by Ren Hamilton
Joey was being held at a special government ward so he could be watched closely, yet kept hidden at the same time. He rested in a secured room behind a thick wall of glass, curled up on his side. He seemed to be asleep, but his lips continued to mutter and he cried out occasionally. Litner glanced at the two bullish guards at the door and flipped his identification at them. They stepped out of the way and let him in the room.
He was surprised to see his boss, Agent Michaels, seated in the chair near the bed, sipping coffee and staring at the sleeping Joey. “Litner. Just the man I’ve been looking for.”
“How is he?”
Michaels glanced up. “Weird.”
Joey’s black hair had been cut shorter, and he was clean shaven. Litner studied the perfect bone structure, the tanned skin, long black lashes. He could have been a model or a movie star. Perhaps he would have been, had Shep not interceded and tried to make him his pet god.
Joey’s perfect face grimaced and he cried out incoherently in his sleep. His shoulders trembled. Whatever good fortune had graced this young man in the past, he was miserable now. Michaels stood up and stared at Joey. “I ask him the simplest questions, like where he went to high school, and he starts to cry.”
“Well, he’s been through quite an ordeal,” Litner said.
Michaels stared at Joey a moment longer. “Come on, Litner. We need to talk.”
When they got to Agent Michaels’ office, he told his secretary to hold his calls. After they both sat down, Michaels drummed his fingers on the desk and looked him in the eye. “Do you think I’m a fucking idiot, Litner?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t give me that ‘who me’ look. This report you gave me is so full of holes I can’t believe you expected me to buy it.”
“If you have further questions, I’d be happy to try and answer them.”
“Really. Well, I do have further questions. I want to know why nine agents came back from that siege requesting leaves of absence for personal reasons. All of them suddenly need time off. I know for a fact plenty of them have been through worse. At least worse than what your report tells me. So what are you hiding?”
Litner left the metaphysical stuff out of his report purposely. He knew Michaels was familiar with some unexplainable phenomena, so it wasn’t that he was afraid his boss wouldn’t buy it. But his team members begged him not to reveal the entire truth of what happened. Everyone was worried about their jobs, their reputations, and their sanity. And what could it possibly add to the outcome? The crops were destroyed. Shepherd was dead. Joey was broken. It was over.
“It was a violent altercation. We lost a man, others were wounded. It’s understandable they’d need time off.”
“These are trained professionals, Litner.”
“There was a lot of—”
“A lot of confusion,” Michaels finished his sentence. “Yes, you said that in your report. It must have been damn confusing out there. You’re all hiding something. Tell me the truth.”
“I want you to cut Duvaine loose,” Litner said, using the shock value of the statement to distract. It worked.
“What did you say?”
“I said I want you to cut Duvaine loose. I believe he was under a type of mind control during the time his family was murdered. That is, if they were murdered. There is still no proof of that.”
Michaels was literally thrown by the statement, and he tilted back in his chair, nearly tipping over. “No proof? How about a full confession from Duvaine himself? Is that not proof enough for you?”
“As I said, I believe Duvaine was not in his right mind.”
“Hold on Litner. Just hold on a minute. All I’ve heard from you and Agent Rourke, God rest his soul, for the past year, is that Joey Duvaine was involved with his family’s deaths. You insisted on it. You argued about it. You begged me not to close the case. So now Duvaine has confessed to having prior knowledge of these murders, and you want to cut him loose?”
“But—’’
“Have you heard some of the things he’s confessed to? Dressing his friend Shepherd up as Captain Morgan before sending him off to murder his father. You know, Captain Morgan from the rum bottle? In order to, and I’m quoting here, ‘mess with his father’s mind’ before Shep killed him. Should I go on, or is that disturbing enough for you?”
“As I explained, I believe there were extenuating circumstances.”
“See, that’s just the thing, Litner. You’ve explained shit. Duvaine is gonna fry. End of story.”
