Kiss Her Goodbye (A Thriller) (32 page)

 Instead, he found himself standing on a rocky precipice, a hot wind whipping past him like a blast of furnace heat. At his feet was a deep chasm in the earth. An endless, dark abyss.

 And it could only be described as the gate to hell.

52

W
ELCOME TO THE
lost and found, Jack.”

 Donovan turned. Gunderson stood several yards behind him, leaning against an outcropping of rocks. Beyond him was the same stark landscape Donovan had seen on his first visit here.

 Gunderson’s dark eyes shone in the moonlight.

 “I know how you’re feeling,” he said. “It takes a while to figure this place out. The first question you ask yourself is, how much of it’s real? The answer is everything … and nothing. Once you wrap your brain around that kernel of absurdity, you’re gold.”

 He pushed away from the outcropping and started toward Donovan.

 “I know it’s a cliché,” he continued, “but people are sheep. They get into that tunnel and hear Grandma and Uncle Bob calling them and forget all about their shitty little lives. They head straight for the light like a teenager homing in on his girlfriend’s tits.”

 He brought out a cigarette, lit it, then took a drag and blew smoke. “Then there’s the resisters. The folks who, for whatever reason, aren’t quite ready to let go. Accidents, suicides having second thoughts, nature’s mistakes, or just stubborn bastards like you and me. We’re cosmic anomalies, Jack. We turn away from the light and wind up here, hoping for a way back home. It’s the lost and found. Emphasis on
lost.”
 

 Donovan just looked at him. “You’re not impressing me, Alex. Where is she?”

 Gunderson snorted. “You need to widen your focus, Barney. Pay more attention to the world around you. If you’d done that back home, you could’ve found her anytime you wanted.”

 “Meaning?”

 Gunderson came to a stop a few feet away. Taking another deep drag off the cigarette, he flicked it past Donovan’s ear into the abyss. There was a brief spark of light and something crackled below.

 “Helluva view, isn’t it? No pun intended. Sara used to enjoy a good view. Give her a lakefront window and you’d lose her for half the day.”

 “No more bullshit, Alex. Just tell me.”

 “You see what I mean? You’re not paying
attention.
When you figure this thing out, my man, you’re gonna kick yourself for taking such a huge risk in coming here again.” Gunderson shrugged. “But what the hell. No balls, no babies, right?”

 As far as Donovan was concerned, the only one taking a risk right now was Gunderson. He was about to rip him a new asshole.

 “Let’s tackle this in a way you can appreciate,” Gunderson said. “One word. Ten letters. Here’s the clue—you ready?”

 Another goddamn puzzle. Donovan was ready, all right. Ready to castrate the motherfucker.

 Gunderson smiled. “Sara’s window. All you had to do was look out Sara’s window.” His eyes hardened. “Too bad you’ll never get that chance.”

 Then he pounced.

 It happened so quickly that Donovan wasn’t even sure he’d seen him move. One second Gunderson was standing there and the next he had his hands wrapped around Donovan’s throat, crushing his windpipe with his thumbs.

 Donovan tried to breathe, tried to beat him away, but his blows seemed to have no effect. Gunderson increased the pressure, driving him to the ground, and Donovan fell hard, rocks digging into his back. The steady loss of oxygen drained him of strength, narrowed his vision.

 “Control, Jack. That’s what it’s all about. Here … in the real world … and even down there, where you’re headed.”

 There was a small electric storm brewing inside the abyss, as if waiting in hungry anticipation for Gunderson to finish his task.

 As his consciousness faded, Donovan flailed, trying again to beat Gunderson away, but his blows were soft and powerless. A few seconds more and he’d be gone.

 Come on, Jack, concentrate. This place is what you make it. Everything and nothing.

 Think about Jessie.

 Take control, goddammit.
Now.
 

 In a final, Hail Mary attempt to break free, he brought his knee up hard into Gunderson’s groin, centering every bit of his concentration on the impact between bone and testicle.

 The connection was solid.

 Gunderson howled, grabbing himself, and fell back.

 Donovan choked and coughed, sucking air into his lungs. Rolling over, he got up on his hands and knees, then staggered to his feet.

 He glanced toward Gunderson, expecting to find him curled up in a fetal position—

 —but Gunderson wasn’t there.

