Dark Revelations (6 page)
Authors: Duane Swierczynski,Anthony E. Zuiker
The full-time father thing was new. Recently Dark had moved his daughter down from Santa Barbara to live with him here in West Hollywood. His formerly spare living room—nondescript furniture, movie posters—was now overwhelmed with little-girl stuff. Gone were the nightmare-inducing movie posters of boyhood favorites (
The Hitcher
,
To Live and Die in L.A.
,
Dirty Harry
). In their places: framed art from little Sibby herself. Sometimes Dark could swear that all she’d learned to do in kindergarten up there in Santa Barbara was generate a ridiculously huge catalog of original art.
The Hitcher
,
To Live and Die in L.A.
,
Dirty Harry
). In their places: framed art from little Sibby herself. Sometimes Dark could swear that all she’d learned to do in kindergarten up there in Santa Barbara was generate a ridiculously huge catalog of original art.
So yeah, his life, his house—all in a state of extreme transition. It wasn’t just his home anymore. It was Sibby’s, too.
In the past he never would have thought that his life as a manhunter and his role as a father could coexist. Seemed an either/or proposition. That’s the way it had been with little Sibby’s mother. The two of them had
worked
. . . just so long as he could keep the demons at bay. It had taken Dark a long time to reach the place where he could be both a father and a manhunter. And he knew he could do both.
worked
. . . just so long as he could keep the demons at bay. It had taken Dark a long time to reach the place where he could be both a father and a manhunter. And he knew he could do both.
The hard part, though, was flipping the switch.
Snap out of it
, he told himself.
Put the monster out of your head. Be here for your daughter.
, he told himself.
Put the monster out of your head. Be here for your daughter.
“Steve?” his mother-in-law called out from above. “Are you home?”
Dark was ready to reply when his smartphone buzzed—a text message.
From Graysmith:
WATCH THIS RIGHT NOW
Followed by a link to an online video.
The image opens with the actress, holding up the nude sketch her father drew. She smiles, even though it’s clear she’s been crying. She tells us: “The notion of a painting being worth two million dollars and being owned privately will be no more. Art is for the people; it’s free. Everyone must understand it and have access to it. Not for just the rich and privileged—the spoilers of our world . . .”
Then the actress lifts a gun and points it at the camera. Someone off-screen says: “What are you doing?”
Smash cut to black. A scream: “OH GOD NO.” A gunshot. A scream—male this time. Then a title card:
I WILL SHOW YOU
THE WAY OUT OF
THE LABYRINTH
chapter 9
DARK
O
nce the Labyrinth video hit the Net—and minutes later, the mainstream media—there was no way of containing
any
part of the story.
nce the Labyrinth video hit the Net—and minutes later, the mainstream media—there was no way of containing
any
part of the story.
The Elizabeth-Loeb incest/double murders pushed everything else out of the news cycle—foreign revolutions, economic meltdowns, gas spills, political summits, and every other celebrity scandal.
The Labyrinth video attracted over 2.7 million views in the first few hours alone. YouTube had almost instantly yanked it from their site, but mirror sites had popped up everywhere, and every effort to contain it caused the video to spread even faster, like a malignant tumor on steroids.
And the news didn’t
leak
to the media so much as spontaneously
manifest
itself, independent of hard facts or reporters making phone calls. Over the past few years Dark had been observing a shift in the way people received their news. Gone were the days of dogged newshound reporters and stentorian anchors filling us in on the events of the day—packaging it, processing it, delivering it. Now media consumers craved news instantly, and they wanted to curate it themselves. When disaster struck, some people still turned on the television. But an increasing number also had their phones in their hands, so they could see what their friends were writing and linking and joking about. In a sense, it was a return to a village mentality, where like people huddled together. Instead of occupying the same piece of turf, people followed one another on social networks.
leak
to the media so much as spontaneously
manifest
itself, independent of hard facts or reporters making phone calls. Over the past few years Dark had been observing a shift in the way people received their news. Gone were the days of dogged newshound reporters and stentorian anchors filling us in on the events of the day—packaging it, processing it, delivering it. Now media consumers craved news instantly, and they wanted to curate it themselves. When disaster struck, some people still turned on the television. But an increasing number also had their phones in their hands, so they could see what their friends were writing and linking and joking about. In a sense, it was a return to a village mentality, where like people huddled together. Instead of occupying the same piece of turf, people followed one another on social networks.
But something strange had happened with this new “Labyrinth” case.
As Dark had waited for the results of his DNA test, the rumor that Elizabeth and Loeb were half siblings was already trending. Somehow, people out there in social network land knew—and began to spread—
information that nobody else had yet.
information that nobody else had yet.
One alleged fact was Tweeted within the hour:
Dead actress girl? Dead producer boyfriend? They were half siblings!1 hour ago
Followed by endless Retweets and forwards and further comments:
Grossburgers. RT: Dead actress girl? Dead producer boyfriend? They were half siblings!54 minutes agoHollywood types will do anything.40 minutes agoImpossible. She’s hot, he’s a dork, no relation.32 minutes agoYou should see my little sister/she can raise quite a blister19 minutes ago
How did the word travel so fast? Dark wondered if this was one of those open Hollywood secrets. He called his insider to ask.