Litner drummed his temple with his pen. “What if I were to offer you something in return for Duvaine’s freedom?”
“You haven’t got anything that good.”
“What if, for arguments sake, I did have something that good?”
He could see that he’d sparked his boss’s interest, though he struggled to make his face blank. Michaels said, “If you did in fact have a piece of information that valuable, then yes, I would consider it.”
“I know where there’s a Cripulet.”
Michaels stilled. “Yeah, I do too. Two in fact. One’s in India, one’s in Spain. Both sitting underground in the bowels of the earth, inactive.”
Litner shook his head. “I’m not talking about those. I’m talking about a Cripulet we have right here.”
Michaels shrugged casually, but Litner saw a flicker of excitement in his eyes. “Here? In the United States?”
“Here, in Massachusetts.”
Michaels stared at him for a long moment. “Bullshit. Don’t fuck with me, Litner. There is no damn Cripulet in Massachusetts.”
“I swear on my mother’s life.”
Michaels leaned forward. “Are you shitting me?”
“Sincerely. Oh, and it’s active.”
Michaels almost fell out of his chair again, only this time from leaning too far forward. “How active?”
“It was just opened last month. I’m certain if you test the rock, you’ll find the same compounds they discovered in India and Spain.”
According to the data, Cripulets activated even once left a unique residue signature in the material that underwent the shifting process. The results had been identical in the Cripulets discovered and tested in the past. Michaels would be able to confirm that the one in the cave at Pearl Chasm was legitimate.
Fortunately, there was no standard procedure for getting one of them to actually open. Otherwise he wouldn’t be telling Michaels about it at all. And he sure wasn’t about to share what he did know—that the Cripulet at Pearl Chasm could be opened using the blood of the newly departed. He knew Michaels to be a good, ethical man. But with what Litner knew about who and what had come through the Pearl Chasm Cripulet, he wasn’t about to trust anyone with the knowledge of how to open that thing again.
But still, it was a real Cripulet, one that he could now use as a real bargaining chip. “There’s even a circle painted on stone to mark the exact spot. You’ll be able to find it easily.”
Michaels swallowed hard and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You know this for certain? That it was activated?”
“I do. But I can’t tell you how I know.”
“Why? You work for me, remember?”
“It’s something I discovered on my personal time. You’re going to have to trust me. I have eyewitness accounts that I know to be true, but they’ve asked not to be exposed. Michaels, I know for certain there’s a Cripulet, and I know where. Do you want the location or not?”
“Why do you want Duvaine this badly, Litner?”
“Because I owe Patrick big time, and he’s convinced me Joey can be redeemed. Hell, you’ve seen him, talked to him. If anything, the guy needs a shrink. Not prison.”
“Court mandated therapy?”
“I can make that happen.”
Agent Michaels got very quiet then. He stood up and locked his door, then returned to his seat. “Where is it?”
“You give me Joey Duvaine, and I’ll give you the location of the Cripulet.
”
“Take the murdering little bastard. He’s yours.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Tell me.”
“Do you know where Pearl Chasm is?”
Agent Michaels smiled.
****
Litner swung by Joey Duvaine’s room again on his way out. Robin was there now, sitting by his side, reading. She looked up and waved at him through the glass. Joey was still sleeping. They had him on large doses of sedatives. They were the only things that seemed to calm him. Litner stared at the sleeping man, the would-be god. “I hope you’re worth it, kid,” he muttered and walked by the room, giving Robin a final wave as he left.
Inside the room, Joey opened his eyes. “Robin.”
She put her book down. “You’re awake. Are you feeling better today?”
His pale blue eyes stared at her intently. “I am not feeling better today. I was not feeling better yesterday. And I will not be feeling better tomorrow. Kill me.”
Robin sighed. “Oh please, Joey. Not this again.”
“I’m miserable.”
“You’re free. The pain will lessen over time. Give it time, Joey.”
“And just how much time would it take you to live down fact that you’d allowed the murder of your entire family?”
