TPG (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

He pulled into the parking spot,
put on his baseball cap and crossed the street. His phone vibrated as soon as
he reached the other side. He glanced at the number.

Corin.

He pressed ignore,
knowing what the man was doing—checking up on him, trying to convince him
to stop what he was about to do, being the only person who
could
convince him given that Corin was the only person who knew.

He’d let Corin in
on his secret as soon as he realized he’d actually be able to do it. In fact,
he didn’t just tell Corin what he was going to do, he’d given the man a small
demonstration when they’d met at an outdoor café a few months earlier. Corin,
of course, had shown up right on time. Just as he always did, not wanting to
disappoint one of his best clients. And Corin didn’t act that way just to
appease him and stroke his ego. He had an investment to protect, and did so by
always making sure his client’s health came first; carefully scheduling
assignments at appropriate intervals to prevent burn-out and too much wear and
tear. Corin would even go so far as to reject offers with enormous price tags
if they didn’t fit his rigid schedule, always keeping an eye out for the long
term.

The day they met
at the café, Corin knew immediately that his investment had been tampered with.
He could tell his client had taken an assignment on his own as soon as they sat
down at the table. All he had to do was look at the wide pupils staring back
across at him.

“So,” Corin said
as he sipped his coffee, letting the cool April morning breeze tussle the
remaining strands of hair that sat atop his near-bald head, “are we here for
you to tell me that you’ve signed with someone else?”

He shook his head
and told Corin no, that wasn’t the case.

“Then what’s with
the unscheduled excursion? Moonlighting or a joyride?”

“Experimenting.”

“Experimenting?”
Corin asked as he relaxed his stocky frame back in the chair. “Do you think
that’s wise knowing the risks involved?”

“No one will
know.”

“That’s not what
I’m talking about,” Corin said. “I’m talking about your health.”

“I’ll be fine.”

But Corin didn’t
buy it. And his client didn’t expect him to. He just needed Corin to know that
he’d be out of commission for a while.

“How do you think
you’re going to feel in a few days?” Corin asked, his eyes digging into the man
like a father scolding his son. “Look at you. You went for the whole thing,
didn’t you?”

“It’s the only way
I’ll have enough to be able to do it.”

Still in the dark
about what was happening, Corin leaned in and asked, “Do what?”

But he didn’t
answer Corin’s question. Instead, he flung his cup at Corin and watched as
Corin jumped back and let it fly by and crash to the ground, the lid popping
open and coffee bursting out.

“What the hell was
that?” Corin asked.

“A test.”

Corin stared at
him, trying to make sense of the bizarre behavior.

“Now look at my
eyes,” he told Corin. “Focus on them.”

“What are you
talking about? Why?”

“Relax and just
focus on them. Focus on my eyes.”

He had already
known Corin was a match. He’d felt it when they first met years earlier. What
he didn’t know was if he’d be able to do anything more. But he began studying a
variety of different methods teaching him how to transfer what he had, and read
up on how it was possible that his action potential cells might have a slight
mutation. So he assumed it should work, that he’d be able to transfer at least
some of what he was able to absorb.

He locked eyes
with Corin while telling him as calmly as possible to look right at him, to
keep focusing on his eyes. And Corin obliged. He comforted Corin, telling him
he was doing a good job, that he just needed to keep relaxing, keep focusing.
But Corin was only tangentially listening, already complying without even
having to hear the words. The connection had been made. They were locked. But
it was different than what he was used to. He didn’t feel a surge, a rush. And
he didn’t want to. It was peaceful and calm. And he kept it that way, slightly
pushing his own energy away.

After a few
moments he slowly stopped and pulled away, then asked, “How do you feel?”

Corin shrugged his
shoulders and said he felt fine. “Should I
not
feel fine?”

“Feel any change?”

“Not really,”
Corin said, looking for the cup of coffee that was no longer where he left it.

But before he was
able to ask where it was, the cup was flung across the table. This time Corin
caught it on the fly, only a few drops spilling onto his wrist.

It was then that Corin
realized what had just happened, what had been done, and his first reaction was
it wasn’t going to be good for business. Not good at all.

And Corin had been
right, the man thought as he tucked his cell phone into his pocket and let the
memories of the meeting slip back into the corners of his mind.

