The Conch Shell of Doom (9 page)

Alexis texted him again.

Get cleaned up. Coming over in an hour.

Franklin sat by the window of some cheap motel room a block away from the beach. He kicked himself for not killing Percy when given the chance, but after the bartender came outside, Franklin couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not in front of a civilian, let alone a woman. He still had a little tact.
 

By then, Mr. Lovell knew about Percy and Trenton’s body parts. The man from Dallas said the rest of the body parts were due to arrive that night, but he’d also set a trap for Franklin. Nothing the man from Dallas said could be trusted. The only way Franklin would get the rest of Trenton’s body parts would be with some good, old-fashioned investigative work.

Franklin flipped through the phonebook on the nightstand, looking for the address to Mooresville Memorial Hospital. Percy had to be there to get his eye looked at. Hopefully, they kept the little shit overnight for observation. If Franklin got his hands on Percy, took him somewhere no bartenders, or anybody else, could interrupt them, Franklin would be able to bypass the hard work and beat the location of Trenton’s remaining body parts out of Percy in no time. Not many could hold up under Franklin’s interrogation. The man in Dallas could attest to that, if he were still alive. Percy would fold in no time. Hell, Percy might even give up the location of Mr. Lovell, and the whole mess could be over by sundown.

Franklin parked near Mooresville Memorial Hospital. It was early, but the sun had already started making everything miserably hot. Franklin jogged across the street to the hospital, which seemed no bigger than an office building. He assumed most of the people admitted were either tourists that drank too much the night before or had some kind of fishing accident. There probably weren’t enough locals to merit the hospital being any larger, especially in the off-season. He walked through the automatic doors and up to the only person, the receptionist, a heavy-set woman with spiked hair. She didn’t bother to look up.

“Help you?” she asked.

Not bad
, Franklin thought. He assumed the woman was lost in the Internet.
 

“Yeah, my friend texted me last night saying he came in here, but I didn’t see it until this morning.” Franklin made himself sound concerned. “I drove up from Raleigh as fast I could. Can I see him?”

The receptionist finally made eye contact. “What’s the patient’s name?”

“Percy Evans.”

The receptionist sucked on her lips. “You said he was your friend, right? Not family?”

“That’s right.”

The receptionist typed away at the keyboard. The sign on the counter said her name was Tammy. “Mr. Evans came in a little after eleven last night and checked out at four.”

Franklin tapped his fingers on the counter, trying to remain calm. He’d missed his window. No ending it by sundown. Nothing was ever easy, even saving the world. “Did he give an address?”

Tammy met his gaze. “If you’re a friend, wouldn’t you know it?”

Franklin did his best to come up with a lie as quickly as possible. “He’s here on vacation. I don’t ask him for a specific address when he goes to the beach; I just say have fun. He’s my friend, not my lover.”

“Hm hum. I’m sorry, but I ain’t allowed to give out that information. You could always call him.”

Franklin figured he needed to grease the wheels a bit. He glanced down the hallway and pulled out his wallet.

“No, no, I ain’t tryin’ to take no money from you.” Tammy held her hands up. “I like this job too much.”

Franklin smirked. If she only knew there was two thousand dollars in his wallet. He pulled out five one hundred dollar bills and folded them in half. He picked a few tissues out of a box of Kleenex on the counter and wrapped them around the money.

“What did I just tell you?” Tammy asked.

“Listen. There’s five hundred dollars in here, okay?”

Tammy seemed taken aback by the offer. She stared at the wad of tissues and cash, a sparkle in her eyes. “You messin’ with me?”

Franklin slid the money across the counter. “Count it.”

Tammy snatched the money from under his fingers and counted the bills under her desk. Franklin waited for her to gasp. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I hope you don’t want me to do a little somethin’ somethin’ for this.” Tammy’s face looked like a dried peach. “Because I’m a Christian woman. I don’t play no silly games, even for this much money. I don’t care how good lookin’ you are.”

“No silly games.” He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. Just need an address.”

Tammy looked behind her into the file room. “Hey, Karen?”

“Yeah?” An unseen Karen asked.

“I’m taking a bathroom break.”
 

“You got it.”

Tammy pushed the monitor toward Franklin and then hopped up and disappeared around the corner.

