Heroes of Falledge Book One: Black Hellebore (11 page)

He nodded and removed a piece of flint from his sport coat.

"Because he was late all the time and left early constantly," she added. She hadn't interacted much with the doctor prior to now, but had already formed an opinion of him. He thought himself superior to everyone and viewed the world in numbers: IQs and dollars. Nothing else mattered.

"Yes. If I'm only here to answer questions I've already answered--"

"You aren't." She eyed him and waited, a technique that almost always made the other person start talking. The doctor didn't disappoint.

"Lewis was a smart man. He knew what he was doing. But he was lazy. He was fired because of his poor work ethics. It was nothing personal."

"Was there ever an incidence in which he threatened anyone or the laboratory? Showed any signs of violence?"

"No."

She raised her eyebrows. His answer had come a little too quickly, a little too sharp.

"Look, Julianna, I know you're doing your job, but shouldn't you be trying to locate Lewis?"

"Sheriff Higgins is searching for him as we speak, but Lewis hasn't been to his apartment since before the, ah, event."

"All the more proof that he's guilty."

Julianna closed her eyes and counted to ten. Talking to this man was infuriating, all the more so because she was certain he knew more than he was sharing.

His chair scrapped across the floor, and she opened her eyes. "If you don't have any more questions," he said as he stood.

"Sit, please, just a few more." She waited for him to comply before asking, "Who was fired before Lewis?"

A muscle in his neck jumped. "Why?"

"It's possible Lewis wasn't working alone, or that Lewis wasn't the responsible party."

A bead of sweat formed on his forehead. "I'm sure it was Lewis."

"Doctor Richards, you would never dream of hindering a police investigation, would you?" she asked sweetly.

He sighed. "Karl Coleman."

Julianna let loose a low whistle. "Wow."

"Tell me about it." He wiped the sweat off his forehead. "I didn't have a choice. Didn't want to hire him in the first place but..."

The pressure from Coleman's father must have been immense. After all, Don Coleman was the mob boss in Lightmeadow.

Dr. Richards cleared his throat. "I hired him against my better judgment. He was too under-qualified and made too many careless, dangerous mistakes that threatened the lives of my employees. I had no choice but to fire him."

"So the mob could be behind the destruction of the laboratory."

"Yes..."

"Do you know if Lewis has any connection to the mob?"

"That I don't know, but it might explain his chronic tardiness."

"Anything else I should know?"

Dr. Richards rose to his feet again. One would have thought telling the truth would have lifted some of the weight off his shoulders, but he stood hunched over, as if trying to make himself smaller. "Not that I can think of."

"And the chemicals in the lab that caused the fog?"

"I already told the sheriffs about the chemicals, you can ask them."

"Why did you confiscate all of the wood and scrap metal pieces from the remains?"

"That is none of your concern," he snapped, all pretenses of civility gone. "I really have to be going. Good day, Julianna." He stalked out the door.

Julianna rubbed her forehead. Maybe she should turn over the investigation to Lightmeadow, like Sheriff Higgins wanted to. After all, the mob was located in Lightmeadow.

Something struck her as off. Lewis Lichman was a bright man. Why would he work for the mob? And if Nicholas was somehow involved...

She kept telling herself she got him the construction job so she could keep an eye on him and try to get him back on the straight and narrow. Deep down, though, she knew she wanted him around for a more selfish reason, a reason she had no business wanting. As infuriating as he was, she looked forward to their verbal sparring matches. She wanted to spend time with him. She found herself thinking about the kiss that hadn't been with her all the time. Wishing and wondering and hoping and dreaming for a love that would never be hers.

Chapter Eighteen

Dr. Richards straightened his back before entering his expansive conference room. Thankfully, his headquarters occupied a separate building from the laboratory. He hardly went into the lab, except to surprise his employees and frighten them into becoming more conscientious personnel.

Only one other person lingered in the room -- Hunter Walter, one of his longest-lasting and most diligent workers.

"Well?" Dr. Richards drummed his fingers on the tall, marble table, standing in front of his lush leather seat at the head of the table.

