The Dead Don't Dream

Chapter 1Late September 2017 Ian didn’t care anymore. Assignments came to his door. Manila envelopes, hand-delivered by Katherine’s men. They never made eye contact; instead, they scurried away like rats on a sinking ship. Once he’d completed his assignments, Ian called Katherine to deliver the news. Meanwhile, Ian used the time to inquire about his group, but she refused to answer his questions. Soon, Ian stopped asking and started planning. But in between, blood. So much blood. Ian relished it, wanting to destroy the world with his bare hands until nothing remained. Finally, Katherine had ripped away the last stubborn remains of his humanity, stripping him naked and leaving Ian exposed like a wound. Tonight’s assignment, Derek Campbell. After building a vast drug empire out of Boston, he’d brought his dealings into Manhattan. He and his crew had done well for themselves, at first. But, before long, they’d pissed off the other scumbags, who didn’t appreciate a group of upstarts cutting into their earnings. So, unfortunately for them, Ian’s job now was to take their group apart, piece by piece. Campbell, the first domino to fall. Ian tracked him to his mistress’s apartment in Queens. Ian waited, biding his time while the man disappeared inside his lady’s condo. Campbell emerged hours later, drunk and strutting, with a stupid, pleased grin. Of course, as a ruthless enforcer, he should have been more careful. But the few bodyguards he kept close by had been easy enough for Ian to dispose of, each of them out of shape, former NYPD types. Once his target was unconscious and bound in the trunk of his car, Ian headed towards Long Island Sound. He had access to an empty warehouse where he and Campbell could be alone, nice and cozy. But dragging an unconscious man pushing two-fifty out of the trunk of a town car was no simple task. Ian grunted and heaved and pulled. Until, at last, he had Campbell right where he wanted him, tied to a chair and ready for questioning. Fortunately, Campbell remained knocked out for the duration. Soon, Ian grew tired of waiting for him to wake up. In the dark, the quiet was when the voices came back. He needed the adrenaline, the distraction, the taste of danger. Later, when he was alone again, there’d be plenty of time for the dark and the voices. His voice. One stiff punch to the jaw snapped Campbell awake. The sound of bone on bone was startlingly loud. A resounding thwack ricocheted off the metal walls. Campbell gasped, choking, blood pooling around his shirt. The shock on his face was nearly comical when he found himself tied up in a dark and dilapidated warehouse. The only clue to his whereabouts were the waves rocking against the dock, the traffic from the interstate, ready to drown out his screams. He took one look at Ian, dressed from head to toe in black, glaring at him from the other side of the room. And Campbell probably figured out he wasn’t getting out of this alive. Campbell was a burly, bearded guy with shoulders as broad and thick as his neck. His dark, beady eyes reminded Ian of a kicked and angry dog. And like the snarling junkyard dog he resembled, his bark was worse than his bite. But it didn’t stop him from hurling threats and insults. Promises to have Ian cut into pieces and have his family fed alive to rats. He certainly talked a big game for a man who wouldn’t see daylight. He was still determined to keep up the tough-guy routine even once Ian broke every finger on his right hand. One after the other, until Campbell begged him to stop, gagging and struggling. But still resisting giving away his secrets. Ian snapped a few more on his left hand for good measure, a sick thrill racing up his spine at the pain he inflicted. And the darkness in him remained appeased, satisfied for now. This isn’t who you are, Adam pleaded in his head. You’re not a monster. Oh, yes, I am. But the need for suffering, building over the last several weeks, retreated for a time. The more Ian attempted to ignore it, the more blood it would demand. And so the cycle continued, leaving Ian impotent with unspent rage. “Please,” Campbell begged. “No more, no more.” “Are you going to tell me what I want to know?” Campbell shook his head, face beet red, vomit and sweat staining his expensive suit. “Well, looks like we keep going.” Ian reached for the knife tucked into his boot. “Might be a little dull, but we can make it work.” The man’s eyes flashed with panic. “No, please.” “Wrong