Chapter Five

Solomon Beinoni

I’m sitting at my desk at the police station, finishing up the last of my paperwork before wrapping up my ten-hour shift. I’m looking forward to my three day weekend. After a chaotic week such as this, the best way to unwind and relax is to head forty-five minutes out of town to my favorite strip club, where hopefully Jazzlyn will be on stage.

My cell phone rings and the caller I.D. says “unknown”, meaning one of two things: a spammer, or Declan Wolfe. I’ll bet on the latter.

“This is Solomon,” I say as I answer the call.

“Solomon, this is Wolfe. Are you alone?”

“I’m heading out of the office now, honey. I’ll be home soon.” I’m not alone, and this is how I inform Wolfe of that information without them suspecting anything.

“Call me back in twenty.”

“Okay babe. Talk to you soon.” I hang up. The other police officers and office staff know I have a wife; what they don’t know is that we are separated, and though we still live in the same house, we rarely see or speak to each other.

Once I’m back in my own car, I drive several blocks away and park in the parking lot of an old, abandoned gas station. I dial the number that I have written on a tiny scrap piece of paper that’s usually taped to the underside of my dash.

“Yes?” Wolfe says in his usual greeting.

“I’m alone.”

“What’s the situation?”

“The target managed to leave her home and escape in her car before the executioner, G1387, was able to apprehend her. Sources say she was given a half dose of the opioid concoction, but she stayed awake long enough to get away. G1387 followed her in his own vehicle, but she made it to the police station and crashed into a ditch. G1387 attempted to drive away but he was stopped and terminated by one of our own for compromising the mission and failing to perform his job duty. The target was taken to the hospital to recover and was recently sent home.”

“What of G1387’s body?”

“He was disposed of using Method 2.”

“And what about an internal investigation at the police station? Police officers don’t just go around shooting people in their vehicles. Usually.”

“The Chief of Police has everything under control, and he is keeping the media silent. There were no witnesses of the shooting, so they’re saying the driver of the vehicle pulled a weapon. G1387 had several on him, anyway.”

“Good.” Declan Wolfe pauses for a brief moment. “What of the other situation? That untrustworthy cop I had ordered to be killed. Susan, I believe.”

“Police found her body after a neighbor complained of a putrid smell coming from the apartment. They ruled it a suicide by hanging.”

“Even though she was considered missing for several days before that?” Wolfe asked.

“Yes. There was a fake suicide note that mentioned going out of town for several days before finally deciding to come home and take her own life.”

“Good. Everything is going according to the plan then, aside from our newest target – the girl named Vienna.”

“What do we do about that situation?” I ask.

“Do nothing. In a few weeks when she is starting to feel safe again, we’ll send out a new executioner. Someone less green. Volkov, perhaps. Though he’s expensive, I believe The Others won’t mind paying extra to ensure they don’t have to pull off another risky coverup.”

“R0785? The Bear?” I use his nickname – the name that brings a twinge of fear to everyone who hears it because of the man’s extra violent reputation. Knives, I believe. Knives are his thing. He prefers his kills to be up close and personal. But he’ll use whatever means necessary to get the job done. And he’s very good at it.

“Yes, The Bear,” Wolfe says with a hint of annoyance. “I must go now. I have extra work to do since my eldest son, Oscar, is off doing business in another country. Keep me updated, though. If you catch any hint of someone poking their nose in our business, inform me immediately. And keep an eye on the girl, but from a distance. Don’t make any moves without my approval. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good. Lay low and keep your mouth shut, and you’ll come out of this a lot richer.” Wolfe hangs up, leaving me sitting alone in my car in an empty parking lot.

I really should head home, but the strip club seems more tempting now than it did before. I don’t think I have the willpower to resist the thought of watching Jazzlyn dance on stage. So I turn my car back on and head toward the freeway, promising myself that I won’t get too wasted. I need to make sure I’ll make it back in time to meet up with Tony tomorrow. His interrogation is supposed to be finishing up tonight – hopefully it didn’t break him.

Chapter Six

The Bear

There is no such thing as a day of peace in my line of work. When I think I might get a moment of it, it slips away, usually by means of a phone call, sometimes a knock on my door. But the peace always finds a way to escape from me. Tonight, as I lay in the small bed they’ve given me to sleep on, listening to the rain pattering on the roof of the building we all live in together, the peace slips away in the form of a phone call.

I have to answer it. There’s always a choice, I suppose, but the other choice would lead to me taking a beating. I’ve had enough of those growing up in this shithole. They have to harden us, make us tough, make us be able to withstand any pain that our victims might throw our way. I’ve been here longer than most – since I was five, if I remember correctly. Most of us were taken as small children. I was one of the first.

I’m not in the mood to get the shit beat out of me today, so I answer the phone call. It’s always from the same person. We take orders from one man only. The man who raised me. Declan Wolfe.

“Volkov,” I say my name into the phone.

“I assume you’ve heard the news about G1387,” Wolfe said curtly.

“I have.” G1387, better known around here as Bruno, was a few years younger than myself and was trained for almost as long, but nobody was quite sure how he made it through training alive. Over the years he had some unfortunate lapses in judgment that almost destroyed this organization. The fact that he was still considered “green” even after years of training spoke a lot about his abilities and intelligence. I received the news yesterday that he had royally fucked up for the last time and got himself shot in the face for it.

“He failed his mission. I assumed even a Green such as himself could handle the target, but I was wrong. I’m not taking that risk again. I need to you take over the job. The target package will be waiting for you in the usual place at the usual time. There will be no time limit this time. Stalk and wait. Make your move at the most opportune time. I can’t risk another failure.”

Wolfe hangs up. He tends to keep his phone conversations short, preferring to get straight to the point, bark his orders, and get back to whatever filthy business he’s usually involved in.

Although I get paid well for each job – each target – there is no option to decline. Those who try to decline or escape the brotherhood are killed – they have their arms and legs broken, rendering them unable to fight, before each member of the brotherhood is forced to take turns cutting off body parts one joint at a time, starting with the fingers and toes. We’ve only had to do it once. After that, everybody has done every job given to them without question.

