The Blue Ridge Project: A Dark Suspense Novel (The Project Book 1) (16 page)

“So what are the right questions?” She tried to catch the girl's eye, but both of them were squeezed shut.

“Ever wonder why people can't stay happy? Because it's not a natural state. The natural state is pain. Suffering. We're born screaming and covered in blood, and plenty of us go out that way too.”

“That sounds like bullshit, Richie. Same as the rest of the assholes.” She tensed, ready for him to lash out. Instead he shook his head, drops of water flying from his hair. His scar was just visible, reflected and twisted in different directions by the raindrops that stayed on his cheek.

“Use your head. What happens if you do something that makes you happy, every single day? You stop being so happy, eventually you get bored, and then you start to dislike it. Pain is different. You can feel pain every day and it can hurt just as much as the first time. Suffering can last somebody their entire life without ever losing its edge.”

Andrea stood silent, considering his words in spite of herself. “So what,” she said after what felt like an age, “you're some kind of psycho philosopher, spreading the bad news?”

Lyons shook his head again, like a disappointed teacher. “I'm just in tune with my natural state, Nox. It's other people's problem if they can't be true to themselves.”

She had no response to that. “Why are we down on the docks, Richie?”

“It's nice and dramatic. Easy to get rid of bodies. I like ships. Pick one.” Lyons moved the knife around to the girl's mouth. “Open wide and say 'ah.'”

Cap's daughter whimpered and did as she was told. As Lyons slowly slid the blade into her mouth, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at Andrea, his eyes never leaving hers the whole time.

Her buzzing rage changed to something deeper. It felt red and thick, like magma boiling deep down inside her, massive and powerful, causing earthquakes and volcanic explosions on the surface of her mind.

“—to do?” Lyons was asking.

“What?” Andrea asked softly.

“I said, so now that you’ve found me like a good little detective, what are you going to do? Take me in? Let’s get going. If you can disarm me, that is.” Lyons smiled up at her, the rain dripping from his eyebrows, the flashlight’s beam reflected in his eyes.

Even if I somehow manage to get him in cuffs, he’ll be deemed insane, even without whatever act he pulls in court. He’ll be committed, and he’ll be studied, and he’ll pull the woolen strait jacket over everyone’s eyes. He’ll live the rest of his days in comfort and infamy, the precious plaything of psychiatrists and a meal ticket for tabloid journalists.

“Well?” Lyons called up, the slightest note of doubt in his voice. He was half hidden behind the girl, the light from Andrea’s flashlight illuminating only one wild eye out of two. In the dark, Andrea pulled back the hammer on her gun. It was loud even with the sound of the rain hitting the water. The sound brought her focus.

Lyons paused for a second, his smile wavering slightly, uncertainty on his brow. Then his face relaxed, the smile jumping out again, hanging over the bottom of his face like a bloodied towel hanging over a balcony in an abandoned building. He held up his gun and then let it drop from his hand to clatter on the deck.

“You won’t shoot me in cold blood, Detective Andrea Nox, darling of the Beacon City Police Department,” he mocked, “you’re too righteous. Too bloody rigid. Unless it’s between the sheets.”

Andrea aimed Cap's revolver at Lyons’ face. Her hand was trembling slightly, but she thought she was close enough so that it didn’t matter. The girl in his arms, still silent and motionless apart from her hyperventilation, seemed to return from her lost place. Recognition of the real world and the immediate situation filled up her eyes. She moaned around the blade between her teeth.

“No,” Andrea said, “I won’t let you get away with it. You owe a debt for what you’ve done, you sick fuck.”

Lyons frowned, and his fake smile became the grin of a dog who is silently growling. “Then you would be like me, a killer outside of the law. You can’t do it, you’ll be locked up, fired, sent downtown. Your backup will arrive any minute and you’ll have to explain to them—”

“I didn’t call any back up,” Andrea interrupted calmly. Her attention had been drawn again to the girl's blond hair, wet and dead-looking, and she thought of the girl who Lyons had blinded and muted. About whoever else he had hurt and buried before he had come to Beacon. She even briefly considered what atrocious things must have happened to Lyons himself to corrupt and warp him into this sadist.
So much wasted life
, she thought, hope draining out of her, running off her like the rain. She knew now what she could do, if pushed to it.

