Chrysalis, p.21
Chrysalis, page 21
The words started to swim, and I could only pick out fragments as I rubbed my stomach. Officers responded around four p.m. to a home on Pine Bluff Drive…neighbor called concerned about gunshots…identified victims as Michael Cross, his wife Janelle Winfield…son Carl Winfield…daughter, Shannon... her birthday….
I looked up to find Nick watching me bitterly. “I…I didn’t.” The paltry words tasted like ash in my mouth.
“No? Because I told you about the police chief on Monday, and he’s a dead man in his bed by Thursday.”
Okay, yeah, that looked…a little bad. “That doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“So you’re going with serendipity, huh?” He shook his head. “It’s like I told you before. You’re a man driven by revenge. There was no other way that was going to end.”
“Can you just stop talking for a minute—”
He did no such thing. “Look, I’m no innocent,” he rambled on. “I knew what your mother was and what you probably are. But there’s a difference between hearing about it and being an active part of it. Good God, Cross, she was three years old.”
Now that the shock was wearing off, I knew I was seconds away from losing the only friend I had left. I only had one chance to convince him that I wasn’t a scumbag killer who would execute a child.
“Nick.” I put the newspaper on the counter very deliberately. “Look at me.”
“I don’t—”
“Just… fucking listen for one second. Can you give me that? Please?” He went quiet at my outburst, and I blew out a breath. Yelling at him probably wasn’t the smartest move to get him on my side, but I was running out of patience. “One second.”
When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft that, but for my super hearing, I wouldn’t have caught it. “One.”
I smiled faintly, glad that some of his humor remained. My smile faded quickly, though, as I realized that my denial wasn’t going to be as cut and dried as I wished it could be. “Yes, I went to his house. His granddaughter was having a birthday party.” I hesitated before admitting the rest, but I couldn’t come clean washing in the filth of lies. “And yes, I did bring my rifle and a scope.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Cross—”
“But I did not shoot anyone. That is the unvarnished, honest-to-God truth.” He seemed to be listening at least, which was progress. “I sat up there in the woods for a few hours, wondering how it would feel to pull the trigger. In the end, I decided that wasn’t the life I wanted anymore. And I left.”
“You just left,” he said doubtfully.
“Yes. Come on, Nick, you know me. If I had killed anyone, it would be Michael Cross and only Michael Cross.”
“Maybe you missed and had to clean up the others as collateral damage.”
“We both know I wouldn’t miss.”
I was trying to convince him I didn’t kill someone by reminding him of exactly how lethal I could be. The irony of that didn’t escape me. Judging from the slight quirk of his lips, the irony didn’t pass him by, either. He stared at me for a good long while, as if he could read the truth in the planes and valleys of my face. I felt vulnerable, and that shit sucked so hard, but I let him look his fill.
When I thought I couldn’t take it anymore without coming right out of my skin, he finally gave me a short nod. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“So we’re okay.”
He huffed. “I can write it out in blood if you’d prefer.”
“Very cute.” I let out a sigh of relief as I scrubbed my hands down my face. “Okay, so…dinner? Are you hungry? I got pizza.”
“I could eat.”
I moved toward the oven to turn off the forgotten pizza, hoping it wasn’t hard as a rock. Despite Nick’s words, when I got near him, he flinched. Fucking flinched. He wouldn’t meet my gaze. After a moment, I steeled my jaw and went about my business, shoving my hands in the oven mitts.
I couldn’t be angry with him. It was one thing to be on the outskirts of the killing, to be the computer and information guy. It was another thing to think you had a direct role in ending someone’s life…four people’s lives. I’d brought him into that world. Or at least he thought I had. And there was no undoing that.
We’d bumbled our way through an awkward dinner watching a reality show on TV that I didn’t bother to try to follow. I pretended I couldn’t hear his elevated heartrate and the way he kept his hand near the second drawer of the end table—where he kept a gun. I thought it probably wasn’t a good idea to inform him that I could be on him long before he got close to the trigger. That probably wouldn’t inspire any kind of trust.
He’d gone to his room earlier than usual, and I sat there for a while, wondering just what the hell had happened with the police chief. I didn’t believe in serendipity. Someone had decided to send me a message by killing Michael Cross. Judging from the way that person wiped out his entire family needlessly, that wasn’t a person I wanted to meet unaware. And I certainly didn’t want to bring any more heat to Nick’s doorstep.
It was time I did what I did best. Moving on.
I’d never unpacked, so it didn’t take long to gather my things. I slung my duffle over my shoulder, debating my next move. I still had some cash from the ATM, enough to get a hotel. I’d been saving it because I didn’t know when I’d risk it to withdraw more, but desperate times and all that. If I got a cheap, seedy hotel room, it would last me even longer.
I was digging in my pocket to find Nick’s key when my fingers closed around a piece of paper. I pulled out the note, frowning as I remembered that I’d gotten it out of his mailbox earlier. I read it again, and this time, it made perfect sense.
You’re welcome.
I was more than interested to find out who thought four bodies made a hell of a gift. I mean, Gray had shown me how to make a wish list on Amazon. There was no need to guess what I’d like.
“You don’t have to go.”
