Crucible of Fear

by D. W. Whitlock

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mel said, his voice muted through the door. “We got what we need.”

  Leish shooshed him and spoke again. “Take your time, Briana. Come out when you’re ready. We’re here for you. Okay?”

  The footsteps receded and the door slammed shut, subduing the thunder of music as Briana pulled the mask off and flung it against the wall, shattering it into a thousand shards. Her phone chittered on the nightstand. It had never made that sound before. She picked it up and looked at the text on the screen.

  Daddy never has to know.

  With a chill she unlocked her phone and checked the sender.

  Unknown.

  The tiny word pulsed along with the pounding of her heart. The phone chittered again and a link appeared below the text. With a shaky finger she reached out and tapped it. Her mouth went dry, a ragged scream threatening to break loose from her throat as she watched the small screen.

  Briana and Leish were sitting on the bed, kissing. It cut to Leish, standing and removing her bra, the pasties blinking red. The video then showed Briana dancing on the stage in her mask before the scene changed to her throwing the mask against the wall, porcelain shattering in slow motion.

  The screen went black.

  She rose to her feet and gazed wildly around the room, trying to guess where the hidden camera could be. Scanning the boxes stacked along the wall, her eyes flickered over the dark spaces in between before locking on the large hyena that stood next to the door. Creeping closer, phone clutched in one hand, she peered into its left eye. It was darker than the right one. She jumped as a small iris snapped open inside.

  The phone chittered again.

  A video appeared. It was a fisheye view, distorted. She was looking at herself, kneeling on the floor in that stupid schoolgirl costume. With a cry she swiped at the hyena and it tumbled across the room, coming to rest with its face peering up at her.

  The phone chittered and buzzed in her hand like a trapped fly, the screen filling with the same words over and over again:

  Daddy never has to know.

  Daddy never has to know.

  Daddy never has to know.

  CHAPTER 41

  Don’t

  Gary Wexler hunched at the table in his robe, munching on a banana, head aching. The twins were having breakfast, which meant they were smashing bananas of their own when they weren’t tossing cereal on the floor. Gail was drinking a diet fruit drink as she thumbed upward on her phone. Gary felt a buzz in his pocket and jumped, causing the twins to giggle. Smiling shakily at them, he pulled his phone out, anxiety spiking.

  It was a text from them, a list of instructions that became more bizarre as he scrolled down.

  “At the table, Gary? Really?”

  He started at Gail’s voice and the twins giggled again.

  “Uh, sorry. It’s from a Jim Hodge at Tech Check. He wants to get drinks this Friday night, talk about my potential future there.”

  “Gary, that’s great!” Gail stood and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before frowning. “You don’t look very good. Are you feeling alright?”

  “You better go. Don’t want to be late.”

  “Okay. Bye, babies,” Gail said, kissing the twins before hefting her briefcase and moving to the door. She didn’t bother to check her reflection in the mirror before she left.

  Glancing at the text again, Gary’s bleary eyes scanned over the numbered list. He tossed the phone onto the table then pulled out the business card officer Chavez had given him. Tilting the card back and forth, he watched morning light play off the shiny gold badge printed next to the name.

  He reached for his phone.

  The house alarm blipped once, causing Gary to jerk upright in his chair. The twin’s eyes went wide. No laughing at him this time. His phone lit up, one simple word filling the screen.

  Don’t.

  CHAPTER 42

  Probable Cause

  Dante walked through the living room, turned, then went back to the kitchen. The boot had been removed after three days and he was glad to be rid of the clunky thing. The blue light it emitted had kept him awake. The pain was almost gone, except for when he put his weight too far forward. Abigail watched him from the couch as he went by, clutching an aluminum cane across her lap.

  “How am I doing?” he said.

  “Good. You’re still limping though. Does it hurt?” she asked.

  Dante stumbled as he put his left foot down, trying to stop too fast. “Only when I do that,” he hissed.