I know I’ll have a target package waiting for me tomorrow at 0600, so I lay back down in the bed, knowing I should get some rest. As I lay there, I stare at the ceiling and wonder who the target is. A man or a woman? Young or old? I wonder if they have any combat experience, if they’ll be an easy kill or a difficult one, if they have family around I will need to be aware of….

My alarm wakes me up at 0500. I begin my usual morning routine and I know the others are doing the same in the rooms next to mine. We live in what is basically a large underground bunker with twelve small “bedrooms”, barely large enough to hold a small mattress and a dresser. We all share one bathroom with five stalls, a mess hall, and what is little more than a secured broom closet that stores all of our weapons. There’s a twenty yard firing range for practice with small guns, and a separate area for hand-to-hand combat and knife skills. We don’t wear any armor; we’re meant to blend in with everyone else. If we’re injured or killed on the job, it’s because we didn’t do our job well.

From 2200 until 0530 every day, we’re kept locked up in the bunker unless we are out on a mission. At 0530, the electronic bunker door unlocks and we are free to come and go, but usually just for business – picking up target packages, boarding flights, stalking our targets, killing. We have tracking devices implanted into the muscle near the base of our skulls to ensure that if we stray, we’ll be found.

The tracking devices have only ever failed once, when one of our brothers disappeared without any trace. The tracking device was found in a dumpster in an alley, but nobody ever found the man it belonged to. That happened several months ago.

The brotherhood regularly travels the country, making deaths look like suicides, freak accidents, or disappearances. The more complicated jobs – the ones that are harder to hide – typically include crooked cops, cover stories, and bribes or threats to the families of the victim to keep them silent. There are no days off. This isn’t just a job, it’s our lifestyle. We have known nothing else.

I finish my morning routine and leave the bunker, passing several of my brothers, all of whom were raised with me by Wolfe. All but one pass by without comment, caught up in their own work. The one who does stop is the only person that I would consider a real friend. He’s known by Wolfe as R0183, but I call him by his name, Jarrod Webber. The man is built like a beast – six foot three, solid muscle. Four inches taller than me, two years older, the only black man in the brotherhood. And an excellent shot with any firearm given to him. The best there is.

He greets me with the usual nod before speaking. “Headed out today?” he asks.

“Yeah. New target package to pick up. What’s the story on the bartender?”

“Easy kill,” he says. “He was drunk already. He didn’t even know what was happening. I got access to his gun – the idiot left his safe unlocked – and I made it look like a suicide. Too easy. And if you ask me, I’d prefer something more challenging….”

“Yeah? I’m about to pick up 1387’s target package. Apparently he couldn’t finish the job. That’s not unusual though. Knowing him, it’s probably some little girl that he couldn’t handle.”

“Hah. We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll see you soon,” I say, stepping toward the bunker door to leave.

“See you soon. Keep me in the loop.” Jarrod walks off in the opposite direction.

I buzz the door open and step outside into the cool morning air. The underground bunker that we live in is out in the countryside, the door blocked from view by a small thicket of trees. The closest road is five hundred yards away, and every fifteen minutes a black BMW drives by and picks one of us up to take us to our destination, which is often the airport or a bus station. Today, the driver will take me to a small post office in the nearest town, where I will retrieve my target package from a PO box located there. The owner of the post office works for Wolfe, and Wolfe makes sure to keep it that way.

The BMW that is scheduled to pick me up meets me at a stop sign on the main country road, which is usually devoid of drivers. There isn’t much of anything around here, and there are very few people who use this road. The closest town is a good thirty minutes away, and if a bus station or airport is needed, that’s another forty-five minutes added.

The driver stays silent the entire ride, which is what is expected of him. But it also suits me. I use this time to go over my previous job, thinking about what didn’t go quite right and figuring out how I can do better with the next target.

When we arrive at our destination thirty minutes later, I pull out my phone and call the owner of the post office, letting the phone ring once before hanging up. I exit the vehicle and walk up to the door, which opens for me. It’s still early in the morning and the post office is not open for business yet, but the phone call alerted the owner that I arrived and that he needed to unlock the door and let me in.

“Hi, Jim,” I say to him once the door closes. “Usual business today.”

“Yes, I have your packages in the normal spot. Here’s the key.” He hands me a key that is kept on site in a PO box of its own.

“Did you just say ‘packages’? As in, more than one?” I ask. Nobody ever gets more than one at a time.

“Yes,” he says. “I was brought two for you last night. I double checked. They both say R0785.” The packages themselves are yellow 8.5 x 11 inch envelopes with a stack of papers inside, folded in half and wrapped in a thick layer of opaque, white plastic wrapping.

I say nothing in return as I unlock the box and pull out the target packages. I turn them both over a couple times, looking in vain for any other information that might be written on the outside. But there’s nothing else on them. Just ‘R0785’ written in black sharpie.

“Thanks. See you next time,” I say, staring at the packages in my hands. I walk out without looking back at Jim, though I know he’s standing somewhere behind me wringing his hands nervously.

When I’m back in the BMW, I tear open the target packages impatiently, wanting to get a good look. The first one is for a 42 year old woman named Jeannine Crane, wife of a man named Stellan Crane, who owns a company called MetaBio Labs. They share a son named Jack, twelve years of age. Jeannine is usually home alone on the week days while her son is at school; Stellan is rarely home, preferring to stay at work. On the top of Jeannine’s target package, there is a word hastily scribbled up top… “Top Priority”. Interesting.

I open the second package. This one is for a young woman, twenty years old with an unusual name: Vienna. Lives alone, works part-time, attends a community college and volunteers occasionally at a hospital. Has no family around other than her alcoholic mother; spent a lot of time with her friend, Cameron, until quite recently. This target package notes that an attempt on her life was made by the recently deceased G1387. I wonder how she managed to escape. And then I see something unusual scribbled on the last page. ‘Reads minds. Use caution.’ I re-read that a few times to make sure that I saw what I saw. ‘Reads minds?’ Impossible. As I sit in the car, confused, I realize I am nervous about a kill for the first time in my life.

