Authors: J.A. Konrath,Jack Kilborn
Tags: #General Fiction
“We know what happened on Rock Island.”
Sara may have flinched at that, but she still had enough liquor in her system to mask her reaction. Rock Island—which she thought of as Plincer’s Island—was the cause for her current situation.
“You went through a lot,” he continued. His eyes, and expression were blank. “But you survived. It must have been quite an ordeal.”
Sara wasn’t going to get into a conversation about the past, especially about what happened on that island. “What about Jack?”
“The government has a proposition for you. We want to help.”
The sneer formed on her lips before she could stop it. “The government? They’re the ones who took my baby.”
The agent continued. So far his partner hadn’t spoken. “Child Protective Services took Jack. You were caught doing sixty miles an hour in a thirty mile zone, and he wasn’t in a car seat.”
“I… I’d left the car seat in the house.”
“You blew a one point eight.”
Sara considered responding, but the fight had long been beaten out of her.
Yes, she was a drunk. After Plincer’s Island, alcohol was the only thing that drowned out the nightmares. She came away from it scared and broke, and the DUI had been the final nail in her coffin of failure. Sara had to sell the house to pay for her legal fees, and still spent six months in jail for wreckless endangerment. When she got out, and was unable to get Jack back from the foster home the state had stuck him in. She was a single parent with a criminal record, no means of employment, and many—including the judge—were dubious of her role in the Rock Island Massacre. Without money for a good lawyer, Sara went back to drinking, winding up in this shit hole trailer park, trying to find the guts to eat that single bullet.
“How can you help?” she whispered.
“There’s an experimental program, going on this weekend. If you volunteer for it, you’ll be given one million dollars, and we’ll work with CPS to get your son back.”
Sara snorted. “A million bucks, and Jack? This is a joke, right?”
“It’s for real, Sara.” He reached into his jacket, took out some folded papers. “The details are in here.”
“What’s the program? Some sort of rehab?” As she said it Sara found herself looking around the kitchenette for any alcohol that might be left over.
The silent one finally spoke. “It’s about fear.”
Sara stared at him, and his smile was chilling.
“Fear?”
The other one continued. “You understand fear better than most people. The government wants to study how you react to fear.”
“Why?”
“Understanding fear can lead to controlling it. Certainly you can see the advantages to that.”
Sara’s brow crinkled. “So this is a fear study? Do they hook me up to some machine, then make me watch scary movies?”
The quiet one let out a chuckle. “Oh, it’s a bit more complicated than that…”
“You’re not the Secret Service,” Dr. Frank Belgium said, scrutinizing the proffered badges that quite distinctly spelled out FBI.
“Our friends in the Secret Service told us where to find you,” said the agent on the right. His breath smelled medicinal. “We’re all Feds, so does it really matter?”
“Yes yes yes, in fact it does.”
Belgium inadvertently flashed back to the last time the Secret Service came calling, which is how he wound up at Samhain. Two men in black suits, with the proposition of a lifetime.
“We have a proposition for you,” the same agent said.
“No, thank you. I’m quite done done done with government work. Have a good night.”
Belgium moved to close the door, but the Fed stuck his foot in it.
“We’re well aware of your role in Project Samhain, Doctor. And how it turned out.”
Belgium again thought back to how that particular part of his life came to a close. About the evil loose in the world, which was partly his fault. He braced himself for the bad news.
Instead, he was surprised by bad news of a completely different kind.
“Instead of being a researcher, your government would like you to volunteer to be a test subject,” the agent said. “On a topic you know intimately well.”
“Molecular biology?”
“Fear,” said the other one.
Belgium wasn’t sure, but when the man spoke he flashed teeth that looked…
Well, they looked
pointy
.
“You’re invited to spend the weekend taking part in a unique experiment. You’ll be closely monitored to see how you react to fear. As you might guess, you have more experience in this area than most.”
That’s the understatement of the century,
Belgium thought.
“For one day of your time, you’ll be given one million dollars. Plus your old job back at Biologen.”