  Abigail hopped to her feet but Dante held up a hand. “No, I got it.” He stepped carefully over to the couch and sat down. Abigail stood there watching him, hand on one hip, concern etched on her face. She looked so much like her mother right then.

  “Your mom would be so proud of you,” Dante said. “You know that?”

  Abigail smiled and helped him lift his bandaged foot onto the coffee table. Dante sighed, waiting for the dull throb to ebb away. At least there were no phantom pains. Those only came at night.

  Dr. Resnick’s bedside manners sucked, but he’d been right. Whatever advanced healing they’d used worked really well. He’d described the process as a combination of several techniques including focused hyperbaric oxygen therapy, stem cell therapy and 3D printed skin grafts.

  Dante checked his watch. “Abigail, do you want to go to your room and draw? I have somebody dropping by soon that I need to talk to.”

  “No, but I’ll go anyway. Do you need this?” she said holding up the cane.

  “All yours.”

  She ran to her room, aiming the cane like a gun at unseen foes as she went.

  Dante’s phone rang. It was Boucher.

  “You got my email, I assume,” Dante said.

  “I did.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  “We’re just not there yet.”

  Dante sat in stunned silence. “With all that’s happened we’re not there yet? What if they go after my daughter next?”

  “Well, what do we got? We got some vaguely threatening biblical texts. Oh, and one from Frankenstein of all people. We got a deep fake donkey show, offensive yes, but only that. Not slanderous or libelous, you haven’t been injured.”

  “Haven’t been injured?”

  “I’m getting to that. There is no evidence connecting any of this. We don’t know where the texts came from. We don’t know who did the deep fake. Shadow Trace found nothing on your network, and no one has claimed responsibility or asked for money. There’s no chatter on IRC or the Dark Web and the medical robot thing is a no go. You signed that away.”

  “What about the dragonfly drone in the room when the robot went nuts?”

  “What about it? I’m guessing you were doped up during the procedure, right?” She huffed. “Dragonflies. Mr. Ellis, it might be better if you don’t mention that again.”

  “I don’t understand. Don’t you have probable cause at this point?”

  “Probable cause. I swear to god, movies and cop shows have made my job so annoying sometimes. I can’t just open an investigation. There has to be a clear link between everything that’s happened. It’s all about building a case based on provable evidence, defining a pattern. As far as the robot incident, it’s your word against theirs, and I can guarantee you whatever’s left of that thing was destroyed by Caduceus Medical. I could possibly get evidence by monitoring their network and hope for another attack, but I need a court order to do that. For big companies like Caduceus Medical, it’s a nonstarter. And my one potential witness, you, just signed a gag order that keeps him from saying anything. I hope whatever they paid you was worth it.”

  “I’m sorry you find all this so annoying.”

  Boucher sighed wearily. “I want to help you, Mr. Ellis, but I’m going be honest with you. We are understaffed and overbooked. You should see my office. I’m in the basement for Chrissakes.”

  Abigail hopped up from behind the couch and pointed the cane at Dante, making a pew
-pew noise. He shook his head no and waved her back to her room. He waited until she was out of sight again.

  “Do you have any children?” Dante said.

  Boucher hesitated a moment. “I do. A daughter.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Mr. Ellis…”

  “Dante, please. What’s her name?”

  Boucher sighed again. “Patricia. She’s at Pepperdine. Pre-med.”

  “You and your husband must be very proud.”

  “I am. My ex-husband decided years ago that Italy suited his lifestyle better than L.A. Been a deadbeat ever since.”

  Dante sat for a moment, trying to calm the pulse pounding at his temples. “What can I do?”

  “Have Dmitry continue to monitor everything. If there’s another intrusion, he should be able to trace it. And no promises, but I’ll talk to my supervisor. My instincts tell me this isn’t over.”

