TPG (23 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

She was breathing and conscious,
talking to them. She told them she hadn’t seen anyone, that there was no one
else in the kitchen when she suddenly began to feel weird, as if everything
inside her had turned on at the same time and then shut down just as quickly
right before she fell to the ground. She seemed slightly disoriented, and
definitely woozy. A little off. A little confused.

They all had the
same fear.

That she’d had a
stroke. That Hillier had gotten to her and caused an aneurysm, then caused it
to burst. But her consciousness and awareness, beyond the mere fact that she
was alive, gave them hope her blood vessels were still intact.

But since there
was still the very real danger that there was something going on restricting
her blood flow, Eddie knew he had to get her to the hospital. And he had to do
it quickly, if it was a stroke, she’d need medical attention within the first
sixty minutes to clear up any clots and get a steady blood flow going to her
brain again. Every second was crucial.

He scooped his
still dazed daughter into his arms and said to Kyle, “He’s still down there.
The door’s locked. The one leading to the garage should be locked as well. And
it’s a steel door. He’s not getting out.”

“Okay,” Kyle said.
“So go and we’ll stay up here and wait for the police.”

“I can’t believe I
did this. I can’t believe I fucking brought him here,” Eddie cursed as he
hurried with Celia to the front door. “What the hell was I thinking?”

Kyle opened the
door and told Eddie to calm down and just concentrate on getting Celia to the
hospital. Told him that he’d call the police and they’d take care of Hillier,
that everything would be all right. Then he watched Eddie hurriedly place a
confused Celia into the car.

As Eddie went
around to the driver’s seat, he called out to Kyle. “Make sure you get the gun
when you go back in,” he said. “It’s still in the den. And don’t be afraid to
use it.”

“Don’t worry, I
will. Just concentrate on getting Celia to the hospital.”

Kyle went back
into the house as Eddie pulled away and headed straight for the den. But the
gun wasn’t there. Kyle cursed.

Liam had to have
taken it. Kyle ran back to the kitchen, praying he’d catch Liam before he did
something incredibly stupid by taking matters into his own hands. But he was
too late. The door to the basement was already open and Liam was nowhere to be
seen.

Kyle cursed again
at Liam’s impulsiveness, unsure what to do. He couldn’t yell down and tell Liam
to come back up. It would alert Hillier, assuming Hillier didn’t already know
Liam was down there.

“Damn it,” Kyle
muttered as he grabbed a large steak knife from one of the drawers. “Damn it,
damn it,” he softly repeated to himself as he reluctantly started down the
basement steps. A creak echoed with each deliberate step as he neared the
silent, small, dark confines below, his stomach a jumbled mess as he felt like
he was entering the lair of some wild animal.

The shadows of the
darkness grew denser as he neared the bottom of the stairs, adding to his
already nearly paralyzing anxiety. He knew he needed some light. He needed to
see what the hell was going on, even if he wasn’t sure he was going to like
what he saw. Stumbling around in the dark wasn’t going to help, so he carefully
felt around for the light switch and did his best to quell his fears over who,
and what, he was about to see as he readied to turn it on.

But when he
flipped the switch, nothing happened.

The queasiness in
his stomach began to grow as he wondered what was happening, wondered if the
silence meant Liam was already dead and Hillier was waiting for him in the
shadows.

Kyle wanted to
turn around, wanted to run back up the stairs and get the hell out of there.
But he couldn’t abandon Liam. He couldn’t leave him down there while there was
still a chance he might be alive.

So he slowly crept
deeper into the room, moving by memory to where the theater chairs sat, his
eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness blanketing the entire basement.

He clung to the
knife with sweaty palms, knowing Hillier could be anywhere. His mind urged him
to turn around, pleaded with him to realize he was on a suicide mission with
nothing to gain
—
Liam
was already dead. But Kyle couldn’t turn back.

But he had to do
something, he couldn’t just continue to stand there waiting for an attack he’d
never see coming. He had to take the initiative. If he was going to die, at
least he had to take a shot.

So he cleared his
throat and asked into the silent, pitch-black room, “Don’t you care about what
you’re doing?”

There was no
answer.

“You’re robbing
innocent young people of their chance at life,” he said into the darkness. “And
why? Just so your son can pitch better? Have you thought about that? I’ve met
your son. He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need to be the next Roger Clemens.
He’ll do fine in life without this.”

“I agree.”

A chill ran down
Kyle’s spine at the cold response.

He had the man’s
attention.

“So how can you
justify any of this?” Kyle asked, focusing on the direction the voice was
coming from.

“I accept that I
can’t.”