Franklin scanned the screen, repeated the address in his head to memorize it, and left as he heard Tammy squeal
hallelujah
in the bathroom.

He grinned. “Hallelujah indeed.”

Franklin drove to the address Percy gave the hospital, which turned out to be an older condo development on the outskirts of Mooresville. Franklin passed several construction sites before reaching the building. With newer and nicer rentals down the road, not many people stayed at the development, making it a smart place to hide out.

The old building sat on pylons, in case a storm caused flooding. A couple of cars were parked under it. Franklin rode around the sparse parking lot, looking for Percy’s
A-Team
van. No luck, but Franklin got a kick out of the rusty El Camino at the end of one row. He tapped the gas pedal. The Mustang’s engine purred, and he drove across the street, parking at a T-intersection to keep an eye on things until Percy returned.

Franklin flipped on the radio and turned the dial until it landed on a classic rock station. He leaned his seat back to get comfortable as The Youngbloods played. Classical was by far his favorite genre, but some good old rock and roll had a better chance to keep him revved up for a stakeout. The music gave him something to hum along to.

It didn’t work.

The station’s song selection was terrible. Thirty minutes in, Franklin was already fighting off sleep. He wished he’d bought an audiobook to listen to. He slapped his face, the force sending blood to his head. Stakeouts sucked. He constantly had to keep an eye on things or risk losing his target. Bad things happened when Franklin did that. The last time was on December 21, 1747, in London. His wife paid the price.

By the eighteenth century, almost two thousand years had passed since Trenton failed to expand his empire across the globe. Franklin spent the time in between on guard, ready if someone tried to raise Trenton from his slumber. To make sure the road to his brother ran through Franklin, he always kept Trenton’s head close by. Without it, the rest of his body couldn’t come back. Even a piece of that body would be enough to return Trenton to full power. That’s why Franklin spent thirty years finding the perfect hiding places for the parts. If only he’d known about the Blade of Hugues de Payens at the time. Still, the feeling that someone might find the parts nagged at him like a phantom limb. Some days were fine, others a study in anxiety and paranoia. Trenton’s legacy was so horrific, Franklin spent four hundred years erasing his brother’s existence from history. Without the memory of Trenton, nobody would think to follow in his footsteps. Six hundred years after Franklin considered the job done, he allowed himself relax a little. Anyone who knew about Trenton had to be long dead at that point.

Franklin settled in London around 1735, and with plenty of currency saved up over the years, he was free to do whatever he wanted. Working with his hands made him feel at peace, so he took up blacksmithing. The job was satisfying, and it came with a low profile. In 1742 he met Molly Simpson, the daughter of a farmer who’d needed new shoes for her horse. Franklin couldn’t explain it, but he loved Molly the moment he met her. After eight months of courting, they married. Life had never been so good.

It all went to pot when Mr. Lovell stepped into the store on December 21, 1747. Franklin felt under the weather and decided to sleep in, while Molly sat at her desk, reading
Gulliver’s Travels
. There was a gasp. Franklin woke up to see what happened, and saw Mr. Lovell standing behind his wife, a pale hand on her shoulder. The fire pit crackled next to them.

“Hello, Franklin,” Mr. Lovell said.

“You know my name,” Franklin said. “But I don’t know yours. Regardless, I suggest you remove your hand from my wife and leave the way you came in.”

Mr. Lovell let go of Molly’s shoulder, the hand disappearing behind her. “With pleasure. I just need your brother’s remains.”
 

“What is he talking about?” Molly asked without a hint of fear. Franklin loved her courage. She was never afraid of a good fight.

“Everything will be fine, my love.” Franklin held up his hands and then glanced at Mr. Lovell. “Leave her out of this.”

Franklin knew chances were that wouldn’t happen. He hated himself at that moment, cursing the thought that he could live a happy, somewhat normal life. That’s what everybody else got. Not him. Not in that existence. He should’ve known better.

“Trenton’s head,” Mr. Lovell said. “Post haste. And maybe I’ll leave you your blushing bride.”

“Nobody’s spoken my brother’s name in a long time.” Over eight hundred years, in fact. The last person who’d asked didn’t live to see the next sunrise. Franklin swore to himself that the man would meet the same fate.

