314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy) (40 page)

“I agree,” said Stephen. “Let’s see this to the end.”

“Well, I don’t agree,” said Rachel. “I just want to get away from here.”

“And go where?” asked Jacker. “Out there where you’re going to get spotted and hauled back to that facility?”

“It’s better than being here, where they’re probably going to come looking for us because this is where they found us last time,” said Rachel.

“Then let’s go across the street,” said Paul. “We can wait there, and once it gets close to 3:14, we’ll come back over. That sounds like a smart plan to me. And I’m all for getting out of this creepy house for a little while.”

“Are you sure the other house will be unlocked?” asked Stephen.

“If it’s not, then we’ve got the doorbuster himself to break it down,” said Alma as she pat Jacker on the back. “I swear, this guy’s always busting down doors everywhere he goes.” Paul and Jacker appreciated Alma’s joke, but neither Stephen nor Rachel offered even a hint of a smile.

“Fine,” said Rachel as she shook her head. “God damn it.
Fucking fine. Let’s go over there and hide, but as soon as we’re done I’m out of here. Stephen, I never want to see you again. We’re done.”

She opened the door, looked to make sure it was safe, and then started to walk across the street. Stephen stood at the threshold and watched her go as the others began to gather their things. Paul went over to the couch, past the mannequins that they’d set on the floor, and prodded Michael. Alma’s father jostled, but didn’t wake up.

“Christ,” said Paul as he poked at the man a second time. He was familiar with how meth users often slept for long stretches after a binge. Michael’s face was facing the couch, and the belt was still strapped around his face, holding the t-shirt in his mouth. When Paul rolled Michael onto his back, he saw why the man hadn’t responded.

Michael wasn’t dead, which they all knew because of the constant, sharp breaths he’d been taking, but he was staring straight up, with shrunken pupils that didn’t move. At some point during the day, Michael Harper had become a sleeper.

Inside
Cada E.I.B.’s facility

March 14
th
, 2012

12:01 AM

Vess
was confined to an electric wheelchair, and he had to be helped through the debris at the entrance of the facility. The guards that accompanied him performed a search of the building, and reported back to Vess about the bodies they’d discovered. Tom had been shot dead in the mess hall, and Helen was found adjacent to the sleepers’ room. Unsurprisingly, all of the sleepers were dead as well, victims of lethal injection administered by the nurse before she’d committed suicide.

Vess
had expected this to happen.

The guards wanted permission to access the lowest floor, but
Vess denied them. He insisted on going down first. They tried to explain that the building hadn’t been cleared, and that whoever had shot Tom might still be in the building. Vess told them that he hoped the murderer was, which was why Vess needed to go alone.

No one argued with him, and he was allowed to go by himself to the elevator. Over the past sixteen years, the telomerase levels in
Vess’s bloodstream had all but vanished. His former immortality had faded, and his desire to successfully activate the CORD had become more than just a passion of his. He firmly believed that his life depended on it.

He used the key that would allow access to the bottom floor of the facility. His trusted guards watched helplessly as the doors closed, leaving them separated from their boss for the first time in several months.

Many members of The Accord would be happy to learn of Vess’s death. It was no secret that they’d been hoping to get their hands on Vess’s notes about his successes with the CORD, but he’d been careful to avoid their grasp after the event in Widowsfield, sixteen years earlier. Unlike Tesla, who fell victim to the government thugs that stole his research, Vess had hidden himself from the prying eyes and hands of the greediest members of The Accord. He knew that his research was valuable, and he’d been able to win the support of a few of the more prominent members of The Accord by releasing bits and pieces of what he’d discovered.

This would be his last chance to successfully activate the CORD, and he’d been forced to make several concessions to get everything to work out exactly as needed. The Accord allowed him this one, final opportunity to be the man that opened the door to Heaven.

Vess wheeled through the basement of the facility, and he paused to look at the mess left behind where someone had been attacked with a fire extinguisher. He’d hoped to avoid this sort of violence, but the entire CORD project had been mired by such horrors. The sacrificial altar craved blood.

The trail of blood led to the lab, as
Vess had expected. The assassin would be inside, waiting for Vess to arrive.

He saw Oliver’s body and cringed at the sight. He’d hoped his former assistant would survive, although he’d been prepared to find him dead. The message that he’d been sent earlier had clearly not been sent by Oliver. It had been the coded message that
Vess had been told by The Accord that he should expect to receive.

Vess
studied the body of the dead nurse that had been dragged here, and he realized that Oliver had been foolishly trying to activate the CORD on his own, clinging to the belief that sacrificing any human might be the key to activating the machine as opposed to using a psychic. Oliver also didn’t realize that the CORD’s stopgap mechanism was programmed to refuse delivery of radioactive material into the machine except at exactly 3:14 on March 14
th
. The Accord was still set upon using that date and time specifically.

“You can open the door,” said
Vess loudly as he stared at the partially closed door of the CORD. “I know you’re in there.”

The assassin didn’t obey immediately. But after a few moments of silence, the metal door finally creaked open slowly to reveal Rosemary
Arborton sitting inside. She was clutching her belly, and Vess saw that she’d been hurt.

“You were shot?” asked
Vess, surprised.

“Stabbed,” said Rosemary weakly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Vess. “I hope it’s not fatal.”

“What do you care?” asked Rosemary. She was weak, and
Vess knew that she was having trouble using her limbs. This was the state he’d been told he should expect to find her in, after her mission was complete.

“I care a great deal, my dear,” said
Vess. “I’m counting on you living another few hours at least.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” asked Rosemary.

