Anamnesis: A Novel (27 page)

“He’s over here!”

It was a man’s voice. There was a scuffle
and a yelp in that area. Donovan’s men navigated their way through the lying
bodies to the bar. They yanked Hugh and his father up then lead them to the
service doors I’d come through earlier.

“Thank you. See how easy this was? The key
is cooperation.” Donovan tapped the mic, saluted the crowd, then headed off
stage. His men hauled Bolt and the mayor up by the shoulders and forced them from
the stage.

They were walking straight towards us. I
wasn’t sure what Donovan would make of me being there, so I kept my head down
as much as I could. I watched from the corner of my eye as they passed Olivia,
then were almost beyond me.

That’s when Olivia stood. I wanted to
scream at her to get down, what the fuck are you doing, when I saw the gun in
her hand and my mind went blank.

She fired.

The mayor went
down around the same time every one of Donovan’s men turned and fired at Olivia.
Her body jolted as dozens of rounds hit her. Blood burst from her body, soaked
her emerald dress and splattered her skin. Donovan screamed in Russian. They
went into double time and hauled the mayor and Bolt through the service doors.
The rest of his men left, too.

We were alone. Nothing but fear and ragged
breath. Somewhere in the distance I heard sirens.

My body and mind were numb. I crawled to
Olivia’s body. The people around her had pressed themselves away, leaving her
sprawled in a circular opening. I cursed them for their ignorance.

Olivia was still alive, but not for long.
Blood gushed from bullet holes across her body. She gasped for air. Her gaze
was distant. Against the splatter of red on her face, her eyes were bluer than
I’d ever seen them before.

“Did I get him?”

“Jesus, Olivia. Yeah you did,” I said. I
cupped her face in my hands. Her skin was incredibly soft. “You got the fucker.
You killed him.”

I didn’t know if he was dead, but that’s
what Olivia needed to hear. She needed to know what she’d done wasn’t for
nothing. If there was one thing I could do for her, it was to give her that.

Tears welled in my eyes and dripped onto
her face. “I wish I could’ve stopped you.”

I wanted her to deliver some line that
would fix it all. Something to reassure me she’d die happy, that it was all
going to be okay.

Instead, she stared into the blinding
chandelier without saying another word. Her chest stopped heaving. Whatever
made us alive, who we are, seeped from her body leaving her just that; a
corpse.

Around me people were standing. They
stared at Olivia with repulsion and shock. To them, Olivia was a murderer. They
saw her shoot the mayor. Their precious fucking mayor.

The front doors to the ball room burst
open as police entered the room.

This wasn’t justice.

I snatched up her purse, fallen and blood
smeared beside her foot. I took one last glance at Olivia before I used the few
precious minutes I had left to escape.

My body was on
autopilot as I jogged. It seemed every emergency vehicle, including S.W.A.T.,
was headed to the scene. Part of me wondered if Donovan could really make it
out of there alive with his hostages. I could very well have set him up for a
brutal death from police chase or shootout. Then again, he knew what he was getting
into. That wasn’t on me.

The city was louder than usual. Everyone
was buzzed with curiosity as the vehicles sped by. Lungs on fire, I darted into
an alcove of a restaurant to escape the rain that had picked up while I was
inside. It was a taco joint. The greasy smell of meat and spices made me
nauseated. I still took huge gulps of air that felt hard going into my lungs.

I withdrew Olivia’s purse from my inner
jacket and popped the clasp open. Inside was her cell, some makeup, a couple
twenties, her apartment card and her keys. I pocketed the keys and security
card and considered what I should do with the bag. My head swam and I leaned
against the wall for support as I smelled her too-sweet floral perfume on the fabric.

Olivia was dead because of me. I shouldn’t
have listened to her when she told me to leave. That was stupid. So fucking
stupid. No one could’ve walked away from what she saw unscathed. When her
attitude shifted, I should’ve known what was coming. I’d seen it before in
addicts. That moment where the fine line keeping them tethered to any sense of
morals and self snaps. When what we should do and what we want to do are in
opposition, and we shut ourselves down to do what we need to in order to get
what we want.

