Tainted (29 page)

“Check Ascension Labs.”

He shakes his head. “We already did. Just Paul Stanton there, the officer said.”

“I would still have a car do regular patrols of that area.”

“I’ll think about setting it up. We’re spread thin between the weather, investigating the fire, now this.”

Sorry to add to your burden
.
I’m so close to saying it, I can taste the acid on my tongue. My temper’s flaring, my mouth hardly under control. Are they side-effects of the aerosol, or is this what Hailey intended? I’m sure the sedative was what we’ve used every Friday – it never affected me like this. What would the aerosol do to Emma? She’s so much smaller than me, and hasn’t built up any resistance to meds.

I barely respond to Officer Duncan when he warns me to be careful and to stay in town. “Careful” is so low on my priority list it doesn’t register. I’m going to get Emma and stash her somewhere. Maybe up by Stony Lake, at Paul’s brother’s deer farm – Daniel’s uncle, somehow my uncle, too. My mind shies from that thought process like it’s toxic.

Afternoon light paints the stairwell in gray shades. Each footfall echoes, the exit door creaks when I push it open.

A single trail of narrow boot prints leads from the door to my car, where Hailey put her signature squashed heart handprints in the snow covering the window. If I thought the police would listen, I would show them. They won’t because they believe Hailey’s dead.

Someone’s
dead.

My mind goes back to Hailey’s room, all pictures and formulas and connections. Trent was connected to Emma, and to the Reindeer Games, where I found him dead. The other image was Katrina’s, and Hailey tied her to Emma and to the house fire. My guts go cold. Hailey must’ve used both Trent and Katrina to run her game, then killed them when their bodies would make the best impact at a crime scene.

Emma had no memory of events during her blackouts. Was whatever Hailey used on me supposed to make me forget? It didn’t work. I’m bigger, I’ve been on the formula longer. I don’t think Hailey calculated those variables.

Sitting in the car, waiting for it to warm up, I page through my phone. Hailey didn’t make any calls, didn’t mess with any of my texts, but she did delete all the photos in the gallery. She missed the message from her neighbor with the photo attachment of the girls at the house fire, with Hailey holding the gas can.

I forward it to the police email, then hook up the phone to the car’s Bluetooth. “Call Jason,” I command.

Not even a full ring makes it through. “Hello? Alex? I’ve tried to call since the police released Em. It kept going to voicemail.”

“That’s because Hailey had it.” Did Emma call Bree? Would Hailey ignore her, or play her for a pawn?

“What?” Jason swears. “When did you see her?”

“Bree told me I needed to figure out why everything was falling apart. It’s me – I’m
a part
of it all. And there are parts of my life that I can’t change. Emma. Ascension Labs. Hailey. Hailey’s behind everything, from Emma’s accident, to the house fire. And she’s not done yet.”

“Shit! My body chose a bad day to hurt. She won’t get by me, though,” he promises. “I’ve been staked out in the living room watching the road since we got back. Bree’s in the kitchen making food and Emma went to take a nap. I won’t move until you get back.”

“See you soon.”

I won’t feel better until I have Emma in my arms. And I won’t leave her until Hailey is locked up. I don’t care what anyone’s parents say. Speaking of parents…

“Call Paul,” I command.

On the third ring he answers, “Hey, kid. Is everything alright?”

“No. Hailey’s totally flipped out, Paul.”

Before I can catalog her crimes, he says, “I was worried something like this would happen…”

“Why?” My tangled-up gut tells me this must be an Ascension secret coming to light.

“Hailey,” he stresses, “is the only surviving subject of a group of children bred and genetically altered to be smarter, more athletic, stronger. The intangibles no one considered were the other aspects of their nature.”

“Check your cellphone, then add murderous to that list.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, then pauses, muffles the phone so I can’t hear, then comes back and says, “Someone’s here. I’m going to have to call you back.”

“No! Wait,” I pause, but he doesn’t respond. “Paul?”

The line goes dead.

And my heart – his
son’s
heart – stumbles on a beat.

“Call Paul,” I command again. Worry knifes through me, cutting deeper with each unanswered ring. Then his voicemail picks up.

Crap. With everything that’s gone wrong, and the number of times Hailey’s nabbed Em, I have to check. “Call Jason.”