Robin rubbed her eyes. Between worrying about Joey and Patrick and grieving Shep’s death, she hadn’t slept in days. “Joey, you can’t possibly prefer to be what you were. Do you want to live your life without feeling? Do you want to go back to that...madness?”
Joey studied her a moment longer, then his lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Robin.”
“Oh, no,” Robin said. “Don’t start crying again, Joey. I can’t take it.”
He buried his face in the pillow and wept. Robin frowned. The door opened and one of the guards came in. “Joseph Duvaine?”
Joey did not lift his head. Robin answered for him. “Yes, this is Joey Duvaine. What is it?”
“Agent Michaels wants to see him.”
Robin scowled. She knew they wanted to put Joey in jail. “Tell him that he’s upset right now. What the hell does Michaels want now?”
“He wants to discuss his release.”
Robin blinked. “His release?”
“Yes. Joey’s free to go. When he’s feeling better, that is.”
Joey sat up abruptly. He wiped his tears and looked at the guard. “I’ve never felt better. I’d like to go home now, please.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Three weeks later.
Patrick sat on the train, trying to figure out who smelled so bad. All he really knew was that it wasn’t him. He was wearing a new suit and some very expensive cologne.
His first day on the new job had been tough. The job itself wasn’t tough, it was just hard getting back into the swing of things. As much as he’d loved the routine of working for a living, he felt differently now. He was not that same guy he’d been before. But since Litner had gone out of his way to find Patrick the job, he pushed through and hoped it would get better. That he’d feel better. Eventually.
At times it felt like it had all been a bad dream. Except that Shep was no longer with them, a reality that wouldn’t go away. He hadn’t been prepared for how hard that would hit him. He’d spent a couple days at his brother Ryan’s house when he got out of the hospital. Ryan had comforted him, listened to him, and let him cry.
Copie had gone to work as well, as a photographer for a fairly popular online magazine. It wasn’t fame and fortune, but it was a start. Copie said he was just happy to be alive, physically and legally, and anything else was just gravy.
Patrick had heard through the grapevine that Father Carbone was leaving Saint Mary’s and going to serve at Saint Christopher’s church with Father Bello. It seemed the two scholars had a new common interest: celestial folklore.
The train stopped and Patrick got off. It was odd walking up the familiar street toward Joey’s apartment. He would miss Joey terribly, but he understood why he needed to get away for a while. Joey’s family had originally come from Montreal, so he was packing his bags and going to spend a few months up in Canada, where he claimed with dark humor that there may still be a few Duvaines left that he hadn’t killed.
The two of them had gone out for beers at Monty’s earlier in the week with Calvin White as a bon voyage party for what Calvin called Joey’s ‘temporary leave of his senses’. It had been strange being back at the bar as though nothing had happened. It would have been all too familiar, but again, there was no Shep. He left a large and obvious hole. The other thorn in the side of normalcy was that Joey was still a celebrity of sorts, and he still got a lot of attention regardless of his attempts to quietly enjoy a beer with friends.
Patrick had bid Joey farewell that night, but he couldn’t resist stopping by the apartment one last time. When he rounded the corner, he saw the new minivan sitting outside. He’d never imagined Joey to drive a minivan, but again, a lot of things had changed. Patrick grinned at the van, pleased that Joey was home. He had to at least have one last beer with him. It might be months before they saw each other again.
Joey had the door open at the top of the stairs and was peeking out before Patrick got half-way up. “Obrien! You didn’t have to come by again.”
“I wanted to. Are you all packed?”
“Pretty much. Come on in.”
Patrick followed Joey into the apartment just as Joey’s cellphone rang. “Oh, I have to get this, it’s Aunt Betsy. She’s supposed to give me a list of relatives to look up when I get to Montreal. Grab a beer, I’ll be right out.”
