The Victim Page 6

  The phone rang. She wondered if it was the kitchen with a question about her food. They could wait. She needed to enjoy her tub before she would eat. She had all night to eat, sleep and eat some more. Which reminded her, she needed to order some kind of chocolate dessert. A Snickers cake or double chocolate arrangement of some kind. A woman needed her chocolate.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  She dipped her dark hair in the water, ran her hands through it and pushed up and out to grab the small bottle of shampoo.

  The phone started again.

  “Holy shit, take it easy,” she shouted into the room.

  She lathered up her hair, trying to stay calm, but the phone didn’t stop. Maybe it wasn’t the kitchen. If it was, their next step would be to send someone up to knock on her door. She wanted to avoid anyone else seeing her face, so she quickly rinsed her hair, soaped up her body and rinsed off under the shower.

  While towel drying her hair, the phone started again.

  She ran out, still naked, and picked up the receiver.

  “Is there a reason to keep calling—”

  “Sarah, it’s me.”

  “Oh, hey, Dolan. Sorry about that. Thought it was the hotel. I was in the tub. I was supposed to call, wasn’t I? Sorry. Everything okay?”

  “No.” He breathed in deep, exhaling as if it was his last breath. “They’re looking for you.”

  Her stomach couldn’t take anymore. “Who?” Even after she asked the question, she dreaded the answer.

  “You didn’t tell me what happened at the mall,” Dolan said.

  “Yeah, long story. Why?”

  “A lot of cops died.”

  She dropped the towel on the bed and swung her hair over one shoulder. She felt vulnerable standing naked, talking on the phone.

  “How many?” she asked.

  “The news channels are saying nine people died. One unidentified man wearing white powder on his face, sky blue contact lenses and a long overcoat. Six Toronto police officers and two members of the American government. The ninth was a woman. They’re calling it a massacre. Never before have so many police officers been killed at one time in one place.”

  “Rod Howley is dead, too,” Sarah said. “The woman’s name was Joan Frommer, Hank’s wife.”

  “Sarah, what happened?”

  “Can you give me a sec?”

  “Sarah …”

  “I gotta get dressed. I jumped out of the tub to take the call.”

  “Okay, go.”

  She set the phone down on the bed. While slipping into her panties, she wondered how much to tell Dolan. He deserved as much of the truth as she knew, but she really didn’t know a lot. She decided to slim everything down and stick to only what she knew.

  She lay out on the bed in her shirt and panties and picked up the phone. “Dolan?”

  “Yeah.”

  He sounded dejected, saddened.

  “This wasn’t me. It’s not my fault.”

  “I know, Sarah,” he said. “You would never be a part of something like this. But they’re assembling every officer in Ontario for the largest manhunt in history.”

  “Hank held me in an underground cell. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get out. Apparently Rod called him and said he had Hank’s wife as his prisoner. Rod wanted to trade for me. A meeting was set up for the Allandale Centre. That’s how we all came to be there. Hank was prepared. Toronto police were all over the place. Then Hank’s wife showed up with some kind of white powder on her face. She had a picture of a Rod Howley, dead. She didn’t say a word. Very creepy.”

  “Oh, man …”

  “I know. She died in Hank’s arms a minute or two later. All I know is these men wearing overcoats and white faces walked around carrying death in their hands—”

  “What? Who?”

  “There were men wearing the same white paint Joan wore on their faces. Whoever they touched died within seconds. I have no fucking idea what the hell they had in their hands, but it was definitely lethal. Two of them attacked me.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “Cops started falling all around me. The white-faced attackers were closing in. I’m not sure if I was their target because they went after the cops first, but I may have been. I ran for the sporting goods store. They chased me inside. One of them just stared at me and said, ‘Come.’ Creeped me out.”

  “And …”

  Sarah recounted the rest of the events at the mall to Dolan.

  “You killed the one they found?” Dolan asked.

  “Yes. Then I ran through the back hallways of the mall, out the door by the garbage compactor and once I got clear of the mall, I called you. That’s it.”

  “Oh, Sarah, I wish I could help you out of this mess.”

  “What are you talking about? What mess? I didn’t do anything, unless escaping with my life is a bad thing?”

  “Turn on the news. Any channel you want. It’s all anyone is talking about.”

  “I don’t want to see it. I was there, remember. It was traumatic as hell. I just want to forget it.”

