What Happened to Lori Page 36
Fabler relaxed, flexed, and then the condom came out. He peeled it off and felt around for the right tool.
But Fabler hadn’t expected the greys to be using handcuffs. Plus, for comfort reasons, he kept the kit as small as possible, limiting it to a torsion wrench and four picks; a half diamond, a saw rake, a snake rake, and a short hook.
Nothing ideal for picking cuffs, which required a cylindrical key. But the picks were made of thin steel, no wider than a credit card.
He selected the snake rake and wedged it, end-first, into the handcuffs, under the teeth. Applying pressure, Fabler tightened the cuff on his wrist, sticking the shim further into the cuff, pushing back the lock spring, allowing the teeth to slide free.
Once he had one wrist out, he used the teeth on the cuff to hack away at the duct tape around his legs.
“Seriously? You’re free that fast?”
“How’s that penny working out for you?” Fabler freed his legs, then made quick work of the other bracelet, setting in on the chair he’d been bound to.
“You’re going to go for Presley?”
“Of course.”
“Cut me loose. I can help. But wash your hands first.”
“I’m not freeing you, Grim.”
“You want an apology? Fine. I’m sorry for framing you and sending you to prison for three years. And for torturing you. And for killing you.”
“I can’t release you, buddy. You think I’m crazy.”
“Who? Me? I never said that. Maybe you jumped the shark, but that’s okay. Under the right circumstances, I’d jump the shark, too.”
“If I free you, you’ll attack me.”
“I won’t. Cross my heart.”
“I can’t risk that.”
Grim appeared devastated. “Let me help you. I care about her, Fabler.”
“Are we friends, Grim?”
“What? Yes. Of course we’re friends, Fabler.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re just saying that so I cut you loose?”
“Do you want me to say I believe all your talk about aliens? Well, I don’t. I think you’re insane. After we help Presley, I’m going to have you committed to a mental institution.”
“Thanks for the honesty.”
“It is honest. And what I’m going to say next is honest, too.” Grim took a big breath. “I don’t blame you for Lori.”
“You should. I blame myself.”
“Fabler, any way you look at this, it isn’t your fault. If it was little green men—”
“They were grey.”
“Whatever damn color they were. Jesus, Fabler, I’m trying to make an important point here. If Lori got abducted by aliens, you couldn’t have prepared for it. That wasn’t your fault. And if you’re schizo—and really, that’s probably the case—that isn’t your fault, either.”
“You’re not to blame, Fabler. It isn’t your fault. Whatever happened… I forgive you. Now you need to figure out how to forgive yourself.”
Grim’s words carried so much impact, so much meaning, that Fabler teared up.
“Thank you, brother. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.” Fabler bent forward, embracing him.
“So, now you’re hugging me. Great. This is great. Two old friends, making things right. Now can you freaking cut me free.”
Fabler went for the knife drawer—
And then there was LIGHT.
White, harsh, brighter than staring at the sun, mixed with the sound of a fighter jet, screeching low in a robotic, brain-rattling hum.
Fabler wasted a few seconds, laughing in all-out, hysterical relief.
The words caught in his throat like fishhooks, but he managed to croak them out.
“Time to go get Lori.”
Eyes squeezed shut, Fabler remembered the layout of his kitchen and took five steps into the hallway.
He heard screaming.
In the hall, three more steps to the secret room, bumping into something that shouldn’t be there.
Fabler took him down with a quick judo flip, pivoting the larger man over his hip, dropping him to the floor.
He heard another scream.
Fabler spun, a sledgehammer hitting him in the head, and he bounced off the hallway wall and fell onto his ass.
He felt around his scalp, his fingers coming away hot and sticky, and Fabler realized he’d gotten shot.
PRESLEY ○ 8:53am
“Hold it.” Kadir, that asshole, had an expression of such pure hate that it almost made Presley piss herself. He couldn’t have been any scarier even if he’d grown devil horns and fangs.
“There could be a weapon in there. Doruk, check it.”
“I’m covering her.”
“Give me the gun and check it, you moron.”
Doruk frowned. “You know what, Kadir? I’m getting sick of taking orders from you.”
Kadir spoke through clenched teeth. “Now isn’t the time, Doruk.”
“You order me around. You treat me bad. You think I don’t know, Kadir? You think I don’t know where you got Presley’s loan? You took the money from Uncle Alpay. Without his permission. He told me to keep an eye on you.”
Kadir squinted. “Is that all he told you? To watch me? Or did he give you other orders?”
Kadir made a move toward Doruk, and Doruk pointed the gun at him. “Stay right there. I’m in charge now. I’m handling this.” The gun swept back to Presley.
“You need to watch Kadir, Doruk. He’s going to try to take you out as soon as you turn your back.”
“Mind your business, Presley.”
“I know you’re big and strong, but if he hits you with that ring, in your neck, or your eye…”
“Kadir ain’t hitting nothing.” Doruk glared at him. “Right, Kadir?”
“We’re buddies, Doruk. The bitch is trying to confuse you.”
“No more talking, Kadir. Presley, open it. Slow.”
Presley gently pulled out the board and set it to the side. Then she peered into the hole.
“What do you see?”
“Photos.”
“Anything else?”
She pushed the photos aside.
Gold.
Piles and piles of gold coins, stacked up in clear zip baggies. A whole pile of them.
“Is the gold there?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there a weapon?”
“No.”
Kadir apparently didn’t like that any more than Presley did. “Doruk, you moron, she could be lying. Go check.”