It starts out small. A father skims funds
off the kid’s college account for his coke habit. A woman gives up her wedding
ring for another bottle of Valium. The need grows, and so does their
willingness to betray themselves. Someone offers their partner for sex in
exchange for drugs. They have nothing to pay with, so they turn to murder to
get what they want.

When they check out, I see it in their
eyes. I saw it in Olivia that night. I saw her tether begin to fray when she
tortured her father. I saw it snap as she watched herself on that video. I left
Olivia drifting away from herself.

I was too angry at her, too consumed with
my own plan to kill the men, to pay any serious attention to what she was going
through. I had no one to blame but myself. And I sure as fuck would blame
myself forever.

I patted my jacket for cigarettes. None.
Cursing the world, I left the protection of the alcove and kept heading
downtown, Olivia’s purse clutched tightly against my chest. I made myself slow
the pace. People jogging in plain clothes when a massacre just occurred looked
suspicious.

Her apartment wasn’t far. After a half
hour I was at the gate to the complex. I let myself in and headed straight for
her unit. The place was exactly as it was from the last time I saw it. The same
dishes, same stacks of junk.

But it lacked life. It lacked her. The
heater was off, leaving the place uncharacteristically cold. Only the light
over the oven was on. Her laptop was where it had been. The baggie of videos
was empty now, each of the memory cards stacked in rows. There was a slender
wooden box open beside it with gun cleaning supplies inside. Six shots had been
removed from a box of ammo beside it. For all the distaste Olivia had for my
gun, it looked like she had one of her own.

I set her purse on the counter and shoved
the memory cards back in their baggy, then grabbed two plastic bags from under
the kitchen sink. There were stacks of documents from D.P. littered about the
apartment. I took all of them, shoved them into the bags and piled them by the
door. All the evidence we had against the mayor and his cohorts. I grabbed the
forty bucks from Olivia’s purse—not without a hundred thoughts against myself
for stealing from a dead girl—and dragged my evidence out to the curb.

I flagged down the first cab I saw and
stowed my luggage right by me. I was going to get true justice for Olivia if it
was the last thing I ever did.

“Jesus, get away.
I told you not to come back here!”

Rupert Fearnley’s face peered out from
behind six inches of open door to his studio. He seemed to think that would
stop me from getting in. The only thing stopping me was the group of people
walking towards me from less than a half block away.

“And I didn’t listen. You need to let me
in. We have to talk.”

“No. I’m going to call the cops.”

The group passed by and were headed down
the street. Their colorful umbrellas bumped against one another as they moved.
Umbrellas? Definitely from out of town.

I gave the door one hard shove sending
Fearnley back onto his butt. In one swift motion I plopped my plastic bags of
documents in the entryway and turned to shut the heavy door.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You’re not
going to call the cops. We’re going to talk.” I found the bolt locking
mechanism on the bottom of the door and slid it into place.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“You will. Let’s go upstairs, okay?” I
bent down and offered him my hand. “We can have some of your fancy tea and work
a few things out.”

Fearnley stared at my hand for at least a
minute before he took it and let me haul him up. It took everything I had to
focus on what was in front of me.

He led me upstairs. My bags thumped
against the staircase as I brought them up. Soon I was sitting in the same
chair in his den. This time Fearnley didn’t offer me any tea or cookies. I guess
my welcome didn’t go that far.

“Lewis Ward, Lincoln Johnston, Eugene
Holloway, Hugh and Stanley Raven. All Whiteout users. Ring a bell?”

Fearnley’s face distorted into something
between a frown and pain. His one word held relief and frustration. “Yes.”

There was something uniquely satisfying
about having your suspicion confirmed. I gave myself a second to enjoy it.
“Holloway told me about you and Draper, how you wanted to reintroduce your
off-the-record Whiteout test subjects back into the world. It was good intent,
only fucking terribly carried out.”

“I know.” Fearnley leaned back in his
chair. His shoulders slumped forward. “It was difficult and messy. We didn’t do
it right. Did you ever remember your name? Or do you still go by Ethan?”

