Amnesia (39 page)

He pulled out of the drive and back onto Parkcenter using the Internet browser interface of his smart phone to get the address and phone number of Jack McConnell. He sneered as the computer relayed the information and he corrected course toward Hill Road. This was so easy! Of course that is to be expected from someone with his superior intellect. It wouldn’t be long now before he would get his satisfaction. How sweet it was going to taste!

Several minutes later he pulled off the road around the corner from the McConnell home and shut off the monstrous 6.0 liter V8 engine. He retrieved a hunting knife and a small package from the backpack, and grabbed the concealed 9mm Beretta. Leaving the truck, he crossed up the street, staying concealed in the heavy foliage of the mature neighborhood, until he stood opposite the dwelling and its several cars parked in front.

He recognized the rented Saturn Lissa and her new boyfriend were driving, and red Volt that the cop drove. He noted the rented Pontiac Grand Am, rightly guessing that it was McConnell’s, and the dark green Plymouth Voyager minivan, probably McConnell’s wife’s. First thing he needed to do was disable those other cars.

Knowing it was awfully cliché but effective, he slipped up to the minivan and punctured its tires with his hunting knife. He did the same with the Volt and the Pontiac, leaving a special present behind the rear tire of the latter, but left the Saturn. He would need that car in good working order if his plans were to work. While he was at it he checked the hoods to see how hot they were, to know how long they had been there. All were cold but the Saturn. They had just arrived and were getting comfortable. They had no idea that their lives would be altered and end violently in the next few hours.

Next he slipped up to the front window of the house and cautiously peered inside. Sitting in the big armchair was a man in his mid-forties, obviously the man of the house, reclining in his throne. A woman was standing bent over next to him holding a tray of mugs, probably of coffee or cocoa, most likely his wife. He took one of the mugs, smiling up at her. She returned the smile then moved on to offer the liquid to her guests.

Perpendicular to the chair was the sofa, where the cop sat with what appeared to be his girlfriend, sitting almost touching, but not quite. It was obvious that they cared for each other, but must not have yet made that clear to each other. Marcuse glanced over his shoulder counting the cars, and couldn’t find one that looked like it would belong to her. He surmised she must be either staying there as well or have come over with her would-be boyfriend. It made no difference to him, as long as there was no hidden vehicle with which to follow him and his prey when they left.

Across from him on the loveseat were Lissa and Drake, sitting close together, intimately holding hands. The sight raised his hackles, but he forced them back down; now was the time to let his head rule his passions. Now was his time to reign, and he couldn’t allow emotions to cloud his thinking.

Backing carefully away from the house he headed back to the Hummer to start the ball rolling. He pulled the “Pewter Metallic” gray truck around until he was facing the house and could see any movement outside the home, while still mostly hidden from view of the residents. He rolled down the windows to let in a little cross breeze in the near-ninety degree heat, and shut the engine off. He glanced at his watch and saw that was just past ten AM. Give them about fifteen minutes, make sure they are nice and relaxed, then let the games begin.

He reached over and turned on the talk radio while he waited. He heard the voice of Gregg Windham announcing his desire to retire from political life. Marcuse chuckled gleefully. He may not have gotten what he wanted from Windham, but he had succeeding in ruining the man’s career, if not life, as he had warned him. Everything was falling into place nicely now. They will all learn to never underestimate a man of his caliber again. He threw his head back and laughed loudly at the thought.

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“Okay, we’ve had a lot happen, and it’s time to put it all together,” Jack began after getting his mug of hot cocoa and miniature marshmallows. “Although there are still several pieces missing, we’re making some headway. First off, we have news about our mystery man here. Bill?”

“Sure Jack. Although this doesn’t answer the whys, we now know how Robbie…”

“Drake,” Drake interrupted.

“What?” Carrie asked for the group.

“My name. It’s Drake, not Robbie. I can’t remember my last name yet, but I had a dream last night which reminded me of my first name.” He went on to describe his dream to the crowd, much to their fascination and excitement.

