Amnesia (28 page)

Suddenly Scardoni slammed on the brakes, stopping just in front of Jack, who in turn had to swerve sharply to avoid a collision. To Jack’s amazement, Scardoni then took up the chase, speeding after his Grand Am, the prey becoming the hunter.

Completely caught off guard, Jack slowed his car, only to get rammed from behind by the maddened Scardoni. The impact crushed the grill on the Olds, steam whistling out of the radiator. Scardoni threw the car in reverse, backed up several feet, and then shoved the gears back into drive to take another swipe. This time Jack was ready and punched the gas just before the hit. If that was the game, he could play it too.

McConnell raced ahead, leading the other car forward. He again thanked heaven that there were few other vehicles on the road. This was a deadly game and he wanted everyone else as far away as possible.

Unfortunately, the Cutlass Supreme had the larger, more powerful engine. He was gaining on the Pontiac that Jack manned. It wasn’t long before the headlights disappeared from his rearview mirror, hidden by the closeness to the trunk. He felt the ramming force of another strike. He only hoped his help would be there soon so he could end the game.

McConnell outpaced Scardoni again the collision slowing the tailing car. However, almost immediately the distance had lessened, another hit imminent. Suddenly Jack’s stomach wrenched as a dairy truck pulled out in front of them, the driver oblivious to the racing duel. How he wished at that moment that he had been in a cruiser with its lights and siren. He swerved hard to the left, simultaneously slamming on the brakes to avoid causing a collision of his own.

The truck driver, suddenly noticing the cars for the first time, pulled off the road, safe. But it was too late for Jack. The preventative measures taken slowed him considerably and exposed the vulnerable wheel-well to Scardoni, who was already too close. The Olds caught the rear corner of the Pontiac just behind the fender, ripping the bumper away and spinning the car 180 degrees, until it faced north, back the direction it came. Luckily the damage missed the tires themselves and Jack slammed the accelerator down hard to get away from the madman trying to destroy him.

He headed straight down the road just traveled, pushing the car to its limit to evade the threat behind him. But once again the more powerful car caught up. Just before the cars touched Jack swerved sharply to the right and headed down Emerald. He worried that his backup wouldn’t be able to find him, but hoped to meet him headed this direction.

Scardoni took a moment to register that his prey had turned so ran past the turn, slamming his brakes to stop, leaving burned rubber and smoke in his trail. He quickly reversed and turned down Emerald himself, but his sluggish mind had given up precious seconds, allowing the other car too much distance. His engine roared to catch up with the wounded car, and quickly did so. He rammed the back end hard, allowing his rage to lash out at the defenseless vehicle.

Meanwhile Jack was furiously searching for options, trying to decide how to stop the maniac chasing him without giving up his own life, or the lives of innocent bystanders, in the process. Suddenly a thought sprang into his head on what to do, almost as if someone had placed it there. With that idea in mind, he felt a sense of calm come over him, an infusion of self-confidence. It just felt right. Now he just needed to put it into action.

He reached over and grabbed the abandoned cell phone and pressed the send key, automatically redialing the last number. This time the answer was almost instantaneous.

“Where are you now?” Jack asked, much less agitated than before. “Good. I have an idea, and I need your help.” He spoke for a few seconds, then disconnected, and then dialed another number.

“This is Captain Jack McConnell. I need an ambulance and backup. I have a possibly armed wounded suspect that will need immediate medical attention.” He paused as Dispatch asked the appropriate questions. He answered and then hung up. He knew this would work. He just needed to do it.

He reached the intersection at Morris Hill cemetery, than turned quickly to the right. He checked his mirrors to ensure Scardoni was still following, and then sped his way toward Rose Hill. There he turned right, heading for his final destination at Orchard.

At the corner of Franklin and Orchard sits Franklin Elementary, a small school with an even smaller parking lot. There aren’t many attendees, so the size fits it well. The building sits back away from the road, and has several large leafy trees surrounding it. On the Orchard side, where the parking lot resides, there is also a long vacant lot, presumably for the expansion of the school. During this time of the summer, however, school is not in session, so no children are in the vicinity. It is for this deserted black top that Jack headed.

