Envy

CHAPTER 46

Well, this was going fucking great, Jim thought, as he stared into the business end of a nine.

“You tell me where she is,” Veck bit out, “or I’ll shoot you.”

The guy meant it: He was cucumber cool, icebox ready. Kinda made you respect the bastard. Except he wasn’t thinking straight, was he.

“You kill me,” Jim pointed out levelly, “and I can’t tell you where to go. You kill him”—he nodded in Ad’s direction—“and I’m going to strangle you with your own colon.”

There was a brief pause and then the gun pointed at him shifted no more than a millimeter to Jim’s left.

The SOB pulled the trigger and buried a bullet into the molding right by Jim’s ear.

“Who said anything about killing?” Veck subtly moved the muzzle lower. “Pain works wonders on tight lips. Besides, I’ll bet if I did a callback they’d pick up.”

Triangulating where the next bullet was going to land made Jim fear a new career as a falsetto—assuming he didn’t want to take for granted the whole bullets-can’t-touch-me thing. Then again, at least it wasn’t Adrian’s’nads on the line—given how much that guy could not sing.

“You might think this shit over, Jim,” the other angel muttered. “We know the guy’s got good aim.”

Jim shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re walking into, Veck.”

“Have I mentioned time is flying? God only knows what’s happening to her.”

“True, but she’s not the one I’m worried about.” Jim glanced over at Ad. “And I need to go with him. Any clue how I can do that?”

The other angel cursed softly. “That was Eddie’s department.”

“No one’s coming with me,” Veck barked. “Or that woman is going to kill her. And will you stop wasting time—”

“Devina is not going to do shit to her! She needs you there, and Reilly alive is the only way to make sure you show up. Now will you give me a moment to think, asshole?”

As Jim began pacing, Veck started spouting off, all, “Stop moving or I’ll shoot,” but he ignored the guy—

The second shot went into the floor at Jim’s feet, and halted him. Pegging the Clint Eastwood motherfucker with a glare, he said, “That was, like, an inch from my boot, man.”

“Next time it’s your goddamn ankle.”

“Better than your balls,” Ad pointed out.

Jim turned to face the detective, ready to paint the true picture of Devina . . . when he happened to glance down at the guy’s bifurcated shadow on the tiled floor.

That pair of dark patterns looked like two trees in the forest . . .

And you could stand behind trees, couldn’t you. Hide behind them. Camouflage yourself to appear to be part of the environment such that anyone, like, say, your enemy, could look around . . . and notice nothing.

After all, Devina had seemed to suggest she couldn’t find him—but was he really willing to take a chance on something he didn’t quite get?

Except then he thought about that shit with the badge. Granted, it had nearly split his own self in two, but was there any other solution? Short of sending this pistol-packing, pissed-off sonofabitch into the showdown alone?

“I have to get inside you,” Jim said in a deep voice.

Veck frowned hard. “Sorry, you’re not my type.”

“We could put a wig and a dress on him,” Adrian suggested. And as he got the hairy eyeball from everybody in the room, the angel shrugged. “They gotta make that crap in tarp size, right?”

“And to think I’m actually glad your smart ass is coming back,” Jim muttered before refocusing on Veck. “I’ve got to come with you—and she can’t know I’m there. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”

Jim closed his eyes and instinctively let the corporeal part of himself go, shedding his suit of skin and bones until he was nothing but the light source that animated his body from within.

The dissolve went off without a glitch—it was exactly what he had done but hadn’t been able to control down in Devina’s lair when he’d exploded in fury at her.

“Brace yourself, big boy,” he said into the air.

Clearly, Veck heard him, because the guy recoiled, his eyes rolling around like peas in a jar at the prospect of being possessed. But this was the only way to protect him, and he must have known that because he didn’t run.

Given that Jim had no clue what the hell he was doing, he approached carefully. The last time he’d done this, he’d blown Devina apart—not exactly the happy ending he or Veck needed in this case.

Good news, though. As he pressed forward, Veck became nothing more than a sieve, offering only a passing resistance. Inside the shell? Jim fought for room in a metaphysical landscape that had nothing to do with the molecules that made the man, and everything to do with the space in between tm. And what do you know, he got a crystal-clear on why Eddie had said no-go for an exorcism. Veck was a goddamn Moon Pie, all half-and-half: Every inch of his soul was yin-and-yang, with good and evil spliced together.

No way to operate and excise. You’d destroy him.

Except two could play at this takeover game: on instinct, Jim suffused the man’s interior being, becoming a fog that turned it into a threesome situation. . . .