  “Sarah, a man named Detective Waller just did a press conference on the slaughter of his men. He says you started the whole thing. He has your name, video footage of you, and said you’re armed and dangerous. Your face is all over the news, and every cop on the continent wants your head.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous!” She jumped off the bed. The walls of the room closed in on her. She thought she might as well be dead as the world had thought. “Dolan, is anyone asking how I’ve been resurrected? What am I going to do? You know I wouldn’t partake in—you know I had nothing to do with this. I’d be dead too if I hadn’t fought back and run. There has to be video footage that would verify that.”

  “I know. The best thing to do is contact Waller and tell him your side. Explain how Hank had you as a captive and that this was supposed to be a simple trade—”

  “That won’t work,” Sarah said as she paced the floor beside the bed.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I met Detective Waller and it didn’t go well.”

  “Oh, Sarah, what did you do?”

  “He overheard me telling Hank that I could kill him within seconds if I was challenged. He questioned Hank about me and why I was there. That’s when I heard that Hank had sold the Toronto cops a bill of goods.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Sarah stopped pacing. “The Sophia Project men always fabricate what’s happening to get local cops involved. Like at the Rogers Centre when I met Drake. Anyway, Hank told them we were waiting for Rod, a sex offender.”

  “A sex offender? You serious?”

  “I wonder what Hank told Waller about me? Maybe that’s why he has a hard-on for me? This can’t get any worse. ”

  “Yes, it could,” Dolan said.

  “How?”

  “You could be dead. That would be worse.”

  “True.”

  “I can’t give myself up. That has never worked in the past. The cops dance to a different beat than I do.”

  “Sarah, I don’t see any other play, here. Sure it’ll take a while to work everything out, but at least you’ll be protected while inside. Whoever did this couldn’t have been after you. Everyone thought you were dead. Think about it, you’re the dead girl. Whatever happened at that mall was about Hank or Rod or someone else, not you. Meet with Waller, tell him everything, and I mean everything. You’ll be home by next weekend. Worst case scenario, your parents and I will get a good lawyer up there to bring you home.”

  Sarah considered what Dolan was saying. He was right. Everyone had thought she was dead. But why did that man beckon to her through the sporting goods window? It felt like they were after her.

  “You know, Dolan, I never thought I’d say this with how I feel about cops in general, but what you’re saying actually sounds comforting. You’re right, it couldn’t be about me. How could it? I was dead as far as anyone knew. Even if it took a couple
of weeks to work out, mall security cameras would have pictures of the men in overcoats. They’ll be able to see that I was running for my life just like the cops were.”

  “Exactly. Don’t live on the run. This is too big. I’ll marshal everyone from this side of the border to help. Don’t attempt this on your own.”

  “I wouldn’t be alone. I have Vivian.”

  “Yeah, but Vivian is there as a conduit to help people in need, not for you to evade the law.”

  “I’m in need here.”

  “Call Waller. Arrange a meeting. Don’t have all of Toronto after you.”

  After a few moments, she sat on the edge of the bed, relieved with her decision.

  “I will. Hey, did you read any newspaper articles on me this past week?”

  “You don’t want to hear about that.”

  “Why not?” she asked, a bit too loud. “Is it going to piss me off?”

  “They glamorized you, made you look like a gift from God himself, saving people from certain death, kidnappings, and human trafficking, all at the personal expense of being shot, bones broken and nearly dying numerous times. You’re a national hero right now. Don’t sully that by running.”

  “Shit, I won’t. Don’t worry. I’ll call him right now.”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Food’s here. Gotta go. Hey, thanks for helping a girl out. I really appreciate it.”

  “Anytime, Sarah. You’re the daughter I never had.”

  “Ahh, that’s sweet. You’re one of a kind, Dolan. Gotta run, take care. Life goes on, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sarah, life goes on.”

  She clicked off. Another knock at the door, along with a man announcing room service.

  She tied her wet hair back and peeked through the peephole. It was the guy from the front counter.

  Sarah unlocked the door, opened it a crack and stuck her hand around the edge. “I just came out of the shower. Can you hand me the plates this way?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A warm plate was placed gently into her hand. She squeezed it through the door, set it on the carpeted floor by her feet and reached out again. After all the plates were transferred to her, the hotel clerk asked if she needed salt and pepper. She declined and went to shut the door.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  She stopped the door at the last second. “What is it? And stop calling me ma’am.”

  “You have to sign for the food, ma—” he caught himself, cleared his throat and said, “please.”

  She shook her hand. “Give it to me.”

  After being handed the receipt and a pen, she signed for the food and handed it back.

  “Thank you,” he said from behind the door. “Have a good night.”

  After he left, she locked the door. Then she picked up the three plates and the bottle of red wine off the carpet, carried it to the bed and dug in.

