Arise (Book Three in The Arson Saga) (15 page)

He bit down hard after viewing the first image. It was a crime scene. A carpet full of blood, and three bodies lying face down. The next image was of an excerpt from a Westchester newspaper that read,
Columbia professor murdered in Westchester, NY. Several people brought in for questioning, however, no solid leads. Local police say case could still wrap soon.

Kyro blinked slowly, processing. No solid leads, yet case likely to wrap soon? That didn’t add up. He’d seen someone shot before; a kid from his crew got involved with the wrong crowd one night after a few too many drinks. What started as a brawl ended in his buddy leaving in a body bag. Somehow, the memory didn’t compare to what was right in front of him.

Was Redd a killer? A real, cold-blooded hitman? Hit
chick
? Since last night, he’d had his suspicions that she couldn’t be trusted, but this… This all just seemed too scripted.

Ricky’s final text interrupted his thoughts.
checked a ton intel. her ssn’s linked to some chick in Arizona.

Kyro typed,
how we know this info legit?

Reply:
it is. shes got like 8 different aliases man. did some diggin & got kicked off the server, and lost connection w/ my wi-fi. somebody bigs watchin. this is where yo boy checks out. be careful, k. trust nobody.

Kyro instantly felt invaded, claustrophobic. “Cass, you gotta check this out.”

As he leaned forward to hand Joel the cell phone, two sedans on the adjacent side of the highway collided. “What the—” The impact flung one of the drivers onto the pavement like a marionette, and her black Civic flipped wildly across the divider, hitting the tail end of Redd’s car. Microseconds after the import trespassing on their side of the highway, a propane truck lost traction ahead. The sound of screeching tires made the hairs on the back of Kyro’s neck stand. But the truck couldn’t stop. Kyro was freaking out because Redd lost control of the wheel. They spun like a carousel twice around, and his world flashed white. The propane truck smashed into a minivan and a UPS vehicle that might as well have been a military tank. The crash tore open the rear hatch, tossing boxes into slush and dirt. One of the minivan’s doors caved like weak tin; Kyro imagined a mother shrieking in panic over the safety of her child. As soon as Redd regained control, an eighteen-wheeler sped headfirst into them, demolishing the front hood and pinning Joel’s legs.

The first thing Kyro heard above the shouts of horror was Aimee’s name. Joel tried to reach back and hold his wife’s hand but couldn’t move.

“Cass, she’s…no good! Cass!” Joel bled from his temple. Kyro glanced over at Aimee then at Redd’s distraught face in the breaths between the deafening sounds of chaos. Glass fragments already dug into his chest as their car pushed into the propane truck.

The last thing Kyro saw before blacking out was the copper-colored liquid dripping from the truck’s tailpipe.

Chapter Nineteen

K
rane looked down at
the blood dripping eerily from a hole in the old woman’s temple then further down to the rose that bloomed at her center. It didn’t take more than a few blinks for the wool sweater to accept the stains as its own.

He tried to stand, but his knees caved, and he immediately fell over. The tension in his muscles wouldn’t quit. He tore open his shirt to examine the damage inflicted by the hammer. A splash of purple inked the skin surrounding the bump, but no blood gushed from that injury; the blood instead came from his side, where the rogue shotgun fragments were still performing tragedies.

“Where are you, Adam?” The doctor crawled on hands and knees. He hated how this moment had forced him into the role of vermin. He paused, trying to decipher whether his new eye would offer any knowledge concerning the near future, as it had done before. But he was left without regard.

He smelled around the room, accidentally heeling the corpse’s motionless skull while he slithered. Maybe he was silly to think he’d acquired some sort of canine attribute that would enable him to pick up the scent of prey, but as a doctor, he had to try every option before ruling it out.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked in a wet slur. “I…miss…you. I…need…you b-b-back.” He peered around a corner, only to find a well-kept bedroom with some family photographs on the nightstand. The sight nauseated him.

Krane slid through the doorway, cursing his leg because of the soreness. Cursing the frail shell he knew he was constructed from. His eyes scanned the next room: an office. But no computer. No laser jet printer. No mechanical devices of any kind. Just stacks of paper neatly arranged in the corner on some tired maple desk. It was almost commendable how much this old hag clung to a forgone era, an outdated history. Still, the doctor chuckled apathetically, glad to have sent her obsolete soul somewhere else.

“Come to me, and I will f-f-forgive you,” he pleaded with the walls. His bones and muscles ached. Krane drew nearer to the closest wall and pushed his heels against the hardwood floor. He yelped; pressed his feet sturdily against the floor again, arching his back to encourage the necessary tug of war. But he stopped halfway, sweat dripping off his face. “Lamont!” he called out. “Jeb! Get in here and…help me!”