His phone rings, and he picks up quickly. “Please tell me you found her.”

“Haven’t left yet. Something’s up with Paul. Can you check on Em and call me soon?”

I put the car in reverse, and back out of the parking space, then roll to the driveway. Wind whips a snow devil down the road, a swirling gust so powerful it shakes a transformer loose and the neighborhood before me plunges into darkness. The tires slip and grab and spin, with almost no forward progress toward the main road out of here. Goddamn rotten winter has to bring its worst on my worst day. Finally, I reach the intersection to turn onto the entrance ramp to the highway.

I check my phone one last time before engaging in the craziest drive of my life. The message light blinks, a text with an attachment, from Hailey.

Why isn’t she dead like the police think? All of our lives would be easier.

The screen morphs into a picture of Emma, conscious, obviously terrified, with duct tape over her mouth, hands tied with cord. In the bottom left corner of the frame hovers a slim hand, aiming one of the aerosol canisters from Hailey’s loft at Emma’s face.

The message beneath reads:
I’ve been generous until now
.

My hands tighten to fists. I roll my window down and suck in gulps of frigid air to cool the inferno of fear and anger blazing in me. Forcing myself to be rational isn’t going to happen, and that’s just what Hailey wants. She wants me stupid, reacting instead of thinking.

Hands shaking, I force myself to forward the message to the police department’s email, and Paul’s cellphone.

I dial Jason’s number while the light flashes green over my car. He answers before the first ring completes. “Did you find Hailey?”

“No. The bitch has Emma! She’s going to hurt her.”

“She must’ve slipped Em out the back when we thought she was napping in the family room,” he says with a resigned timbre. “What do you need me to do?”

“Get to Ascension Labs,” I say. “I’m going to need your help.”

“Don’t do anything without me.”

“Never.”

Jason disconnects the call, leaving me alone, battling raging emotions.

Blowing snow devours any visibility on the highway. This damn weather can’t stop me. I push the pedal down as far as I can and still control the car. Miles before the industrial park exit a swarm of flashing lights turns the highway into a circus of color.

I pump the brakes, slowing the car before I broadside a fire truck parked sideways across the highway next to the exit ramp into a residential neighborhood.

One of the firemen bangs on my window. I roll it down and he shoves his face in my car. “Highway’s closed!”

“But I have to get through,” I argue.

“Sorry, but you’re safest going home. There’s a mile stretch of cars piled up, and a burst water main turning the industrial park into a skating rink.” He uses his flashlight to direct a car behind me off the road and down the exit ramp. “Go home!”

He is not going to tell me what to do.

I turn the Acura and fishtail off the highway throwing snow and grit at the man.

At the light to turn onto the first major road, an idea hits. Paul’s house isn’t far from here, and he has a snowmobile. I turn off, the front end sliding into the guard rail and skidding along the edge for yards. A salt truck drives through the intersection, spilling sand on the street and laying a safer path for me to follow until I reach Paul’s.

His house is dark, the driveway empty when I pull in, and the neighborhood is dead quiet. I shove my phone into my pocket, dig out my knife and run for the garage. The lock complains and refuses to open. Tucking my chin to my chest, I use my elbow to break the window – Paul can take the money to fix it out of my trust fund, if we live through this.

Glass grinds over my jacket, cuts at my jeans as I force my body through the window. Ridiculously tidy shelves line one wall, stacked with gardening supplies. A work bench stretches the length of the back wall. In the center of the garage sits a motorcycle. On the far side rests an Arctic Cat snowmobile that Paul taught me to drive a couple of winters ago.

A snowmobile suit hangs in the cabinet in the corner, the helmet resting on the shelf above.

In minutes I’m suited up and hauling ass on the Arctic Cat, cutting through backyards, down alleys, blowing through intersections. Driving snowmobiles through town is illegal. But the police will have to catch me and I know they’re busy already.

I approach Ascension Labs from its rear, the Arctic Cat plunging through woods and skimming a growing pond of water next to the building. The last factory I passed is swamped, water running under the doors.

Driving the snowmobile completely around Ascension gives me an idea of what we might be dealing with. Paul’s sedan sits in the small back lot for employees. A strange SUV idles near the door to Ascension. Footprints trail from the driver’s door to the open passenger’s door, a set of prints staggering alongside a long swath in the snow like someone was dragged.