 And before Donovan could pull himself fully upright, a boot connected with his ribs, jolting him with pain, knocking him down again. Looking up at the sky, he found Gunderson silhouetted against it, circling like a predator.

 “Not bad, hotshot. You’re starting to catch on. Unfortunately, it’s too little too late.”

 He punctuated his words with another kick to the ribs.

 “You see, Jack, while you’re still trying not to piss all over yourself, I’m already hitting the bowl.”

 Donovan struggled to get up, but another kick sent him sprawling.

 Gunderson continued circling. “You should’ve seen Sara the day we met. She was a lot like your little pea pod—all ripe and ready to wear. What do you think a mind like hers would be able to do with a sweet fifteen-year-old body?”

 Donovan tried to catch his breath. “… What are you talking about?”

 Gunderson smiled. “I didn’t take Jessie just to piss you off, Jack. That’d be a tad shallow, don’t you think? I had plans for her from the very beginning.”

 “What plans?”

 “Ever hear of a little thing called controlled metempsychosis?”

 Donovan shook his head.

 “It’s just a bullshit word for a very simple process: the transmigration of souls.”

 Donovan suddenly remembered the conversation he’d had with Bobby Nemo. About Gunderson’s stoned monologues on reincarnation, mind control, the swapping of souls …

 “Most religions believe in transmigration,” Gunderson said. “Even the Christians were into it before they got civilized. But my nasty old aunt, as crazy as she was, always believed it was a lot more than religious psychobabble. She was convinced that there were certain people in the world—people like you and Jessie—who, with the right conditioning, could be used as vessels for migrant souls. Kind of like a car with the driver’s door hanging open and the key in the ignition.” Another smile. “Guess she wasn’t so crazy after all.”

 Donovan tried to rise again and got another boot to the ribs. Pain blossomed and he clutched his side.

 “Unfortunately,” Gunderson said, “that fat fuck cop put a stop to the wheels before they really got rolling. And I gotta tell you, I thought the coins had let me down.”

 “Coins?” Donovan had no idea what Gunderson was talking about.

 “The
I Ching
, Jack.
The Book of Changes.
You really need to expand your mind.” There was a flicker of disgust in Gunderson’s eyes, then he continued, “So after the cop did his deed, I had to improvise, and, surprise, surprise, the coins weren’t wrong after all. Turns out the improv is so much better than the original.”

 The boot came up again, knocking Donovan backward.

 “While you were incapacitated last night, I was a busy, busy boy. Stopped by to see Sara. Her nurse tried to bitch me out of there, but I hung around long enough to give her a message.”

 Donovan could barely breathe. “A message?”

 “She may
look
dead to the world, but she’s still got a channel or two on receive mode. You just gotta know how to tune her in.”

 “What did you tell her?”

 “Nothing special. Just that we have a prime opportunity here. A chance to start over. And just as I expected, you took the bait. Now, the first order of business in my shiny new, federally franchised body is to pay Sara another visit.” He grinned. “And pull the plug.”

 The sparks from the abyss were reflected in his eyes. “Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Part Two, hotshot. Leave no child behind. It might take us a while to get over the father-daughter thing, but I think we’ll manage. Don’t you?”

W
ONG WAS SMOKING
another cigarette, thinking he might actually be able to make his student-loan payment this month, when the girl said, “He blinked.”

 Wong jerked his head toward her boyfriend on the table. Motionless.

 He looked up at the girl. Damn, she was cute.

 “Impossible,” he said. “He ain’t taking an afternoon nap.”

 “I swear I saw his eyelids flicker.”

 She’d been on edge ever since she’d stepped foot in the room. Now she was getting agitated. She was also seeing things.

 “Situation like this,” he said, “sometimes your imagination gets the better of you.”

 “No. Something’s wrong. Bring him back.”

 Wong checked his watch. “He’s still got a couple—”

 
“Bring him back,”
she said, her voice rising.

 There was a fierceness in her tone that Wong wasn’t about to argue with. Cute, but no pushover. He liked that.

 Doffing an imaginary cap, he said, “I aim to please,” then stubbed out his cigarette and went to work.

