The Devil's Dream: Book One (9 page)

"Here," he
said.

She reached behind
without turning around and felt the small, but slightly dangerous
object drop into her palm. She rolled it around, feeling the tiny
needle ready to prick her the moment she wasn't careful.

"Where's it
going?" Dr. Riley asked.

"Florida. I think
it's the last person we need to be looking out for." She took a
step closer to the board and put a pin on the state. "Everyone
connected with the case, from the sentencing judges to grandchildren
are marked up here."

"You don't think
there might be other people he's looking at?"

Allison stepped back
and looked over the map again. There was one red tack out in
California. One in Oregon, but from Brand's contact with his wife,
that wasn't the way he was headed. East coast bound. That left
Massachusetts, Georgia, Florida, and North Carolina. At least. There
were two mid-western states he could venture off into as well, but
every single one of the states stood on alert. They were pushing out
as many Public Service Announcements and news stories as they could;
everyone inside any of those states should know about Brand. That was
Allison's hope anyway.

"I don't think so.
We have two children out in California and Oregon. A wife in Boston.
A wife in Durham. A wife, a daughter, and a grandchild in Kentucky.
In South Dakota and Kansas there are some brother's still alive. We
think that's pretty much the immediate family of all the police
officer's he killed. Then add in two retired justices out in
California, and that should be everyone. If we're missing someone,
we're going to look profoundly stupid." She turned around to
look at Riley. "What can I do for you, doctor?"

The Wall had become her
temporary base. The two prisoners still floated outside her office in
their Silos, and from time to time she saw people working on them,
but for the most part, Allison and her people had commandeered
everything. They would move as soon as they needed to, but as of
right now, there was nowhere to go. They were waiting for Brand to
give them a scent, to give them something to chase. So far, Brand
hadn't surfaced to even breathe.

"We made some
progress today and we're beginning to see what he did while under. I
still haven't been able to dig into his own head, he was able to
block that off over the two years he spent engineering this, but he
wasn't able to wipe away the trails he made into our systems."
Dr. Riley sat down in one of the chairs in front of her desk. "I'm
pretty sure he knows that map you're looking at as well as you do. If
there
are
any tacks
up there you're missing, he knows where to put them."

"What are you
saying?"

"Our systems, all
of them, are connected to national security databases, which are
connected to local law enforcement databases across the country.
Basically cops can search for warrants across state lines because we
don't compartmentalize that information. Our systems are also
connected to the Internet. You know all that, obviously, but The
Silos are part of the system. They're connected. We can feed them
information and they can even search for things they might need to
know. Is the criminal they hold a diabetic? If body temperature
drops, they can scan any number of medical journals to understand
exactly what might be happening. They are doctor, jailer, and nurse.
The Wall couldn't exist without that access. It would take constant,
twenty-four hour supervision, and even then we might kill the people
we're trying to keep alive."

"He had access to
everything?" Allison asked.

"All of it, and
the time to utilize the systems. The time to search and create a
plan. He probably didn't even release himself until he had everything
he needed."

* * *

Joe pulled the drapes
back a bit and looked out on the street.

The black car was still
there, a Chevrolet Impala, relatively new, still sitting at the end
of his driveway. He could see two men in it, and one of them gave him
a thumps up from the driver's side. Joe returned the salute.

He let the drape fall
back into place and turned around to look at his living room.
Everything was as it should be. No one in the house. All the windows
and doors locked. The police parked outside. Everything as it should
be.

Joe laughed quietly.
Nothing was as it should be when you had to check police off the
list. The moon was up and the baby was asleep, although he doubted
the same of Patricia. He didn't know if she would be able to sleep
until this guy was apprehended, killed this time if the world cared
about any justice. She might not even stop worrying if they locked
the man up, certainly not if they put him in one of those science
fiction jails again.

He worried too, but not
for himself as much.

He wanted to meet this
man.

Brand had been someone
to pity when his child died. He morphed into someone to fear when he
announced his plans. Then, when Joe's father disappeared, he became
the boogey man—a monster that could get anyone at any time. They
buried Joe's father when Joe was fifteen, and Brand became someone to
hate. Someone to rage against. Someone to put all his feelings on;
Joe had someone to direct his grief at. Most people have to be angry
at God when someone they love is taken. Joe was angry at Matthew
Brand. Joe hated Matthew Brand, had dreamed about taking a fucking
axe to those clear glass containers they kept the creeps in. Letting
all that gas out and then laying into Brand with the axe after.
Splitting his skull open and not stopping there, just continually
chopping until his bones turned to pieces, and then mush, so that you
couldn't tell the difference between brain and bone. Just a gray
soup.

That went on until he
was in college, and he let the anger go—not completely, but enough
to realize other things in life mattered besides revenge. The rage
faded further after he met Patricia, and still further after their
marriage. With the birth of Jason, he possessed too much in life that
he loved to be holding all that anger and hate. All that madness. He
had let it go.

Joe walked to his chair
in the living room and reclined on it.

The anger wasn't gone
though; that's what he was realizing. The anger still lived inside
him, and he had only put it in a closet. A deep closet with lots of
jackets and clothes to muffle its screams and then he locked the door
with chains and a padlock. The anger probably could have stayed there
forever, understanding its place and that all its screams and rage
weren't going to free it. Until now. Joe had heard the noises in that
closet building ever since the first news story. Building up to a
cacophony of voices inside his head, all of them screaming at one
person.

Matthew Brand.