Hell no,
claimed Vincente Valentine, who had consulted a host of usual suspects—flacks, agents, producers. The Elizabeth-Loeb relationship itself wasn’t a secret; online gossip sites had been reporting that they’d been palling around for at least six months. But the incest thing? Not a hint. “And I would have known,” Valentine said. “Believe me. Bethany, you sweet old idiot . . .”
claimed Vincente Valentine, who had consulted a host of usual suspects—flacks, agents, producers. The Elizabeth-Loeb relationship itself wasn’t a secret; online gossip sites had been reporting that they’d been palling around for at least six months. But the incest thing? Not a hint. “And I would have known,” Valentine said. “Believe me. Bethany, you sweet old idiot . . .”
When the story hit the mainstream press, reporters practically fell over themselves racing to Millar’s barren Hollywood Hills home. Microphones were jabbed at her face.
Why didn’t she tell her daughter the truth? What kind of monster was she?
Why didn’t she tell her daughter the truth? What kind of monster was she?
Dark knew the answer to that one:
The kind who didn’t want to admit the truth. Not even to herself.
But the incest thing didn’t bug Dark. This was L.A., a virtual pit of twisted secrets. Lying to your daughter about the true identity of her father was nothing new, especially in a world where lineage could mean everything, and the wrong set of parents could doom you from the moment the doctor slapped you to kick-start your first breath.
What Dark kept coming back to was that this Labyrinth
knew
.
knew
.
Not only knew, but targeted them and exploited this fact in the most sensational way possible.
Someone who wanted to make a point to whomever would listen.
Which, at this point, was pretty much
everybody.
everybody.
All Comments (43,978)A senseless tragedy . . . cause she was HOTT even if she was banging her broAlx9722 55 seconds agoIf celebrity deaths come in threes does this count for two of them? Or only one? Is there a brother/sister discount?HELP ME I AM SO CONFUSEDpetme1029 1 minute agoWho the hell is LABYRINTH??? This what I want to know.Mesta mysteries 1 minute agoWow. This looks fake.gossoon 2 minutes agonipple!!!zzzzmango 3 minutes agoGood riddance
to all of these hollywood faker types, I say. Overpaid, undertalented hacks. They probably just crossed their drug dealer. Who was most likely their first cousin or something.Joeno ono 5 minutes agoAlx9722 is right I woulda tapped that shit before she died and all WHAT A WASTEdiscostixxx 5 minutes agoHow happy this vain little tart must have been to have died on camera.Omnigatherum111 5 minutes agoWhat is wrong with you people? These were human beings for gods sake?CrystalShawATL 6 minutes agoMore coming soon . . .labyrinth 8 minutes ago
After Dark put Sibby to bed for the night, he returned to his basement lab and wondered if the FBI had finally called in Riggins and Constance and the rest of Special Circs.
Part of Dark wanted to reach out to Riggins and kick the case around with him. Riggins was in many ways his opposite—brash, crude, given to wild hunches, and a shoot-first-ask-later attitude—but their skills complemented each other. They’d put away countless monsters. Put many of them down for good, too.
Ordinarily, this would have had Special Circs written all over it. Back when Dark was still a young and hungry agent, he could have practically loaded himself in a slingshot and launched himself clear across the country just so he could land in L.A. first. This was the kind of high-profile, byzantine case that Special Circs was designed to investigate.
But Special Circs was in deep trouble.
Dark himself had pulled the plug when he saw there was nowhere else to go but down. He wished Riggins and Constance the best, but he couldn’t stomach the bullshit anymore.
He wondered how Riggins had been able to put up with it for so many years.
chapter 10
RIGGINS
A
gent Tom Riggins rinsed out his mouth, spat into the sink, ran cold water over his face, checked his tongue, and wondered if this was it—if this was the day the job was going to kill him.
gent Tom Riggins rinsed out his mouth, spat into the sink, ran cold water over his face, checked his tongue, and wondered if this was it—if this was the day the job was going to kill him.
From the inside out.
Bumps were still there. Bumps were
definitely
still there. His GP must be blind. Maybe he needed a new doctor. Maybe he
was
dying, no matter what the doc said. Dying from the inside out, and now the rot had simply reached his tongue. He washed his face again, this time with water as hot as he could stand, then scooped a handful into his mouth.
Take that you little fuckers
. After drying his face with a paper towel, Riggins went back to his office. Which was still and dark, and not just because it was after hours on a weekday at Special Circs.
definitely
still there. His GP must be blind. Maybe he needed a new doctor. Maybe he
was
dying, no matter what the doc said. Dying from the inside out, and now the rot had simply reached his tongue. He washed his face again, this time with water as hot as he could stand, then scooped a handful into his mouth.
Take that you little fuckers
. After drying his face with a paper towel, Riggins went back to his office. Which was still and dark, and not just because it was after hours on a weekday at Special Circs.
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