The words were
spoken with a definitive strength. This wasn’t a fragile man he was dealing
with. This wasn’t the man Eddie had easily subdued. He was stronger now, much
stronger. And Kyle was certain it wasn’t just Celia’s energy that had gotten
him there. It was likely Liam’s as well, which meant his chubby friend was
probably lying on the ground somewhere. Dead.

But Kyle had to
block that out and keep the conversation going if he wanted any chance at
staying alive. He had to try to talk some sense into Hillier, talk him out of
killing him. “But this is destroying you, isn’t it?” he asked, clinging to
Liam’s theories. “It’s stripping you raw. It’s killing you. You’re taking in
too much.”

There was no
answer.

Kyle listened for
footsteps, or breathing, or anything.

But he heard
nothing. Nothing but the slight whirring of the home’s central air
conditioning. He’d hoped his eyes would have adjusted to the darkness by now,
but they hadn’t. He still saw nothing. The basement had no windows so there was
absolutely no natural light getting in, nothing for his cornea to bend into his
pupil.

He clenched the
knife even tighter and held it out in front of him, out into the darkness,
ready for any type of attack that might be coming.

But again, there
was nothing. For all he knew, Hillier was right in front of him, just out of
his knife’s reach. Or he could be on the other side of the room. Kyle had no
idea, but he had to keep trying. He had to stay alive.

“Am I right?” Kyle
asked. “Is that what’s happening?”

He was taken by
surprise by the response, as this time it wasn’t a verbal one. It also wasn’t
one anyone would be able to see, whether the lights were on or not. But Kyle
felt it. He most definitely felt it, and he knew exactly what it was. It was
what he’d been dreading.

The feeling was
unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Every single nerve in his body
simultaneously surged to life as a rush of adrenaline flooded his passageways.

Hillier had
latched onto him.

Kyle tried to
comprehend the overwhelming sensations lighting up his insides like a Christmas
tree, but he couldn’t. It was too much to soak in. But he was able to
see
now. Not a completely clear picture,
but he could see shapes, which let him know where the furniture, walls, and
doors were. His eyes were no longer shrouded in complete darkness, his pupils
apparently now able to soak in the miniscule amount of light that had seeped
into the room from God knows where.

Then the utility
room door swung open and a man walked out. Calmly. Deliberately. It had to be
Hillier. Kyle stared into his eyes, amazed that he was able to now see in such
great detail, as if the lights had been turned on. He kept his focus on
Hillier’s eyes. He had no choice, he was drawn to them. Locked in. It was
almost as if he was falling into them. He saw the blood vessels of the choroid
bleeding into the iris, the prismatic azure shining through the stroma’s
colorless web. The detail was absolutely incredible.

He tried to reign
himself in, tried not to get caught up in the sensations, the extraordinary
moment. He knew it wasn’t going to last and, if he didn’t do something about
it, neither would he. Hillier was latching onto his energy in a way a Deeksha
practitioner could only dream and Kyle needed to stop it. He needed to
disconnect the plug rammed into his consciousness and free himself from the
surge engulfing him, break away from the storm that was wakening all of his
energy at once and allowing him to experience a heightened sense unlike
anything he ever considered possible. And he needed to do it before it was all
siphoned away and the blood rushing to his brain compensating for the overload
ripped apart the aneurysms that were likely already forming.

He wanted to shout
out at the man, beg him to stop, plead with him not to kill him, say that it
wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right. But he couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t do
anything. He was paralyzed by the sensory overload.

He began to feel
the pressure. His head felt heavy and began to hurt as the overload switched
from a positive sensory sensation to a myriad of daggers sinking into the core
of his brain, as if it were trying to split it apart into a million different pieces.
He tried to do what he could to fight them off, to send signals to the rest of
his mind to short-circuit Hillier’s pull, to realize what was going on and stop
the build-up, reverse the overload. But Hillier was too strong and the process
too far underway. It wasn’t working. His head was already beginning to feel
light and he knew he had to do something else if he was going to stay alive.

His thoughts
drifted to Bree, about what her life would be like without him and all that’d
he’d miss. How he wouldn’t be there anymore to hug her and protect her, to
listen to her or guide her, to see her develop into a young woman and make a
stake for herself in the world, get married and have kids.

He had to keep
trying. He couldn’t give up.