Joe didn't really want
the cops sitting outside his house. He didn't want his doors locked.
He wanted Matthew Brand to be able to walk inside this house, to come
face to face with Joe and do his best to steal Joe away. Joe was
twenty-five and hadn't known his father for ten years. Joe's son was
three and would never know his grandfather. Joe's father would never
have the chance to meet his bride. This man ended a life and in doing
that stunted so many others. His mother lived alone in a house by
herself, having never remarried and probably never would. All of it
because Brand's son had died. Joe would say it, he wasn't scared: had
been murdered by four police officers. The thing was, Joe didn't
care. Not at fifteen when he watched a truck dump a lot of dirt over
his father's grave, and not now sitting in this chair. Things
happened and you moved on; you didn't decide the world had to burn.
You didn't set fire to everything your hands touched. You. Moved. On.

Brand refused. Brand
decided his intellect meant the rest of the world should bow to him.
Had ruined lives everywhere he went and what was his punishment? They
decided to keep him alive because they might need him some day. And
now? Brand was starting back up?

So let him come. Let
him come here and see the person that had locked away his rage for
years. Let him come and try to kill Joe, or his son, or his wife. Let
him come.

* * *

Matthew opened the door
to the warehouse, the sun behind him shining in but no other lights
illuminating the place. The Internet was a much easier place to
navigate when you could use your fingers and eyes instead of only
your brain. Everything could be done so much quicker. Now this
Bitcoin thing made buying almost anything in complete anonymity
possible.

Matthew was the proud
owner of a new warehouse.

Filth covered the
inside. Large metal tables and machinery littered throughout.
Scratches and chipped metal dressed the pieces that Matthew could
see. Grease covered the floors, the walls, and looked like it might
even extend to the ceiling. Everything was dirt and grime. Everything
in here must be cleaned if Matthew's plans were to bear fruit.

The pictures on the
Internet were accurate. The place used to be an industrial laundry
shop. All the dirty fabrics that restaurants owned, from lobster
covered tablecloths to ketchup stained napkins, came through here.
Much of the machinery had been sold off, and the rest could be sold
off for scrap. Brand would sell nothing. Would only buy. Everything
would start here. He might have to travel across the country, but his
work would begin and end in this warehouse. His son would be born
here.

The room would be
bright, lights shining down and chasing away any shadows hiding in
corners. It would be as clean as any hospital room, free of dirt and
disease. Matthew could almost see the equipment he would wheel in
here. He pictured the wires neatly drawn across the floor, weaving
their way to the operating tables. From where he stood, at the
entrance to his new property, Matthew could see how everything would
look, how it all would turn out.

Next, he wanted to see
Joseph Welch.

"What are you
looking at, honey?"

"Nothing,"
Marley said.

"Then why are you
standing at the window?"

Jerry listened to the
slight sigh from his daughter as she stepped away from the blinds.

"Just stupid kids
at school."

Jerry remained at the
entrance to the living room. He knew this would come eventually,
especially with the visibility of this case.

"What did they
say?"

"It doesn't
matter. It's not true."

"Probably not, but
I'd still like to know."

Marley glanced to her
right, at the blinds again, before looking back to her father. "Some
kids said that the guy Mom is chasing is going to come after me
next."

Sweet
Jesus
.

"Marley, no one is
coming after you. No chance. The guy Mom is chasing is running away,
not trying to come here. He knows if Mom gets near him, then it's
game over. If you were running from the police, do you think you
would go to the police's house?"

Marley smiled at that,
bringing a smile to Jerry's face too.

"No, but I'm not
crazy."

"Crazy doesn't
mean stupid. He would have to be stupid to do something like that. No
one is coming here, and if they do, Mom taught me how to use her gun
so you don't have to worry. Now do you want to go get pizza or stand
here and stare out the window?"

Marley smiled wider.
"I'll still be looking out the windows in the car, won't I?"

"Don't be a smart
aleck and go get your shoes on," Jerry said. He watched his
daughter practically skip from the room, gone the thoughts of the
criminal possibly lurking out on the street.

His smile dropped from
his face and he rubbed his brow with his hand. This wasn't what she
was supposed to be thinking about. Bullying happened in school
because kids were mean, and that wasn't going to change regardless of
how many news specials ran on television, but being bullied about a
criminal coming to your house to kill you? That was something Marley
didn't need to face. That was something no ten year old should have
to worry about in any legitimate fashion. Had he been telling her the
truth? That they need not worry about Brand showing up here? Hell,
Jerry didn't know. Jerry didn't know what that psycho thought. Just
because it hadn't happened before didn't mean it couldn't.

The words hadn't become
cross with Allison yet, but he felt that they would soon. Even when
he had let Marley call before school, the words had been civil if a
bit clipped on both sides. He was running out of civility though, and
seeing his daughter peer through blinds to try and look out for a
real life boogey man wasn't creating any sense of appreciation in
him. It made him want Allison back here, back with her family and not
sitting in some laboratory hours away. Not on the news giving press
conferences. Not wearing a gun all day long and only speaking with
her daughter each night. If it was just him, he could handle it. He
had handled it before Marley showed up and he knew when he married
her the career path she chose. He didn't need someone to raise him.
He didn't need a mother.

Marley did.

He listened as Marley's
feet came down the stairs, the surprise of pizza tonight immediately
shattering any thoughts of a psycho-killer wanting to steal her life
and give it to some long dead kid. The thought of talking to her Mom
would even be dashed for an hour or so.

"Ready!" She
called out as her feet touched the first floor.

"Alright, kiddo,
pile in the car."

How
long are you going to keep distracting her?

* * *

"I need to talk to
Mom alone. Go on up to your room and watch TV there, okay, kiddo?"

Marley leaned in and
kissed him on the cheek.

"K," she
said, pulling away and turning to climb the stairs.