"Chain Reaction" Power Failure Book I

by Andrew Draper

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Aaron’s eyes fluttered open and the thundering roar built in his head. Long blades of red-hot pain stabbed his brain in rhythm to his pulse. He took a shallow breath and tried to lie very still. After a few agonizing seconds the concussions retreated, the thundering waves becoming muted voices.

  “He’s going to come around soon,” a woman said. “What do we do then?”

  “We question him and find out what, if anything, he knows. Then we dispose of him.”

  Through the slowly lifting fog, he identified the second voice as male.

  He suppressed the instinct to move, to rise up on the bed. He listened intently, the voices beginning to fade as his captors moved away.

  “We’ve already talked about this,” the voice floated back to him as the woman continued. “I thought we were going to keep a low profile.”

  “Look, this is still my mission,” the man answered her sharply. “So we play it my…”

  The sound of a door closing cut off the rest of his words.

  Aaron lay still for several more seconds, listening to the beat of his own heart. He tried again to open his eyes and the world slowly melted from dark, rolling waves into a solid form, beginning to take shape.

  He lifted his head, ignoring the return of the pounding drums in his ears. The large bed still seemed miles off the floor but, much to his relief, the room had ceased its persistent spinning.

  Sunlight streamed in through the partially drawn, paisley drapes. He blinked a few times, the brightness a startling contrast to the half-light surrounding him.

  Daylight? Where the hell am I?

  Laying his head back down, he tried bending one limb at a time. His left arm stopped short, and he took in the gleam of the sunlight reflecting off the chrome handcuffs locked to his wrist. Discovering his arms and legs still worked, and with minimal pain, he tried the next step.

  Still surveying his surroundings, he swung his legs off the bed and tried to sit up. The room revolved in a few sickening orbits before his eyes and the pain wracked his head, but he remained vertical. After a few more deep, cleansing breaths, the room began to slow and the pain bracing his head faded to a dull hammering at the base of his skull.

  Okay. So far, so good.

  The well-appointed room seemed to mock him as he considered his situation. Realizing his captors hadn’t removed the placard from the nightstand, he found the ‘Regency Resort’ logo embossed in bottom of the sign. Okay, so I’m downtown…and they don’t care that I know that.

  Feeling ready, he tried to stand. The manacles locked to the bed stopped him short. He tried breaking the rail out of the headboard, the misguided effort causing only minimal damage to the heavy oak’s polished finish and a rapidly expanding bruise on his wrist. He stopped struggling against the iron-hard wood, knowing it was futile.

  Scanning the room, he discovered his captors had left through a door in the suite’s wall and he assumed it went to another room, not into the hall. Straining his ears, he picked up muffled voices on the other side of the door.

  The metallic click of the lock warned him of his captors’ imminent return and he quickly stretched back out on the bed. The door opened with a soft swish and the pair entered, quietly approaching, then stopping at the foot of the bed. Pretending to still be unconscious, Aaron listened.

  “Clark, this guy should be awake by now.” Trish said. “Someone this big should come around after an hour or two.”

  “Well, it’s been almost three, so he’s either a lot weaker then we thought,” she paused, leaning forward to check Aaron’s pulse. “Or he’s faking.”

  Clark pulled a small brass key from his pocket and moved toward the bed. “Either way, we’re going to the factory. He can cool his heels with Ryan. I don’t want some bimbo maid finding him in here.”

  Aaron felt cuffs come off and his pulse jumped, sensing the cold steel of a gun barrel against his temple.

  “Up! …Now!” Clark demanded.

  Aaron lay motionless.

  “I know you’re awake, now move before I put a bullet in your head.”

  Aaron stiffened as the man standing over him pulled the hammer back, the telltale sound sharp in his already-ringing ears.

  He opened his eyes. “All right, all right. I’m up. Just take it easy with the gun.”

  Swinging his legs off the bed once again, Aaron rubbed his sore wrist. Clark walked around the bed and met Aaron’s eyes. “You’re so hot to find Ryan. Well, I’m going to accommodate you.”

  The visibly impatient mercenary waved the gun toward the door. “Let’s go! We don’t want to keep the good doctor waiting, now do we?”

  Pushing him out ahead of his captors, Clark jabbed the barrel of the nickel-plated .357 Magnum into Aaron’s back, his kidney burning in protest.

  “We’re going to walk past the lobby and you are going to keep your mouth shut.” Clark ordered.

  Aaron nodded and made a mental. I.O.U. one Smith and Wesson suppository…but first, lead me to Jenny.