Chapter Seven

fyi: strong language, alcohol use

I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been staying at my mother’s, keeping mostly to the guest bedroom that used to be mine. I’ve left the room only to use the bathroom and make myself an occasional meal, usually ramen noodles or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The doctors prescribed me anxiety medication, but I’m afraid to take it – I don’t want to feel drugged up again. So I’ve been a complete wreck with nothing to do about it.

I haven’t been back to work, so I’m pretty sure I no longer have a job. I dropped my classes and called the hospital I volunteered at to quit. I just can’t bring myself to go back to normal life now. The murder attempt – my murder attempt – keeps playing over and over in my head and I can’t shake it. At least I’ve stopped crying. Now I just catch myself staring up at the ceiling all the time.

I’m traumatized and I know it – I also know I should be trying to get back to my normal routine. But Cameron won’t speak to me or even see me. I’ve tried to visit him at his work, but just once. It was an awful experience. The moment he saw me, he turned around and walked away… all the way out of the building, before driving off. My best friend wanted so badly not to see me that he left work to get away. I was humiliated.

I even tried sending a text to my mom’s ex-boyfriend, Tony, since he was so willing to meet up with me before. But he never responded. The only one who is here for me now is my alcoholic mother, who I have not seen sober once since I’ve been here. Not that I’ve checked very frequently.

Occasionally she knocks on the door to try to get me to come out and talk. She knows I need to talk to somebody, and I believe that she truly does want to help, but I also truly don’t think she really knows how. I’m not ready to talk yet anyway. But I know I should. I know I need to stop wallowing in self-pity and do something about my situation.

I lay in bed for several more minutes, my stomach growling angrily. I need to get up and make food. I wonder what it will be: another gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or a new and exciting flavor of Maruchan Ramen? Salt and MSG sound good, so I think I’ll go for the latter.

I finally force myself up, feeling suddenly dizzy from the self-inflicted dehydration and starvation. I slowly make it out to the kitchen, where my mom is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking… coffee?

“Got some whiskey in there or something?” I ask her, with a little more attitude than I anticipated coming out of my mouth. She looks at me.

“Just enough,” she says, her hands noticeably trembling. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“What happened to you and Cameron?” she asks, ignoring my statement.

My eyes well up immediately. “I said I don’t want to talk. Leave me alone.”

“He was coerced.” She’s suddenly staring into my eyes with a lifeless expression on her face.

“Wh…what?” I ask, rattled.

She says nothing. The entire house is silent; I can’t even hear the clock ticking in the living room or the light breeze outside. She takes a sip of her whiskey coffee, and the sound of her setting the mug back down on the wooden table is surprisingly loud.

“Mom?” I ask timidly. “What’s going on?” I wonder if she’s drunk, like she usually is. But she seems different. I haven’t seen her this calm or this solemn since my childhood.

“I drink because of the voices. You hear them too.” She stands up, abandoning her coffee, and walks unsteadily to her bedroom door which is just beyond the dining room. “You need to tune them out. They can only hunt you if you listen.”

“Mom, what are you talking about?” The mention of Cameron and the voices has me worried now. And what does she mean, they can only hunt me if I listen?

“Forgive Cameron. He has no choice. I’m going to bed now. I’m tired….” I look at the clock – it’s 2:00 in the afternoon.

“Mom, what–” I barely get the words out before my mom falls to the floor in front of her bedroom door, unconscious.

Solomon Beinoni – Several Days Earlier

I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of a borrowed car, inside an acquaintance’s garage, out of town. Tony, my fellow police officer, is sitting next to me. Unwillingly, from the way he is staring off into space and barely speaking. He has the slightest tremble, which wasn’t there before yesterday. His eyes look haunted and his knee is bouncing up and down, shaking the car. He’s nervous, and I know why. Declan Wolfe is why.

Declan Wolfe and a couple of his puppets within law enforcement each played their parts in capturing and forcefully interrogating Tony for attempting to pass along information to the target, Vienna Barron. They held him and questioned him for eight hours before releasing him, while making sure that nobody suspected anything and ensuring Tony made it back to work the next day like nothing happened. They left minimal, almost nonexistent physical marks; mentally, though, Tony is obviously scarred.

He hasn’t said anything to me about his eight hours of hell, but I know all about it because for the last several months, I too have been working for Wolfe. I’m one of his informants, and only in the last couple weeks have I began to realize that Wolfe is doing more harm than good. That realization had been solidified after he put my friend Tony here through electric shock therapy to get a little information, and the fact that he wants to put a twenty-year-old college student in the ground helped solidify my stance as well. I need to stop him. Somehow.

Tony finally speaks. “I know you want to help Vienna. I appreciate that, I really do – I wanted to help too, of course.” His knee starts bobbing up and down faster. “But all I fucking did was meet up with her at a park and they knew about it. I told no one what I was doing, Sol, no one. Not even my wife.”

“I won’t let them find me,” I say, rather pathetically. Of course I can’t completely prevent being caught, all I can do is make as little noise as possible. Tony catches my error and gives me a sideways glance.

“Wolfe has ways that we don’t even know about,” he says. “Somehow he’s able to gather intel that’s barely even intel. Somebody whispers something, thinks something that Wolfe doesn’t approve of, and he’s on them like a bloodhound.”

“Yeah, that’s a fucking problem,” I say. We’re silent for a few minutes, and at some point Tony realizes he’s been shaking the car because his leg stops bouncing suddenly.

Tony sighs. “Look, I know a guy. I can meet up with him without leaving any digital trace. He knows a couple guys who have some military background – Marine I think, at least for one of them. They’ve proven themselves to be highly effective bodyguards. Maybe we can set Vienna up with one of them temporarily. At least until we figure something else out.”

“I’m assuming you trust this guy?” I ask.

“With my life.”

“No way to trace anything back to you?”

“I guarantee it.”

“Alright, Tony. Make it happen. We sure as hell don’t have any better ideas.”

