unfamiliar voice said. The stranger removed his hand from Patrick’s mouth, but kept the gun to his head.
Patrick raised his hands over his head. “I’m not moving. You don’t need the gun.”
His assailant removed the gun from his temple. Patrick sat up and turned around, inhaling sharply at the sight of his assailant. It was the crazy long-haired man that tried to knife Joey in the bar. His salt and pepper hair hung in a scraggly mess to his shoulders. He wore camo pants with a black tank top, arms tattooed and well-muscled. When he holstered the gun, Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. “You! What are you doing here?”
“Keep your voice down,” the man said.
“I don’t want any trouble. Just walk away. I won’t tell them I saw you.”
“Why were you crying?” Patrick didn’t answer. The guy took a step closer. Patrick shimmied backward on the rock. The man held his hands up, showing his palms. “Whoa. Take it easy there, Little Buttercup. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Patrick blinked at him. “What did you say?”
“I said relax, Little Buttercup.”
An alarm went off in Patrick’s subconscious. Little Buttercup. The code name Agent Litner had given him. This man was not deranged at all. He was Agent Litner’s scout.
“You’re Litner’s spy!” Patrick said excitedly.
The man’s hand went over Patrick’s mouth again and he froze. Leaning in close, he whispered, “It kind of defeats the purpose of using a code name if you’re going to be yelling things like that out. Now doesn’t it?”
He removed his hand. Patrick sighed. “Sorry. I’m just…surprised.”
“Save it, Obrien. We don’t have much time. Why were you crying?”
“I can’t leave!” Patrick said, and the tears came again.
“I saw you go out the front gates. You came back. Why?”
“They’ve done something to me. Physically. I can’t leave.” Patrick explained the pain he experienced as he tried to move away from the property. The man scowled as he listened.
“Do you have the samples?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Give them to me. I’ll get them to Litner.”
Patrick pulled the baggy out of his jeans and handed it over. Examining the bag, the guy quickly stuffed it into a pocket. “What about me?” Patrick asked. “What do I do?”
“Take it easy, Obrien. We’ll figure something out. We’re going to get you out of here.”
Patrick hung his head in despair. Litner’s spy leaned over. “Hey! Look at me.” Patrick did. “My name is Walsh. I’m a member of Litner’s team, and I keep my promises. We all do. If we have to strap Joey Duvaine to your back like a fucking papoose, we’ll get you out. Okay?”
Patrick smiled in spite of himself. “Okay.”
Walsh scanned the woods around them, then looked back at Patrick. “I’ll get this to Litner and I’ll tell him what’s happened. Sit tight and don’t make waves. Don’t do anything until I contact you.”
“How will you contact me?”
> “I’ll leave you a sign on the back deck. When you find it, come out to this rock again. You’ve done your part. We’ll take it from here. Trust us.”
Patrick prayed he could trust the man’s word. Litner’s team was his only hope now. The knowledge of that was far from comforting.
Chapter Forty-Two
Robin had the most unsettling feeling that Litner was losing control of this investigation. Patrick was stuck at Forest Bluffs, yet another ‘unexpected hindrance’. The stony agent had damn well better come up with a solid plan soon, because she was losing faith rapidly, and losing her mind at the thought of Patrick stuck out there at Camp Blood. She pulled into her driveway and turned the car off. Slinging her heavy gym bag over her right shoulder, she climbed the long stairwell up to her apartment.
She saw Shep as soon as she opened the door and stepped inside. He sat in her favorite living room chair, arms rested casually on his lap. Robin let out a yelp and dropped the bag.
“Hello Robin.”
Her first instinct was to run. If she’d had time to think about it, she would not have done so. To run meant she feared him, and she didn’t want him to know that she did. Unfortunately, her instincts were not in the mood to reason things out, so she turned and darted back out the door.
Margol and Allisto came out of nowhere. They must have been hiding somewhere in the outer hallway. Each grabbing an arm, they shoved her back into her apartment, closing the door. Margol used extreme force, either accidentally or on purpose, and she stumbled and fell. Shep remained seated during the whole ordeal, watching calmly. A pain shot through her knee as she hit the floor.
Pain always angered her, and anger made her forget her fear. She glared up at the one who was responsible for her pain, Margol, with his red curls and face full of welts from his altercation with Father Bello’s candelabra. “Well,” she said. “Don’t you look pretty. Push me again, freak, and I’ll carve up the other side of your face to match.”
The comment seemed to upset Margol. His brother Allisto reached out and gently touched the marks along Margol’s cheek. “I will heal!” Margol said, slapping Allisto’s hand away.
Robin stood and brushed herself off, then turned slowly to face Shep. “You have got some fucking nerve.”
“Did I scare you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Really? Sure seemed like it. I’ve seen you pissed off, Robin, but you’ve never literally run from me before.”
“You surprised me, that’s all. Like finding a spider on my pillow. Now get the fuck out of my home.”
“You seem upset, Robin. Have I been neglecting you again?”
“I prefer it if you neglect me.”
“Since when?”
“How many times do I have to go through this with you? We discussed this on the phone.” She stood before him where he sat like a judge, and she the defendant thrown before the court. “I’m done with your shitty treatment of me. It’s over. Get it through your head.”
“Shitty treatment? What exactly have I done lately that’s so bad? I’ve stopped calling you for up to three months in the past, and you always came back to me.”
“I was a lot younger then.”
“It was last year, Robin.”
“Yeah, well I was a lot younger last year. What makes you think you can just come into my apartment whenever you please?”
