Amnesia (38 page)

He thought of Scardoni, and this new character Marcuse, and how their minds had been twisted and crazed. Yet those who fought against them grew in stature and understanding, finding sense and logic despite the snares erected around them.

But most of all he thought of Lissa who God had placed in his path, to save him both physically and emotionally. In the middle of the most frightening experience of his life, he had found love. So too had Beverley and Peter, and Bill and Carrie. What a wonderful gift he had given them, for enduring a few moments of distress.

The sound of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts and he rose with anticipation, knowing instinctively who was on the other side of the door. He threw the door open, and was not disappointed. He stepped up to the beautiful, lithe woman standing expectantly before him, and threw his arms around her and held her tightly. Hesitating only a moment from surprise, she wound her own arms around him and eagerly returned the gesture.

After a moment, he pulled back only slightly, so he could see into her depthless eyes. He bent and kissed her gently but intensely. A long moment later he pulled back, leaving them both a little breathless. He whispered the simple words that held so much passion: “I love you, Lissa, oh how I love you!”

Marcuse paced around his lair like a caged animal seeking escape. In this instance, however, the bars holding the man trapped were in his own mind. He had arisen early this morning, as he did every morning—he had once read that Hitler slept little and was always up before daybreak, and he was determined that in all things he must outdo that little man.

He thought briefly about Hitler this morning as he completed circuit after circuit in the large library where he was often wont to return. Mein Kampf—“My Struggle.” How he could relate to that title today, given the constant struggle to rise above the peons which beset him, trying to pull him down. No, Hitler held nothing on him, not in his struggles, his personal routine, or even his idiosyncrasies. The world would know his name and tremble!

Unfortunately, he sighed, he still had to take care of this current ugliness before he could begin his climb to power. The bitter taste of disappointment was still strong on his tongue as he again recalled how close he had come to accomplishing the first step of that rise, only to be knocked off the ladder, momentarily, by Drake Mannion and Lissa Brandon.

It was inconceivable how much damage could be caused by the blundering of such ignorant and naïve fools as these. They harried him at every point, every single stage of the game. He couldn’t imagine how they could have been omniscient of his plans, or how incredibly ill-timed to have caused so much damage to his carefully laid designs. Even when they weren’t directly involved they seemed to have some lackey in their stead, like Dall or Frindle sent to do their bidding. It was so totally inconceivable that they could cause such injury to him and his cause.

He paused his pacing in front of the double balcony doors, staring out unseeingly into the bright morning sun. Had he taken the time to notice he would have seen a glorious day emerging across the land. The sun streamed in dappled splendor through the mighty elm and oak trees surrounding and hiding the mansion. Birds flitted through the branches, singing to each other in blissful harmony of the wonders of life, taking no care but to survive and enjoy the prospects of their short lives.

Off to the left a small brook trickled down the hill, meandering lazily wherever gravity and the rocks directed, uninterested in anything more than simply being available to whomever needed its refreshment. Its soothing tinkle as it poured across rocks and trickled down miniature waterfalls was completely lost to any human ears, yet added wonder to the woods surrounding it.

Above the water a swarm of gnats were calming in the day’s oncoming heat, readying to sink into their cool homes on the water’s edge content to allow the sun to pass without their vigil. Among these insects, many had found mates through the short night and would soon be nesting, creating a new generation to carry on the genes, and propagate the species.

Sounds of summer filled the air, from the gnats buzzing to birds chirping, joined with the musky fragrance of evergreen and annual trees and wildflowers, lending a sense of serenity to any who cared to open their eyes to the beauty. Unfortunately, it was all lost on the dark and angry man staring past the beauty, seeing only hate and destruction.

Marcuse focused his hatred on the group surrounding and including Lissa and Drake, running through supposed slights and imagined injuries, bolstering his resolve to inflict pain, fear and death on each of them. He had his three phased plan for them, and it was time to begin phase two.