Nothing could surprise me at this point,
but I
was
interested. “Ethan. I know my name was William, though. I’ve
filled in a lot of blanks. You remember me?”

“Of course. I remember all of you. I’ve
never forgotten. Ethan was my late son’s name, and Knight my now ex-wife’s
maiden name. You were the only one I gave a special name to. I felt the worst
about you.”

“Great.”

Fearnley gulped. His bulbous Adam’s apple
bobbed. “When Draper came to me with Holloway’s demand, I tried to stop him. It
was unethical, outrageous. But I was young and working for Draper was as good
as I’d ever do. He threatened to destroy me. Draper also promised none of you
would be hurt badly and that we’d let you back into the world when it was
over.”

 “When my friend and I came here, you
recognized me?”

Fearnley nodded. “Instantly. I’ve always
suffered for what I did to you and the others. You’re in my mind every time I
wake up and go to sleep.”

Under different circumstances, I would’ve
gloated. My suspicions when we first met were true. He couldn’t stop staring at
me because he knew me. I was a ghost come back to life. With the weight of
Olivia’s death still crushing my heart, gloating was impossible.

“You have to believe me, I wanted you all
to get your lives back. When we put you in that apartment in Ballard, I gave
you a photo of you and your girlfriend. I stole it from the personal belongings
that were locked away. I hoped it would trigger memories and help get you back
on your feet.”

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “You
had to have known how dangerous it would be to let me free. You didn’t even
bring me down off Whiteout in a safe place. You threw me into the world,
addicted to painkillers and downers, and hoped for the best.”

His hands shook. When he noticed, he put
them over his face and took a slow breath in. His narrow chest expanded then
collapsed as his stature crumpled even more.

“I know. Well, I didn’t know what would
happen at the time. You’d been on Whiteout too long, on too many variants of
it, and that made your situation particularly bad. Listen, there’s nothing I
can say that will make up for what I did. Nothing will explain our inhumanity,
our cruelty.” Fearnley choked back a sob. “All I can say is I’m sorry.”

“That’s not all you can do. I have
questions that I want answered. Can you do that?”

Fearnley nodded. “Whatever you want. Ask.”

“Why didn’t you blow the whistle on it?” I
asked. “You obviously don’t agree with what’s going on.”

 “Holloway pays me off. For the first few
years I ignored what we were part of. I didn’t know exactly what Holloway was
doing with the Whiteout Draper supplied him with. Once Draper died and
manufacturing was in my hands, I still never asked. I was able to follow my
dream of being a sculptor. I had a beautiful home, security. It could all
vanish in a second. In the end my greed won over my conscience.”

My heart skipped a beat at one sentence
Fearnley offered so casually. “You’re in charge of manufacturing?”

“Yes. I use my offshore drug manufacturing
connections to get them done. As long as they get paid, they don’t ask
questions. It protects the mayor and his friends if I’m the middleman. Even if
I’d wanted to come forward, I’m the one making the drug. I’m the one
distributing it. There’s no record of them taking it from me.”

“What about Whiteout on the streets?”

“It was Ward and Holloway’s idea. They got
greedy. Ward saw profit in it and Holloway jumped at the dollar signs. Holloway
had a few connections with small time drug dealers. They just started
distributing it a few weeks ago.”

I remembered the Whiteout pills I
encountered, but also the patch. “What about the patch they were using? I’d
only seen pills until Hugh Raven used one on Olivia.”

“The patch was developed years ago per
Ward’s request. Another offshore venture. The pills are cheaper to manufacture
and Ward wanted access to the patch exclusively.” Fearnley smiled, forlorn. “I
guess it doesn’t matter now. I’d imagine they’ll be dead soon anyway.”

“What?” I tensed. “How do you know that?”

He leaned forward and picked up a remote
from the coffee table and used it to turn on a narrow flat screen in the center
of the bookcase. It was on a news channel. I recognized the outside of the
Fairmont. A stream of text on the bottom kept repeating the names of men
abducted from the gala. A petite Asian woman came on screen and started to list
the events that took place.

