The Absence of Screams: A Thriller

by Ben Follows

  O’Reilly turned to Peters. “Do you have someone to deal with the kids?”

  “We’ll take care of them. I assume you want to talk to the adults.”

  “Maybe the kids too. You never know what a kid can pick up by listening and being in the same room."

  Peters signaled the patrol officers to do as she said, then followed them to the car.

  A few cops led Charles Shembly to a patrol car with his hands cuffed behind his back. He avoided eye contact with O’Reilly.

  The tall, blonde woman was loaded into a second car. Up close, the differences between her and Danielle were obvious.

  The twins were herded into a third car.

  Once the cars were gone, patrol officers went into the house and did a thorough search.

  Fifteen minutes later, O'Reilly and Cockerton got the news that the house was completely empty. There was no one else there.

  Cockerton turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

  O’Reilly looked around and frowned. She thought about the new information. She tried to keep track of it in her head but quickly found it impossible.

  She needed answers to a few questions before she could even begin to put the pieces together.

  "I need to make a call," she said, turning on her heel and walking toward their car. She glanced back at Cockerton as she did so.

  The big man stood still as the rain rolled off the umbrella and fell down beside him in sheets.

  She glanced back at her partner. If she didn't know Cockerton as well as she did, she would have thought he looked terrified.

  44

  Victoria's trailer was filled with guns, ammunition, and a state of the art computer system. From the exterior, it was impossible to guess it was anything but a regular trailer.

  Sam carried Marcus into the bedroom at one end of the trailer.

  Marcus sunk into the mattress.

  Once Sam was gone, he propped himself on his elbow and looked out the window at the front of the trailer.

  Jeff and the mercenary siblings were standing under the awning, casually having a conversation and occasionally glancing in Marcus's direction.

  Marcus couldn't make out a word they said. He also couldn't hear the rain. The trailer must have been soundproofed.

  A jolt of pain came into his lower back, and Marcus instinctively reached to the side table for his painkillers. When he realized there was nothing there, he laid back flat on the bed, willing the pain to go away.

  After a few minutes, he managed to build up the courage to sit back up. He pushed himself up and looked out the window.

  Jeff was holding a phone and speaking into it quickly. Victoria and Sam were nodding along as he spoke. Jeff smiled and hung up, then discussed whatever the caller had said for a few moments before they turned and walked back inside.

  Marcus dropped onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling.

  Jeff walked into the room with Victoria and Sam behind him. For every step he took, he swung his prosthetic leg out and around to emulate walking. He walked up to the side of the bed and looked down at Marcus.

  In Jeff's eyes was a look of pity.

  Victoria and Sam took up positions on either side of the door, their guns prominently displayed at their waists.

  Jeff looked down at Marcus. “I know what I'm going to do," he said.

  Marcus looked up at him.

  Jeff put his hands in his pockets. "I couldn't leave you to die, and I couldn't send you back to Angela. Then we got a call from a man named Ricky Genaro. Does that name mean anything to you?”

  Marcus’s eyes opened wide and he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Ricky is the one who shot me with a blank. Whatever he wants, don’t give it to him.”

  “Twenty-four hours ago," said Jeff, "I would have done anything for you, Marcus. You were my entire reason for living. I thought helping you find your daughter was a war I could believe in, a war in which I could die and still fulfill my destiny. Now, I can't look at you without thinking of all the bullshit you've told me. I don’t want anything to do with you, ever again.”

  Jeff turned and walked back to the door.

  “Wait,” Marcus shouted after him. “I thought I was helping people! What if it was your daughter? What if it was your daughter that had been kidnapped and taken from you? Please understand. I need her back!”

  Jeff stopped in the doorway, resting all his weight on his real leg. He looked over his shoulder. There were tears in his eyes.

  “I’m done listening to your bullshit, Marcus," he said. "I hope you find your daughter, and I hope she hates you as much as I do."

  Jeff hobbled to the far side of the trailer and leaned against the window, looking away from Marcus.

  Sam and Victoria each grabbed one of Marcus's arms. They lifted him off the bed and into the air as though he weighed nothing.

  “Jeff!” he shouted as the mercenaries carried him off the bed and out of the room. “Please! Don’t do this.”

  They carried him out of the trailer and dumped him into a wheelchair. They ignored his protests.

  “Jeff, you have to listen to me!" Marcus screamed as Victoria repositioned his legs. "Ricky will kill me!”

  “Don’t struggle,” said Victoria. "It will only make it worse."

  Marcus punched at Victoria. She caught his punch and twisted his wrist until it hurt so much his eyes watered.

  "Don't make this worse for yourself," she said.

  Marcus nodded and she let go of his hands.

  He looked back into the trailer. He was close enough to see inside.

  Jeff was leaning against the window at the far end. He held a gun in front of him. He checked if it was loaded, then slipped a clip inside.

  “Jeff!" Marcus shouted. "What are you doing?”

  Jeff looked out the window at the rest of the trailer park. He slowly put the gun in his mouth.

  "Jeff!" Marcus screamed.

  Jeff looked at Marcus in the reflection of the window at Marcus for just moment.

