Side Effects: An FBI Psychological Thriller (24 page)

A video camera on a tripod faced us.

“Bad luck,” was the first thing our guy said. He was addressing Morris. “When you were outside talking to your”—he made air quotes with his non-gun hand—“‘wife,’ a waitress finishing her shift came over and said you’d questioned her at a coffee house in West Chester.” He shook his head, pretending to feel sorry for us. “Bad luck indeed.”

I thought about what Morris and I had discussed earlier, about how we often caught the bad guy due to his bad luck. The irony was ever present now, but I refused to appreciate it. The fact that my head ached like a bad hangover helped bury that appreciation. I surely had a concussion. Morris too, I’d imagine.

“You going to kill two FBI agents?” Morris asked.

Our guy smiled. “No—no, tonight you are not FBI agents. Tonight you will be someone else.”

“Role-playing? You like doing that, don’t you?” Morris snorted. “So sad.”

Our guy sucked his teeth, trying to hide his annoyance for Morris’ remark. “Behave yourself,
Bob
.”

“Go fuck yourself,
Tom
.”

Our guy took a hateful step towards Morris.

“Tom,” Dr. Cole broke in. “Tom, listen to me—”

“Oh, enough with the anonymity bullshit,” he said. “It’s Joe. Joe Pierce. Please don’t act as if you three masterminds don’t know that already. And if you didn’t, it’s irrelevant now.” He smiled and brandished the gun.

“Okay then, Joe,” Dr. Cole said. “Please listen—”

He interrupted Dr. Cole as though he wasn’t there, casually pacing before us as he spoke. “I was going to start over…I was going to start over and it was going to be wonderful…even better than before. But now I can’t, can I?” He paused there for a moment, eyes glazing over as though reliving something tragic. He eventually shook his head like a man shaking off a punch. “So I wondered,” he continued, “do I stay or do I run? Running is what a coward would do.”

“You
are
a coward,” Morris said.

“
Tim
,” I said.

“No, that’s okay, Margaret—do people call you Margaret?”

“Maggie.”

“Maggie then. As I was saying, it’s okay; Tim’s tough-guy persona has only volunteered him to be my father.” He smiled at Morris. “Congratulations.”

Morris said nothing.

He returned to me. “Maggie? You’ll be playing my mother.”

Like Morris, I said nothing.

He faced Dr. Cole now. “Dr. Cole, since your betrayal was especially hurtful, you get to play me—the
old
me.”

“Why would playing the old you be such a fitting punishment, Joe?”

Pierce got right in Dr. Cole’s face and began tapping the gun barrel against his forehead. “No, no, no—no mind-melting tonight, Dr. Cole. You are officially off the clock.” A final, hard tap of the barrel that made Dr. Cole wince. “
Got it?
”

Dr. Cole nodded once.

Pierce smiled and headed back towards the video camera.

“What do you have planned, Joe?” I asked. “I imagine this is going to be different than your norm.”

He spoke to me while looking through the lens, eerily casual. He could have been a videographer telling his client to hold tight while he checked something. “My norm?” He finished adjusting the lens, stood upright, and said, “What’s my norm, Maggie?”

“You kill men,” I said. “You exploit their fears, you record it, and then you kill them.”

He cocked his head with genuine interest. “You figured that out? The fear part? The recording part?”

“Yes, we did,” I said.

“How?” he asked.

I shrugged, the binds pulling uncomfortably against my wrists. “Doing our job.”

He nodded as though my vague reply was enough.

“So, if this isn’t going to be your norm, what
is
it going to be?” Morris asked.

“You don’t need to know, Tim—it matters only to me.”

This is exactly what I’d been telling Morris from the start. That we may never get all the reasons, and that if we did get them they would be a letdown. Rational and irrational share only a word.

Morris wasn’t giving up so easily. “Why won’t you tell us? We’re gonna die, right? What do you got to lose?”

Pierce ignored him and went back to fiddling with the video camera.

Morris went on. “Why are you even filming this one? You going to take your little video to wherever the hell you’re planning to run to? Watch it when you’re feeling blue?”

“Who said I was running?” He patted the camera as though it were a pet. “This here is for
everyone
to enjoy. You see, Tim, I know that you’re right: I can’t just kill two FBI agents and hope to disappear; I
will
be found. Brotherhood and all that, I get it. The rulebook would go out the window for me, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would,” Morris said proudly.

