Old Wounds Page 2

  “Whatever it is, give it to me. I can show him.”

  Litner shook his head. “There’s more at stake here than just your messianic ass, Duvaine. Something came through that Cripulet recently, and an entire team saw it. It killed a man on that team. I have it all on tape.”

  Joey rubbed his temples, groaning. “Oh, that’s just great. Just great.”

  “Listen, Duvaine—”

  “What the hell were you government douchebags doing messing around in that cave?” he asked. “What did you think you were playing at? Did you tell them how to open the Cripulet, you dumb fuck?”

  “Of course not. I’m loyal but not stupid, regardless of what you think. My boss broke into my house and stole my personal log of what happened at Forest Bluffs. It had more...detailed information than what I put in my initial report.”

  Joey leaned toward him. “How detailed?”

  “He stole the record of what really happened. You can imagine his surprise when he read it. He wanted to send me to a shrink. I wish he’d maintained that assessment. But instead, he came around to believing the account, particularly regarding the Cripulet.”

  “Oh, man.” Joey fell back in his seat, hands on his head.

  “I’m no happier about it than you are, but it happened, and here we are. I tried to stop it, right up until the last minute when they opened the Cripulet. To no avail.”

  “I cannot believe what I’m hearing,” Joey said. “You say you’re not stupid, but you wrote it down?”

  “At the time I thought it important to keep a private record of what really happened, even if no one would ever see it.”

  “But someone did see it!” Joey grimaced. “Why the fuck would you write it down, Litner? You crazy, obsessive compulsive, dumbass, tool, this is all your fault!”

  Litner flinched and leaned back away from Joey’s face, not wanting to get any of that magical spittle on himself. “We don’t know that the creature wouldn’t have come through anyway, of its own accord, whether they’d opened the Cripulet or not.”

  “Uh huh.” Joey grinned icily. “It was just some big coincidence.” He pointed. “You, fucking idiot boy, wrote down instructions for them to open that portal. And now something’s coming after us. Well, this is all good news, Litner, so glad you stopped by.”

  “Not if we can take it out first. Guns have no effect on this thing. Our only chance is that Shep might have some insight. Joey, I need to handle this, and fast. Now that my boss knows what Shep and his brothers really are, now that he’s aware of just how many unwanted guests are roaming the country with bad intent, they’re talking about a retaliation attack.”

  “On who? Us?”

  Litner shook his head. “I talked them out of that, convinced them we need your...group to combat this. But knowing that Shep, and this most recent addition, came to this world through the Cripulet, well...they know the Cripulet goes both ways. Things come out. But things can also go in. Weapons, for instance.”

  “What?” Joey said. “They think they’re gonna go through the Cripulet, lodge an attack? They’d get sucked into the void.”

  “I know. But all they’ve seen is an enemy that came through and killed a soldier right in front of them. My boss doesn’t believe the more esoteric, shall we say spiritual elements of my report. He thinks it’s just an alien life form.”

  “Well, it is a fucking alien life form!” Joey said.

  “They don’t know that it’s connected to...” Litner sighed. He took out his pen and tapped his temple. “They don’t where that Cripulet can ultimately lead. They don’t realize the power behind it.”

  “The Light?” Joey grinned, batting his eyelashes. He made a halo of his fingers and held it over his head. “It’s a fucking parasite, that Light, and all its creepy minions. They’ve never brought Shep anything but grief. I say let the feds nuke paradise. Fucking deserves it.” Joey took a gulp of beer.

  “I need to show Shep this recording I have. Please. However you feel about me, for both our sakes, let’s not waste any more time. Please, Joey.”

  Joe smiled broadly. “Are you trying to sweet talk me? I knew it, I knew you couldn’t resist me, you coy bastard.”

  “You can cut the posturing, Duvaine. I see through you.”

  “Nice try, Litner, but there’s nothing there to see.”

  “Nothing but your panic.”

  Joey’s grin faltered.