It
hadn’t
been good for business. But that
was okay. This was about something else now.

And he was intent
on seeing it through whether it jeopardized his health or not, and there was
nothing Corin could say to change his mind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The streets that far downtown were
nearly empty at that time of night, so Eddie had no problem finding a spot
after Hillier parked his Pathfinder.

Liam kept his eyes
trained on Hillier as Eddie pulled into the spot. “He’s jogging across the
street.”

Kyle turned and
looked at the massive white building sitting squarely at the tip of Manhattan,
the big blue letters lighting up the night: “STATEN ISLAND FERRY.”

“The ferry
terminal?” Kyle asked as they exited the car and jogged across the street,
keeping Hillier in their sights.

The question
floated unanswered as they followed Hillier through the terminal’s entrance
with the rest of the sparse after-midnight crowd funneling onto the
twelve-thirty ferry departing for Staten Island.

“Why is he getting
on the ferry?” Kyle asked as he kept his distance from Hillier, still remaining
close enough to see he was wearing pretty much the same get-up as the man Kyle
had seen the night Allie collapsed—jeans and a dark T-shirt, the brim of a
dark baseball cap pulled tightly over his eyes hiding his famous face so he
could blend in with the light crowd.

“He’s looking for
a victim,” Liam said, his puffy eyes glued to the man’s every move, his pupils
dancing like a child waking on Christmas morning.

Kyle looked around
at the crowd boarding the ferry. There were plenty of young people, plenty of
potential victims. But he couldn’t believe that was what Evan Hillier was
really doing—searching for his next kill. He couldn’t believe Liam’s
seemingly crazed theories were proving to be right. But what else could explain
the Yankees pitcher getting on a ferry headed to Staten Island at twelve-thirty
in the morning the night before a start?

They followed
Hillier onto the massive orange boat’s middle deck, watching him sift through
the rows and rows of plastic seats, his hands tucked into his pockets, head
down to avoid the bright lights. He selected a seat toward the end of a row,
close to an exit leading to one of the ferry’s perimeter decks. The closest person
to him was a young woman dressed in jean shorts and a white T-shirt, long red
nails operating a smartphone, her face covered by long jet-black hair. She was
about a row away from Hillier.

“What do you
really think he’s doing?” Eddie whispered to Kyle out of Liam’s earshot. “You
don’t think he’s really, you know, looking to blow up someone’s brain, do you?”

Kyle shrugged. He
didn’t know what to think. The whole scene was so surreal. He couldn’t believe
it was actually taking place. He’d been listening to Liam hypothesize about
someone lurking around New York City killing people by siphoning their energy,
knowing it just wasn’t possible. Yet here it was, happening right in front of
him. All of the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Everything Liam had
been saying was being borne out right before him. He could tell himself all he
wanted to that it wasn’t happening, pinch himself until he bled, but about ten
rows in front of them Evan Hillier, the Yankees’ new ace, appeared to be
searching the Staten Island Ferry for his next victim.

“This is nuts,”
Liam said as he settled into a seat next to Kyle, pulling out a Twizzler and
sticking it into his mouth while his eyes remained focused on Hillier, like he
was watching a movie. Then he smiled at Kyle and nodded the crown of his head
over to Hillier as they felt the rocking of the ferry breaking loose from the
dock to begin its journey over to Staten Island. “Told you it was him, didn’t
I?”

Kyle didn’t say
anything, just kept his eyes on Hillier, whose hands were resting between his
knees, his head down as the three anxious men watched his every move
—
watched and waited for
something Kyle never thought could even be a smidgen of a possibility.

But here he was,
convinced it was going to happen, that Evan Hillier was about to kill someone with
nothing more than his mind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

He looked down at his hands and saw
the trembles. He clasped them together to make it stop and cursed as he
watched. He kept his head down and the brim of his cap low, unable to stop
thinking about how bad the next withdrawal would be.

At the same time,
he felt the craving, the desire to reach that high, an incredible pull that
became stronger as his body dove deeper into its spiraling descent screaming
for more, begging for another fix.

As he sat down,
waiting for a match, he convinced himself there was still hope. He just had to
get through the rest of the season. That’s all. Just continue to push through,
and then he would stretch himself out. Lower the dose, increase the intervals.
That could do it. Just like he did when he was younger, like when they had
forced him to push beyond his comfort zone.

