The Rasner Effect (38 page)

“Straker…” Rick said.

“He’ll have to wait.”

“I can’t leave it all…like this…unresolved.” Rick still peered out the window.

Jen went back to him and kissed him on the dimple in his chin. “We have no choice, Hon. Soon. We will have to disappear, at least for a while.”

Rick opened his mouth but ended up saying nothing.

“We’ll figure it out, Rick.”

Jen returned to Clara. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

Clara pulled the door open. “We’re really going to break into stores?”

“After tonight, Sweetie, you will never again need to knock on a door in order to enter a room.”

The door slammed shut but Rick barely noticed. He stared at Derrick’s laptop. He was sure the thing stared back at him. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he shouted at the computer.

He covered his face with his hands. “What the hell is happening to me?”

Rick dropped into Derrick’s chair, sobbing.

****

The room was shaking. Why was the room shaking? Maybe it was an earthquake. Usually, that was accompanied by crashing sounds, breaking glass. But there was nothing…nothing except, what was that? It sounded like crickets. Derrick opened his eyes—and saw…trees and sky. Dark, almost-black trees. Pink, yellow, and orange sky. What the fuck was going on? Reality returned with a vengeance. The fucker had actually shot him this time. Above was the gaping hole of the picture window he’d flown through. Like a bird. Shit, if he’d had wings…

How many feet had he fallen anyway? Thirteen feet per story, times two. Shit. He blinked, blinded by the redness of the sun squirting between some branches. How the hell long had he been here? Why hadn’t Jen come down to check on him? Called an ambulance?

God, somebody stop the ground from shaking.

How bad was he anyway? Start at the bottom. He wiggled his toes. No pain. He flexed both legs. No pain. He wiggled his fingers. No pain, but only his left fingers seemed to be working. He moved the left arm. Seemed okay. But he couldn’t move the right one, there seemed to be something pressing on it. Think brain, what’s going on? He’d taken a tumble out the window, how could something be—

Damned idiot. He was laying on it.

Derrick leaned a bit to one side. Pain shot up and into his head like there were rockets going off. The arm came free. He tried the fingers. Again the pain. Now, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Seemed to be everywhere. That’s when he realized the ground wasn’t moving; it was him, shivering.

Slowly, he brought his left hand up and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He unbuttoned the next button and then the one below that. With the three buttons undone, he stroked the stiff Kevlar vest with pride.

Paranoia did have its advan…

Suddenly, the sun went out; interrupted by the introduction of a large shadow. With great effort and pain, Derrick tipped his head back. Three men stood over him. He didn’t recognize the two on either end, but he did recognize the big one in the middle. He uttered one word. “Scarberry.”

Wow, things just weren’t going well at all.

Jake dropped to his knees beside Derrick and placed his hand over his mouth. A handgun glinted in the light. Jake stabbed the thing into Derrick’s forehead. “Don’t make a sound, don’t make any sudden movements.”

Like he could!

“Be cooperative and I won’t stain the backyard with your brain fluids. Understood?”

Derrick made a single up and down movement with his head.

“Good. Now answer my question, and don’t you dare lie to me. Where is Rick Rasner?”

Derrick looked to the last place he’d seen the man in question—the second floor picture window. Jake took Derrick’s cue and looked up also.

“Thank you,” Jake said, then he slammed his fist into Derrick’s jaw.

That was the last thing Derrick saw.

****

Guilt.

It was a feeling Rick found very distasteful and unfamiliar. His head hurt and he couldn’t get himself to stop thinking about what he had done. Acid still churned in his gut sending spurts of it into his throat. The house was quiet; it was the first time his actions caused Jen to desert him.

What was worse, he couldn’t figure out why he experienced such an emotional response. He had never felt guilty before, even after killing people he considered good friends. Granted, Derrick was less like a friend and more like a brother, but it shouldn’t have made a difference one way or the other. Rick had even killed Colonel Duke whom he looked up to like a father—an abusive asshole of a father, but someone he looked up to nonetheless. He killed the Colonel, his father figure, in cold blood, and hadn’t felt so much as an ounce of guilt.

