The Shepherd (32 page)

Marcus fixed the Sheriff with a withering gaze. “I can’t change the past and bring back all the innocent people that have gotten in your way, but I am going to make sure that you never hurt anyone again.”

The Sheriff shook his head. “Confident to the end. I’m truly sorry for everything that’s happened. But I’m a good soldier, and I have my orders. Sometimes, tough choices have to be made, and the few must be sacrificed for the good of the many. Like I told you, kid, I have someone that I need to kill. But I also need someone to go down for it. When Ackerman escaped, your neck went into that noose. So you and I are taking a trip to San Antonio.”

As the Sheriff’s words sunk in, a disturbing thought floated to the forefront of Marcus’s mind.
If I’m going to San Antonio, then who’s going in the grave?
His thoughts turned to Maggie.

Apparently coming to the same realization, Andrew spoke up. “San Antonio? Then why would you have me drive them out here?” Andrew looked toward the open grave and then back at the Sheriff. “And who are you putting in the ground?”

He tensed and readied himself to dive in front of Maggie, but then he realized that his concern for her safety had made him overlook another possibility.

Andrew swung the aim of his weapon away from Marcus and toward the Sheriff.

The Sheriff raised the silenced pistol and fired three shots into Andrew’s abdomen.

Andrew staggered back and let out a sickening wheeze. He tried to speak, but the words were unintelligible. The Sheriff pumped three more rounds into his chest, and Andrew toppled backward.

Marcus closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Fury. Pain. Sorrow. His stomach churned in knots.
So much death.

The Sheriff looked down and spoke to the dead man. “Traitors never prosper.”

The vigilante rolled Andrew’s body into the open grave and said, “What am I gonna do with you, Maggie? I knew that you didn’t agree with what I was doing, but I never thought you’d betray me.”

“You’re a murderer,” she said in a whisper.

The Sheriff’s face remained stoic. “No, I’m a soldier. And believe me, we are at war. I hate that my life has come to this, but sometimes good men have to commit necessary evils. We all have to make sacrifices, myself included. I’m sorry that the two of you got involved.”

The Sheriff turned from them and stared into the distance.

Marcus knew that the older man was weighing his options one last time. He also knew what conclusion the Sheriff would reach. Once Paul Phillips was dead, an investigation would be launched. Not only by agencies within the government that could be controlled, but also by outside forces. The Phillips family may hire investigators. An Independent Counsel may be assigned. They would backtrack the assassin’s activities. Maggie would be questioned. Could she be trusted to remain silent? If the Sheriff hid her away, it may raise unwanted questions. It would be cleanest if she were one of the victims. Leaving her alive could be a costly mistake, but would the Sheriff really kill his own daughter?

Marcus realized that—as with the Brubakers—her association to him meant she had to die.
More blood on my hands.

He knew what had to be done.

He had vowed to never kill again, but he had no other choice.
Am I just rationalizing?
He wondered if this was the way the Sheriff had begun his descent. It was a slippery slope.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Then, he thought of Ackerman and the killer’s ramblings of destiny and purpose. Maybe God sometimes called the righteous to do the unspeakable? Maybe he was meant to kill in order to save?

He had no way of knowing for sure. The only certainty was that if he didn’t act, more innocent people would die.

The deputy behind him repositioned the gun. He felt the cold kiss of the silenced barrel on his neck like the icy breath of the grim reaper.

It’s time.

Placing the barrel against his skin was a mistake. His captor had just informed him of the exact position of the weapon.

Under most circumstances, that fact wouldn’t have been a concern when the captive had his hands cuffed behind his back. In this situation, however, the captive had released himself by using the tongue of a belt buckle as a shim to slide between the pawl and ratchet of his cuffs. He had then re-cuffed his right hand on the loosest notch, so that he could slide it free at will.

The Sheriff looked down for a moment longer, as if contemplating his next words and actions carefully. Then, he said, “You know what your problem is, Marcus…you always hesitate. You know what must be done. You know in your heart which is the right path, but you always hesitate to walk down it.”

