Page 25

CHAPTER 25

Max

I arrive at London’s home at 10:00pm, carrying my backpack full of clothes I’ll need for work tomorrow. I climb the concrete steps to her front porch and knock on the door, waiting and listening. The house is quiet, which I expect at this hour, but oddly, the lights are off inside—strange since London was expecting me.

I pull out my phone and text London that I'm here, not wanting to ring the doorbell and possibly wake her grandmother. After a minute or so, London finally opens the door. “I thought you’d never get here,” she says.

I step inside and whisper, “Is Nana asleep?”

“London? Who are you sneaking into my house in the middle of the night?” Nana steps out from her first-floor bedroom. She's in a flowery housecoat with her hair in curlers, all tucked under a sleeping cap. Her limp seems worse since I last saw her, and she looks like she's shrunk a bit.

“Hi, Mrs. Banes,” I say, smiling.

“Where are my glasses?” she asks, feeling around on the decorative writing desk next to the stairway.

“They’re around your neck,” London tells her .

Nana pats her chest. “I always forget about that darn chain you got me for Christmas, dear.” After putting on her glasses, she lights up with a huge smile. “Maximo. It’s been too long since I’ve lain my tired eyes on your handsome face.” She reaches for me, and we embrace—her cheek pressed firmly to my chest.

I lean into the hug, missing my abuela.

She pulls away and playfully slaps my arm. “You know better than to call me Mrs. Banes. That was my late husband’s mother. I’ll always be Nana to you.”

“Thank you, Nana.” I give her another quick hug until London pulls at me to follow her upstairs.

“Max and I have to do some studying upstairs,” London explains.

“I thought finals were over. Didn’t you say you passed that exam?” Nana cocks her head, giving London the side-eye. “Don’t lie to me now.”

“She means we have some studying to do for work,” I quickly say. “I have a big new exhibit I’m helping put together at the museum. Have you seen the advertising for the King Tut Exhibition?”

Nana claps her hands together, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, Maximo. I am so proud of you. I knew once you had your foot in the door at that big stuffy museum, they’d be needing your help to keep it going.”

I feel my cheeks warm. “I don’t know about all that, but the King Tutankhamun Show and Exhibition is set to open in a couple of weeks and there’s a ton of work still to do to get it ready. London’s been helping me learn as much of the history as possible so I can impress my boss.” It’s not a total lie. London is going to help me research, and there is history involved; I just leave out the part about it being my own personal history and the madman who’s after me .

Nana shushes us toward the stairs. “You two have fun now.”

“Thank you.” I smile and start up the steps.

“Don’t forget though,” Nana calls after us. “This old house has creaky floors and I’m tired. Don’t keep me up all night with you two dancing to Madonna or some other new jive you call music these days.”

Madonna? “I give you my word,” I assure her, hand on my heart. “We’ll keep it down… sleep well.”

She blows us a kiss and hobbles slowly back toward her bedroom.

“I love her,” I whisper to London as we reach the second-floor landing.

“She’s something special. You know what she told me about you?” London asks as we continue to her room.

“About me?” I inquire.

She nods, opening her room door. “She told me that if I were ever to get pregnant, she hopes it’s yours.”

I make a face. “I thought she knew I was gay.”

“Oh, she does,” London replies as she shuts the door. “But she said we’d make beautiful babies… not like her best friend Natasha’s grandkids, who she refers to as unfortunate.”

I stifle a laugh. “She’s hilarious.”

London sits in front of her computer. “Pull up a chair.”

I slide the rocking chair next to her and sit. “Before we start, I have to tell you something. I went for coffee with Ben, and it went really well.”

“Uh, huh,” London responds, distracted.

“It wasn’t easy, but I told him pretty much everything. Well, not everything… but more than I’ve told anyone other than you in a very long time.”

“Uh, huh,” she repeats.

“Are you even listening to me?” I ask. “You were the one who wanted details, and now you seem distracted. ”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve heard a single word you’ve said… I have some crazy stuff to get to and you’re not going to be thinking about your date either in a minute.”

“You’re making me nervous,” I admit. “What did you find? Is this the stuff you had to show me in person?”

London pulls out her laptop and sets it on the desk next to the desktop monitor. The screens sync. “I’m going to use both computers to help hide our location.”

“Really?”

“That’s the simplified version, yes.” She nods. “I was online earlier, around the time I called you to come over. Someone was tracking me. I did everything I could to evade them. Pretty sure I managed to, but it was close.”

“Who was it? Were you able to track them back?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, shaking her head. Turning to me, her expression hardens. “Whoever it was knew their way around firewalls, were able to track through my virtual private network, and no matter how many times I added a new layer of cloning protection, they found me. I was so busy running from them I wasn’t able to determine who they were.”