If that didn’t do
it and he needed help, he’d ask. It wasn’t as if it would be a surprise to
them. Corin already told him they called, that they knew what was going on.

Which wasn’t a
shock.

The cluster of
strokes was definitely an anomaly, and had to have made their radar because
every one of them save the one girl had died. But they knew she’d never wake,
not in any type of functional way. So the fact that she was still alive wasn’t
why they called. That’s not what concerned them.

No, they had the
same concerns Corin had—that he was burning himself out and unnecessarily
wasting bullets he should be saving for them.

But no one owned
him. Which was what was so great about his relationship with Corin
—
he could do what he
wanted, when he wanted.

And they knew
that, so they weren’t pressing. Not yet. They were just letting him know they
were aware of what was going on, and that they were monitoring the situation.
They were just slightly lifting their heads from the sand, sending the message
that he’d better start treading carefully, because if things began to escalate
beyond their liking they
would
intercede. Which meant they really didn’t know much at all. Because if they
knew how bad things were, how sick he was, they would have interceded already.
There wouldn’t be any gentle treading. They would come at him with the
full-court press. He was too valuable not to.

But they didn’t know.
Not yet.

So the next one
had to be clean.

It was with that
thought in mind that he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck
prickle. He lifted his eyes to see who it was. A young woman.

His next victim.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

They all saw it.

It was the moment
they’d been waiting for.

The young woman
was Hillier’s next victim. She had to be. Hillier was up and following her not
even five seconds after she started making her way out to the deck.

Every single nerve
in Kyle’s body was on edge, stomach queasy and knees weak.

This was it.

Liam was up first.
Eddie followed, grabbing his shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

Liam looked
surprised. “What am I going to do?” he repeated. “Stop a murder, that’s what.”

Eddie let him go
and turned to Kyle, who was now up as well, following Liam. “What the hell are
we going to do?” Eddie whispered. “Tackle the guy?”

Kyle shrugged as
he tried to keep up with Liam, who was quickly weaving his chunky body past the
rows of seats to get to the exit leading outside to the deck.

“How does he do
it?” Eddie asked. “Does he have to hold his hand up to her head or something?”

Kyle shook his
head. “I have no clue.”

And it was true.
He had absolutely no idea. He didn’t think Liam knew either. He didn’t think
anyone knew.

Liam burst through
the door and was already outside by the time Kyle and Eddie made their way out,
the warm humid air thawing Kyle’s air-conditioned skin. Liam was about ten feet
away from Hillier and the girl, the strong gusts off the New York Bay whipping
back the portly man’s curly hair, revealing a slightly receding line. Hillier
was by the railing, the girl next to him, hunched over looking at something in
her hands.

Hillier’s eyes
were glued on her, not even bothering to look up as the three men stared right
at him.

Kyle wondered if
he’d already started the process, whatever that process might be.

“Get away from
her!” Liam shouted as he planted his feet firmly, forcing an almost comically
deep baritone voice. “We know what you’re up to.”

Hillier finally
looked up and glared back with stone cold eyes. Kyle looked at the girl, but
couldn’t see her face. Her back was turned and all he could see was the wind
tussling her long hair.

“I said back away
from the girl,” Liam repeated.

The girl turned in
what felt like slow motion. Kyle didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know what
he’d see.
Rolled up, trance-like vacant
eyes
?
Blood dripping from her nose?
Drool dribbling down her chin?

But that’s not
what he saw at all.

What he saw was a
nervous and confused looking young girl with a cigarette in her mouth and a
pack of Newports in her hand.

Kyle’s focus
turned back to Hillier.

The man remained
silent as he continued to glare at Liam, angrily bearing down on him with the
same unflinching gaze he used while working out of a jam, his icy, dark,
intimidating cobalt eyes seemingly trying to knock Liam over with nothing more
than their gaze alone.

But Liam didn’t
budge.

“Not tonight,
Hillier,” Liam said, boldly throwing out the cheesy line with a Christian
Bale-like raspy tone. “It ends here.” Liam pulled up the jacket of his
tracksuit revealing a fannypack underneath, the same one he’d kept the
Twizzlers in. He calmly unzipped it and pulled something out. Kyle couldn’t see
it at first; he didn’t have the proper angle.