Hunter clasped his hands together on top of the table. He reached toward a chair and, after the doctor nodded, sat in it, spine straight, shoulders back. Hunter resembled a robot, tall and stiff, his face devoid of emotion. "I found traces of his DNA within the wreckage."

"Did he die then?" A spark of hope flared within his chest. The whole incident was a disaster, one of epic proportions, but a surmountable one, especially if he had died. If not...

"Inconclusive. I found traces of hair, skin, blood, but no bones, no organs." The scientist spread his hands out.

The doctor's hands curled into tight fists. "So he could have mutated as well, is that what you're saying?"

Swallowing hard, Hunter nodded. "It's possible."

"Damn!" Dr. Richards swore.

Lewis had tried to shut down the plant on one other occasion, bringing his pet cat along for some unfathomable reason. His cat fell into a vat and turned into a monster. The security guard witnessed it on camera and notified the president. Dr. Richards offered to pay Lewis a lot of money to keep his mouth shut, but Lewis claimed the pet died. Dr. Richards didn't believe him and made it perfectly clear to Lewis if he ever told anyone of his monstrous cat, scientists all over the world would perform so many experiments on him, the cat would die. Lewis hadn't blinked an eye at the threat, which made the doctor wonder if the cat had actually perished. Shortly thereafter, once Dr. Richards was certain Lewis would not turn to the media, he fired him.

"What do you want me to do now?" Hunter asked.

"Run more tests. Bring me proof of his death, or his survival."

The thin scarecrow of a scientist nodded and left the room.

Dr. Richards sank into his plush leather seat. Despite the soft cushions, he couldn't relax. He felt cold, as if his sport coat was made of ice. The image of the small cat transforming into a massive ferocious feline haunted him day and night. If a human transformed, what kind of monster would result?

Chapter Nineteen

He waited until twilight. The less sunlight the better. Thus far, it was the only thing that pained him, burning his eyes until he thought they would melt. Reminded him too much of the chemical burns that had stripped him of his skin and muscles. A memory he tried to ignore. The future was all that mattered now, not how he had gotten to this point.

He stalked down the streets. Most houses were dark. Some still burned with one or two lights. Falledge was a lazy town filled with lazy people. The few ambitious ones worked for Big Don.

How he hated Big Don! Almost as much as his father. Damn them both to Hell.

For all he knew, his father was already there.

Big Don wasn't his target tonight. Not yet. He had a plan to implement, one that would have Big Don craving the sweet release of death. Big Don would beg on his knees.

He rubbed his hands together and grinned as much as his lipless mouth would allow.

Toward the end of town, he approached his destination, a rundown apartment complex with burgundy paint peeling away in splotches. The place had deteriorated over the years, almost as worthless as the lowlifes who lived within its crumbling walls.

He entered through the back door. The elevators were out of service, not a surprise, and he took the stairs four at a time to reach the sixth floor. He adjusted his hat so it covered most of his face and opened the door.

He was glad to lack a nose. Two overflowing garbage cans stood across from him, five dirty diapers on top, one on the floor with crap beside it, next to a half eaten apple. Flies swarmed the disaster.

He turned to the left and stalked toward room 632. Not bothering to knock, he reached for the handle. Locked.

"Who's there?" a voice called from inside.

He grinned again. Good. His prey was home.

"Don't worry about it, they'll go away," a female voice said.

He snapped off the doorknob with no effort, and the door swung open.

"What the--"

"Hiya, Davey Boy," he said. "Remember me?"

Davey's face turned white. "N-no. Get out of here!"

The chick screamed. "Get out!" She grabbed a sheet from the bed, covered her half-naked body, and slammed the bathroom door shut behind her.

"I'm not going to take orders from anyone anymore. Do you understand?"

Davey seemed to recover from some of his shock and dove toward his nightstand. The thug knocked it over. A fast-food bag and its contents spilled everywhere.

He watched and waited, amused with how Davey chose to live out his last moments. He wasn't surprised when Davey managed to find the gun and pointed it at him, at his chest.

"I told you to get out!"

"No orders anymore, remember?"

