No Escape, page 10
A creak sounded from another room. Suzie’s eyes widened in fright. Valerie put her finger to her lips in a gesture of silence as they both waited for whatever was coming next.
The silence which followed left Valerie feeling like they were being watched. A cold draft coming from the other room caused her heart to beat faster as she tightly gripped Suzie’s hand, believing it would keep them safe.
Valerie motioned downward with her head as she pulled something out of her pocket.
“The knife from Joshua Murphy’s kitchen?” Suzie asked in a whisper.
Valerie nodded. It wasn’t a gun, but it would have to do.
The air was thick with tension as they made their way through the dark house. Everything around them was still and quiet except for the occasional movement of something unseen in their peripheral vision and distant whispers echoing through the walls. Valerie tried to blot out any oncoming hallucination.
She shuddered and quietly moved forward, her eyes roaming in search of what might be hidden here. Everywhere she looked there were signs of abandonment; furniture overturned, windows broken, items strewn about haphazardly—all evidence that what was once a home was now consigned to a trash pile.
Valerie and Suzie moved cautiously through the dimly lit house, the floorboards creaking beneath their feet. The musty air hung heavily around them, and the place had an eerie, abandoned feel to it. As they approached a closed door, Valerie heard a faint rustling sound coming from behind it. She motioned for Suzie to stay back as she slowly inched toward the door, her knife at the ready.
Without warning, the door was flung open, and a tall, powerful man with a grubby black scarf obscuring his face burst out. He lunged at Valerie, who barely had time to react before she felt the impact of his body against hers. She tried to defend herself with her knife, but the man’s strong grip wrenched it from her hand. In the chaos, Suzie was knocked to the ground, her breath knocked out of her.
Valerie quickly got back on her feet and faced the attacker. She felt rusty, her movements slower than they used to be, but her hand-to-hand combat training soon kicked in. She dodged the man’s wild swings, countering with precise strikes of her own. They grappled, exchanging blows, and Valerie slowly gained the upper hand.
Seeing an opportunity, the man suddenly broke free and bolted for the door. Valerie was hot on his heels, chasing him out of the house and across the street.
Her lungs burned and she felt like her heart was about to leap out of her chest.
The man leaped over a hedgerow and Valerie followed. She then saw him trip on a plant pot and stumble.
This was her chance to close the gap.
She threw herself forward and grabbed the back of his coat. He swung his fist backwards, catching her on the jaw. As she stood dazed for a moment, he pushed her down onto her knees and then continued running.
“Valerie!” Suzie’s voice screamed somewhere in the distance.
Valerie stood up and rushed forward again, following the man’s movements. They ran along a street and then to the side of an old stone bridge.
The man seemed to be tiring, and Valerie caught up to him again. This time, she swept the back of his heel with her foot. He stumbled forward and then fell down a grassy embankment into a fast-moving stream.
Without hesitation, Valerie dove in after him, fighting against the current to reach the man before he could be swept away. She managed to grab hold of him, pulling him to the bank and then to safety. Gasping for breath and soaked, she tore the scarf from the man’s face, revealing his sharpened features.
It wasn’t John Murphy.
Disappointment and confusion washed over Valerie as she tried to catch her breath. She had been so sure that she’d cornered the elusive killer.
She grabbed him by the collar. “Who the hell are you?!”
“Leave me alone,” he coughed, water dribbling out of his mouth.
Valerie pulled him closer, her voice now quivering with rage. “Why did you just attack me? Why? Who are you?”
Valerie’s grip on the man’s shoulder tightened as she growled, “What were you doing in that house?”
He stammered, “I was… I was squattin’. Thought you were here to evict me.”
Valerie stepped back and studied him, her eyes narrowed. His clothes were worn and tattered, his face gaunt and pale. Clearly he had been living in these hard times for some time now.
Tentatively, she released him and said, “Alright. Just… Just go…”
The man nodded, his eyes briefly meeting Valerie’s before he scrambled to his feet. Without another word he turned and ran off, disappearing around a corner.
Suzie appeared at the side of the embankment, her cheeks red from running.
She said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help, Val. I… I tried.”
Valerie smiled at Suzie’s apologetic expression and said, “It’s alright. You did your best… He just wasn’t John Murphy. He was a squatter.”
“Do you think it was him that broke the lock on the door?” she asked.
Valerie nodded. “Yes.”
Suzie sighed, looking mournfully at the sky above. The clouds were gathering. “Where do we go from here?”
Valerie sighed and said in a weary voice, “The police will still be looking for us. No doubt someone saw me chasing that man. We need to lay low until I figure out what we’re doing next.”
She wished she could be more positive, but right now she was running on empty.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Will leaned against the hood of the car in the morning sun, tiredness in his bones, watching as Charlie paced back and forth in the open field, holding his phone up in the air like a divining rod.
“You know,” Will called out, “we did have a lightning storm last night, you might not want to hold your arm up so high in a field.”