“You’re the techiest tech I know. Who the hell was able to track you? This is getting crazy. Where were you when you first noticed them?” I ask. “Maybe we can figure out who they are by where they found you?”

“That’s a possibility.” She taps commands into the computer as screen after screen pops up on the monitors. “I’m hoping that by utilizing both computers at the same time, it’ll increase my processing speed to avoid whoever it is. One thing’s for sure, a newer, faster computer is on my list for Santa this year.”

“Good idea.”

The computers are now up and running as she types in a few commands. “That should give us a little more time,” she says, tapping one last key. The screen flips past three more screens before a search engine I don't recognize pops up on the monitor. “When they found me last time, I was in deep.”

“Where?”

“The dark web… as you like to call it. I’d found someone in Russia who was a member of this crazy underground cult that worshipped serial killers.”

“Worshipped?” My stomach churns. “What is wrong with people?”

“The cool thing about this Russian dude is he infiltrated the cult to write a documentary about them. Apparently, his own sister had gotten caught up with these freaks and he was looking for a way to get her out.”

“Is this secret group based in Russia? Is everyone in the group worshipping The Butcher?”

“No, no. This cult has many serial killers amongst their ranks, even ones the law-abiding citizens of the world have yet to hear about. The interesting thing about the cult is it’s not based anywhere, really. They have followers all around the globe, which I find terrifying to even think about.”

“Wow, that is scary.”

“Anyway, this Russian hacker is badass from what I can tell. One of the reasons he has been so successful breaching the community of psychos is he’s Russian.”

“I’m a little surprised,” I say. “What does being a Russian have to do with it?”

“Well, they’ve got some of the most sophisticated hacking capabilities in the world, and since their government doesn’t mind them breaking the law, as long as they’re hacking US targets, it’s a no-brainer.” London types: Followers of Kali into the search bar.

“Who is Kali?”

“I had to search that on the web as well. Apparently, Kali is one of the most blood-thirsty gods in the world. These people named their cult after a god that quite literally, drinks the blood of his victims.”

The dark web search page suddenly disappears, and her screen goes black.

“What happened?” I ask.

“For some reason this happened last time. It didn’t last long,” she says as the screen flashes white and then scrolls with numbers. She hits the escape key, holding it along with the control and shift keys. The scrolling numbers abruptly come to a stop. “Here we go.”

The letters on the screen change from English to Cyrillic. “Great, now what?” I ask.

London types in a series of commands and a document icon shows up in the middle of the screen. She double clicks it and waits for it to open. “Come on, little computer, you got this.”

As soon as she finishes speaking, page after page opens on the computer. “Damn, look at all this.” I lean in to get a better look. Old black and white photographs appear. Estimating from the style of the clothes the people wore, it was the late 1800s. A man dressed in an old Confederate general’s uniform stood arm in arm with a gentleman in a suit from that time period. “Who are they?”

London leans in and begins examining the photograph. “There doesn’t appear to be anything written on it to indicate who they are… wait a second.” She taps a few keys, and the image changes to a negative image. As soon as it changes, faint lettering becomes visible.

“Is that from the back side of the photograph?” I ask.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “It seems more like a type of ink that must not be as visible when looking at it in normal view.”

“It says General Lee and Thomas Kingsley.”

“Thomas Kingsley?” London says. “Let me see what I can find about him.” She taps away on the computer while I sit back and wait, my brain working overtime to figure out who the man was. “Here we go.”

I sit up.

“Thomas Kingsley was a famous historian back during the Civil War era. Southern gentleman, with lots of money. No frigging way.”

“What?”

“Says here he was part of an underground cult.”

“Really?” I cock my head. “Could that be like the Followers of Kali? Did they even have serial killers back then?”

“Keep reading,” she says. “It says Kingsley was a southern gentleman who was obsessed with those who killed. Not those who killed for the Confederacy, but those who killed for the pleasure of it. Sounds pretty much like a serial killer to me.” She turns to look at me.

“What else does it say? Was he simply interested in wanting to know what makes people tick or was he the one killing?”

London turns back to the computer. She scrolls through page after page of images that are both fascinating and awful. Kingsley took photos of himself standing next to soldiers who’d died in battle. In some of the pictures, the soldier appeared to still be alive, and Kingsley stood next to him smiling as if he’d just downed an exotic beast on safari.

She clears her throat and shakes her head. “Wow, according to this document, Kingsley was rumored to have spent hours walking through battlefields looking for soldiers who’d not succumbed to their injuries. Rather than rendering them aid, it says he documented their injuries and then…” London puts a hand to her mouth.

“And then… what?” I ask.

“He would pinch their throats, closing off their breathing.” She swallows hard. “Kingsley would kill for the pleasure of feeling their last breath in his hands—earning him the nickname, The Devil’s Hand.”

