Kiss Her Goodbye (A Thriller) (31 page)

 He knew exactly where he was. And something inside him, some sixth sense, told him he needed to find the passenger car. Gunderson’s hiding place.

 Turning, he crossed toward a gap between two freight cars, trampling the high weeds that covered much of the ground. Trudging over a set of rusted train tracks, he navigated the gap and emerged on the other side.

 More of the same greeted him. Unlike the real yard, this place seemed denser, more formidable. The cars cast long shadows in the moonlight—shadows that somehow seemed alive.

 He felt eyes watching him. But not the eyes of the rodents or the feral cats he’d encountered before. This was something different.

 Something … malignant.

 Fear clutched him, but he shook it off and continued forward. More train cars blocked his path, but through a narrow gap between two of them, he saw the glow of light.

 He squinted, trying to make out the source of it, and as he drew closer, clearing the gap, he realized what it was.

 His destination. The passenger car.

 It looked much the same as before, but there were no boards on the windows. Flickering fluorescent light spilled out into the night, reminding him, of all things, of an Edward Hopper diner. Much like the rest of the yard, it seemed alive, like a pulsing organ.

 As he approached, he saw that the rows of seats inside were empty and still. No sign of Gunderson.

 Not yet, at least.

 He stopped a few yards away. Waited. Heard a distant howl of wind.

 He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. At any moment, something not quite human would tap him on the shoulder, reach into his chest, and snatch his soul away.

 And that would be it. Game lost.

 As he stood there, struggling to suppress this fear, a faint but unmistakable sound rose above the howl of the wind. Someone crying.

 Someone—

 —Jessie?

 Oh, Jesus.

 It was coming from the passenger car.

 Panic rising, he crossed to one of the windows and peered inside, seeing no sign of life. He worked his way along the side of the car, looking in window after window. Nothing.

 The crying continued. Deep, terrified sobs.

 Moving around to the train car’s door, he found it padlocked shut. He searched the ground, snatched up a good-sized rock, and hammered the lock over and over, until it finally broke open.

 Throwing the door wide, he was assaulted by a blast of light so intense that he had to shut his eyes—

 —and when he opened them again, it wasn’t the interior of the passenger car he saw, but the curved cement walls of the Chicago freight tunnels.

 He was underground, beneath the city, knee-deep in river water.

 And Jessie was still crying.

H
OW LONG HAS
it been?” Rachel asked, staring down at Donovan’s lifeless body. She felt sick to her stomach.

 Wong checked his watch. “Little over two minutes, give or take.”

 “Give or take?”

 “Relax,” Wong said. “He’s just getting started.”

T
HERE WAS LIGHT
down here.

 He didn’t realize where it was coming from until he discovered he was holding his flashlight.

 What the hell?

 He supposed he could try to come up with a logical explanation for this, but what was the point? Like a dream, logic was irrelevant here.

 The feeling that he was being watched had not abated, and he wondered if this death, this afterlife, was merely a product of some form of communal thought. A kind of metaphysical Internet connecting each of us—both the living
and
the dead—through invisible data lines. While we remain a part of the whole, we also contribute our own little piece of randomness to the equation.

 Maybe our thoughts are the programming code. Donovan had needed a flashlight, so he had one. That this had happened without his realizing it only confirmed that he had little or no control here. He was a neophyte, a guest with limited privileges, who hadn’t yet mastered this particular domain.

 Of course, he could be wrong.

 Could be that all of the above was just a bunch of happy horseshit. Hadn’t he just told himself to forget logic?

 But, he wondered, if it
was
true, was it also possible that someone like Gunderson—who, according to Grandma Luke, had been straddling both worlds and had been raised to believe and have faith in these things—might have a better understanding of how to control the environment? Would he be able to hack into a fellow traveler’s thoughts and manipulate him at will? That might explain the feeling that someone was watching him. And the sudden changes in his environment.

 It might also explain Jessie’s sobs.

 Focusing in on them, Donovan raised the flashlight above his shoulder and shone it into the tunnel ahead, seeing little more than darkness. The sound of her tears put a knot in his stomach, but he was convinced now that this was just another of Gunderson’s ruses.

