“I told you. When I saw him, it just brought the experience back. It was like a hallucination. I panicked. Now it’s over.”
“O.K.” She squeezed his hand. “We are going to talk more about this, but it can wait. Let’s just get home.”
Together they walked out of the hospital and hurried to catch up with the girls already climbing into Lauren’s Volvo station wagon. Jack remembered with a groan that he had to get a rental car the next day and call the insurance company about getting his car repaired. As he went over the mental list of the next couple of days of errands ahead of him, thoughts of Nate Huckley, car accidents and kidnapped women faded into the background. And that was exactly where he wanted those thoughts to stay.
“I’ll drive,” he said. He appreciated that Lauren didn’t hesitate but tossed him the keys without comment. After making sure the kids were buckled up, he started the car, shifted the automatic transmission into drive and wound his way through the parking lot.
“Lights,” Lauren reminded him.
Jack grinned at her. “Got it under control.” He flipped on the lights. “Let’s go home,” he called out.
The man watched closely as the Tremonts left the hospital. They’d left later than he planned but he wasn’t worried about the delay’s impact on his schedule. Everything was still a go.
It was an interesting turn of events, the involvement of this Jack Tremont character. He hadn’t been on any of his lists until the accident but Tremont had the man’s interest now. It was still too early to tell, but the man felt that finding Tremont might turn out to be stroke of luck. And it was about time he caught a break. After months of reconnaissance, he was getting impatient for action.
The man exited his car. The dome light of course had been disconnected so as not to draw attention to his vehicle. He zipped up his black windbreaker and jogged across the parking lot. On the slim chance the security guard had deviated from his usual schedule and was walking the perimeter, the man had chosen his wardrobe to make sure he fit the part of a casual jogger. Right down to the arm band iPod and worn black sneakers. But there was no guard in sight so the man turned and sprinted across the hospital lawn.
He made it across the wide lawn and leaned up against the hospital’s brick exterior. Well conditioned, his breathing was calm and measured even after the sprint. He worked his way along the side of the building, using the bushes for cover. There were some exterior lights but no cameras that he could see. He was reasonably sure he had not been detected. Reasonably sure was as good as it got in his profession.
He turned the corner of the building and came to the old fire escape on the north side of the building. The metal walkways and ladders were part of the original hospital construction back in the 1920s and the man wondered if the hospital kept them in working order. He knew that instead of paying for the rusting structures to be removed, some old buildings just welded the ladders together once modern fire-suppression systems were installed. He spotted the drop ladder suspended high above the ground but could not tell if it was functional.
Three quick steps and the man launched himself into the air. He planted his right foot on the wall, then pushed off hard, arching his back and fully extending his arms over his head.
The man easily reached the end of the ladder and grabbed it with both hands. Even with his weight, the ladder held in place. Welded shut. That alone did not present a problem as the man easily pulled himself up onto the first platform, but he worried that if the ladder was welded shut then the entrances to the floor might be obstructed as well.
The man checked the window that opened to the second floor. With a little pressure it started to open. He closed it back tight and filed it away as an escape option. The man checked for movement in the parking lot down below. Seeing none, he grabbed the ladder and started toward his objective.
The third floor window was also unlocked. He checked the hallway, then slid the window open and crawled through. It took him three tries before he found the right room. Luckily the first two were empty, although he moved quietly enough that he doubted he would have disturbed anyone. The man didn’t have the abilities of his brother, but when he opened the door to room 320, he felt Nate Huckley in the room.
He strode into the room and leaned over the prone body, peering into the face partially covered by air tubes. Huckley’s pale flesh took on a ghoulish cast in the yellow hospital lights and his usually immaculate hair was greasy and pasted flat to his scalp. The man placed a hand on the blanket over Huckley’s chest, careful not have any skin-on-skin contact.
“Don’t die on me now.”
The man crossed the room and returned to the door. No lock. He dragged the cushioned visitor’s chair from the side of the bed and braced it against the handle. Satisfied he would not be disturbed, at least not without warning, he pulled off his thick black sweater and threw it on the floor. He wore no shirt and the cool air in the room gave him a chill as a thin sheen of sweat evaporated from his skin.
The man reached back and untied the string that held back his hair. Once he worked it loose, a great mound of black hair fell down across his shoulders and upper back, laying on thick muscles that twitched in expectation. He left his faded blue jeans on but removed his shoes and socks. From his back pocket he removed a small black pouch and a length of braided leather rolled into a ball.
The man’s rib cage heaved as he forced air into his lungs. Pressing his forearms against his diaphragm and bending at his midsection, he exhaled the air completely. Slowly straightening, he refilled his lungs to their capacity. Like a free diver preparing for a challenging depth, the man repeated this exercise for several minutes.
Finally, the man felt he was prepared. On the last great inhalation of breath, he held his lungs full and let only a small amount of air escape his lips in a steady stream. His lips began to move and form words. Then a sound rose from deep in his throat, a bass tone that fluctuated in a steady rhythm.
He tugged on the strings of the black pouch and poured the contents out into his right hand. Once the pouch was empty, he closed his right hand into a fist and with the other hand, replaced the pouch into his front pocket.
The chant became louder as the man moved to the corner of the room and kneeled down on the floor. Holding out his fist, he relaxed the bottom two fingers and allowed a tiny flow of black sand trickle onto the floor. Clenching his hand back into a fist, he stopped the flow and moved to the next corner where he repeated the action.
Only once all four corners were complete did the man move to the bed. He unrolled the leather braid and placed it on Huckley’s torso, one end just below the neckline and the other ending at his waist. The man looked to the first corner and saw a barely perceptible line of rising smoke. The powder was working.
Soon, smoke columns filled each of the four corners of the room and gathered on the ceiling as a gray odorless haze. The man raised his hands over Huckley’s body and started his incantation. He tried to focus on the ritual but he found it hard to block out the nagging voice in his subconscious, the voice that wondered if what he was doing was crazy. Part of him thought so. Part of him hoped so. But deep inside he knew he was fooling himself. The nightmare was real and it was just getting started.
NINETEEN
Fire everywhere. The forest around the Tremont’s house was blazing. Tongues of red and orange shot out toward the sky, spun into desperate pirouettes by the gusting wind. Bright swaths of yellow stuck out among the dark blotches where the fire had already devoured this year’s fuel. The crackle of dry leaves being crushed under four pairs of hiking boots provided the soundtrack to the inferno.