Joey went down the hallway to his bedroom, while Patrick wandered into the familiar living room and looked around with nostalgia, remembering all the Saturday mornings he’d spent here. He glanced over at the suitcases piled up on the couch and felt a pang of sadness. Moving into the kitchen, he grabbed a beer out of the fridge. Stuck to the door was a scrap of paper with the name and number of a mental health center nearby. Patrick had the same number at his apartment.
It was the place where Kelinda was currently residing. They’d tried to get in to visit her earlier in the week, but she refused to see them. Her mother was there, and proceeded to inform them that if either one of them ever went near her daughter again, she would remove their testicles.
The new, emotional Joey had been particularly disturbed by Kelinda’s mother’s comments, and Patrick had to calm his sobbing on the way home. Patrick heard Joey’s laughter from down in his bedroom, and he smiled. It had been a long time since he’d heard Joey laugh.
He meandered back into the living room and plunked down on the recliner, taking a long swill of his beer. The apartment had a funny smell. At first Patrick assumed it was because the place had been shut up all spring. But there was something familiar about the smell. It smelled like, well…Forest Bluffs. Like burned rubber. Patrick looked down at the chair he sat in. It was Joey’s favorite recliner, the one he’d brought out to Forest Bluffs with him. The smell was probably coming from the chair.
Patrick stood and walked around the room. The smell was stronger near the couch. He shook his head and started to walk back to the chair when something caught his eye. There was a clump of material rolled up and tossed off in the corner of the room. Patrick took a few steps toward it then stopped dead. It was a tie-dye tee shirt.
Eerie to see it, knowing that it must have been Shep’s. Patrick picked up the shirt. He recognized it. It was a turquoise and orange one with tiny dancing bears that spiraled into a point at the center. He could even smell Shep’s coconut shampoo as he shook it out, and he found that his heart was breaking. “Damn it, Shep,” he whispered, fighting back tears. “I miss you, you crazy fuck.”
He was about to drop the shirt when he saw it. The shirt had blood on it. He froze, his stomach turning to ice. He hadn’t noticed it at first because of the colorful tie-dye pattern. But the fabric was definitely dotted with blood.
Somewhere down the hall
, Joey cackled on the phone. Patrick slowly turned the shirt around. The back was soaked with blood. The stain had a slight curve to it, like an upside-down horseshoe.
Patrick dropped the tee shirt and stumbled backwards, his mind spinning. He felt like he couldn’t get enough air. He stopped moving when he bumped into the couch and fell backward onto Joey’s suitcases. He paused, listening for Joey’s voice. After a few seconds, he heard it. Joey was still on the phone.
On a whim he opened one of the suitcases. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find. When he lifted the lid, the smell wafted up—burned rubber. He looked down at the contents. “No,” he said quietly. “No, no, no.”
There in the suitcase were dozens of clear plastic zip bags full of reddish-brown seeds. They had the smell of the crop. He grabbed another suitcase and unzipped it. More seeds. He tore through the suitcases piled up on the couch. Patrick opened every one of them, and every one of them was full of seeds.
He put his hands to his head. Words he’d said to Wesley echoed in his mind. “So that’s it? He screws up with you and this Rollie guy, and he just starts over again?”
He heard the floor creak behind him and spun around. Joey stood on the other side of the couch, pointing a small black gun. “Step away from the seeds, Obrien.”
Patrick stayed frozen in place. “Joey, what are you doing?”
“I said, step away from the seeds.”
Patrick put his hands up and took two steps back from the couch. “So,” he said, his voice trembling. “Who did he get to cut his wings off this time? I know it wasn’t Dr. Lichtenstein.”
“I cut his wings off. That’s what friends do.”
Patrick shook his head. “I vouched for you with Agent Litner. I’m so fucking stupid. I don’t know you at all, do I?”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you know me.”
“No. I know a character played by an actor named Joey Duvaine. Have I ever really known you?”
Joey smiled, but his eyes were cold. “No. I suppose not. No sense lying about it now, I guess.”
“And Shep?”