Doruk swung the gun back at Kadir. “I told you, no more talking. You gonna shut up, Kadir? Or do I gotta shut you up?”
While they argued, Presley sneaked her hand into the hidey-hole, pushing aside the top few bags of gold, searching for—
Presley reached for it.
“You better be pulling up gold.” The sound of Doruk thumbing back the hammer made Presley’s sphincter clench.
“I am. I’m taking it slow.” Presley switched her grip from the butt of Fabler’s hidden gun to a baggie, surprised by the weight. “I’m going to hold it up for you to see. Real slow. Here it is. Don’t shoot me.”
Presley lifted the bag of gold out of the floor and raised it overhead.
No one said anything for a few seconds.
Kadir, when he spoke, used a voice higher than usual. “How many of those are in there?”
“Twenty. Maybe more.”
Doruk chuckled. “You know, when I was a kid, me and Cousin Jimmy used to play pirates, looking for buried treasure. But I never thought I’d—”
Kadir came at Doruk fast, a snake striking, digging his brutal ring into the larger man’s neck. Doruk shoved him away, hard, knocking Kadir onto his ass, then he slapped his hand to his neck and stared at the blood.
“I think I’m—”
And then came light.
Light so bright it felt like a poke in the eyes.
Presley had no clue what was going on, and she froze.
Blinded, Presley reached back into the hole, feeling around the bags of gold, finding a revolver
She squinted, trying to block the light, wishing she had her welding goggles with her.
That shock of truth hit Presley square in the brainpan.
Though functionally blind and deaf, Presley sensed movement. In front of her, near the secret door entrance.
Presley fired twice, then fired twice more to her right, where she’d seen Kadir fall.
Once again, she tried to sense any sort of movement.
She quickly inspected the revolver by touch, avoided the hot barrel, found the release, swung out the cylinder, and counted the chambers.
Presley snapped the cylinder back into place, careful she didn’t mess up the rotation, and then realized what she had to do.
GRIM ○ 8:55am
At first, Grim knew—knew like he knew that gravity worked and the sun came up every day and water is wet—that Fabler was somehow messing with him.
Then it stopped being funny.
The light was too bright. Brighter than the brightest thing Grim had ever seen.
And that otherworldly hum Fabler had mentioned… the current sound matched that description perfectly.
It didn’t sound like anything that had ever been heard on earth.
Grim shook his head, hard and fast, like a dog exiting a lake.
And then Grim began to float.
He couldn’t see himself float, because he couldn’t see anything. But the chair he was taped to tilted back, and then spun around, and then he was on his side, lifted up in the air without anything touching him.
Grim indulged in some flat-out, balls-to-the-wall screaming, and then turned all of his attention to his lucky smashed penny in his pocket, sawing away at the denim with renewed vigor.
Incredibly, amazingly, the penny broke through the fabric
A thought stopped Grim, cold.
Grim released the penny.
FABLER ○ 8:55am
Using the wall railing to pull himself up, Fabler took four unsteady steps through the hallway and spilled into his bedroom.
He reached for, and found, his backpack next to his bed.
He dug out the first aid kit.
He found, by feel, a packet of Celox.
He tore it open with his teeth and dumped the blood-clotting granules onto his head.
Then he gently probed the wound.
He poured a second pack of the hemostat onto the wound, as he continued to count off seconds in his head.
The pain was bearable. If he had time, he could numb it later.
Fabler’s body armor was stacked next to his backpack. He put the welding goggles on first, hoping they would be enough.
The room appeared dimly lit, but it felt like broad daylight after all the training with road flares.
The body armor went on slower than normal, the wonky gravity making Fabler rely on isometrics rather than weight. But all the drilling paid off, and he tugged and wiggled on autopilot, adjusting until it fit properly.
Then he cinched on the weight belt, attached the carabiner to the hook and wound the chain four times around his waist, shouldered the backpack, and clenched the Glock in his fist.
Hand on the railing, Fabler made his way toward the hallway.
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Presley, luckily, wore her body armor, but hadn’t brought her goggles or weight belt. Fabler, the king of redundant back-ups, had his old welding helmet clipped to his backpack.
He exited his room, checking the hall. Abandoned on the floor, waiting for him like an old friend, was his KRISS. He holstered the Glock and snatched up the rifle, checking the magazine, then looping the strap over his head.
Further down, Doruk lay face-down on the floor, a bullet wound in his back. Climbing over him, blindly flailing out his hands, one of which had a hole in the palm, Kadir tried to stand up.
Fabler came up behind him and hit the man in the neck with the butt of the KRISS, right where his head met his spine. Kadir crumbled like a house of cards.
Fabler peeked into the secret room, saw Presley crouched there, eyes closed, gun pointed.
But Fabler hadn’t thought that part out, so he settled for sneaking, slowly, into the room, staying out of the line of fire, and then coming up on Presley and grabbing her wrist with one hand, pushing the Colt away while he pushed the welding helmet against her face.
Presley struggled, fighting back, until she saw Fabler through the visor. Then she relaxed and helped put the helmet on.
Fabler put his face next to her ear. “I’m wrapping chain around your waist. So they can’t take you without me.”
She nodded, and Fabler encircled her with chain, tight enough so she wouldn’t slip out, locking the carabiner on a link.
Fabler glanced at Presley.
She remained on solid ground.
He looked to the door.
Then back to Presley.
Then to the door.
Then back to Presley.
Fabler stood up, deciding to check out his property, when something floated past the doorway.