Shep drummed his fingers on his knees. “You gave me a key, remember? You never took it back. You never said I wasn’t welcome.”
“How about the part when I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore? Didn’t that maybe give you the slight impression that you were no longer welcome to just stroll into my home?”
Shep stood and walked toward her. Tapping a finger on his chin, he said, “Yeah, about that not wanting to see me anymore thing. I’d like to discuss that.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
“Really? Nothing at all?”
He was too close suddenly, and she could smell his familiar scent. Furious with herself, she still felt that old pull of attraction, the sexual fascination she’d always had for him. But it made no difference. Her body might want Shep, but that didn’t mean she was about to run back into his murdering arms. She was stronger than that now.
“I think there’s plenty to discuss,” he said. “For instance, your behavioral changes as of late. Your attitude toward me has been out of character to say the least. That got me thinking.” Shep pulled something out of his pocket and twirled it playfully around his fingers. “Maybe there’s more to your sudden change of heart than saving your self-respect from my less than adequate dating practices. I’m not buying it. I know you too well.”
“People change, Shep.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh do they? Do people change, Robin?” He twirled the thing in front of her face and she finally recognized it. It was the candy necklace Patrick had given her the day they rode out to the caves. It had been hanging ceremoniously on her bedroom mirror. Shep thrust it in Robin’s face. “What is this…thing?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“That is a candy necklace. Haven’t you ever seen one? Oh that’s right. You had a deprived childhood.”
She realized after she said it that cracks about Shep’s childhood no longer held any weight. Shep had, after all, fabricated his childhood. The whole abusive father story had been an elaborate fiction designed to ward off questions about his true past, and the real reason his back was so brutally scarred.
“I know it’s a candy necklace you wiseass bitch. Where did you get it?”
He couldn’t possibly know the origin of the necklace or he wouldn’t be asking. She decided to stall, to find out how much he knew. This was an old familiar practice between them. He’d always known how to read her, but she’d always excelled at annoying him into saying more than he’d intended. This gave her a better idea of where she stood.
“What difference does it make where I got it?”
Shep’s round eyes narrowed. “It makes a difference to me.”
“Why? It’s just a candy necklace. What is the problem?”
“You had it hanging on your bedroom mirror.”
“Is that a crime?”
“I know you, Robin. You forget that, I think. You don’t hang things on your mirror unless they mean something to you. Now, seeing that this is a cheap dirty piece of shit necklace made of sugar, what value could it possibly hold? What could make this necklace so important that it would earn a coveted spot on your mirror? Hmmm?”
He pulled the colorful strand of candy loops over his own head. She wanted to rip it off him. Apparently, it showed on her face. “What’s wrong? Does it make you angry to see me wearing this? Why would you care? It’s just a piece of costume jewelry. It’s made of fucking sugar!”
His anger flared in his eyes and she took a step back, fear beginning to bloom. “What is your point? Enough with the candy necklace already! Christ on a crutch!”
“Who gave this to you?”
“I bought it for myself. Nostalgia purchase.”
“Bullshit. You’ve always been a bad liar. Who is he?”
“Who is who?”
“You know who. The guy who gave you this stupid necklace.”
“What guy?”
He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t do it, Robin. Don’t drag me into one of these Abbott and Costello circuitous arguments. Just answer the damn question.”
She remained stoically silent. Keeping his eyes on her, he removed the necklace and held it before his nose, breathing deeply. “Did I ever mention that I have an extraordinarily keen sense of smell?”
“No.”
“Well, I do. Do you know what I smell when I bring this necklace to my face?”
“Sugar?” she said snidely.
“I smell you. Not your perfume, not your soap or your shampoo, but you. I smell your sweat. And it smells like passion. It smells like desire. You see, these are the subtle changes in your scent that only I can det
ect.”
“You’re crazy. No one can smell desire.”
“Oh really? Animals can.”
“Well, that makes sense. You are an animal.”
“So are you! So is everyone!”
She walked toward her bedroom. “I’m not in the mood for one of your nature of the beast lectures.”
He grabbed her arm and tugged her back. She gasped. He’d never hurt her before. She looked into his eyes and was frightened by what she saw. She couldn’t place it, but his eyes looked different. It was as though the shields were down and she could see his rage swirling in the reflective green around his pupils. “Let go of me, Shep.”
“I’ll find out who he is. You know I can. It would be a lot easier if you just tell me.” She said nothing. “Fine,” he said. “It makes no difference now. You won’t be seeing him anymore. You’re coming with me.”
“The hell I am.” She stood defiantly. She was only five foot four, so she had to look up at Shep, who was five foot ten. They’d been so perfect for each other physically, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. She forced those thoughts out of her head, reminding herself he’d said he was gonna kidnap her. “I want you all to leave now,” she said. “If you don’t, I’m calling the police.”
“That’s going to be a bit difficult with no phone,” Shep said, casually examining his fingernails.
She glanced over at her gym bag. Allisto stood in front of it, arms crossed over his chest.
“You always keep your phone in your purse, and your purse in your gym bag when you come home,” Shep said. “Go ahead. Try and grab it. I’ll wait.”
She turned and glared at him. “You’re insane! You can’t hold me against my will. You willing to risk prison, Shep? You won’t feel so tough living in a cage.”
He chuckled. “I won’t be living in a cage. I’ll be living in your cousin Joey’s great big beach house. And starting tonight, so will you.”
Real fear gripping her now, she ran for the door, pushing Margol and Allisto out of the way. She got the door open, and thought she’d caught them off guard, until she felt herself being lifted off her feet. Margol held her in a bear hug, one hand clasped over her mouth.