Chapter Eight

Vienna Barron, Juniper Memorial Hospital, 11:35 a.m.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound of the machines that are helping to sustain my mother’s life and monitoring her vitals have become permanently etched in my brain. I’ve been by her side in the hospital for the last three days, watching her sleep, watching numerous doctors and nurses come in to run tests, check and change her I.V. fluids and medications, clean her messes, change her sheets, go over her chart, and all the numerous other things that happen in hospitals. They say she’ll survive. They also say if she’d had even the tiniest bit more fentanyl, she wouldn’t have been so lucky.

Fentanyl. The same lethal drug that everyone has been hearing about on the news lately. When I heard that word coming out of the doctor’s mouth, I was in disbelief. My mother is an alcoholic, I’ve known that for years. But an addict? I don’t believe it. She doesn’t even like to take Tylenol. She’s never been one to see a primary care physician, get a prescription from the pharmacy for her depression, or take over-the-counter painkillers for the headaches she used to get every day. She has her own addiction, but she’s always been against big pharma and any type of street drug. So I’ve been lying awake at night on this hard, cramped hospital couch, trying to figure out why in the world my mother would have taken that.

It was last night around 2:00 in the morning when it hit me. I should have realized it before, but with everything that’s been happening, my brain had been scrambled; emotions have run amuck, logical thought had disappeared. But at that moment in the middle of the night, my thoughts were crystal clear: Someone tried to murder my mother. And they almost succeeded.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The noisy machines that at first drove me crazy are now helping to regulate my brain; the tempo is soothing, and I’m thinking more clearly. With my mother breathing on her own in the bed in front of me, asleep but not comatose, I realize I need to get out of here. Sitting here won’t help either one of us. I need to figure out what’s going on – why people are trying to kill me, why someone just tried to kill my mother… why Cameron, my best friend in the entire world, abandoned me… why Tony all but disappeared from my life right after trying to help, and what happened to the dark-haired cop who had gone missing days before showing up at my apartment. I have no one left to help me, and nowhere safe to stay. I have no job, and I dropped all of my other responsibilities, so all I have is the little bit of money that I saved up, a laptop, and a whole lot of time.

I stand up, getting off the couch for the first time in hours, and I gather my belongings – my dead cell phone, my keys, and my wallet. I stuff them all into various pockets, carrying everything like a man would, but without the deep pockets that are usually reserved for members of the dude species. I kiss my mom on the forehead before leaving the hospital room behind. I check out at the nursing station and leave the building, deciding to stop by the cafe on my way out so I can buy a really strong cup of coffee. Maybe a Shot in the Dark.

It’s almost noon, and though the hospital is busy with hospital staff and patients all buzzing around, lost in their own little worlds, the coffee shop is almost empty. I order a large hot Shot in the Dark and pay for my drink before speed-walking to the parking garage, nearly bumping into an elderly couple on the way out the door.

As soon as I’m in my car, I plug my phone into the car charger and start the ignition, idling as I wait for the phone to have enough power to turn on. It turns on after about two minutes. As expected, I get no reception in here, so instead of idly checking for text messages I begin my drive back to my apartment where hopefully nobody is waiting for me.

My phone dings the moment I am out of the parking garage. I’m a little surprised; I can’t think of anyone who would be messaging me since everyone has either abandoned me or is in the hospital. I really am a loner, I think to myself. Most people my age have a handful of friends or more; I’m usually just fine having a very tight circle, but with Cameron gone I am just now starting to realize that I truly haven’t allowed anyone else to become close to me.

At a red light, I check to see who messaged me. A four-letter name pops up on my screen – Tony. Surprised, and suddenly a little nervous, I open it.

“V. It’s Tony. Sorry for disappearing on you. I need to meet up with you, it’s urgent -“

The car behind me honks, and I look up to see that the car that was in front of me is now a couple hundred feet ahead. I hit the gas and speed through the intersection, maintaining that momentum as I realize I now need to get home as quickly as possible. I’m not sure if Tony has good news or bad, but I need to find out.

I arrive home about fifteen minutes later and run up the stairs to my apartment, open the door, and rush inside, where I plop down on the couch and re-read the text message from Tony.

“V. It’s Tony. Sorry for disappearing on you. I need to meet up with you, it’s urgent. Let me know when you get this. I’ll come to you.”

I read that over a few times, wondering why he had to leave so quickly when I had met him at the park, where he went, and why he’s back now. I have no reason not to trust him, but something in the back of my head is nagging at me. I sigh and push the nagging thoughts to the back of my head – he was my mom’s boyfriend, after all, and he never struck me as untrustworthy. Even though I didn’t see him much, when I did see him he seemed to be a man of integrity and he treated my mom well, though she did not do the same for him.

I decide to text him back. “I’m home.”

Now I just need to wait and see if he replies. I’m not sure how long that will take, so I toss my phone onto the couch and get up to take a much-needed shower.

When I return to the living room thirty minutes later, I have two texts waiting for me, both of which are from him. One was sent twenty-five minutes ago and simply says, “Don’t use your ability”. That should be easy, since the majority of the time I have to actually put some effort into it. The second text was sent seven minutes after that and says “I’m on my way, expect me there around 1:20.” I look at the time: it’s 1:15. He should be here any minute, if he actually follows through this time. I need to get answers from him.

The knock comes just a couple minutes later. I rush to answer it, but not without checking the peep hole first to make sure it’s him and not someone coming to kill me. Seeing that it’s Tony, I answer the door and quietly usher him inside.

Without saying a word, he heads straight for the kitchen table, which is cluttered with books and junk mail. It is, however, the farthest place from a window, which I assume is the reason he is choosing to sit there.

He looks nervous; there’s a slight tremble in his hands, which I have never seen with him before. I wonder to myself how much it actually takes to make a cop nervous. At this point I’m not expecting good news.

“Vienna,” he says. Although his hands are trembling, his voice is steady. “I’m really sorry I had to leave so suddenly at the park that day. Something came up at work. I can’t stay long, but I do have some good news for you.”

“Yeah, about that, Tony,” I say, “What’s been going on? Why didn’t you get back to me? You were going to tell me what happened with Susan….”