  “I know what Shep did to you. Your deadened emotions. The calming of the soul. But the bugger of the thing is, it doesn’t work when it comes to your feelings about Shep. Does it? And now Shep’s life is threatened, and that scares you to death. Probably even more than the threat to your own life.”

  “I’m smarter than you, Litner. Don’t try to analyze me, you suck at it.” He slapped a hand to his forehead. “Wait a minute…whose blood did they use to open the Cripulet?”

  Litner closed his eyes. “Let’s not get into that yet. You want to save yourself and Shep. I’m sure Shep wants to save his brothers. I’ve got Patrick, Kelinda—”

  Joey huffed. “Crazy bitch. She's the one who gave the followers her blood, she infected them.”

  “Because you infected her. Now all the people you infected and bewitched are going to die because of you. And will it stop there? We have no idea. More Americans could be killed.”

  Joey raised his hands. “All right, all right, we’ll go, just please, stop with the action hero, flag waving speech.” Joey drained his beer and stood. “But just so you know, when we get to my car, I’m going to knock you out. With my fist.”

  Litner’s face heated with rage. “I don’t suppose a blindfold would suffice.”

  He smiled. “That wouldn’t be nearly as fun for me.” He threw a twenty down on the table and walked away. Litner hesitated, gathering his courage, then followed.

  Chapter Two

  On a side road off Church Street, Joey stopped at a beat up, rust colored Saab and unlocked it. He looked at Agent Litner. “Get in the back.”

  Litner regarded the vehicle. “I’d have expected something more posh for the future leader of the planet.”

  Joey moved close to him, his arms curved at his sides, and took his tinted glasses off. He radiated violence but spoke in a whisper, his face close enough for a kiss. “My patience for your little quips is gone. Get in the back of the car.”

  Side stepping Joey, he opened the rear door and climbed in. He shut the door and Joey rounded the car, climbing in behind the wheel. He turned the engine on, then opened the console compartment, his hand reappearing with a vial of liquid. Twisting to look back at Litner, he held it up. “You have to drink this. Shep’s orders.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s happy juice, and you either drink it, or I punch you in the face.”

  “You already said you were going to do that. Why the change?”

  “Don’t tempt me, Litner,” Joey said. “I was testing your resolve.” He held the liquid up and brought it close to his eyes. “You’ve never done drugs, have you? I bet you never even experimented in college.”

  “If you’re planning to poison me, I’d rather you just be up front about it.”

  “Christ on a Honda, Litner, for a guy trying to form an alliance, you make every little thing a challenge. This is a purified form of something like LSD, with a sedative underneath. It’ll make you woozy and a little trippy, but it won’t poison you, and it’ll wear off in an hour. You came here asking for trust. Will you not offer trust in return?”

  The agent kept his face blank, but inside the wheels turned. He could be handing his life to an enemy that thought he’d rained death and destruction down upon them. And he had, but they'd done the same to him. They each held each other in volatile hatred, both blaming the other for unspeakable atrocities. But he had no choice. Because speaking to Shep was the only choice. Agent Michaels had assembled a small team to the Cripulet project, young men and women, most of them military, and Litner had no idea where his boss found
them. What he did know was they weren’t tough enough for the shit show they now found themselves in. Because no one was. Most of the poor bastards probably thought initially they were doing an easy, bullshit mission for some big-time agent who wanted to poke around in an old cave.

  But now they’d found themselves up against something they were not equipped to defeat, something that threatened the very core of their existence. And after round the clock meetings for excruciating, exhausting days, and too many truths revealed, it was determined that Litner’s connection to Shep was the only hope they had. As Agent Michaels had quite loudly and repeatedly reminded him.

  He took the vial from Joey, pulled the rubber top off, and swallowed it down.

  ****

  He wasn’t sure when he’d reclined on the back seat, watching the clouds overhead through the window. Colors swirled and tiny specks of cartoonish, dancing shadows made a show before his eyes. Part of his mind kicked and fought and clung to reality, even as his logic drowned in euphoria and visual stimuli. He made note of the images passing by the window over his head. Streetlight. Trees. Streetlight. No trees. Water tower.