“The same way I knew you couldn’t kill me once I got here, even though you’ve been planning on my death for ages already.”

“I don’t understand,” said Rosemary.

“The people I work for are very interested in people like you, Rosemary,” said Vess. His voice was frail, as was his body, and he wheeled his chair closer to the CORD so that he could speak to the wounded assassin easier. “They aren’t the type of people that would simply shrug off the discovery of someone with a talent like yours.”

“What are you saying?” asked Rosemary.

Vess grinned at her and said, “Those are nice necklaces you’re wearing. You use those to control people, don’t you? You infect that jewelry with your will, and then hand them out as gifts. Do you remember where you first got the idea to do that? Who was it that handed you your very first necklace?”

“My mother,” said Rosemary with a rising anger. “Are you saying my mother works with you?” asked Rosemary, clearly not believing him.

“No, not her, but the lady who gave her that necklace did. Right after Oliver told me about your supposed death, The Accord had someone pay a visit to your mother, just in case you showed up with a bunch of money that you’d earned from cashing all of those checks Oliver wrote to you.”

“You manipulated me,” said Rosemary.

“Don’t feel bad, we’re all being manipulated by somebody. It’s human nature to be guided by someone else’s strings. If it’s any consolation, you did a fabulous job.”

“That’s why I kept thinking about all of those experiments,” said Rosemary. “I kept writing about them in my journal. You and your company planted those things in my head?”

“No, not on purpose at least. It’s no surprise that the person who implanted that necklace with your new agenda would’ve accidentally imparted some of their own thoughts into them. That comes with the territory.”

“And the reason you’ve had me doing all of this is to get me here? Why go to all that trouble?”

“It wasn’t much trouble, really,” said Vess. “The reason everything became so convoluted is because there were multiple forces at work trying to sway things in their direction. There are parts of The Accord that want me dead, and other parts that think giving me one last shot at turning on this machine would be worth it. Luckily, the people that want to give me one last chance prevailed, otherwise you’d be aiming a smoking gun at me right now and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“It’s all been a lie,” said Rosemary as she struggled with the truth.

“Says the consummate liar,” said Vess with a smirk. “Come now, Rosemary, you of all people shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve been lied to. If only poor Alma knew all the ways you’ve lied to her.”

“You people just look at me as another tool. Is that right?” asked Rosemary as she watched
Vess begin to rise up from his wheelchair.

He struggled to stand, but eventually walked forward and approached the CORD. He reached up and grabbed the latch on the door. Then he smiled and said, “Just a cog in the machine,” before closing her in.

Michael Harper woke up in a bed that he didn’t immediately recognize. It looked like the room of a young woman, but he couldn’t fathom how he’d gotten there. There was a dresser against the wall with a mirror over it and a pink, lacey bra hanging off the knob of one of the drawers.

“What the hell did I get myself into this time?” he asked as he looked around.

There was a closet beside the bed with an accordion style door, and he faintly recalled seeing that door somewhere before. But Michael had made a habit of sleeping with a variety of women during his time working on the road. Waking up in a stranger’s bed wasn’t that big of a shock to him.

He saw an old watch of his on the nightstand that he hadn’t seen in years, and he grabbed it in surprise. “What the hell do you know about that,” he said as he slipped the watch on. He checked the time and cringed when he saw that the watch had stopped at 3:14.

It had to be a coincidence.

Michael went to the door of the room and peered down the hall. There was another bedroom door beside the one he was walking out of, and he eased the door open to find that it belonged to a messy young boy. The room was littered with toys and Michael was reminded of his son, Ben.

He paused and thought about his son. It had been a long time since he’d seen the boy. How long had he been out on the road on business?

Michael started to get confused, and he blamed it on the aftereffects of what must’ve been a long, drug-fueled night. He walked past the boy’s bedroom and to the bathroom just beyond. He stepped in, urinated, and then examined himself in the mirror. He looked younger than he had in years, and he felt great. He smirked at himself, and then looked at his watch as he started to wind the gear to get it started again. Despite his efforts, the watch didn’t work.

“Wait a second,” said Michael as he looked at the watch and tried to remember the last place he’d seen it. That’s when he suddenly realized where he was.

Michael marched back into the girl’s bedroom, his feet thumping on the carpet as he went. He walked in and went to the closet. He gripped the handle and threw the door open.

Inside, clutching his knees as he sat on the floor, was Terry’s little brother, Raymond.

“You little shit,” said Michael as he glared at the frightened boy. “You fucking pervert.”

“Hit him,” said a female voice from somewhere in the house.

Michael glanced around and then asked, “Who’s there?” He’d expected to see Terry, but it didn’t sound like his girlfriend’s voice. Whoever was speaking sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place the voice. It was as if the voice didn’t belong here, at this time.

“If you want, you could make him watch,” said the woman as her voice grew nearer. He saw a person’s shadow cast into the room from a figure in the hall.

“Who is that?” asked Michael.

His daughter walked into the room. She was wearing Terry’s clothes: A short skirt, pink boots, and a tight t-shirt. She sauntered in and sat on the corner of the bed. She was wearing more make-up than he’d ever seen Alma wear before, and she was grinning seductively.

“Alma, what are you doing here?” asked Michael.

“Isn’t this what you want?” asked Alma. “Would it be better if I closed my eyes and hummed a little?”

“Jesus Christ,” said Michael as he clasped his hands to his head and closed his eyes. “What the fuck is going on? What sort of sick fucking joke is this?”