Revenant (15 page)

“Is he conscious?” she asked, not bothering to introduce herself.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” the man answered from the stretcher. He opened his bloodshot eyes and said, “Who are you?”

“I’m Officer Sharon Dupont of the Paskagankee Police Department. And you are?”

“I’m Josh Parmalee, security for Mr. Parker. Where’s Chief McMahon?”

“He’s busy on another case. I’m here to assist you.”

Parmalee shook his head in disbelief, wincing from pain as he did so. “Are you fucking kidding me? Brett Parker gets kidnapped and McMahon sends some flunky? Mr. Parker isn’t important enough to warrant a visit from the actual chief of police in this crummy town? What’s he doing, rescuing a cat stuck in a tree, helping an old lady across the street? What?”

Sharon let the insults go and waited for the man to stop venting. He had said only one thing of any importance, but that one thing was a doozy. Finally he stopped to take a breath and she interrupted before he could start up again. “What do you mean, Brett Parker’s been kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped, you know; stolen, removed, taken away against his will. Kidnapped. Maybe you oughta look it up.”

“The only report we received was of a B and E. Nobody said anything about a kidnapping. Who made the call to the police?”

“I did,” Parmalee answered sourly.

“Well, then, why the hell didn’t you tell our dispatcher that someone had been kidnapped? Do you have any idea how much time has been wasted?”

“Listen, sweetheart,” Parmalee shot back, “I was tossed into a granite fireplace by that fucking lunatic and knocked out. When I came to I was woozy and could barely think straight. So you’ll have to excuse me if my call for assistance wasn’t specific enough for you.”

Now Sharon was beginning to get the picture. This guy was supposed to provide security for one of the richest and most influential men in the world, and he had allowed his boss to be spirited away right out from under his nose. He was angry and humiliated and was taking it out on her. No problem; she could let him vent against the Paskagankee PD if he needed to. Pride was the least of their concerns if Brett Parker had actually been kidnapped.

She pulled her notebook and pen out of her breast pocket. Time was of the essence and she knew she needed to get as much useable information as possible out of this man. The EMT’s finished strapping Parmalee onto the gurney and began wheeling him toward the front door.

Wait,” Sharon said. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the hospital,” the one in charge answered, looking at her like she had just farted in church.

“Not yet you’re not. I need to question this man and I need to do it now. Can you wait a couple of minutes?”

They looked at each other doubtfully and one said, “I suppose, but he took a nasty shot to the head when he hit those bricks, and—“

“Granite,” Parmalee interrupted.

“What?” the EMT said.

“It’s granite, not brick.”

“Whatever. The point is, this guy has a good-sized gash in the back of his skull that’s going to require sutures to close and he has probably suffered a pretty serious concussion. You can have three minutes, and then we’re outta here.”

“Fair enough,” Sharon answered, and turned toward the prone man. “Now, how many intruders were there?”

“One.”

She stopped, pen hovering above her note pad as she reviewed the damage to the room, certain she must not have heard the man correctly. “Did you say there was only one intruder?”

Parmalee snarled. “That’s right, missy, there was only one. But you wouldn’t believe this guy. I shot him right through the heart, right smack in the middle of the chest with a nine mm hollow point, and he got up like it was nothing, like he had slipped on a banana peel or something, and kept coming.”

“Wait a minute. You
shot
him?”

“Damn right I shot him.”

“Did you miss him?”

“I told you already, I hit him right square in the chest. It was a fucking bullseye. Jesus Christ, try and pay attention.”

Sharon took in the room. “Then where’s the blood?”

“How the hell do I know? I was a little preoccupied; didn’t get the chance to go over the room with a magnifying glass.”

“Well, if you shot the guy in the chest, there should be some blood, don’t you agree?”

“Of course I agree. He shouldn’t have gotten up, either, but he did. I’m telling you what happened. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you.”

Sharon looked doubtfully around the room again. The only blood was the small amount of spatter gracing the granite fireplace and hearth, blood which had obviously come from Josh Parmalee himself. She shook her head. “Okay, what happened after you shot him?”

