Monument 14: Savage Drift (Monument 14 Series) (20 page)

I wished I could have discussed it with Alex.

The mood in the car grew grim as I turned onto Rinée’s street. The child was oblivious—Astrid had found a pacifier jammed in the seat-back pouch. Even though it seemed small (do they come in sizes?), Rinée was thrilled to have it and was lulled into a daze.

Some of the houses looked fine. Others looked like they’d been in a tornado—windows broken, clothes and junk on the lawns. A car with a crushed trunk sat half on the sidewalk and half in the street.

“This is just wrong,” Jake said. He was fully blotto by now. “The government. To not warn these people. It’s wrong.”

“Yeah, yeah. We know,” Astrid told him. She knew about the whisky. She had to know.

I parked in front of the house.

“If he’s home, we give him the girl and we leave, that simple,” Astrid said.

“And if he’s not home?” I asked.

“If he’s not home, I don’t know.”

I cut the engine in front of the house I remembered as Rinée’s.

There was no body.

There was blood staining the walkway and the dry ground and turf.

There was no body.

But there was a trail.

I made a sound—kind of a moan or some guttural expression of fear and grief.

Astrid put her hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to go out there alone,” she said.

“Heck, no,” Jake said. He put his hand on the handle to open the door, but his hand missed it. “We’re a team. Me and the Booker.”

Ah, Booker. My old nickname, meaning a nerd and also, somehow, a liberal, like President Booker.

But Jake couldn’t even open the door he was so drunk.

“It’s okay,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “I got this.”

I pulled up my suit, took my mask out, and put it on.

Astrid leaned forward to help me zip it closed. She put her mouthpiece in, too, just to be sure.

The air looked crisp and clear, but still.

Jake had his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Something’s wrong with my gut.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I really mean it,” I said.

And I really did. I didn’t have to judge him anymore.

I had stashed the trucker’s handgun under my seat and I picked it up now, my hand shaking.

Rinée started crying. Maybe the masks scared her. Maybe she was picking up on the vibe.

I opened the door.

No whistling from the suit. No red light.

“That’s a relief,” I said.

I took off the mask and tossed it back inside.

I went up the walkway, stepping over Rinée’s mother’s blood.

The trail of matted blood led off toward the next house. It was clear where she’d been dragged.

I knocked. There was no answer. The door to Rinée’s house was unlocked.

“Hello,” I called. “I’m Dean. And, uh, we’ve been keeping your daughter safe. We’re here to give her back.”

No answer.

I just stood there blinking for a while. I was going to have to search this house. I was going to have to search it for Rinée’s dad, who might be dead or hiding.

The entryway showed the chaos and disarray that had overtaken the woman’s mind. There was stuff everywhere, including—dear God!—a ziplock bag stuffed with one- and five-dollar bills and change.

I picked it up. Didn’t hesitate. We needed that money.

I checked each room. The basement. The closets. No one.

Back at the car, I just shook my head.

“Shoot,” Astrid said.

“Let’s just go to Texas,” Jake said. “Leave a note and give my mom’s address.”

“No, we should stay,” I decided. “The air is fine. And Rinée’s dad may come back. There’s no sign of him inside. We’ll stay here and wait.”

Astrid nodded and closed her eyes, her hands on her belly. She looked exhausted. A day or two of rest was what she needed.

“There’s just one thing I want to do first,” I said. “I need to follow a trail. Make sure we’re safe.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

JOSIE

DAY 34

After we’re sure they are gone, Lori heads back to the other room to sleep with Heather.

I pull off one of the bureaus and sleep curled up on the foot of the bed, but not very well and not for long—they could come back.

I wake up while the sky is turning the color of silt, the sun trying to bring some gold and warmth into our bleak world.

Instead of taking the other bureau off the bed, which would wake everyone, I carefully lift the bottom of the bed frame and shift it to the side.

I wish that I had a pencil so I could scribble a note on the wall, or something to leave for Lori, to say that I am sorry—some gift that would make her understand that I do care for them, and that it is my caring for them that forces me to leave them.

