One In A Million (The Millionth Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “Or what?”

  “An adjacent room?”

  Napoleon was incredulous. “You think he had accomplices?”

  “I mean, how else?”

  “Shit. The press is going to blow a huge wad over this if it gets out.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “We start asking the hotel guys questions about walk-in sized microwave ovens brought into the hotel, into another room… because it wasn’t in the crime scene room… and about guests registered on that floor that night… because the elevator video footage doesn’t show her hopping around from floor to floor. I mean, it’s TMZ time.”

  Napoleon was impressed: Parker had taken out his notepad and was reviewing his notes from the hotel.

  “Yep. And the cap wants to talk to you.”

  “I bet he does.”

  “Nap?” She sounded worried.

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful on this one, ese.”

  “¿Por qué?”

  “They’re jonesing to wrap this up fast. Get an arrest. Let the DA fill in the answers later. This whole place is buzzing like a struck beehive.”

  “Yeah. I hear you. But, Beech… you didn’t finish.”

  “What?”

  “You shut yourself up. You suggested accomplices, now you’re just moving right along.”

  This time there was a very long silence before she replied. “You’re gonna think I’m nuts.”

  “Oh. Please. We’re well past that point. If you were anyone else but you right now, I would think you were a certifiable drug abuser and I’d be asking for your supervisor.”

  “He’d tell you the same thing, albeit reluctantly. We’re all tripping on this one.”

  Napoleon looked at Parker sitting there, concentrating so hard on his notes, and suddenly felt bad. In a few minutes Napoleon would have to inform him that his very first case out of foot patrol was one that was likely to end his career.

  Cap was a rat bastard. He’d kept the two of them on this case because if the investigation went south, and odds were that it would, then he’d have his patsies to blame. One a burned-out old detective nearing the end of his career, and the other a greenhorn rookie who was just getting started. They were like lambs to the slaughter. All so the captain could cover his own ass and make his way to his pension.

  Beecher forged on. “I’ve seen this guy on the news, this Fasano guy. I don’t figure him for a Charles Manson type, but the only way this plays out is with multiple perps, like a cult, or worse…”

  It didn’t end. The more Beecher spoke, the more Napoleon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A cult?”

  Evidently, Parker had had enough. He put his hands out in his best Robert De Niro pose, his face a tangled mass of confusion, as if to say “Whaaaaaat?”

  “Yes,” Beecher finished, “I know. Don’t even ask. We have no proof of anything. A body that makes no sense, a crime scene that makes less sense. I’m just guessing, and I don’t like that. It’s not my job. But you’re asking.”

  Napoleon popped his jaw socket and sighed. “So spit it out.”

  “As far as we can tell, nothing was carved in what we had left of the body. No candles in the room. No… shit, I’ll just say it. If I’m right, I have them pegged for devil worshipers.”

  “Oh, man. You’ve got to be kidding me. Why?”

  “The sulfur.”

  “The sulfur?”

  “There’s another name for it, brimstone, and most of them use it in their rituals.”

  For the first time in a long time, Napoleon was speechless. This was all crazy, and yet Beecher was not. The facts were a mess, yes. But he was on the phone with one of the best people in forensics, who was painting some broad strokes, yes, but she was doing so with conviction in her voice. As if she knew “A” and “Z,” but was at a loss as to how to fill in the rest of the alphabet.

  “So you think Kyle Fasano is a devil worshipper?”

  “The only thing missing is a pentagram,” Beecher replied.

  “Man, Beech, if this is the best you got, then I’m beyond jacked on this one.”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “You got anything else?”

  “Not much. He was in the room. She was in the room. Fingerprints everywhere. The fingertips on the vic show she was desperate as hell to get out of there, though.”

  “How so?”

  “The claw marks on the back of the hotel door.”

  Napoleon scoffed. “Those weren’t from fingernails. Those were gouges. Deep-ass gouges.”

