Multiples of Six (4 page)

Chapter 7

The drive from Florida to New Jersey, the Opa-locka area to be precise, can range anywhere from 20 to 24 hours depending on your penchant for highway driving and the weight of your foot. Some people like to avoid the straightforward approach of Interstate 95 for the wistfulness of Route 1 up the coast, but Dr. Robert Paynter wasn’t in a wistful mood. He pushed the 2004 Chrysler 300M’s relatively weak six-cylinder engine to the limit. He had driven through the night before, only taking a couple of one hour naps, in hopes of reaching the Garden State late that evening. He hoped to find them there, still safe, but time was not on his side. 

There had been the possibility of flying. He hadn’t dismissed the thought. It would have been quicker. But, if they were watching closely, and he had to believe they were, it was not a mistake he could afford. All the years of living successfully under a fake name were coming to a close. Larry Reed had lived the quiet life, but now it was time for him to go. So, Dr. Robert Paynter walked into his home, packed his things, and booked a ticket for Larry Reed to Seattle, Washington, round trip, to return on Wednesday of the following week. The flight would cost him a fortune with so late a booking, but it had to be done. That afternoon he wrote a note to his neighbor, left his key in an envelope on her doorstep. He hesitated a moment at her door. His only real regret was leaving behind his cat, Queenie. He’d miss that damn cat. Paynter got in his car and left for the airport. But, instead of driving south into Miami, where the plane would depart in approximately two and a half hours, he drove north to route 75 and eventually out of the state near Jacksonville some five and a half hours later. He knew that the lack of a passenger who had booked a flight that afternoon would cause some alarm, but that was ok. As far as he was concerned, Larry Reed had met a tragic end in a marsh somewhere back in Florida, never to be seen again. And, the resurrected Dr. Robert Paynter had never booked a flight to Seattle in his life.

The roads had been quite clear up the southern half of the east coast. Late at night, it was limited to tractor-trailers and a few desperate individuals on their way from one state to another. In his rush north, he had yet to consider just what he was going to do when he got there. There would be a lot of explaining to do. He had set Kevin loose, not quite knowing what might happen. The thought of bringing together two unknown entities was daunting. He glanced down at the small battered black case on the floor of the passenger side. There were ways of dealing with problems. He just hoped it didn’t come to that, one way or the other.

The news of Fred Taylor’s being alive had sunk in that morning. Paynter hadn’t seen him in over 24 years, but that was how they had planned it. Now, that old sense of over-paranoia was in his chest. Were they simply being flushed from the cover they had so carefully built over the years? Paynter stopped moving after seven years. He made the decision that if they really wanted to find him and kill him, he would at least be relaxing in a comfortable home with a drink in one hand and a good book in the other. But, by the time he had stopped running, he was already an old man. They had scared his youth from him and it was only the approach of old age that had stopped the running. He stretched deeply and glanced at the eyes in the rear-view mirror. The smile lines around them were only slightly deeper than the worry lines across his forehead. Where had the time gone? Was he really sixty-three? Only on the outside, he thought.

He tried to imagine what Fred Taylor looked like now. The diminutive man had lost his hair young, which had aged him even twenty plus years ago. It wasn’t hard to picture him a little grayer, a little stooped, and a little gaunter. The years of running must have worn him down to nothing, thought Paynter. They had been good coworkers, but Taylor had always been a private man. His wife, a rather attractive, if not painfully shy, petite brunette woman, had died rather suddenly before the age of 35. Breast cancer. Though never one to socialize frequently, Paynter noticed his friend sink into a downward spiral of reclusiveness. He delved into his research like it was going to keep him alive. If he had known the consequences, he might have walked away. But, instead, he catalyzed the research with his obsession and desire for perfection. Paynter and the others knew damn well that they would have never succeeded without Taylor’s diligence. Of course, then it got most of them killed.

Chapter 8

They ate, drank and told stories well into the night. James and Kevin had a lot more in common than they would have initially believed. Both had sold sneakers as a part-time job in high school. Both had played the clarinet. Both had sung in the school choir. Nicole was amazed that the two, having lived so close, had not somehow bumped into one another. Kevin called it fate, but James responded that it was just “dumb ass luck.” When the bottles of wine were empty, they decided to retire for the evening. James had already decided to call out sick the next day. They wouldn’t miss him for a day. Not really.

