Beating Heart Cadavers (26 page)

His finger squeezed against the trigger but could only pull it back partway. He grimaced and berated himself internally, conjuring up an image of Simon in his head as he tried to get the nerve to shoot, but the action wouldn't come. As he let out an irritated breath, the Spöke turned to face him.

“Fuck,” the man said, his eyes snapping to the gun in Caine's hands. He dove inside his jacket for his own, pulling it out before Caine could react, and Caine had just gotten a look at the small dark hole leading into the muzzle and saw the trigger pull backwards when –

A thin line of silver flashed across the Spöke's neck, immediately followed by a deep crimson wave of blood. Fields had appeared behind him and slashed his neck. As the body slumped to the floor in front of her, she gave Caine a look.

“Point and shoot, Matt,” she hissed at him before slipping into the next room to look for more of the intruders. Caine lowered the gun, breathing hard. He wished that there was a lengthy algorithm to solve that would have gotten rid of the Spöken instead: it would have been so much easier than what she was asking him to do.

He waited in the side corridor for several moments, listening for sounds that would indicate what was happening in the house around him. Every now and again there were footsteps from above him and the occasional thumping noise from his side to let him know when a body fell to the floor. After a drawn-out silence, he slunk towards the kitchen to make sure that it was a Spöke's body that had fallen rather than Fields, but was saved from guessing when he met her in the doorway.

“I got four,” she said. “How many do you think there are?”

“There's at least one upstairs moving around.” He glanced down at where the knife in her hand was dripping blood onto the floor and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Do you want the gun back?”

“I'd like you to use the gun,” she replied. “Unless you want to trade it for the knife, that is.”

“I'm not slitting anyone's throat.”

“Better them than us,” she said coldly. Her eyes darted to the staircase, but the look in them seemed very far away. “I think I got the one who shot Mason. I recognized his voice.”

Caine frowned.

“How do you know what he sounded like?” he asked. “You were there? When he – died?”

Another creak sounded and saved her from answering. She slipped past him and went to the stairs to go up. Caine followed her at a distance, but by the time he had gotten to the second story landing, she was nowhere in sight. He silently cursed his father for having such a large estate.

A muffled crash came from the master bedroom, immediately followed by silence. Caine stood frozen in the middle of the hallway, his eyes darting around to either of his sides.

“Lad?” he ventured quietly, taking a cautious step forward towards the room. He got to the threshold and paused. “Did you … get him?”

The room was empty. Caine looked over the unmade bed and mounds of unwashed clothes and uniforms that he had let pile up over the last few weeks, searching for any sign of a body among them. When he found none, he stepped back again to retreat into the hallway, but then the glimmer of light from the attached bathroom caught his eye. He approached the door slowly.

“Lad?” he said again.

He reached out his hand towards the half-closed door, letting just the tips of his fingers touch the wood as he gently pushed against it. When it opened, Fields' form came into view and he gave a long sigh of relief, but not a second later his breathing hitched altogether. For even though Fields was standing there in front of him, looking straight at him, she wasn't alright: a figure was directly behind her, one arm crossed over her chest to pin her in place and the other holding a thin knife to her neck. Hers had fallen to the floor sometime before, and her empty hands were clutching her captor's wrists in a last futile attempt to keep him from killing her.

Ch. 35

“Fuck,” Caine said, lifting the gun to point at the other man, but then quickly dropped his arm back to his side. There was no way to shoot him other than straight through Fields.

“Caine, so nice to see you,” the other man cooed. He had a willowy, lithe form that matched his voice, and his too perfect skin was stretched across his face as he smiled. It took Caine a moment to remember who he was, and several more to think of his name.

“Raban.”

He hadn't seen Merdow in years, though the doll-like man hadn't seemed to age at all. He was as plastered and conniving as ever, and – given the way his eyes lit up as he twisted the knife back and forth so close to Fields' throat – he hadn't changed much internally, either.

Caine glanced at Fields, hoping that she would somehow tell him what to do even though she was in no position to speak, but her eyes had fluttered downwards in anger at letting herself get caught.

Caine inched forward across the tiled floors. Unlike the rest of the house, the bathroom was rather small, and squeezing the three of them in there was far from comfortable. While Fields and Merdow stood in one corner next to the large porcelain tub, Caine stood across from them, pressing himself up against in front of the double sink to give Merdow enough room to warrant him not feeling threatened.

“I'm glad that you could join us, Caine,” Merdow said, still smiling widely. “For a moment there I thought that you might not come, and I didn't want you to miss it.”

His fingers drummed against the handle of the knife. Fields pressed backwards against him, attempting to put as much distance between the blade and her neck as possible.

“Why don't you just – just let her go, Raban?” Caine asked lamely, though no sooner had the words left his mouth than he began to see why he had never been a good diplomat. “She's not … she's not going to ...”