Charlie shot him a glare. “This damned thing.”
Will pushed himself off the hood and walked over to Charlie, hands in his pockets. “Perhaps it’s something on Jackson’s end?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “No, I’ve got it. It’s fine, this area’s signal is just patchy.” He continued waving the phone around, frustration evident on his face.
Will smiled, unable to resist poking fun at his friend. It was good to feel a little brevity, given the dire situation. “You wave your arms like that any longer and a plane is liable to land here.”
Charlie sighed, finally lowering his phone. “We’ll need to drive further along the road, see if we can get better reception.”
He reached the car and Will heard a buzzing sound.
“Maybe we caught a break,” Charlie said. “It’s Jackson.”
“Don’t move, you might lose the signal.”
Charlie swiped the screen on his phone and tapped the call button. “Jackson, it’s Charlie and Will. Can you hear us?”
Jackson’s face appeared on the screen, looking disheveled and worried, which was very unlike him. Will could see that his suspension must have been taking its toll. He had been first removed as head of the Criminal Psychopathy Unit, then put on leave, and all because Director Heinlein had some unknown vendetta against him. Heinlein wanted to ruin Jackson, investigating every inch of his leadership hoping to dig up dirt, but Will still didn’t know why, and Jackson refused to explain it.
“Yes, I can hear you. We’re not supposed to have any contact while we wait on the investigation into our unit. I assume it’s a dire situation then… What’s going on?”
“We need your help, Jackson,” Will said, moving closer to the phone. “Valerie is in trouble. John Murphy has escaped from custody and Valerie is out there trying to stop him, but the press is reporting that she’s a possible accomplice. She’s obviously refused to contact us because it would put us in a tricky situation.”
“That’s left us trying to anticipate where she might go,” Charlie said. “We know that John Murphy is killing his family members again. Valerie will have the same thought. We’re not sure where she might be headed next, but it’s likely to be where she thinks John Murphy will go.”
“I thought Valerie was in psychiatric care,” Jackson said with a stern gaze.
“She was,” Will explained. “Some bright spark thought she could be in the same place as John Murphy. He escaped and Valerie followed, with her sister in tow.”
“Suzie?” Jackson said. “That means both of them are in danger.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Charlie said, gravely, “but we need a list of John’s family members. We think she’ll try to predict his next target.”
Jackson frowned, scratching his chin. “I’m not sure I can help. You know I’m on suspension and can’t access FBI resources right now. The report on our unit is due in two days.”
“We know, Chief,” Charlie said, his voice tense with urgency. “But you have connections, people who might be able to get that information. It’s crucial that we find Valerie before it’s too late.”
Jackson sighed, looking conflicted. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But you two have to be careful. You’re already pushing your luck being involved in this. Hasn’t anyone inquired about your presence?”
“Not yet,” Will replied. “The local police department seems happy for our help. But if it gets back to Director Heinlein that we’re helping unofficially…”
“That snake will have you both off our books, permanently,” Jackson said.
“We understand,” Will replied, his voice firm. “But we have to help Valerie. She’s in over her head, and we can’t let her face this alone.”
Jackson nodded, his expression resolute. “Give me some time, and I’ll get back to you. Just be ready to act quickly when I do.”
“Thank you, Jack,” Charlie said, relief washing over his face. “We’ll be waiting.”
The call ended, and Charlie lowered the phone, looking at Will. “Let’s hope Jackson can come through for us.”
Will nodded, his gaze distant. “If he doesn’t, we have no way of knowing where any of them might go.”
***
Jackson Weller stared at the computer screen as the call ended. He clicked the power button and waited for it to switch off. As the screen turned to black, all he could see was the outline his face caught poorly in the matte black.
It was like looking at a shadow. A grim approximation of the man he had once been.
Jackson stood up and walked through his apartment. He hadn’t cleaned it properly in weeks. A thin layer of dust could be spotted here and there, covering furniture and places he hadn’t touched for some time.
He hated it. Hated his situation. Hated what he’d become.
He moved over to his brown leather couch and switched on the television. A blue hue covered the room, briefly lighting the rows of leather-bound books that lined the walls.
Jackson lived alone, having always preferred the bachelor’s life. But during all his years as an FBI agent and then department head, he had found that a hole inside had slowly opened.
A darkness that could never quite be filled.
He flicked through the TV channels, searching for something that might take his mind off things. His days had largely been punctuated by that, a searching for escapism. Something to pass the time and deaden his mind.
He stopped on a news channel and his eyes widened. A female reporter was standing in the street outside a convenience store with a huge crowd of people gathered around her.
Her voice boomed over the speakers, reporting on the police search for a dangerous fugitive who had escaped from a psychiatric facility.
Then images flashed before him. One of John Murphy, then two more of Valerie and her sister.