The plan was actually rather simple, even silly in a certain light, but it was his intention to see it through, enacting each malicious component, exacting his revenge on them for thwarting his strategies. The first and third phases were actually the easiest, the first already implemented, wherein he planted the seeds of fear by threats and stalking. The third was simply to destroy them as the others watched, cementing his diabolical visage deep in their psyche before enduring the pains of death for themselves. Exactly how he did that was still somewhat vague, depending on the materials at hand, and that depended on how he implemented phase two.

Phase two was the trickiest part, wherein he literally chased them across town, the tree of terror blossoming in their hearts, until they were so afraid they could go no further, and would welcome, even embrace, the destiny he had planned for them.

The tricky part was to not lose them, or allow the bumbling self-righteous police to interfere. This would be made more difficult as one of Lissa’s new friends was a cop, and had already proven that he could get in the way. If only that man understood the level of intellect and skill that Marcuse held he would run and hide, anxious to save his own skin.

Marcuse made his way back over to the small bar behind the oversized desk and refilled his glass of brandy, allowing its chemicals to intertwine with his synapses, slowing them ever so slightly to allow the voices that assailed him to sharpen and clear so he could distinguish between them. He sat at the desk, and listened to the whispers that were sent to guide him into his greatness.

Unfortunately his anger directed the whispering back to his original plan—to get power utilizing Beverley Windham as leverage against her father the senator. He would then garner political power and authority to create the environment he needed. Finally he would use Lissa Brandon to gain control of her father’s contacts in both the business and criminal world.

He shook his head in derision as he thought of Lissa and her naïveté. She believed that she was only involved because someone had been snared by her beauty. What utter vanity and foolishness that was! Beautiful girls were everywhere, nearly all of them ready and willing, even eager, to sell themselves for a fine dinner and a gift. Most of them would do anything you asked simply for the price of a little flattery. Oh no, what Lissa had available was much bigger than even she realized.

Wendell Brandon was the model businessman, with his hand in everyone’s cookie jar. Even today, years after his death, his name still caused a reaction among the more powerful players in the burgeoning California business environment. Although he never acquired true public notoriety, he was the puppet master behind the scenes of most large corporations, especially in the lucrative Silicone Valley.

His specialty was to move into small promising start-ups and promise them huge successes and returns if they only followed his advice, and granted him controlling interest in the companies. Eager to find fame and fortune, almost no one denied him what he asked. In return he would use his political finesse, business prowess, and when needed some heavy hands, to build fiefdoms of the companies, most of which usually sold out later to much larger entities, netting millions for the founders. Of course the money he garnered was simply a side benefit of Brandon’s real lust, that of control.

To him business was simply the best means to the end of cornering power and control in the medium the US understood—the capital market. In Columbia it was the drug lords that held control. In the old USSR it was the government hierarchy. In the US it was the business moguls who ruled, and it was in this arena that Wendell Brandon thrived. Of course he held no moral distinctions between accepted business, such as GlaxoSmithKline and JP Morgan, and unaccepted business, such as drug runners and organized crime. After all, there was little difference between the two; both were willing to sacrifice principles, laws, and even lives to get what they wanted. As far as he was concerned all business was open for his exploitation.

Marcuse understood and accepted that principle, and took it even further, desiring his niche in political circles as well as business and criminal endeavors. Windham was his doorway to the political arena. Lissa, as the daughter of Wendell Brandon, was his doorway to business, and by extension criminal groups. Neither of them truly understood how pivotal their position could be in his climb to power. Lissa probably didn’t even know how much clout her name and lineage afforded her. Unfortunately it was all too late now. She had been given her opportunity to shine and she had rejected it with no thought but her own selfishness. Now she would pay dearly for her crime.

It was time for action. He strode down the hall toward the stairs picking up a brown bag on the way, and then headed down to the basement and the attached garage. He took a slight detour, stepping into the furnace room and the incinerator contained therein. He opened the door and tossed the bag inside, noting that he needed restart the pilot light to burn the contents, but decided to wait until later. Right now he had something more important to do.

