by Ethan Cross
The wheelchair came to rest in front of a silver and glass barrier in the center of the open space, and she felt herself spin in a circle until her back was placed against the railing.
She recoiled in fear from the face that greeted her. Ackerman wore a dark gray wool overcoat atop a black button-down shirt. He was handsome and blended in perfectly with the other patrons.
“Hello, Maggie,” Ackerman said. “It’s been wonderful getting to spend more time with you. But I’m afraid that we’ve come to the end of our journey. The drugs I’ve given you will begin to wear off soon, but I would suggest that you stay quiet and don’t move. Nod your head if you can understand what I’m saying.”
With some effort, she bobbed her head up and down.
“Very good. I’ve attached a specially designed bomb to your body. Only Marcus will possess the knowledge to disarm it. Once I leave you, I’ll call him and tell him where you are. There’s a cell phone beneath the blanket. My number is already programmed into it, so when he arrives, just tell him to hit send. Please nod again if you’re following me so far.”
Her jaw trembled and her pulse raced, but she nodded her head in acceptance.
“That’s good, Maggie. You’re doing so well. But please don’t try to get cute and attempt to save yourself. Don’t call out. Don’t try to bring in the police or the bomb squad or try to warn anyone. If you do, innocent people will be needlessly harmed. I’m going to give Marcus an opportunity to save you. Let him take it. And remember, I’ll be watching. So you just sit tight and wait for Prince Charming to arrive.”
*
After parting company with Maggie, Ackerman took the escalator down to Michigan Avenue, removed a fresh disposable cell phone from his pocket, and made two phone calls. The first was to Marcus. Ackerman gave him the details of where to find Maggie and told him that he would be in contact with further instructions.
Ackerman ended that call and placed the second. This one went to the Director of the Shepherd Organization. The message was simple. The Director should tell Marcus the truth or both his golden boy and Maggie would soon be dead.
136
The Chicago Water Tower rested between the skyscrapers along Michigan Avenue like an old-world castle. It was constructed from white limestone blocks and dotted with neo-Gothic spires. Just north of the landmark sat Water Tower Place, an eight-story shopping mall occupying seven hundred and fifty-eight thousand square feet.
Andrew dropped Marcus off in front of the mall. There were glass entry doors between two massive swirling-gray marble pillars. Once inside, Marcus immediately bounded up an escalator that ascended toward the main area of the mall. Between each set of escalators and stairs, there was a multi-tiered black granite fountain that trickled water toward the street in a steady stream. At the top of the escalators, a replica of the Water Tower made entirely from Lego blocks marked the actual start of the shopping plaza. The aromas of the mall were all around him—perfumes, coffee shops, greasy fast food, cinnamon rolls.
His pace slowed, and his gaze darted around the large space. Ackerman could have been hiding anywhere, watching. It was only days before Christmas, and the mall was a mass of humanity. They shuffled and scuttled, their arms loaded with bags and boxes, across a tile floor that had been colored to resemble hardwood. But Marcus could see Maggie through the gaps in the stream of shoppers. She sat in the center of an atrium that rose the entire eight stories of the mall across from a giant bank of glass elevators.
Marcus’s phone rang, and he fumbled it from the pocket of his jeans. It was the Director. “Hello.”
The Director said, “Marcus, I’m almost there. Don’t do anything until I arrive. It’s a trap.”
“It always is,” Marcus replied as he hung up on his superior.
He pushed his way through the throng of consumers to reach Maggie. Her eyes were full of fear, and her body trembled beneath the red and orange afghan. “There’s a bomb,” she said.
“Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”
“He said there’s a cell phone under the blanket that you should use to call him.”
Marcus pulled up the covering and examined the device beneath. It was a sturdy metal box welded entirely shut and was about the size of a shoebox with a keyboard and LED display screen firmly fastened to its surface. There was also a blue and silver disposable cell phone resting beside Maggie’s legs. He retrieved the phone and pressed send. Ackerman answered after the first ring.
“Hello, Marcus. I’m sure Maggie has told you the dire nature of your situation. We’ll wait for the Director to arrive. He’ll have the code to disarm the device. Just tell him that you need to type the name of your real father onto the keyboard. He’ll have the answer for you.”
“I know that there’s really no bomb.”
The other end of the line went silent for a few seconds, but then Ackerman said, “Of course there is. You should know better than to question my resolve. I’m a monster. I’d kill every person in that mall without blinking an eye.”
“You’d even kill your own brother?”
Ackerman didn’t speak.
