S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11) (35 page)

Relief for sure, but along with it a sense of something even bigger looming over them.

He tested each of the windows as he went, but found them all locked tight.

Where have the Evanses gone to? Why did they leave?

The backyard was enclosed by a tall wooden fence, and the driveway gate was latched shut from the inside. A wire had once poked through a hole, meant for releasing the latch, but it was now gone. He stuck his eye to the opening and peeked through.

The grass here was considerably longer and greener than in the front yard, undoubtedly due to an illegal automatic watering system. He could only glimpse a narrow slice of the yard and a section of the walkway. The porch was too far to the side for him to see.

He jiggled the gate, hoping it would pop free, but it didn't, and he wasn't tall enough to reach over to undo it. Any other time, he might have climbed over, or jumped, but the cracked rib necessitated the use of a more creative solution. He spied an old tire leaning against the garage and figured it would do the trick, so he rolled it over.

Standing high atop the tire, leaning over the fence to reach the latch, he spotted evidence of human footsteps in the grass, starting from the far corner of the yard and leading toward the house. It was just the way the light played over it, a change in the way the tall grass fell, and he was sure he would never have seen it if he had been standing with his feet on the ground.

After letting himself in, he walked over and found a section of the fence which had been pulled away, the missing panel hidden from sight behind a curtain of ivy. The boards had been left to rot in the dirt. He stuck his head through the opening and found the ground there was also disturbed. Eight feet below was the trail which ran parallel to Rockwood Creek. Peeking over the tops of the trees to the right, he could just make out the highest girders of the bridge over Yale Drive, a block and a half away. Deep in thought, Eric turned back toward the house.

The sun was behind him now, and it reflected off the windows so that they seemed to blaze from within. The deep porch and back door were steeped in shadow.

Even more than his sixteen weeks of police training, it was his two years in the Marines which had given him the patience and discipline to proceed with diligence when securing a site. He'd done time in China and Mexico, where the local armies relied heavily on buried mines to take out the Omega Troops. But while he was confident there were no tripwires here, he scanned the yard anyway, searching for the slightest sign of a clue. And when his eyes zeroed in on a spot halfway across the lawn, he knew he'd find something there.

He walked over, never once blinking or looking away from the swatch of grass. Standing over the object inches down in the growth, he stared at it for a moment before bending down and picking up the small baggie. The pills inside had soaked up the dew and grown fat.

He didn't know what it meant. Maybe it was nothing. Then again, with all the rain they'd been having, they had to have been dropped here recently.

Just kids
, he thought, dropping it back on the ground.
Kids looking for a place to party
.

Nevertheless, he unsnapped the holster strap securing his EM pistol, and quickly and quietly made his way up the back steps.

There was a window beside the door and he approached it cautiously, quickly glanced in, then rolled past it. He came to a stop with his opposite shoulder pressed against the doorjamb beside the knob. Another quick glance and his brain processed an empty hallway. No lights on. Barren walls, barren floor. Not even an area rug to protect the soft wood.

The door yielded against his push and slipped open with the faintest of creaks. The wood around the deadbolt was splintered. Jagged shards stuck out and rained onto the floor, where several more pieces lay scattered.

He saw dried muddy footprints. Several feet in, he saw a black spot on the bare tile, a second further on. After scraping a little of it away with a splinter of wood, he wet his finger on his tongue and rubbed it. The shaving turned red. The blood was at least a couple days old.

The second spot wasn't blood. It was a small brown button, most likely from the sleeve of a shirt.

Buttons are common. And brown is a common color.

Eric went room by room, his senses keen, alert for the slightest movement, the tiniest sound, the faintest smell. The air was cool, stale. It smelled unspent. Most of the rooms were completely empty. One upstairs bedroom — Ashley's, he guessed — contained a couple boxes. They appeared to have been stuffed haphazardly with the trinkets of her youth: girlish knickknacks, and, oddly, a bowl filled with the ashy remains of old photographs and papers.