C
LUTCHING HIS BATTERED
ribs, Donovan struggled to get to his feet, but the celery sticks were back, as rubbery as ever.

 Focus, Jack. You did it once, you can do it again.

 Donovan may not have been much of a father, was certainly a failure as a family man, but one thing he’d always excelled at was shutting out the world around him and focusing in on the task at hand. Why should it be any different now?

 Willing strength into his legs, he pulled himself upright and stood. He swayed slightly, but the harder he concentrated, the steadier he got.

 Gunderson circled toward him. “Like I said, Barney. Too little, too late.”

 And all at once, he was gone—

 —only to appear, a split second later, behind Donovan. But Donovan hadn’t missed it this time, had sensed the move before Gunderson made it. He wheeled around and blocked another blow to his ribs, then immediately countered with a backhand to the jaw, once again feeling the solid connection of tissue against bone.

 Gunderson reeled, stumbling back, but caught himself, steadied his feet. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he found blood. “You should play tennis, Jack. That’s a helluva backhand.”

 Behind Donovan, the abyss crackled and sparked hungrily.

 “Unfortunately for you,” Gunderson said, “it’s forty–love and I’ve got the serve.”

 He brought his hands up, holding his palms outward.

 A sound rose in Donovan’s ears, like a thousand bees swarming inside his head. What looked like a ripple in the surface of the air emanated from Gunderson’s palms, radiating straight toward him.

 It hit him with the force of a small tsunami. His feet flew out from under him and he felt himself falling backward—

 —straight into the abyss.

R
ACHEL WATCHED WONG
work, his hands roaming over Jack’s chest and head, finding and massaging pressure points.

 For the first time today, Wong looked worried.

 Nothing was happening.

 “What’s wrong?”

 “He’s not responding. If anything, he seems to have gone deeper.”

 “What? What does that mean?”

 “Shut up and let me concentrate.”

 He continued to massage Jack’s chest, then suddenly balled his fists and pounded on it. “Pump, you piece of shit!”

 “The defibrillator,” Rachel said. “Use the defibrillator.”

 Wong glanced at the ancient machine. “You’re kidding me, right? Thing hasn’t been fired up in decades.”

 
“What?”
 

 “It’s part of the sales pitch. I tell every client the same goddamn thing. I’ve just never seen one go this deep before.”

 “You son of a bitch,” Rachel said, crossing to the defibrillator. She found the plug and shoved it into a nearby socket. Grabbing the paddles, she searched the control panel for the power switch and flicked it on.

 The thing moaned in protest as if being awakened from a deep sleep, but it was coming alive and that was good. Rachel studied the panel, trying to figure it out. “What now?”

 Wong was still working on Donovan. “Third switch on the left, I think.”

 “You
think?
” Without waiting for a response, she flicked the switch and the machine began to whir, a high, unpleasant whine that quickly rose in intensity.

 “Move,” she shouted, shoving Wong aside, then raised the paddles over Jack’s chest.

A
S HE FELL
, Donovan flung his arms out, grabbing desperately for the walls of the abyss. Focusing his concentration, he hooked his hands around a grouping of rocks and jerked to a stop, feet dangling.

 Hugging the cliff wall, he found purchase on a small, practically nonexistent overhang. It crumbled slightly as he stepped on it, sending dirt and rock into the blackness below.

 The sparks intensified.

 A clap of thunder boomed and a small jolt of electricity shot through Donovan’s body—a mild hit to the chest that surprised him, but wasn’t strong enough to dislodge him from the wall.

 Had it come from Gunderson? Looking up past the lip of the abyss, he saw an already turbulent sky begin to churn, dark clouds gathering, swirling restlessly.

 Then Gunderson appeared, crouched near the edge, and glanced up toward the sky. “Isn’t that sweet?” he said. “They’re coming for you, Jack. Too bad you’re gonna miss the ride.”

 There was a second clap of thunder and Donovan felt another jolt. Directly above Gunderson, a vague but unmistakable wormhole began to form in the clouds.

 Gunderson watched it a moment, then returned his gaze to Donovan and raised his hands again, palms outward, a fresh new smile on his face.

R
ACHEL WAS ABOUT
to go for round three when Wong checked Jack’s pulse and said, “Wait, wait! I’ve got something.”