As he approached the school, Jack searched for the car he hoped was waiting for them, and spied it snuggled up to the white washed wall of the elderly school, lights off, looking completely innocuous and vacant. He knew differently, but was certain Scardoni did not.

He pulled the bruised and broken Pontiac Grand Am into the lot with the Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme mere yards behind him. He braked the car hard, resulting in a final collision from his pursuer, hard enough to deploy the airbag—something he hadn’t considered.

The airbag hampering his egress, he struggled to open the door and escape the demolished vehicle. The bag slowly deflated, much too slowly with the crazed man approaching him from behind. He pulled his Boy Scout pocketknife out of his right pocket and pierced the balloon-like plastic that held him captive. Mere seconds had passed, but he had run out of time.

Scardoni pushed the Glock hard against McConnell’s forehead, just as the latter wrenched open the driver-side door. Jack froze immediately, knowing that any move could spook the other, costing him his life.

“Throw the gun out,” Scardoni demanded. Jack reached down and unsnapped the holster freeing the.38 Special, the twin to Bill Lowell’s. Slowly he removed the gun with his pointer finger and thumb, and tossed it out of the vehicle. To his dismay Scardoni kicked the gun hard, and it flew across the parking lot, nearly to the front door of the school.

“Now, get out, easily. That’s right, nice and slow, just like in the movies. Okay, come over here away from the car.”

Jack moved several feet from the wrecked vehicles and turned to face them and the road, their backs to the school. He glanced over to the revolver sitting several yards away, and quickly determined that there was no way he could reach it in time.

Scardoni came up to him and patted him down with his left hand. The Glock pressed into McConnell’s back or head the entire time. Satisfied that there were no other weapons, save the Boy Scout knife which he pocketed, he stood back and again started barking out orders.

“Now put your hands behind your head, interlocking the fingers. That’s what cops always say,” he laughed at his little joke, then immediately got serious again. “Now on your knees.”

Jack did as commanded, wondering how Scardoni had possibly known he was a police officer, and what he wanted with him. Why had he chased him and kept hitting him for that matter?

“Well, well, we finally meet,” Scardoni started after Jack was in the desired position. “I wondered what our meeting would be like. Ever since that first phone call so many weeks ago.”

He stopped, savoring the moment, leaving McConnell utterly confused. What phone calls? They had never spoken before. “What are talking about, Rudy?”

“Ah, Mr. Arrogant is now Mr. Innocent. You know, I vowed to kill you that first time you called me ‘Rudolph’ like some freaky reindeer. Do you remember that Marcuse?”

Marcuse? Jack thought. Who the devil is Marcuse? Of course it made sense now that Scardoni had him confused with someone else, but who was the other man? The ringleader? Perhaps he could get the information he needed after all!

“Yeah,” Jack started, playing the game as Scardoni wanted it. “I was angry. Don’t you remember why?”

“Look, Lenny was a good man. Well, a good employee. At least he took care of that other matter for you.” The edge to his voice deepened, “at least he won’t ever talk about the plane again, like you wanted.”

“True enough,” Jack lied. Lenny Marconi was alive and recuperating as they spoke. But what was that about a plane? What was the plan? “Of course the rest died with him. Did he ever say anything?”

“Nah, I was too quick for that,” Scardoni answered. Then almost to himself he added, “I only wish he would have died in the crash along with the others.”

Plane crash, Jack mused. He must be talking about the crash up at Lake Cascade. Something must have gone wrong which caused the crash, which meant that there was another leg to this scheme. There was Beverley Windham and Peter Frindle, Lenny Marconi and the plane crash, and then Lissa Brandon. So they all surrounded this Marcuse guy and not Lissa. He gave a mental sigh of relief. He didn’t want Lissa to be the lynchpin.

