The Omega Device (The Ha-Shan Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

Mandy glanced at Russell, “What about us?”

“All
three
of you need to stay together,” Russell instructed. “The security detail will escort you anywhere you need to go, but I'd advise against traveling much right now.”

“Mandy has school, and we have a business to run,” Ashley countered. “We can't just hide away.”

“I'll do my best to make sure you don't have to,” he assured her. “But you need to find somewhere safe to stay the night.”

Maggie nodded. Fear still coursed through her, but the brigade of police in her apartment put her a little at ease. Russell's own presence kept her level, if nothing else.

“Okay, but… what about this Omega thing? I mean, what we should be doing to stay safe?”

“I don't know, Maggie. I'm sorry. We'll know more once I can I-D these guys. I'll look into speaking with someone about those symbols in the meantime. For now, just stay together as much as possible.”

“Can we go now?” Mandy asked, still unsatisfied.

“Yes. You'll be escorted home by a pair of cruisers.”

“I have to get some things first,” Maggie said to the sisters. “I'll meet you downstairs.”

Russell roused Xavier from the hallway, explained the situation. He led the sisters out while Russell remained behind for Maggie.

“We're all just scared, Detective,” she admitted, rummaging through her closet for a gray backpack.

She carried it to her dresser, filled it with clothing. He side-stepped to allow her through and evaluated her slow movements.

“It's Russell, and I understand. You have a right to be.”

“Yeah, someone wanted me
dead.
I'd say that qualifies as rational fear,” she said sarcastically. She huffed, apologized, “This is all so… wrong, but I'm more worried for them.”

He watched her stoop to open a drawer, “How do you mean?”

She stopped with a look, her teeth clenching in small bites near her lip-ring, “I've been on my own for a long time. Usually, I've only got myself to worry about, but Mandy and Ashley aren't as strong in that way. They worry about each other, and even though I've got them, I'm still… alone. You know?”

“Yeah, I get that. It's easier to survive when you can be selfish.”

“Right.”

Russell mused with sympathy, “It doesn't mean you can't find strength in numbers though.”

Maggie removed a large manila envelope from her bottom drawer, checked it. She removed a thick stack of twenties and folded it over before shoving it into a front pocket on the bag. She exhaled the breath, stepped back to the closet to grab a thick, gray, baggy coat. She slid it on and sat beside Russell on the bed, eyeing the pistol.

“So this is what my life's come to?”

She reached for the pistol with obvious apprehension. It took residence beneath fear of the deathly instrument's implication. A question drew her mind and eyes away for moment.

“If you don't mind,” Russell began. Their eyes met. “Why call me?”

Maggie shrugged with a look to the floor, “I don't know. Ash said to. She's convinced this isn't a coincidence—you showing up then all of this. I guess part of me agrees.”

“You were… combative, this afternoon,” Russell reminded.

“And you were pretentious and assumptive, but if there's going to be a bunch of cops here I'd rather one of them be someone I know.” He understood with a nod. She looked back to the pistol, “The truth is, I feel safer knowing you're looking after me. Anyone that can admit they're wrong's okay in my book.”

“I guess I'd have ended up here either way,” Russell thought aloud. “I'd rather help than not.”

Maggie lifted the pistol, slid it in to her pack and zipped it closed to shoulder it. She rose from the bed, “Maybe it was just intuition, but I trust you. I hope it's not misplaced.”

Russell rose with her, unsure whether her assessment was a compliment or a criticism.

7.

Evidence to the Contrary

September 30
th
 

8:30 AM

1200 S. Masseville, Ohio

Maggie awoke to morning light shining in through Ashley's bay-windows. The drafty, ranch-style home took a moment to focus around her. She stared out the window in confusion before the night returned. Overwhelmed, her eyes fixed on farmland beyond a gravel road ahead.

The sun arced through a cloudless sky beyond pines buffering Ashley's property. They swayed in heady winds, framed two police cruisers at either side of the gravel driveway. The cars looked oddly serene amid the manicured lawn and harvested fields.

Maggie eased off the wrap-around couch to the crackle of frying bacon. Its aroma wafted over, passed Ashley as she shuffled to an fro at the gas stove. The quaint kitchen fit the serenity outside, but staggered Maggie's horrified mind.