But Eddie did.
“What the fuck are you doing?”

Kyle turned a bit
to get a better angle so he could see what had prompted Eddie’s question.

And then he saw
what Liam was holding.

A gun.

A small black
handgun.

Liam kept both
arms outstretched, hands gripped tightly on the weapon and aimed it at
Hillier’s torso.

“It has to end. He
has to be stopped. And he needs to make Allie right.”

Hillier’s steely
blue eyes went wide and his face paled as he stuck his hands up in the air.
“What the hell are you talking about?”

“We know,” Liam
said, narrowing his already squinty eyes behind his thick glasses. “We know
you’ve been causing these deaths so you can absorb their energy in order to
pitch better. And now you’re going to come to the hospital with us and give
some of that energy back to my niece, and then we’re turning you in.”

Confusion flashed
across the man’s face. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. What
deaths? And who the hell is your niece?”

“Save the act
Hillier,” Liam said. “We know. We know what you were going to do to her.”

“Would you stop
saying
we
,” Eddie said, staring at
the gun.

“Do to her?”
Hillier repeated. “All I was going to do was get a damn cigarette.” He looked
down at the shell-shocked woman, whose eyes were fixated on the gun. “Tell him.”

“That’s all he
asked for,” she said, her lips quivering. “He just asked for a smoke.”

“And then what
were you going to do?” Liam asked, his gaze remaining firm, his arms steady.

Hillier tilted his
head. “Then what?” He looked around at the nearly empty deck. “What the fuck do
you think I was going to do with it, man? Smoke it. I was going to smoke the
damn thing.”

Liam rolled his
thick neck and squeezed the handle of the gun tighter. “You can’t fool us,” he
said. “And now it’s over. Now you’re—”

But before Liam
was able to get the next word out a hand reached out and yanked down both his
arms. “Give me that thing before you hurt someone,” Eddie said, pulling the gun
out of Liam’s hands.

Liam went to grab
it back, but was instead met with a solid punch to his jaw, Hillier having
leapt over as soon as Eddie grabbed the gun.

Kyle jumped
between them and held up his hands to ward off the six foot five man and
protect Liam, who was already lying on the floor. “Enough,” Kyle said. But
Hillier ignored him and shoved Kyle aside, then grabbed Liam by his throat and
pinned him against the ferry wall. Kyle picked himself up and latched onto
Hillier’s right arm, the one pinning Liam. He yanked and pulled at it, but the
thick, powerful arm had a vice-like grasp. “
Enough
!”
Kyle yelled again. He looked back at Eddie who was just watching, the gun at
his side. “A little help?”

Eddie shrugged.
“The man did pull a gun.”

Kyle rolled his
eyes and grabbed Hillier’s arm, with both hands this time, and again tried to
pull it off.

“What the hell’s
wrong with you?” Hillier screamed at a dazed Liam, who had droplets of blood
trickling down his mouth.

“He was mistaken,”
Kyle said, still yanking at Hillier’s arm. “He thought you were going to kill
the girl.”

“Why the hell
would he think that?” Hillier seethed, still holding Liam.

“Because people
have been dying the day of every one of your starts,” Kyle grunted as he pulled
against the pitcher’s arm. “We thought you were causing it.”

Hillier looked
down at him. “You thought I was
killing
people?”

“Yes,” Kyle said,
looking up at the tall man. “Your doorman said you left at midnight every night
before your starts. So we followed you here. He thought you were about to kill
the girl.”

Hillier loosened
his grip and let Liam slide down the wall.

“Just for the
record,” Eddie chimed in. “I just drove them. I never thought you killed
anyone.”

Hillier glared at
him.

“Although,” Eddie
continued, gripping the gun a little tighter. “It is kind of odd that you’re on
a twelve-thirty ferry to Staten Island.”

“It’s a
superstition,” Hillier said as he turned to face him. “The night before my
second start in New York I had insomnia. So I went for a ride at midnight and
took the ferry to clear my head. I pitched a shutout the next day. So I’ve kept
doing it. Same time, same ferry.”

“So this is where
you’ve gone the night before each start?” Kyle asked.

Hillier nodded.
“Go ask Joe. He’ll tell you.”