Pierce splayed a hand. “There, you see?”

“So, if you’re not planning to kill us,” I said, “what
are
you planning?”

His chin retracted as though genuinely surprised. “Oh, I’m going to kill you, Maggie. I’m going to kill
all
of you. Difference is when this one’s done, I’m going to kill myself too.” He tapped two fingers against his chest. “I’m going out like a man.”

Ankles bound, but his lower legs free, Morris managed to kick both feet into Pierce’s shin. Pierce grimaced in pain and backed up a step. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in a bid to regain control. He then moved to the side of Morris’ chair, holding the bottle up to Morris’ mouth once again.

“Time to drink up, Dad,” he said again, his calm requiring blatant effort. Morris clamped his lips, refusing to drink. Pierce pinched Morris’ nose shut. “I can wait,” he said.

Morris finally opened his mouth to breathe and Pierce jammed the neck of the bottle in, clanking teeth. Morris coughed wildly as the whiskey went down, continuing long after Pierce took the bottle away.

He moved to Dr. Cole next. “Hello, Jody,” he said to Dr. Cole. “Are you ready?”

Jody?

“I’m not you, Joe,” Dr. Cole said. “None of them were.”

“
Fucking coward!
” Morris blurted after coughing up the last of the whiskey.

“Tim, shut up!” I yelled.

“No, that’s okay, Mom,” he said to me. “He’s just being Dad.”

Jesus, Morris was giving the sick bastard exactly what he wanted.

He approached me again, pulled something from the canvas bag and held it up in front of my face. It was a silver lion the size of a large walnut. “I need you to give this to Jody, Mom. Can you do that?”

The switching from Joe to Jody puzzled me. “To
Jody
?” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “
I
am Joe.
That
—” He pointed to Dr. Cole—“is Jody. Got it?”

I nodded.

He held the silver lion in front of my face again. “So can you give this to Jody, Mom?”

“To protect him?” I asked. “Give him courage for what’s to come?”

He paused his act, looking suddenly shaken, as if someone from the audience had jeered, causing him to fumble his lines.

“Yes,” he eventually said. “Tell him to hold it tight, to never let go no matter what.”

“Of course I will,” I said.

Again he paused, looking a little rattled at my willingness to comply.

“How can I though?” I said, flipping my chin over my shoulder, gesturing towards my binds.

“Give me permission to do it,” he said.

“But then it won’t be the same.”

“Just do it,” he insisted.

“Please give it to Jody,” I said. “To give him the courage to withstand his father.”

This time he pulled away from me, turning his back in frustration.
I
was playing director, not clueless participant, and it was getting to him. I needed to tread carefully though; his weapons were far more immediate than mine. Fortunately (or unfortunately?), I did not have to create anything, only draw from my own past.

He spun back to us and quickly approached Dr. Cole as though his immediate actions might mute the job I was doing inside his head. He stood behind Dr. Cole and placed the silver lion in his hand. Dr. Cole did not resist.

“Good,” he said. “Good.”

He returned to face all three of us. “How you doing over there, Dad? Want another?”

Morris said nothing, now aware of how his temper was playing into it all.

“Dad?”

Morris only drilled him back with his eyes, refusing to speak.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He approached Morris and repeated the same procedure: fingers clamping the nose tight until Morris had no choice but to gasp and swallow and choke.

“Good,” he said again. “Atta boy, Dad.”

“You hate your father,” I said.

He shot me a glance. “I hate
you
.”

“
Me?
”

“You coddled me. It’s your fault I am the way I am.”

Dr. Cole said, “There’s nothing wrong with the way you are, Joe—”

“
SHUT UP!
” Pierce spun and punched Dr. Cole on the side of the face, rocking him in his chair. The silver lion fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. Pierce snatched it back up and pressed it hard into Dr. Cole’s palm, making him form another fist over the lion. Through clenched teeth he hissed: “I swear to God, Dr. Cole, if you don’t hold on to that, this will be the longest night of your fucking life, got it?”

Dr. Cole gave a weak nod.

“Got it
…Jody
?
”

A stronger nod.

Pierce slapped him. “
Got it, Jody?
” He slapped him again. “
Got it, Jody!?
” A punch now, snapping Dr. Cole’s head back. “
GOT IT, JODY!?
” A second punch followed by two more slaps, Dr. Cole silently taking them despite his obvious pain.

“Stop!” I yelled.