“Not going to what, Caine? Hurt me? Kill me?” Merdow gave a low chuckle. Turning his head downwards so that his face pressed against Fields' cheek, he addressed her instead. “How many times
have
you tried to kill me, Lina? I count … four so far. Is that right?”

Fields' nose crinkled at the feel of his breath on her skin, and she gave him a sneer.

“Those are just the times you know of,” she said scathingly, but Merdow only laughed more loudly.

“Truculent, isn't she?” he asked Caine. “If I'm perfectly honest, then I'm rather surprised that no one's killed her already, really – but perhaps nature concentrates more on weeding out the weak. Though that would beg the question: why are you still alive, Caine?”

He smiled over at the fairer-haired man, his white teeth glistening like tiny replicas of the tiles lining the floor, and Caine could only shift in his spot in response.

“Oh, that's right,” Merdow said, answering the question himself. “You're the ambassador's son: someone's always been looking out for you and taking care of you, making sure that you don't trip and bump your precious head. Isn't that right, Caine?”

Caine continued to stay silent, fearing what his words would or wouldn't add to the conversation. The gun was held slack in his right hand, and his fingers had grown moist with sweat against the metal.

“But never mind all that now – everyone has their purpose in life, Caine, even you,” Merdow went on. “Hence why you're here.”

“What do you mean, why I'm here?” Caine said, finally snapping from his silence. “I live here. It's you who shouldn't be here – you're not even a Spöke, are you?”

He looked up and down what he could see of Merdow's uniform. Surely enough, it was plain and gray rather than rich and silver, and Merdow's face flushed a bit as Caine pointed it out. He squeezed the knife a bit tighter against Fields' neck in his umbrage.

“I don't need a uniform to tell me what my place is in the world like most men do, Caine,” Merdow seethed. “The Spöken wouldn't even be here tonight if it wasn't for me urging them. I knew little Ladeline wouldn't stay away for long.”

“You're here for her?”

“Whose throat am I about to slit, Ambassador?” Merdow asked. “I wouldn't have noticed if you were dead or alive for all these years – nor would I have cared. You don't matter. Not to me, not to anyone. Except Lina here.”

Merdow gave her a little pat on the cheek, his smooth, delicate skin surprisingly clean for someone who so often got his hands dirty.

“Which is exactly how I knew she'd be coming through here any day now. Luckily I convinced the High Officer to put a guard outside the premises to keep an eye out for her, or the Spöken might not have been alerted to her presence in time.” He looked down at Fields with an expression of mock adoration plastered to his face. “You can thank me later.”

Fields gritted her teeth and growled.

“I plan to,” she fumed.

“Ah, I'm sure you do,” Merdow countered, “only I doubt you'll get the chance. My plans are already well into production, you see, and I think you'll find that they … outlive yours.”

His smile stretched even wider, and the knife pressed down upon Fields' larynx to prevent her from saying anything further. He turned to address Caine instead.

“Do you know what the two most important things are when trapping an animal, Caine?” he asked, but Caine could only shake his head. “No? Well, first thing's first, you have to know the animal's route. There's no sense in setting a trap in an area where they'll never enter – hence how I knew I'd find Lina here. Animals can be rather stupid, you know: they have a certain radius that they stick to and return to, and once you find it, all you have to do is follow their tracks and … intercept their route along the way.”

Merdow pressed the knife further into Fields' neck, and the whites of her eyes overtook the irises and pupils. Caine swallowed.

“Do you know what the second most important thing is?” Merdow asked. His face was gleaming, and his interest in the subject made his expression as genuine as Caine had ever seen it. “You have to pick the right
bait.
”

Caine's drenched hands slipped against the gun, nearly making him drop it, and he fumbled to get ahold of it again. Merdow was laughing quietly to himself.

“So that's what you are, Ambassador: the bait. And do you know what the best part is? The best bait out there isn't fat trimmings, or animal carcasses, or fresh bones – it's dog food. Cheap, generic dog food. The domestic animals know to stay away from it – they aren't interested – but the foxes and wolves and bobcats are still attracted to it. They get a whiff and venture in, and then, before they realize what's happening –”

He made a violent motion with his hand and Fields flinched against him. For a terrible moment Caine thought that Merdow had actually slit her throat, but then the doll-like man began to laugh – a great gulping breaths of air type of laugh – as he watched Caine's reaction. Fields' legs had gone slack and Merdow was half-holding her upright now, and she quivered beneath his arm.

“Oh, now, now, you two – don't worry,” Merdow cooed once he had gotten a grip on his laughter. “I'm not going to kill anyone – yet. There are still things that need to be discussed.”

“I didn't think the Spöken were very interested in discussions,” Caine said. “And if you're their intermediary, then I doubt we'll come to any sort of reconciliation.”

“I suppose it depends on what your definition of reconcile is, Matthew.”

Caine swung around at the new voice, and had barely turned to the doorway when Audamar Ratsel stepped over the threshold. In the small bathroom, his uniform reflected a combination of the white porcelain and tiles as well as the fluorescent lights, and he looked like some distant depiction of the angels in old books that Caine had never been able to believe in.

