Day 9 (24 page)

 

CHAPTER 52

 

"You're my
mother
?" Dunne flashed a look at Hannahlee.

Her emerald eyes blazed in the darkness. "I had a child." She looked at Gowdy. "
We
had a child."

"Which you never
told
me about," said Gowdy.

"You were
married
. You wouldn't leave your
wife
," said Hannahlee. "I put the baby up for adoption."

"And the baby was
me
?" said Dunne. "
I
spent most of my life in
foster
care
."

"I don't know! I never saw the child again!" Hannahlee scowled.

"He's our son." Gowdy nodded and patted Hannahlee on the back. "I found out about him three months ago, when Luanne Diego tried blackmailing me."

Dunne scowled. Things were moving too fast for him to process. "Whoa! You mean
Bella Willow
was
blackmailing
you?"

"Oh yes," said Gowdy. "I hired people to check your background, and they confirmed the story. So did our DNA check. I'm your father." Gowdy pointed a finger at Hannahlee. "She's your mother."

Dunne got up from the chair and started to pace. "I don't believe this. It can't be true."

"It's true," said Gowdy.

Dunne glared at Gowdy. "So
you
never knew?" He turned his glare to Hannahlee. "But you
did
know and never tried to
find
me?"

Hannahlee's fiery emerald gaze faltered. "I've never forgiven myself for what I did." She looked at the floor. "It's a mistake I've paid for every day of my life since."

"By growing up in shitty
foster homes
?" said Dunne. "Getting bounced from one so-called parent to the next, always wondering why my
real
parents didn't love me enough to
keep
me? Because that's how
I
paid."

Hannahlee shook her head. "I always knew you were out there somewhere. My own child, my own flesh and blood. I knew you could be suffering, and it was all because of me. And there was nothing I could do about it." She wiped a tear from her cheek. "That was how I paid."

"How awful that must have been for you." Dunne's voice was thick with sarcasm. "What a nightmare."

"Well, the nightmare ends now, with a second chance," said Gowdy. "We're starting over. It's the reason I brought you here."

Dunne met Hannahlee's stunned stare, then fired a look at Gowdy. "
You
brought us here?"

"Yes." Gowdy grinned. "Who do you think sent you to find me?"

"Thad Glissando," said Hannahlee. "Producer at Halcyon Studios."

"Yes," said Gowdy, "and he did it as a favor to
me
."

"What?" said Hannahlee.

"It was a way to bring you together and bring you to me." Gowdy adjusted his ruby glasses as he gazed up at the passing home movies, which were still revolving around the tower. "It was a way to bring the family back together without you suspecting anything."

"Oh my God." Dunne felt like his head was about to explode from all the shocking revelations. "You mean...there's no big-budget
Weeping Willows
movie?"

"I'm sorry," said Gowdy, "but no."

"And all of it was for nothing?" said Dunne. "This whole trip to find you?"

"Not for nothing." Gowdy gestured at the drifting squares of film overhead. "We're saving someone."

"From going under for the last time." Hannahlee's voice had an angry edge. "Which someone are you
talking
about, Cyrus?"

"You." Gowdy pointed at Dunne. "You're the one I modified Godseye to save."

The flickering light from the home movies played over Dunne's face. "Save from
what
?"

"You'll see," said Gowdy. "Keep watching."

With that, he hit a button on the control console, and the home movies disappeared. The room went dark.

 

A new voice echoed through the chamber. A man's voice. "My name is Abe Stillwagon."

As soon as Dunne heard it, the hairs on the back of his neck fluttered and stood straight up. His heart began to beat faster.

There was something about that voice.

"I am a prisoner on death row in Texas," said Abe.

Dunne turned to Gowdy. "What is this? What's going on?"

"Just listen." Gowdy placed an index finger against his lips. "And watch."

Abe's voice continued to boom through the chamber. "I've killed fifty-seven people over the past twenty-five years."

Dunne looked at Hannahlee, but she offered no insight or support. She was too busy staring into space with her fist pressed up against her mouth. Dunne thought she might be crying.

"My trademark is this," said Abe. "I always leave the husband alive."

At that instant, Dunne's attention was fixed on the voice as if by magnets. His heart pounded as he got the slightest inkling of what this was all about.

"That's why they call me 'the Widowermaker,'" said Abe. "I
only
kill the wife and kids. But here's the catch."

Suddenly, a giant image leaped to life in front of Dunne—video projected in an enormous square as high as the ceiling. Video of a bony, craggy man in an orange jumpsuit, sunken-eyed and emaciated behind prison bars.

"The more the husband fights," said Abe, the man in the video, "the more I torture his wife and kids before I kill 'em."

Dunne kept watching, unable to believe what he was seeing and hearing. Unable to control the fear racing through him like a wildfire.