  “Exactly. And a lot of the wood of that door, from those gouges? It was under the vic’s nails.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Napoleon said.

  “Quite the opposite, I think,” Beecher replied glumly. “It looks like she felt she was in that room with the devil himself.”

  WHEN KYLE AWOKE, it was to the kiss of cool salty air blowing in off the sea. Yawning, he realized that he felt better than he had in days. Rolling over, he looked up through the branches of a tree spread out like wings above him. His head still seemed to be a bit foggy, because he knew he should know what type of tree this was but he couldn’t recall it.

  He heard The Gray Man’s voice. “Cypress.”

  Sitting up, Kyle looked over his shoulder. The Gray Man was seated casually in his suit, with his back against the trunk of the tree and looking odd without his hat, which was set on the grass next to him. His hair was white and parted neatly over his right eye.

  “Good morning,” Kyle said.

  “And the same to you. Though it’s nearly noon.”

  “I feel like I’ve slept for two days.”

  “Not quite. You managed a good seventeen hours, though.”

  “Man.”

  “You needed it.”

  “Obviously.” Kyle stretched, goading his muscles and tendons awake, and rubbed his eyes. “Man. I had the weirdest dream.”

  The Gray Man looked over at him. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I was sleeping in the stars or something.”

  A slight smile crossed The Gray Man’s face. “Really? Imagine that.”

  “Was I?”

  A bigger smile this time. “You ask it like a child. I remember such days. Barely. But to answer your question, yes.”

  Kyle looked up at the pale blue sky, one low cloud after another drifting past the sun on the horizon, and wondered aloud, “How?”

  The Gray Man nodded gently and followed Kyle’s gaze out over the sea. “Normally, none of you see it, and some of you will never see it; but the difference between here and there is barely a thought… and hardly more than a dream.”

  Kyle blinked. “You were with people. People like you.”

  The Gray Man seemed impressed. “So you saw them as well?” he replied, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows.

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “We’re not meant to be seen like that.”

  “They were standing next to you. You were all talking about stuff, I don’t remember what exactly, but I thought I heard you say my wife’s name.”

  The smile slipped off The Gray Man’s face. After reaching down to grab his hat, he began to crease the edges. “So you heard us too? Hmm. Amazing.”

  Kyle stood to stretch his back. His stomach moaned. He was hungry, but intrigued. “Why? I wasn’t supposed to?”

  The Gray Man stood as well, then leaned a shoulder against the tree and folded his arms, his hat still in one hand. “You are a special one, Kyle Fasano.”

  “What?”

  “To see me is one thing, and to see my compatriots as well means your vision is already expanding. To understand our language, which has driven prophets mad at times, is quite another thing entirely.”

  A young couple was walking, hand in hand, down a nearby path, taking no note of Kyle or The Gray Man whatsoever. They stopped and kissed one another gently, causing a pang in Kyle’s heart.

  Kyle took a deep breath of sea air through his nostrils, the sle
ep in his eyes beginning to fade. “So what does it all mean?”

  “Oh, my, young man, I wish I knew. I thought I knew. But you are one new revelation after another.”

  “Great. But still, you’ve gotta give me something here, Gray, to get my head around.”

  “Fine. But I think taking baby steps is the best method. The men I was with? They are like me. We do what we do. Someday you may understand the process that we are going through, but for right now, again, baby steps. We wander this earth. Others, like that woman on the bus or your diner buddies, do their thing as well. But we all have limitations, some of us more than others. We’re not all-knowing or all-seeing. Only God has that much omniscience and omnipresence. And there are now forces in play.”

  “Forces?”

  “You know which forces they are. It’s just easier not to think about them, about us, or, at least, you perceive it as more fun not to.”

  The Gray Man put on his hat, pointed at Kyle to pick up his duffel bag and motioned for him to follow.

  “Where we going?”

  “To that bakery over there,” The Gray Man replied, pointing across the street from a semi-busy intersection to a small shop with outdoor seating, “for some coffee. And I think I’ll sneak in a piece of pie.”

