by Platt, Sean
These thoughts led down a familiar lonely road to Julia. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone to listen to her message. He dialed the number, but just as Julia’s voice lit him from beyond the grave, the phone beeped and went dead. Caleb pressed the on button desperately. The phone returned to life just long enough to display a low battery icon before going dead again.
“Fuck!” Caleb screamed and fell back on his bed, clutching the phone, too far from his charger at home.
He stood, went to his window, and stared out at the night. Lightning spread across the sky like a spiderweb. A thick roll of thunder rumbled in the distance. The first few fat raindrops fell against his glass, and he returned to his bed, holding the bottle, rolling it back and forth in his hand, doing his best not to open it.
He had to stay clear and focused — he could be called into action.
His back was aching, and he had a crushing headache. The pain, real or imagined, would keep him awake. The pills were the only thing that could rescue him now.
He opened the bottle, poured three into his hand, and downed them with a bottle of Heineken from the minibar.
He climbed back into bed, closed his eyes, and waited for relief to soothe his mind and body.
Sixty-Five
John
Tiny and Larry sat in the van’s front while John and Abigail sat in back, the door between slid open so they could all sit together eating Abigail’s choice of possible “last meal.” They were in a busy McDonald’s parking lot, unlikely to draw much attention.
“This is soooo good,” Abigail said sipping a chocolate shake with her eyes closed.
“You should try fries in it,” Tiny said from up front.
“What?” she said, pinching her face. “Fries in a shake?”
“You never did that?” he said, shocked. “Oh, that shit is awesome. Try it.”
“I’m with her.” John shook his head. “Sounds gross.”
“Oh no,” Larry said, patting his gut. “Tiny’s right on the money with this. I’ve had many a fries dipped in shakes. Awe-some.”
Abigail laughed and peeled the lid off of her milkshake. She dipped a fry inside, hesitantly, then put it in her mouth, laughing. She chewed and swallowed, eyes widening. “He’s right, this is good!”
She grabbed another two fries, dipped them in her shake, then lifted them to John’s mouth. “Here, try!”
John sealed his mouth shut, “Um, no.”
“Don’t be so lame, John,” Larry said.
“Fine.” John open his mouth and took a bite, surprised by how good the blend of sweet and salty tasted. He chewed while smiling.
“You see?” Tiny said. “Shit, now I wanna go back through the drive-through and get a shake. You know, being the last meal and all.”
Abigail laughed. “You realize this is the closest to a family meal I’ve had in, like, forever.”
Silence stretched, the gravity of her statement weighing on them all.
Larry said, “Well, let me apologize, because this is one freaky family.”
They burst out laughing. Tiny’s laugh was loudest, which caused Abigail to laugh even harder.
After they hit the drive-through to get another milkshake for Tiny, and one for Larry as well, they headed to a gas station to fill up. While Tiny gassed up the tank, Larry sat up front reading a newspaper. Abigail leaned against John’s shoulder, tired. John peeked through the front window and saw straight into the station’s convenience store, which had a large, well-lit window stretching its entire length. His eyes narrowed on something, and he leaned over to Larry. “Hey, do you have any cash?”
“Sure thing, whatchya need?”
John pointed at an item in the window and asked Larry if he’d go inside and buy it.
Tiny hung up the gas pump with a thunk and hopped in the van. Larry followed a moment later and gave John a large plastic bag, which John then handed to Abigail.
Inside was a large brown teddy bear with a pink heart on its stomach.
“His name is Teddy,” John said, immediately cursing himself for such an unoriginal name but continuing anyway, “and he’s gonna look out for you while I’m on this mission.”
Abigail looked down at the bear. “Teddy, huh? He looks too cute for protection.”
“Cute can be deceptive. Under that sweet smile hides a strong bear jaw full of giant bear teeth.”
Abigail shook her head. “Noooo, he’s a nice bear.” She leaned up and kissed John on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Abigail soon fell asleep on John’s shoulder, hugging her teddy. John smiled to himself. This was the closest he’d been to happiness, or family, in more than a decade.
Sixty-Six
John And Caleb
John
Midnight
Rain beat on the warehouse roof as Tiny and his men went over the plans a final time. John had never seen so many gangsters, all armed to the teeth. While a few of the guys were like Tiny, laid back once you fell into an exchange, most maintained an edge. Guys who woke up angry and went to bed angrier. The kind of guys you’d want on your side in a war.
Larry hung up with his connection; the info was in the wild. Best estimate gave Jacob’s team an hour before they arrived at the warehouse.
“Okay, we’re ready.” Larry tossed the last of his duffels into the back of the black Camry and closed the door.
“You take care of her,” John said, meeting Larry’s eyes.
“You can count on me.” Sensing what John was thinking, Larry’s voice went serious. “I swear, I won’t let you down again.”
“I know.” John hugged Larry and patted him on the back. “Remember, anything happens, call me immediately.”
