Psychological Damage (Gray Spear Society) Page 17

  He was stating obvious facts. He couldn't understand why she still hesitated, but it didn't surprise him. All adults were stubborn.

  Finally, she took a step down the stairs. Her hands were shaking and venom dripped from her fingernails. Step by step, she slowly went to the basement. Yvonne followed and Wesley came down last. He remained on the lowest step in case he had to escape.

  The basement had a dirt floor carpeted with dust, spider webs, and insect husks. Nobody had set foot down here in years. A small, high window allowed a little sunlight to filter into the room. Rusted tools lay on wooden shelves. An old, iron furnace that probably burned coal or wood stood in the corner.

  "We're here," Wesley said. "Now tell us, what did your uncle do to you?"

  Their eyes met. He wasn't sure how this trick worked but it almost always did. His gaze pulled the truth out of people, no matter how hard they tried to hold it back. For a moment they visited his world, where lies were forbidden and complete sanity reigned supreme. It was a place without dark shadows. For some, the journey there was very hard.

  Aaron came over and put his arms around her. Wesley was too young to understand the kind of love a man felt for a woman, but he could still tell this love was real. Aaron and Marina had a bond so strong they seemed like two halves of one person. She was the heart and he was the soul. He could give her the strength she needed now.

  She started speaking in a flat, quiet voice. "After my parents were killed, my uncle took me home and raped me. Many times. I was his sex toy. When he wasn't fucking me, he kept me down here. I was tied up most of the time. I ate my meals out of a dog bowl..."

  She faltered. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she leaned against Aaron. He whispered in her ear.

  Wesley smiled from the joy of hearing the truth at last. It sounded like music to him. "Keep going. You're almost done."

  She looked at the iron furnace. "When I complained too much, he put me in there." Her voice sounded sleepy.

  He winced. The furnace wasn't big. A fifteen year old girl would barely fit inside.

  "He kept me for months," she said. "One night I untied myself and escaped. The police found me wandering on the street. When they came to arrest my uncle, he was already gone. He escaped. I never saw him again."

  She fainted. Aaron caught her and lifted her in his muscular arms.

  Wesley nodded. "We can go now. She won."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marina stared straight ahead without speaking. A full night had passed since they had left the basement of her old home, and she hadn't made a sound in all that time.

  They were in a suite in one of the finer hotels in St. Louis. Aaron had washed her off in the bathtub, had dressed her in a nightgown, and had put her in bed. She had responded like a mannequin. He had fallen asleep while waiting for her to speak.

  In the morning, he had awakened to find her in the same position. He held her hand, desperately hoping the physical contact would bring her back to him. The only sound was her soft breathing.

  He tried not to think about her story. It was too painful to imagine her trapped in that endless nightmare as a girl. Still, it answered a lot of questions. No wonder she was angry all the time.

  Wesley walked into the room, drinking a big glass of milk. The boy wore fuzzy green pajamas with red stripes. Except for the freaky eyes, he looked normal enough. It was hard to believe he had as much power as he did. He moved through the world like a nuclear icebreaker. He permanently changed the lives of everybody he met. And he's only eight years old, Aaron thought. What will he be like when he grows up?

  "She still hasn't talked," Aaron said. "Can you do anything for her?"

  Wesley shrugged. "I don't know what to do."

  "She wasn't ready to tell the whole truth. You forced it out of her."

  "Now she can finally heal."

  "I don't call this healing."

  Aaron waved his hand in front of Marina's eyes. She blinked but didn't look at him.

  "She just needs more time," Wesley said.

  Aaron didn't want to give her time. Seeing her like this was too scary. He didn't know what he would do if she never woke up.

  "Why do you do this? Do you enjoy dragging people through psychological hell? Does the pain amuse you?"

  Wesley sat on the edge of the bed. "It's not fun for me."

  "Why haven't you used your tricks on me? I have shit to confess too."