As far as they knew, gang members abducted
four men and nearly sixteen were killed during the gunfight, most of them
security guards. The criminals involved are nowhere to be found.

“In a bizarre turn of events, campaign
manager Olivia Holloway is reported to have shot the mayor. While police have
not commented on her involvement, there could be a possible connection between
her and the gang involved.” The woman’s face was carefully stoic. “Please be
aware, the following footage is uncut and extremely graphic. Phil, what you’re
about to see is cell footage of Holloway shooting the mayor. Again, this is
graphic and not recommended for sensitive viewers.”

It cut to vertical footage of Olivia standing
and shooting the mayor. The shot ended just as the Russians began shooting
Olivia. That moment took forever in real life. The video showed it for what it
was; seconds.

“The location of the kidnapped is still
unknown. We are hoping for their safe return. Back to you, Phil.”

The shot cut back to two news anchors who
began discussing Olivia’s involvement and rehashing what took place again. I
watched until it cut to a commercial. Fearnley muted it.

“I was watching it before you arrived.”

“Turn it off,” I told him. “I was there. I
don’t need to see this. But that is why I’m here.”

Fearnley turned it off. There was
something different about him now. He wasn’t trying like he had been when I
first met him. His guard was down. Instead of vibrant and showy, he seemed flat
yet more aware of what was going on around him. I wondered if he’d been waiting
for the day when someone called him out. I would’ve been, if I were him.

“You’re the only one who gives the product
to the mayor, right?”

“That’s correct. I receive a shipment of
about two hundred pills and a hundred patches once a month. I deliver them to
Ward or Holloway.” Fearnley winced. “They sometimes invite me to participate in
their…their club. I’ve never accepted.”

“Good for you. Do the others know about
you?”

“Not that I know of. I only deal with
those two. They keep it that way to prevent mutiny.”

Holloway was dead. The mayor was most
likely dead. Knowing their need for control through knowledge, I doubted they’d
told the Ravens or Johnston about Fearnley. If the mayor was dead, that was the
end of Whiteout. Donovan wouldn’t be able to get his hands on it.

“Good. Here’s what I want you to do,
Fearnley. I think it’s something you’ve wanted for a long time. I want you to
come clean. I want you to find the right people and tell them what Ward and his
buddies were up to. Tell them about your involvement if you want, or tell them
you were forced the whole time. I want those men’s lives ruined. I need the
world to know they weren’t the victims here.” I rubbed my fingers against my
temples. “I would do this myself, but who would believe me? I’m just a drug
dealer who uses too much of his own product. They’d look at my involvement with
the Russian’s who abducted them and never see beyond it.”

There was no argument, no resistance. Fearnley
nodded. “I’ll do it. None of what I have is worth the agony I live in. I’d
rather go to prison knowing I came clean. But we have nothing against them but
accusations.
I’m
the one getting the drugs made and distributing them. I
have no evidence. Hell, I don’t have anything going back to Draper or the
trials or
anything
.”

“I do.” I pulled my plastic bags towards
me and untied them. I began to stack the documents I brought from Olivia’s on
the coffee table. “We retrieved these from the old D.P. building. Patient
forms, financial records, information on Whiteout. That should help. But this
is what no one will be able to deny.”

The plastic bag of memory cards didn’t
look like much, but it was undeniable proof of the men involved.

“Each one of these has videos of the men
raping, killing, and torturing. They kept them to use as blackmail against each
other. I’m willing to bet there might be more, but there’s videos of every man
involved. In a building beside the Holloway & Raven office, in the basement,
is a soundproofed room they did it all in.”

I told Fearnley everything because he was
the only person who could do anything about it. I told him about Olivia, her
sister. About her father killing Kaylee, the log book. Barring what I convinced
Donovan to do, I gave every detail I had. The more I spoke to him, the stronger
his conviction to redeem himself grew. Fearnley severed himself from what was
right years ago. Now he was ready to reconnect.