Mr. Lovell’s pale hand returned, holding a knife to poor Molly’s throat. Franklin froze. She tried to be brave but was betrayed by the blood draining from her face. A tear ran down her cheek. It didn’t make her flinch. She locked eyes with her husband and refused to blink. Franklin had never been more proud of her.

“Sir, if this is a dispute over my husband’s smithing, I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreeable settlement,” Molly said.

Mr. Lovell sniffed her hair. “You should take better care of your wife. She smells of coal and ash.”

“That tends to happen when you marry a blacksmith,” she said.

“You may want to teach her a few manners, while you’re at it.” Mr. Lovell pressed the knife into her neck. “Tell me where you buried your brother’s remains all those decades ago and don’t dawdle. This knife is getting heavy. I may need to rest it in her neck.”

“Decades?” Molly looked at her husband as if he were a stranger she’d never met. “What is he on about?”

“Molly.” Franklin loved his wife, but he knew the consequences of giving up Trenton’s body.

“Darling, I love you, but I don’t understand.”

Gazing upon Molly, Franklin knew the weight of losing her would be too much to bear. There had to be another way out of his predicament. He couldn’t tell Mr. Lovell where the body parts were, but watching Molly die was out of the question. Franklin decided on a third option.

“I’ll tell you,” he said, idly pacing around.
 

In one smooth motion, he grabbed a hot poker from the fire and stabbed Mr. Lovell in the chest. The poker’s heat set his clothes on fire, which spread quickly. It took seconds for Mr. Lovell to be almost completely ablaze. Mr. Lovell rolled around on the floor, trying to smother the flames. Still, as fast as Franklin moved, he was too slow. Molly’s throat was slashed. She held a hand to her throat and then collapsed into her husband’s arms.

Franklin cradled his beloved, staring into her eyes as the life drained from her body. He wanted to say so many things in those last moments. That he loved her. Everything would be fine. They’d be reunited in Heaven soon enough. His heart ached too much to say any of it.

Mr. Lovell used the tender moment to his advantage. With most of the flames out, he pulled a pistol from his coat and shot Franklin in the back, shattering his spine. He fell on top of Molly, unable to move until the wound healed. He watched as Mr. Lovell, clothes melting into his skin, stood up and searched the store, smoke following behind his every step. Pots and tools were tossed around, making a racket of things. Mr. Lovell found Trenton’s head behind a loose stone in the wall.

Mr. Lovell didn’t bother to pat out the few flames still scorching his body as he picked up Trenton’s head.
 

“Protect me, Trenton, as I will protect you,” Mr. Lovell said, his voice sounding burnt and scratchy. “I know the price of immortality, and I accept it.”

Trenton’s head dissolved into Mr. Lovell’s stomach. The patches of fire still burning Mr. Lovell were snuffed out. His burns didn’t heal, but he didn’t feel any pain either. That was the price of immortality, courtesy of Trenton Maroney. If you’re burnt to a crisp when everlasting life is granted, guess what? That everlasting life will be spent as a piece of burnt toast. Mr. Lovell knelt down next to Franklin, ashy pieces of clothing falling on his head. Mr. Lovell picked up his knife.

“Please,” he said. “Look at what he’s done to me.”

The knife fell to the floor. Franklin felt a little disappointed. He halfway wanted to die.

“Your brother wants you to live,” Mr. Lovell said. “So you can relive the guilt, night after night, of this moment. Any time you awake from a nightmare, long for her womanly touch, or even
think
about her, it’s because Trenton wants you to. And when he’s awakened and returned to his rightful throne, he wants you to know it’s because you tried to save your dear, precious wife.”

Mr. Lovell ran a sleeve across Franklin’s face, leaving a black streak across his cheek. Mr. Lovell walked out, slamming the door behind him, leaving only the stench of burned cloth and flesh behind.

A football bounced off the Mustang. Franklin jerked awake, ready to defend himself. A little boy waved and shouted sorry. False alarm.
 

Franklin relaxed and leaned his head back against the seat, staring at the car’s ceiling.

Only a dream
.

Mr. Lovell was right. Even now, thoughts of Molly were poisoned by Trenton and that day. Franklin yawned, stretching his tight muscles. He couldn’t bring Molly back, but he could make damn sure something like that never happened again on his watch.