I tensed briefly at the sound of Nick’s voice behind me. I turned to find him standing in the doorway, clutching a piece of paper. I appreciated his words, but I found them a little hard to believe.
“Yeah, I do,” I finally said.
He nodded shortly and handed me the piece of paper. I looked down to find an address and a name. Landon Pierce. When I lifted my questioning gaze to his face, he smiled with satisfaction. “Told you I’d find it. Phoenix Farms. It was a hard sell because of the incident.”
“You mean the murder of my entire family?” I asked dryly.
“That would be the one, yes. An elderly couple bought it two years after the incident and renamed it Holyoke Farms. They ran it successfully for the next five years. Then they sold it to someone named Landon Pierce, who’d made several offers over the years. I guess he finally made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
He didn’t use the voice from the Godfather, but from the quirk of his lips, I could tell he wanted to. Landon Pierce. I frowned as I mulled over that name for a few moments. Then it hit me. “I found a passport with that name on it in my safe.”
“Then I guess you bought back the family death farm,” he said with what I was beginning to realize was his signature dark humor.
“I guess so.” I folded the paper and stuck it in my pocket. “Thanks for this. And…well, everything.”
“You’re welcome.” He bit his lip but didn’t try to stop me again as I headed for the door. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
So do I.
19
Holyoke Farms was abandoned.
I wasn’t sure what I expected…maybe a reason I’d purchased the farm back other than nostalgia? It was certainly a pretty place, if unkempt. There was an off-white, two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch, and the long walk up the gravel driveway gave me plenty of time to soak it all in.
There were cherry trees in abundance all over the place. I walked past the living quarters and took a tour around the property, poking my nose around the derelict outbuildings and rusted equipment I had no idea how to use.
When I finally got back around to the farmhouse, I found the front door locked, but I was ready for that. I pulled out the key on the butterfly keychain, and I wasn’t the least bit surprised when it turned in the lock. I chuckled. It was a little early to celebrate, but fucking finally, something was working the way it was supposed to.
The house was dusty and in need of repair. There wasn’t much left in the way of furnishings. What little the Fosters had left behind had seen better days—an old green plaid recliner, some broken toys, and a wobbly dining room table. I stared at the hanging picture of a running horse, a little disappointed.
It was clear to me that my apartment hadn’t been a real home. I guess I’d been secretly hoping that this was. Maybe I’d planned to restore the house and just hadn’t gotten around to it. Maybe I just didn’t want anyone else to have my childhood home. I stared at the horse picture some more. Or maybe I’d been up to my old crafty ways and this was another place I used to hide things in.
The picture just didn’t belong. Why would the Fosters go through the trouble of hanging the thing if it didn’t even mean enough to take with them? Everything else they left was practically junk. That made me think they hadn’t left it at all. And there would be only one reason in my convoluted mind to hang a random horse picture. I marched over to it and pulled it off the wall, only to reveal a biometric keypad.
Of course.
I put my thumb on the keypad, and it beeped green. “Secondary confirmation required,” a voice informed me, making me jump a little. A slot was flashing next to the first one, and I leaned closer to get a better look. The panel beeped again. “Eye recognition match. Entry confirmed.”
A door slid open, and I sighed. Old Me was really starting to get on New Me’s fucking nerves. I’d probably put everything important to me in a capsule and launched it into space…you know, just to keep it safe. My baby books were probably rotating out there in the atmosphere right alongside the Hubble telescope and Elon Musk’s car.
I put the picture back over the keypad and walked through the door, which led me down a flight of stairs…because why wouldn’t I have an underground bunker? The door slid shut behind me, leaving me in near darkness.
I blinked a couple of times, and my eyes did their night vision thing. I found I didn’t need it quickly, since tiny LED lights were mounted on each step. They led down into the dark nothingness, little pinpricks of light like stars in an inky sky. I blinked again. Night vision, off. I followed the lights down carefully. Adding a broken neck to my situation could only worsen things. Probably.
At the bottom, there was another panel and yet another security confirmation. The door slid open, leading me into a living area. I stepped into the room hesitantly, still a little confused. I’d expected to find a bigger version of the hidden room I’d created in Gray’s closet—guns, computers, and the like. Not this beautifully warm space with comfortable brown couches and a beige fluffy rug. Did I…live here?
I moved through the room, looking around and touching nothing. Not until I was sure I hadn’t booby-trapped the place like a cave in an Indiana Jones film. There were pictures on the mantle, and I walked over as if drawn to them. I picked up the one in the middle. My mother was standing next to my father, who was smiling at her goofily. He’d done that a lot, like he just couldn’t believe his luck. I put that frame down gently and picked up another, this one with two little girls, also brown-haired, sitting next to a dark-haired little boy that I knew had to be me.
I guess I’d done some renovating after all. I put the frame back down carefully and continued looking around. There was a small kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, and a laundry room. I guessed everything was all powered by the solar panels on top of the house. That guess was reinforced when I passed by a complicated-looking control panel that I had no idea how to operate.
And of course, because this was me, I found the room I’d been expecting to find, all the way at the end of the hall. Guns and knives and all manners of weaponry were mounted on the far wall. Some strange-looking gadgets were on shelves—I didn’t know what they were for and how to use them and had no desire to relearn.