“Actually,” Jack told them, “that fits exactly what I’ve pulled together. And that dream might not be too far off of other memories. Bill, go ahead and finish.”

“Well, it’s like Drake said, from the 911 call it sounds like he was on board an airplane and either jumped or was pushed out. That’s how he ended up in the water.”

“That’s consistent with his wounds and coma,” Lissa inputted. “We knew the coma was triggered by hypoxia, lack of oxygen, which we believed was because of near drowning. If he hit the water with significant force he would have been knocked unconscious, and would have been unable to save himself by treading water or swimming. In fact, the blow could have caused the onset of the coma, with the water only adding to the problem.” A shiver went up her back at the next thought. “We’re extremely lucky he survived at all.”

“Which brings us to the message on your bedroom wall, about ‘staying dead,’” Jack continued. “It could have easily been meant for Drake, about someone wanting him dead for some reason.”

He paused for a moment, preparing for the next revelation. “That brings us to why you were in the plane in the first place. Marconi said that Marcuse had paid Scardoni to ‘shut you up’ for some reason. Any idea why he would want that?”

“None,” Drake said, depressed at the thought, and his inability to remember anything useful.

“Whatever that was, along with the attempted murder, was probably the emotional trauma that caused the amnesia,” Lissa volunteered.

“I thought the amnesia was caused by being thrown in the water,” Carrie said, still a little overwhelmed at everything.

“Physical trauma can cause amnesia, but not like this,” Lissa explained. “This has the markings of emotional trauma, especially considering that dream, and how it brought back the memory of his name.”

“It was probably the reason for the attempt as much as the attempt itself,” Nancy suggested. She had taken up roost on the side and back of the easy chair next to her husband, and had been all but forgotten in the excitement of the revelations.

“I don’t follow,” Drake said.

“Well, it’s like being punished. When I was a girl, when my mother wanted to really teach me a lesson she wouldn’t spank me outright, she would send me to my room until my father got home. Then he would spank me. I vaguely remember getting the spanking, but I will never forget the fear brought on by the waiting. Maybe whatever you found out, accompanied by how you found it out, added to the fact that whoever wanted you dead because of it, was worse than nearly being killed. If you followed all that,” she chuckled.

“Actually that makes sense too,” Jack commented. “We know that this ‘Marcuse’ is behind all of this somehow, and that he was the one directing your murder, and Lissa’s terrorizing.”

“Hold on Jack,” Lissa interrupted, “what could the two possibly have in common? I mean, sure Robbie, um, Drake, and I are together now, but I didn’t even know him when Scardoni started all of this. How could it possibly be related?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack admitted, his brow knitted into a scowl. “Nor am I sure what Beverley and Peter had to do with this.”

“Who is Marcuse, anyway?” Carrie asked.

“Don’t know that either,” Jack said. “But here is what I think. Marcuse hired Scardoni to be his henchman, and Scardoni in turn hired Marconi and Walters as his heavies. The most obvious reason he would do that would be to keep his hands clean, most likely because he has a public image he wants to protect.

“He would have kidnapped Beverley to use her as leverage against her father, and Peter because he was a witness. I guess Beverley was trying to help get Peter into shape when they were out jogging, and Scardoni just took them both. Unfortunately Gregg Windham hasn’t confided in me on what or whom the leverage was about.

“Drake probably knows the public persona, and stumbled across something that implicated him. Maybe he intercepted a meeting with Scardoni, or found some paperwork, I don’t know what. That would have threatened Marcuse enough that he would want Drake out of the way.”

“The problem with that is that Drake can’t remember anything about it,” Bill added. “It would appear, however, that Marcuse doesn’t know about the amnesia, or else he wouldn’t be so worried about him. He’s probably going nuts wondering why you haven’t said anything to anyone yet.”