Belgium raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
He’d been justifiably fired from Biologen years ago, due to negligence. Since then, they’d merged with the pharmaceutical company DruTech and had become the premiere biotech firm in the world.
“A million, and a job as head of the molecular biology department.”
Head of the department? That meant pure research, the thing in life Frank loved more than anything else.
He allowed himself a few seconds of fantasy. His own lab. Access to the best equipment. The most competent staff in the world. And no more grading ridiculous papers about plants’ reactions to household chemicals.
Then reality kicked in again, reinforced with some well-earned skepticism.
“So this has nothing to do do do with Samhain?”
“No.”
“Have you,” he chose his words carefully, “spoken with anyone else?”
“Several people. But no one you know.”
Which meant his friends from Samhain, Sun and Andy, hadn’t been approached.
But working for the government again? Could he possibly trust that?
The answer came swiftly and with finality.
Absolutely fucking not.
“It’s a tempting offer, gentlemen, but but but I’m going to decline.”
The lead agent stared deep into Belgium, his eyes emotionless. “If you don’t accept this offer, you’ll be executed for treason.”
“Treason?” Belgium squeaked. “I’ve never breathed a word of what happened, to anyone.”
“You know exactly what you did,” the agent said. “You know what you’re responsible for.”
The Fed spoke the truth. And Belgium had waited years for the evil he’d unleashed upon the world to appear again. He spent hours every week monitoring the world news, looking for evidence.
But so far, the evil had remained dormant. Belgium had even begun to hope it had disappeared completely.
“Your choice is to submit to the experiment and get a large cash settlement, along with your dream job. Or be taken to a secret prison and executed without a trial. And that threat extends to your associates.”
“Andrew and Sunshine Dennison,” the other said, giving Belgium another quick glimpse of his sharp teeth.
“I understand they’re expecting a child. Do you want to be responsible for destroying their family?”
Belgium did not want them to die. Nor did he want to die. Death was one of many, many things Frank feared.
“Then apparently I don’t don’t don’t have a choice. Where is this experiment supposed to take place?”
“Have you heard of Butler House?”
Belgium had. And as the blood drained from his face, he seriously wondered if being executed for treason was the better option.
“You think my partner was murdered, and it is somehow connected with this game show thing?”
The Feebies looked at each other.
“We’ve been investigating a man named Dr. Emil Forenzi. He may be involved in the disappearance of over a dozen ex-military personnel. From what we’ve been able to find out, he’s doing some sort of scientific research on the physical characteristics of fear.”
“He’s the one who sent the invitations?”
“We believe so.”
“And you think he may have killed Roy?”
“We’re not sure.”
“You guys don’t know much, do you?”
“Detective Mankowski, we believe Dr. Forenzi may in fact be funded by the US military. So certain avenues have been closed to us.”
Tom could understand that. The army, much like the government, tended to keep hush-hush about things above your pay grade. “Do you have any actual evidence?”
“Just circumstantial. We’ve been trying to get a man on the inside of Forenzi’s operation, but security is tight. However, we do know he has been inviting people to participate in his experiments. People who have undergone a particularly frightening experiences. We’ve done a background check on you and your partner, and you both certainly qualify.”
No shit,
Tom thought.
“We’d really like to know what’s going on, Detective.”
“And you want me to find out.”
“We’ve gotten permission from your boss, Captain Bains, to work with you on this.”
That seemed odd to Tom, as Bains didn’t like working with the Feebies. And justifiably so. They were territorial, smug, and often looked down on city cops. But Bains also had an almost paternal sense of responsibility toward his men. If Roy was missing, the captain would want him found.
“And you can’t do this yourselves because…?” Tom asked.
“We weren’t invited. You were. You could poke around, talk to Forenzi, try to get some evidence. We’ve tried to interview him, but he lawyered up. And we’ve found obtaining a warrant to be challenging. He apparently has friends in high places.”
“Where is Forenzi?”