He set this last object down, disturbed.

Only the basement remained to be checked.

He found the door in the kitchen and, after steeling himself, popped it open. A cool draft wafted up into his face. The air was even staler, smelling heavily of old packed dirt and moldy wetness. But beneath it was something worse, a smell of something dying or already dead.

He found the light switch and flicked it on.

And found Reggie at the bottom of the stairs.

‡ ‡ ‡

The police car rolled to a stop beside Jessie and the door popped open.

“Miss Daniels?” inure

Jessie looked over, blinking numbly, not registering that it was the cops. She'd been in a daze since leaving school a half hour before, and she kept right on walking.

“Can you stop for a moment?”

She looked over again and, this time, recognized the officer who'd stepped out as one of the two men who seemed to have made it their life's purpose to harass her. They had dropped by the house on multiple occasions, both before the Gameland fiasco and after.

Hank
, she remembered was the name of the younger, thinner one.
Hank Gilfoy
.

The older, fatter cop, the one driving the patrol car, his name was Al Castle.

“Can you come with us, please?”

The question pulled her out of the torpor which had taken hold of her mind. “Excuse me?”

Gilfoy opened the back door of the sedan and gestured for her to get in.

“Why?” she asked, growing alarmed. Had Citizen Registration sent them to take her to jail? “Where are we going?”

“We'll explain on the way.”

“On the way where?” she demanded, stepping away. “Tell me!”

“The hospital,” Gilfoy answered. “Your brother is waiting for you there.”

“Eric?” she said. Different alarm bells this time. More confusion. “Is he okay?”

“Please, just get in the car, Miss Daniels.”

She considered running. But after a moment's hesitation, she got in. Would they have shot her if she had ran? She didn't want to test the theory that they wouldn't have.

She slipped onto the hard, plastic seat and stared at her hands on her lap.

“Okay back there?”

She lifted her head. “I'm fine,” she answered tersely. She was surprised to hear what sounded like concern in his voice. “Is my brother hurt?”

Gilfoy shook his head. “He asked us to find you, bring you there. It's about your mother.”

Jessie jerked in surprise. “Mom?”

“Your brother found her. She's—” He stopped himself and looked over at his partner. “He asked that we take you straight to see her.”

Jessie tried to ask him a few more questions, but he wouldn't — or couldn't — answer them, so she soon gave up.

Fat Al never said a word, and she didn't direct any of her questions to him. She'd disliked him from the first time she'd met him, even more than Gilfoy, though it was the latter she distrusted more. Al was just an asshole, but Hank was smart and cunning.

They stopped in the NO PARKING zone at the emergency entrance and Officer Gilfoy helped her out, then accompanied her into the hospital. “They're up in ICU. Do you know where that is?”

Jessie nodded stiffly. Now that she was here, she didn't want him to leave her. But when the elevator car finally arrived, he gave her an encouraging nod and wished her good luck. She stepped onto the elevator and turned around. He was already walking away before the doors closed.

The ride up felt never-ending. As soon as the doors slid open on the fourth floor she stepped through and made her way to the reception desk. A different nurse looked up at her.

“I'm Jessie Daniels. My brother is— I think my mother's here?”

“Daniels. Room seven.” She pointed down the hall. “Wait! You need a visitor's pass, and I need to scan your Link.”

Her brother was sitting in a chair beside the bed, holding what looked like a broomstick. With a jolt, Jessie realized that it was their mother's arm.

Oh my god! She's a skeleton!

“Eric?”

He looked up, seemed not to recognize her at first, then jumped to his feet. Jessie rushed into the room, but he caught her before she reached the bed and held her back.

“She's sleeping, Jess,” he said in a low voice. “Don't wake her.”

Jessie struggled against him a moment longer, then relented. IV bags hung on both sides of the bed, and a monitor on the wall above displayed her vitals— heart rate and rhythm, breathing, temperature, blood pressure.