The girl could live, or the girl could die, but Richie Lyons was leaving this world tonight either way.

She seemed to hear Andrea’s thoughts. As their eyes met she elbowed Lyons in the stomach. In the same instant she pushed forward and away from him. The knife sliced through her lips and cut the inside of her cheek as she moved. Blood sprayed in a fan from her face and ran down her chin.

Andrea drew a bead on Lyons just as his fingers reached the handle of his gun, firing two shots as she did. The first took Lyons in the shoulder and spun him around, the second took out his cheek and lower jaw. He fell to the deck, writhing around with one hand to his ruined face. He screamed but without the lower part of his mouth, it sounded like some huge hell bird screeching. Andrea stood for a few seconds, her own breath now ragged and quick, then stepped over to the edge of the pier.

She pointed at Lyons’ head again and pulled the trigger, and the screaming stopped. His body slumped forward onto the deck of the boat, spilling the remains of his sick brain on the rain soaked wood. The blood looked black in the darkness, and raindrops diluted it as it ran from his body.

Andrea stepped back from the edge, backed into a wall and slid down to a squat. Her gun fell between her knees and she put both hands over her face. She screamed into her palms, the sound muffling and carrying only as far as the two people on the boat, one live and one dead.

After a minute, she jumped back up and started punching the wall behind her, striking the concrete until her hands were bloody and numb. The girl lay where she had landed when she’d freed herself, facing the remains of Richie Lyons. She screamed once at his corpse, a primal sound that was like an attack. Then she spat blood at him and slumped back against the edge of the boat, holding her wounded mouth.

The rain fell around them all, and the sea welcomed back the parts of itself it had lost.

Jimmy looked at Robert for a while after he had finished speaking. Two empty bottles were on the bar in front of them, and they were the only people left apart from the night porter. He was arranging the tables and chairs for the morning drinkers.

“That’s a story and a half,” Jimmy said after a few minutes. Robert nodded, his head bobbing up and down slowly as if it were weighted.

“So what happened after?”

“The site was shut down by government order. I tried to get it back up, tried calling in some favors but suddenly no one wanted anything to do with me. I was tainted goods. I don’t know if that was her doing or Frey’s, but it came to the same thing. I had been closed out.”

“That’s pretty fucking cold, man. What about the hacker guy?”

Robert shrugged. “No idea. The guy was like a ghost to begin with, and after losing the lead he had given me, I imagine I was useless to him. I never heard from him again. I left town for a while, laid low. Licking my wounds, I guess.”

Jimmy looked down into the last sip in his glass, raised the glass to Robert and drank it. “So you came back to get some motherly comfort, and now that’s gone, too. Good thing I was here, eh?”

Robert’s lips curled up in a smile that was like a scythe. “I guess it was. Cheers.” He finished off his own drink.

Jimmy’s eyes brightened and he slapped Robert on the shoulder. “I know! Let’s go out and have a look at your dad’s secret box or whatever it is. That’ll take your mind off it.”

He looked at Jimmy with one eyebrow raised. “Why are you so interested?” A tiny pinprick of doubt pierced through the warm alcohol buzz.

“I'm just trying to help out my fellow man. It seems like you need a friend.”

Robert shrugged, the doubt dissolving. “It's probably just some old lab equipment and a few books.”

“Come on, I know you don’t believe that. Where’s the investigative spirit? Hey!” Jimmy shouted out, turning to the night porter, “Come here a second, would you?”

The porter ambled over to the bar. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

Jimmy put one hand on the porter’s shoulder. “What’s your name, cowboy?”

“Burke, sir. Alain Burke.”

“Well, Mr. Burke, this is my good friend, Robert, and I’m Jimmy. We are in need of transport out to a semi-reputable part of town. Can you help us out?”

“I’m sure I can arrange something, sir.”

Jimmy grinned and clapped Robert on the back. “There you are, sorted. Fancy a road beer?”

He waved one hand and shook his head. “No way, I think I’ll quit while my luck is still in. I’m surprised I haven’t passed out yet.”

