The Portal ~ Large Print (9 page)

V
ivian clutched Torres’s
gun as they turned into the almond orchard bordering Jarod’s estate. Cody was close now, but her situation had never been worse. Jarod, his family, and the police would all shoot her on sight. With her money confiscated, she had no means to run anymore.

There was only one way to save the people she loved. She had to get Cody to safety. Then she had to go back to kill Jarod, or her baby would never be safe. In the junkyard, she’d emptied a clip into that bastard’s head, and it hadn’t been enough to stop him. Could he even be killed? She had to find a way. Even if it meant her own life, too.

“It’s not too late to end this.” Torres’s head nearly hit the Accord’s roof as the pocked road grew bumpier. “Before somebody gets hurt.”

“Just pull over there.” She pointed to the orchard’s irrigation mains.

The most dangerous part wouldn’t be breaking in. Carrying Cody back through the trees at night was almost impossible, she knew from when they’d escaped before. Still, she couldn’t risk getting any closer without security spotting the car.

“Those officers won’t stay locked up for long.” He parked. “Every squad car is probably headed here now.”

He was right. What if they had been followed? Looking back, she found only a plume of dust, glowed red by the car’s brake lights. In the backseat, Erika didn’t take her eyes from the side window. Vivian wished she’d never involved her.

“Let me bring you both back in.” His deep voice forced her attention back. “I’ll make sure that you’re safe.”

“If we’d trusted you,” she said. “We’d already be dead.”

“You’re wrong.” He pointed at her, and suddenly the gun in her hand seemed inadequate for his size. “Nobody was going to hurt you.”

“Maybe you were daydreaming when your chief tried to hand us over to my husband’s people.”

“I don’t know the agent who came for you,” he said. “But Chief Watts is a good man. There’s no way he’s taken anything from your husband.”

“That’s the problem with you cops. They give you badges and guns, but nobody bothers to check whether or not you have any brains.”

“Vivian,” Erika said from the backseat. “This isn’t helping.”

“Or morals.” She couldn’t resist the jab. Her nerves were frayed, and with the entire world bearing down on her, she wouldn’t be lectured. Especially by a man who either refused or was too stupid to see the circus of lies around him. “Just get out,” she said.

They exited the car. Maybe a quarter mile in the distance, Jarod’s estate stood alone. It seemed to light the entire orchard. Looking up, she found that it was actually a full moon, peering ominously through a canopy of bare branches. Erika walked up beside her.

“I’m so sorry,” Vivian said.

“Don’t.” Erika’s breath fogged in the chilly air. “I knew what I was getting myself into. Now what are we going to do with him?”

“Where are your handcuffs?” she asked Torres.

“Back at the station.”

She guessed that he was lying, but there wasn’t time to search or argue. “Have it your way. Get in the trunk.”

“I can’t let you go in there.” He stepped toward them.

“My son’s being held by a madman,” Vivian said. “I will shoot you.”

“Not everyone is against you.” The concerned look on his face made her feel guilty for pointing the gun at him. “If you’re innocent, I can help.”

“No you can’t,” she said.

He seemed sincere, but it didn’t matter. Even with the best intentions, one good cop was no match for Jarod’s corruption machine.

“My daughter’s name is Alexis.” He moved forward again. “Don’t make her grow up without a father.”

“I’m serious.” She pushed the gun out, but he didn’t stop. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Maybe we won’t kill you,” Erika said. “But keep walking, and you’re going to need crutches.”

Taking cue, Vivian pointed the gun at his knee and cocked it. “Get in the trunk now.”

“Fine,” he said. “It’s your ass.”

She didn’t feel bad as he cramped himself into the trunk. He should’ve just told them where the handcuffs were. As Vivian gently closed the lid, brittle leaves crunched in the distance. Though she knew that it was probably wildlife or just the wind, she couldn’t shake the feeling that intent eyes watched from somewhere in the dark. She hated the idea of leaving Erika alone out here, but she had no choice.