  He pulled the trigger.

  45

  Marcus's entire body flinched as the back of Jeff's head exploded outwards, bringing with it blood and pieces of skull.

  The pieces of Jeff landed along the floor and coated the cabinets as he fell backwards. The gun flew from his hand. He hit the floor. His head snapped backwards.

  Jeff's entire body slumped to the floor, both hands flying out behind him and smacking the floor.

  Marcus stared at the body, silently begging Jeff to get up, but he didn't budge.

  “Jeff!” Marcus screamed. He lunged backwards and fell from the wheelchair, onto the steps of the trailer.

  Sam grabbed him and lifted him back into the wheelchair, then stepped behind the wheelchair and started pushing him.

  “What are you doing?" shouted Marcus. "He shot himself! Stop! He's going to die!”

  Victoria, standing beside him, shook her head. “It was what he wanted."

  “What are you talking about? He told you about this? Why would he do this?"

  Victoria looked down at him. "You know exactly why."

  Marcus turned forward. His entire being felt empty, as though the last remnants of his soul had been torn from his body, leaving nothing but a vacant space where his humanity had once been.

  His lies had led a man to kill himself.

  That was something he couldn't justify, no matter how hard he tried.

  He was pushed to the black van they had arrived in. Marcus was lifted from his wheelchair into the open back doors of the van.

  He lay on the metal floor within reach of the seats, but didn't move.

  The wheelchair was dissembled and thrown in after him.

  Victoria and Sam climbed into the front seats and started the engine.

  Marcus remained immobile as the engine revved to life, lying on the floor.

  He didn't deserve comfort.

  “Where will he be buried?” he asked as the truck left the trailer park.

 
“He’ll be cremated," said Victoria. "As per his wishes, his ashes will be scattered over the ocean."

  Marcus nodded. It made sense. Jeff wouldn't feel he deserved to be buried in the family plot along with the ancestors he viewed as noble heroes.

  "What will you do?" he asked.

  Victoria shrugged. "Find someone else to pay us. Maybe we'll offer our services to Ricky."

  Marcus groaned. "I don't suppose I could convince you that I can pay you more, can I?"

  Victoria laughed. "You couldn't afford us."

  Sam glanced at him in the rearview mirror. Marcus lay on the floor of the van, comatose, feeling every bump of the road and feeling as though he deserved it.

  A few minutes later, the van pulled into an isolated parking lot.

  Victoria opened the back doors and Sam lifted him out.

  They carried him across the parking lot to the waiting car. Ricky leaned against it, a toothpick between his teeth.

  “Put him in the back seat,” said Ricky.

  Ricky pushed himself off the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Victoria and Sam loaded Marcus into the back seat. Once he was secured, they nodded to Ricky and walked back to the van.

  They drove away and disappeared into the distance, leaving Marcus and Ricky alone in the parking lot.

  Ricky started the engine. “It’s good to see you again, Marcus. How’s your back?”

  Marcus leaned against the back seat. “What do you want with me?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.” Ricky glanced over the seat as he pulled into the road. “I'm honestly disappointed. I expected more of a fight from you. I expected you to lunge up here and grab my neck, strangle me a bit, maybe. I thought you'd try to get me off the road.”

  “Wha's the point?” muttered Marcus as he stared out the window.

  He felt something he had long since forgotten, long since pushed down to the bottom of his psyche so that it could never force its way into his conscious mind.

  Now, it was all consuming, as years of suppressing it all exploded onto him at once.

  He felt shame.

  46

  O'Reilly looked over the desk at Cockerton.

  They had spent the last half hour grilling the Shembly twins. They had learned nothing they didn't already know.

  O'Reilly looked at the arrest report for Jamie Kessington.

  "The woman is Jamie Kessington," she said, reading out loud as Cockerton listened. "She's Charles's sister. She's been married five times, twice to women, three times to men. All of the marriages ended in divorce, the longest lasting five years. She has spent a significant amount of time behind bars. Let's talk to Charles first. He'll crack faster."

  Cockerton nodded and tapped on his watch.

  “Charles hasn’t called a lawyer yet," said O'Reilly.

  Cockerton shrugged.

  O’Reilly nodded and downed her small cup of black coffee.

  They walked to the interview room which held Charles Shembly.

  Shembly held his head in his hands, as though trying to block out the situation he was in.

  He looked up as they entered.

  O’Reilly took her seat and leaned back casually. Cockerton took up a position leaning against the wall. It was an interview routine they had mastered over years of interviews which played to both of their strengths.

  O’Reilly read Charles his Miranda Rights and he nodded along.

  “So, Charlie,” she said, opening up the folder in front of her, “let’s talk about your wife.”

  “I don’t know anything,” he said, his voice wavering. “We ran because we were scared. My wife had just been murdered in my own front yard. You don't expect me to keep my kids in that kind of environment.”

  "Yet you stayed for twelve hours and spoke with police before fleeing?"

  Charles looked away. "I was scared. I acted rashly."

  “Where’s Danielle?”

  "I don't know. She ran away."

  O'Reilly shook her head. “I think you know more than that.”

