The Law of Nines

Alex switched the station. A man was reading from papers in his hands. “These knife attacks in Mobile and Springfield were all on schools or preschools, while the ones in Scranton and Eugene were at local hospitals. The Winnipeg and Boise attacks took place at early-morning church services. Authorities confirm that the patients and workers who died at the retirement home in Springfield were also victims of knife attacks, but they declined to give the number of dead.

  “Unconfirmed reports say that, as in the other attacks, the throats of all the victims had been cut, linking all the attacks in the methods used.

  “At the school in Grand Rapids, police cornered the two knife-wielding assailants in an upstairs library after they had reportedly managed to gain entrance to a classroom and murder an undetermined number of middle-schoolers before the police arrived on scene. The SWAT team conducted an assault on the library, where the suspects had barricaded the doors. Unnamed police sources say that when the SWAT team entered, the assailants had vanished. An extensive house-to-house search is under way.”

  “They will never find them,” Jax whispered to herself as she stared at the TV. Tears ran down her face, dripping off her jaw.

  “We’re also getting sketchy reports of an attack in Mexico City.

  Terrorism experts we’ve been able to talk with are shocked by this latest development in what over just the last few minutes has developed into an international crisis, with Mexico only the latest country reporting similar attacks along with Canada, England, and Germany. Unconfirmed reports of attacks are also coming in from Australia.”

  The camera switched to another reporter at a fiery scene. “There is mass confusion in Denver right now at a plant that produces components for wind turbine generators. Plant officials say that there were over a hundred third-shift workers trapped in the main assembly building when fire broke out.

  “The surprise attacks and killings of workers leaving their jobs a short time ago at Easton Fabrication on the outskirts of Denver has only added to the strain on emergency services, as have the fires at two of Denver’s hospitals. Those fires are now said to be contained. While many people are calling this a deliberate act of terror, officials are cautioning people not to jump to conclusions.

  “Yet across the world this morning, the death toll from all of these incidents is expected to reach well into the hundreds. In every instance, it seems, the attacks have been carried out in the most gruesome fashion possible, with victims either being trapped in burning buildings or, in other cases, with victims reportedly having their throats cut.

  “So far, no group has claimed responsibility.

  “Moments ago, the president issued a brief statement calling for calm amidst a growing cry for retaliation. He also said that his heart goes out to the families of victims.

  “As of yet no terrorist group has taken responsibility or been linked to the attacks. Officials have insisted that none of the attacks bear resemblance to the pattern of any known terror group, except in their deadly nature and brutality, and of course in the way in which they have targeted innocent people.

  “Military officials we spoke with, who wish to remain anonymous, say that the attacks are at a level of coordination and focus never seen before. In response to comments made by a number of people, Homeland Security undersecretary Robert Franklin said that it was too early to say that the nature of the attacks appears to be intended as a message of some sort. He went on to promise that those responsible would be caught and brought to justice.”

  Alex switched off the TV.

  With trembling fingers he folded the paper listing all the cities and put it in his pocket.

  “Let’s go.”

  54.

  AS THEY LEFT THE MOTEL and walked quickly down the sidewalk toward the center of the small town of Westfield, Jax put her hand on his back in silent compassion. Neither of them spoke. Both of them were in a state of shock at the unexpected turn of events.

  Radell Cain had just turned everything upside down. Before, Alex hadn’t known what to do, but the task had at least seemed straightforward. Now he felt a numb sense of paralyzing shock and dismay. It no longer simply seemed a matter of preventing Radell Cain from getting access to the gateway. In light of such chaos everything had just gotten far more complex.

  The heavy overcast seemed to match their mood. It made the day feel quiet and somber.

  “I’m ashamed that people from my world have come here and done this,” Jax said as they walked past a bakery.

  Alex shifted the duffel bag to the other side so that he could take her hand as they hurried along the sidewalk.

  “Don’t take on guilt for murders just because they came from where you live. You came here to stop these people. You’re risking your life to stop them. You have no reason to feel ashamed.”

  She squeezed his hand in appreciation of his words. He could see another tear or two run down her face.

  “I’m the one who should have done something,” he finally said into the silence. “From the beginning you’ve been trying to tell me how brutal these people are. You tried to do something; I didn’t listen. If I had believed you in the first place, acted sooner, maybe this wouldn’t be happening.”

  “Don’t you now blame yourself, Alex. Radell Cain is responsible.”

  “But maybe I could have—”

  “No, you couldn’t. Don’t let him make you fall into the trap of second-guessing yourself. He’s been watching you and making his moves based on what you do, not when you did it. Had you acted sooner it would only have prompted him to make his move sooner.

  “He’s sending us a message. There is nothing either of us could have done to stop him. If we had gotten here sooner he would have only carried out these attacks sooner.

  “I’ve seen him do this sort of thing before. This is the way he thinks. He will kill as many people as he has to in order to get what he wants. It never occurred to me that he would bring his ruthless methods here, to this world. It was foolish of me not to realize he would.”