  "Your mind isn't full of lies."

  Aaron furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure whether to take that comment as a complement. How could a little kid make such a sweeping statement? Aaron couldn't even make that claim about himself with any confidence.

  "I hate myself...," Marina muttered.

  "What?" He leaned close to her.

  Her eyes were closed. "All those people I stabbed, shot, and tortured... So many dead... It was his face I saw every time. I wanted to murder him."

  He put his arms around her. "Calm down."

  "I was angry at Dmitry, but all those other people suffered instead. His crime was bad. My response was a hundred times worse."

  "You were doing your job."

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a confused expression. "My job is being an insane serial killer?"

  "You're a Spear."

  "That's not a job! It's an affliction." She covered her face and sobbed.

  He couldn't stand her like this. The woman he loved was fierce and strong, not a blubbering wretch.

  Wesley walked out of the room. Aaron wanted to shout at the boy, but there was nothing to say.

  "I'm going to quit," Marina said through her tears. "I want a husband and children. I want a home in the burbs with a white picket fence. I want a pet dog. I want all the things a good woman is supposed to have."

  Aaron spoke softly into Marina's ear. "Don't say that."

  "Wesley's parents did it for eight years. They were a real family! We just have to fake our own deaths. We can even keep Wesley with us. He'll be the perfect son we always wanted. You get along so well with him, it's like you're already his father."

  He gripped her shoulders and forced her to face him. "Wesley's parents got killed! If you keep talking like this, the same will happen to you. Ethel won't think you're being funny."

  "Come on," she pleaded. "Let's start a new life together. A life without all the killing. We can do it."

  "No! Let's go find your uncle and make him pay. Maybe you'll be able to think clearly afterwards, and we still need to find out who murdered your parents. I have a feeling your uncle knows the answer to that question."

  "What's the point?" Her head slumped.

  "Don't give up on me."

  "Go away." Marina pushed Aaron and put her face on the pillow. "I don't want you to look at me."

  Gritting his teeth, he left the bedroom.

  He found Wesley sitting with Yvonne on the couch. They were watching a cartoon about cats controlling giant robots.

  Aaron turned off the television and stood in front of them. "Marina is total mess."

  "She was a mess before," Wesley said.

  "But now she's depressed and suicidal. I blame you."

  "Me?" Wesley raised his eyebrows. "I didn't touch her."

  "You looked at her, which is worse."

  Yvonne stood up. "Leave the boy alone."

  Aaron weighed a hundred pounds more than her, most of it muscle, but she stood up to him with a straight back and a confident stare. The experience was disturbing. He wasn't accustomed to the new Yvonne.

  "We have to do something about Marina," he said angrily.

  "She just needs time to heal," Wesley said.

  "What if she kills herself?"

  "Stay with her then," Yvonne said. "Listen, I've known Marina a long time, much longer than you. She's strong enough to roll through this. She's the ultimate survivor. Just be there when she needs you."

  He growled at her. Then he went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed.

  Marina
peeked at him with one eye. "I told you to go away!"

  "No." He leaned against the headboard.

  "I'm serious."

  "So am I."

  There was a long silence. The heating system turned on and blew warm air on his face.

  "I don't understand," she said. "After all the terrible things I've done, you should hate me."

  "I love you," he said flatly.

  She shook her head.

  "And the good far outweighs the bad," he added. "How many times have you protected humanity from God's enemies? You stopped a war, a terrorist attack, and a mass poisoning. What else?"

  "There was a plague and a hydrogen bomb," she muttered.

  He stroked her red hair. "For every life you took, you saved at least a thousand. You're a real hero. I'd be a fool not to love you."

  She was silent. He leaned over and gave her a hug. Her muscles were stiff.

  "We'll never find Dmitry," she said. "It's been seventeen years. He's probably dead by now."

  "We certainly won't find him with that attitude. Let's at least try."

  "I just want to stay in bed."