Looking deep into the Sheriff’s eyes, Marcus said, “I won’t let it happen again.”

He whirled on the deputy. In one fluid motion, he slammed an elbow into the man’s temple and ripped his gun away. As the deputy fell, he took aim.

This time, he didn’t hesitate.

He fired six silenced shots into the Sheriff’s chest. Flowers of red blossomed outward.

The Sheriff’s eyes went wide with shock, but then it seemed as if the eyes softened and the emotion changed. The Sheriff’s eyes seemed to say,
I’m proud of you.

The vigilante then stumbled backward and fell into the open grave.

Marcus shifted his aim to the deputy, but the blow had rendered the man unconscious.

The sound of Maggie screaming was like a dagger of ice slicing deep into his core. He thought of the last thing she had said to him in the trunk. “If it comes down to it…I mean…with my father. He’s chosen his path. I guess what I’m trying to say is…do whatever you have to do.”

But he knew those were just words. The Sheriff was still her father, no matter what the man had done. She might understand. She might forgive him. But he knew deep down that whenever she looked at him from that day forward, she would see the man who had murdered her father.

Eventually, her wailing died down. With her cuffed hands pressed to her face, she sobbed quietly.

He sifted through the pouches on the unconscious deputy’s belt and found a pair of handcuff keys. He hoped that the cuffs Andrew had used were taken from the Sheriff’s office and that the deputy’s keys would work in them as well. If not, he’d have to pick the cuff on his left hand and the cuffs on Maggie’s wrists. That would require him to get close to her, and he wanted to give her some space.

With a twist of the key, he freed his left hand and placed his cuffs on the sleeping deputy. He threw the key into the dirt in front of Maggie. She didn’t reach for it. She didn’t acknowledge him.

He stared out across the desolate plain, and tears formed in his eyes. He had killed again. The questions and doubts flooded over him.
Was there another way? Is this really who I am…a killer?
Then, he thought of the Brubakers.
If I had killed the Sheriff then, would the Brubaker family still be alive?

He hated himself—for what he had done, and what he had failed to do.

He looked down at the gun in his hand.
Maybe I should finish it. Truly finish it. Maybe I should just…Finish it…Finish what you begin…Ackerman.

His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the pistol in a crushing grip. He closed his eyes.
What does Ackerman have left unfinished?

His mind sifted through all the tiny bits of information he knew about the killer. He wished that he had been able to study an actual case file, instead of just hearing second-hand information.

Then, he did something that he hated to do. He put himself inside Ackerman’s mind. He became the killer.

He had always been able to think like a killer. It was another dark gift that made him question his own sanity.
What do I consider unfinished?

He thought back to the first time he had seen Ackerman’s face, and the realization washed over him like a tsunami claiming the shores of his mind.

He opened his eyes and looked back toward Maggie. He knew that she couldn’t follow where he had to go. He considered telling her that he was going after Ackerman but decided against it. He turned and ran back up the path to Alexai’s car.

Behind him, he heard Maggie screaming for him to stop, to wait. “You don’t understand,” she screamed.

But he understood all that he needed to. He now knew where Ackerman had gone. He had let the killer escape. He had caused so much death. And now he would set things right.

Ackerman watched the couple as they slept.
So peaceful. So serene.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from the woman’s face. She stirred and made a quiet mewling sound, but she didn’t wake. He felt like God as he watched them. He felt all-powerful.
I giveth, and I taketh away.

He flipped on the bedroom lights and said, “Wake up.”

The man sprung into action and dove for the gun on the nightstand. The cop’s eyes filled with terror when he realized the weapon was missing.

Ackerman aimed the sawed-off shotgun at the man. “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re a crazy son of a—”

“You know, Major Steinhoff, I considered playing a little game with the two of you, but I’m on a mission. I have more important things to do. So let’s cut to the chase. If you know who I am, then you can guess why I’m here. Tell me where she is.”

