The Ackerman Thrillers Boxset

by Ethan Cross

  The squished-faced little vermin lay beside him on the floor. And the dog continued to inch closer as time ticked on. Then it started making high-pitched mewling noises and scratched at his arm.

  “Do you not have the proper instincts to realize that I am a danger to you? Danger, you ignorant rat. Danger!”

  He tried to just ignore it, but there was something about that mewling sound that sent chills of anger through his body. He had tried locking the thing in the closet, but then it simply scratched incessantly at the door.

  Ackerman finally sat up and said, “You’re lucky this hotel room doesn’t come with a microwave or refrigerator. What do you want from me?”

  The dog’s tail wagged and his ears perked at the attention. Ackerman started to get up, and the thing ran toward the exit door. When he sat back down, it simply returned to him, and the whole process started over again.

  Ackerman growled in frustration, which only seemed to enliven the canine. “I’m starting to wonder if Emily was sold a defective model. Maybe there’s a return policy on you. Come on, do I seriously have to take you out every time you need to evacuate your waste?”

  The small dog barked and ran toward the door again.

  “Piss in a corner like a good hobo. Live like a rock star. Trash the place. I don’t care. But I refuse to pander to your petty demands for attention!”

  He stood and took the creature into the bathroom, holding it over the toilet. “Go,” he said, but the vermin merely stared at him. After a few seconds, he growled again and deposited the small dog in the bathtub. “There. Easy clean up. Go nuts.”

  He returned to his spot on the floor, but it only took a moment before he heard a rustling in the bathroom and the sound of paws on fake tile. He didn’t open his eyes, but he could feel its presence in front of him, its eyes staring at him expectantly.

  Still, he ignored the creature and turned his thoughts to other things.

  In his head, he began listing popular methods of torture from the sixteenth century.

  Then the vile creature started back in with the whining and scratching. Opening his eyes and releasing a deep breath, he said, “Fine. But if you get carried off by a bald eagle or hit by a car, I’m not helping you. That’s where I draw the line. I promised not to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I have to save you from all the other things that could kill you.”

  The dog barked and ran again toward the door. Ackerman didn’t bother putting on a jacket or shoes. His jeans and gray long-sleeve T-shirt alone would have to suffice. He wasn’t afraid of a little cold, and he welcomed the pain of sharp gravel and broken beer bottles against the soles of his feet. He tried to pretend that was the sole reason for this late-night stroll.

  He stood by the door, trying to forget about the dog, but it barked and whined and broke the illusion. He said, “We’ll go when I’m damn good and ready.” Remaining still, he took a few deep breaths and then said, “Okay, I’m ready now, but by my own will, not yours.”

  The dog just wagged its tail and panted, bouncing all the while with that happy, expectant energy. The look on its face seemed smug to Ackerman, and he contemplated whether such a beast could, in reality, be a skilled manipulator.

  47

  As he stood in the corner of the Westchester County Airport’s private charter terminal, Marcus’s world fell apart. His dad’s old partner had given it to him straight, and Eddie had been right. His dad had planted the evidence, and he felt as if his father’s memory had been forever tainted with that knowledge.

  It wasn’t that Marcus judged his dad, especially considering that he knew the suspect was guilty of the crime. Still, his father was the one constant beacon of hope and righteousness in his life. Now, that light was gone, and the darkness had crept in.

  He dropped into one of the terminal’s chairs, hung his head, and began to cry.

  The memory of his dad finding him in a similar position—crying alone in his second-story bedroom—was as vivid in his mind as if it had just taken place. He could still feel the breeze from the open window, the wind carrying with it the melody of the city traffic and distant sirens, a sweet chorus of buzzing humanity.

  His dad had asked what was wrong, and he had broken down, happy to finally unburden himself of the things he had witnessed. Every time he had closed his eyes, he saw the blood. He tried to fill his nose with Vicks to mask the smells of copper and vacated bowels that had infected the concrete slaughter room he had found down in the dark. The slightest sensory reminder of his time in the Mad King’s castle would send him to the edge of a panic attack or to the verge of losing his lunch.

  He had told his dad everything, and John Williams had hugged Marcus close and told him that he was so proud of him. After which, his detective father had his young son look through countless mug shots until he found a picture of the woman he had rescued. His dad had told him that he would handle it from there and that he shouldn’t worry about it anymore.

  Marcus hadn’t heard another word about the case, until one day his dad pulled him aside and informed him that the woman he had saved from the basement had been found dead. Marcus felt responsible. Perhaps he shouldn’t have told? Perhaps he should have told sooner? She had been their best chance at finding someone to testify against Tommy Jewels, but then she was gone. His dad had said, “But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I’m stubborn that way when it comes to justice being done.”

  Apparently, his father had then decided that seeing justice done was worth breaking the law and falsifying evidence.

  “Looks like you received some bad news.”

  Maggie’s voice startled him, and he quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, not wanting her to see him cry. “You were right. Eddie was right. My father planted the evidence, and he almost lost his job over it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? No such as thing as heroes, right.”

  She lowered her eyes, unsure how to respond. Finally, she said, “The FBI pilot said he’s ready when we are.”