Even the reasons he gave Jen for bringing Clara along from the Brookhill residence were only part of the truth. Sure, he did see the potential in the young girl, an uncanny intelligence behind her rage. He saw her as someone he wanted to mentor, but those were all minor reasons. In truth, he felt sorry for her. If he didn’t liberate her, she would continue to rot in institutions for the rest of her life. Her potential would be wasted, she would know only misery. He couldn’t let that happen.

The old Rick Rasner would never have cared about this kid one way or another. If anything, he’d have ended her misery with a bullet to the head and then left just as satisfied he had done the right thing.

Rick touched his head. Sweat dribbled down his brow. His fingers rubbed across the scar on his temple. Derrick said the chip in his head shorted out, but what if he was wrong? What if the chip had caused him to sit at the kitchen table for hours while staring at the gun in his hands? What if the chip made him shoot Derrick? No, that was him, but the sorrow afterward, a sign the chip was still screwing up his brain?

Or had the past seven years softened him, made him less callous?

“What the hell is happening?” No one there to hear.

With a roar of frustration, Rick stood up and heaved the pistol against the kitchen cabinet. The gun bounced off and thumped to the floor. Hauling in a deep breath, he managed to calm himself.

Energy spent, he slumped back into the chair, Derrick’s favorite chair. The gun lay on the floor four feet away, an innocent pawn in the events of this early morning. He dug his heels into the tile and pulled the chair toward his weapon. He reached down and grabbed it. He’d told Clara never to part with her weapon, that it was tantamount to power and success.

That’s when he spotted the red dot on the laptop’s monitor. What the hell…

Rick dove to the floor just as the screen shattered and the laptop blasted across the table. It tumbled off the edge and thumped on the floor. Rick thought how angry Derrick would be. He scurried on hands and knees toward the door, but in the hallway, he realized he’d committed a chief transgression—he’d separated himself from his gun.

He wanted it.

He needed it.

Rick wheeled back to the room and crawled to his gun, keeping low, staying close to the cabinets. A shower of bullets began again. One hit the cabinet door just inches from his head. The door exploded off its hinges and dropped in front of him. Rick backed away, slithering on his elbows, putting distance between himself and his firearm, his power.

The gun was only a few feet away, but it might as well have been miles away. In the hallway, he was an open target for anyone who came through the door. “Shit!”

The staircase leading to the basement! Derrick stored weapons there. Hopefully, he kept them ready for use. Knowing Derrick…

****

“Shit!” Jake shouted from the branch outside the kitchen window. He’d spent considerable time lining up the shot, more time than he remembered needing for such a shot years ago. The delay had cost him and now his target had fled—fled, but was still inside the house. He wouldn’t get away.

Jake jumped down, landing on the balls of his feet. Even though he’d had a clear shot at Rick Rasner’s back, he’d somehow known this wouldn’t end quickly or easily. He was having that kind of night.

Gun drawn, he eyed the solid wood door in front of him. Solid wood.
Shit
. He ducked his head and charged forward, firing a swift kick to the area just below the knob. The panel cracked and, for a moment, he thought nothing would happen. All at once, the door swung open.

Just like a haunted house, it squeaked and bared the insides of the building. Jake stepped through the doorway, eyes scanning in all directions. He entered a dark and dank basement, a lot larger than he’d expected.

The only light came from the open door behind him, casting everything in silhouette. It was enough light, however, for him to see Rick Rasner to his left. The man stood against the wall, a few steps from a set of stairs.

Rick’s eyes narrowed in rage. He reached for the door near him.

Jake spun the gun toward that same door and fired. Rick leaped back. Before Jake could get off another shot, Rick dove between two large bookcases in the middle of the room.

Damn him.

Jake took a few mincing steps forward, moving the gun in a wide arc, shining the red beam around the room. “You have to come out sometime,” he said, watching for movement.

No response. He brought the gun up and supported it with his left hand. “Come at me and it’s a bullet in your head. Go near that door. Bullet! Stick your nose out from your hiding place, I’m shooting it off.”