  The clouds looked like whipped cream. And then there were no more streetlights, no more buildings, nothing but greenery, leaves waving like clusters of floating hands up above.

  Emerald beams of sunlight filtering through thick forest leaves licked his face like a giant neon tongue. Trees. Trees. Nothing but trees, a canopy of trees. Their shifting leaves formed lions and dragons and ancient gods with gaping, fringy maws, and he had to close his eyes.

  The car was going uphill, he thought suddenly, struggling to reason through the psychedelic circus. His body was tilted, pressed into the back of the seat. They were at an incline. But the colors, the fascinating pattern of the seat back...wall, what was it he leaned against? He wanted to lose himself in it and go to sleep.

  Focus. We’re going uphill. How long have we been out of the city? He had no concept of time. Mountains. We’re heading into the mountains. Big and green. Big green soft fuzzy mountains. He was vaguely aware still that he’d been drugged, but this didn’t stop his awe when through the vents of the car, the crisper, cleaner mountain air drifted in on a blue fog, a blue smiling fog. Litner looked up and inhaled it, a refreshing burst of nature. It didn’t care that he was drugged. It only knew he was primal, and so was it, and it wanted to merge with him and help him survive.

  “You are an instru...mental part of all of this,” he told the blue fog. “You fill me with life.” It smiled again. Not with its shape, nothing visible to the eye, but Litner could feel it responding. Someone laughed just nearby, but he couldn’t sort out who it was, couldn’t remember who he was with, or why he was here.

  “Whatever you say, Agent,” the voice said.

  Even in the haze, Litner stiffened. He knew the voice. And it wasn’t good. It didn’t breathe the blue fog; it wasn’t pure. He curled his body very close to the strange, soft wall beside him, and tried to become very small, so the voice couldn’t find him again.

  ****

  He became aware of hands on him, his arms slung over shoulders. He hung like a puppet, shoe tips trailing along a cement floor. But wasn’t he just in a car? His senses were trying to return to him, but he was still too foggy to rise above the glittering colors, his limbs not ready to work. So he stared at the floor as it passed, vibrations rippling through his legs as his feet dragged behind him.

  “What’s he doing here?” a voice called out from somewhere below them. It seemed to echo. With effort he lifted his head, and saw an enormous, warehouse sized cavern with high ceilings.

  Part of the walls looked to be built into solid rock, and it hit him that they weren’t simply in the mountains—they were in a mountain, likely underground. His head dropped to the side, seeing a line of huge casks below the catwalk he was being dragged across. Whoever held him moved faster, and he struggled to use his feet.

  “You’ll be briefed later, just get back to work,” this from one of the bodies carrying him.

  They reached the end of the catwalk and paused before a rusty set of double doors. One of his handlers released him and went ahead to open it with a set of keys. Litner squinted at the back of this person’s head, platinum curls, like macaroni without sauce. His stomach rumbled, thinking about meatballs. Keys jingled like wind chimes as the macaroni headed person worked the lock.

  “Hurry up, Juris, he’s getting heavy!”

  Macaroni head opened the doors and turned back, huge eyes with long lashes, rosy lips, like a big handsome doll. “I thought you were supposed to be strong now, chosen one.”

  “Just help me, will you?”

  As they moved him toward the doors he looked down at the cavernous room below. It stunk of something earthy and foul and yeasty. His eye caught another head of white curls, a delicate face looking up at him from below. “Kleeeeeeee,” he slurred. “You murdered my friend.” The pretty blond below scowled, then darted away.

  “He’s coming around, get him into the room, now.”

  He’d just started to get his footing when they jerked him forward through the doors, his legs dragging on the floor again. Then his body was turning, turning, and he was thrown onto a bed. On his back, he lifted his head and saw Joey and Juris leaving the room. Joey turned back and winked at him. “Nighty-night, douchebag.” He slammed the door, leaving Agent Litner in darkness.

  He dozed, eventually awakened by thirst, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Sitting up, he ran fingers through his short white hair, kneading his scalp as a headache threatened. There was no light in the room, but he remembered seeing the door as Joey and Juris left.