  "For how long? A week? A month? You can be a slug today. That's fair. Tomorrow, it's back to work for you."

  She glared at him. "No. I'm not do anything."

  "I'm running this mission. You have to follow my orders."

  "Or what? You'll punish me?"

  "Tomorrow morning," he said firmly, "you will visit the St. Louis Police Department to have another conversation with that sergeant. There must be a file on your uncle. Get it."

  She shook her head. "I'm not going. I'm done with this shit. And I don't care about your orders."

  "I won't let you commit suicide." He squeezed her shoulder. "If I can't motivate you, I'll find somebody who can. Maybe Wesley and you can have another conversation. Would you like that?"

  She frowned.

  "Or Yvonne," he said. "I could tell her to beat the crap out of you. She'll do it, too."

  "You wouldn't."

  He stared into her eyes. "I love you. I will do anything to save you."

  She returned the stare.

  Finally, she said, "Damn it. I'm trying to be depressed, and you keep drooling over me. It's not fair! You're like a brainless puppy dog. Why can't you just be afraid of me like everybody else?"

  "For the same reason you're not afraid of me."

  "If you use the 'L' word again, I'll slap your stupid face."

  He presented his cheek to her. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

  She raised her hand. Then she snarled and said, "Damn it. Fine! I'll talk to the sergeant, but that doesn't mean I'm back in the game. I'm a sworn pacifist now. I'll never hurt anybody again."

  "Sure."

  She narrowed her eyes. "You'll see. I'm done using violence as the solution to all my problems."

  * * *

  Smythe frowned at the red, brick building. Except for a two story section in the middle, it had just one floor, but that floor was very expansive. It had probably been a warehouse originally. Three sets of train tracks passed the building just to the north, close enough for him to feel the rumble when a train went by.

  He, Ethel, Atalanta, and the legate were looking for a temporary home for the team. Currently, they were investigating properties on the western edge of Chicago. It was the kind of neighborhood cab companies absolutely refused to service. Nearly all the residents were African-American and most were poor. Drugs and guns could be purchased openly on certain streets.

  "Tell me about this place," Ethel said.

  The real estate agent was a black woman about the same age as Ethel. She wore a blue business suit and an adorable, little white hat.

  "Sixty year old construction," the agent said. "It's been on the market for two years. The last tenant used it to store excess inventory for car dealerships. Do you want to go in?"

  Everybody went into the building. The interior was a vast, echoing space with a concrete floor. Steel posts held up the roof at regular intervals. The many small windows were dirty and covered with security screens. Even though it was the middle of the day, the interior was grimly dark.

  "There is an outside parking lot," the agent said, "but this isn't the best neighborhood. I would recommend parking your cars inside. There are barn doors that open wide enough to drive through. The ceiling is thirteen feet high. The floor is solid concrete and can support heavy machinery."

  The previous occupants had left behind a broken chain hoist and other odd pieces of machinery. A wooden stairway led up to an office that overlooked the entire floor.

  "Can you give us a minute?" Ethel said.

  The agent nodded and walked off. The team huddled together.

  "What do you think?" Ethel said.

  "It's as good as anything we've seen so far," Smythe said. "Certainly roomy enough."

  "I like the location," the legate said. "There are plenty of escape routes. Your neighbors will never report you to the police. The local gangs can be used for muscle in a pinch."

  "We'll upgrade the defenses, of course," Ethel said. "We'll seal all the windows and line the walls with steel plate. I want enough armor to stop a breach entry. I'm sure we can do something useful with the train tracks."

  "But this is just a temporary situation," Smythe said.

  "It could take years to construct a permanent headquarters, and we need to be operational in the meantime." She called out to the agent, "How much is this place?"

  The agent hurried back to them. "The list price is four million, but that's highly negotiable."

  "Tell the seller I'll pay full price in cash if we can occupy immediately."

  The agent perked up. "But there is usually a thirty day closing. Don't you want an inspection?"