He thought back to
his session with Ahmed, the Deeksha Giver whom he and Liam had visited. The
same one Allie had been seeing. He remembered the man telling him to place a
hand behind his head to lock in the energy, remembered how Ahmed had targeted
the focal point of where his energy was going to flow. Both were just symbolic
gestures, Kyle knew that. But they also gave the mind a focal point, a guide,
something tangential to lock onto, something physical to direct its energy
toward. Then he remembered Allie and what he’d seen after she collapsed. Her
hands were covering her head, as if they were blocking a punch or a kick
 …
or the energy rushing
out of her.

He lifted his
hands and placed them over his forehead, then focused on them, not his energy.
Focused on his hands, on the barrier they were creating as he closed his eyes,
shutting them tight and squeezing every ounce of attention he could muster
toward his hands. Toward the block. The only other thoughts he allowed himself
were of Bree, of the one thing in life he couldn’t bear to lose. The gift and
curse of having a child
—
the
unconditional love that made you feel more special than anyone else in the
world also came with the unbearable pain of hurting when they hurt, aching when
they ached, and suffering when they suffered.

With his focus
firmly in place, Kyle started to feel the flow of energy stop. The signs were
all there—his mind began to stabilize, the light-headedness lessened, the
pain subsided.

But just as his
strength began to return, he was jolted by a sharp and sudden shock, as if a
plug had been yanked out and all power sapped. His body stiffened and his mind
went blank, his focus completely gone. His balance wavered and then left.

His body collapsed
and slammed against the floor, and all was dark.

CHAPTER FIFTY

He felt the nudging first, the hand
grabbing his shoulder, shaking him about.

He was on the
floor, lying on his stomach. Still in the basement, hands still covering his
head. He looked over and saw Liam kneeling beside him, shaking him awake while
shining a pocket size LED flashlight in his eyes.

“You okay?” Liam
asked for perhaps the third time.

Kyle’s head felt
heavy as spikes of sharp pain echoed throughout his skull. When he tried to get
up the pain increased. Liam scooped his arm around Kyle and helped him up,
directing his unsteady body toward one of the theater chairs. Kyle felt like
he’d been out on a bender and had woken with a bad hangover.

He rubbed his eyes
and looked over at the door to the utility room. Liam shone the light at the
spot so he could clearly see what lay there.

On the floor, with
blood from the wound in his chest pooling next to him, lay Terry Hillier.

Dead.

Kyle turned back
to Liam and saw the man’s shocked gaze. He didn’t need to ask if Liam had shot
him. It was obvious. As was the fact that Liam hadn’t been attacked by Hillier
like Kyle had thought. But Kyle still had questions.

“Was it your plan
all along to wait for me to draw him out?”

Liam shook his
head no. “There was no plan,” he said. “When you went outside with Eddie I grabbed
the gun and just came down here. I didn’t really think about what I was going
to do. I just did it. But when I got downstairs and couldn’t turn on the light,
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want Hillier sneaking up on me, and since I
had a gun I figured I could just wait him out, that it was to my advantage to
just pick a spot and wait for him rather than fumble around in the dark waiting
for him to pick me off.”

The plan was sound
and much better than what Kyle had done, which had nearly gotten him killed.

“I wanted to call
out to you,” Liam said apologetically, “but I figured it was better to just let
him show himself first so I could see where he was. Especially once you started
talking to him. Then when I heard him answer I knew where he was, and when he
opened the door I turned on my flashlight so I could see him better and then …”
Liam paused, the gravity of what he had done starting to resonate more as he
talked about it aloud. His actions had likely been mechanical, no thought or
consideration really given to what he had actually been doing. If there had
been, he probably wouldn’t have had the nerve to do it. Which is the way most
killings worked. Kyle had studied it. They were akin to out-of-body
experiences. Working on instinct, emotion, and often necessity, with actual
thought and consideration being tucked away.

“Then I shot him,”
Liam continued, staring at Hillier’s lifeless body. “A few times.”

“You okay?”

“I think so,” Liam
said, his eyes still glazed with shock. “The man was a killer, right? He tried
to kill Allie and he was about to kill you.”

Kyle knew it would
take Liam some time to come to terms with what had happened, but he was right.
The man was trying to kill Kyle. There wasn’t much of a choice. Which raised
another point.

“How long did he
have a hold on me before you shot him?”

“Not long,” Liam
shrugged. “I think I hesitated a bit after I first saw him, after I shined the
light on him. But it still had to just be seconds.”

“Felt longer,”
Kyle said, massaging his temple as he realized the reason why he was able to
see Hillier’s face so clearly wasn’t because his senses had increased but
because Liam had been shining a flashlight on his face.

“So what now?”
Liam asked. “Should we get you to the hospital?”