James was not aware of the time of night when Nicole was suddenly on top of him, shaking him abruptly awake, her hand pressed over his mouth. At first, he thought she was being playful. Part of this was due to that fact that the alcohol he had consumed less than three hours earlier had not worn off and he was in the middle of a bizarre dream upon awaking. In fact, for a moment, he was certain that she was just another part of his dream.

“What the hell?” James hissed through her fingers.

Nicole shook her head, her eyes large in the darkness. She leaned close to his ear.

“Shhhh…listen,” she hissed.

Through the fogginess of sleep, what remained of the alcohol, and the sudden rush of adrenaline, James could barely hear a thing above the racing beat of his own heart. For a moment, there was only the pleasant immediacy of having Nicole pressed so close to him. But he could feel and smell her fear. She was shaking, and even in the blurry paleness of the night, he could see that she was a shade paler. He sat up a little, pushing against her weight, which was now acting to keep him in the bed. He frowned at her and shifted her gently to the side as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Straining now to hear anything, he thought he heard the squeak of shoes across the kitchen floor. Nicole must have heard something as well, because she tensed against him, pulling him closer.

“It’s Kevin,” James said, his voice barely audible.

“I checked…he’s still in the next room…sound asleep. I got up to pee and…I thought I heard something.”

“Why didn’t you get me?”

“I was frozen. I didn’t want to move. Shhh.”

They listened again and by straining, James heard the slightest notion of movement from the kitchen. He made to move up in the bed, but Nicole pressed herself tighter to him.

“There was someone rattling at the back door. I thought it was my imagination, but…” she said before James put a finger to his lips.

In the recesses of his mind, between hearing what Nicole had said, in the silence of the house, James was certain that he had heard his name called. He shivered. Then he heard it again. It was clearer this time, and it was coming from the bottom of the stairs. There was someone in his house in the middle of the night on a cold December day, and they were calling him out by name. If there was ever a time to wake up from the dream, he wished it were now. All the little hairs on James body stood at attention. He shuddered again.

“Oh my God,” whispered Nicole.

James stood, not knowing what else to do. He stepped toward the open bedroom door and walked out into the hall to the top of the stairs. Nicole clutched the back of his shirt and crept behind him. He stared down at the figure at the base of the stairs. It was a man, according to the dim light from the kitchen. A small man with little hair left on his head. His glasses reflected thickly back up at him. The man held a gun loosely at waist level in his left hand, the barrel aimed at the steps in front of him.

“Hello, James,” said the man.

James felt Nicole move behind him. He watched as the man’s eyes caught her movement. He seemed unconcerned with her.

“Is the gun necessary?” James asked.

“Troubles arise.”

“So, you know my name, where I live, but obviously nothing about me,” James said.

“I know enough. Besides, you’re forty years my junior. Kids tend to be a little quicker.”

“But, a gun? Were you expecting some resistance?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you are…” James stopped and turned at the tug on his arm. A bleary-eyed Kevin was leaning against the wall. He was shaking his head and whispering. James leaned in closer and watched his lips.
It’s not Paynter.

“I’ve already called the police,” James said, turning back suddenly.

The man had watched James with great interest. He now had a bemused look on his face.

“You shouldn’t lie, James. It isn’t becoming. There’s three cell phones in the kitchen and there is no line to the second floor…I checked,” the man said, giving his gun an absent wave.

“What the hell do you want?” James said, his fists clenched, a feeling of weakness forming in his stomach.

“First, I want the girl to come out where I can see her,” the man said, and his tone had changed from one of indifference to one of muted menace.

James glanced over his shoulder, knowing that Nicole would have heard him. She crept out of the hall shadow and moved in behind James, peering over his shoulder. She suddenly became conscious of the fact that she was only wearing a t-shirt, panties, and some wooly socks. She tugged at the t-shirt, trying to make it cover more than it was ever meant to.

“Where I can see you, Miss,” the man said, using the gun as a pointer, “That’s it.”

“Happy?” James said, passing from elation that the man didn’t know Kevin was there to fear that he was still holding a gun.

“Quite,” said the man, “Now I just need you to get me your birth certificate and we’ll be on our way.”

“Uh…birth certificate? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James said.

“Don’t be a fool, it’s not worth it,” the man said.