“Which is why he is getting involved personally now,” Jack picked it up. “He knows that Scardoni screwed everything up, letting Beverley and Peter escape and leaving Drake and Marconi alive. He’ll want to take care of it himself now. Which puts the two of you in great danger,” he concluded, indicating the couple sitting opposite him.

“Let me get this straight,” Drake attempted. “Marcuse was trying to get Gregg Windham to do something pretty extravagant but lost his leverage, wants Lissa to do something pretty extravagant but lost his leverage, and now wants everyone dead. And the key to all of this is locked up in my head somewhere but I can’t get to it because it is too frightening. Is that about it?”

“Sums it up nicely,” Jack agreed. “But there is an ace up our sleeves.” He reached into his shirt pocket and produced the old Motorola cell phone. “The other key to unlocking this is to uncover his public persona. That will help explain most of the rest.”

He looked around at the others in the circle. “Any more questions, comments or suggestions before we try this again?”

Everyone shook their heads mutely, staring at the solitary evidence in Jack’s hand, holding their collective breaths in anticipation. The tension in the air was palpable as Jack opened the phone, took a deep breath and pressed the send button. Imperceptibly, the whole group leaned closer to Jack, subconsciously wanting to overhear the conversation.

The seconds dragged on and the look on Jack’s face sank as the target phone rang on without answer. He let it ring on several times beyond what he normally would, hoping that someone would answer, then slowly began pulling the instrument away from his ear. Suddenly his expression changed, and he spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Is Mr. Marcuse available?” A look of confusion crossed his face for a moment, and then he repeated, “Marcuse. The man of the house.” He paused a moment, struggling with understanding, then added, “Um, El hombre de la casa? Oh. Oh! Muchas gracious!”

He hung the phone up then sat back in the chair, thinking. He sat there for a moment, much to the exasperation of the group surrounding him. He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to reveal what he had discovered, and the house phone rang. The interruption caused everyone to jump, and then giggle quietly as they realized what had happened.

“I’ll get it,” Nancy said, hopping up and grabbing the cordless handset sitting on the end table. “McConnell residence. Yes, actually he is here, just a moment. It’s for you.” She handed the phone to Drake, much to the surprise of everyone in the room.

“This is Drake.”

“Well, well, you are still alive,” the voice on the other end of the line responded.

“Who is this?” he demanded.

“Don’t you recognize my voice Drake? I realize our parting wasn’t exactly amiable, but we could at least be civil.”

“Marcuse?”

“Who else? Now I have a favor to ask of you, and your skinny little girlfriend. I would like to chat for a bit, if it’s convenient.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, I tell you what; let’s meet at Doctor Brandon’s apartment, that’s convenient for all of us.”

“Why should I trust you? You’ve been trying to kill me!”

“Tsk, tsk, now I thought we were being civil. But let me make this simple, if you don’t meet with me, I shall simply kill all of you right now.”

“Right, just like that.”

“Yes, just like that. Remember, I didn’t want to do this, but you pushed me into it. You will have to apologize to the dear captain for his car.”

Outside an explosion rocked the neighborhood as Marcuse depressed a button on a homemade remote, sending the ignition signal to the explosive device deposited under the Pontiac. In response the gas tank of the car exploded as well, sending a second shockwave down the street.

Inside the house chaos exploded as people dove for the floor, hoping to escape the shooting glass from the shattered windowpanes. Someone screamed involuntarily in fear, unsure what was happening. Jack grabbed his cell phone and dialed 911, barking instructions for everyone to stay down.

Bill threw himself across Carrie to protect her then pulled out his gun, ready to defend her at all costs. Recognizing she was alright, he crawled quickly across the broken glass on the floor to the window, oblivious to the glass cutting his hands and the pain in his shoulder, staying down to be a harder target to sight on. He peeked up over the sill searching for the enemy, but saw nothing. He noted the destroyed Grand Am, still on fire, but the danger seemed past. However there were hundreds of hiding places where someone could be concealed. He crossed back over to the people on the floor, checking everyone for injuries, but found that Lissa had already done that.