“Shh! I can’t talk about that right now, Vi, I’m really sorry. Please keep your voice down, I’m not sure if I’m being followed.”

“Followed? By who? What’s going on, Tony? You were going to help, and you just up and disappeared, just like Cameron, and then someone tried to kill my mom….”

“What?” he said, not able to hide the shock on his face. “What happened? Is she okay?”

“She’s alive, but barely. I can’t prove anything, but they say she overdosed on fentanyl and I think someone put it in her drink or something.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s still at the hospital. I saw her just a little bit ago. She’ll be fine, but I need to find out what’s going on and why someone is trying to kill us before one of us ends up dead. And I need as much information from you as I can get.”

“Fuck, Vienna. I’m not sure how much I can help you right now. They’ve already been asking a lot of questions at work and I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Why not?”

“Look,” Tony whispers, “I already told you more than I should have about that cop, Susan. Apparently anything having to do with her disappearance and death is strictly confidential. And I was going to tell you more. They let me off the hook this time, but I don’t think they’ll be so lenient the next time. I really can’t tell you anything.”

“Then why are you here?” I ask. I can feel my face flushing; I’m starting to get pissed, and he can tell.

“I came to give you some news. I was able to secure some protection for you. A bodyguard. Ex-military, special forces, all that. He was recommended by a good friend of mine, someone I trust. Background check came back clear, and I met the guy. Wanted to make sure I got a good feel for him, you know, have him pass my gut-check. He’s good, Vi. Nice enough guy, but tough enough to keep you safe.”

“I don’t want a bodyguard.”

“You need one, Vienna. Someone’s already tried to kill you and now, if you’re correct, they’re going for your mother too. You can have him check up on her every once in a while if you’d like. He’ll have to go wherever you go, but he can keep his distance and make sure you have some level of privacy. He’ll set up camp in his van at night – we purchased a parking permit so he can remain close to your apartment at night. And hell, if you hate him we can find someone else. But you need protection. You won’t get lucky again if someone comes after you. You don’t even own a weapon and I know you can’t fight.”

“Fine. But answer one question for me.”

“Which is…?”

“How do you know about my ability? You told me not to use it. I don’t remember ever telling you that I can read minds.”

“Your mother has the same ability. She told me when we were together that she suspected that she passed that down to you. I didn’t know if that suspicion was ever confirmed, but when a well-known psychic turned up dead earlier this week, I remembered that conversation between your mother and me, and I became worried. I think it is best to keep your power a secret until we know more about what’s going on. The best way to do that is to not use it for now.”

“My mom, right before she almost died, said something strange to me. Something like ‘they can only hunt you if you listen.’ Do you think she meant that if I use my ability, they can find me?”

“I’m not sure, but don’t risk it. Keep your head down, and stay here until I return with your bodyguard. His name is Ryan. I’ll return with him tomorrow at 7 a.m., I’ll make sure you approve of him, and I’ll familiarize him with the territory. After that, please refrain from contacting me except in emergencies, and by ’emergencies’ I mean only if Ryan has been killed and can no longer protect you. Otherwise he will be your only point of contact.”

“I understand.”

“Good. I wish I could help you more, but I hope this will make up for my sudden departure at the park. I want to keep you safe.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you here at 7 then.” I’m angry with Tony and I want answers, but I know that asking won’t get me anywhere. I don’t want a bodyguard, but I don’t have a good reason to refuse one. I’ll just make Ryan keep his distance while I do my own investigating.

“Alright. I need to go now. Watch your back tonight, but I think you’ll be fine until morning. Tell your mother that I wish her well.” Tony stands up and walks towards the door, and I notice his hands are no longer shaking as he turns the knob. He shuts the door quickly behind him, and I sigh and head back to my couch to decompress and process what’s happening.

______________

William Volkov a.k.a. The Bear, The Crane residence, 8:15 p.m.

I’m not one to regret a kill. Killing is something I have been trained to do my entire life, ever since I was a small child. I’m used to it. I’m good at it. Sometimes I enjoy it. I’ve known no other lifestyle but this one, and having regrets would only interfere with the job. There is no happiness in this line of work, but sometimes there is excitement. Certain kills are thrilling, which is a fact that most other humans will never understand.

This kill was not thrilling. I did not enjoy it. For the first time in my life, I am horrified by my own actions.

I look down at the blood dripping from my hands and at the knife still clenched in my fist. Some of that blood belonged to my target. To Jeannine Crane. That’s fine. She’s the rich wife of a rich bastard named Stellan, and she did something unforgiveable. At least according to Declan Wolfe.

But some of the blood belonged to her twelve year old son, Jack, who was innocent.

He wasn’t supposed to be home. He was not a target. He had snuck up behind me and tried to hit me with his baseball bat in an attempt to protect his mom. I was in my zone, focused on one task – killing – and I simply reacted.

I don’t know if a cleanup crew is coming. I don’t know if the police are on their way, or if Declan had a plan to hide Jeannine’s body. It’s not part of my job to know. But they’re going to find a second body, and I don’t know how they will react.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. I have another job that needs to get done, and no matter how much guilt I feel, I need to get put this kill behind me and focus completely on the next task. Killing a girl named Vienna Barron.

_____________

Vienna Barron, 10:55 p.m.

A loud knock on my door pulls me out of a restless sleep. I’m groggy from spending the last few nights in the hospital, having barely slept at all during that time. For a moment, I’m confused – I wonder if it’s already 7:00 a.m. the next morning and if Tony is at the door with that guy… Ryan, I think? But then I realize it’s still the same day, and I haven’t been expecting anybody. My heart starts beating a little faster and I rub the sleep from my eyes and do a zombie walk to the door.

I see a hooded figure through the peephole. It’s dark and hard to tell, but it appears that the person at my door is a man wearing a black jacket. I can see a few blonde strands of hair sticking out from under his hood, but he’s looking towards the ground so I can’t make out the rest of his face.

He knocks again. This time, I can hear a voice coming from the other side of the door, but his voice is hushed as if he wants to yell, but needs to whisper.