“You didn’t have to do any of this. I know you wanted to trick the Director into telling me the truth, but I already know.”
“How?”
“Allen told me at the hospital. He told me everything. But I guess I’ve always had my suspicions. When I first saw you, there was some familiarity that I couldn’t quite identify. Now I know what it was. You look like her, our mother. Same eyes, same smile, same facial structure.”
“The first time I saw you, I was afraid,” Ackerman said. “That’s rare for me. They say that there’s something wrong with my brain that makes it so I can’t feel fear. At least, not in the way that normal people do. But something about you made me afraid. Later, I realized that it was because of your resemblance to our father. It’s in your eyes.”
The words were like a dagger plunged into Marcus’s heart. Ackerman continued on about destiny and connection, but Marcus wasn’t listening. The world had melted away around him. He braced himself against a nearby railing.
It’s in your eyes.
He had always known that he was different. He had always felt a certain anger and hunger, but he had fought to keep it buried. Still, Ackerman had seen it raging just below the surface, the monster clawing its way to freedom.
The world spun. Tears fell. A tidal wave of fear and anger and doubt slammed against the foundations of his soul.
Francis Ackerman Sr., his real father, was a madman who’d tortured his own son and killed many others. And now Marcus knew that was his true legacy. He wasn’t a third-generation cop. He was a second-generation serial killer.
Day Eight – December 22 Afternoon
137
Maggie used Andrew’s key to enter the hotel room he’d shared with Marcus back in Jackson’s Grove. The first room of the suite was empty except for the rearranged furniture, their touchscreen display board, and various cups and food containers. It smelled of old grease and cold coffee. The door to the bedroom was closed. She pushed it open and found Marcus sitting on the bed in the dark, staring absently at the wall. His bag was packed and resting on the bedspread behind him.
After Marcus’s phone call with Ackerman, he had barely said a word to any of them. It was as if he were engulfed in some kind of fugue state. Maggie had never seen him like that. He just walked out onto Michigan Avenue and flagged down a taxi. It took a phone call to the cab company to track him down, but not until after the Director had explained the situation to her and Andrew. When Marcus’s mother was pregnant with him, she had run away from her abusive and disturbed husband, Francis Ackerman Sr. The pain of her loss had been the stressor that initiated a chain of events ultimately leading to countless deaths and immeasurable suffering.
Marcus didn’t seem to register her arrival. His stare didn’t leave the wall. His eyes were bloodshot. She could tell that he had been crying.
She said, “It doesn’
t change anything. You’re still the same man you’ve always been.”
His eyes didn’t move. “You’re right. I’ve always been a man of violence, a killer. Now I just know why.”
“That’s not true. You’ve helped a lot of people. You’re a hero. It doesn’t matter who your father was. What matters is—”
He held up an outstretched palm to stop her and then said, “Did you know?”
“What? Of course not.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?”
“Because it’s the truth. You know how secretive the Director is. He never tells us what’s really going on.”
“And you don’t see a problem with that?”
Maggie said, “Of course I do, but what I am supposed to do about it.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think anymore, but I can’t keep going like this. I’m done.” Marcus stood, looked into her eyes, and said, “I love you, Maggie. I always have. I’m just not very good at showing it.”
His hand found her cheek, and she pressed her face into his palm as her own tears fell.
Marcus continued, “Come with me. We can start a new life, a normal life. I can’t promise you that it’ll be perfect, but I’ll do my best.”
She swallowed hard and thought of her younger brother and the man who had stolen him away. Her mouth was dry, and her voice trembled. “I don’t want a normal life. We help people. Think of all the people that would have died this week if you hadn’t have been there to save them. I can’t leave that behind, and you’ve said it yourself: you can’t run from what you are.”
He leaned in and kissed her long and hard. Then he whispered, “I can try.”
*
Marcus felt like he was wandering through a nightmare somewhere between awake and asleep. He had felt depression before. He had felt sadness before. But nothing as deep and destructive as this. It felt as though a black hole had opened up inside of him and sucked out all his desire to go on living.
As he stepped into the hallway and left Maggie behind, he found Andrew leaning against the wall.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Andrew said.
“Anywhere but here.”
“I hear Vasques is awake and doing well.”
“That’s good.”
“You going to pay her a visit?”
“No,” Marcus said, thinking of his recent run-in with her partner.
Andrew clasped his shoulder. “We need you. You realize that, right? You’re the best investigator that I’ve ever worked with. You just need some time to clear your head, let all this process.”