“Valerie Law’s whereabouts are not currently known,” the reporter said. “But she was last seen in this neighborhood, fighting with a man some believe to be John Murphy. The question on everyone’s lips is: Is she trying to catch him or help him? Is she a hero or an FBI agent hellbent on helping a killer finish what he started?”
Jackson switched the television off. He felt his blood boiling.
He had indeed always had an emptiness inside of him. But the only thing that had ever come close to filling that void was the friendships he had made in life.
Valerie, Charlie, and Will were three such friends. And while Jackson often maintained a distance from them due to his difficulties with intimacy, their friendship was not something he could easily abandon.
With determination in his eyes, he walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He was unshaven, wearing old jeans and a crumpled shirt. His face was gaunt and somewhat unfamiliar.
Nobody would recognize him as the well-respected former FBI department head they used to know. Months of poor sleep, poor eating, and even poorer self-control with alcohol had whittled him down into something else; someone else.
But this didn’t matter to Jackson anymore. All that mattered to him was protecting his friends from harm, no matter what it took.
He grabbed a razor and shaving cream from one of the cabinets and began shaving away his stubble. With each move of his hand, he uncovered something he had not seen for some time.
Jackson Weller staring back at him in the mirror.
It was time to help his friends.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The dark figure of John Murphy approached Redtree General Hospital, blending into the shadows cast by the dim glow of the streetlights, which had only just blinked on.
The note better be right, he thought.
The dusk was as murky as the intentions that fueled his every step. The killer’s eyes gleamed with predatory hunger, searching for his prey, driven by a twisted desire that few could fathom.
He was tired. But only because he had been diverted. A last-moment diversion had nearly upended his plans. But a note written in caring handwriting had helped him find his way again; helped him find his next victim.
As he neared the entrance of the looming building ahead, the automatic doors whooshed open, revealing the sterile, fluorescent-lit interior. The stark contrast to the encroaching gloom of deep reds outside did little to dissipate the eerie atmosphere that clung to him like a shroud.
Hospital staff hurried through the halls, their hushed voices and hurried footsteps echoing through the desolate corridors, unaware of the menace that had infiltrated their sanctuary.
He strode to the reception desk, his gait confident, his icy demeanor commanding attention from the nurse on duty.
This is risky, he thought. But I have to… They have to pay for what they’ve done… Justice must be balanced…
She looked up from her computer, her eyes widening with surprise at the sudden appearance of this imposing figure.
“Can I help you?” she asked, trying to mask her unease.
“I’m looking for Emily Murphy’s room,” the killer replied, his voice calm and measured, betraying no hint of the sinister intent that lay beneath his words.
The nurse hesitated, then quickly scanned the computer screen in front of her. “She’s in room 217. Ward 4. Down that hall and to the left. It’s late for visiting.”
John smiled. “Yes, I’ve been traveling all day to get here. I just wanted to check on her and give her something she needed, then I’ll be on my way.”
The nurse smiled in understanding. “Okay, but don’t be surprised if you get a little resistance. The head nurse on that ward is… strict about these things.”
The killer nodded his thanks and headed in the direction she had indicated. The hospital’s antiseptic smell grew more potent with each step, as if it were a living thing struggling to keep the encroaching darkness at bay. But the darkness would not be deterred.
As he turned the corner, he caught sight of a janitor mopping the linoleum floor. Their eyes met for a brief moment before the janitor averted his gaze, as if sensing that something was amiss but not daring to question it.
The killer continued down the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the soft padding of his shoes, leaving a trail of dread in his wake.
He could feel the stare of the janitor on him as he moved away from him.
Did he recognize me? he thought. His picture was on the news and local front pages, so it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.
I need to get in and out.
Picking up the pace, he moved along another corner, and then saw the entrance to Ward 4.
A nurse in a dark blue uniform stood outside the door, her back turned to him. Instinctively, he ducked into a nearby side room, unwilling to take any chances.
John Murphy watched as the nurse unlocked the door and went inside. He waited for a few more moments before peeking out the window, confirming that she was indeed gone. Taking a deep breath, he emerged from his hiding place and headed down the hallway into Ward 4.
Just as he arrived at the entrance, he heard the footsteps of another nurse, coming from around the corner. She was talking to someone. John Murphy froze in his tracks as her voice carried down the hallway. “…Who’s going to change Mr. Barlow’s colostomy bag?”
The killer instinctively shrank back, clinging to the shadows like a forgotten specter. He waited around the corner for what seemed an eternity before finally retreating, disappearing into the night from where he had come.
John turned the corner now, knowing he was alone. And there it was.
Room 217 loomed ahead, the door slightly ajar, inviting the killer inside.
Too perfect, he thought.
He paused at the threshold, his heart pounding with anticipation. He could almost taste the thrill that awaited him on the other side.
With a final, deep breath, he stepped into the room, his dark deeds ready to unfold.
The woman in the bed before him looked up. John was thrilled to see that she wasn’t connected to any monitoring device that could warn the nurses.
The woman looked terrified, her eyes wide, her mouth trembling.
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