They have a chance, without me.

Mario will recover and come back to protect them, I pray. But even if he doesn’t, with the goodness of the skinny mom—and the other people who had come to our aid at Plaza 900—the kids will be okay.

Lori is tough enough to keep them safe.

Even if she has to bargain her body for their safety, they will be okay.

There is only one thing that I know to be true—if I am near them, I will bring danger.

So I will escape now. Or I will be killed while trying to escape.

And, dear God, wouldn’t that be a relief to everyone?

It would be to me.

I grant myself one last request: I want to say good-bye to Mario.

*   *   *

The door to the stairwell is unlocked. Of course it is—the Union Men bribed Venger to leave it that way.

I slip down the stairs, the only sound the worn-out treads of my orthopedic shoes on the steps.

God bless Mario’s wife, who had the same size feet as me.

I have to go through the Men’s hall to get to the front door. It is dank in the hall. Most of the doors are closed, and the few that are open give glimpses of heavy bodies asleep on the floor or beds.

In only one room is a man awake.

A light-skinned man sitting on the floor, playing solitaire.

He looks up as I pass, startled.

Then sees who I am.

“Good luck, girl,” he croaks, and waves me on.

*   *   *

I stick close to the buildings as I cross the courtyard.

We aren’t allowed out of our rooms until six, breakfast time.

I have to skirt Gillett and Plaza 900 to get to Rollins, and the clinic.

I see a guard leaning against a building. He has a thermos of something hot and steamy and doesn’t notice me.

I enter Rollins and walk down the long hallway outside the clinic. It is odd to see it empty of the sick and injured. There are stains on the floor in intervals. I don’t stop to ponder what from.

The door is shut and locked, of course, but someone has to be in there taking care of the patients.

I knock on the glass.

After a moment, Dr. Neman, the woman from the courtyard, comes to the door. “We open at nine,” she says and then she squints through the glass at me.

She opens the door.

“You’re the girl Venger was punishing, right?” she says.

I nod.

She runs her hand through her hair. I guess she thinks I’m there about my stupid knuckles.

“Come in,” she tells me.

*   *   *

It is warmer in the clinic than in the rest of the building.

“What are they feeding you all? You’re skin and bones,” she says. “Sit down and I’ll take a look at your hands. Isn’t it a little risky to be out before the morning bell? I mean, do you really want to give Venger another reason to discipline you?”

“My knuckles are okay, actually. Dr. Quarropas saw me yesterday.”

“Well then, what on earth—” She seems tired and pissed.

“I had to come because you have my friend here,” I say. “I’m here to talk to my friend, Mr. Scietto.”

Dr. Neman gets a look of clenched-jaw irritation.

“You’re here for a
visit
?”

“Please,” I beg. “The Union Men are angry with me, and if I’m going to see Mario, it has to be now, before they can find me—”

She throws up her hands, doesn’t want to hear any more about it.

She picks up a minitab and it glows under her touch.

“He’s not here,” she tells me, reading it.

“What do you mean?”

“Mario Scietto? He was released last night,” she says.

“But…”

I push past her. Maybe she is thinking of the wrong guy.

“He’s not here,” she calls after me.

I peer into the room, to the side, where I had set Mario myself.

It is true.

He is not there.

In his cot is the pug-faced Union Man. The one I beat.

His face is black and blue, swollen. His eye crusted shut.

The gash on his nose is bandaged with a folded paper towel and masking tape.

I look down and retreat, backing up into the entrance room.

“But why did you release him? He might have had fractured ribs. When did you release him?”

“I’m sorry that your friend is gone,” she tells me brusquely. “But I am busy.”

“Can you please check his file?”

With irritation, she brings up Mario’s file on the screen again.

“Dr. Quarropas discharged. There’s a note.” She moves her fingers on the screen, bringing up the note. “’Mr. Venger brought in the boy in there and suggested strongly that Mr. Scietto be discharged.’”