“Vienna, it’s me, please open the door!”

That sounds a lot like…. Cameron?!

I open the door about a foot, and two big blue eyes meet mine. The eyes of my best friend who left me.

His eyes are intense in a way that I’ve never seen them before. He speaks quickly in a frantic whisper. “Vienna, I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me. If you let me in I’ll explain everything to you. Please.”

I say nothing, knowing that I’ll break down the moment I speak, but I open the door for him and let him rush inside.

The moment the door closes, I’m being smothered by a bear hug. He’s crying, I think. Yeah, definitely crying. I can feel his chest heaving and his tears dripping on my shoulder. I’m pretty sure I’m crying too.

“Vienna, they forced me to stay silent. They were going to kill my entire family if I saw or spoke to you again. I know they tried to kill you too. I’m so glad they didn’t. Vi, I have evidence. We need to share what I know to the world. We need to stop them.”

Chapter Nine

Vienna Barron.

7:00 came and went. Cameron is snoring on one side of my couch with a pillow propped beneath his head and a blanket covering only his left leg; I’m sitting off to the side, lazily scrolling through social media in an attempt to distract myself from the fact that Tony was supposed to meet me here fifteen minutes ago with my new bodyguard.  

I’m jittery and anxious, and I’m completely jealous of Cam’s ability to sleep right now. He obviously needs the rest though. When he showed up on my doorstep, he looked very different from the upbeat Cameron that I always knew. He appears to have lost ten to fifteen pounds, and he had already been thin; his eyes look a bit sunken, his blonde hair a disheveled mess. He had come to me crying, and he begged me to forgive him for abandoning me. He didn’t need to beg. I forgave him the moment he walked through my door.  

He told me about some horrifying events that unfolded the night he disappeared. We stayed up late talking and trying to figure out what has been going on and why people are trying to kill me.  

The night he disappeared, he had received a phone call from an unknown number, and he had picked it up. The caller gave Cameron instructions to meet him at a designated spot immediately, or some men lurking near his parent’s house would come in and put some .45s through their skulls. Cameron had followed the instructions and met them at a spot down under a bridge after abandoning his car at a nearby gas station parking lot. He was taken by three men in a black SUV at gunpoint, brought to a safehouse, and held captive for the next several hours. During that time, he was questioned about what he and I had been doing earlier that evening, how I learned my special talent, and if there was anybody else who knew about my mind reading ability.  

He was told that I had already been executed because I was a danger to society, and that if he kept his mouth shut, he and his parents would be allowed to live and they would be given five hundred grand as a reward. If he spoke of any of it, they would not only kill him and his immediate and extended family, but he would be the last to die after watching them all be slowly tortured and killed.  

Cam was released only hours later, told to act like nothing happened, and to resume life as usual. However, there was one problem with that – I was still alive after escaping the attempt on my life. He then had to avoid me at all costs; he couldn’t risk me reading his thoughts and figuring out what happened, because then I might blab and get everyone killed.   

So I had asked him why he is here now. When the risk is so high, why would he be coming to me after being away for this long, when the world is literally crashing down around us, and when his entire family is in danger of losing their lives? 

His family is safe. That’s all he told me. He couldn’t reveal any details of where they were or what they were doing, and there was no reason for me to try reading his thoughts to find out. That could only put them in danger.  

There was one other thing that Cameron mentioned briefly before falling asleep. He had been working on uncovering the truth about what’s going on. He has a notebook that he had been using to keep track of details, and it is well-hidden in case anyone comes snooping. And he needs my account of what happened as well as any other help I can offer.  

He wants to uncover a conspiracy, and so do I.  

It’s creeping up on 7:40 and I still have not had a knock on my door or a single text from Tony. The worry in the pit of my stomach is making me want to puke, and if my mom weren’t in the hospital I might even consider taking Cameron with me and going back to her place. But just as I’m considering waking him up and taking off anyway, the knock comes.  

I run to open the door, finding Tony looking flustered and stressed out – almost angry – alongside a man I have never seen before. He looks barely older than myself. He would be clean-shaven if not for the five o’clock shadow, with dark hair and intimidating green eyes, which are already taking in the scene in a calculated manner, probably taking note of where all potential exits are. His strong jawline makes him appear to be better suited as a male model than a bodyguard, except that I can tell his nose has been broken at least once. For a moment I wonder how this can be the bodyguard that was so recommended by Tony. He looks too… normal.  

“You must be Ryan,” I say as I continue to size him up, glancing at the single sidearm holstered on his hip, wondering how much good he can actually be.  

Tony glances towards him awkwardly, then back at me. “Actually, Vi, Ryan couldn’t make it. Can we come in please?” he says impatiently.  

“Sure….”  

The bodyguard’s hand immediately goes to his pistol upon seeing Cameron, but he quickly recovers his composure. He turns to me. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else.” The coldness in his voice sends shivers up my spine; if anything, he might manage to intimidate a couple bad guys.  

“He’s staying,” I say back, trying to speak firmly through the waves of panic I’m experiencing.  

The bodyguard’s eyes dart back over to me and appear to give me a once-over. At the same time, Cameron starts to stir, and upon hearing the tense conversation happening around him he quickly stands up, looking haggard and underfed.  

“Alright,” Tony says, obviously agitated, “Now that we’re all awake and here, let’s get these introductions over with. Vienna, this is David. He’ll be your bodyguard for the next few weeks, until I can find someone to replace him. David, this is Vienna Barron, the person you’ll gladly give your life to protect. And this is Cameron, her best friend, who you will also die to protect if need be. There. Introductions are over.” His dislike for David is apparent.  

“What happened with Ryan? I thought he was supposed to be my bodyguard.” 

“That’s why we’re late,” Tony replied. “He’s deceased. Sit down.” 

I do as I’m told, not wanting to anger him further. Before I can ask what happened, Tony starts to speak again.   

“Ryan did not meet us at the office this morning. When nobody could get a hold of him, me and a couple of the guys went to his place to check in on him and found him hanging in his closet. I was able to get away long enough to get a new bodyguard set up for you and bring him here, since this is so urgent. But I have to be leaving pretty quickly.”  