“No, I’m…I’m telling you. I’ve never seen my birth certificate before. My mother told me it was lost years ago,” he said. Nicole wrapped her hands around his arm and squeezed tight enough for it to hurt. In the dull light from the hall window, James could see a look of concern build in the man’s face.

“I don’t carry a gun for my health, James. We can do this one of two ways, and I’m sure you’d rather it be the easy way,” said the man, the gun now held more firmly, but still pointing down.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James said, and at this statement, the man no longer held back any emotion.

“How the hell…I told them not to lose that envelope. I explicitly told them. Of all the things…of all the stupid things to do.”

“What difference does it make? It’s just a piece of paper!” James said.

“You’re lying…you’ve got to be. God dammit,” he said, raising the gun now and pointing it at James, “you better be lying, or--” He stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes suddenly shifting to the open hallway to his left.

James heard a
click
sound from somewhere below and then all hell broke loose.

Chapter 9

With a slight change in his route, Dr. Robert Paynter entered New Jersey at around 2
am
, from northeastern Pennsylvania on Route 80. He had made the conscious decision to avoid the direct path of Route 95 with the idea that if he were being followed, he might delay the inevitable by taking an indirect path. He cruised along the interstate in the northwest part of the Garden State. It was here that there still remained some of the land that reflected the nickname. The road was quiet and the sky thick with clouds. The almost-full moon, which was now at its peak, illuminated them from behind. Paynter kicked back the last of his fifth cup of coffee, knowing damn well the caffeine was of little use now. He’d been awake for twenty-two of the last twenty-four hours. He was done. He could only hope that a warm welcome and accompanying bed awaited him.

He looked at the directions again. He had never forgotten the address, though he had never been there in his life. Even after almost twenty-four years, he had not forgotten the one piece of information that had linked him directly to his past. 601 Hamilton Drive, Hackettstown, New Jersey. Home of the Masterson’s. And home to a baby boy name James.
Not such a baby anymore.
And, though Paynter had never seen the boys in his lifetime, he could imagine their build. After all, he’d seen the mold.

They would be about six feet tall, dark ragged hair, stark eyes, strong chin, and a bit of a slouch in the shoulders, as if they were afraid to stand up straight. Though, on further thought, Paynter wasn’t quite sure that a trait such as that would have been passed on.

The Allamuchy/Hackettstown exit was soon upon him, and he drove onto the ramp with a renewed sense of urgency. He was finally within sight and it energized him. He was going to meet James and Kevin.

The drive from the exit was about five miles. He pulled off of the county road onto a side street, clicked on his overhead lamp and glanced quickly at the map. He might have known the address by heart, but he’d never bothered to memorize its exact location in the town. That had seemed a bit too much trouble for a task he had felt he would never have. Just a few more blocks, according to the map.

The streets were empty, as most small town streets are at 3
am
. He slowed as he approached the house. To his surprise, there were two cars in the driveway, outside of the garage, and a third late model muscle car across the street that had started up noisily on his turning onto the end of the street. He was still half a block away when it lurched around the corner of the block ahead. Paynter shut off the engine and coasted to a stop in front of the house. There was a light on at the back of the house.

Reaching down to the passenger side floor, he fumbled with the assembly of the gun. He was relying on the prep work he had done the previous day. He couldn’t afford a mistake if he needed to use it.

He walked out into the driveway, silently cursing the nearly full moon that he had just been admiring earlier. Any night owl looking out of their window would be able to clearly identify him. None of that mattered now, though.

He spotted footprints in the remaining snow along the side of the house. They trailed around to the back of the house. There were no other tracks in that part of the yard. He followed them to the back porch and pushed the kitchen door, which was already open. Seeing fresh mud tracks weaving their way through the room, Paynter moved across the kitchen floor. He paused at the entry to the hallway. He could hear the conversation clearer now. Someone upstairs was conversing with someone in the hallway. Paynter moved to the doorway of the kitchen.

Paynter raised the Pneu-Dart Model 179 Projector with an unsteady hand. He had never once fired it at a living object. His arm felt stiff, and his finger slippery. He shook off the fear and stepped out further into the hall. At the bottom of the stairs was a short, balding man with glasses with a large chrome-plated gun held in his hand. He was aiming up at the top of the stairs, and only flinched slightly when he finally saw Paynter.

“You…,” the man said, without a hint of surprise in his voice. Paynter had taken aim. When the gun moved, Paynter pulled the trigger.