“Before I go in there—”

“What’s this I?” Erika asked. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, I need you here.”

“You need me in there. What if somebody finds you?”

“The alarm will sound, and Jarod’s security staff will lockdown the premises. You won’t be able to help.”

“It’s not up for discussion,” Erika said. “I’m coming with you.”

“Please just let me finish.” Her chest felt like a dam ready to burst. If she died without completing her task tonight, what would Jarod say? That she left and didn’t look back? That she never cared? He was just that low. “If anything happens to me, I need you to get Cody and take care of him.”

Erika turned her head and stared down the aisle of the trees. A brisk wind kicked up, dancing a swell of dead leaves around their feet. She realized
what
she had just asked. Yes, they were almost sisters, but the responsibility was too much. If Jarod were alive, how could she expect Erika to get him? The request was insane.

“I’m sorry,” Vivian said. “It’s too much.”

“No.” As Erika turned back, she wiped her eyes. Vivian realized that she hadn’t been looking for a way out. “I swear on my life that I will get him.”

“God, thank you.” She hugged her.

“Please.” Erika pulled away. “I’d never let the little man stay with that prick.”

“If I’m not out in an hour,” Vivian said. “Let Detective Torres out of the trunk, and you’ll need to come for me.”

“I will.”

“No goodbyes,” Vivian said.

Before Erika could protest, she turned and ran. Minutes later, she approached the clearing around the estate.

This was crazy. From here, the white stucco wall seemed taller. Maybe eight or nine feet, with new blaring lights running along the top like some secret government facility. Had he rebuilt it because she escaped that night? And if so, did he know about the small window in the corner of the wine cellar that wasn’t attached to the security system? None of that mattered. Her baby needed her.

She tucked the gun in her jeans and sprinted forward. Somehow, she’d find a way inside.

C
ody tried to
sleep, but he didn’t like this bedroom. He didn’t like the Pikachu poster. Or Dora the Explorer stuffed animal. There were lots of toys, but none of them were his. When Mommy came to get him, he would tell her that he hated this room. Then they could go away and hide from Daddy again. He hoped she would get here soon.

A creaky noise behind him. He covered his head with the blanket. Hush quiet, he peeked out. There was Mister Vincent sitting on Horsey.

“Don’t mind me.” He rocked back and forth. “I’m just keeping watch. Making sure that nothing tries to come and get you tonight.”

“Do you see Elmo?” Cody uncovered himself.

“You mean over there?” Mister Vincent nodded at the big Sesame Street painting on the wall.

“He looks at me.”

“That’s nothing to fuss about, but I’ll keep an eye on him if it makes you feel better.” Mister Vincent pointed to a door that was open just a little bit on the other side of the room. “That closet though, well, that’s a whole different story. No telling what’s hiding in there.”

“Go check.” He pulled up the blankets.

“It’ll be fine as long as I’m here.” He stopped rocking. “I know what will take your mind off all that. What do you say we play our game again?”

“No.” He hated that game more than he hated all the toys. The game felt bad. It made Daddy mean last night. “I don’t want to.”

“I know how you feel, but I already told you it was an accident. Nothing much you can do about that. Let’s just try it for a little while and see how it goes.”

“No,” he shouted. “I’m never going to do it again.”

“If that’s what you want, but I’ll have to leave if you don’t want to play. I just hope whatever’s in that closet stays put.”

The door looked like it moved.

“Don’t go,” Cody said. “Stay here.”

“If you’re not going to open the gateway for me, I have to leave.”

He really didn’t want to be alone now, but he couldn’t do that again. Jay-Jay and Phil were nice. Cody felt sad. They were dead, and it was all his fault.

“I don’t want to talk about the game anymore,” Cody said.

“That’s too bad for your Mommy. If the doorway was open, I might’ve been able to protect her tonight.”

“Where is she? Is she hurt?”

“She’s here now, but I wouldn’t get too excited. Your mommy’s going to die tonight.”

“No,” Cody yelled. “You’re lying.”