“That’s some big talk, Scarberry. But you seem to be all alone down here. No back-up for you this time?”

Jake took another step forward. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the voice came from. “You’re alone too, Rasner. I’m guessing you don’t have a weapon on you, either. If you did, you’d have come at me with it already.”

Jake continued to point the red beam on either side of the large bookshelves. His heart beat with an excitement and anticipation he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He hated working for Straker, but this was worth it. His target was trapped like a rat. The same target who made Jake’s life miserable. The same target who turned the tables and killed Jake’s brother. The same target he’d thought dead all this time. Soon, he would be.

This time, Jake would make sure.

Chapter Forty-Two

Jen eased the Lincoln onto Milton Drive and then up the driveway. She stopped in front of the garage at Derrick’s neighbor’s house. She sat there, examining their current headquarters through a break in the shrubbery, wondering if Rick was over his sudden attack of depression. She had spent much of the last two hours convincing herself that taking on assumed identities and staying in hiding for a while would be the best course of action. She was now ready to convince him.

Clara sat half-turned in the passenger seat, looking in the back where several articles of new clothes were heaped, one on top of the other. Each piece of clothing had a security tag attached. The T-shirt she’d borrowed from Jen was gone. As soon as they’d leaped into the car and driven off, she’d changed right there and offered the shirt back, but Jen stopped at a dumpster near the mall and heaved it in. Clara now wore a brand new black sleeveless blouse. Silk. When she’d put it on, her eyes went all round and soft. Jen guessed Clara had never felt anything so good against her skin. Right now, the girl stared at her, just like she did all during their trip to Brooklyn. It was very annoying.

“What is it?” Jen snapped.

“Why do you do it?” Clara asked in a voice just above a whisper. “Why do you kill people, even ones you don’t know?”

Jen couldn’t keep from letting out a snicker that turned into an embarrassing sound, like a pig snort. She shut off the engine and tucked a leg up on the seat to face her new student. “It’s my job. It’s what I do. It’s what I know.”

And what she loved. It was like Rick had said to Clara yesterday. There’s a satisfaction you get making things right. Getting well-paid was just an added incentive. Hell, everyone had to make a living doing something.

Jen smiled. “It’s what my father trained me for starting when I was able to crawl.”

“You
like
hurting people?” Clara asked, although it sounded more like a statement than a question.

“My father always told me—told us all—to enjoy our work.” Jen winked at her. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Clara’s face screwed up in confusion. “Did you love your dad?”

What kind of question was that? “Of course I did. He taught me everything I know and made me the leader I am today.”

Clara was silent for several moments. Jen drew the screwdriver from the ignition and took hold of the door handle.

“Well, if you loved him, why did you kill him?”

Jen nearly threw back her head and laughed. Direct and to the point. She could see what Rick liked about the girl. She’d come a long way in a couple of days. From barely being able to speak in her presence to now asking such a bold question. Jen had killed people for making less insulting inquiries, but she didn’t say that to the kid. She decided the girl’s courage earned her an answer. After all, Clara was almost part of the family.

“My father grew old and weak. He knew it but he refused to step aside, to let someone younger step into his shoes. He’d been grooming us for it for years, but when the time came to relinquish control…he wouldn’t let us have it. So, it was time to take it all from him. The organization was too important.”

Clara eyed Jen, suspicion clouding her features. She opened her mouth to answer, but obviously changed her mind and remained silent. So Jen continued her explanation.

“You’re young, but you will understand this someday. Rick is looking to train you in the ways of our world. He thinks you will fit in well with the tenets of the organization. If he’s right, then someday you’ll grow ambitious like we did and you’ll want to take charge. On that day, you’ll probably look to remove him or even me.” She grinned. “
If
you think you can.”

Clara turned away. Her eyes closed and she let out a sniffle. Her voice was soft. “I don’t know if I want this. I just…I just want to be a regular kid who goes to school, hangs with her friends, and does…regular things.”

“You’ve never been that kid, and you know that,” Jen said in a scolding fashion.