Davey fired off two shots. They ricocheted off his bones. One burrowed itself into the wall behind Davey, the other splintered the window. "Wearing a vest?" Davey asked, his eyes wide.

He inhaled as if he still had a nose. He could almost smell Davey's fear and panic. It gave him a high.

He lifted his hat so Davey could get a better look at his face. "I have a message for Big Don."

"W-what is it?" Davey lowered his arms, still holding his gun in his hands, his feet still spread wide. His arm muscles twitched as if he was ready to pull up the gun and shoot again at any moment.

He took a giant step to stand before Davey and slapped his head. There was a sickening crunch sound as the side of his face caved in. Davey dropped to the ground, blood gushing and forming a puddle beneath his immobile body.

From the bathroom came crying and wailing. The chick was on the phone. Probably with the police.

He ripped the door open and flung it aside. The girl shrieked and knelt beside the toilet. Mascara streaked down her face, the black mixing with her tears. "You stay away from-- Oh my God, you killed him!" She dropped her phone.

He picked it up and closed his hand. The phone crumbled into several pieces.

"Please, please, don't kill me, don't kill me." She sobbed so hard he found it difficult to discern what she said.

"I do what I want."

"Y-you-you said you had a message for B-Big Don. I-I-I can tell it to him. Please, let me tell him." A wet spot formed in the sheet as she pissed herself.

Her scent of fear was tangier than Davey Boy's. His had been sweeter, almost decadent. Davey Boy had never given the old Lewis Lichman a chance -- thought him a weakling, unworthy. Well, he had showed the goon. Now he was reborn, and Davey lay dead.

She was weeping again, her thin body wracked by sobs. The pathetic girl annoyed him.

"Tell him his boys had better watch themselves. And so should he."

Sirens sounded nearby, closer every second. He had to leave. Now.

"W-watch themselves. Got it." Her face paled as the sirens grew even louder. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called--"

He thought about slapping her to shut up her rambling but knew he wouldn't be able to refrain from killing her with the blow.

"You don't have a nose..." She clapped her hands over her mouth, and the sheet lowered slightly, but still covered most of her body.

She obviously couldn't stop talking. Good, at least that ensured she would deliver his message. Even if she didn't for some reason, Davey Boy's bashed in skull was enough of a threat in and of itself.

Leaving her alive, he returned to the bedroom, grabbed his hat, and punched the already spidered window. Glass fell in shards around him. He grabbed the outside wall and climbed the building. Strange, he didn't need hand or footholds, as if he had no center of gravity. With ease and great speed, he reached the roof in seconds. Below him, the police scurried inside the building, looking like mindless drones. Without focus, without discipline. The entire world lacked discipline. But he would change that. He would change everything.

First Big Don and the mob. Then Falledge. Soon, the entire world would be his.

Chapter Twenty

Bright and early, Nicholas arrived at the site of the laboratory. They planned to rebuild it in the exact location as the previous one.

Most of the other workers stood around, drinking coffee. Nicholas shook his head when someone raised a cup toward him. He wasn't tired, hardly felt the need to sleep anymore. It had been too long since he had dreamt of Justina. Tonight, he promised himself, even if he wasn't tired, he'd try to sleep. Like an addict needing his fix, he needed to see her, to feel her, to hold her...

A few workers dug holes for the foundation. Nicholas walked past them to a tall, burly man bent over some papers on a small table.

"What do ya want?" the man asked in a gruff voice, not bothering to turn around.

"Name's Nicholas Adams. I'm here to work."

The guy straightened, turned around, and eyed him up and down. "You'll do. Grab a shovel. Ya here to work, so work."

"Any paperwork to fill out?" He hated paperwork.

"Here." From one of the stacks of paper, the man handed Nicholas a few forms.

After filling them out so quickly his writing looked like scribbles, Nicholas grabbed a shovel. He pressed the blade into the dirt so far he didn't need to step on it to force it into the earth any deeper and flung the dirt over his shoulder.

"Hey, watch where ya fling it! Over there, into the mound." His boss glared at him.

Nicholas looked over his shoulder. The dirt he'd flung was nowhere in sight.