“He was murdered?!” Cameron asks a little too loudly.  

“We don’t know yet, but it didn’t look like it. There were no signs of a struggle. We’re waiting on toxicology reports and doing a thorough investigation. All of this is strictly confidential, so not a word of this to anyone. Nothing leaves this room. Do you understand?”  

“Yes,” Cameron and I both say in unison.   

“Good. Now, I’m going to be leaving, and you should probably give David a tour of the apartment and grounds. Go over your lifestyle, where you frequent, when you frequent them, where your family and friends live, the names of any people you speak to regularly and anyone you’ve been in touch with recently. Include your school, your job, and anything else that you think might be important, even a little bit. He’ll go over the rest with you. He’ll be your roommate on paper, and he’ll go everywhere you go. He’ll look like just another one of your buddies, so treat him that way when you’re in public spaces. Do everything he tells you to do. He’s a professional, even if he doesn’t look it.”  

Cameron and I both nod, wide-eyed and tired.   

“I’ll keep in contact, but infrequently. David will be your main contact point now, as well as mine. If anything comes up that I need to know about, he will be the one to tell me. Try to lay low. Don’t do any of your mind reading stuff until we know for sure if they’re able to track you that way. Your mother may be an alcoholic, but she’s not crazy. Bye for now, Vi.” He disappears through the front door without giving me a chance to say another word.   

David, Cameron and myself stand in the middle of my living room in an awkward silence. David doesn’t let it last long – he pulls out a phone and tosses it in my direction.   

“Burner phone,” he says. “I’d have one for your friend too, if I knew he’d be here. I’ll get another sent here. Only use it to contact me, and only if we are separated for any reason. You’re going to have to get rid of your other phone. You too,” he added, looking at Cameron.   

“What about if–” BOOM. The cracking sound of a gunshot pierces the air around us, and David quickly pulls out his handgun and points it toward the front door as Cameron and I both duck and cover our ears.   

Complete silence follows. Then a scream, coming from outside.   

“Stay here.” David rushes out of the apartment looking ready to shoot someone.  

A horrible sinking feeling in my gut causes me to ignore David’s first command to me, and I rush outside on his tail hoping that I’m not about to see what I fear I’m going to. As I reach the top of the outside staircase, David is already trying to usher me back inside, one hand outstretched towards me, the other hand pointing his pistol in the direction of the chaos outside. But it’s too late – I already see the scene in front of me, I know what happened, and it was exactly as I feared.  

Tony’s been shot. He’s lying on the ground in an expanding pool of blood, struggling to stay alive, trying in vain to keep the blood from spilling out of a hole in his neck. There’s nobody around him. The woman that I heard screaming must have run back inside, and there’s no gunman to be seen. Still, I can hear someone screaming. Only when David clamps his hand over my mouth and pulls me back inside do I realize it’s me.  

David shoves me inside the apartment a little too aggressively and I almost lose my footing, but Cameron is already by my side with his arms tightly around me, helping me to remain standing. “Keep her inside,” David barks at him. I try to break free – I need to get to Tony, I need to make sure he’s alive. But Cam is holding onto me as tight as he can, and somehow even his small and tired frame is stronger than me. 

I can hear more screams coming from outside – neighbors must be finally realizing that someone’s been shot. David is back outside. He had shut the door firmly behind him on his way out; that door is the only thing standing between me and the horrifying scene happening just yards away.  

“If I let go, are you going to run out there?” Cameron asks as though he just read my mind.  

“I have to see Tony…”  

“No, you don’t. There is nothing you can do. The ambulance is on their way and you’ll only be putting yourself in danger. Now, can I let go, or are you going to make me hold onto you forever?” 

I hesitate for a moment, but give in. “I won’t leave.” 

“Good.” He releases his arms from around me. I want to run – I want to know what’s going on outside and see if Tony is still alive. Instead, I walk to the bedroom, which faces the parking lot outside, and I peer out the window. Cameron stays back, I assume to guard the door and make sure I don’t try to make a break for it.  

I should have braced myself for what I would see. I choke back a sob and quickly close the blinds, turning away from the sight of the crowd gathering around Tony as a couple of people try in vain to perform CPR on his very still body. I can hear the sirens approaching – many of them. Part of me wants to get out of this place so I don’t have to answer any questions. But David hasn’t come back inside yet and I don’t want to abandon what might be my only shot at having some form of protection.  

I hear the front door open. I stand in the bedroom for a few moments, not quite ready to face David and Cameron yet. These might be the last moments I get to myself for quite some time. David will never let me be alone for as long as he is around to protect me. Part of me also just doesn’t want them to see the silent tears streaming down my face.  

A muffled grunt and the thud of something heavy hitting the floor pull me out of my thoughts. “Cameron?” No answer. “David?”  

I rush back out to where I last saw Cameron, and I see him. On the floor, face-down, with a pool of blood seeping out from underneath his belly. The front door is ajar, and David is nowhere to be seen. 

Chapter Ten

Stellan Crane

The air didn’t smell right. That’s what I first noticed when I entered my home. A moment later was when I realized that the alarm had been disarmed, and not by me.

Peter Gavin and Adam DeMarco, my security personnel, nudged me out of the way and headed into the interior of my mansion, guns drawn. Unnecessary, I thought. Anyone who was here would be gone by now.

So I told them to stay back. Somehow, I already knew the source of the smell, and what I would find. Blood. Stuck somewhere between panic and complete calm, I strode ahead. Up the stairs and to the left, I followed my intuition as though it were an internal GPS telling me exactly where I was about to find my dead wife and dying son.

And there, in the theater room, as if the whole thing were a scene in a fucking movie instead of real life, I found my wife slumped over the back row of seats, unmoving. And then, after a moment, I heard the unmistakable and sickening gurgling sound of somebody choking on blood. My son.

I ran to my son, knowing that my wife was dead and that there was nothing I could do for her. Holding Jack across my lap, I could see that he had been stabbed in the face, disfiguring him, causing him to choke on the congealing blood in his airway. The wound to the face alone wouldn’t have killed him, but suffocation would have.