Caine reacted by raising the gun to point at the High Officer, but then remembered that there was little hope. Merdow was still holding Fields captive, and Ratsel had his own gun, though his was held slack at his side. He didn't seem remotely worried about the possibility of Caine shooting him.

“It seems that I arrived a bit late to the party,” Ratsel said, taking another step into the room. He peered at Caine for a long moment, but then pulled his eyes away to look over at where Merdow was holding Fields. “I see my men didn't fare very well. Your doing, I assume, Miss Fields?”

Fields gave a strangled response, flailing slightly against Merdow's grip as she tried to stand up straighter.

“Not many people can brag about killing a Spöke – let alone four of them. Perhaps you should've applied for a job with us along with your brother. You could've been an officer by now, and the benefits are extraordinary.” He smiled at her, but his mouth dissolved into a grimace before the feigned friendly expression had even stretched his lips out fully. With his yellow teeth bared, he bore his gaze into her with utmost distaste. “Of course, perhaps you were smarter than your brother to stay away from us. You know your place in Oneris, don't you, which is why you've made your home in the Wastelands?”

Fields stretched her neck back, still unable to answer.

“I doubt I have to tell you that I don't take too kindly to your type,” Ratsel continued. “And given that you've killed some of my best men, as well … Well, don't expect us to let you go painlessly.”

Fields finally wriggled her neck far enough back so that she could speak.

“Do you ever let people go painlessly?” she seethed. “Or is that just what you call how you had Mason killed?”

“Mason went very painlessly,” Ratsel said airily. “One bullet, and he was gone. He probably didn't even see it coming. Well –” he backtracked, giving a little chuckle, “– they shot him straight between the eyes, so I suppose he
did
see it coming, but I digress ...”

Fields made a motion as though about to lunge at the Spöke, but Merdow held her back, his arm tightening over her torso.

“Ah, thank you, Raban: that could have been unsightly.”

“I've learned that it's best to keep Fields pinned down even during the most innocuous of conversations, High Officer. Look what she did to me, after all ...”

“Yes, quite true,” Ratsel replied. “And think of what else she could do – or might have done – for all these years that she's been uncaged.”

He stepped forward across the tile, but wouldn't get close enough to Fields to be within arms' reach of her, nor would he venture far enough to turn his back on Caine.

“I'm going to make this very simple for you, Fields: tell us where your brother is, and what he did with my notebook, and I will reunite you with your beloved Doctor Mason in an instant.”

He lifted his gun to point directly at her forehead, but Fields only shook her head at him, her tongue running over her teeth as she did so.

“You'll never find him if you kill me,” she said.

“Oh, I'm sure that we will,” Ratsel replied. “After all, you don't have many allies, Ladeline – not many who are still living, that is. Where is he? Hasenkamp? Waiting for you to return?”

The mention of where his son was kicked something into Caine, and he snapped from his position as a spectator. Neither Merdow nor Ratsel had any plans to let Fields out alive, and seeing as Merdow had outright stated that Caine had been nothing more than a way to lure her to the house, he knew that they wouldn't hesitate to kill him either. From where Ratsel now stood, his uniform was reflecting the patterned robe that Caine had collected from the kitchen and hung by the mirror, and it sent colorful shapes dancing over the Spöke's form.
Mari would've taken the knife and the gun from me and marched into the house five minutes ago,
Fields' voice chided in his ear.
She wanted to live.
And Caine knew that the words were true, and knew that his wife had wanted nothing more than to be alive for their son, not just to watch him grow up, but to protect him because she hadn't trusted that Caine could do so himself.

He raised his gun and pointed it at Ratsel.

“Put it down, or I shoot,” he said.

The Spӧke only eyed him unconcernedly.

“Matthew, forgive me if I don't take you seriously,” Ratsel said. “But I think we both know that you aren't going to shoot me.”

“I can and I will,” Caine replied. “Now put the gun down.”

“And what about your dear friend, Ladeline?” Ratsel asked, feigning actual concern. “If you shoot me, Raban will be forced to take matters into his own hands, and we both know that you don't want that.”

“If I shoot you and Merdow slits her throat, then he's left unprotected,” Caine said, thinking quickly. “I can shoot him faster than he can cross over here and stab me, and we both know it. So if I shoot you, my bet is that he won't kill Ladeline, and he'll use her as a shield until he can think of a way to talk himself out of the situation.”

“My, my,” Ratsel said. “I'm impressed, Matthew. This might be the first time you've made a decision on your own in your life.”

He smiled again, revealing his pointed teeth.

“I would offer you a round of applause, but mine and Raban's hands are a bit full at the moment, as you can see.”

“They won't be full once you put the gun down,” Caine said. He gripped the gun more firmly, trying to keep it from shaking in his hands. “Don't make me shoot you, High Officer.”