Mark Edward Hall

Chapter 8

The Blackhawk helicopter was waiting at idle when Jennings got to the airport. There were no problems with security. They rushed him right through. He boarded the military transport, strapping his hulking frame into a seat as a crew member handed him a headset.

“What’s this for?”

“Things are noisy,” the crewman hollered above the racket. “Besides, the boss man wants to talk to you.” Jennings nodded and put the headset on. The chopper’s engines whined distantly as the craft lifted into the air. The airport slid away beneath him giving way to the Portland skyline, a jagged coastline, and finally, open ocean.

“Jennings, can you hear me?”

Jennings reached up and adjusted the mouthpiece. “Yeah, I hear you fine.”

“You’ll be here in about thirty minutes. You’ll be touching down at Pease International Tradeport. The scene is just ten minutes from there. There’ll be a car waiting.”

“What have you done with the bodies?”

“We haven’t moved them. They’re still at the scene exactly as they were found. Forensics has been poring over them trying to figure out what the hell happened.”

“So you say it’s the same MO as those people back in the nineties? The ones McArthur saw in his visions?”

“No doubt about it. That’s the reason I wanted you down here. You were the guy that introduced me to the kid. He told me how he’d seen the murders in some sort of . . . trance-state or something. I’ll tell you what, spooked the shit out of me.”

“I wish I’d never said a word.”

“Why, Rick? Were you trying to protect him?”

“God damn it, Spencer, I wasn’t trying to protect anybody. The kid had suffered enough.”

“Yeah, I know. He was sort of famous, or should I say infamous, back before that. Don’t think I wasn’t interested in what was going on, because I was. Just like everybody else. All the talk shows wanted him and the tabloids wrote about the things he’d seen—”

“Most of it was bull shit!”

“I know, I know, but, Christ, he even saw his own parents die. How tough can that be?”

“What’s this about, Spencer?”

“I’m not sure,” Spencer said. “I just can’t figure out McArthur’s connection to it all.”

“Simple, there is no connection.”

“I don’t think you believe that, Rick.”

“Listen, Spencer, he’s clairvoyant. He sees things. Or he used to. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

“Does McArthur still live in the area?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact he and his wife Annie are friends of mine.”

“What do you mean by friends? Like beer buddies and backyard barbecues?”

What the hell was Spencer doing? Did he know about this morning? If so then why was he being so coy? Suddenly Jennings didn’t trust the slimy bastard. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Do you think he . . . saw these murders last night?”

“What are you, crazy?”

“No. Actually I’m quite sane. Probably saner than I’ve been in a long time.”

“Listen, as far as I know McArthur’s visions were gone by the time he became an adult.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I told you, I’m his friend.”

“Have you talked to him this morning?”

Christ, Spencer did know. The fucking FBI had been on top of this from the beginning. He should have known. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Spencer, but—”

“What I’m getting at, Rick is, as far as I know nothing like this has happened in ten years. And this morning McArthur’s house blows up and in its wake he leaves two square miles of carnage. A little bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“That’s all it is, Spencer. Coincidence! Period!”

“Where do you suppose McArthur is right now?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Do you think it’s possible that perhaps whatever causes him to see these terrible things came awake and he just went nuts?”

“And he blew his own house up and killed people, and then zipped on down to New Hampshire and killed some more? No, I don’t think that’s possible. It isn’t logical—”

“These deaths aren’t logical, Rick.”

“Listen, those guys were trying to kill them, in case you didn’t know. He was simply trying to protect himself and his wife.”

“You know that for a fact, huh?”

“I was at the scene all morning and that’s what the preliminary evidence suggests. And it’s what I believe, yes. I told you, I know the guy. But it’s now out of my hands. I was taken off the case. The feds are involved and you know it, Spencer, so why don’t you fucking start leveling with me.”

“That’s one of the reasons I called you, Rick. To . . . deal you back in.”

“You son-of-a-bitch, Spencer.”

“It wasn’t me, Rick. It’s not personal. It’s just that the people upstairs thought you were a little too close to McArthur to be objective.”

“Bastards!”

“Relax, Jennings. It was my decision to bring you back in.”

“Thinking that I’d be able to lead you to McArthur. Well, you’re wasting your time. I don’t have a fucking clue where he is.”

“I believe you, Rick.”

“Do the boys upstairs believe it?”

“They don’t have to. At least not yet.”

“Doesn’t sound like I’m being dealt back in at all. Sounds more like you’re trying to get me as far away from the case as possible.”

“Not so, Rick. Actually I’m putting you right back in the middle of it.”

“You can’t actually believe that McArthur was involved in the murder of a family two hours away from his home? I told you, it’s not logical.”

“Oh, but I think it is. I think if he saw these murders and if he didn’t do them, then I believe he’s capable of leading us to whoever did. And furthermore, I think you’ll agree when you get here.”

“You bastards just want to grab him, don’t you? You’ve been waiting for an opportunity. Take his mind apart, see what makes him tick.”

“Rick, we could have had him any time we wanted.”

“But now you’ve got the excuse you need, right? I told you, I don’t know where he is.”

“That’s okay, Rick, we do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Silence.

“Spencer?”

“I can’t say any more. This line’s not secure. We’ll talk when you get here.”

Now Jennings was more confused than ever. What if Doug was connected in some way to these deaths? Even though he knew Doug well, or thought he knew him, they never talked much about what happened back when he was a kid. Those regressive sessions back when he was in college had been the end of it as far as he was concerned. He’d come away believing that McArthur had some sort of psychic ability period, an ability to see the future, to see murder and mayhem in its most brutal form, and the most difficult one to believe: perhaps the ability to see the supernatural creature behind the murders. Jennings couldn’t explain any of it and he’d given up trying a long time ago. McArthur’s sight went far beyond the territory of ordinary police investigative work into the realm of the unexplained. What he did know was that Doug’s sight had diminished as he’d grown older until it was nearly non- existent. At least that’s what Jennings believed because Doug never talked about it any more. Growing up had been a tough time for the kid, losing his parents like he had and the media circus that had followed. No, he wasn’t the least bit sure Doug would say a word even if he knew. And he wouldn’t blame him.

But Jennings was still uneasy. This was all happening so fast he wasn’t sure of his instincts. The feds wanted McArthur, there was no doubt about that. Maybe they already had him. And their interest in him went far beyond this particular case. Jennings was suddenly sure of it.

“Tell you what, Spencer,” Jennings said. “Let’s wait until I see the bodies so I can get a handle on this thing. I don’t know if these killings are the same thing as before.”

“They’re the same all right, Jennings, and I think you’ll agree when you see them.”

“What if it’s some sort of copy cat?”

“Wait till you see the evidence, and then tell me that.” The line suddenly went dead. Evidently Spencer was through talking.

Jesus Christ,” Jennings thought, settling back in his seat. I need to talk to Doug.

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 27th, 2010 at 6:20 pm and is filed under Novels. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.