Man, that sounded dirty.

But the fact of the matter was, just as Devina’s “DNA” was pervasive, Jim became the same—and he hid not behind the good side, but the bad one. Better coverage that way—

Huh. From this vantage point, he could look out of Veck’s eyes.

“How’m I doin’?” Jim asked in his own voice—hey, he could talk out of the bastard’s mouth, too.

Across the way, Adrian shrugged. “Pretty damn good—I can’t sense you. But I gotta ask—the pair of you want a cigarette? Or are you going for a twofer?”

“Fuck off,” Jim and Veck answered at the same time.

Standing in his utility room, Veck felt vaguely nauseous, like he’d eaten a two-day-old Philly cheese steak, washed it down with lukewarm beer, and had a cherry slushie for dessert: too full of shit that didn’t get along.

And as for hearing Jim’s voice coming out of his own lips? He could do without that, thank you very much.

“So where are we going?” he asked.

Well, didn’t this give a whole new meaning to “talking to yourself.”

“The quarry.”

“The quarry? For fuck’s sake, it’ll take forever to—”

“Get the cigarettes,” Jim said.

“Screw that, we need my bike—it’ll take us a half hour—”

“Come on, sport. Get the Marlboros—I’ll take care of the travel arrangements.”

Cursing a blue streak, he beat feet over to the kitchen table, grabbed the pack and the lighter, and shoved them in with the backup bullet clips.

“And take this,” Adrian said, unsheathing what looked like a glass knife.

“No offense, I’ll stick with bullets.”

“Silly subhuman.” The angel shoved the dagger into Veck’s belt. “You can trigger up anything you like—it’s for Jim.”

“Tell me this isn’t permanent?”

“No, you have to give me my weapon back at the end.”

Har-har, hardy-har-har. “I’m talking to Jim.”

“No, it’s not,” the angel answered from out of Veck’s mouth. “I can get free as easily as I got in.”

“You sure about that?”

“Nope.”

“Fabulous.” Veck looked around to meet Heron in the eye and realized that was pointless—without a frickin’ mirror. “So how are you going to get us—”

Next stop was the quarry. Literally.

And there was no bus ride or train trip or car crawl to compare: One moment Veck was in his house; the next he was in the center of the quarry’s long slope.

Don’t address me out loud, Jim said in his head.

Is this what schizophrenics experience, Veck wondered.

Couldn’t tell you. Just make sure you stay tight.

“Like I have a choice with you in here, too,” Veck muttered, as he looked around.

Wait, before you head in. There was a pause. Veck, this is your show. I’m just going to make sure you live long enough to have a shot—but everything is on you. I won’t interfere or intercede—we clear? You’ve got to make your mind up on your own. But you’ve got to do the right thing, whatever that is.

“Yeah. Sure.”

I just want you to remember—evil is usually the easy way out. And your fate is your own and no one else’s.

As if on cue, a glow emanated out of the mouth of a cave about one hundred and fifty yards off to the right.

Enough with the fucking chatter.

Unsheathing both guns, Veck moved like the damn wind, leaping from boulder to boulder, jumping down, jumping up, scrambling. As his body went on full flip-out to get him to Reilly, his eyes stayed locked on that light. With every obstacle he threw himself over, horrible visions ran through his head, the gruesome, bloody nightmares making his chest burn with a fury that gave him power beyond the physical sum of his muscles and strength.

The cave in question had an entrance large enough so that he didn’t have to duck down, and wide enough so that he didn’t have to squeeze through. And then the nature-made corridor he found himself in stretched out ahead, penetrating far into the belly of the earth.

Dropping into a crouch, he ran as fast as he could toward the flickering glow.

All around him, the walls were wet and rough, the ceiling dripping, the floor puddled up. In a panic, he tried to filter out the pounding sound of his own footsteps so he could hear what was up ahead: Screams? Heavy breathing? Painful moaning?

Nothing.

It was too fucking quiet.

And then he turned the final corner.

The cave opened up to what appeared to be a low-walled space about the size of a big living room. It was impossible to get a true sense of its breadth, however, because the place was lit with candles, outside of which there was nothing but darkness.

In the center, there was a body strung up by the arms, the deadweight hanging from the ceiling.

It was not Reilly. It was what appeared to be a man with short sandy blond hair.

Veck glanced around for Bails and that bitch woman. But all there was . . . was the body. And it was turned to face the far wall.

Was that . . . a hospital johnny? he thought as he stepped forward, keeping the guns up.