She rubbed her temples against a throbbing hang-over. Nausea quivered her mouth into odd shapes that forced her to stand. Maple hardwood froze her socks. Drafts from old, poorly insulated windows nipped through her flannel pants and t-shirt. She flattened her arms to her chest, crossed onto slightly-warmer linoleum.

Ashley's eyes were fixed downward at the bacon, “Mandy already left. Hope I didn't wake you.”

Maggie winced, “I feel like I downed a bottle of tequila.”

“Might as well have.” She flipped bacon strips. “Adrenaline's a bitch.” Maggie gave a contagious yawn, stretched her neck and arms. “Stop doing that.”

Ashley leaned back against a counter beside the stove, turned down the burner with a twist. Maggie leaned beside her, “Everything alright?”

Her head shook with quiet desperation, “No, Maggie. I'm sorry but it's not.”

She frowned, “Talk to me, Ash.”

Ashley threw out her arms in frustration, her eyes wide. “I don't like having two police cars sitting outside my house. I don't like my best friend carrying a gun and being attacked. And I don't like my baby sister being
escorted
to school like some fucking mafia daughter.”

“Ash, if you don't want me here—”

“No, Maggie. It's not that. It's just—” She hesitated to calm herself. “I love you. I want you safe, and I'll do what it takes to keep you that way.”

“But?”

Ashley sighed again, turned to tend the bacon, “Maggie, this is
way
beyond me. It's beyond those four cops out there. If that guy thinks so too… I mean, I honestly don't know if you
can
be safe right now. There's obviously more going on here than we know. Mysterious tattoos. Murders.
Attempted
murders. What the hell're we supposed to
do
?”

Maggie watched her furious movements; she wrenched the heat off, jerked the bacon from the pan, slapped it on a plate, and dug a toaster from a cabinet. She nearly slammed it down before she stood in place, staring at it.

Maggie turned over what little she'd learned from Russell, wondered what she'd do in Ashley's place. If forced to choose between her best friend and her sister, Mandy came before all others. It was the right thing to do. Maggie couldn't blame anyone for that. In some ways, it was the only thing Ashley
could
do.

She slapped toast on a plate and tore Maggie from her trance, “Mandy's all I have left. You know that. I
have
to protect her
no matter what
. But I can't just abandon you. I just—I don't know
what
to do!”

Ashley's desperation clawed at Maggie's throat. She didn't want to be hunted like an animal, forced to flee her home and hide, nor have her best friends forced into the cross-fire. Maggie was lost.

She spoke with hints of defeat, “My only hope's that Det—Russell, can help us.”

Ashley gave a cynical laugh, “I don't think he could find his way out of a wet paper-bag. How's
one guy
supposed to protect us?”

“It was
your
idea to call him,” she reminded.

“Yeah, 'cause the other option was you sitting in jail. You
killed
someone last night, Maggie!”
 

Her tone stung. “You don't think I'm some kind of blood thirsty—”

Ashley waved dismissively, “God, no! But what happens if this guy
can't
help?” Maggie looked away in thought. “Eat. I'm sorry it's not more, but we need to go shopping.”

“Ash, you don't have to—”

“Maggie,” she pled sincerely. “Just shut up and eat.”

Maggie relented at a stomach rumble. Though her appetite had long evaporated, the need for sustenance moved her toward a plate. The pair ate amid a silence neither felt brave enough to break. Maggie did what she could to help clean before waiting her turn to shower.

She folded her blanket with mechanized arms, placed it atop the spare pillow beside her. Distant water ricocheted off cast-iron. The muffled sounds eked through the closed door and along the short hall to give rhythm to Maggie's movements.

She eyed the door with a curious paranoia, then pulled her pack forward and reached inside. The holstered pistol slid out. It's strap unbuttoned with a volume that grated her teeth. She double checked the door; nothing.

Stainless-steel gleamed with a fearfully cold memory of the man's death. Maggie's breaths quickened, threatened to suck her back in time. She forced herself to remain in the present, focused on the weapon.