Major Steinhoff’s eyes widened with understanding. “You can go to Hell, you sick freak.”

He sighed with disgust. “Probably will, but I think you should worry about your own soul at the moment.” He shifted the shotgun’s aim to Steinhoff’s wife. “I won’t blink an eye, and you know it.”

“And what? I’m supposed to believe that you’ll let us live if I tell you?”

“Listen, I’m a different person now. I really don’t want to kill you. That doesn’t further my goals. Believe that or don’t believe it, but you had better believe that you’ll die screaming if you don’t tell me.”

Steinhoff’s eyes hardened. “Fine. She’s under guard at Penrose Hospital.”

He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? What room?”

“1408.”

“Wonderful. Let’s go.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

“Don’t worry. It’s just a little ride in the trunk. If you’re telling the truth, then I’ll have more important things to worry about than the two of you. But if you’re lying to me, then I’ll remove a piece of your wife’s anatomy, and we’ll start all over again.” He let his words hang in the air a moment and then said, “Are you ready to go?”

Steinhoff hesitated and looked over at his wife. “Wait. She’s in the new building at Memorial Hospital on the north side of town. It’s still under construction, but we convinced them to open up a room for her on one of the partly finished floors. She’s on the fifth floor. I don’t know what room. Some of my best men are guarding her. They’ll take you down. You won’t even get close.”

“I appreciate your honesty and your concern, but I’ll take my chances. Let’s go for a little ride.”

Marcus pushed the sedan beyond its capabilities. He hadn’t encountered any police along the road, and he prayed that his luck would hold. He made a conscious effort to slow his speed, but he knew that within a few moments his velocity would increase again as urgency pressed upon him. He had followed a similar pattern for the past several hours. Colorado Springs wasn’t far now. He hoped that he had gained ground on Ackerman, since the killer had most likely obeyed the posted speed limit.

Earlier, he had watched baby blue melt into shades of yellow and purple as the bringer of life conceded to the darkness. He had wondered if it would be his last sunset. He wondered if he would ever see Maggie again. He supposed not. After this was over, he would have to run. Not only had he just murdered an officer of the law, but he also knew too much. Powerful men would see to it that such knowledge died with him.

He supposed that for most men such realizations would have devastating implications, but it didn’t matter much to him. He left no one behind. Maggie had been his last hope for a normal life. His dream of a future had melted into the ether and faded back into the place where all dreams were born. He hoped that another would live that life. He hoped that Maggie would find happiness, but he knew that he could never give it to her. He couldn’t undo what he had done. He couldn’t forgive himself, and she would never forget.

On the long drive, he had thought a great deal about destiny. He supposed Ackerman was right. They had been traveling on a collision course, and sooner or later, the tracks would converge.

In reality, he doubted that running from the Sheriff’s superiors would be a concern. He doubted that he would live to see another day, but he would find a way to stop Ackerman.

It wasn’t vengeance, and now he realized that it wasn’t justice either. He merely wished to ensure that no other innocent person endured pain at the hands of Francis Ackerman. In his mind, reason had overshadowed emotion. As long as Ackerman lived, people would suffer. That was a fact that he couldn’t deny.

For the first time in his life, he would embrace the monster within.

One question remained a thorn in his mind. Would he be the hero, as Ackerman claimed, or would he be too late?

Colorado State Trooper Travis Depaolo’s head lolled to one side, and his eyelids slid shut. The paperback novel fell from his hand. He felt a hard blow to his leg and came awake, his hand instinctively reaching for the 9mm.

“Keep it frosty there, sunshine,” his superior, Nelson Girard, said.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take. This guy ain’t comin’ back here.”

“You know what I would do if I were him, Travis? I would wait around until the cops started thinking like that. As long as we’re told to be here, we’re gonna do our jobs. And we’re gonna operate under the assumption that this guy’s right around the corner. Don’t you forget who we’re watching over.”

“Yes, sir. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothing to be sorry about, kid. Just keep your eyes open, okay?”