 After all, hadn’t Gunderson used Bobby Nemo to get them to that train yard? Hadn’t he left the Suburban parked in plain sight to draw Donovan into those tunnels?

 Hadn’t he used Jessie’s sobs before?

 He’s playing you, Jack. Don’t believe a thing you see. Or hear.

 Or feel, for that matter—

 (Had something just brushed past him in the water?)

 He shone the light toward his legs and saw nothing but murky liquid. A slight ripple on the surface, however, convinced him he wasn’t alone.

 Feeling the sudden urge to move, he started through the tunnel, letting Jessie’s sobs guide him. The deeper into it he got, the higher the water rose. It was up to his waist now.

 The fear he’d felt a few moments ago was also on the rise. Something slick and slimy resided in this black water and was stalking him with the practiced stealth of a predator.

 Easy, Jack. Get a grip.

 It’s all in your head, remember?

 Staring at the water, he was reminded of the dubious green liquid that Wong had given him to drink. The fleshy bits floating in it that had almost seemed alive. Was he merely transferring that image to this place? Yet another piece of baggage?

 Or was Gunderson playing netherworld Wizard of Oz?

 Jessie’s sobs were closer now.

 Following a bend in the tunnel, he continued toward the sound, the water rising to his chest.

 Keeping the flashlight raised above his shoulder, he saw a dead end just ahead, a wall of cement that housed a familiar steel door, three-quarters of which stood beneath the surface of the water.

 Something brushed past him again. Unmistakable this time. He flinched and wheeled around, shining his light into the blackness, catching just a glimpse of glistening gray flesh as it crested the surface, then disappeared beneath it.

 Stifling a wave of revulsion, he whipped back around toward the door. The only way through it was underwater. He’d have to get down to where the thing that was stalking him resided.

 The question was, would he be able to get through the door before the thing decided to strike?

 The water rippled again, his stalker on the prowl. Unwilling to stand there and find out what its intentions were, he braced himself, sucked in a deep breath, then dove into the murk, heading for the steel door. It was too black down here to see anything, but he swam forward, legs kicking, arms outstretched, hoping to latch onto the wheel that should be mounted at the center.

 A moment later, he collided with it. Grabbing hold with both hands, he tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge.

 The thing in the water made another pass. Even closer this time.

 Donovan jerked the wheel. Come on, you piece of shit,
move.
 

 Mustering up every ounce of strength he had, he tried a third time and it gave slightly, turning a fraction of an inch to the left.

 He was about to try again when his stalker brushed against him, more aggressively than ever, its slick flesh icy to the touch. Donovan flinched and shot upward, breaking the surface of the water, sucking in precious air.

 Sonofabitch.

 You’re letting him control you, Jack. Don’t let him control you. The reality of this world is what
you
make it. No one else. Concentrate and you’ll get what you want.

 Taking another deep breath, he dove again. A moment later he had the wheel in his hands, and from out of nowhere, the slimy thing bumped hard against him, then circled away.

 A low, angry roar rippled through the water. He imagined the thing moving toward him again, its open mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

 Frantic now, Donovan turned hard, but the wheel still wouldn’t budge.

 Turn, goddammit.
Turn!
 

 Feeling movement behind him, knowing the thing was surely headed straight for him, he centered his concentration on the wheel, and all at once it gave. Spinning it to the left, he yanked the door open—

 —only to be assaulted by another blast of intense white light.

I
CAN’T TAKE
much more of this," Rachel said.

 “Relax. He’s well under the limit.”

 “How long?”

 Wong sighed, glancing at his watch again. “A little over three minutes to go.”

 Rachel shifted her gaze to the ancient defibrillator, then looked at Wong. His face was impassive. Bored. She wondered how many times he’d done this.

 Then again, maybe she didn’t want to know.

 “It’s okay,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “My grandfather taught me well. Still gives me pointers sometimes.”

 “Your grandfather’s alive?”

 Wong shook his head and grinned. “No. But we keep in touch.”