  “Good. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  48

  As they pulled up to his reserved spot, Baxter realized he hadn’t recorded the additional Baxter’s Log episode that Kevin had requested. Before Jenny could exit the Mustang, Baxter said, “Hold up, sunshine. I gotta do a thing for the guy.”

  “Huh?”

  Baxter looked deep into Jennifer Vasillo’s eyes, cleared his throat, and then pressed the record button on his iPhone.

  “Baxter’s Log. Stardate … I gotta be honest here, I never could understand the whole stardate thing. Not that I ever really gave it too much thought. Anyway …

  Why don’t people see that we are, in actuality, an infinitely complex mass of infinitesimally small particles? A scientist would agree with me on that much, I expect. However, I propose that at the most basic level there is a particle that is the originator of all the others. Call it Alpha. Call it Omega. Call it God.

  The point is that something beyond our comprehension set this whole train in motion. We have trouble wrapping our small minds around that because our limited thinking is governed by time and space. We simply can’t comprehend a being who exists beyond a linear timeline, a being like the one who wrote the laws of physics. What is there beyond time and space? How do we possibly understand the will of a fifth-dimensional entity? These are realities that we may never fully explore before humankind blinks out. But we still owe it to ourselves to search out some of those answers. My assertion is this: If you honestly seek, you will most definitely find. And if you’re honest with yourself and follow your heart, the right path will just open up to you, one small step at a time.

  I’m Baxter Kincaid, and I approved this message. Baxter out …”

  As he ended the recording, he noticed Jenny looking at him as if a tiny Jimi Hendrix had just sprouted from his shoulder and started in on “The Star-Spangled Banner.” She said, “You are a total weirdo, you realize that.”

  Baxter giggled. “You
know, we spend about half our lives trying to be just like everybody else. Trying to blend in and survive. But then we realize that all we really want to do is be different. As the late, great Jimi Hendrix said, ‘I gotta be stone free to do what I want.’”

  “Do you ever go back and listen to those recordings, so that you can actually hear the way you sound?”

  Baxter said, “Nah, that’s in the past. And you know time is like a river, ever changing as it flows. And we time travelers are like vessels that must follow where it goes.”

  “Did you just paraphrase a Garth Brooks song?”

  With a laugh, he said, “Oh yeah, that is a song. Good thing I didn’t say that on the recording.”

  After ascending the stairs, Baxter knocked on Kevin’s door, and they waited as the sound of a platoon of deadbolt locks were undone. With two chain locks still in place, Kevin peeked out at Baxter from beneath his trademark hood. The only difference was that he wasn’t wearing his usual sunglasses.

  Kevin said, “You scared the crap out of me, man. Do you have a new post for me? They are eating the last one up. I think we should really get another one up quick.”

  “Yep, I just recorded one for you. Why don’t you let me in, and we can transfer it over or whatever you need to do?”

  “You can just email it to me or use that file transfer app that I showed you.”

  “Well, I was wanting you to do another little thing for me. It’s related to a case. I know you expressed interest in becoming more involved here at Baxtercorp, and so I thought—”

  “Do you have someone with you?” Kevin asked.

  “It’s just Jenny from Amoeba Music. Remember, I told you that she was kind of job shadowing me. Let us in, Kevster.”

  “You know how I feel about the uninitiated, Baxter.”

  “Yeah, I know, brother. But she’s straight, man. I’m telling you.”

  “Are you vouching for her?”

  “Yeah, man, that’s what I’m saying. I totally vouch for her. If she were a contract, I’d be like signing all over her. Come on, Kevarino. I guarantee she’s the hottest chickadee you’ve ever had in that apartment. And the ones on your computer screen don’t count.”

  “Wait there.”

  Kevin shut the door, and they stood there for a full minute before Jenny said, “I thought this guy was a friend of yours? And what was that job-shadowing crap?”

  “Kevin’s a good dude. He’s just a little eccentric and a whole lot paranoid.”

  The door opened, but instead of inviting them in, Kevin stepped out into the hallway with a scanning wand. It looked like the type used at airports, except that this one appeared to have been modified by Kevin himself. He said, “I’m just going to check you guys for bugs.”

  “I know she looks a little Seattle grungy, but I don’t think that the fair Jenny has any parasites crawling on her.”

  “I mean like government bugs. Recording devices. Things you may not even know they planted on you.” Kevin started scanning them with his homemade wand. After a moment, he said, “Okay, you’re clear. But no sudden movements, don’t leave my sight, and I’d like both of you to sign nondisclosure agreements.”

  49

  As he watched the vermin pace back and forth, back and forth, Ackerman wondered what instinct told the little dog which spot was best. Was the canine actually choosing a spot or merely working itself up for the deed? He shouted, “You disgust me, creature.”

  As if in response, the dog stopped and squatted. A woman in high heels and a red jacket passed on the sidewalk beside the motor inn. Ackerman called to her, “You don’t know whose dog this is, do you? I think it’s in need of a good home.”

  She merely diverted her gaze and kept walking.

  “See that. She didn’t like you either.”

  The dog started prancing around as if it had achieved some great accomplishment in finding the perfect spot to defecate. It barked and pranced in his direction. It looked up at him, tongue hanging and tail wagging.