DeMarco stayed behind with me and called for backup and medical assistance while Gavin searched nearby for anyone who might have stuck around. Nobody will be found, I kept thinking.

But I will find the one who did this.

It was only later that the sense of calm dissipated and the reality of my dead wife and severely injured son hit me.

Jeannine’s throat had been cut. She didn’t suffer much. My son, though… he will suffer for the rest of his life.

I can’t forgive that.

Relationships are built on trust. Without trust, the foundation is cracked and irreparable. Business relationships are no different. And I think I know which foundation has just been destroyed.

So, as I sit in the hospital’s consultation room after being told that Jack will be in excruciating pain for the rest of his life, I dial a familiar number on my encrypted phone. The man on the other end picks up immediately.

“This is Wolfe.”

“Declan, what a pleasure. I was hoping we could meet, just the two of us. I have a new development in my technology that I hoped to run by you. Perhaps you can provide me with a new guinea pig in exchange for some more funding for your little project.”

“A new target?”

“No. One of your own. It will work this time, I guarantee it. We’ve tested on a few others with very limited negative side effects.”

“Who are you thinking? I don’t have many to spare.”

“Volkov, perhaps?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’s on assignment. No time frame. We don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. Well then. How about we meet tomorrow at 4:00 and discuss our options? Our regular spot. I’ll see you then.” I hang up the phone, satisfied. Tomorrow at 4:00, I will extract every last drop of information I can get out of Declan. I will find out who killed my wife and disabled my son and I will make them wish they’d never fucked with me. I will take over Declan’s little project, burn the place down, and then kill Declan myself.

For the first time since I arrived home two nights ago, I allow myself to let out a scream.

Solomon Beinoni

A perimeter of red and blue flashing lights, a white tent, and too many officers are all that are standing between me and sanity. Because, quite frankly, the little piece of the world within the borders of this crime scene feels a little too chaotic.

A human pincushion, slaughtered in an apparent fit of rage, and dumped in the middle of a fucking parking lot in the center of town sometime late at night or early in the morning. That’s what I’m looking at.

Nothing in his pockets except for a simple wallet; inside, it is empty, except for a single piece of I.D. stating his name: Jason Craig.

A background check revealed no criminal history except for some speeding tickets. There is no apparent reason why this man might have been murdered. Not yet, at least.

My phone rings. Unknown caller. Against my better judgment, I answer.

“Beinoni speaking.”

“This is Wolfe. I’ll make this quick. I know you’re playing both sides. Your partner, Tony, has been executed. One more wrong move and you’ll be next. Watch yourself.” Click.

I quietly excuse myself from the crime scene. Away from the mass of officers and CSIs, I fall to my knees. Tony is dead and it’s partly my fault.

Vienna Barron

Somehow, all the panic I had been experiencing has suddenly turned into pure, unfiltered rage, held back only by the need to remain calm for Cam’s sake. As I flip Cameron over onto his back, I can see that he’s still breathing, but that he’s been stabbed in the belly and chest three times. The knife is gone and in its absence are three open wounds that have been left to bleed freely. I apply pressure to the worst of them.

“It’s okay, Cam, you’ll be okay,” I find myself saying. I am not sure that I believe myself, but I hope he does.

David runs up behind me. I want to kill him for allowing this to happen.

“The ambulance is here. I need to bring him down there and I need you to hide.” He says this so casually, so unsympathetically, that for a moment I think about actually following through on my desire to murder him.

But I know he’s right. About Cameron, at least.

I bite my tongue. “I’m going with him,” I say.

Without warning, he closes the gap between us and grabs me by the arm, pulling me to my feet and pushing me towards the door. “You’re not. If you want to survive, you will do as I say. You’re to go hide in the apartment next door and not come out until I come find you. Lock the door. I’m going to take your friend down to the ambulance – we can’t have them coming up here yet. Do you understand? Do exactly as I say or you will both end up dead.”

I glare at him, seething, but he’s already picking up Cameron to transport him downstairs.

“Do it now.”

After once last look at Cameron, almost as if I’m checking to make sure he’s still breathing, I do as David says and lock myself in the apartment next door, hoping to god that nobody is home.

I can hear David’s heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs with Cam in tow. I press my ear to the door and listen.

“Help, please, my friend’s been attacked, he needs to go to the hospital….” His voice trails off and I’m left alone in an empty apartment hoping my best friend makes it to the hospital alive.

I wait. As I wait, I pace back and forth through my neighbor’s living room, hoping she doesn’t come home anytime soon. I feel a cold draft, and as I look around, I notice the back patio door has been left partially open. As I go to close it, something catches my eye. On the white balcony railing is a smear of blood. Fuck.

I back up slowly as if someone were about to jump out at me from the balcony. Except nobody is there.

I walk through the rest of the apartment, looking for any more signs of blood. Everywhere is clear, except….

The last bedroom is locked. It’s one of those locks that are easily opened with a small coin, so I search the apartment for a penny or dime, or anything that I can stick in the lock to get it to turn. I find a little coin jar on the kitchen counter. This should do the trick.

I instantly regret it. Inside-out white coveralls, the type used by painters, are covered in blood and lying carelessly on the bed next to a pair of bloodied shoes. The window, which has not been shut all the way, overlooks Tony’s murder scene outside, and the knife that must have been used to gut Cameron is lying on the floor as if tossed there in a hurry. I gag and turn away, choosing to wait for David on the living room couch with my eyes squeezed shut. I force myself to breathe deeply, trying my best to calm myself down. It’s not working.

***

Hours pass. David has not been back and it’s starting to get dark outside. I wonder if I’ve been abandoned. I wonder how Cameron is doing. And then I hear something. A soft clicking sound. The front door opens. My heart leaps out of my chest.

“Vienna?” I hear. “It’s David. Let’s get you out of here.”

I walk up to him calmly, without a word. I stop right in front of him, looking him directly in the eye. And then I slap him across the face as hard as I can.

“How fucking dare you,” I say.