Larry had given John a burner phone for just such an occasion.
John turned to Abigail, who stood in front of the open trunk, about to climb in. While Larry wasn’t on any wanted posters, Abigail’s face was too well known to risk the front or back seat, tinted windows or not.
“You be careful,” he said, eyes red, breath steady, trying not to cry.
“You too,” she said, eyes pink, cheeks swollen.
“And you take care of her, too,” John said, patting Teddy on the head.
Abigail laughed and hugged her teddy bear, then John.
“I love you,” she said, her arms circling around him.
Those words loosened the tears he’d been holding.
“I love you too, Abigail.”
John didn’t ever want to let her go. Tears ran down his cheeks. He closed his eyes, wanting to hold this moment forever, knowing he couldn’t.
Caleb
Caleb woke to a pounding on his bedroom door, his name being repeated with a machine gun rhythm outside. He glanced at the clock, 12:15 a.m. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes.
Who the hell?
More pounding.
“Caleb, it’s Mike Mathews, we’ve gotta get going.”
Mike? What the hell is Omega doing here?
“Hold on,” Caleb said, finding and pocketing his bottle of pills then grabbing his gun on the way to the door. He unfastened the latch and saw Mike alone. No agents, a good sign.
“Hey, Mike, what’s going on?”
“We’ve got a lead on John Sullivan and the girl. They’re holed up at a warehouse about twenty minutes from here. I’ll debrief you on the ride, but you’re working with us now.”
“What about my team? They’ve been running this case,” Caleb said, reaching for his department-issued cell phone.
“No, they’re off it; it’s all Omega from here on. Welcome to the team.”
Sixty-Seven
Abigail
12:20 a.m.
Abigail rested on a pillow in the trunk, knees to her chest, hugging Teddy. The road’s constant hum mingled with muffled talk radio coming from the car’s cabin and rain hitting the trunk, doing little to calm her claustrophobia.
She tried tuning her thoughts to wide open spaces, but time after time her mi
nd dragged her kicking and screaming back into the closet.
When she wasn’t thinking about the closet and the monster who held her, she thought of her uncle, Frank Sanderson. She’d never really spent much time with him while her parents were alive. He was an alcoholic loser, jealous of her dad, Dan’s, success. The few times they’d had family get-togethers, even though the family consisted of just them — Abigail’s mother had no family — Frank would get drunk and start a fight with her father.
After Abigail’s parents died, Frank seemed to have suddenly changed. He scrubbed up his act, claimed to have given up the bottle, and convinced caseworkers he was a regular sitcom dad. As Abigail soon found out, he was still a drunken loser. Not only a drunk, but a gambler who’d racked up huge debts with terrible men.
Next thing Abigail knew, Frank said he had to ditch the city for a couple of weeks — she could stay with a buddy of his for a while. She was confused and scared, but a child able to do nothing.
Funny thing was, when she’d first gone home with Randy and Stacy, Abigail thought her life might actually improve if Frank never came to get her. The couple seemed kind and attentive, the kind of people that had been waiting for a child to enter their lives.
And they had been, but for the wrong reasons.
Randy had showered Abigail with attention, let her play video games, ordered pizza, and let her drink all the soda she wanted. Stacy was on the quiet side, which in reflection, Abigail figured was because she knew what was about to happen. Sure enough, the first night Abigail stayed with Randy, she realized that Uncle Frank had been on the nicer side of evil.
They were sitting on the couch watching movies when Randy began tickling her. The tickles started normal, but then his hands started to touch her in places they shouldn’t. She squirmed, and his tickles grew rougher. Then he tried getting her to touch him.
When she jumped from the couch in a cry, he followed, smacking her hard across the face. And then again in the head.
When she woke, he was on top of her.
That was the prelude to her hell. Soon, Randy told her with grinning delight that she was his property, bought and paid for. Sold by dear Uncle Frank.
Abigail squeezed her bear tighter, trying to think good thoughts.
It was almost as if some dark alien was probing her memories, giddy in the blackest of spaces. Perhaps it was the parasite in her. The thought of something else existing in her skin made Abigail shudder. She wondered if the parasite were large and insect-like or small, like a germ.
Panic pumped through her, and she had to fight an overwhelming urge to jump from the trunk and into the street, where she could rip herself apart and tear out whatever was inside her.
Good thoughts, good thoughts.
She thought of John, hugging him tight and telling him that she loved him.
He was the first person she’d felt this way about since her parents. The first person who made her feel special — to care for her, to protect her. His caring was the good kind, like her parents had shown, not the creepy kind. Despite everything happening around them, Abigail felt … safe.
She smiled, hugging her bear. Though he’d only held it for a moment, the bear smelled of John. She closed her eyes, thinking good thoughts.
“How you doing back there?” Larry’s voice was muffled, but she could hear him through the seats.
“Okay,” she said. “We almost there yet? I need to pee.”
“Almost. I’ll try to avoid potholes.”