  A knock came at the front door. Dante disconnected with Boucher and peered through the peephole. It was Molchalin. He wore his usual black suit, but the tie was loosened, his collar open. Dante unlocked the door and led him through the living room outside to the deck. He slid the door shut and gazed around. No dragonflies. He thought about mentioning it to Molchalin then remembered Boucher’s warning. Maybe he was just imagining things.

  “I just got off the phone with Agent Boucher,” Dante said.

  “What did she say?”

  “That I don’t have a case, but this probably isn’t over.”

  Molchalin leaned against the railing and stared down through the oaks that grew green and thick on the hillside. Glass on the buildings sprinkled across the valley floor sparkled like a collection of semi-precious stones in the setting sun. The dark rectangle of the Monolith tower stood tall and watchful. Further up was the unfinished Ellis Media Building, the copper mesh infused glass glowing a reddish orange.

  “I can’t do anything illegal,” Molchalin said.

  “Well, they’ve changed tactics, haven’t they? You need to adapt. The question is, how much?”

  The tall man turned and looked at him. “I can’t. I have a reputation to maintain.”

  “Then who can?” Dante pointed to his bandaged foot. “This has to stop. I can’t wait for their next move and hope we get something. What’s next, my left testicle? And what if they decide they’re done with me and go after Abigail? Shadow Trace is not cheap, Dmitry, along with the monthly you’re gouging me for. And so far, you haven’t been able to tell me a damn thing.”

  Molchalin looked down into the valley again. “There are channels…” he said before clamping his mouth shut. “You don’t really know what you are asking me to do.”

  “I can pay. More than what I’m giving you. Way more. I just need something concrete to hand over to Boucher.”

  Molchalin laughed. “These people I’m thinking of don’t do it for money. If they want money, they take it. It’s all just numbers anyways. For them, it’s about information and influence. They probably know about this already. They might be behind it. If not, they’re going to view this as a challenge on their turf.”

  “Their turf?”

  “America.”

  “Jesus. Who are these guys?”

  Dmitry ignored him. “Keep your money. As soon as I tell them, they’ll eliminate the problem. But you’ll be trading one form of harassment for another. You’ll owe them. And someday they’ll collect on that debt.”

  Dante slammed his fist onto the railing. “Why is this happening to me? I’m not a politician, I’m not rich. I don’t have any influential friends. Hell, I only met the mayor once and that was when I was a plus one at a charity dinner. What the fuck is going on here?”

  Molchalin held his gaze before speaking. “Nothing about what’s happening here makes any sense. But if I do this, if I contact these people—make no mistake—it’s a deal with the devil himself.”

  “Listen Dmitry, I’m getting five million dollars from Caduceus Medical. Five million. It’s yours. Tell me there’s something you can do with your people in those black cubes first before I throw in with the lord of darkness.”

  “Perhaps.” Molchalin straightened and cinched his tie. “I’ll be in touch.” He turned to go.

  Dante felt his stomach clench as he called out to him. “One other thing.”

  Molchalin glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “I have another name to give you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Tell me.”

  Dante clenched his jaw before he spoke. “Colin Murray.”

  Dmitry left without another word, leaving Dante standing alone in the pale light of early evening. There was a flitting sound from the trees below and he scanned the gently swaying oaks before backing inside and sliding the glass door shut. He pressed a button on the wall and the blinds slammed shut, throwing the house into darkness.

  CHAPTER 43

  Home

  Briana opened the bedroom door and peeked around the edge. The apartment appeared empty. She’d barely left her room in the last few days, only to grab food and visit the bathroom, and only when it was dead quiet. Leish had come to the door a few times, pleading, before finally giving up.

  She crept to the bathroom and slipped inside. The room was dark, just a hint of morning light beginning to blush through the small frosted glass window above the shower. She kept the lights off. Just because she couldn’t see them, didn’t mean there weren’t cameras in here.