They exchanged another glance. “He’s set up his laboratory in the Butler House.”
“
The
Butler House?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
Next to the house made famous in the
Amityville Horror,
Butler House was probably the most famous paranormal site in America. Tom even remembered streaming a low budget Netflix movie about it. Located in South Carolina, an insane doctor—the brother of a plantation owner—built a laboratory-slash-dungeon underneath the estate, where he performed horrible experiments on the slaves they owned. Tom watched ten minutes before turning it off. Even though it was poorly acted, and the special effects were shoddy, the ghosts in the movie were hideously deformed and reminded Tom of a real night he spent in the real basement of a real mansion, and he didn’t need to be reminded of that.
“Supposed to be haunted,” Tom said.
“Forenzi is apparently convinced it actually
is
haunted. And he believes the fear of the supernatural induces the purest terror response in his volunteers.”
“Have you talked to any of these volunteers?”
“No. We’ve tried to track down those we know of, but they’ve… disappeared.”
Tom almost laughed at that. Almost. It was ridiculous enough to be the punchline for a campfire ghost story. But neither Feebie looked amused.
“How many people are we talking about here?” he asked.
“Two or three dozen.”
“Including the missing military men?”
“In addition to them.”
“So you’re saying there have been… how many?… maybe fifty people who have disappeared in Butler House since Forenzi moved in?”
“That number might be low.”
“And no one has done anything?”
“We’re trying to do something, Detective. Which is why we’re at your apartment at three in the morning.”
Tom rubbed his eyes. “I need to think about this. Do you have a number I can reach you at?”
One of the agents produced a card and held it out.
“We really would like to see that invitation,” he said, pinching the card so Tom couldn’t take it.
“When I find it, I’ll show it to you.”
The Fed released the card. Special Agent John Smith. Go figure.
“We’ve heard that Forenzi is conducting another experiment this weekend. Our informant says guests are being picked right now.”
“Who is this informant?”
Neither agent answered. Obviously the Bureau had their
need-to-know
info just like the military did.
“Goodnight, gentlemen,” Tom said. “You can find your way out.”
They left without so much as a nod. As soon as the door closed, Tom went to his cell phone and called Roy.
It went straight to voice mail.
“Roy, it’s Tom. Call me back as soon as you get this.”
It was too early in the morning to call Gladys, Roy’s ex-wife, so instead Tom went into the bedroom and found the FedExed invitation. He snapped on a pair of vinyl gloves he kept in his drawer, and pulled the invite out of the blue and orange cardboard mailer. It was a standard 8.5" x 11" sheet of paper, off white and a heavy stock. The writing on it appeared to be calligraphy.
Survive the night in a haunted house and receive $1,000,000.
Call 843-555-2918 to confirm.
Invitation 3345
Tom turned the paper over, finding nothing, then looked for a nonexistent water mark. Next, he sniffed it, and it smelled like paper. Finally he took out a magnifying glass and studied the script. It was inkjet, not handwritten.
It said nothing about this being a gameshow or a reality show, but those were the possibilities he and Roy had brought up during the fifteen seconds they’d discussed it. But this seemed more likely to be a joke, hoax, or scam.
And yet the Feebies were extremely interested in this invitation, and they didn’t think this was a put on.
Tom switched on his computer monitor, saw he was still on the Skype program he used to talk to Joan. She was offline. He frowned, then Googled
Dr. Emil Forenzi
, spelling it like it sounded.
He found him on the Linkedin social network. Born in Brazil fifty-six years ago, his father Italian and mother a native. Moved to the US when he was a child. Full scholarship to Brown. Doctorate at MIT. Then he went to work for the DoD, and apparently still did. Specialties included a bunch of technical and science skills that Tom had to scroll down to read completely.
So why does a genius scientist believe in something as ridiculous as the supernatural?
Tom squelched the thought. If he described some of the very real things that had happened to him, the majority of the world would think they were ridiculous as well. Trying to keep his mind open, he searched for
Butler House
on Google and found a website dedicated to it.