“I told you already. He sort of clambered to his feet all pissed off like a lead slug to the chest was nothing more than a bad cup of coffee. Then he came over and tossed me across the room. That’s it. That’s all I know.”

“Are you positive Parker’s missing? Maybe he hid when the break-in occurred and he’s still in the house somewhere. This is a pretty big place, after all.”

“Of
course
I’m positive. He ain’t here; that’s the first thing I checked when I woke up. I do know how to do my job, you know.” He closed his eyes.

Sharon bit off her reply; none was necessary, and getting into a verbal jousting match with this clown would accomplish nothing. Brett Parker had been kidnapped. This was huge.

“Okay,” the EMT in charge muttered. “It’s been long enough. Time to go.” They began moving toward the door, rolling the injured man across the wreckage-littered floor.

“One last thing,” Sharon interrupted. “I need a description of the intruder.”

Josh Parmalee opened one eye and fixed her in its glare. “A description? He looked like death warmed over.”

21

The minivan rolled to a stop in front of the ramshackle house and before it had finished rocking back and forth on its rusted springs Earl had rolled the side door open. He dragged Brett Parker out onto the patchy grass of the front yard, his movements ungainly but his grip as strong as ever.

Parker had attempted a number of times along the way to reason with Max Acton but Earl could have told him his efforts would be wasted and they were. Now he allowed himself to be manhandled, having apparently reached the conclusion that Acton was just as dangerous as the frightening freak with the jagged hole in the back of his shirt. He had no idea.

The bizarre trio trudged up the front steps and before they had reached the front door it swung open. Standing just inside the entryway was Raven, copper-skinned and beautiful, looking like the little woman in Stephen King’s worst nightmare as she welcomed home her man, his undead slave, and their billionaire ticket to the good life.

They walked inside and moved directly through the house to the basement stairs, Max leading the way, Parker directly behind him being prodded by Earl, with Raven bringing up the rear. No one said a word as they clomped down the stairs and into the cool air of the basement.

Parker was breathing heavily, panting almost, as it seemed to occur to him that he had perhaps arrived at the end of the line. Earl watched as the software developer took in his surroundings; the unplugged floor freezer at the opposite end of the room, the small table next to it upon which rested the mystical box with the stone inside—not to mention Earl’s heart—the collection of tools which had been used to cut that heart out of Earl’s body, the gigantic tarp upon which the impromptu surgery had taken place.

The seed of an idea which had been planted inside Earl’s brain back at the Parker cabin, and which he had pushed quickly away, again demanded Earl’s attention and again he forced it from his mind, stealing a glance at Max as he did so. His “god” stared back at him, an unreadable look on his face. The look told Earl that while Max had no idea what was coming, he clearly realized something was not quite right.

There was no way Max could use his psychic connection to “read” Earl’s plan because Earl had no idea what his plan might be. He had refused even to dwell on the seed of an idea for more than a second or two, knowing that if he did, Max would be able to sniff it out, and then
snuff
it out. Earl was counting on the ability of his unconscious mind to take over and implement the plan at the appropriate time, and until that time, his only chance for success was to pretend the seed of an idea didn’t exist.

Max continued staring at Earl, a strange little smile on his lips, as he attempted to divine what was taking place inside Earl’s head. For the first time since he was a little boy, Earl Manning could honestly say he was
glad
there was nothing much happening in there.

Max finally gave up, shaking his head and waggling his finger in Earl’s direction, the meaning perfectly clear.
Whatever you’re thinking about trying, don’t do it. I’m your god. I control your fate, so don’t even think about pissing me off.
Earl kept his face neutral and shifted his gaze to Brett Parker, who didn’t seem to have gotten any calmer during the few seconds of silent drama between Max and Earl.