  As they came out from beneath the shade of the tree, Kyle immediately felt what could only be described as their arrival, or their transition, back into the real world. Around them were tourists with cameras, locals walking their dogs, and kids on skateboards. It was a nice, sunny day but a few people, here or there, suddenly noticed them; by their reactions, Kyle became aware once again that he badly needed a shave and change of clothes, but more than that he realized the sight of an older gentleman in a full suit on such a warm, perfect day seemed to stand out even more.

  “It’s Sunday, right? They’ll probably figure you for a pastor or something.”

  The Gray Man chuckled. “Me? A pastor? Well… if it helps us make our way to a late breakfast, so be it.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we’ll get you into the YMCA a few blocks away, where you can have a hot shower and change into those clothes in your bag. Because if I look like a pastor to these poor people it’s only because they think I’m helping a homeless man.”

  Kyle didn’t argue. He could actually smell himself. “And then?”

  “Then you take a bus to the Starbucks at Cannery Row, in Monterey. There, you will find her.”

  They sat down outside the bakery and were helped by the waiter, a calm silence ensuing between them. Kyle wanted his answers, but right now he was willing to wait. He watched The Gray Man out of the corner of his eye with mild fascination. He was reading the local paper word for word, and when the person next to them left behind a copy of The New York Times, he scooped that up and read it as well, column by column, page by page, even stopping to look at some of the car ads and coupons.

  He’s been here before. He used to be one of us. Human, Kyle thought. And a lot has changed since then. A lot. What a trip. Even more of a trip was Kyle’s feeling that his thoughts were “closed” now, solely his own, and not even The Gray Man could know them anymore.

  People in jeans, shorts and t-shirts—some having casual conversations, some holding ice-cream cones and others texting on cell phones—passed in front of them.

  The Gray Man ordered coffee and two slices of pie, one apple and one blueberry. Kyle followed suit with the coffee but was famished; he ordered a Denver omelet with a side of pancakes.

  After finishing his cup of coffee and inhaling his food, Kyle pushed his plate away and let out a long sigh to remind The Gray Man he was there.

  After looking up, The Gray Man nodded. “Anyway, to go back for a second, the men I was speaking with last night had information for me, and I had information for them.”

  “Why? What kind of information?”

  “We’re each working our… respective corners, as it were. And so we help each other.”

  “Corners?”

  The Gray Man folded the paper and put it aside. He drank down the rest of his coffee. “Yes. Think of us as sort of like…”

  “Cops?” Kyle interjected.

  The Gray Man moved his head from side to side as if to wiggle the definition into place, and then gave a short nod. “In a sense, yes.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Kyle figured there was no harm in saying it now. “I gotta be honest. I had you pegged as my guardian angel.”

  A broad smile came over The Gray Man’s face, but he said nothing. Instead he changed the subject. “You asked about Tamara?”

  “Yes.”

  “She was indeed part of our conversation.”

  “Why?”

  The Gray Man motioned to the waiter for the check. “Because your use of your powers, of the blue, has changed things.”

  “How so?”

  “The original idea was to get you through the process as covertly as possible, to not jeopardize the mission. You’ve dealt with some minor players thus far, but that’s it.”

  “Minor?” Kyle thought of the boy on the bike—his feral nature, his strength—and shuddered.

  “Yes. The other side talks as well, Kyle. The game is afoot and all parties are in play.”

  “What are you saying?”

  The Gray Man looked hesitant.

  A feeling of dread and panic overcame Kyle. “Tamara? You mean she’s in danger? I have to—”

  “Do nothing,” The Gray Man said flatly, plainly and with a tone of finality.

  “You can’t mean that!”

  “You have to focus on the mission.”

  “No. I can’t. What are you saying here?”

  The Gray Man looked Kyle dead in the eye. “I’m saying that everyone has their own demons to face, Kyle Fasano. You all do.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “You can’t fight this battle for her. No one can.”