answer.” Ian seized his wrist and jerked forward while his captive howled in pain. Each finger left gnarled and misshapen, dangling like loose and withered leaves. Don’t do this, Ian. Please don’t. “Not now, Adam,” Ian mumbled. “Not now.” He banished Adam’s voice, the image of his panic-stricken face, and got to work. Bone was never easy to cut through, even with the sharpest knife. But his prisoner, squirming and fighting to escape, made the task even more difficult. With the first finger, Campbell cracked, secrets spilling out like a dying sinner in a confessional booth. But Ian wasn’t his priest. There would be no salvation, no mercy—only a well-placed bullet behind his ear once he’d given Ian everything. While he disposed of the body, he called Katherine and gave her the information. She didn’t thank him for his quick work of her orders. Only a cold and disinterested, “Your next assignment will be along shortly.” He cleaned up with the help of a garden hose, washing the blood from his hands, desperate to scrub them clean. But Campbell’s blood stayed embedded in the lines of his palms, under his fingernails. No matter how hard he washed, the stains remained. This isn’t the answer. You know it’s not. “Why? Do you have a better idea?” Ian headed back into the city, foot heavy on the pedal, daring fate to put him out of his misery. But of course, God didn’t hear a f*****g word he said. * * * * Ages passed since Adam had seen the sun. Alone and locked away, only his thoughts kept him company. His only companions, faceless guards, came in and out, leaving him food. They never said a word. Life became a vacuum, a void where seconds lasted an eternity. But in reality, it’d been weeks since the night on the docks when Ian showed up with Katherine’s men to take Adam back to the mansion, back to imprisonment. Adam’s anger had been explosive, a fuse lit only to fizzle out quickly once the truth sank in. Someone else, not Ian, had given them away. But he’d been furious. Freedom had almost been within his sights. They had been so close to escaping, the possibility of new dreams, close enough to taste. It would have been a chance for both to start over. But Adam should have known it wouldn’t be as easy as Ian hoped, not for them anyway. And ever since, nothing but time to think and wonder where Ian was now? Did he believe Adam when he said he’d never wanted to speak to him again, wanted nothing to do with him? Why couldn’t he have one last moment to tell Ian how sorry he was and how wrong? The door to his room in the mansion opened, not so much as a polite knock of warning. Oliver stepped into the room. His hulking frame and ugly, smug face made Adam’s sick crawl. “She wants to see you.” Adam said nothing, following him to Katherine’s room. Handfuls of scattered guards lined the hallways as he passed, ever since his return from the docks, more and more of them every visit. Oliver ushered Adam into her room and closed the door behind him. Three more guards lingered by the doorway, avoiding eye contact. Finally, Katherine directed him to the seat in front of her desk. She looked different. Adam tried to put his finger on what was amiss. He noted her usually styled chignon; now, hastily done, a few loose strands slipped free. Adam sat, leveling her with a hundred-yard stare, but he said nothing. To her credit, she didn’t flinch from the fury of his stony gaze. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself,” she observed. Her arrogant, authoritarian tone made Adam’s skin crawl. “Why do you insist on making things difficult?” Adam didn’t answer her, focusing out the window. The gray-blue sky ahead, the leaves turning, intoxicated. Somehow, fall had come, and he’d never known it. “The sooner you move on, the sooner we can put this ridiculousness behind us.” Adam’s head snapped back in her direction. “Stop trying to manipulate me. I’m not Ian. I know better.” He wanted to tear her face into pieces and smash her smug grin into dust. “Even now, I suppose you think yourself clever with your feeble attempts at seduction.” Adam raised an eyebrow, unable to hide his smirk. “Oh, I did more than attempt to.” “And for what?” Katherine returned with a disgusted sneer, simmering rage clearly boiling over. “In the end, you whored yourself for nothing.” “I’ve never whored myself to anyone. I love Ian, and he loves me.” Adam fired back with as much conviction as he could muster. But did Ian love him? He’d never said