John Locke - A Girl Like You

“I know there is.”

“And you’re certain you’ve narrowed her disappearance to the blood test.”

“Yes.”

“Then I can’t help you,” he says, and hangs up.

I wait a few minutes, then leave my bags by the trees and walk to the side of Sam’s house, where the roof hangs low over his bathtub. I pull one of the bricks loose, turn it lengthwise, push the end back into the wall where the side had been, making a ledge for my foot. I step on that brick and pull out another one, three feet higher. Then I stand on that one and repeat the process until I have a brick ladder that takes me up to the roof. I have several ways to access Sam’s roof, but this is my favorite. I created this brick ladder years ago. There’s another one just like it on the other side of his house, where the roof hangs low over his breakfast room.

I follow the incline of the lower roof to the area that gives me access the next level. I take that to the eave where the stucco meets the brick, where years ago I created a crawl space that’s invisible from the ground. I wedge my body underneath that, and open the door I built that leads to the command center I created in Sam’s attic back in the days when I was spying on him and Rachel.

In the beginning, I had two command centers in Sam’s attic: the one I wanted him to find, and the one I wanted to keep secret. The secret one is tiny, accessible only from the crawl space, and is restricted to one small eave.

The command center Sam knew about didn’t have any cameras. Sam always assumed I did my spying after he and Rachel left for work each morning, at which time I roamed through his house, eating his food, using his bathrooms and shower, extracting files and installing programs on his computer.

I power up my old system and immediately see Sam through the pinhole camera I’d placed in his office. There are dozens of these cameras located throughout his house. My old laptop is still connected to the power source. I start it up, expecting to view the keystroke capture device I attached to Sam’s computer that will show me everything Sam is typing on his office computer.

But I’m getting nothing, which tells me he’s installed a new computer since my last visit.

My little nook is soundproofed, and I’m above the second floor of Sam’s enormous house. He’s on the first floor. No way he can hear me if I decide to call him again.

So I do.

14.

“How’s it coming, Sam?”

“I’m not going to help you, Creed.”

“There must be some arrangement we can make.”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

“Money?”

“I’ve got money.”

It’s true. I’d given him a cut from the heist. It was only fitting, since I’d put him through hell and destroyed his business.

“I could always torture you.”

“Good luck with that.”

Also true. There’s a very small percentage of people in the world who don’t respond to torture. Sam is one of them. It’s not that he feels no pain. It’s more like he shuts down when subjected to repeated pain. You can shock Sam with pain, but you have to attack him through his mind. The problem with that is, he’s smarter than me.

But I’m more cunning.

“Sam, Rachel means the world to me.”

“Do you ever listen to yourself? I’m supposed to care about your feelings? Rachel meant the world to me, too, you bastard. I know what it’s like to lose her, remember?” He pauses. “Actually, there is something you can do to make me help you.”

“Name it.”

“Promise when we get her back, you’ll walk away.”

“Done.”

“You’ll never contact her, never allow her to contact you.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll remove yourself completely from her life. Forever.”

I remain silent a moment, allowing the full weight of his words to sink in.

“I agree to your terms,” I say.

“You’re a lying sack of shit,” Sam says. “Your word means nothing. I’m not going to find her just so she can be with you. Wherever she is, whatever they’re doing to her, she’s better off.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Goodbye Creed. Suffer greatly.”

He ends the call.

I know he’s working downstairs, know in my gut he’s making progress. Sam will have this whole thing figured out in an hour or two. Of that I’m certain. But knowing Sam, he’ll be content just knowing what happened to Rachel, and why. Because the world is like a puzzle to Sam, and this is just a challenge. Once the puzzle is solved, he’ll move on to the next puzzle that turns up.

This detachment is the reason Rachel stopped loving him long before I entered the picture.

I check my watch and see it’s three hours till midnight. I call Pete and tell him I’m done for the night. He knows to add an extra twenty percent to the built-in tip charge. In a few hours when I need a ride, I’ll take one of Sam’s cars. I call Lou again, to work out all the arrangements for what’s going to happen after the snake does its job. If the snake doesn’t bite Sam when he sits on the toilet, I’ll put it in his bed. If that doesn’t work, I’ll knock Sam unconscious and push its fangs into his chest. Bottom line, I’m not leaving till Sam gets snakebit.

I look at my watch again, and wonder what Miranda is doing instead of being with me.

I wonder where Rachel is, and hope she’s being treated humanely. But I worry she’s not, since her abductors killed Dr. Dee and tried to kill Nadine.

I set the alarm on the clock in my command center, the one that wakes me with a flashing light instead of a buzzer.

I lie down.

My stomach growls, and I realize I haven’t eaten since this morning, so I turn off the alarm, slip out of my command center, climb down the brick ladder on the side of Sam’s house, go back through his yard, across the golf course and fields, past the vacant Chevy dealership, and take a seat at the counter of a nearby Steak ’n Shake.