  After a couple of bites of chicken breast and a few large sips of the Australian Shiraz, she grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Two clicks of the channel and it landed CP24. They were talking to a woman live at the Allandale Centre. Sarah stopped chewing as this mother of two recalled what had happened.

  She lost her appetite when CP24 played the amateur clips from someone’s cell phone.

  The video captured the men in overcoats, but it also showed Sarah running and the window being shot out of the sporting goods store as Sarah dove to the ground.

  The news anchor explained that was when the police discovered that Sarah Roberts, previously thought to be dead, was trying to escape and after repeated warnings, had no option but to shoot at her.

  The amateur video continued. They had caught her shoving a man to the ground in the sporting goods store then running away. The video stopped there, and the news anchor said they couldn’t show anymore to keep the man’s identity confidential until the police notified next of kin. The man died from whatever Sarah had touched him with, the anchor reported.

  “I was defending myself,” Sarah said to the empty hotel room, her stomach churning. She was no longer hungry. “He was trying to kill me,” she whispered. “Shit, you guys have that wrong.”

  She took another bite of her chicken because she had to eat. She had no idea when she would eat such good food again. Detective Waller came on camera and explained that Sarah Roberts is a person of interest and that she is armed and dangerous. He warned anyone who saw Sarah—a picture from the mall cameras came on the screen—to call the police.

  “Do not approach her,” he said, his face close to the camera. He strained to compose himself. “I repeat, do not approach her.”

  Sarah had to call him. They needed to talk, make this kind of propaganda go away. She would be marked for the rest of her life if she didn’t make it all go away.

  She grabbed the phone, but her finger hesitated over the numbers.

  “Shit,” she said out loud. “The receipt for the food. I signed my real name. Damn.” She swiped the half-full plates off the bed where they clattered unbroken to the floor.

  Then she set the phone down and decided to call him after a short nap. She needed to talk to Waller as soon as possible, but didn’t know when she’d get another chance to sleep.

  This was going to hurt, having to work with the police, deal with them, let them charge her if that’s what they wanted, and then try to get out from under the umbrella of suspicion.

  It was all because of those white-faced assholes. When this was all over, she would exact justice on them.

  She needed to live up to the reputation the newspapers had given her.

  She didn’t play the role of the victim too well.

  Chapter 10

  Simon Peter picked up a piece of paper from the floor. He read the note over a couple of times. He needed to be clear, make sure the instructions were right in his head. He was their leader and needed to always appear confident and sure of himself and his brother. A unified front.

  When he met Andrew at the Pentecostal church, Matthew had told him that Andrew would be pivotal in reforming the others. Matthew and Simon didn’t have a lot of friends growing up because of their ectodermal dysplasia. Andrew had been popular and had many friends, four of whom were in the church. Men who had stuck by him and were devout Christians.

  Simon remembered the day he read a note from his brother about Andrew, similar to the one in his hand. Brother Andrew had a skydiving trip planned for later that day with Brother James and Brother Philip. The note had explained that they would all die that day as the Cessna would crash on the runway before takeoff. It would explode as the fuel lines were ruptured, killing everyone on board instantly.

  After Simon persuaded Andrew with his prophecy, Andrew had cancelled and convinced Brother James and Philip to cancel as well. They went to the small airport to persuade the pilot to stay grounded, but all he did was perform an extra safety check of his equipment and announce his plane was sound. They packed three first-timers onto the plane for tandem jumps and took off as planned.

  The plane encountered trouble at just over fifty feet. By one hundred feet, the pilot tried to turn around, but it was too late. Simon and his new friends watched as the plane hit hard, exploding upon impact. There were no survivors.

  They had only told the pilot of their concerns. Since no one else knew about the prophecy, no one asked any questions. It was assumed they were lucky as they had cancelled due to the jitters.

  From that day on, Brothers Andrew, Philip and James had watched Matthew’s messages come true. They were all convinced that the messages were divine, and if God had chosen them for this path, then nothing could tempt them from it.

  And now the time had come. The Mayans had predicted it, the Bible talked about it, and now the chosen few were standing up and aiding in the Rapture.

  Brother John, recently deceased, and Brother Thomas both came aboard with little convincing from Andrew.

  The Rapturites had formed and were about to embark on their greatest
mission yet: to send home as many righteous people as they could touch before they had to go home themselves.

  However, Simon hadn’t informed them that the last batch of syringes were for the Rapturites. They thought they were gifted, protected, and would continue working for God for quite some time. The truth was, as soon as Sarah Roberts was dispatched, the Rapturites would be no more.