Inside Lucifer's War (16 page)

“How did you get in? Why are you here?” I blurt out.

“Relax. Slow down. What’s gotten into you?” Bruce asks.

“I’m not accustomed to people sneaking into my room,” I say.

“We apologize for that. We knocked, but no one answered. The door was unlocked. When we didn’t hear anyone, we came inside. We called for you, but you must not have heard us.”

“I must not have,” I reply.

“It’s getting late. I wanted to make sure you were ready to go, and I wondered if you needed any assistance,” Bruce says.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” I respond. “We have a problem. We have a major problem! Andrew and the woman he was with last night are dead in that room!”

Bruce darts into the room, but Bishop slowly follows him and glances around the living room, surveying the scene, taking in all the details. I should have gone back into the room with Bruce and Bishop, but I can’t force myself to go in there again. After several minutes, they both come out, first Bruce, then Bishop.

Bruce is out the door before I can say anything. He doesn’t even glance at me as he storms out of the suite, shutting the door quickly behind him. Bishop, though, acts the opposite of Bruce. His mannerisms are the essence of coolness. He slowly walks out of Andrew’s room, takes a few steps into the living area, glances around, looks at me, and then sits down on a lounge chair. He is calm, collected, and almost businesslike. He seems to be in his element.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asks.

“Would I what? There are two dead people in the other room! And you want to sit down? Are we going to have tea and crumpets? What is wrong with you?” I respond.

“Panicking is not going to help this situation. You need to stay calm and focused. We can get you out of this mess, but you’re going to have to settle down,” he says.

“What? Get me out of this mess? Why is this my mess? I didn’t have anything to do with their deaths. And, yes, there are two dead people in the room next to us. So I think I have a right to be a little freaked out!” I yell. “I’m calling the police.”

“You can do that, but I would advise against it. You need to think about how this is going to be interpreted, and you need to think about your career. Before you call the police, I think you need to calm down and think,” he calmly speaks.

I hate him, but I sit down.

“Look around, Dr. Fields. Look around and see what the police will see. Two dead people in the room next to you. There appears to be some cocaine and other drugs scattered about. No doubt they will find that Andrew and the whore died of an overdose. Bruce and I will have to testify that we saw you run out of the room in a panic. Do you really think your story will hold up? At a minimum, your reputation will be sullied. By the way, what is your story?” he asks.

“What do you mean ‘my story’? I was asleep last night. I don’t know what happened. That’s my story. The truth,” I tell him. “Her name, by the way, is Megan. Not whore.”

“Megan was a whore. High class, yes. But a whore nonetheless. Speaking of whores, where is that lovely dish you came down with last night? Did you at least get her number? I’m sure she can explain all of this,” Bishop says.

My head is spinning. Why can’t I remember what happened last night? Where is she? According to Bishop, I left the party with her. What happened after that? Did I have too much to drink? I don’t think so. I’m getting angry.

“I didn’t have anything to do with this!” I say.

Bishop, still calm and businesslike, looks me up and down. “I never said that you did,” he says. “No one ever said that you did. What I am saying is, this could be messy or it could be clean. The choice is up to you. I’m trying to help you. We take care of one another. We’re running out of time, though.”

“What do you mean, running out of time?” I ask.

“In about ten minutes, some men are going to be arriving to clean up this mess. It will all go away, and no one will ever know you were a part of it. They won’t perform their duties, though, unless they get a text from me. Or you can call the police. If you call the police, I will politely let myself out and leave you to handle the details. The details of how you and your friend left a party with two whores. Now, one of those whores and your friend are dead in the room next to yours, with traces of drugs scattered around the room,” he says without any inflection in his tone.

My hatred for him grows. I hate his calm demeanor. I hate how smug he looks. I hate the fact that he already knows what I’m going to do. I hate the fact that I’m going to be indebted to him and the Principal. They will own me after this. I don’t have a choice, though. He’s right. It looks too bad for my explanation. Why can’t I remember any of it? That isn’t going to play well with the police, nor will this do anything to help my career.

“Clean it,” I say.

“Smart decision,” Bishop responds.

“What do I need to do?” I ask.

“What you would have done normally. Bruce is going to come get you, as planned. Bruce will take care of your hotel expenses and checkout. You will go out with him through the lobby, and he will take you to Mr. McKee’s plane to return to Austin. Andrew told you last night that you were leaving too early in the morning for him. He was going to find other arrangements back to Austin. He asked you not to wake him in the morning, so you didn’t bother him when you saw that his door was closed. Last night at the party was the last time you saw him. When he doesn’t show up for work by Tuesday, you will call him and send an e-mail to see if everything’s okay.”

Bishop talks as if he has done this before. After he speaks, he takes out his phone and sends a text. His calm demeanor is relatively reassuring. I know with confidence that I’m going to walk away from this room without any emotional baggage. I find myself staring across the room at nothing, and then Bishop repeats himself.

“Go finish gathering your things now,” he says.

“I’m packed,” I say. “I’m ready to go.”

“Good.”

After a few minutes, there is a knock at the door. I instinctively go to answer it, but Bishop places his hand on me. We wait a few seconds, and then there is a repeated tap on the door. It matches the rhythm of the first tap. After the second tap, Bishop opens the door. Bruce and three other men, pulling suitcases behind them, come in. They immediately make their way into the room Bishop directs them to. The room with Andrew’s and Megan’s bodies.

“It’s time for us to go,” Bruce says.

I grab my suitcase. I look back over toward Andrew’s room and feel myself getting sick. It must have been apparent, because Bishop takes note.

“It’ll be fine, Dr. Fields. There is nothing you could have done, and you’re making the right decision now. Don’t let this thing destroy you,” Bishop remarks.