“They think she has kidney damage,” Eric whispered.

“Whuh— what happened to her?”

“I found her in Ashley Evans' house. In the cellar.”

Jessie drew back and stared at him, a dozen different images flashing through her mind. “I don't understand. Why would she go there? Are the Evanses back?”

“She was taken. Kidnapped. Jessie, I'm sorry.”

She was unable to speak.

“Listen to me, Jess,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders. “The doctors say she might not make it. She's horribly dehydrated. Her organs are in crisis and could fail. She may not even wake up.”

“Wh  who did this to her?”

Eric exhaled. He tried to get her to sit down. “The blood on the wall at Micah's? It's a match to Reggie's. He wrote that message. It's what he was intending to do to Mom, not you.”

A low moan escaped Jessie's throat. She tried to push him away. “Where is he? I need to see him!”

“Jessie, calm down.”

“No!
Where is Reggie?
”

“Jessie!” Eric hissed, shaking her. “Stop it! He's in custody. His parents are on their way over there right now. Harrick — my boss — is personally handling the investigation.” His face hardened. “Don't worry. She'll make sure he gets what's coming to him.”

“No, Eric! He wouldn't do this!” Jessie was crying now, torn by yet another betrayal the sight of that wreck lying in the bed, the deflated body that was barely recognizable as her mother. Her skin had grown sallow, and her cheekbones stood out from her face. Her eyes seemed sunken too far down into her skull to be possible. Her breaths were short, rapid and shallow, more fluttering than rising and falling.

I don't know why he would say such a terrible thing. My little Reggie would never hurt anyone.

“He's not in control of himself anymore,” Jessie whispered.

Eric turned her head with his hands until she was looking into his eyes. “It was him, Jessie. He was guarding her.”

She frowned. “Let me guess: he didn't resist.”

“As soon as I saw Mom, I told him to step aside. He wouldn't, so I hit him with an EM pulse.” He paused, swallowed. “I had to do something. She was on the floor, all tied up. Reggie was—”

“He's not himself,” Jessie told him. “You have to believe me, Eric. He didn't do this by himself.”

“I know that, Jessie.”

“You do?”

“Mom was still conscious when I got to her, though just barely. Right before the medics came she said it wasn't Reggie who brought her there.”

“Who?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. She lapsed into unconsciousness before she could say. I was hoping Reggie would tell us, but Harrick says he's not cooperating.”

Jessie shook her head.

This isn't happening!

She looked again at her mother and tried to imagine why Reggie would do this, and once again she couldn't think of any reason.

My little Reggie would never hurt anyone.

“You should ping Kelly,” Eric whispered.

† † †

“Drink this.”

Jessie wrapped her hands around the paper cup Eric handed her but didn't lift the coffee to her lips. She stared down into the tarry liquid, allowing her feelings, intuition, and reason battle it out inside her head.

“I just spoke with my captain,” Eric said, sitting down next to her. “Reggie's still not responding to any of their questions. They're waiting for medical and psych evals.”

Jessie was numb. “I can't do this anymore,” she mumbled.

Eric shook his head and stood up again. He pried the tiny object he'd given her from her fingers and set it on the bedside table. “When Kelly gets here, we'll know for sure.”

Jessie's eyes swung momentarily to the little brown button. “He won't be able to tell you anything either.”

“Jessie, he's not who you think he is.”

“No, he's exactly who I think he is. And so is Reggie. They're not responsible.” She lifted her eyes and said, “You can't report this, Eric. That button proves nothing.”

“And if it's his?”

“So what if it is?”

Eric gave her a look of utter disbelief. “Why are you acting this way? Don't you want to help Mom?”

“Of course I do! But not if it means making Kelly and Reggie responsible for—”

“You're not making them responsible. They either are or they aren't! Look, Jess, if I hadn't seen Reggie down there in that basement with my own eyes, I would never have believed he could do something like this. But Kelly?”

He threw his hands into the air in disgust.