those words but— “Enough. You know nothing. Just as in the dark…” She grew quiet as if she’d said too much, then, “Despite your pathetic notions, Ian’s loyalty lies as it always has with us.” “You’re lying. I don’t know who told you or how you found out. But I know it wasn’t Ian,” he shot back, enjoying as his every word hit home. “He never told you shit.” “Here you are, still angry, combative as if you have some cards left to play in all this. Well, you don’t, my dear.” She lifted her chin towards the guards, getting their attention. “Bring him back to his room. This one has more thinking to do.” * * * * Once done with Campbell and back at the apartment, Ian stripped and bagged his bloody clothes for disposal. Then, after his shower, he got to work drinking—leftovers from his third bottle of whisky in less than a week. Most mornings, he woke with a nasty hangover, head pounding, nauseous and dizzy. But better than the alternative—long sleepless nights spent tossing until dawn. Nights spent on his back, staring up at the ceiling, haunted by Adam’s face. Phantom traces of Adam’s scent trapped in the folds and creases of his bedsheets, his memories. Adam’s voice, teary and heartbroken, begging him for answers. How could you do this to me? Again? After his and Adam’s thwarted escape efforts, Katherine’s men deposited him at the studio in the city. There, they left him alone, powerless, and defeated. They warned him not to return to the mansion in no uncertain terms. They even stripped him of his cell phone and electronics. Every phone number he’d memorized for the group was no longer in service, every email address erased. As if they’d never existed at all. Endless questions tortured him: Where was Adam now? Had she hurt him? So Ian sat and drank, waited because, as Katherine had made clear, he didn’t have a choice. On the third day of his exile, the door to the apartment slammed open. To Ian’s surprise, five of Katherine’s guards swooped in and cleared a path for the lady herself. It stunned Ian to see her outside the mansion’s walls. Her appearance was at odds with the rundown apartment, dressed in her regal finery, her vast array of diamonds. Her nose wrinkled with distaste as she surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye. “Katherine—” “You are not to speak,” she cut him off. “Gentlemen.” The flood of men at her beck and call surged like a crashing wave. They seized Ian by his arms, shoving him against the wall. Ian tested their strength, pushing back. But they slammed him again, his skull hitting the drywall, dazing him. His vision whited out before slowly returning, spotty around the edges. He came to, his chin gripped between Katherine’s bright red nails, sharp as daggers. They held him in place, daring him to look away. “Stop fighting,” she ordered. “Now.” Ian did so. Slumped forward, defeated. Her men kept him in place. Not so much as an inch of breathing space. Katherine leaned in close, getting in his face. “I know you can get out of that hold and kill me and everyone else. But you won’t. And do you know how I know you won’t? Because you’re weak. Just like your father.” Vomit rose in Ian’s throat as twisted emotions, fear and rage battled for control. But she had been right. Lashing out would get him nowhere. He had too much to lose. “We understand each other, yes?” Katherine didn’t wait for his reply. “Now, you are to stay put until further notice. There will be drastic consequences if you attempt to contact anyone or return to the mansion. Nod your head if you hear me.” He did so. “Good. Oliver will fill you in on the details.” Katherine swept out of the room with two men following close behind. The rest relaxed their hold, backing away as if he’d tear their heads off their shoulders. Ian squinted to read the time over the stove—four A.M. He’d sat there in the dark, drinking for three hours. His knuckles ached, split, and bloodied. But Ian liked the pain, needed the pain, flexing his hand repeatedly. Each throb brought blissful relief. Then, for a second, no more. Ian lowered his head, his fists buried in his hair. A part of him imagined leaving and driving as far as the open road allowed him. He imagined disappearing to a remote place so deep in the wilderness no one would ever find him. But fear and love, weakness, held him back. He wished Adam were here with him. Maybe now he’d understand how love ruined everything. And Ian couldn’t escape from it, from any of them, if he tried.