  Alex raked his fingers back through his hair. “I don’t get it, though. I don’t get the reason for murders all over the world. He’s been trying to get his hands on us since the beginning. He left that note for me, so he obviously knew where we were. He could have stormed the place and had us last night while we were asleep. Why do this instead? What does he think this is going to accomplish?”

  “I’m afraid that he’s changed his tactics.” Jax glanced over at him. “He gave you that note to let you know that he knew the fake name the Daggett Society had made up to protect you. He wanted you to know that you can’t hide from him, that there is nowhere safe where he can’t find you.

  “He told you the places of the attacks so that you would know that he was responsible. He wanted you to know his reach.”

  Alex scanned the tourist traffic and dump trucks making their way along the congested, narrow road through town, checking to make sure that none of them looked imminently threatening.

  Alex heaved a sigh. “I guess you’re right. It was all an elaborate, bloody show just for me. We’ve slipped through his fingers in the past, like back at Mother of Roses. This is retribution for being able to avoid him. He’s telling me that if I don’t do as he wants, he can kill innocent people by the thousands.”

  “I’m afraid so. Those killers he sends don’t have to worry about being captured and punished. They can kill innocent, helpless people while they have the advantage, and then if it looks like someone might stop them, they can activate their lifeline and vanish in a heartbeat.”

  Alex shook his head in disgust. “But how can any human being do such things to innocent people—to children?”

  “Their minds are poisoned by years of indoctrination. They believe what they’re told. They see it as doing good. I’m sure that when they get back, Radell Cain will give them rewards for their bravery and great work in advancing their cause. They will feel only pride, not revulsion, for what they’ve done. Cain likes giving awards for ki
lling women and children because he knows that that kind of thing strikes mindless fear into his enemies.”

  “Well, it’s working,” Alex said under his breath.

  They fell silent with brooding thoughts as they made their way down the street. The town of Westfield was a typical small New England tourist town. All the clapboard buildings were old, crooked, and crowded together. The two-lane highway through the three-block-long center of town was slowed and backed up by tourists turning out of side streets and trying to find places to park. Small buildings had been converted to restaurants, gift shops, and art galleries. One picture window they hurried past had photos of houses and land for sale.

  Alex and Jax went into one of the wilderness outfitters to pick up what they might need for hiking into the land and sleeping outside. Together they grimly went about the business of equipping themselves.

  Jax knew exactly what was needed. Alex converted her list into what his world had to offer. When she said that they would probably need bedrolls, he showed her sleeping bags. They selected a small, compact tent for two that took up very little space strapped under a backpack. She was impressed with the quality and innovation of the backpacks and other equipment and was able to minimize what they would need.

  All Alex could think about as they quickly went about selecting various equipment was all the people who had died such horrific deaths that morning and all the traumatized survivors and all the lives that would be forever altered. Everyone in the shop was talking about the terror attacks. A number of people thought it was the work of Islamic fundamentalists, while two older women argued that warring drug cartels had been responsible.

  Everyone feared what it could mean. The mood was one of dread and expectancy that they were yet to see the true dimension of the coming shadow of a cataclysm. Some people seemed to think such violence would soon swoop in to visit even the little town of Westfield.

  Everyone feared what would happen next.

  Alex guessed that what happened next depended on him.

  After they left with their purchases, they stopped in a small market and bought food to pack in, then went to see if the truck was done. The service writer told Alex that it was almost finished and suggested they wait in the lounge for a few minutes. The TV was on in the lounge, carrying details of the killings. Alex didn’t want to watch it. Besides, his mind was racing too fast for him to sit still. He needed to walk.

  As they went outside, he spotted something hauntingly familiar in an art gallery directly across the street from the Jeep dealer. After two huge log trucks rumbled past, he took Jax by the hand and, in a break in the traffic, ran across the street.

  On an easel, where it would show prominently through the front window of the gallery, was a large painting dominated by angry slashes of red paint. It reminded Alex of a frenzied, bloody, murderous temper tantrum.

  He slowly approached the window, looking in at the painting on display as if it were something threatening, something deadly. He stood frozen, staring at it. He recognized the style.

  The precisely made signature on the painting was R. C. Dillion.

  “What is it?” Jax asked, frowning over at him.

  He couldn’t find his voice. It suddenly all made sense.

  “Alex . . .” Jax called after him, hurrying to catch up as he swept into the gallery. “What’s the matter?”

  Inside, Alex stopped in front of the painting. The random collection of red slashes dripped red paint down the face of the canvas.

  “What?” Jax said.

  Alex pulled out the piece of paper and handed it to her. “Look at the handwriting on the paper. Don’t read the cities, just look at the handwriting.”

  She studied the list of cities for a moment, then looked up at him again. “What about it?”

  “Look at the signature on this painting.”

  Jax squinted at the muddy-white, precisely done R. C. Dillion.

  “Dear spirits,” she whispered. “They’re the same hand.”