She looked it over, hands trembling. A thumb slid a latch up beside the grip. The magazine plopped into her lap. Her heart jumped, head whipped to check the door. It remained closed, distant water still beating a metallic tempo.

Copper-headed ammunition gleamed upward with a radial reflection of the room. Her face stared back as a miniaturized caricature. The small mass chilled her thighs but sparked something warm deep within her. It kept the cold at bay.

She breathed steadier, pulled back the top-slide to examine the breech from the grip's end. Once released, it sprang back with a loud click. Her heart jumped again, but her body remained still.

She quelled panic easier, ran a finger along the slide. “Springfield Armory” sat ahead of the cascading letters “TRP” near the hammer. “Springfield, Geneseo, IL USA” and a model number engraved above the trigger gave it a polished, professional look.

Maggie took a deep breath, raised the unloaded weapon to examine its sights. She focused through the window, past the road. Her index-finger grated the carved numbers with a clear imprint to her skin.

This was clearly a tool whose sole purpose was taking life. Could she ever need such a tool?

The previous night's memory cast out all doubt. She might have no choice but to need it. At least with it, she was nearer to even-ground. She didn't know how to use it yet, but she could learn—and if she could learn, she could overcome her fears.

Once again, she plunged into the previous night. A different scenario played this time. Once more she was attacked, but now she  hid beneath cabinets to peer out, end the fight quickly. The opposition to reality crept through her with a simple epiphany; she no longer wanted to be unprepared.

While by no means a killer, a conscious choice to live in fear or take action arose. The decision to act felt as instinctive as her reactions the night before. She vowed not to be caught by surprise, resolved to seek Russell's aid, no matter what lay ahead.

Her phone vibrated forward on the coffee table, nagging her. With an intuitive motion, she slid the weapon back into the holster and replaced it in her bag. She snatched up the phone, answered it.

“Maggie? It's Russell. We've I-D'd the men from last night. I'd like to meet with you and go over what I've learned, see if there isn't some connection you can make.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” she replied, oddly comforted by his voice. She shifted the phone in her hand, “How about the shop in an hour or so?”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

He hung up. Maggie exhaled weary exhaustion. The bathroom door opened and Ashley appeared in a towel, her hair glistening flat and pointed in random directions.

“Shower's free. Dunno how long the water will last though.”

Maggie grabbed her pack, headed for the bathroom. She stopped before entering, “Russell wants to meet us at the shop in an hour or so.”

Ashley nodded and disappeared into her room. Maggie showered quickly. Once the two were both dressed, Ashley locked up the house and followed Maggie to the backseat of a police-cruiser.

“You know where we're going?” Maggie asked politely.

“Yes, Ma'am,” one officer replied. “51
st
Street, correct?”
 

“Yes. Thank you.”

Ashley snickered, “He's not a cab driver, Maggie.”

The officer laughed with a look to his partner, “Yeah, we don't get paid
that
much.”
 

Maggie's face reddened. The car pulled forward. “Sorry, this is just a little strange to me.”

“You're tellin' us,” the second officer said. “Normally our passengers aren't so pleasant.”

The two men chuckled. Ashley's eyes narrowed. “Do you get many?”

“'Least one every night,” the driver said. “Though usually more.”

“Lots of drunks like to try and drive and get pretty pissed when we pick them up,” the other cop explained.

“It can be a handful.”

“Yeah, alcoholism's
really
funny,” Ashley said sarcastically.
 

“Nah, just the drunks,” the first officer joked, missing her disgust.

“I'm sure,” Ashley said combatively. “Especially when they're dying on the way to jail, right?”

Maggie cringed and hid her face. The two officers exchanged a glance and went quiet. The ride carried on amid an awkward silence that made Maggie eager to throw herself from the moving vehicle. When they finally arrived at the shop, it took all of her strength not to bolt in panic.

She followed Ashley to the door, uneasy about standing in the open, “Was that
really
necessary?”

Ashley's eyes narrowed above a venomous tongue, “I fucking
hate
cops, Maggie. You know the shit they've given me. Like I'm some fucking burnt-out 'cause I like to get stoned and draw. Fuck them, and fuck their bullshit. I'm a partner in a successful business and I make more—”