I start toward the door with Bruce, but Bishop adds, “Oh, Dr. Fields. One last thing before you go. I noticed there were some files scattered around Dr. Mayfield’s room. I want to make sure we thoroughly clean this up. You didn’t happen to have any of his files, did you? I want to ensure that you are completely clean.”

I try to not look at my suitcase. “No,” I say. “I never touched his files.”

“Good.”

With that, Bruce grabs my bag. My heart races. He turns and heads out the door. I try not to sigh in relief in front of Bishop, who is still watching me. I follow Bruce, trying not to think too much along the way. We step into the elevator. Just the two of us. Thank goodness. I didn’t want to have to make small talk with anyone.

When the elevator doors open into the lobby, I’m greeted with a sight that sends my heart racing. In the lobby are two EMS workers and a police officer. For a moment, I don’t move.

With eyes apparently in the back of his head, Bruce turns slightly and quietly says, “Laugh a small laugh right now.”

“What?” I respond.

“Give a small chuckle, like we’re laughing about something,” he repeats.

I smile a little and laugh, trying not to look at the police officer.

“They’re here for another reason. Just walk out the door like you are the busy and important person that you are,” Bruce tells me.

The next thing I know I’m in Bruce’s car and riding to the airport. I stare out the window as events and conversations start to play through my mind. Why was Andrew’s room ransacked? Andrew didn’t do drugs. He specifically cautioned me about that before we arrived. How did Bishop and Bruce appear at just the right time? Why was Bishop there at all? Shouldn’t Bruce have been alone to pick me up? It isn’t like Bishop and I had anything to say to each other before I left for Austin. I would have understood had it been Kinsley, but not Bishop. And why did Bishop ask me about Andrew’s files?

We make quick time to the airport, where Kinsley’s private plane awaits. I already miss Andrew. I start to feel sick again. I step aboard the plane, followed by Bruce, who loads my luggage. I look around to see if anyone else is on the plane.

Bruce says, “I’m afraid it’s just the two of us on the return flight. Is there anything I can get you? We have medicine in one of the cabinets. We’ll depart shortly.”

As I sit down and watch Bruce enter the cockpit, I turn toward where Andrew had been seated on our flight to Dallas and from which he began to show me the information he had collected on the Principal. Like a sucker punch, it hits me. It’s the perfect setup. The whole thing. The Principal killed Andrew and set me up for it. He talked too much to too many people, and they no longer needed him. So they killed him. They killed him and made it look like I was involved. Now they have me, and Andrew is gone. It couldn’t have worked out better for them.

I think I’m going to throw up, so I grab a small trash can and set it next to me. I am an idiot. How naive am I? I thought I was so tough and played my hand so well with Bishop prior to this morning. I had smarted off to him, thinking I was superior. The whole while he bided his time, waiting patiently for when he had the upper hand on me.

This is all too much. I open the liquor cabinet and pour myself a large bourbon. I drink it quickly and pour myself another. Who did I think I was? What was I doing trying to play this game?

Then the second wave hits me. The Principal is also a pawn, only in a much bigger game. Lucifer planted the seed in them. He wants to ensure my allegiance. It wasn’t enough to frighten me with eternity. No, he needed more. Something that would strike at me in this world. First, he let them try with money, privilege, and fame. When it was unclear if that was working, he had them strike at my insecurities. How could I compete against this? Why would I want to compete against this?

I am a fool.

C
HAPTER 16

Stacie

After I’ve been dropped off at the apartment with some reminders on what to say and do, along with a notice that Kinsley McKee would soon be in touch, I am left alone with my thoughts. I have never been good at being alone. I reach for my cell and curiously call the one person who might possibly be the toughest on me: Stacie.

“Hello?” her voice cracks a bit on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Stacie. It’s Thomas. Thomas Fields. I can’t imagine you would expect a call from me.”

“Not in the least.”

“Are you okay? Are you sick?” I ask.

“No, no. I was taking a nap.”

“I’m sorry to awaken you. I realize this is out of the blue, but I need to talk to someone. Would you mind if I bent your ear?” I ask.

“You should call the woman you were with the other night,” she says sharply.

“I don’t know why I called you. I just know . . . Actually, I don’t know. For some reason, I feel a need to talk to you. I’m sorry. I’ll let you get back to your nap,” I say.

“No. Wait. I’m sorry. I don’t always wake up in the best mood. I’d be happy to talk.”

“Do you mind if we talk in person. I can meet you somewhere,” I suggest.

Her reply surprises me. “Why don’t you come over here? My roommate is out of town for the week, so we can talk here. I’ll text you my address.”

I’m out the door before I even get the text. On the drive across town, I have a sensation that I’m being followed. I check my mirrors several times, but I can’t pinpoint who or what is following me. I start to wonder if I’m being paranoid. I take some back roads and odd turns to see if I can make the pursuer stand out. For a while, a car follows me, but then it disappears. I’m scared. I’m in way over my head, and the one person I’ve turned to is unlike me in almost every way. I think about canceling. I pick up my phone several times to call her. Nothing good can come of this, I think. Each time, though, I put down the phone. I don’t want to be alone, and there is no one else I want to see.

I pull into her apartment complex and search for a place to park. I’ve never understood why builders make it so hard for visitors to find parking spots at apartments. I finally find one and then realize her unit is at the opposite end of the complex. As I walk around the pool, I’m passed by two movers carrying boxes on dollies. I stare at them, but they don’t stare back. Quit being paranoid, I think to myself.

I arrive at Stacie’s door and stare at the number—328—for a couple of minutes. Finally, I knock. After a few seconds, I hear her unlock the door, and then it opens, with her standing there in her bare feet. Funny, that’s the first thing that crosses my mind. She is standing there in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and she looks beautiful. I smile slightly as she asks me to come in.