Pierce ignored me and moved behind Dr. Cole’s chair. Gripped his hair and jerked his head skyward. “Jody’s a girl’s name,” he seethed. “A sissy fucking
girl’s
name.” He spat down on Dr. Cole’s bloodied face before releasing the grip on his scalp and circling the chair to face him again. Pierce spat on him once more, saliva and blood soon coming together in a slow drip on the point of Dr. Cole’s chin. “Look at you…for the love of Christ,
look at you
.” He gripped Dr. Cole by the neck. “You gonna cry? You gonna cry, you little pussy? Huh? Gonna go cry to mommy, you pathetic pussy mama’s boy?” He let go of Dr. Cole’s throat and slapped him again. “Come on, cry.” Slapped him again. “
Cry!
” Slap. “
Cry, you little pussy!
” Slap. “
Cry!!!
”

“
STOP!
” Morris yelled.

Crazily enough, Pierce did. Panting, he glanced over at Morris with wild eyes as though woken from the throes of a nightmare.

“I thought
I
was playing your father,” Morris said.

Still panting, Pierce only continued to stare at Morris with those wild eyes.

Again, Morris said: “I thought I was playing your father.”

Pierce started nodding, slow at first, and then quicker, more demonstrative with each bob of the head. “You’re right…you’re goddamn right…” He stood in front of Morris. “Give me permission.”

“Huh?”

“Give me permission to be my father.”

“No.”

“Come on, Tim, your partner played along. Give me permission.”

“No way.”

Pierce clenched his jaw and enunciated slowly through gritted teeth. “
Give me permission to be my father.
”

“If you become your father, does that make me Joe?” Morris said. “Hey, look at me! I’m a pathetic piece of shit who copes with his bad childhood by torturing and killing innocent people! Boo! hoo! hoo! Life is so unfair!”

Pierce spun, snatched up his gun, spun back and rammed the barrel into Morris’ mouth. “
Want another, Dad!? Huh? Want another!???
” Morris gagged on the barrel as Pierce drove it in deeper. “
Give me permission!!!
”

“
STOP!
” I screamed.

Gun still in Morris’ mouth, Pierce whipped his head towards me. “What are
you
gonna do, Mom?
Huh?
You gonna save him like you saved me?” He ripped the gun from Morris' mouth and maneuvered his way behind Dr. Cole. Snatched the silver lion from his hand and brought it over to me, thrusting it in my face. “
This!?
This
is how you help me!?” He threw the lion at me. I flinched and turned my head away. Locked eyes with Morris. He was no longer coughing from the gun barrel, but working furiously on the binds behind his back…and making progress, his determined gaze speaking to me as he worked:
Keep him busy, Mags.

I instantly brought my head back around and locked eyes with Pierce.

“I’m sorry she couldn’t help you more, Joe,” I said. “She was afraid too.”

He got in my face. “You were weak. You were weak and you made
me
weak.”

I played along. “I was scared too, but I loved you and helped you the only way I was capable.”

He grabbed my throat with one hand and pressed the gun to my head with the other. “
I hate you! I fucking HATE YOU!
”

“I’m sorry…I am so, so sorry…”

He jerked away from me, shut his eyes and began banging the side of his head with his non-gun hand. “
I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!!!
”

“Who are you talking to, Joe?” I said.

He snapped from his daze, looked at me with a self-loathing even my own mirror had never shown me in my darkest hours, and lunged for me.

I leaned back and whipped both bound feet up and into Pierce. Morris’ legs are long; when he’d tried it, he caught Pierce in the shin. Mine are short; I caught him smack in the balls.

Pierce bucked forward in pain, his face coming within inches of mine. I used this and snapped my head forward with everything I had, catching him in the face with a headbutt that shot him back on his ass, gun flying from his hands and skidding across the classroom floor.

I rocked backwards once, and then forward with a powerful lunge, finding my feet, chair still attached to my back, hands still bound with them. I could hear Morris screaming, telling me to hold on. Pierce was scrambling to all fours, frantic eyes all over in search of the gun. We spotted it simultaneously, exchanged a quick, desperate glance, then went for it, him diving from all fours, me with my ankles bound and a damned chair on my back. He arrived first, snatching the gun in his hand. I arrived a split second after, hopping like a crazed rabbit and bringing one of the chair legs down onto his hand, crushing it, causing him to cry out, abandon the gun and roll away.