  “I don’t have time for this. You know I should be out there securing our meeting with Mr. King, right now, not talking to an inbred mutt who has no idea what I’m saying.”

  The dog barked.

  “Are you trying to say that you do understand? Bark once for ‘Yes’ and twice if I’m just losing the last of my sanity.”

  The dog barked twice.

  “Are you being facetious?”

  The dog barked once. Ackerman merely stared at the creature a moment. Then he said, “The car is just across the street. I could hotwire it, and be on my way. I’m sure with a little finesse I could be back in an hour and a half. Two hours tops.”

  The dog issued a low growl, whipped its head around, and started barking. The fit lasted about three seconds, until it lost interest and returned to him.

  “I know what you’re saying. And you’re right. They are watching us. Tracking me with some kind of chip embedded in my spine.”

  The dog whimpered.

  “Don’t cry for me. I don’t mind the chip. It was a necessary evil. The one thing I don’t like is that I have yet to figure out a way to beat their system. They say that someone is monitoring my movements. But are they really? Maybe it’s time to test the fences. See how far the leash really stretches.”

  The dog issued some strange and whiny “ro-ro-ro” sound.

  “Your concern is touching, but don’t worry, my little parasite, your meal ticket isn’t going anywhere. They would never actually enforce a kill option. Not unless I had gone completely off the rails. For goodness sakes, these people have studied me for years. They know me. They’re going to have to expect a certain level of rebellion and disobedience. Right?”

  Ackerman sat on the curb. The dog pranced in front of him and barked twice.

  “That’s not a very polite thing to say. And totally subjective.”

  The dog ran and jumped at him, its front paws coming to rest on his chest. Then it licked his face and rubbed against his chest.

  Ackerman pushed it away. “No apologies necessary, but I appreciate the gesture of respect. If we’re going to be doing this for at least a period of time, then we might as well establish some rules. I’m the alpha. You are not even a beta in this pack. Do you understand? You are an omega. The lowest rung of our pack’s social hierarchy. You should fear and respect me. And be happy that I’m allowing your existence.”

  The creature tried to lick him again. “Okay, wonderful. Thank you.”

  He stood to escape the dog’s reach, and as he did, he spotted their rental car across the road. It was right there for the taking. The address was in his memory. The car was equipped with GPS.

  But if they were monitoring him as they claimed, or even if they checked his movements periodically, they would find out that he had been a bad boy. A sudden overwhelming urge to sever their leash seized him. Taking deep breaths, he fought with himself to keep from digging the tracking chip out with his fingers.

  He was no one’s dog.

  In his ear, he heard Father’s voice: You are the night, Francis. Kill them all. Kill them, and the pain will stop.

  The dog looked up at him strangely and voiced a low growl of disapproval.

  50

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Bang, bang, bang, bang.

  Faster this time and with more force. Ackerman added an extra bang as a sort of period on the message.

  He heard movement inside the hotel room, and the door cracked open. Emily Morgan stood on the other side, holding an arm up to block the light from the motel’s sign. She was still in the same clothes, including her shoes, as if she had literally fallen into bed. Her small Glock 19 pistol was in her hand.

  The little dog nosed its way inside her room.

  She said, “This had better be good, Frank.”

  “Computer Man gave me the address of someone who would fit into my plan of sending a message to Mr. King. I’m going to pay him a visit. With or without you. I’m no one’s pet.”

/>   “Trust me. No one thinks of you as our pet.”

  “I should hope not. Are you going to drive or give me the keys?”

  With a sigh, she said, “Let me grab my jacket. What about the dog?”

  “It can come with us.”

  “Sounds like you’re warming up to him.”

  “Not at all. We’ve merely reached an understanding.”

  “Glad to hear that, but the dog will be fine alone for a while. We’ll put him in the bathroom.”

  Ackerman added, “And one more thing. I’m going to need a gun.”

  “I’m not authorized to give you a gun, Frank. No weapons of any kind. I would give the dog a gun before I gave one to you.”

  Ackerman looked down at the furry beast and said, “That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t even have thumbs.”

  51

  The past…

  Marcus followed the sound of a woman crying into the depths of the Mad King’s castle. The air was growing colder and fresher. He felt the breeze on his cheek. He reached a junction that seemed to descend into the monstrous property’s lower levels. He could still hear her crying, but the closer he came the more he realized that it wasn’t merely a sad sobbing but a wailing of agony.

  In the little over a decade that Marcus had been alive, he had never felt fear like this. He was trapped, unable to find his way back out, and some creature was obviously down here sharpening its claws on a living subject. If he followed the sound, he could be the next victim. The fear made his legs want to run. He stared into the depths of the home. The shaft was perhaps four feet by four feet wide with metal rungs anchored to the wall every couple of feet.

  Within the totality of darkness, Marcus couldn’t see the bottom of the shaft before him. This could be the entrance to hell.

  A memory floated to the surface of his terrified thoughts. Something his father had said. Detective John Williams had leaned over to him at the dinner table, and in relation to a story he had been telling, he said, “Sometimes, you gotta do what’s right. Even when it’s stupid.”