  Putting his feet on the floor, he shuffled to the end of the bed and stood, wobbling unsteadily for a moment. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked at the darkness, and moved at a slow, Frankenstein pace, hands out in front, one giant footstep in front of the other. They were brewing beer. The memory of what he’d seen on the way in came back like a crashing wave; the casks, the yeast smell, Klee working down there.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘You’ll be briefed later, just get back to work.’

  As the haze lifted, the truth of his situation came back to him, making his legs wobble again. He was in Shep’s lair. And he’d discovered his new mode of deliverance for the crop. Man’s favorite pastime, cold, sudsy beer. But that was something he’d feign ignorance about if he wanted to stay alive. He wasn’t sure how much longer they’d let him continue breathing as it was.

  A dark rebellion in him imagined greeting Shep with a smile and extended hand. “So what’s it gonna be called? Shep’s Wicked Red? Tastes great, and depletes your sperm count in a single drop?”

  And then he imagined Shep making his wiseass head explode, and the fantasy faded. He took another step and reached the door, trailing his fingers down to wrap around the knob. But before he could open it, the knob twisted in his hand, and he was pushed backward, stumbling and landing on his ass. “Fuck!” he cursed. His language had irreparably devolved from spending so many weeks with Patrick, and even Robin. His heart ached, surprising him with a stab of missing the sassy blonde woman.

  A beam from the open door fell over him like a stage light. Margol stood in the doorway, ginger curls smooth and shining. Litner shuddered. Margol was by far the coldest, most hateful of the brothers. He wore a long black bathrobe with matching slippers, and he held a pistol.

  Rising slowly to his feet, Litner faced him. “Well,” he said, letting his eyes trail over the black robe. “Now that’s the level of creepy I expected to see here.”

  “Pleased to meet your expectations.” His voice was eloquent, far more cultured sounding than it had been before. It was difficult to believe this was the same stumbling, baby talking monster he’d encountered during the raid at Forest Bluffs. But they adapted fast. Too fast.

  “You don’t need the gun, Margol.”

  “I’d like to keep it, if it’s all the same to you.”
<
br />   Litner went cold. Patrick had mentioned Margol’s ‘fucking bizarre’ habit of standing still as a statue, not a muscle moving apart from his lips as he spoke. He stepped to the side and waved the gun toward the outer hall. “Let’s go.”

  He walked ahead of Margol, gun at his back, reaching a metal staircase spiraling up to another floor. The gun gave him a little poke, and he climbed the stairs, hearing the brother follow behind him. At the top he was greeted with a chandelier, gleaming wood floors and soft patterned runners, decorative tables holding fresh flowers. The rustic architecture of the floors below had disappeared, and now he could have been in a modern mansion, the ceilings high and speckled with stylish lights.

  Margol grabbed his elbow and stopped him outside a wooden door, then he knocked. “I have him,” he called out.

  “Come in,” said a familiar voice through the door.

  Litner bristled. Melvin Eugene Shepherd was the only enemy who’d ever fascinated him as much as frustrated him. He hadn’t quite prepared himself, had half thought he’d never get in. But in he was, as Margol led him through a gorgeously decorated suite, dotted with fountain statues and fragrant, flowering plants.

  The plants parted at a stone walkway, revealing a large room filled with books on gleaming cases, velvet chairs and an antique looking table at the center. On a stool near the back of the room, a figure sat, picking at a banjo.

  Margol shoved him toward the figure. Litner gave him a scathing look over his shoulder, then turned to face Shep.

  Shep plunked a few more notes on the banjo, then looked up. His dark blond hair hung in chin-length curls, parted unevenly down the middle like the other brothers, but his presence was stronger than theirs, an air of authority radiating from him despite the outfit. Litner couldn’t help frowning as he regarded Shep’s pin-striped black jeans, combat boots, and neon yellow tee shirt with a sparkly green pot leaf on the front. “Steven Litner,” Shep said. “As I live and breathe.”