“Emotional charge. Keeps the juices flowing.” Jimmy winked at Burke, who smiled a knowing smile.

“Indeed, sir.”

*****

They got out of the taxi and stumbled up to the gatehouse that guarded the gated entrance to the storage lot. There was one guard on duty, and after Robert had presented his identification, as well as the key and letter the lawyer had given him, he opened the gate. Jimmy slipped a bank note into the man’s shirt pocket as they entered.

They walked down the rough tarmac lane that ran between the big storage boxes that lined either side. Storage boxes loomed on either side of them, full of secrets and mundane things. They counted off the numbers on each one and got to the last box, which matched the number on Robert’s key. Jimmy banged on the door.

“Anyone home?” he shouted, then laughed himself into a coughing fit.

“The old ones are the best,” he said when he could breathe again.

Robert took the key and opened up the heavy lock. He put two hands on the handles of the door and pulled hard. There was a another squealing sound of metal, and they swung open. He reached for a light switch and found one to the right of the door.

The lights flickered on, cold, white fluorescent bars that ran the length of the unit. They revealed walls lined with boxes full of folders on top of metal tables. Underneath there were more cartons with the lids on, each one labeled and marked with letters and numbers in ascending sequence toward the end of the container.

In the center, raised on a platform about half a foot off the ground, was what looked like a leather reclining chair. Cables hung from the headrest and ended up in the base of the platform.

“What kind of happy horseshit is this?” Jimmy asked in a low voice.

Robert stepped forward and put a hand on the chair. The leather looking material felt soft to the touch. He turned to Jimmy.

“I have no idea. Let’s have a look in one of these boxes.”

They took one wall each, looking at the labels on the sides of the boxes on the tables. Robert read each of the labels out loud as he went.

“
Results of Solo Testing
.
Experimental Calibration Problems
.
Structural Anomalies
. What do you think these are about?”

“I have no idea. Could be anything. It’s your inheritance,” Jimmy replied, then tapped the box immediately above his head. The label on the box read
Personal Journals.

“Let’s take this one back to the hotel. I don’t much fancy staying here.”

Robert nodded and grabbed the box. Jimmy turned off the light and locked up before they left.

Dr. Silvers crossed then uncrossed her legs. She hadn’t spoken since Andrea began to tell her story, only reaching to fill up Andrea’s glass with water when it was empty. Now she leaned forward.

“Andrea, if what you’re telling me is true, you did nothing wrong. It sounds like you were put in the worst possible situation, but it’s not your fault.”

“I know that. Don’t talk to me like I’m some battered victim, blaming myself for his actions. I just wish I hadn’t been so gullible. I might have—”

“‘Might haves’ are not what we’re here for, Detective. What happened happened. It’s your job now to reconcile yourself with your actions. You saved a life, and you stopped a dangerous man. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Silvers looked at her watch. “We’ve gone a little over time, but for a first session, I think that was pretty good, what do you say?”

Andrea nodded. She did feel better, in spite of her feelings about being in therapy. It felt good to unload.

Silvers stood and went around her desk. She opened a drawer and took out a small bottle of pills. She shook out four into her hand and placed them in an envelope she grabbed from the desk.

“What are they for?” Andrea asked, narrowing her eyes.

“A sleeping aid. Take one tonight before bed. If it helps, you can take the rest over the next few nights. If it doesn’t, bring them back to me on our next session, although I don’t think you’ll have to.”

Andrea shook her head. “I don’t do sleeping pills, Doctor.”

Silvers smiled. “I didn’t say sleeping pill, Detective. I said sleeping aid. It’s got minerals and vitamins the brain needs for healthy function. Trust me, you’ll feel different about them by tomorrow.”

Andrea stood and took the envelope from Silvers’ outstretched hand. “Thanks, I guess. When do I have to come back?”

“I’ll be in touch to make an appointment. You made a good start today, and I’ll need time to review. I’ll give you plenty of notice.”

“And my evaluation? When can I go back to work?”

Silvers grinned. “I’ll have a look at the paperwork tonight, if there’s time.”