At last Max turned his attention to their unwilling guest, unleashing a high-wattage smile and extending his hand to Parker as if this were a business meeting and not a kidnapping. “Thanks for coming,” he said, continuing the charade. He fished the thumb drive out of his pocket—he had relieved Earl of the item before even turning the Caravan away from the forest—and held it in the air, inspecting it a few feet from Parker while the man looked on dully.

“I’d like to thank you for the wisdom you’ve shown in agreeing to share this technology with me,” Max said. “A lot of good can come from it, especially where I’m concerned.” Parker said nothing and Max continued. “As you might have guessed by now, I have a buyer lined up for this item for whom money is, quite literally, no object.”

“Then you’re a traitor,” Parker interrupted.

Max waved the interruption aside airily, his good humor intact. “Call it what you will,” he said, “but surely you don’t believe you are the only software genius working on such an item? Perhaps you were out in front of the development curve, but undoubtedly there are brilliant minds all over the world working on creating software exactly like The Codebreaker. You perfected it first, that’s true, but within a few years, maybe less, maybe
a lot
less, other Codebreakers will begin to crop up, and soon every developed country in the world will have their own version.

“That being the case,” Max continued, “I might just as well profit off this little baby before it loses all value. If you had any kind of marketing sense, you would have come to the identical conclusion yourself. It’s not my fault you’re blessed with innate brilliance in one area but not a lick of common sense in another.”

Brett Parker shook his head, his face impassive but the color rising into his cheeks an indicator of his anger. “You’re a traitor,” he muttered again.

“Anyway,” Max continued as if he had not heard, “you’re undoubtedly curious as to why you had to be a part of this gathering, since you were so kind as to share your invention with my friend Earl.” He paused and Parker stared resolutely at the floor, saying nothing.

Then he shrugged and continued. “You, my new friend, are my insurance policy.”

22

Earl Manning had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer or the brightest bulb in the lamp. He understood that. Growing up, his father made a point of telling him how stupid he was every chance he got, and even his mother had once scolded, “Earl, if brains was butter, you couldn’t grease a pan.” His own mother!

But he had always possessed a measure of animal cunning, more than once wriggling out of tight spots with the Paskagankee Police—often involving excessive alcohol consumption followed by a high-speed joyride in his ancient F-150—with a more or less believable lie or story that didn’t stretch the credulity of the officer who had stopped him too badly. He had spent plenty of nights in a holding cell but had mostly avoided legal trouble on a larger scale.

It was that innate sense of cunning Earl was counting on now to save his ass one more time. He didn’t know exactly what The Fucking Devil Max Acton had in store for him, but he could sense his body beginning to decompose at a faster rate. It didn’t take a genius to conclude his usefulness to his “god” had pretty much ended with the kidnapping of Brett Parker and the recovery of the man’s precious Codebreaker software.

Acton was preening and posturing, two activities Earl had already discovered the man lived for. They had herded Parker into the basement, the thumb drive with Parker’s software secured in Acton’s pocket, and the guy was lording it over the terrified software designer, taunting and intentionally frightening the man.

Earl stood at the base of the stairs. Raven was positioned directly in front of him, hanging back as usual, both fascinated by and afraid of Max Acton. Standing in front of her was Parker, perhaps the most reluctant house guest ever. And at the very forefront of the group Acton stood holding court, approximately one-third of the way across the basement, like an actor commanding the stage.

The moment Max addressed Parker and began telling him he had been brought here as an insurance policy, Earl knew what was coming and began readying himself for action without thinking about it in any specific terms. It was not an easy tightrope to walk. It was also, he knew, his only chance, and he was determined to make the most of it.

Finally the moment he had been waiting for arrived. Max smiled like a game show host telling the lucky contestant what he’d won. “As my insurance policy, it’s not completely clear yet how much of your assistance I will need, if any, but rest assured, Mr. Parker, that while you’re with me your living quarters will be adequate to your situation.”

He hesitated. “Well, not
living
quarters, precisely, but . . . ah, it’s difficult to explain. Perhaps a visual demonstration would be more appropriate. Mr. Manning, would you kindly show our guest where he will be bunking for the foreseeable future?