A bank of flatscreen panels made up my security system. The eight monitors each showed a different part of the property, attached to different camera feeds. The last screen showed a view of the living room upstairs, pointed directly at the front door.
I sat at the desk and shuffled the papers on top in a pile and then went through them one by one. Most of it looked like research of different buildings and countries. Guard rotation schedules. I flipped past what looked like the blueprints to a sheik’s home. I’m sure there’s a good story behind that. Too bad the people who knew that story wanted me dead.
A few numbers I recognized as longitude and latitude were written on the back of a file with no explanation. They matched the numbers I’d found tattooed on the sole of my foot. All of the papers were embossed with the word MAXIM, which was finally defined on one of the pages. MAXimum Impact Modifications. The next page was redacted within an inch of its life, but I could make out the words Project Anielski. Someone had stamped in red failure on top.
I had a bad feeling about this all the way down to my kangaroo fucking ankles, but I opened the file anyway. I wasn’t at all surprised to come face to face with a picture of me and a bio sheet.
6’1, 210 pounds, trained in jujitsu, karate, and aikido. Adept at stealth, speed, and strength. Very dangerous and not to be engaged one on one. Family: None. Proficiency with weaponry: All. Codename: Chrysalis
“All?” I croaked because sometimes you just gotta say some shit aloud. “That’s a bit broad, isn’t it?”
I flipped the page and found another bio sheet with a small picture in the corner of a man named Hudson, Michael. He was a member of Project Titan, and there were six more like him. I came across a familiar picture and paused.
6’4, 250 pounds, expertise Tae-Kwon-Do. Family: Mother, one sister, both deceased. Proficiency with weaponry: Knives, guns, Chinese stars. Codename: Chaos
I shuffled through the pages, my gut churning. Project Titan has also been deemed a failure, and they’d moved on to yet another SEP. And just what the hell was a SEP? My eyes nearly bugged out when I read further to see what SEP meant. Superhuman Enhancement Project. I scanned the pages for something about Project Geneza but came up empty.
A dark shadow on the screen monitoring the drive caught my eye. I spun in my chair to get a better look at the row of approaching vehicles. They were all black with blacked-out windows and taillights.
Aw fuck. I wondered if there was another tracker on my person, something implanted so deep, I’d never be able to find it, much less remove it. Or maybe they’d just followed me. I’d been so bloody careful. Although I guess you didn’t need to be a genius to realize I would eventually revisit the places in my past.
I curled my lip at the intruders. Did the dealerships give you a discount when your super-secret kill squad got matching black SUVs? Maybe a couple of Domino’s delivery cars would be less obvious. It would be pretty easy then to get your target to wander out on the porch. I didn’t order any pizza, but man, I am so fucking hungry.
The back door of one of the SUVs opened, and Chaos got out. He was closely followed by a couple of other members of the goon squad. I wasn’t the least bit surprised. That man had become the gum on the bottom of my life’s shoe. He snapped his fingers, and members of the goon squad dispersed and started searching the property.
Well, good luck finding my hidey-hole.
Chaos leaned back on his heels and squinted up at the gable of the house. A slow smile spread over his face, and he went back to the car. He reappeared with a piece of paper and a marker and scribbled something on the paper. He stuck the marker between his teeth and turned the paper around. I squinted.
Little pig, little pig
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I was amused. Psycho killer to psycho killer, that was some funny shit. “Not by the hairs of my chinny chin chin,” I murmured.
After a few moments of holding the sign aloft, he grinned, clearly unfazed by my stubbornness. He reached in his pocket and came out with something small…squinting, I could see it was a lighter. It took me a few moments to connect the dots as he spun the wheel with his thumb. He scribbled something else on the back of the paper and turned it around.
Huff. Puff.
I growled. Still funny. Still annoying as hell. I debated for a few minutes on whether I could afford to be stubborn. But in my few interactions with Chaos, he hadn’t exactly seemed like the type to bluff. I could see him burning the whole place to the ground with a fucking smile.
I stuffed the papers back into the file and shoved them in a drawer before I sent the computer to sleep. I didn’t bother to grab any of the weapons. We probably used them out of convenience, but I was starting to understand that we were the weapons.
When I finally came out the front door and walked down the steps, Chaos grinned, tossing his paper on the ground. “I thought you might need a little motivation.”
I didn’t stop until I was standing a few feet away from him. “How did you know I had the place wired up?”
He snorted. “Because you’re you.”
“I have a feeling that isn’t a compliment.”
“In this case, it is. And I don’t give them out often, so enjoy the moment.”
“What are we?” I demanded. “What’s the difference between our SEPs?”
He stared at me for a few moments, that cold gaze making me itch. “I see someone has been doing a little digging around things that are above his paygrade.”
“I deserve to know what we are.”
Irritation crossed his face. “You don’t even know who you are.”
“Please,” I persisted. “What was Project Anielski? Are we…androids?”
“Of course not,” he said, sighing with impatience. “All of the projects are bio-enhancement experiments. It’s all about maximizing physiological and mental performance in combat settings.”