  “R. C. Dillion,” Alex said as he finally looked over at her. “R.C.—Radell Cain. He’s been right under my nose the whole time. He’s been there watching me, playing with me.”

  “Quite a stunning piece of work, isn’t it?” a woman in a tightly buttoned dark gray suit said as she came up to them, smiling, clasping her hands before herself.

  “You can’t imagine,” Alex said.

  “He’s an up-and-coming midwestern artist who is becoming a national figure at the forefront of a new reality in art.”

  Alex recognized the words Mr. Martin, the gallery owner back home in Orden, had used to describe R. C. Dillion. He wondered if R.C. himself had given them that description.

  “A new reality,” Alex repeated in a flat tone. “Yes, so I’ve heard. How much?”

  She was a little taken aback that he so immediately demanded the price. She fingered the small white collar folded over the suit at her throat as she ran figures through her head.

  “It’s well worth—”

  “How much are you willing to sell it for? Cash. Right now.”

  The woman smiled. “R. C. Dillion has recently arrived in town for a little rest and seclusion, he told me, and only just placed this with us. We’re honored he allowed us to offer one of his pieces. The price is twelve thousand dollars.”

  Doing his best to contain his rage, Alex pulled one of the fat envelopes stuffed with cash from his pocket. He started counting out one-hundred-dollar bills as the woman stood in mute shock to see him paying cash on the spot.

  It was the money from the settlement for the fire that had destroyed his grandfather’s house. Alex thought that Ben would have approved of what he was doing.

  When he had handed over the whole twelve thousand dollars, he asked, “Do you have a black magic marker? The fat kind, with permanent ink?”

  A little confused, she half turned and gestured toward an old oak desk sitting behind a furnace grate, back against the white plastered wall. “Why, yes, I believe I have one like you’re talking about. It’s the kind of marker we use to write signs for the window. Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes. May I borrow it, please?”

  The woman went to the desk and searched through a couple of drawers until she found the marker. She returned, her heel strikes echoing off the warped, wooden floor, and handed it over.

  Alex picked up the painting he now owned and in big letters across it wrote “R.C.—I will be at the gateway. Come and get me.” He signed it “Lord Rahl.”

  He handed the painting to the stunned woman. “Please give this to good old R.C. when he returns, will you? My treat.”

  The woman stood slack-jawed and speechless as Jax and Alex walked out.

  55.

  AFTER LOCKING THE GATE, Alex walked back to the truck. Beyond all the official signs on the other side of the formidable gate warning people not to enter the property, it felt as if he were standing in the narthex leading into a grand cathedral. In the uncanny quiet he looked around at the gloomy shadows, searching for any eyes that might be watching back.

  The highway was too far away for them to hear any traffic, if there was any. The remote road had been virtually deserted on the way up from Westfield. Once past a few clusters of camps and some logging roads, they had seen only a few trucks.

  Standing in the silent, ancient forest, Alex felt as if he were in another world.

  He could see by what lay ahead that the road into the property was hardly what he was used to thinking of as a road. It looked like little more than a cut though primordial woods. Here and there trees crowded in tight right up to the edge of the road. Out ahead lay an open chamber cast in the gloom beneath the big pines. The thick overcast and mist only added to the sense of foreboding.

  Immense trunks of monarch trees rose up through the underlying regions of the forest where only muted light penetrated. It was as if there were two worlds: the open, lush vegetation on the forest floor, and the world of the towering pines overhead. Nurseries
of small, waist-high spruce huddled in clusters here and there in the understory. Swaths of ferns nodded under falling drops of water combed from the mist by the pine needles above. The ferns creating feathery beds in places throughout the quiet forest floor lent an exotic, spicy aroma to the place.

  Alex climbed back in the Jeep and shut the door. Jax carefully watched out the side windows for any signs of trouble.

  “Can I ask you a question, Alex?”

  He turned the key and the Jeep started without him holding his breath, for once. “Sure.”

  “When you wrote on that painting, why did you sign it ‘Lord Rahl’?”

  Alex shrugged as he eased the truck ahead into the woods. “I don’t know. I thought it might rattle Cain, maybe distract him. For some reason it just felt like the right thing to do. Why?”

  “I just wondered, that’s all.”

  “Does it bother you, because of what it meant in the past?”

  “No. I don’t care so much about what went on in the past. I care about what’s happening now and what’s going to happen.”

  “I know,” Alex said, thinking about all the helpless, innocent victims who had died that day because of Radell Cain and his people.

  As they crawled along, moving ever deeper into the somber woods, Alex wondered what Jax was brooding about. Since it didn’t seem like she was going to say anything, he finally asked.

  “What’s going through your head, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  She stared out the side window for a time. She finally answered without looking at him.

  “I was just weighing the worth of worlds.”

  Alex glanced over at her. “What does that mean?”

  “I came here for a reason. I came to fulfill prophecy, to save the innocent people in my world from the threat looming over them.”

  Alex shrugged. “Go on.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A lot of people died today, Alex. What do you think I mean?”

  “You mean you’re thinking of quitting?”