No reply.

“Jeb, you stupid dog! Help…me!” He was sure his frenetic cries had resulted in a popped blood vessel.

“I’ll b-br-b-bring the Source back, damn you!” he screamed at the old woman, and her corpse moved strangely then. It was probably just caused by dying nerves. Nevertheless, the sudden movement startled him, and he shot her again as he finally took his stand.

Beside his head on the wall hung a picture of the woman he’d killed, engulfed in some picturesque autumn setting, cozy on a park bench beside a man he assumed to be the one to whom she had cried out. His hands still shook from the task. Never before had he taken a life, but he had to admit that doing so had invigorated him.

Krane stared down at the floor and could follow where he’d started by looking for the trail of blood. He swore he could still feel the bullets in his side searching for unspoiled organs to chew. But ignoring it was the only option. All that mattered was the ambition in his lungs every time his lungs hissed. He clung to that, however flimsy a notion it seemed, and took his first step. The agony was immeasurable, but he was determined to walk on his own. A combination of sweat and tears accentuated ghastly-looking cheekbones. Every vein bulged. His heart shook like cinderblocks being shoved around by a careless crew of laborers. He grabbed the picture and smashed it.

Krane skulked about the lower half of the home and began to destroy things in an arbitrary and indiscriminate manner. He removed and carelessly tossed cabinet items. The pasta and sauce from the stove wound up splattered against the living room sofa. He flung open the refrigerator door, hunted for something that enticed him, and, after gnawing at an entire package of cold cuts, washed the meat down with a quart of milk.

“Adam!” he desperately cried. “Adam!”

After less than a minute of digestion, a belch crept up his throat; he could taste the meat mixing with the milk and the blood from Ruth’s ear. A vomit-like cocktail. She had put up a fight, and a sincere one at that, but in the end, her struggle proved futile. He couldn’t understand why a stranger would risk her own place in this world for the sake of two runaways.

Before his thoughts reached a conclusion, Krane glimpsed a cascade of hair moving effortlessly around one of the hallway corners. He’d started to wonder if his screaming was for nothing. Could someone still be in here with him after all, or had he imagined it? He smacked himself hard on the cheek. “Pull yourself together.”

Slowly, he approached the spot where he’d witnessed the movement and took a second to think. “Adam does not possess s-s-such beautiful hair. You are the Phoenix girl? Emery. You’re b-b-brave to challenge me. Where is your protector, hmm? Is he still…alive?”

Krane lunged into the laundry room, hoping to catch her, but saw no one. Perhaps his imagination
had
misled him. He blinked several times, attempting to collect his composure. But the distraction had pulled him away from the tremors of a growling engine and skidding tires. A four-by-four headed straight toward him, and there wasn’t time to react. The archaic vehicle rammed hood first into the rear side of the cabin, bending the frame upon impact and thrusting Krane back into one of the wooden beams holding up the structure. Cuts and bruises lined his forehead and hands. In spite of sporadic breaths, he questioned whether he was still alive.

Seeing was almost impossible because a fog of smoke clouded the air inside the room. The engine stuttered a beat before failing completely. What a hopeless creation. Krane tried to swallow, but the smell of antifreeze and exhaust fumes choked up his lungs. He twitched his nose, seeking to remove the dust from his nostrils but only irritated the fractured cartilage. Seconds later, someone emerged from the driver’s side. The shape of the person was hard to make out, though his gut told him who it was.

“Adam. Is it really you?” he asked the ghost.

In this moment of revelation, a rusty hammer suddenly invaded his peripheral vision and swiped his jaw. One of his molars shot out, carrying with it a slew of angry curses. The Phoenix had capitalized on his short-lived confusion. She tried striking a second time, but he maneuvered out of range and sank forward, grabbing her ankle and forcing the hysterical child onto her back. Her spine made a loud thud, and he leapt onto her before she could retrieve the hammer from the floor. He examined the small, newly made hole in his mouth with his tongue while he squeezed her ribcage together with both knees. Though the tactic ensured deeper discomfort, the counterattack solidified his dominance.

“I called…f-f-for you. And you did not answer. My sheep…should know my v-v-voice.”

“We’re not your sheep!” she said, squirming. “Adam!”

“Yes, Adam.” He twisted his torso ninety degrees, scowling at the sight of the Source. “Alive.”

“End him, Adam!” she spat.

Adam hesitated, coughing until the smoke dissipated.