Andrea nodded, a whoosh of relieved air escaping through her mouth. “Good. Thanks, again.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s my job,” Silvers replied as they both made to leave the room. Andrea took one last look at the painting of the stag on the hilltop before she went. Silvers held the front door open for her, smiling her therapeutic smile as she did. After Andrea had left the house, Silvers stood on her front step watching her. Andrea didn’t turn back as she went down the sheltered driveway and into her car. When Andrea was out of sight, Silvers produced a cellphone from her pocket and dialed a number.

“She’s moving,” she said into the mouthpiece. She hung up, then looked up at the darkening sky.

*****

As Andrea arrived at the top of her street, she could see flashing blue and red lights from the direction of her building. She stopped the car at a roadblock manned by two BCPD officers. One of them arrived at the driver’s side window.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, leaning over to talk to her, “the street’s been blocked off. You’ll have to go around.”

“It’s detective,” she said, showing her badge. “I live on this street. What’s going on?”

“Sorry, Detective. What building are you in?”

“Blue Sky Towers, why? What happened?”

The policeman bit his lip and seemed to weigh up the pros and cons of speaking. “Hate to be the one to tell you this, Detective, but there’s been a fire in Blue Sky Towers. Seventh floor.”

Andrea looked at the cop with her mouth open. He put one hand to the back of his head and scratched.

“Jeez, I guess that’s your floor, huh? Larry!” he shouted down to the other policeman who was still at the barrier, “let this one through, I think it’s her place!” He turned back to Andrea. “Go ahead, Detective. Sorry for your troubles.”

The other policeman pulled back the barrier to let her through, then put it back in place after she had passed. She drove slowly down and stopped beside where the fire engine was parked, just outside her building. They were wrapping up the hose and most of the firemen were already packing up the rest of their gear. A man in a pink shirt with bushy gray hair sticking out on either side of his head was speaking to one of them.

“Mr. Ainsley!” Andrea shouted out to the man in pink as she got out of her car and started walking over. “Mr. Ainsley, is it—”

“Detective,” the bushy-haired man said, turning to Andrea, “I’m so sorry, by the time they got here it was already burning.”

Andrea stood looking up at the outside of her apartment. It was completely blackened, and thick fingers of smoke and steam still rose into the quickening night air. The surrounding apartments had what looked like smoke damage but nothing like hers.

“Detective Nox?” asked the fireman who had been talking to Ainsley. She nodded. “Detective, we’re waiting on Arson to get here, but they said they can’t send anyone down for a couple of hours. Apparently there was a spate of fires downtown and they’ll be tied up there for most of the night. Do you have somewhere you can go?”

Andrea nodded, and went slowly back to her car as if sleepwalking.

First she called Hynes, but he didn’t pick up. She called Cap, who picked up after the eighth ring.

“Nox, now’s not a great time,” he said. His tone was tense, and strained, like he had been shouting. Or crying.

“I’m sorry, Cap, but I don’t know who else to call. “There was a fire at my place, and I need a place to stay tonight.”

“Fuck. Nox, any other day and you could stay here with us, no problem, but today Marcy’s having a bad spell. To be honest, so am I.”
Definitely had been crying
, she thought.

Andrea closed her eyes.

“It’s fine. I totally understand. I’ll just grab a room at a hotel.”

“I’m sorry, Nox. Give me a call tomorrow and you can come stay with us then, as long as you like.”

“Sure thing. Take care, give my love to Marcy and Karen.”

“Will do.” He hung up.

Andrea tossed the phone on the passenger seat, and then she opened her eyes wide as a realization came to her. All the notes and files she had on the Solas case, including some that hadn’t been entered into the system yet, had been in the apartment. Her fist pounded the steering wheel.

She thought it over as she turned and drove back toward town. The first three hotels she called were fully booked, the polite voices on the other end of the line apologizing and blaming the influx of sports fans in town to see the Beacon Lights lose to their visiting team. With every rejection, her jaw clenched harder and her hand got tighter around the wheel. She swore as she thought again of the files that were now so much ash, and a flash of inspiration struck her.

After rummaging through the glove compartment, she found a business card for the Regent, and dialed the number on the back.