  It took a moment for the words to register in Kyle’s mind. “Can? You mean, it’s something that’s going to happen?”

  “Yes.”

  Worry washed over him, and Kyle felt his blood pressure rise. “Why?”

  The Gray Man was silent.

  “Gray?”

  “Because word has spread. The manifestation of your powers changes everything, and now they will stop at nothing to stop you. That includes trying to find a way to get you to run back home, right into a trap. In which case you wouldn’t be able to help her anyway.”

  Putting his face in his hands, Kyle rubbed his fingertips against his temples. Maybe The Gray Man was right, maybe Kyle couldn’t help Tamara, but he had to try. “I don’t care about this whole millionth thing anymore. Screw it. If I’m damned for it, so be it. I’m going home. If something happens to her, then I’d rather be dead anyways.”

  The air around them stood still, as if the dust particles and oxygen molecules had paused in place.

  “You can’t mean that,” The Gray Man replied, shaking his head.

  “Yes! Yes I do!”

  “Nearly a million people could lose a chance at discovering their own desire for repentance, you would be dead and Tamara would be either dead or corrupted for life, ruined, crushed and heartbroken… because of what?”

  Kyle felt the tears welling in his eyes. “Because…” He swallowed hard.

  “Of what? Of guilt? Is it all still about you, Kyle?”

  “No! It’s not. It’s because I love her. Don’t you understand?” Kyle shouted. He was beyond emotional. It didn’t matter though. The patrons next to them, the waiter and the street traffic were all frozen. They’d stepped outside the doors of time again, but Kyle had felt it right when it had happened this time, when those dust particles had lost their motion.

  The Gray Man seemed to take measure of Kyle, and then he looked away with a nod, as if what he’d seen had confirmed his thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, Gray,” Kyle wiped at his eyes. “You’ve picked the wrong man. I can’t do this.”

  �
�First off, I didn’t pick you. Someone else did. And, last time I checked, He seems to know what He’s doing, Kyle.”

  Kyle said nothing.

  “You have to trust in that, Kyle. In Him. Or the whole thing falls apart. Completely. For everyone. Do you understand?”

  Kyle nodded gently. But he knew in his heart he wasn’t ready.

  A look of sadness crossed The Gray Man’s face. Then he continued. “Our meeting last night was to figure out a way to protect her going forward.”

  “How?” Kyle asked, feeling a sliver of hope creep into his voice.

  “I’m going. I have to leave you. My job is to help you. I’m not supposed to leave your side, but I don’t see how you will pull this off if your mind is only half here, half on this mission.”

  Kyle rubbed a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “And?”

  “So I’m going to go help with Tamara. Do you at least trust me, Kyle?”

  Kyle looked up at The Gray Man and nodded.

  “So it’s settled. I’ll get you into the Y. From there, it’s up to you to take the bus to Monterey. From there, you’ll go to the Starbucks on Cannery Row. Victoria goes there almost every morning. She owns a business on the pier, right down the street. Got it?”

  Kyle nodded and looked intently at The Gray Man. “You’ll protect Tamara, right? You promise me?”

  The Gray Man nodded firmly.

  “Then what?” Kyle asked.

  The air began to move around them again, ever so slightly. “You’ll figure it out. You have to, because I won’t be there to help.”

  “Okay. But what’s going to happen? I don’t understand.”

  “You are a one. I, we, can only help you get to your final moment. We can’t help you actually complete your task.”

  “So that’s it then?”

  “At the rate your powers are manifesting you might not even need me. I’ll get back as soon as I can, as soon as I’m sure that Tamara’s safe.”

  The world around them came alive again. The waiter reappeared and The Gray Man paid him, telling him to keep the change.

  They left and walked the few miles to the Y in silence. The Gray Man told Kyle that a guest workout was ten dollars. “Just pay the fee.”

  “Fair enough. Thanks, Gray. For helping me.”

  “Not a problem. It’s my job.”