“Why wait? After enduring that little s-st-st-stunt with the truck, I am perplexed. Why do you wait? Don’t you want to…k-k-kill-kill me?”

She scratched at his face, his neck, and her fingernails drew blood. Krane howled an inhuman sound, and he took pleasure in her discovery, for her eyes illuminated with dread. “What is that?” she asked.

“I am ch-changing. Do you like it?”

She looked as if she would run, fly away if she could.

“Let her go, Krane.”

“No,” he snarled at Adam. He readied the gun for use and traced her mouth with the still-warm barrel. Then he struck and bruised her jaw. “Hurts…doesn’t it? Why did you make me d-d-do-do that?”

“Release her!” Adam shouted.

“You would’ve com-c-c-compelled me to do so by now. But you’re hesitating for a reason.” The doctor rested and, in a matter of seconds, arrived at a conclusion. “You’ve lost them again, haven’t you? When your heart stopped beating, you lost them.”

“I could kill you in a blink,” Adam said, unable to mask his uncertainty. “I’m choosing to let you live, Emanuel.”

“This morning, perhaps that was the case, but now…” Krane slid the weapon slowly down Emery’s center and pressed the gun into her thigh like he was ready to unleash a bullet or two. “I don’t th-think-th-think you’re telling the truth.”

“Let me go, perv.”

Krane slowly licked her neck and eyed her protector.

“Enough!” Adam yelled.

“Kill me, Adam. Do it. D-D-Do it.”

They stared into each other.

“I’ve seen what you are capable of. You h-h-healed-healed this precious flesh of hers. Taking
my
life would be el-e-el-elemen-mentary.” Krane touched her eyes and nose the way a husband might touch his bride before consummating a union. “Is it too much to end me!”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Emanuel, as long as you don’t touch her again.”

Krane climbed off. He aimed the gun at Adam now, unsure whether the chamber was empty, but not at all flinching. “Put your…hands on t-t-top of your head.”

Adam acquiesced. “Em, are you okay?”

“No. I’m the farthest freakin’ thing from okay.”

Krane retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his breast pocket, rose, and walked over to the Source, binding him tightly. Adam flinched, the metal pinching his skin. There was a container fastened to his belt, and within it was a needle injector. Attached was a thin cylindrical tube filled with sap-colored fluid. The doctor removed the inhibitor casing with his teeth and swiftly pricked Adam’s neck.

The Source staggered forward, succumbing to the fluid’s strength.

“Shh… Shhh… No need to panic. It’s only a little recluse venom. I want your powers to return j-j-ju-just-ust as much as you do, no doubt. B-B-But in the meantime, certain precautions must be made.”

Krane forced Adam out of the cabin and guided him to the backseat of Hoven’s Mercedes. He noticed how numb Adam was to the sight of Ruth’s corpse, and how he’d even spat upon Lamont as they passed. The lifeless shell resembled something like an infant curled up in the cold, too frightened of the world to stretch out its cautious limbs. The agent’s dead eyes seemed to be reaching out for a second chance. Inserting his scarlet palm into the stiff’s jacket, Krane searched for the keys to the car. Then he glanced at the watch that was far too big for his puny wrist. It was just past one.

A grunt. Once he placed the Source inside the sedan, he made sure to fasten the safety belt. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Krane, leave her alone!” Adam fumed. “We had a deal!”

He slammed the door shut, scanned the area for the stick he’d used earlier to help him walk, and eventually found it. The perspiration running down his neck masked the reality that he was, in fact, freezing. His teeth chattered, and on he walked. Every step was a mile.

But Krane wasted no time finding a book of matches, some wine, and rubbing alcohol. After dousing the furniture, floors, and walls with the liquids, he struck several matches, and a furious flame was born. It wouldn’t be long before the home became a diseased memory.

With no sentiment over that which would burn, he dragged his tongue over the bottom of his lips and swallowed, satisfied with his accomplishment and the unwavering dedication to his calling. He felt absorbed in the idea of power. He now understood fully why Saul Hoven craved it.

The doctor—the man who now resembled something else entirely—staggered toward the Phoenix. She would not rise from these ashes. She would not escape him a second time. He limped ever closer, spears of discomfort sprinting up his calf muscles and shins. And he took note of how she scrambled like he was some kind of executioner. “Do you not know that I offer the only s-sal-salvation in this new world?”

“You know, my dad used to talk a lot about salvation,” she said in a smug voice, trying to run. “He never mentioned you.”

Krane picked her up with one arm using what he could only describe as pure adrenaline and slammed her down again. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Once he was certain she was unconscious, he injected a small dose of venom into her leg.

“No, I’ll b-bet he didn’t…my love.”