  Waiting for the water to warm up, Briana wondered how involved Leish was. There was no doubt Mel Rose was part of this in some way, whatever “this” was exactly. He just happened to be there as soon as she’d arrived in Hollywood. He’s just a pretty boy, has-been, isn’t he?

  The guy just didn’t seem smart enough to pull any of this off. So far, being creepy and pressing record on a web cam appeared to be the extent of his talents. Who was really behind this and what did they want? And why her?

  Fresh fish, her mother’s voice said. Catch of the day.

  She checked her texts again. Nothing besides the last one from unknown, reminding her to tell no one and wait for further instructions. She wondered how much Leish knew what was going on. It didn’t really matter. Briana couldn’t trust her anymore. She tugged off her t-shirt and stepped out of her shorts into the shower.

  The warm water did little to ease the hot, prickly feeling inside. It seemed like everyone in her life had lied to her, treated her like a thing to be used. Except her father. The thought of him seeing that video made her sick. It would destroy him. There had always been that long-standing belief that preacher’s daughters were natural born whores, not out in the open exactly. Just implied. This would make it true, at least for her.

  It’s part of it, okay? It just is.

  They were Leish’s words, but the voice was her mother’s, laced with that knowing tone of hers. She turned the knobs off and toweled dry, hurrying as it grew brighter from the rising sun. Her phone chittered with that foreign, insect-like sound and she knew.

  It was them.

  She pulled the towel tight around her and wiped the condensation off the phone screen.

  Friday night. Be ready.

  A list of numbered instructions filled the screen as she slumped on the edge of the tub, face hidden in her hands. Briana wanted to go home.

  She just wasn’t quite sure where that was anymore.

  CHAPTER 44

  Two Bunnies

  Take-out cartons sat in a cluster at the center of the table, the flaps open. The heady aroma of deep-fried foods hung in the air. Colin stabbed a pair of chopsticks into a plate of steaming noodles then lifted them high into the air, the noodles dangling above his open mouth. He slurped them down as Abigail made a face then giggled. Dante smiled, swallowed a mouthful of broccoli beef chased down with a swig of Tsingtao. Two empty bottles already sat next to Colin and he was on already well into his third.

  Colin burped. “Did your dad ever tell you about the time when we made a skate
board ramp?”

  “Dad? On a skateboard?”

  “Hey, I was actually pretty good,” Dante said. “I could rail grind. Sort of.”

  “We found these old pieces of plywood…wait, you tell it, Dante. You were always the better storyteller.”

  “Well, like Colin said, we found this big pile of old wood, plywood and stuff, and we didn’t want to waste it.”

  “It’s a rule,” Colin said. “You can’t waste old wood. Gotta make a fort or something.”

  “So true. We nailed a couple of palettes together in the shape of an L, then we used two-by-fours to create a kind of curved frame to nail the plywood to, for the ramp. It was a thing of beauty.”

  “It was deathtrap.”

  Dante laughed. “It really was. The wood was old and splintered, there were bent nails hammered down all over the place. I convinced Colin that I should go first, being the better skateboarder and all.”

  “What happened?” Abigail asked.

  “We built it at the bottom of a hill, the idea being you’d get a good head of steam going then rocket into the air, do an edge grab and shoot back down. It was going to be epic.”

  “Wait a minute,” Colin said, face serious. “Probably shouldn’t tell this one. She could get ideas.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right,” Dante said, nodding.

  “No, I want to hear it,” Abigail said.

  “I don’t know…” Colin trailed off, shaking his head.

  “Dad!”

  “Okay, okay,” Dante said. “So, I jog to the top of the hill, board tucked under one arm, and who’s standing there? Matty Markham. He was an older kid, classic neighborhood bully type. Twelve feet tall. Long hair. Held back a year in school. He’d been watching us and asked if he could go next. I told him he should do the honors. I felt so lucky that he wanted to try out our skate ramp and not pound us for once. I mean, the kid actually smiled at me. All fangs, but still, a smile.”