  Charles looked around the room. “She jumped out of the car while we were going down the highway. I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

  “Charles,” said O’Reilly, leaning forward. “I need you to tell me what you know.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  O'Reilly tapped her pen on the folder. “You own a cottage no one knew about. This morning you withdrew twenty grand from a secret bank account. We checked the bank account. There is significantly more money still in there. You made fifty-five grand last year, Charles, where does someone like you get money like that?”

  “I save money. It’s a good habit to have.”

  O'Reilly looked through the folder. “That’s more than just a rainy-day fund. That's enough money to live off for a good amount of time. It almost seems like you knew something was going to happen, and you were ready for it."

  Charles ran his hands through his thinning hair. “Have you found Danielle?”

  “We will if you help us."

  “I don’t know anything." Charles swallowed and looked at O'Reilly. "Put yourself in my position, detective. My wife was murdered. I panicked. Jamie took my daughter out of there as quickly as possible.”

  O'Reilly tapped her pen on the metal table, mentally taking a note of Jamie's involvement but not writing it down so it would seem like she already knew it. “Yet you stayed behind for twelve hours with your two younger children?”

  Charles leaned back. “You don’t get it.”

  “What about Todd?”

  Charles frowned. "Are you asking me if I think Todd murdered Tatiana?"

  "It's a theory we were working on for a period of time."

  Charles shook his head. "That kid couldn't do it."

  “You don’t think he killed your wife.”

  “I know he didn't.”

  O’Reilly smirked. “Then who did?”

  Charles cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind," he said, "I’d like to see my children now.”

  Charles started to stand. O’Reilly motioned for him to sit back down. She licked her lips.

  “Charles,” she said, "does the name Marcus Devereaux mean anything to you?”

  Charles did a poor job concealing his shock. His eyes opened wide for a moment then he looked away. “I’ve never heard that name before," he said. "Who is that?”

  “Clear this up for us, Charles," said O'Reilly. "How does he fit?”

  Charles shrugged. “I don't know who he is."

  “We have the pieces. How are they connected?”

  “I want my lawyer.”

  O’Reilly sighed. “We won't find Danielle or the real killer unless you tell us what is going on.”

  Charles’s voice was weak. “I want my lawyer.”

  O’Reilly sighed. “Have it your way.”

  47

  They left the interview room and headed straight for the other.

  "She's been read her rights?" said O'Reilly as they passed by Peters's desk.

  Peters shot them a thumbs up. O'Reilly and Cockerton entered the room took up the same positions as the previous room.

  Jamie leaned back and smiled, arms crossed. She looked completely at ease in the interview room.

  “So, Jamie," said O'Reilly. “Anything you want to tell us?”

  Jamie pulled her lips into a tight line.

  “Anything at all?”

  Jamie looked around, as though looking for something to hold her attention.

  O’Reilly nodded and opened up the file. “You’ve spent a total of 6 months in prison on two different charges. One for aggravated assault and the second for robbery. You were eighteen and twenty-five when it happened. You were young, but that kind of thing stays with you. Doesn’t it, Jamie?”

  Jamie didn't react.

  O’Reilly grinned back at her. “Jamie, you love your niece, right?”

  Jamie didn't react.

  “Do you remember the first time you e
ver saw her?”

  Jamie didn't react.

  “Does the name Marcus Devereaux mean anything to you?”

  Jamie swallowed. O'Reilly almost didn't notice.

  O'Reilly opened up her folder. “Devereaux is a paraplegic who runs a foundation to find missing children, in honor of his dead wife and his missing daughter.”

  Jamie looked at O'Reilly. She seemed like she was trying to feign disinterest.

  “Eleven years ago," said O'Reilly, "there was a break-in at Devereaux's house while he was on leave from the military. As a result of the attack, he was paralyzed, his wife was killed, and his daughter was kidnapped. Do you know what his daughters name was?”

  Jamie looked away.

  “Her name was Danielle.”

  “It’s a coincidence," said Jamie.

  “What happened, Jamie? What happened eleven years ago?”

  Jamie stared at the wall.

  “Danielle’s life may depend on it.”

  “It’s a coincidence,” said Jamie harshly, looking back at O’Reilly. “You’re looking in the wrong place. You’ll never find Danielle. I'm talking about my niece, not Devereaux's daughter. Look somewhere else.”

  “Do you still own your gun? When you were arrested for assault, they looked for it but never found it.”

  “What does that have to do anything?"

  O'Reilly flipped through the folder. “I called in a favor. I had them match the ballistics report from the bullets used to kill Cassandra Devereaux to your gun. It was different states, and not a major case, and of course it was before computers became as fast as they are now, so no one ever made the connection. It was a match. So, Miss Kessington, would you like to tell me what happened eleven years ago, or should I start guessing and see how close I can get?”

  Jamie looked down at the floor, then looked up and shook her head. “They're wrong. I’ll bet you never even checked anything like that. There’s no gun. There never was. That’s why the cops didn’t find it the first time."

  Jamie leaned back and crossed her arms.

  “Stay here," said O'Reilly. "Maybe once I lay out my theory for Charles, he’ll be more forthcoming.”