Tricky Twenty-Two(67)

It was a panel van. No seats in the back. Just me rolling around every time he made a turn. Plus some cartons of firecrackers, a box of blasting powder, and a couple empty aquariums. At least they looked empty. I suppose there could have been a few carsick fleas hunkered down in the bottom of the cages. I had to wonder what he did with the fleas that used to be in the aquariums. Not a good thought. Also hard to have good thoughts about my immediate future.

The van stopped and I heard a garage door roll open. The van eased into the garage and the door rolled back down. I was trying not to panic. I was taking deep breaths, telling myself to stay calm and alert. I had to wait for my opportunity. It would come. And people would be looking for me. Ranger and Morelli. I trusted them to find me. They were smart. They had resources.

Pooka left the driver’s seat, came around, and opened the back door.

“Fate,” he said. “Amazing, isn’t it? I’m driving down the street, and there you are. I was going to come get you, but you came to me.”

He grabbed my ponytail and pulled me out the door. I fell off the bed of the van onto the garage floor, and he dragged me up by my armpits. My knee hurt, my arm was on fire, my elbow hurt, and I was breathing hard, trying to control the pain and not cry. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to show fear or weakness. He pushed me in front of him, opened a side door, and pushed me into a grungy kitchen. Chipped red Formica countertops. Filthy linoleum floor. Decrepit stove and refrigerator. Stained avocado green porcelain sink filled with trash. Aquariums filled with fleas as far as the eye could see. The stench was sickening.

“Why does it smell so bad in here?” I asked.

“It’s the smell of black death,” Pooka said. “I’ve soaked the mice in contaminated blood and the fleas are feeding on them. Soon they’ll be ready to release. I’ve got thousands of fleas in the bedroom that are infected. I released some of them earlier today. I was returning from the release when I came across you.”

“It’s not black death anymore,” I said to him. “The plague can be cured with antibiotics.”

“My plague is super bad,” Pooka said. “I’m breeding super fleas, and I’ve mutated the plague bacilli. No one will survive. No one. My fleas will march across the Kiltman campus and lay waste to everything in their path.”

“Like a little army.”

“Exactly!”

“Why did you kidnap me?”

“You’re a terrible person. You ruined my moment of beauty and surprise. Everyone’s moment. I’m going to infect you and you will slowly die a horrible death. But before you die you’re going to redeem yourself by feeding my fleas.”

I looked around. The shades were drawn on all the windows.

“Where are we?”

“We’re at the gates of everlasting.”

He moved toward me with the stun gun. There was a flash of blinding light, and I crumpled to the floor. I felt him drag me across the kitchen into another room. I heard clanking and grunting. A door clicked closed and there was quiet. I struggled with the fog in my head, struggled to push through it. The room swam into focus. Small room. No furniture except for a mattress on the floor. My eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was a form on the mattress. It wasn’t moving. I took a moment to breathe. To get myself together. I had feeling back in my arms and legs. I managed to sit. He’d changed the cuffs so my hands were in front of me now. A thick chain tethered me to the wall. I could move around a little but a padlock attached to my cuffs was also attached to the chain. The chain was bolted into the wall.

The form on the mattress moved, and I realized it was a person.

“Becker?” I asked.

“Unh,” he said.

I moved closer and saw that his arms were full of needle punctures. Some in his upper arm and some over veins.

“Drugs,” he said. “Make me tired.”

His hands were cuffed in front like mine. He was also chained to the wall. His eyes were completely dilated. I wasn’t sure if it was from the dark or the drugs.

“Crazy,” Becker said, slurring the word. “Evil crazy.”

I could hear Pooka moving around the house, mumbling to himself. Drawers opened and closed. There was the smell of gas and then something burning.

“What’s that smell?” I whispered.

“Bunsen burner,” Becker whispered back. “Never works right. Probably because he’s got it hooked up to bottled propane. Not sure what he does with it. Defrosts the mice for the fleas, I think. He left the door open yesterday and I could watch him boiling stuff and measuring it out. And he injects himself with something. I always thought he was creepy, but it’s so much worse. He’s completely insane.” A tear slid down his cheek. “I think I’m dying.”