  The ride through the city seemed endless as his imagination ran wild with terrible possibilities.

  These two seem like pros. That means she might still have a chance. I just hope she’s still alive.

  Aaron sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window and continuing his dark thoughts as Trish guided the car through the heavy traffic. Clark sat behind him, pistol barrel digging into the back of his head.

  Heading deeper into the North End, the car slowed for the off-ramp to the waterfront. Twisting through a maze of narrow side-streets, Trish finally brought the convertible to a stop before a high chain-link fence, its top wrapped with razor wire.

  Stealing a glance out the window, Aaron saw a faded “no trespassing” sign fastened to the sagging gate. Riddled with bullet holes, the sign’s passive warning message became abundantly clear.

  “Get out.” Clark barked, motioning with the revolver.

  As the car sped away, Aaron stepped through a gap between the chained gates. His captor followed close behind, the menacing pistol tight in his hand.

  The pair trudged through the snow-covered parking lot to an abandoned building, its clapboard façade discolored by age and marred by layers of graffiti. They stopped at the rear entrance of the one-time furniture factory, rusted bars on the door blocking their ingress.

  Aaron surveyed his surroundings and heard the crunch- crunch of footsteps in the snow as the woman reappeared from around the corner.

  “I stashed the car in the loading dock.” She said, her hurried words generating small puffs of vapor in the cold.

  The man with the gun turned to his co-conspirator. “Did you back it in…like I said?”

  She rolled her eyes at the question. “What am I, stupid? Of course I backed it in.”

  He took a step forward, closing the distance between the two. A menacing look crossed his reddening face. “Don’t give me any grief,” he waved the gun in her direction. “Just do what I say…Period.”

  She glared at him. “Listen, Clark. I’m no amateur. So, piss off! …and point that thing somewhere else!”

  He smiled at her caustic insult. “Now there’s that fire I remember.”

  Aaron watched the heated exchange. For pros, these two are not getting along too well. That might come in handy later.

  Majors turned again toward the wrought iron bars and Trish gave him the finger behind his back, shifting her stance nervously from foot to foot. He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the security gate.

  Trish stepped through the doorway to join Aaron and Clark, seeking shelter from the freezing wind blowing in off Boston Harbor. She pulled the door closed with a creak of rusted hinges, plunging the three into almost total darkness.

  Aaron blinked several times, his vision slowly adjusting to the poor illumination. Tiny shafts of light filtered through windows several floors above, breaking the black veil. He noted that some of the panes were cracked, holed, or missing alto
gether. He strained his eyes, trying to see the other end of the building, some three hundred yards away.

  He heard a small snap and a white beam pierced the gloom, attached to the hand of the woman next to him. The light touched her face, her nose wrinkling at the damp, musty smell permeating the air.

  Clark jammed the pistol’s barrel into his back again, the sharp stab pushing him forward. “Move.” He ordered.

  Guided only by the flashlight’s narrow beam, they walked for long minutes in silence while small clouds of dust rose from the floor as they passed. Aaron felt an involuntary shiver run the length of his body as he envisioned Jenny being confined in this cold and dismal place. The ancient floorboards creaked, echoing loudly as they made their way across the frigid expanse.

  Trish broke the unnatural quiet, her breath visible in the small vapor clouds that sprang from her lips. “Jesus, how old is this place?”

  The three continued threading their way through the darkness, the eerie skeletons of woodworking machines passing through the flashlight’s bright circle as Clark answered her in a shallow, lecturing tone. “This factory was built in 1859, and abandoned in 1946. That’s why I chose it. No one’s had a reason to come here in more than sixty years.”

  After several more minutes of oppressive, silent walking, Clark raised his hand, bringing the trio to a halt before a staircase that appeared from the darkness. Turning back and forth, the aged wood treads zig-zaged up the wall, parting at landings to access a catwalk at each floor. Rubbing his hands together, Clark tried to fight off the cold.

  Aaron spoke for the first time since leaving the car. “You said you were taking me to Dr. Ryan. Where is she?”

  The man with the gun answered, sharp tones betraying his annoyance. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  He pointed the pistol toward the top of the stairs. “You first, up!”

  Aaron ascended to the third step and felt it bow under his weight, wondering if it would hold him after all these years. Stairs groaning in protest as they climbed, the three made their way to the second floor landing.

  Aaron could feel the cold penetrating his bones. He turned to his captors. “This place has no heat. You’d better hope she’s okay.”

  Trish joined him on the small platform. “She’s fine. Maybe not very comfortable, but she’s very much alive.”