  "We'll waive it," Ethel said. "We'll waive everything. Do whatever it takes to close tomorrow. I'll double your commission if you can make that happen."

  "Yes, ma'am." The agent swallowed. "There won't be a problem."

  "Good. Go on. I'm sure you have many tedious forms to fill out. We'll see you back at your office."

  The agent quickly left.

  Ethel turned to Smythe and said, "You're in charge of constructing our temporary headquarters. I want the whole team here tomorrow. They should be ready for physical labor. Call them now."

  He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

  Ethel, Atalanta, and the legate walked away to continue their inspection of the property. Smythe made his phone calls.

  Jack, Nancy, and Kamal answered immediately, and Smythe delivered the message. However, when he called Edward's phone, he got an automated response indicating it was off the network. Strange, Smythe thought. He tried again and got the same result. He was using the speed dial, so the number had to be right.

  Smythe frowned. Edward knew to keep his phone turned on and close at hand. In standby mode the battery would last for weeks. The device was even waterproof so he could take it into the shower. Members of the Gray Spear Society were never off duty.

  Smythe ran to find Ethel.

  He found her in a small, triangular parking lot behind the building. Weeds had broken through the asphalt in many places. She and the legate were speaking to each other in low voices. Atalanta stood guard a short distance away.

  "Edward's phone is off," Smythe said in a firm tone.

  "Not possible," Ethel said. "He never turns it off."

  "I can't get through to him."

  She wrote a note on a piece of paper. "This is his home address. Check it out immediately."

  "Can I take the car?"

  "Yes. We'll find other transportation. Hurry!"

  He left.

  * * *

  Smythe approached Edward's apartment at the end of the hallway. The door was open and yellow police tape crossed the opening. His throat tightened.

  Walking on the balls of his feet, Smythe ducked under the tape and went inside. The furniture was knocked over. Every cabinet in the small kitchen was open and broken dis
hes were scattered across the floor. The intruders had even cut holes in the walls. Were they looking for secret compartments? Smythe wondered.

  The door of the refrigerator was open. He grabbed a carton of milk and sniffed it. His nose wrinkled in disgust. Judging from the condition of the milk, he surmised at least a day had passed since Edward's abduction.

  Smythe called Ethel.

  "Yes?" she said.

  "Edward is gone. His apartment was torn apart."

  She paused. "That's very distressing news."

  "I'm guessing it was the Brotherhood," he said, "but I have no idea how they found him. We must've screwed up."

  "Meet us at the hotel, but look for an ambush when you leave. It's likely the Brotherhood left spies to watch the apartment. That's what I would do."

  "Yes, ma'am. If they tail me, I'll take a prisoner."

  "Be careful," she said urgently. "The team is already at reduced strength. We can't afford to lose you."

  "I'll do my best. Bye." Smythe closed his phone.

  He walked over to the window and peeked through a crack in the curtain. He didn't see any sign of a spy but that didn't mean much. There were plenty of good places outside to hide. It was also possible the Brotherhood had planted a surveillance camera in Edward's apartment.

  Before going out, Smythe made sure all his weapons were ready to fire. He was carrying a CZ P-07 Duty, a handgun famous for its accuracy and reliability. In case the situation got rough, he was also packing a HK MP-5K submachine gun under his shirt. A tailored jacket covered the bulge. Finally, he had a combat knife strapped to his wrist with a quick release strap.

  He wished he had some body armor. Unfortunately, all the armor had been left behind in headquarters. It would take a few days to acquire new equipment suitable for a Spears operation.

  Smythe exited the apartment cautiously. He kept his hand under his jacket on the grip of his gun. As he walked down the hallways of the building, he watched the doors on both sides and listened closely.

  He took the stairs instead of the elevator. Once he was outside, he felt safer. Steady traffic rumbled over cracked pavement in both directions on the city street. The Brotherhood wouldn't attack him in full view of the public.