“That sick bastard,” I say. “I wonder if the Followers of Kali have been around ever since Kingsley started his killing spree?”

We scan through some more of the pictures, looking for more clues. Something that would tell us about the whereabouts of the cult members now, or at the very least a list of members.

“I don’t see anything in here that would indicate who is a current member of the group.” London continues to scroll through pages of information and photographs when she abruptly stops.

“What’s wrong?”

London sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Can’t be. No way.”

“What?” My blood pressure rises. “You’re making me nervous.”

“What is that?” She points at the background image in a portrait of Kingsley.

“A desk or something?” I squint at the screen.

“No, on the desk.”

I lean in to get a better look. “Are you able to enhance the image?”

London enlarges the image of the painting, runs a scan of it through a software program, and sits back and waits. Before our eyes, the pixilated photograph begins to clear.

“Right there,” London says. “Next to Thomas Kingsley.”

Sitting on a table is a large ankh. London zooms in further on the photograph.

My pulse starts to race. “Coincidence?”

She shakes her head, the look of pity on her face making me want to scream, but what else could I expect from her? From anyone, for that matter? No one would fully understand what I’ve been through unless they went through it themselves, and I didn’t wish that upon anyone.

“I’m absolutely sick over this for you,” London says. “What should we do? We have to figure out where The Butcher or his crazy asshole followers are so we can stop them.”

“I don’t have any idea where to start.” I look off in the distance. London has two black and white photographs on her wall next to the closet.

They remind me of photos taken through a telephoto lens during the Cold War espionage era. I’m about to ask who is in the photograph when it hits me. Pulling out my phone, I say, “I almost forgot. I was in Dr. Nakamura’s office today to get a package that was left for me, and I found an envelope with photos of me inside.”

“What? Weird. Why would she have pics of you?” London looks disgusted, as if Catherine was a lecherous old predator after me.

“I don’t know, but I snapped a few of my own so I could look at them later.”

“Let me see.” She holds out her hand.

I give her the phone. “Don’t swipe right too far.” I laugh.

“Trust me. After last time, I learned my lesson.” She connects her computer to my phone and syncs the images so we can view them on the bigger screen.

“I think we need to determine where I was in each of these photos so we can narrow down the search. Los Angeles is huge, but I don’t leave my little area too often.”

London points at the screen. “Is that outside the museum? In the parking lot?”

“Yes! Judging by the shirt I was wearing, it was probably taken two days ago. I was walking out to my car, and I felt someone following me. When I turned around, I swear I saw a shadowy figure. Scared the shit out of me, actually.”

She flips to another picture and squints at the screen, her eyebrows knitted together. “Taco Caliente?”

I lean in and feel my eyes go wide. “The accident. Remember how I pulled that girl from the vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“Once I got back to my car, there was an ankh hanging from my side mirror.”

“Okay,” London says. “We know someone is stalking you. They know all your usual places. Two questions need answering now.”

“Which are?”

“Who is taking the photos and why does your boss have copies of them?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea, but when I was eavesdropping on her phone call, she sounded like she was talking to the FBI. Maybe, they shared them with her. Why? I don’t know.”

“The only link so far between The Followers of Kali and The Butcher is the damn ankh symbol,” London points out. “But honestly, that’s enough for me. It’s too big of a coincidence not to be, right?”

I nod. “I think it’s our safest bet to assume they are linked.”

“Shit,” London says. “Look, my computer is being tracked. This is what happened last time.” She types in commands faster than I can even think. “How the fuck did they find me again?”

“Who?”

“Whoever did it last time, I’m guessing.” She taps a few more commands but throws up her hands. “I can’t stop them… they’ve taken control of my computer.”

“They’re accessing your hard drive,” I say.

She undocks the laptop and powers it down. The monitor on the desktop keeps flashing, the cursor moving and accessing her files unimpeded. London drops down to the floor and yanks the wires from the terminal and from the wall.

“Did they access your personal information?” I ask. “Do you think they might know who and where we are?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think they were able to gain full access. A few more seconds and they would have my address, phone number, internet passwords, and banking information—among other stuff.”

“Damn,” I say. “That was close.” My pounding heart begins to slow as the adrenaline flushes from my veins. I stand to stretch and suggest we get some sleep.

London’s phone buzzes. “What the fuck?”

“What?”

She steps over to the window and peeks out the blinds. “Something tripped my security cameras. My proximity alert system said there was movement, but the feed didn’t show anyone.” London turns the screen off and back on. “That’s not good.”

“What?” I cock my head to the side, the hairs on the back of my neck tickling me as they stand on end.

“My cell isn’t getting a signal.” She turns to face me, her eyes wide with concern. “Someone is jamming our cell service.”

The lights go dark, even the display on her alarm clock is blank.

Shit. Someone cut the power.