“Joe?”

“The captain. One
of the crew spotted me early on. Asked me for an autograph and brought me up to
Joe so I could take a hand at steering the ferry.”

Kyle and Eddie
looked at each other, knowing that when they asked Joe that was exactly what he
was going to say.

Eddie flashed Kyle
an
I told you so
look, then directed
his attention to Hillier, who seemed to have relaxed a bit, his gaze turning
more to curiosity and frustration than fear and anger. Eddie pulled a ticket
stub and a black sharpie out of his pocket and offered them both to Hillier. “I
know this is a bit awkward. You know, given the fact that this moron just
pulled a gun on you,” Eddie said, “but is there any way you’d autograph this
stub for my son? It was his first Yankees game.”

“Seriously,
Eddie?” Kyle said as he helped Liam off the floor.

“Why not?” Eddie
said. “I’m the one who took the gun away. Besides, it isn’t even real.”

Kyle’s eyes
widened. “It isn’t real?” He looked down at Liam who was rubbing his jaw.

Liam looked up,
his glazed eyes looking even smaller without his glasses. “I couldn’t get my
hands on a real one,” Liam said. “But we can’t let him get away. You guys
aren’t buying his story, are you?”

“Buying my story?”
Hillier asked. “You’re fucking nuts, you know that? I’m telling you, this is
where I come before each start. Go ask Joe.”

“Like you didn’t
pay him off already.”

Hillier turned to
Kyle. “What the hell’s wrong with this guy?”

“Everything,”
Eddie answered for him.

Hillier grabbed
Eddie’s ticket and the sharpie and scribbled his name, then handed them back.

Eddie looked at
the signed ticket and thanked him.

“Whatever,”
Hillier said, then pointed his finger at Liam. “Just keep this whack-job away
from me or I’m going to the cops the next time. You hear me?”

With that, Hillier
left, walking inside the ferry as it started to dock in Staten Island.

Liam stood and
narrowed his eyes. “It was a setup,” he said, looking at Kyle. “You realize
that, don’t you?”

“How could it have
been a setup?” Kyle asked. “How would he know we were following him?”

Liam rubbed the
side of his face where Hillier hit him. “Because of you.”

“
Me
?” Kyle asked

“Yes,” Liam said.
“And because of me too. We both talked to the police, to Slattery, about the
connection between the strokes and Hillier.”

“So?”

“The KnightWare
connection, remember?” Liam said. “They’re probably monitoring everything about
this. They probably knew about the conversation with Slattery right after it
happened. They’ve got their eyes and ears on everything.”

“But why would
KnightWare be involved?”

“They wouldn’t be
involved
per se,
”
Liam said. “But they’re the top private security contractor in the
world. You don’t think they have ears everywhere?”

“But why would
they be so attuned to this? And why tip-off Hillier?”

“Because what he
does is too close to what their guy does. They probably want to keep it
secret,” Liam said, then paused. “Or, maybe he
does
work for them.”

“And pitches for
the fucking Yankees?” Eddie cut in. “How much of a nut-job can you be?”

“Maybe he worked
for them down in Mexico when he was pitching there,” Liam explained. “Or maybe
he does stuff for them in the States during the offseason.”

“Look,” Eddie
said, wagging his finger at Liam. “This guy is not killing people with his
mind, got it? He isn’t killing anyone.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I think he’s
right, Liam,” Kyle said as the large boat came to a halt and the passengers
began filing off. “There’s no doubt the connection you made gave the appearance
he was doing it. But I think we all let our imaginations get the better of us.”
He gently put his hand on Liam’s shoulder. “We all wish there was an easy way
to snap Allie out of that coma, but there isn’t a magical solution out there,
Liam. And I think you’ve got to come to terms with that.”

Liam shook his
head. “He’s lying.”

Liam went back
inside and took a seat on one of the orange plastic chairs as the new
passengers made their way in. Hillier was sitting about thirty rows away, ear
buds from his iPhone now in, likely trying to wash away what had just occurred.
His back was to Liam’s intense glare. Liam wasn’t giving up.

But Kyle Vine knew
people, got a good read on them right away. And he was sure Hillier was telling
the truth. The man wasn’t a killer.

So the question
remained, if Hillier wasn’t behind the deaths, who was?