Part 23 (1/2)

”Is that a rhetorical question?” Holly responded.

”What are you doing out here, Franks?” I growled. I didn't have time for this nonsense.

”Checking my e-mail,” he said. He finished what he was doing, closed the device and dropped it into a suit pocket. Now he turned his head slightly to study me. I could see my reflection in his shades. I had no idea why he was wearing them in the dark. It took him an infuriatingly long time to phrase his next question. ”Going somewhere?”

”No,” I answered, giant canvas bag large enough to hide a dead body slung over my shoulder, proving me an obvious liar. This was really making me angry. I was tired of this oppressive jerk getting in my way, because regardless of whatever the h.e.l.l he really was, man or monster, Franks was above all a pain in my a.s.s. ”Didn't you hear there's a werewolf out? There's safer places for you to hang out while you download p.o.r.n.”

”You probably shouldn't do that on a government computer anyway,” Trip pointed out. ”That's a misuse of taxpayer funds.”

Holly's voice was flat. ”Naw, I'm cool with it. The more time federal agents spend masturbating, the less time they have to screw around with us.”

The muscular Fed slowly stood, drawing himself to his full height, nonchalantly dusted his pants off, and then got right up in my face. He was remarkably intimidating, but I didn't blink. A giant vein pulsed in his forehead. ”Where are you going?”

I'd had enough of this clown. If he wanted to throw down, now was as good a time as any, and I wasn't going to go out as easy as the last time we had tangled. I dropped my gear bag on the concrete at Franks' feet. ”Wherever I d.a.m.n well feel like.”

”Is that so?” Franks responded slowly.

Always the peacemaker, Trip stepped forward. ”Listen, Agent Franks, we've got a tip about the Condition. This is our chance to find out what's going on. Let us go take care of business. Anything we learn helps your mission just as much as it does ours.” Leave it to Trip Jones to resort to reason when I was all ready to get my violence on.

”A tip?”

”The kind that only I can access,” I responded. The silent jerk wasn't going to let us pa.s.s, there was no way. But I would be d.a.m.ned if I was going to be his prisoner in my own home while a gang of psychotic cultists plotted against my family. My pulse quickened. If I sucker-punched him I'd have a chance... If I sucker-punched him I'd have a chance... Right in the nose, then push him down the stairs, kick him while he was down, and run for the car. Franks probably wouldn't shoot me since he was tasked with protecting me. Right in the nose, then push him down the stairs, kick him while he was down, and run for the car. Franks probably wouldn't shoot me since he was tasked with protecting me. Probably. Probably. ”The kind of tip that leads us right to the shadow man.” ”The kind of tip that leads us right to the shadow man.”

Franks appeared to think about it, wheels ponderously turning. ”You aren't going anywhere-” Decision made, my right hand flew up, fingers tightening into a fist the split second before impact, three hundred pounds of muscle driven by righteous fury and years of mixed martial arts experience, in a brilliant sneak attack maneuver- Blocked.

Not just blocked, but somehow Franks actually raised his hand and caught my fist an inch from his shades. He shut me down so hard that it was like a kindergartener trying to fight back against a fifth-grade bully. He twisted, using my leverage against me, tendons crying in protest, as he bore down on my joints. I squealed like a little girl and went automatically to my knees. His other hand flew under his suit coat and came out with a Glock that he promptly stuck in Holly's face. She stopped doing whatever it was that she was doing, probably reaching for a weapon, and calmly raised her hands.

”Ow ow ow ow...” I said, my elbow touching my forehead and my wrist bent at an impossible angle somewhere behind my neck. The pain was unbelievable. For a second, Franks seemed to ponder what would happen if he just tossed me face first down the stairs, but then the pressure let up.

He kept the Glock on Holly, which was probably wise. ”As I was saying, you aren't going anywhere...” He let go of my wrist and tingly nerve fire shot down my arm. I fell on my b.u.t.t. Franks lowered his gun. ”...without me.”

Trip extended one hand to help me up. ”Really?”

I groaned as my friend a.s.sisted me off the stairs. How embarra.s.sing How embarra.s.sing. Franks had read me like an open book. ”You're letting us go?”

He nodded once, keeping one eye on Holly, as if waiting for her to attempt something nefarious. She tried to look innocent. ”This better be good,” Franks muttered as he turned his back and started down the steps. A werewolf howl reverberated across the compound. ”You drive. My truck's in the shop.”

Chapter 13.

It was a long, hushed drive to Appleton. Trip drove and I rode up front, with Holly and Satan's G-man in the back seat of the MHI Crown Vic. Since the last time I had gone anywhere with Franks I had actually shoved a.45 in his ear, I could understand why he chose to sit directly behind me. The mood was unnaturally somber as Franks' presence had a stifling effect on our normal conversation. I bet he was just a blast at parties.

I had asked him at one point if he was going to contact his superiors or the rest of his protective detail to notify them of our destination. He had responded with a single raised eyebrow, which indicated to me a big negative on that idea. Because not only would he get ordered to turn around, he didn't like his current a.s.signment any more than I did, and the sooner he could wrap this case up, the better. It was kind of frightening that I got that from a single eyebrow, and indicated to me that I was spending way too much quality time around Franks.

”Does anybody have the Nelsons in their address book?” I asked as we neared Camden. The good doctors probably deserved a warning about our visit. The last time I had been here to see a patient, gargoyles had destroyed half the place, smashed a few patients into mush, and given the husband of the Nelson team a heart attack.