Because he recognized Abe Stillwagon.

The giant square of video flashed, and a new scene appeared—a middle-aged man with curly black hair and a mustache. His eyes were haunted and dead.

"He said he was going to shoot them," said the man. "I jumped him...tried to wrestle away the gun.

"When he was done kicking my ass, he killed my wife and daughters. He..." The man choked back a sob. "He did
terrible
things to them."

The video flashed and changed scenes again, this time to show a young man with blond hair and the same haunted eyes. "My sons died screaming. He cut them into pieces." The young man took a deep, shuddering breath and released it. "He said he tortured them...because I fought back."

A new face appeared, this time a man with broad shoulders and a crew-cut. "I'm a trained policeman, so of course I didn't just sit there." Instead of anguish, his face was etched with rage. "But Stillwagon was a fucking maniac. Beat the shit out of me, then tied me up and made me watch while he did it."

"Did what?" said a man's voice off-camera.

"Autopsied them with my power tools," said the man with the crew-cut. "My wife and my son. While they were still breathing.

"Because I tried to save them. That's what he said."

The video lingered for a moment on the man's simmering rage...until it dissolved into tears. Then, the scene changed again.

Back to the bony man in the orange jumpsuit. His eyes weren't anguished or angry at all...just cold. Expressionless as chips of stone.

It was the same look Dunne remembered from the first time he'd seen him—two years ago in Dunne's living room, murdering Dunne's wife and daughter. Vicky and Ella.

While Dunne, paralyzed by fear, had failed to act.

This was the very same man from that night. Abe Stillwagon was the man who had killed Dunne's family.

An off-camera interviewer—a woman—asked a question. "How many times did you
not
torture a family when the husband fought back?"

"None." Abe said it matter-of-factly and scratched his knobby nose. "It's my trademark, right? And it's a matter of principle. I want people to
know
they shouldn't put up a fight. The harder they make it for me, the harder I make it for their
families
."

Dunne kept watching, mesmerized by the sight of the man who had haunted his nightmares for so long. Hanging on his every word.

Engulfed by the implications.

The interviewer asked another question. "Do you remember Dunne Sullivan?"

"Who's he?" said Abe.

"Two years ago, in Los Angeles, you shot and killed his wife and daughter," said the interviewer. "Dunne didn't fight back."

Abe thought for a moment. "Oh, him. One of the few."

"The few what?"

"Smart ones," said Abe. "I thought he was gonna fight me, but he didn't. So his family died in peace."

"If Dunne had fought back and couldn't beat you..."

"He couldn't," said Abe.

"if he couldn't beat you," said the interviewer, "what would you have done to his wife and daughter?"

"Instead of just shooting them, like I did," said Abe, "I would've killed them slow. While he watched. Tortured them every last second of their lives. Then cut them to pieces."

"Instead of just shooting them," said the interviewer.

"That's right," said Abe.

"No peace," said the interviewer.

"None at all," said Abe. "Not the tiniest bit."

With that, the video ended. The ceiling-high square of light in which it had played suddenly collapsed into a single, glowing dot...and then that collapsed, too.

And Dunne was left standing in darkness, mind reeling from what he'd just seen and heard.

 

CHAPTER 53

 

Warpath Journal

Dateline: New Justice, New Mexico

"Who's Amos?" Quincy's voice is the first thing I hear as I come around.

"What?" My eyes flutter open, and I see Quincy on the ground, just a few feet away. I'm lying on the ground, too, on my side. My mouth tastes like dirt.

"I was just talking to Amos." Quincy's face is still bruised and bloody from when I beat him, but he looks amused. "Or should I say, I was talking to you, and you said you were Amos."

"You're a riot, Quince." As I pry myself up from the dirt, I wonder how I ended up there. One minute, I was threatening to blow us all up...and the next minute, I was passed out on the ground.

"Amos was a real gentleman," said Quincy. "We hit it off. I liked him a lot more than I like you."

I get to my knees, then my feet. "Whatever you say, Quince." I don't have time to deal with his nonsense.

First things first: I can't find the remote control for my bomb.

"Where is it, Quincy?" I walk the area, kicking up sand, looking for the black plastic handheld. "I dropped the remote. Now where is it?"

"Amos took it." Quincy smirked. "He hid it. Said he didn't want you to have it."

Translation: Quincy has it. "Is that so?" As I stomp across the sand, I'm looking forward to giving him another beating.

"Where's the remote?" I haul off and kick him in the gut when I say it. "Give it to me!"

Quincy gasps as he takes the kick. He rolls into a tighter ball, as if that'll save him from more punishment. "Don't have it..."

I drop on him like a vulture and tear through his pockets and folds, patting him down with extreme prejudice. I rough him up along the way as payback for ripping me off.