“So now what? What do you plan to do with me and the others?” It was a guess, but he figured Scardoni was also responsible for the kidnapping of Beverley and Peter, under the direction of Marcuse of course, and would want to get back at them.

“Brandon’s dead now,” Scardoni sneered. “So won’t be running to you, playing your silly mind games. And I’ll get those bratty kids. As for you, your time is up.” He pushed the Glock into the back of McConnell’s head with so much pressure that he caused him to bow down.

“You always thought you were so smart, Marcuse, insulting me, pretending to be so powerful. I may not be some genius, but I have street smarts. That’s why you needed me. You, this powerful god, needing Rudy Scardoni. Seems that you’re pretty puny to me. And I bet you’ll die just like the rest.”

Jack felt the pressure on the gun changing and knew the man was squeezing the trigger. He had to do something or his Nancy would become a widow and his little Kate fatherless. No! he decided. I won’t let you do that to my family!

He threw himself hard to the right and rolled out of the way of the plinking of bullets hitting the ground. Pieces of rock exploded into the air flying at him, stinging his body. With his hands now free he pushed himself up and headed toward his discarded weapon several yards away.

He heard the explosions of triggered gunpowder behind him as he raced toward the steps of the school, zigzagging along to throw off Scardoni’s aim. He heard Scardoni yelling at him as well, and knew the man was trying to cut him off, to reach the Smith and Wesson first.

He poured all his strength into that short distance, focusing solely on reaching the gun first. Unfortunately, his focus was too concentrated and he missed the tree root coming up out of the pavement. He tripped and went down hard, throwing his arms out in front of him to brace against the impact.

His right hand landed first and cru
mpled as he heard the bones in his arm snap
with the force of impact. Pain shot through his body and he instinctively jerked his arm up toward him, sending him rolling, away from the gun.

He struggled for air as his body reacted to the pain shooting from his mangled arm. Panic set in fiercely as he realized he was completely at the mercy of the madman holding a gun on him.

Scardoni laughed loudly as he realized what had happened, a deep, mirthless, crazed laugh that chilled Jack to the bone. McConnell had been so certain that the plan would work, yet here he was, agony engulfing his body, moments away from giving up his life. He had allowed this evil being to roam free to terrorize his friends, and who knew what else.

Jack felt a slow tear trickling down his cheek, not from the pain in his arm, but from the pain in his heart from failing his friends and the citizens who counted on him. He hadn’t been a particularly religious man, but he had tried hard to be a good man. Now he wondered if he had missed out on something important. All those little digs that Bill, and his father before him, had delivered. Was there something to all their religious talk, of the church where they belonged? He wished now that he had listened closer to what they had said about eternity and forever families. Now it was too late.

Scardoni walked over to Jack and stood above him, carefully aiming his pistol. He slowly squeezed the trigger, the bullet purposefully hitting the pavement to the left of McConnell’s head, spraying the side of his face with rocks turned shrapnel, embedding them in his skin. “Let’s see your big brain talk you out of this one, Marcuse.”

He carefully aimed again and took another shot, this time to the right of McConnell’s head. “I disposed of Drake for you. I kidnapped the Windham girl and her wimpy boyfriend. I set up your doctor friend. I even took care of Lenny at your bidding.

“And you know what? All of a sudden things started making sense to me. All these monsters are because of you. You set them on me, burning me, scratching me, always yelling so loud that I can’t hear my own thinking. But I know how to take care of it.” He shot the ground above Jack’s head, again pelting him with tiny, stinging pebbles.

“It’s like my
mutter
, my mother, always said, ‘you live violent, you die violent.’ Funny how I remember my
mutter
all of a sudden now. It’s like I had amnesia or something, and finally remember everything she taught me. As she would say now
‘Bis wir wieder mein liebes treffen,’
meaning ‘until we meet again, my dear.’ Good-bye Mr. Marcuse, or whatever your name is. See you in
fegefeuer
, in purgatory!”