W
HEN THE LIGHT
faded, he was standing in an alley between two high-rise apartment buildings. The sky was dark and restless, but the moon was full, giving him plenty of illumination. The smell of rotting garbage filled the air. A row of overflowing trash cans lined a nearby cement wall.

 The only sound was a distant wind.

 And, of course, Jessie crying.

 His beacon.

 He headed toward her, moving through the shadows to the mouth of the alley. The hairs bristled on the back of his neck. Was someone behind him?

 Looking over his shoulder, he thought he saw movement in the darkness beyond the garbage cans. He picked up his pace and hurried out of the alley onto a familiar city street.

 It was empty. Devoid of life.

 Not exactly a surprise.

 But up ahead, along the curb, ringed by pools of streetlight and spilling onto the sidewalk, was a row of mangled cars. Just off to the left, the news van, Gunderson’s getaway car, lay on its side, steam rising from beneath its hood.

 This is it, Donovan thought. Where it all started. The wreck that put Sara in a coma and changed all of their lives.

 Jessie’s sobs echoed from inside the van.

 Donovan started toward it, then hesitated. What exactly did he expect to find there? He had to think about it a moment, and when he did, it came to him.

 A conclusion. That’s all he was hoping for. An end to this saga, one way or the other.

 He started forward again, crossing the blacktop toward the van, the sound of Jessie’s sobs growing louder as he approached. Glancing at its oil-caked underbelly, he noticed gas leaking from the ruptured tank, the smell of it stinging his nostrils. He quickly hoisted himself onto the bumper and climbed up to the side of the van, where the sliding door hung open in invitation.

 It was dark inside, but he could hear Jessie clearly, only inches away. The moment he realized he needed a flashlight, it once again appeared in his hand. He flicked it on, pointing the beam into the well of the van.

 A small, naked figure sat huddled on the floor against the back of the driver’s seat, head buried in her hands, crying.

 Sweet holy Jesus. He hadn’t expected this.

 “Jessie?”

 The girl flinched at the sound of his voice, then slowly raised her head. But as she did, her body began to grow and change shape, morphing like the villain in some low-budget sci-fi flick—

 —into Alexander Gunderson.

 He smiled and held up a pocket digital recorder, Jessie’s sobs emanating from its speaker. It was the same player Donovan had found in the tunnels.

 “Fool me once,” Gunderson said, flicking it off. “You’re awfully easy to manipulate, Jack.”

 “And you’re getting predictable,” Donovan said.

 “Nice of you to play along.” Gunderson gestured to their surroundings. “Not exactly what you bargained for, is it? All those promises of eternal rest and what do we get? Our own little piece of fucked-up reality.”

 Donovan climbed into the well of the van, facing Gunderson directly. “Where is she, Alex?”

 “Ahh. Straight to the million-dollar question.”

 “Enough is enough. It’s over. Just tell me where she is.”

 “Over?” Gunderson said. “You think I went to all that trouble with Bobby and poor Luther just to get you here for some pointless little confab? That took a helluva lot of concentration, my friend. And that kind of work deserves a worthwhile payoff.”

 “Meaning what?” Donovan said. “Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”

 “That’s the gist of it, hotshot. When that two-bit witch doctor gives you the touch of life, he and your little girlfriend are in for a nice surprise. Imagine what a guy with a mind like mine could do with a highly respected, federally employed body like yours.” Gunderson thought about that a moment, then laughed. “What am I saying? You don’t have to imagine it. You make a helluva copilot, Jack, but this time I’m flying solo.”

 “Where is she, Alex?”

 “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. Why don’t you hang around awhile? Those air tanks won’t last forever.”

 Donovan felt the urge to lunge, but before he could move, Gunderson dissolved into vapor.

 The smell of gas once again filled his nostrils, and with a whooshing sound, the seat in front of him burst into flames. More flames shot up on either side, threatening to box him in.

 Surprised, he spun around—

 —only to be jolted by the realization that he was no longer inside the van. It had vanished, along with the fire, the streets, and the city surrounding it.