Abigail giggled.
Then she heard a blurting siren.
Oh God, no.
“Looks like we’ve got a cop,” Larry said from the front seat. “Just stay quiet, and leave the rest to me.”
The car slowed, and Larry pulled over. Abigail’s heart was a jackhammer of fear and claustrophobia.
The car squealed to a gentle stop.
Abigail froze, trying to sense the world outside her tomb. She could barely hear another vehicle’s engine over the sound of rain hitting the metal. She thought of the cop who pulled her over and how he’d been shot, right before her memory had momentarily disappeared.
“Turn your car off, and step out of the car,” a man’s voice boomed over a loudspeaker.
“Oh fuck.” Larry killed the car’s engine and radio. “Keep calm, okay, Abi? Don’t answer, just keep quiet and calm.”
Abigail squeezed her legs together, bladder screaming.
“Get out of the car, hands in the air!”
“Okay, okay,” Larry opened the door. The car moved down then up as his feet hit the concrete.
Abigail was frozen. She heard a police officer walking toward the Toyota, boots splashing puddles.
“Hands on the back of your head,” the officer said.
“What’s this all about, officer? Was I speeding?” Larry asked in his friendliest voice.
Abigail’s heart pounded harder, loud enough that she was sure it echoed beyond the trunk. She prayed that the sound would be buried by rain.
She felt a sneeze rising in her throat.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
Abigail held hear breath, trying to stifle the sneeze as the officer’s footsteps drew closer.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
“Wait a sec — ” Larry’s voice was cut off by a gunshot, followed by another.
Abigail screamed before she could stop herself.
She froze in the darkness, trying to make sense of the muffled footsteps. There was no way that was a cop, so it must be the enemy.
Did the man hear me?
The car bounced as someone got in.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
The car’s engine and radio came to life. It shifted into drive. Abigail gasped, trying to catch her breath. Warm piss spread across her pants as she cried out, “Larry?”
No answer from the cabin.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
“Nope,” a man’s voice said as the car sped up.
Abigail screamed, kicking out and arms flailing like a trapped animal.
Sixty-Eight
John, Caleb, And Larry
John
1:11 a.m.
John and Tiny sat in a darkened van two blocks away from their target — a sprawling mountain compound. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the cabin as Tiny pulled up schematics on his iPad. Three structures: a six-thousand-square-foot, two-story house flanked by a smaller guest house to the north and a garage to the south.
Tiny’s men were separated into three other vehicles, with twenty-five of the troops staying back at the warehouse, waiting for Jacob’s men to attack.
Tiny asked, “So, what’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Being a vampire.”
“It sucks,” John said, not intending the pun.
Tiny laughed at the pun.
John smiled. “It’s tough, mostly a life of loneliness.”
“Yeah, but you’re powerful as all fuck, right?”
“Yeah, but I’d trade it all for a normal life. I had traded it, in fact.”
“What happened?”
John told Tiny a condensed version of his story, leaving out Hope’s name and the parts about Caleb. When he finished his tale, Tiny was stunned into uncharacteristic silence.
Then he sighed. “Wow, that’s some fucked-up shit.”
“Yeah,” John nodded. “You said it.”
John glanced down at his cell phone again. No word.
“Larry should’ve called by now,” John said.
“Maybe he ran into traffic.”
“At midnight?”
“Ya never know,” Tiny said, clearly trying to put the best possible face on the situation.
The ride should’ve taken Larry no more than half an hour.
Tiny dialed one of his men.
“Yo, B, you got any action there yet?”
“Nah,” John heard B say over the speaker. “Nothing.”
“Hey, you heard from Larry and the girl
yet?”
“No. You?”
“No,” Tiny said. “All right, let me know if you do, okay?”
“K,” B said then hung up.
“Shit.” John looked at his phone again, as if eye contact might make it ring.
Then it did.
On the screen were the words: Abrams Consulting, one of Larry’s fake companies.
“Larry?”
“No,” a voice said from the other line. In the background, John could hear a screaming girl.
Abigail!
“Who the fuck is this?” John screamed.
“I’ve got the girl,” the man said. “Tell your men to stand down. Jacob wants you at the house, alone. We see anyone else, we kill the girl.”
The phone went dead.
John dialed the number back, but the phone only rang.
He screamed out and kicked the van floor, rage and impotence in a fight to the death.
Caleb
Caleb and Mike met with the other Omega agents at a staging area four blocks from the warehouse where John was supposedly holed up. The rain was dying down, but he was already soaked and cold. Unlike his squad which usually rolled in with mobile command units and a fleet of vehicles, Omega was low key: three black vans, including his.
In total, there were eight agents other than himself, most he knew in passing.
Mike’s second in command, a tall guy named Rich Hopman, updated them. Two other agents were on location, working surveillance.
“We’re counting twenty-five bodies, heavily armed. We’ve not yet got confirmation for either Sullivan or the girl.”