The back staircase he descended led down past the rear entry, lower down the hill than the rest of the house and drive, then further down into the basement. This level consisted of one enormous game room, with a big screen TV and entertainment center along one wall, a bar across another, and several game tables, including billiards, Ping-Pong, and air hockey. Growing up he and his few friends had spent endless hours in this room while their fathers met upstairs in closed meetings.

Off of the main room were three halls and several doors, most of which were used as miscellaneous rooms, including a weight/exercise room, a music room, a fruit room, and several storage rooms. One door however, led to a garage, complete with all the tools necessary to maintain any one of the fleet kept by the owner. Inside the enclosed garage was another small apartment, reserved for the chauffeur/mechanic. The room now stood vacant, Marcuse letting him go, unwilling to trust his safety to a hired underling. He went first to that room and picked up a backpack filled with an assortment of devices he needed.

Inside, the garage held several diverse vehicles. All but two of them sat unused and collecting dust from years of neglect. He ignored the sports car, reserved for his public persona of rich playboy and social climber, and went straight for the powerful, manly H2 Hummer standing ready for his command. He climbed into the truck and noticed the faint smell of ash, and the slight stain on the carpeting. He cursed loudly. He despised uncleanness of any sort, and this was unacceptable to him. He would have harsh words with the man responsible for detailing the rig.

Angrily he turned the ignition, the mighty engine roaring to life, and he punched the door opener letting in streams of sunlight. He then kicked the transmission into drive, and exited the garage, heading out into the hot sunshine, eager to set his malevolent designs into practice.

First, however, he had to find the pair that so provoked his anger. He drove into the city and followed the connector to Parkcenter, intent on finding some clue to Lissa’s whereabouts. He drove up to the shell of her apartment and noticed that it was oddly quiet for a Saturday morning. He began to pull into an empty parking stall when he noticed the ever-vigilant “Mouse” Dall lurking in the shadows at the side of the apartment, his ever-present coat hanging loosely off his shoulders. Reconsidering, he drove straight toward the man, honking twice letting him know he was wanted.

Reluctantly the small man left the shadows and moved out into the sunlight, up to the oversized vehicle, an undisguised look of distaste crossing his visage. He approached the Hummer slowly, twisting his neck about, looking for any witnesses to the meeting, seeing no one. Marcuse lowered the tinted driver-side window and good-naturedly called out a pleasant greeting to the backward man, who ignored the pleasantries entirely.

“Whadda ya want?” Dall asked in his high squeaking voice. It was impossible to miss the obvious loathing in his tone.  He did indeed recognize the man, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t help, only that he wasn’t fond of him.

“I was looking for Doctor Brandon. Obviously she’s not here, and I was wondering if you knew where she was,” Marcuse asked innocently.

Dall considered the request for some time before answering. “Doubt she’d want me ta tell no one.”

“I’m sure she would want to talk to me. I have some important things to tell her.” Marcuse pressed the issue, his own feelings matching the abhorrence obvious in the other’s countenance.

“I dunno. She’s had a rough time of it lately, and don’t want nobody buggin’ her.”

“Okay,” Marcuse bluffed, “I can respect that. It’s just that I have some good news for her, and wanted to share it with her.”

“Jus’ tell me, an’ I’ll pass it along when I see her then,” Dall countered. Marcuse was struggling to maintain his composure around this impudent pup, but was intent on getting the information he needed. Even if he had to throttle this man on the spot, he would get what he needed.

“Wish I could, but I’m under strict instructions to tell her directly. Of course then she can tell whomever she likes, which she probably will.” He paused, detecting a bit of softening in his adversary’s demeanor, and decided to push the envelope further.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you this much—it has to do with some information recently discovered about her father.” That was all he needed, he could tell, so sat back, reveling in how easy it was to manipulate the shallow minded.

It took a few moments before Dall finally spoke. “Well, I guess it’ll be alright then. She’s staying with that police Cap’n Jack McConnell. You can find her there.” Dall turned and walked away leaving Marcuse sitting nonplussed in his car. He hadn’t anticipated this development. Obviously it would take greater diligence on his part, but he knew he could still pull it off. Of course he still had the element of anonymity on his side; as yet no one even suspected his true identity. It would just take a little more finesse.