But Mister Vincent didn’t lie about Jay-Jay. And Aunt Tammy. And Phil either. They were all dead. Mister Vincent never lied.

“Don’t touch Mommy.” He tried not to cry, but he couldn’t stop. “Don’t hurt her.”

“It’s not me you need to worry about, son.”

Mister Vincent said something else, but Cody didn’t want to hear him. He was so scared, and he was crying too loud. Mister Vincent tried to put his arm around him.

“Daddy, help,” he screamed. Anyone help. He jumped off the bed and ran to the bedroom door. He had to find Mommy. He had to save her.

***

J
arod sat in
the study’s quiet darkness, holding his Glock to the side of his face. He pulled the trigger. The clack of the empty chamber vibrated his skull, soothing him. Vivian had been stupid to get herself arrested. Clack.

How she’d managed to elude him for more than a year was a fucking mystery. And now, the situation was even more complicated. Police were involved and God knows who else. Clack. Still, it would be fine. Rankin would take care of it. He’d be back at the estate with her soon. Jarod couldn’t wait to shoot her in the heart.

A muffled cry came from the hallway. With his good hand, he fumbled to load the clip. He stood, crept across the cold marble, and pushed the intercom. “What was that?”

Only static came back. Rankin had doubled the security shifts. Where was his staff? Quietly, he opened the door. The deep splash of running water echoed down from the second story balcony.

“It was an accident,” Cody shouted. What was he doing out of his bedroom? “I didn’t mean to let him in.”

Jarod raced down the hallway and up the stairs. At the top, the bathroom was locked. He shouldered the door twice, and it splintered open.

He raised the gun and charged in. What the hell was going on? This wasn’t the right room. It wasn’t even the estate anymore. Directly in front of him, lit only by two candelabra, a man in all black knelt next to a claw-footed Victorian bathtub. His sleeves were rolled up.

The hairs raised on Jarod’s neck. Standing beside the man, he recognized himself wearing only boxers. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old. But if that were true, then that meant…He remembered little of his biological father, except those bloodshot eyes.

“It won’t happen again,” his younger self said through tears. Had he ever been so weak? No. None of this was real. He must’ve fallen asleep in the study.

“Pray for forgiveness.” His father grabbed a gallon of bleach.

“I didn’t mean to let him in.”

“And you’d better pray it stays sealed.” Icy water brimmed the tub’s edge, but he continued pouring until the jug emptied. The torn plastic wrap of several twenty-pound ice bags sat at his feet. He turned off the faucet.

“It won’t happen again,” his younger self cried.

“You’re right it won’t.” Spittle shot from his father’s lips as he shoved the boy into the water. A flood burst over the side.

“Mister Vincent.” The boy managed to push his head above the waterline. “Help me.”

“Get away from him,” Jarod shouted.

Looking up to the ceiling, his father said, “Forgive me for what I brought into this world.”

“You son of a bitch.” Jarod raised his gun.

“Forgive me for what I now have to do.” The old man pushed down harder. The thrashing became violent.

Jarod pulled the trigger repeatedly. Thunder roared through the bathroom. He waited for screaming. He longed for blood, but the man remained untouched.

“Can’t change what can’t be changed,” a raspy voice said from behind, and everything paused. Splashing fans of bleach water were suspended in midair. Candle flames whooshed every direction. His father sat frozen in time, holding him under. Jarod spun to find Vincent standing in the doorway. In the dim light, his facial skin looked antiqued, his teeth gritty.

“What is this?” he demanded. “Why have you brought me here?”

“You weren’t right again after that night.” The look of pity on Vincent’s face made Jarod furious. “It’s time you knew everything. They’re coming again—”

“Get out of my head now.” He slammed the old man against the door and shoved the gun underneath his chin. “You think I forgot about your mind games earlier.”

“That was just a warning to keep you thinking straight.”

“I don’t know what you are, but I’d better never see you again.”

“You’re making a big mistake.”

“Are you threatening me?” Jarod moved the gun from his chin to his forehead.