“I don’t think
so,” Kyle said. “Doesn’t seem like he was able to get too far in the process.
My head hurts, but nothing major.” He wondered if his attempt at blocking
Hillier’s attack had helped and looked at Liam. “Do I sound okay?”

Liam nodded.

“Yeah,” Kyle said.
“I think I’m okay.”

Liam turned his
gaze toward Hillier. “And what about him? Do we call the police?”

The doorbell rang
before Kyle could answer.

Liam’s eyes went
wide, but Kyle remained calm and forced himself to stand, fighting against the
throbbing pain that increased as gravity bore down.

“Should we
answer?” Liam asked.

“Yes,” Kyle said
as he started up the basement stairs.

“Who do you think
it is?”

“Slattery.”

“The police?”

Kyle nodded while
gingerly walking over. “I left a message for him before we came in.”

“But that was
before you knew Eddie was behind Bree’s kidnapping and that it was a ruse, that
Bree wasn’t really in any danger.”

“It was,” Kyle
said as he reached the top of the stairs and made his way down the hallway to
the main foyer.

“So you were
willing to put her life on the line?”

Kyle didn’t want
to think about what he had been willing to do, didn’t want to dwell on the
decisions he’d made and hadn’t made. There would be time for that. There would
be therapy sessions and soul searching, but he didn’t want to do it right then.
He didn’t want to question whether he’d done the right thing as a father or the
wrong thing as a human being, and then reversed course. He’d done what he’d
done.

So he let the
question drift and opened the front door.

But it wasn’t whom
he expected to see. It wasn’t Slattery, and there weren’t any police officers.
Just two men in suits. Nice, tailored suits. One had neatly parted dirty-blond
hair, the other curly dark hair sprinkled with flecks of gray. Both were tall
and fit.

“May I help you?”
Kyle asked.

“Mike Fisher,” the
man with the graying hair said. “This is Jim Harkin.” Fisher removed the
sunglasses he was wearing, revealing deep crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes
as he studied Kyle more closely. “Kyle Vine, correct?”

Kyle looked at the
men.

“We were forwarded
the message you sent Detective Slattery,” Fisher said.

“So you’re with
the police?” Kyle asked.

“Like I said, we
were forwarded the message.”

“Right. I got
that. But who are you?”

“Is Terrance
Hillier here?” the younger man, Harkin, asked, ignoring Kyle’s question.

“Unless you tell
me who you are,” Kyle said, “I don’t see why I should be telling you anything.”

“We know about
Hillier,” Harkin said without hesitation. “We know you’ve figured out his
connection to the strokes, and we’re here to help see that he stops.”

“Would’ve been
nice if you guys dropped by about ten minutes ago,” Liam said from his position
behind Kyle.

“Why?” Fisher
asked. “What happened?”

“Again,” Kyle said
while shooting Liam a look to stay quiet, “we aren’t telling you anything
unless you tell us who you are. Are you with the FBI? CIA?”

“We’re here to
take care of the situation with Terry Hillier. And that’s all you really need
to know. So where is he?”

“How can you
really expect us to cooperate if you won’t even tell us who you are?”

“KnightWare,
right?” Liam asked while looking squarely at Fisher. “You work for KnightWare.”

“We’re not here to
have discussions about this,” Harkin responded. “We’ve been asked to step in
and help take care of a situation, and that’s all we’re here to do.”

“Baloney,” Liam
shot back. “They didn’t ask you. You knew about this because he’s one of your
guys, isn’t he? He’s done this before for you, killed for you.”

“Hillier doesn’t
work for us,” Harkin said matter of factly.

“Well, he did when
you contracted with his consulting firm.”

Harkin paused and
turned to Fisher, who was still calm, his focus still on Kyle and Liam.

“That’s right,”
Liam continued. “We know what he did for you. He was a hired gun selling his
‘talents’ to the highest bidder, which was sometimes KnightWare, and sometimes
elsewhere. But since you guys are here taking care of it, I guess he mostly
worked for you.”

Fisher and Harkin
remained silent for a few seconds, then, in the same easy conversational style
he’d used before, Fisher said, “Are you going to tell us where he is now?”

“Are you going to
confirm that I’m right?” Liam countered.

“If you’ve looked
into this as much as it seems you have,” Fisher said, “then you probably
already know the answer to that question. So why don’t we just move on. Where’s
Hillier?”

Neither Kyle nor
Liam answered.

Someone else did.

“He’s dead. Shot
in the chest.”

Kyle and Liam
turned and saw two men in slacks and sports coats walking toward them from
inside the house, guns drawn.

“What the hell is
going on here?” Kyle asked, raising his hands at the sight of the drawn guns.