Just as I'm flipping him on his other side, he opens his big mouth again. "Amos wants out," he says.

"Thanks for passing that along." I find something in his vest pocket, which at first feels like the remote—but turns out to be a cell phone. I whip it against a tombstone, and it flies to pieces.

"Amos said to tell you something else," says Quincy. "About the people in the church."

Suddenly, I stop what I'm doing. I can't believe what I just heard.

"What was that?" I say.

"Those dead people," says Quincy. "Your family and friends. Amos said to tell you it wasn't your fault."

My head spins from the shock of it. How can Quincy possibly know about my visions of the corpse-filled church? I've never told
anyone
about them. Never said a
word
outside my own
head
.

Of course, there's another possibility. "Nice try," I tell him. "You heard me talking in my sleep."

"No," says Quincy. "I was talking to Amos."

"Where's the damn remote?" I get back to searching him. "Give it up!"

"Amos left a sign," says Quincy. "To prove he was here."

"Bullshit." I punch him in the side for emphasis.

"Look at the back of your left arm," says Quincy.

For once, I do what he tells me. I look at my arm.

And the world stops turning.

I see a symbol there, smeared in blood—a question mark with a crossbar. Like a question mark combined with a crucifix.

And I recognize it.

A memory rushes into my mind...long-forgotten yet familiar. I am back in the church again, walking past the pews full of dead, bloody bodies. The statue of Christ on the cross gazes down in silent despair.

On the wall of the church, I see a symbol, painted in dripping crimson: a question mark combined with a crucifix.

Right there in my vision, I see it, and I start to wonder. As crazy as it seems, could Quincy be right about Amos?

 

CHAPTER 54

"You did the right thing," said Gowdy. "Do you see that now?"

The movie about Abe Stillwagon had ended, and the lights in the cave were back up...but Dunne just stood there as if the movie were still playing.

"Was that really...?" he said.

"Yes," said Gowdy.

"Where is he?" said Dunne. "What prison?"

"Doesn't matter." Gowdy shook his head. "Stillwagon's dead."

"Dead?"

"Executed," said Gowdy. "Last week. He's gone."

Dunne scowled. He was having trouble processing everything, to say the least. "Gone."

"You don't have to be afraid anymore," said Gowdy. "You don't have to tear yourself apart."

Dunne did not answer.

"You did the right thing by not fighting him." Gowdy nodded. "That's what I modified Godseye to tell you. You saved your wife and daughter from pointless suffering."

Still, Dunne remained silent.

Gowdy put a hand on his shoulder. "Nothing you could have done would have saved your family. It's time to let go of the guilt."

Dunne shrugged off Gowdy's hand and turned away. "I don't want to talk about it."

Gowdy stepped in front of him. "I know about the suicide attempts," he said. "I know you were working up the nerve to finish the job."

Dunne glared. He was seized by the urge to punch Gowdy in the face. "That's none of your business."

"You're my son," said Gowdy. "
Her
son." He gestured at Hannahlee, who was taking care of Lief on the far side of the cave. "We have an interest."

"Just like that?" said Dunne. "After thirty years?"

"After a hundred years," said Gowdy. "After a
thousand
. We will always be your parents."

"Tearful hugs," said Dunne. "Is that what you want? A life-affirming cathartic cry? Or do you just want me to kiss your ass?"

"None of the above," said Gowdy.

"I mean,
shit
," said Dunne. "This is a lot to
take in
. Are you sure you don't have some more
incredible secrets
to throw my way?"

Gowdy sighed, but he didn't look upset...which just upset Dunne all the more. "As a matter of fact, I do."

"Sorry I asked," said Dunne.

"This is what you need to know," said Gowdy. "I said I'd tell you the true meaning of 'Day 8.'"

Dunne waved dismissively. "I could care less about that at this point."

Gowdy caught Dunne's elbow and locked eyes with him. "They say God created the Earth in six days. On the seventh day, He rested. On Day 8, He turned it over to us.

"That's what this is right now. What it's been for all human history. Day 8." Gowdy tightened his grip on Dunne's elbow. "When humanity took over. When the mistakes started. Day 8 is all about
mistakes
.

"We need to move on to
Day 9
," said Gowdy, "when we finally put the mistakes behind us and live up to our
potential
. When we finally get it
right
.

"When we do right by the friends we left behind or the children we never knew. When we clean up the messes we let happen in our own back yard. When we
forgive
ourselves for the mistakes of the past...real or imagined.

"Which would you rather do?" said Gowdy. "Move on to Day 9, or stay stuck in Day 8?"

With that, Gowdy released Dunne's elbow and strode off across the cave to be alone.

In the process, leaving Dunne alone, too.