“The sooner you figure out that I’m not the enemy, the better off you’re going to be.”

Jarod motioned to himself in the bathtub, trapped under the torrent water. “Is this your idea of better off?”

“You don’t know the half of what I’ve done for you.” Vincent’s calm tone sent chills through his body. For a split second, the old man’s pupils seemed unnaturally large. “What do you think you’re going to do with that gun anyway?”

He was right. Jarod released him. As he stepped back, droplets of water bounced off his body and slowed to new suspended positions.

“None of this is real,” he said.

“Unless you convince that boy of yours to listen to me, you’re going to find out just how real this is.”

“I won’t tell you again,” Jarod said. “Stay away from me and my son.”

“You’d better clean out your ears.” Vincent pointed at him. “You think you’re clever, waiting for Vivian to fly into your trap, but Mr. Kevin Stromsky is outside your house right now.”

“What?” There was no way. Stromsky had one purpose in life, and he only worked for the Carmichael family. “My mother would never send that man here. To my house.”

“Oh come now,” Vincent said. “If you insist on being a fool, then maybe—”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

“She’s afraid of what you are, son.”

“And what’s that?” Jarod asked.

“The mouth of God.”

It wasn’t just ridiculous. It was obscene. He pointed to his zealot of a father, posed like a wax figure. “You mean this God?”

“Don’t get trapped with words,” Vincent said. “It just means that you’ve got the sight. Like your son, you see and know things you shouldn’t. It’s been in your family for generations. It has made the Carmichaels a wealthy clan.”

“I built this empire,” Jarod said. “Not some psychic bullshit, and I haven’t even seen you before today.”

“The gift is fragile.” Vincent seemed sad as he looked over at the bathtub. “After your father did this, your gift was broken. Couldn’t see me anymore. Last night, that changed when your son opened the gates for me.”

“I can’t remember last night.”

“Let me show you.” The old man reached over, and Jarod flinched. “I will show you why your mother sent Mr. Kevin Stromsky.”

Slowly, Jarod held out his hand. As Vincent grabbed his wrist, images of snapping bone and tearing flesh filled him. A bald kid pleaded for his life. Jarod dug claws into his soft neck. He yanked his arm away.

“It’s a lie.” He backed up. “None of this is real.”

Vincent looked annoyed. “I don’t lie.”

“Get the fuck out of my head,” Jarod said.

“Maybe you need to see the rest of what happened that night.”

Right then, the suspended water splashed down.

“I’m dreaming.” Jarod turned just as his father bared his teeth and pushed down with both arms. “This is just a dream.”

The struggle became frenzied, until the small arm over the side of the tub stopped moving. Suddenly, a hole exploded in his father’s forehead. Blood sprayed against the back wall.

A gloved man walked in, holding a silenced gun. Only after a second, did Jarod realize who it was. His hair hadn’t grayed yet, and he was thirty years younger, but there was no mistaking those soulless blue eyes. Stromsky walked over and pulled Jarod’s limp body from the tub. His younger self coughed water, and began breathing.

Stromsky then moved to the bathroom’s wall phone, picked it up, and dialed a number.

“Charlotte, my dear,” he said in a pleasant voice. “It’s finished.” He paused. “Your son will be just fine with some rest. Maybe a spot of tea to warm him up. Shall I bring him over?”

“You’ve been warned,” Mister Vincent said. “Do what you will.”

And then Jarod was standing alone in his own bathroom. The porcelain sink was shattered, and several bullet holes had been punched in the tile. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be, but what if Vincent was telling the truth?

“Sir,” a voice called out. Heavy footsteps clomped up the stairs. Leon ran into the doorway and felt all over Jarod’s body. “Are you hit?”

Had his whole life been a lie? Had his mother murdered his father? She couldn’t have. Could she? If she had her own husband killed, Jarod wasn’t safe.

“Sir,” Leon said louder. “Mr. Carmichael.”

“My son,” Jarod said. “Get him. We’re leaving.”

“Where to?”

“Just get him. We’ll decide on the way.”