Fisher motioned
for the two men to lower their weapons. “We had to take precautions. They
entered through the garage.”

“Corin’s not gonna
be happy about losing his gravy train,” one of the armed men said as he slipped
his gun into a hidden holster.

Harkin brushed the
comment aside and asked Kyle, “Where’s Mr. Guida?”

“At the hospital,”
Kyle slowly answered, still a bit startled by the appearance of the two men.

“And you,” Harkin
asked, looking over at Liam. “Are you the one who shot Hillier?”

Kyle and Liam
glanced at each other and said nothing.

“It doesn’t
matter,” Fisher said, breaking the silence.

A slew of
questions immediately raced through Kyle’s mind. Did it not matter because they
were both accessories? Would they be turned over to the police? Should he say
anything else or should he wait until he spoke with an attorney?

“I did it,” Liam
volunteered before Kyle could stop him. “I had no choice.”

Fisher shrugged
off the comment. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

“But it was self
defense. It was—”

“Liam,” Kyle cut
him off. “Don’t say anything else.”

“And neither
should you, Mr. Vine,” Fisher said.

Images of jail
cells, courtrooms and attorneys flooded his mind.

“We’re going to
drop you off at your respective homes and neither of you are ever going to say
anything about this again. Ever.”

Kyle was confused.

“Not to friends,
family, colleagues, reporters, Slattery, or the rest of the NYPD. Nobody. Not
one soul. Not even to each other. You are to forget this ever happened.”

“What are you
talking about?” Kyle asked. “A man is dead. How can we not say anything? How
can
you
not say anything?”

“We’ll take care
of that.”

“But the police
know,” Kyle said. “Minimal investigation will show what happened. Hell,
Slattery’s the one who sent you my message.”

“We’ll take care
of it.”

“What about his
friends? What about his son?” Kyle asked. “You don’t think they’ll find it
suspicious that he’s gone?”

“He’ll have left
on business and will turn up dead in some other country in a few months.”

“That’s it?” Kyle
asked. “You really think the police aren’t going to investigate this? You
really think we can just walk away?”

“I don’t think it,
I know it. And as long as you keep your mouths shut, it’ll stay that way.”

“What if we
don’t?” Liam asked. “We go to jail?”

“No,” Fisher said.
“You end up like Terry Hillier.”

Kyle’s face went
white at the matter-of-factness of Fisher’s statement. The threat that they’d
be killed was so much simpler than what Eddie had concocted. So much more
direct than threatening Bree which, in retrospect, was something that should’ve
made Kyle suspicious to begin with. If Hillier had really known about Kyle and
wanted to keep him quiet, then why threaten his daughter? Why threaten him at
all? Why not just kill him? It wasn’t like murder was beyond the man, it’s what
he did.

“Wait a second,”
Liam said. “Not so fast. I need to know if there are others like Hillier.”

“Not your
concern.”

“You’re wrong. It
is
my concern. My niece is lying in a
coma because you’ve allowed this guy to run loose, and if there’s someone you
have who can get her out of that coma without killing others I want to know
about it and I want it done. And if you think I’m going to stay quiet while
there’s that chance just because you’ve threatened me, you’re nuts.”

“We know about
your niece.”

“Good for you,”
Liam said. “Now what are you going to do about her?”

“There’s nothing
that can be done.”

“Bullshit,” Liam
said, not only foregoing his policy of not cursing, but speaking with a rising
confidence that refused to be ignored. “You’ve got more like Hillier. I know
you do. And if you don’t, then the guy who discovered him and peddles him out
must. And you owe us.”

“Owe you?”

“You’re goddamn
right,” Liam said. “For taking care of the mess you guys didn’t have the balls
to handle yourself.”

“You have no idea
what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah?” Liam shot
back. “Well I’m giving you twenty-four hours. That’s it. If my niece isn’t out
of her coma, your little secret is out. And trust me, I’ve got people who are
instructed to retrieve letters about this if they don’t hear from me on a daily
basis and then take those letters to the media. So I wouldn’t try me on this.”

“That would be a
very unwise decision, Mr. Murdock.”

“Liam, I think
he’s right. I think it’s—”

“No, Kyle,” Liam
cut in. “That’s the deal. I know they have others out there who can help Allie.
And I know they can do it without killing. All she needs is a push. That’s it.
They just have to get someone in there to give her a little of whatever Hillier
was giving his son. I know that would do it.” He locked gazes with Fisher. “If
you want to take me in now, go right ahead. You want to have me ‘silenced,’ go
right ahead. Good luck stopping those letters from finding the press.”