I kill the Arctic Cat’s engine around the corner, leaving it where it’s ready for a quick escape.

The frantic dinging of the SUV’s door alarm sounds through the snowfall when I pull the helmet off. I yank at the zippers and Velcro of Paul’s snowmobile suit, and peel the cumbersome thing off. Jason arrives, driving the Ransoms’ Jeep. A fraction of the tension threading through me releases. Sand and salt fly from the tires as the vehicle bounces across the parking lot and skids to a stop a few feet from me.

“The roads are a mess,” Jason blurts when he jumps from the front seat. “Four-wheel drive and back roads all the way. So, what’s going on?”

“Hailey’s fucking nuts. I have no clue what she’s doing here.” I bundle Paul’s helmet and snowsuit and toss them into the back seat. “And we’ve got to get her back.”

“Paul’s in there, too?” Jason lifts the tailgate, and grabs a crowbar. “Hey,” he says when I arch an eyebrow, “I’m not saying I’m going to hit the bitch, but I’m not going in there without a weapon.”

We reach the doors and Paul doesn’t greet us over the intercom. The silence is eerie after all the times he’s been there to help. Jaw set, hand hovering near my pocket knife, I key in the entry code.

“Access denied” the screen reads.

“What the hell?” I mutter and type in my father’s master override code.

“Access denied.”

“Fuck that,” Jason says, steps close, swings the crowbar like a bat and smashes the glass door. “Access granted.”

Shards dangle from the edges, loose teeth still capable of biting when we step through the opening. Jason’s advancing stiffness makes it difficult for him to clamber through. “Just think,” he grumbles, “A few more years of this, then a wheelchair, then a bed.”

I can’t think like that right now. He’s my best friend. When this is over, Paul and I will fix him. If he’ll let us. I hate his bright star burning out analogy.

Inside Ascension, the lights flicker. The small red emergency lights spaced at intervals throughout the lab pulse, indicating a power disruption, then the lab is running on the back-up generator. Out of instinct, I look towards Paul’s office. Halfway down the hall, a puddle of blood turns to a smear leading through his door.

No.
No
. Everything inside me freezes. As one, Jason and I flatten to the wall, his crowbar held up, my meager knife blade, too. We creep through the flickering lights, avoiding the red shine on the linoleum.

Past his office door, books lie strewn across the floor. Glinting splinters from shattered awards and picture frames coat the carpet. Flames dance from folders crammed into the trash can. There is red spray in a small pattern on the back wall. In the middle of the office sits Paul, glasses askew, head tipped to the side and blood dripping from his scalp. He moans, struggles to move, though lengths of wire ripped from his broken desk lamp bind his hands and wrists to the chair arms.

“Head wounds bleed worse than the damage usually is,” Jason says. “Medical docudramas,” he adds. “I watch them for character studies.” Despite his chatter, he clutches his metal bar tighter, the stress showing in his knuckles and straining tendons.

“Paul?” I call his name when I step closer.

“Kid?” His eyes open. The whites of his right are filled with blood, an indentation runs across his temple toward the red welling beneath his hair. His attempt at a smile hurts me. “You came.”

“I had to.” Without thinking, I hand my knife to Jason. “Help him, please.”

Jason nods, stuffs the crowbar into his boot and takes my blade.

“She’s here.” Paul coughs, then groans again. “They’re both here. I couldn’t stop her.”

“I will,” I vow. This ends tonight.

A volley of screams ricochets in the corridor. Weaponless and without hesitation, I sprint to the doors of the lab, slipping once in a puddle of water leeching across the floor. Near the doors, the voice shouting becomes discernible, one I recognize and don’t believe. Shock rattling around in my skull, I slam my palm on the button to open the doors.

Hailey lies on a lab table, black hair draping off the side, eyes closed. Her wrists and ankles appear bound and Emma paces the confines of the lab, raging at the top of her lungs. Blood drips from Emma’s lip and both her wrists. Droplets of red scatter everywhere, flung by Em throwing anything she can heft at Hailey’s body.

“You had me killed,” Emma yells. An empty plastic tray whips through the air and glances off Hailey’s stomach. The girl on the table doesn’t move. Is she unconscious?