15.

Sam didn’t go to sleep at his usual time.

Being an extremely orderly guy, Sam sticks to a rigid schedule, unless he’s working on something important. When he is, he loses all track of time. I’m hoping this project isn’t going to stump him. For a guy like Sam, this should be simple. What could be in Rachel’s blood test that would frighten the government so badly, they’re willing to kill people to keep it hid? There couldn’t be many answers to that question. But when I leave his house, Sam is still at his computer.

On the way to the park, I call Lou and ask him to check with the Sensory Resource doctors, who are among the best in the world.

“I already asked them,” Lou says.

“And?”

“They have no idea.”

I hang up and call Dr. Howard, Chief of Staff, who works the day shift.

When he answers, I say, “Hi Doc, it’s Donovan Creed.”

“You know what time it is in Virginia?”

“Yeah. Same as Louisville.”

He yawns. “How’s the face holding up?”

Doc Howard headed the team of plastic surgeons that made me look handsome.

“You made me look like a sissy.”

I hear him chuckle.

“I need to ask you something, Doc.”

“Can it wait till morning?”

“If it could, you’d still be asleep.”

I hear him moving about, probably adjusting himself to a sitting position.

“Okay, shoot,” he says.

“A lady named Rachel gets her first blood test ever. When the results come back, something shows up that is so terrible, so horrifying, the government kills Rachel’s doctor, and sends a professional extraction team to kidnap her.”

“That sounds like the plot of a terrible book.”

“Save your review till after I write it. For now, just tell me if it’s possible.”

He thinks a moment, then says, “No.”

“Are you certain?”

He says, “The lady appears to be healthy?”

“Physically, yes. Mentally, she’s a mess.”

“Can she walk and talk and move around normally?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, to the best of my knowledge, there is nothing to be found in her blood that would frighten anyone outside of her friends and family. If there were abnormal cells or some type of blood disease that hadn’t affected her physical health, her doctor would schedule further tests. If her blood work is completely off the charts, she’s either ill, or the sample got contaminated. If contaminated, they’d simply repeat the test. Beyond that, the notion of a doctor or lab sharing a random person’s blood work with the government is absurd.”

I think about what he’s told me, and work it around in my head. I know I’m missing something, but have no idea what it could be.

He says, “Are you doing anything dangerous tonight?”

“No, why?”

“You know I live vicariously through your adventures.”

I see a van pull up to the park entrance.

“Go back to bed, Doc,” I say. As I hang up I hear him shout, “Hey, you’re welcome!”

Two minutes later I meet the snake guy.

“Be careful of Frankie,” he says. “Water moccasins can bite through burlap.”

“Snake’s name is Frankie?”

“That’s right. Most water moccasins are docile, except when cornered.”

“But not Frankie?”

“No sir. Frankie don’t let you corner him. He corners you!”

Walking back to Sam’s house, carrying the very dangerous Frankie, I hear nothing, but feel plenty. I’m suddenly on the ground and fairly certain someone has shot me in the head with a high-powered rifle.

16.

I’ve been shot before, but never in the head, so I’m not positive how I’m supposed to feel less than a millisecond after the hit.

But I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be feeling fine.

My first thought is that Lou might have set me up with the snake man, or one of his buddies who may have been hiding near the drop off spot. But I didn’t hear a gunshot. As quiet as it was, I should have heard a gunshot, had there been one, even if the assassin used a silencer.

I wait a few minutes to make sure no one is hanging around to finish me off, then run my hands over my head, but find no lumps or bruises. I realize it’s dark, but blood feels like blood regardless of the light conditions, and I don’t feel any. Just to make sure, I get to my feet and walk to a lamp post and look at my hands and still find nothing.

Whatever just happened had been internal. Had I suffered a mini-stroke? I lift my hands over my head, something that’s supposed to be hard to do if you’ve had a stroke. I speak out loud: “Sal Bonadello lives in Cincinnati.” I repeat the sentence and listen to see if I’m slurring my words. I don’t appear to be. Then again, maybe only others would be able to tell.

But I feel fine. Slight headache, nothing more. Whatever it was, lasted only a fraction of a second, but hurt like hell. Could I have an aneurism? A brain tumor? These are happy thoughts.

I go back and retrieve Frankie the snake from where I’d dropped him, then he and I head for Sam’s house.

17.

When I get back to Sam’s and check the camera screens, I see he’s still in his office, working. So I’m stuck in a tiny cubicle with a poisonous snake that’s trying to get out of a burlap bag. Each time I set the bag on the plywood floor, it moves toward my leg. I try hanging it from one of the hooks at the top of the eave, but that puts the bottom of the bag within inches of my body. I could put Frankie outside, but it’s cool out, and I don’t want to make him docile. I decide to let him hang where it is, and make a point not to get too close.