Holly responded. ”I do. I'll call them.”

I had no idea that she even knew them, though it made sense. The Nelsons were former old-school MHI members, one psychologist and one psychiatrist, who specialized in helping the victims of monster violence. Of all of us, Holly Newcastle had experienced the most brutal and unforgiving introduction to the real world of any Hunter I knew, as a captive in a vampire feeding pit. Even after all this time, she had still never confided her whole story to even her closest friends.

I caught Trip glancing at the rearview mirror to sneak a look at Holly. He was probably thinking the exact same thing I was. Was she getting counseling or something? If so, good for her. This stuff was brutally hard on the brain and I would never fault anybody for wanting to talk to a professional about it, especially somebody that actually got got it, like the Nelsons. ”Have you been visiting Appleton?” Trip asked. Even Hunters had days off, and it wasn't like we didn't have personal lives that the rest of the team didn't know about. it, like the Nelsons. ”Have you been visiting Appleton?” Trip asked. Even Hunters had days off, and it wasn't like we didn't have personal lives that the rest of the team didn't know about.

”Yeah...that offend you?”

”No. Of course not.” He quickly snapped his eyes back to the road to avoid Holly's ire. I chuckled to myself.

”What?” Holly asked me suspiciously with her phone against one ear.

”Nothing,” I replied quickly. I was saved when somebody picked up on the other end. Apparently the Nelsons, whichever one she had reached at least, were early risers. She warned them that some Hunters were coming on business, but didn't want to give any specifics over the phone. She thanked them and hung up.

Twenty minutes later, we were there.

The front gate of Appleton was new, made up of freshly painted iron bars riding on smooth hydraulics. Julie had driven a van through the old one. Trip braked at the intercom, hit the b.u.t.ton, and stated that we were MHI. A moment later we were heading down the lane. The sun was rising over the gothic spires of the asylum, a gray hulking shadow of carved stone and bleak walls. It looked really terrible considering the good work that went on inside. The Appleton Asylum was the home to many survivors of monster attacks, shunned and considered delusional by the rest of the medical community, but welcomed with open arms here. We parked in the nearly empty lot. It was early enough that the day s.h.i.+ft employees hadn't yet arrived.

There were new doors installed at the entrance, and it was obvious, since the stonework didn't quite match, that repairs had been conducted here as well. Stupid gargoyles Stupid gargoyles. Both of the Nelsons were waiting for us.

Lucius was portly, short, with wispy gray hair in a halo around his mostly bald head, and suspenders keeping his pants up over his belly. Joan was taller than her husband, thin, gangly, and brought to mind a stork or other long-legged bird. Both were in their sixties, and both were wearing absurdly thick gla.s.ses. I loved the Nelsons.

We piled out of the car. ”h.e.l.lo, everyone!” Lucius bellowed with a voice that belied his age. It was rare for Hunters to come visit and we were always greeted with some enthusiasm. Apparently, those of us who made it as Hunters tended to find this place, and its residents, kind of unnerving. There was a fine line between a survivor who became a Hunter and a survivor who lost their marbles. ”Good morning!.” He came down the stairs remarkably fast and intercepted me with a hearty handshake. ”Well, Owen, my boy, it's been a long time,” he said, which made me feel even guiltier for not visiting.

”Holly, it's wonderful to see you,” Joan exclaimed excitedly as she virtually tackled Holly in a hug. ”And this young man must be...” She turned to Trip. ”Jones. Let's see, James, no, John. It was something biblical.”

Trip smiled and extended his hand. ”They call me Trip, ma'am.” She grabbed his hand and pumped vigorously.

The male Dr. Nelson let go of me and surged toward Trip. ”Ah, yes. I've heard about you. Read your file, zombie attack survivor out of Florida. You were the school teacher who was forced to dispatch all his students with a sledgehammer!”

”Pickax,” Trip corrected, slightly embarra.s.sed.

”Marvelous! That must have been very distressing...” The Nelsons were looking him over excitedly, just sensing that he had to have all sorts of angst and trauma that they could write a paper on. They couldn't help themselves. They had done that to me the first time I had met them too. ”Really, you need to sit down and have a chat with us...time permitting, of course.” They simultaneously glanced over as the car door slammed. Franks had gotten out and was adjusting his clip-on tie. Lucius was flummoxed. ”It can't be...”

”What's he doing here?” Joan demanded, pointing at the Fed. She raised her voice. ”I want him off our property immediately!” Franks approached, scowling. She increased in volume and pitch. ”Get him out of here before any patients see him.”

”Doctors,” Franks stated coldly, ”I'm here on official business.”

Both Nelsons were clearly agitated at his presence. ”Your official business can kiss my old white a.s.s, you simpering feculent, no good, h.e.l.l-sp.a.w.n fascist!” Lucius shouted. ”You have no business here.”

”I see you guys have met...” I said.

”You disgusting pig. You filthy murdering b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” Joan shook her fist in the air. ”I'm calling security.”

”Forget security. I'm getting my rifle,” Lucius shouted, turning back into the asylum. ”Jackbooted n.a.z.i!”

”We gonna do this the hard way?” Franks asked.

I had no doubt that he wouldn't hesitate to pummel two senior citizens just for kicks. ”Whoa!” I shouted loud enough to scare some birds out of a nearby tree. The Nelsons stopped yelling. ”Everybody calm down. What's the problem?”

”He's the problem!” Joan shrieked.