  Aaron closed the gap between them. Backing the woman against the wall, he towered over her. “You better hope so, or I’ll…”

  Clark shouldered his way between the two, gun wedged in Aaron’s ribs.

  “Or you’ll what? Remember, I’m the one calling the shots here. So, shut up and keep moving.”

  He glared back at him, teeth clenched. “I want her back alive. So, you’re in charge…for now.”

  Clark laughed at the threat. “You’ve got balls Casey. I’ll say that much for you.”

  Slamming a tight lid on his mounting anger, Aaron continued climbing until he reached the fourth floor landing. On his left, he saw a door, the frame set flush in the wall. He noticed the door had a brand new padlock, the polished chrome finish presenting a stark contrast to the peeling paint and cracked panels surrounding it.

  Clark produced a key and opened the hasp. “In there.” He motioned Aaron inside with a wave of the pistol.

  Aaron griped the knob and felt a warm draft escaping around the door. Stepping in to the room, he scanned the dim interior. In a corner off to his left, the hot glow of a propane heater colored everything around it blood red light. The only other illumination came from a window high above his head and to his right, causing deep shadows that dimmed every corner.

  Eyes searching the darkness, he fixed his gaze on a small figure almost completely hidden in the gloom and his heartbeat spiked in a flash of adrenalin. Across the room, chin down on her chest and eyes closed, Jenny sat tied to the carcass of an armchair. The blood surging through his veins stopped cold.

  God, no! She can’t be dead!

  His heart resumed beating as he saw her chest move slowly in and out. His emotions twisted between despair and hope, a rolling, crashing Nor’easter. He grabbed Clark by the arm, spinning him around. The sudden move surprised his captor. The two men now stood face to face. Aaron swallowed hard and his voice wavered as he spoke. “You bastard! What did you do to her?”

  Stabbing him again with the barrel of the gun, Clark pasted on a twisted smile, condescending and wicked. “I gave her a little something to ensure ‘manageability’. She’s fine, just go wake her up.”

  His mind began to run wild with terrible visions of what the pair had done. He fought down the urge to run to her side.

  Don’t lose your cool now! Remember, control the situation and work the problem. You lose control and you’re both dead.

  He continued to silently stare, vicariously feeling the pain as he took in the bruises on her arms. The ball of ice forming in his stomach exploded into painful shards when he saw the cluster of tiny red spots inside her right elbow. Needle tracks!

  A tidal wave of burning anger swept over him, pushing his mental restraint to the limit. Fighting for control of his raging emotions, he exhaled a long, forced breath. Looking at his nemesis, he pushed the red veil from his vision.

  Screw the pistol. When this is over, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.

  Clark motioned toward Jenny with a nod of his head. “She’s fine. See for yourself.”

  Aaron crossed the room in two swift strides, standing next to her chair. Leaning forward, he gently took her chin in his hand, tilting her face upward.

  “Jenny,” he called softly.

  No response.

  He repeated the call, A little louder this time. “Jenny, it’s me, Aaron.”

  She stirred, eyes slowly opening to small slits. He watched in horror as her eyes suddenly snapped wide open, her expression going from flashes of fear, to recognition, to disbelief.

  She tried to speak, her voice a faint scratch of dry breath. “Aaron?”

  Senses rolling in drug-induced confusion, she struggled against her bonds. “It’s you…but it can’t be you. They told me…you’re dead! It’s the drugs…It can’t be you, you’re dead!”

  After several seconds, she looked around the room, and he could see the confusion beginning to lift at last. Finally bringing her gaze around to his face once again, she settled back in the chair. “Is it really you? Are you really here?”

  His anger still a hot flood coursing through his veins, he gently smoothed the matted hair from her face. “Yes, it’s really me. I’m here now. Everything’s gonna be all right.”

  Wrapping her in his arms, he held her close, feeling her tremble.

  Oh, thank God, you’re alive!

  His mind raced between captors and captive. Trying to anchor his thoughts, he bounced back and forth between rage and relief. Breaking the embrace, he touched her cheek, catching a solitary tear. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  She fixed her eyes again on his, the pale blue orbs reaching deep into his soul. “I’m so sorry I got you into this. I…”

  Clark cleared his throat, loud and grating. “I apologize for interrupting this touching reunion, but there is still a little matter of the business at hand.”

  Aaron turned back, facing the pistol and the man who held it, mentally calculating the fractures he would inflict. He took a step toward the source of his rage. “I have what you want and you have what I want… Now we deal.”