“Reilly!” he shouted.

The echoing name roused whoever was hanging, and as the head jerked, a scraping sound rose up into the still, dank air. The person was slowly turning himself around, using the tips of his bare, muddy feet to change his position.

When Veck saw who it was, he cursed: The victim’s identity was clear, in spite of the fact that the guy had obviously been punched in the face recently: His forehead was swollen and going black-and-blue, but the features were well known.

“Kroner . . .” Veck muttered, wondering how in the fuck the bastard had been brought here. Then again, abductions from hospitals were improbable but not impossible.

The serial killer struggled to lift his chin, his mouth working slowly. He was trying to talk, but Veck didn’t give a shit what the fucker had to say.

“Reilly! ” he called out, hoping that the darkness beyond the candles meant that there was another chamber where she was—

Someone stepped out of the shadows toward him.

He blinked once, and when the vision didn’t change, he realized it was, in fact, a woman. Although what someone like her was doing here—

“Hello, Veck.” It was the voice from his phone, live and in person. “Welcome to the party.”

The brunette made Angelina Jolie look like a librarian: She was lush and dangerous, an upright jungle dressed in stilettos and a short skirt that belonged in a café downtown, or an elegant private club . . . anywhere but this stank-ass cave.

“Did you come alone?” she asked him, her plump, juicy lips pursing.

“Yes.”

“Good.” She moved around him, circling, smiling. “You’re just like your father—taking direction well.”

“Where is Reilly?”

“Your devotion to the woman is”—her voice got tense—“enviable. And because I can imagine how anxious you are to find her, I’ll say that I’m prepared to tell you.”

“So do it.”

She eyed the guns. “Do you honestly think those are going to work against me?” Her laugh was wind chime–beautiful—and nonetheless rang falsely in the ear. “And, oh, look, they gave you a dagger, too. Hope does spring eternal, I suppose. By the way, did Jim tell you he used to be a killer?”

“I don’t give a shit what he was.”

“Right, right, it’s all about the girl.” That voice grew bitter again. “How lucky she is. And she should know how you feel about her, don’t you think.”

At that, the woman idly turned toward Kroner and strolled across to the guy. Speaking over her shoulder, she said, “Yes, tell her how you feel, why don’t you.”

Veck looked into the shadows. “I love you, Reilly! I’m here!”

“So romantic,” the brunette said dryly.

As the woman stayed fixated on the serial killer, Veck decided to hedge his bets: He put one of his guns away . . . and palmed up that glass dagger he’d been given. None of this was making sense—which gave some credibility to Adrian’s advice.

“Where the fuck is she?” he growled.

“I’ll tell you—but you have to do something for me.”

“What.”

The brunette smiled and stepped back from Kroner. “Kill him.”

Veck narrowed his eyes on the woman.

In response, she smiled more deeply. “It’s what you were going to do all along. You waited for him in those woods, biding your time until he showed up among the trees next to that motel. You were going to act . . . but you were denied your chance.”

Facing off at her, Veck’s body began to vibrate, that rage that had sprung loose at the prison coalescing in his torso, tightening his muscles.

“This is my gift to you, little Tommy. You kill him, and I’ll show you where your woman is. It’s what you want. It’s what you’re here for. It’s your destiny.”

From out of nowhere, a reflection of light pierced the darkness, and illuminated the shadows, revealing . . . Bails.

The guy was sitting on the floor of the cave, leaning back against the wet wall. A gunshot marked his forehead between his wide-open eyes, the smallest trail of blood seeping out and dripping down his nose. His mouth was lax; his skin pale gray.

“Don’t worry about him,” the brunette said dismissively. “He was nothing but a pawn. You, on the other hand . . . are the prize. And all you have to do is act. Kill him . . . and I’ll make sure you see your girl.”

Abruptly, Veck realized where the shaft of light was coming from.

His hand had risen up, and that glass dagger had caught the butter soft candlelight, sending a shaft of it across the cave to zero in on his supposed friend.

“Time’s wasting, little Tommy. Let’s get through this, so we can come out the other side. Listen to your gut. Do what you know is right. Take out this piece-of-shit, amoral killer and find what you seek. It’s such an obvious path, such a simple trade—everything that Reilly is, for this murdering madman. It’s all in your hands. . . .”

“Is Reilly alive?” he heard himself say.

“She is.”

“Will you let us both out of here alive?”

“Probably. Depends on what you do, doesn’t it.” The brunette’s voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “You can see her the moment you take care of business. I swear to it. It’s all in your hands. . . .”