Marcus forced a smile. “You’ve been a good friend. I’ll get in touch once I’m settled somewhere. Take care of Maggie for me.”
Andrew nodded, and Marcus stepped past him and headed for the elevator.
“Marcus, wait. If you’re leaving anyway, then there’s one more thing that you should know.”
138
The snowstorm had broken in the early-morning hours, and the day had actually shaped up to be rather pleasant. The Director stood beneath the car port of Marcus’s hotel, enjoying the climate shift. He puffed on a Marlboro. It had been nearly fifteen years since he had given up smoking, but that morning he had caved in and purchased a pack of his old brand.
After checking the time on his cell phone, he wondered how Maggie was handling the situation with Marcus. This was exactly the reason why he had concealed the truth in the first place. Marcus simply couldn’t handle the knowledge of his true lineage. It was human nature to hold certain truths beyond reproach, and when those truths were questioned or outright shattered, it was naturally a jarring and life-changing experience. Some could recover from such things, while others could not.
The Director leaned on the hood of his rental car, a silver Buick LaCrosse, and took another drag off his cigarette. But, as the warm smoke flowed into his lungs, something struck him from behind and slammed him against the car.
His attacker spun him around and pressed the barrel of a large black handgun against his neck.
The Director tried to remain calm, but there was murder in Marcus’s eyes.
“You could have gotten us all killed a hundred times over!” Marcus’s body shook with rage, and his jaw was clenched tight.
“Let’s just settle down now,” the Director said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He tried to ease himself away, but Marcus slammed him back against the car.
“Andrew told me everything. Stan discovered that Ackerman had hacked our system months ago, but you told him to let it happen. You’ve been feeding Ackerman information through a back door. Why in the hell would you do that?”
The Director exhaled harshly and considered his next words with care. “Listen, Marcus. There are simply some things that you can’t understand unless you can see the big picture. You just don’t—”
Marcus slammed an elbow into the Director’s jaw. His teeth slammed together, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Then Marcus dug the barrel of the gun even harder against his neck. “I should blow your head off. The world would be a better place.”
“Dammit, boy. What do you want me to say? I used you as bait. Ackerman had gone underground. Our best chance of catching that madman was to use his obsession with you against him. So yes, I allowed him to access our systems. It was the right move.”
Marcus shook his head. “You reckless son of a bitch. You’re out of your mind. You could have gotten us all killed. Allen may never walk again because of you! But sure, it was the right move.”
“You would have done the same thing. And I had every confidence in the abilities of your team to bring Ackerman to justice.”
Marcus shoved him back again and stepped away. “We’re not just pawns on your chessboard to be moved around and sacrificed when it serves your needs.”
“You’re right. I should have told you. I’ve made mistakes, just like everyone else. But I didn’t want to risk tipping off Ackerman.”
With a shake of his head, Marcus jammed his Sig Sauer back into his coat and raised his hands. “I’m done.”
“What are you talking about? This isn’t just something that you do. It’s who you are. You’ve tried to run from that before, but it hasn’t gotten you very far.”
“I can be better than this. Better than you. I quit. Is that clear enough?”
Marcus headed toward the street, and the Director knew that he had a very difficult choice to make and not much time to decide. He swore under his breath and called after Marcus. “If you leave now, you’ll never learn the final piece of the puzzle. Something that even Ackerman doesn’t know. He’s alive, Marcus.”
Marcus continued to walk away, but gradually he began to slow down like a freight train that had thrown on its brakes but took time to halt its forward progress. He turned back and said, “Who are you talking about?”
“The man who tortured your brother and murdered your mother and stepfather. Francis Ackerman Sr. The man who brought you into this world. He’s still alive.”
I AM PAIN
Ethan Cross
An Aries book
www.headofzeus.com
Contents
Title Page
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Part Two
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Part Three
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
PROLOGUE
DONNY JEUNG CONSIDERED REMOVING HIS BADGE BEFORE STICKING THE HYPODERMIC NEEDLE IN HIS ARM. It was a strange and fleeting thought. What difference did it make? He could take off the uniform and the badge and the gun, and he’d still be a cop. And he’d also still be a junkie. Such thoughts floated into the ether as he depressed the plunger and the heroin entered his veins. He leaned back against the toilet bowl, the porcelain cool on his back. Sounds and smells took on exaggerated vibrancy. The aroma of pine-scented air freshener and the acrid tang of urine swirled over the muted conversations and scraping of plates in the restaurant. Euphoria enfolded him, and for a few moments, he forgot the argument he’d had with his father earlier that evening.