I whirl away from her.

“You’re welcome,” she snaps.

I turn back. “What time was he discharged?”

“Oh, for Christ sake,” she snipes.

“He didn’t come back to the room and that means he spent the night somewhere on campus!” I shout. “You killed him when you turned him out. You killed him.”

“He was released at eight-ten p.m.”

That would have been during Group 3 dinner.

Dr. Neman looks up at me, her mouth set in a bitter frown. “We’re not killing people,” she says, her voice steely and angry. “We’re trying to save you and you all are making it IMPOSSIBLE!”

I back away.

She is right, of course.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

DEAN

DAY 34

Now I was following a trail of blood. It was easy and it was horrible.

I tracked the red-brown swath over the gravel of the neighbor’s driveway to the front stoop. There was blood on the handle and around the doorframe.

I pushed it open. Somehow I didn’t think to announce myself.

I went in gun first, like some TV cop. My heart was hammering hard and I saw my gun hand was shaking again.

Kind of modern-styled, the house. The blood trail went straight down the hall into the kitchen.

There were no bodies there, either, but the kitchen was spattered with blood everywhere, sprayed over the counters and floors.

Bile flooded up. My stomach heaved. I went out the back door and puked off the stoop, down onto the trash cans.

It was the smell. Meaty, metallic, thickening into a rotting sweetness.

The
godforsaken
trail continued outside, only wider. What had happened here?

I kept my head down and walked. Started running, actually. Get it over with.

The trail led to two cellar doors, set at an angle at the base of the house to the left of Rinée’s family. I had gone to the house on the right, gone clear through and was now entering the house on the other side.

I grabbed the handles and flung the doors open.

“Hello?” a voice called. “Hello?”

“Who are you?” I shouted. “What did you do?”

“Here,” I heard a voice say. “Please help me.”

Here is the vision that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

There’s a single utility lightbulb hanging from the ceiling and a wash of sunlight coming from behind me.

Stained wooden plank steps lead down into a basement with cement-block walls. Tools on a pegboard on one side. Shelves with Tupperware marked “Christmas” and “Crafting” are on the other. In the center of the floor are the bodies of two women, both stabbed and mutilated as only a madman could do, and behind them is the bald-headed man, kneeling and weeping.

“I’m so glad you’re here. You see, I think I killed these women,” he said. “I had … I had some kind of an episode and I murdered them.”

I tried to talk but no words came out. Mouth too dry.

“I think I killed these women!” he repeated.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I told him. “It was chemicals. Chemicals in the air.”

“I volunteered. Every Saturday. Reading to kids. Teaching them. Serving soup, cleaning up. I volunteered.”

I needed to leave. I needed to get away from this man, this dark hole of a basement. Away from the bodies. Every sinew, every cell of my body strained toward the doors behind me, begging me to leave.

“I drove a hybrid. I put solar panels on the roof.”

“I have to go,” I said.

“Please.” He got up on his knees. “Please help me.”

His voice was low and serious and sane.

“I need your help. Please. I can’t do it myself. I’ve tried.”

“Do what?” I asked him.

“I need you to kill me.”

I cursed and stepped back.

He rose on his knees and edged toward me, his hands clasped, begging.

The gun was so heavy in my hand.

“I can’t live with this. It would be a mercy. A mercy. Please.”

He cried and begged and I backed away.

*   *   *

I walked back to the car. I felt like I was moving through cement—or like I’d been filled with it. I felt like my heart was so leaden that I’d never feel light again.

“What did you find?” Astrid asked me. Her blue eyes were clear and full of concern.

And then, from next door, there came a muffled shot.

“I found the O man,” I told her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

JOSIE

DAY 34

I try to think. Where could Mario be? He hadn’t come home.

Had he tried to come back to the room and failed?

Had he knocked and we didn’t hear him?

*   *   *

First I run back to Excellence. He would have tried to get back to the room.

He would have been in pain from his arm and his ribs, if they had ended up cracked.