Breaking Point - Chapter 40 - You Don't Know What You Don't Know

In which our hero's world turns upside down

(courtesy mikedooleyphotography.com)

I pulled into the Herndon estate that afternoon to meet Luke for lunch. Veronica came out of the house in a full-length ski jacket zipped-up against the cold. She gestured for me to roll down the window 

“Luke’s not here.”

“Where is he?” I asked, looking at my watch.

“I don’t know. He was dressed and ready this morning.”

I picked up my phone.

“He’s not answering,” Veronica said.

The call went to voice mail.

“Get in,” I said. “We’ll go look for him.”

“Try down by the river and Thayer Street. I’ve got to take care of the other boys.”

Veronica strode back into the house, her hands jammed in her pockets.

Halfway to T-Street, I pulled over. With a rising sense of panic, I called Rufus’s cell.

“Tell me the ATF didn’t raid Kilroy this morning,” I urged, hoping the legendary animosity between the FBI and the ATF hadn’t led the latter to jump the gun. 

“You want to know what they’ve found?” Rufus asked.

“Fuck. Was Kilroy there?”

“No.”

“Fuck!” I shouted, pounding on the steering wheel.

“What’s wrong?”

"Luke’s missing.”

“You think Kilroy has him?” 

“Put out a BOLO on both of them.”

“What kind of car does she drive?”

“Hell if I know. Find out!”

“That’ll take a minute.”

“Then take it,” I said, disconnecting. 

What the hell did she put in my head? I asked myself again. Why me?

Wilkes, Sprague, Cope. Shelby. Susan. Me. There had to be a pattern, something behind Dr. Kilroy’s choice of victims. What did we have in common? What connected us? 

I’d commissioned Mia’s former consiglieri, to find a link between Kilroy’s victims. I called Tommy Mulvaney‘s burner.

“Tell me what I need to hear,” I said urgently.

“You’re a handsome devil.”

“Stop fucking around!”

“Mother of Mary. Who pissed in your corn flakes?”

“If you don’t tell me what I need to hear right now I’ll deliver you to Mastriano with a big red bow.”

“Get out the ribbon then. All I know is that they’re all white.”

It was a joke, of course. The same flippant comment Rufus made after we visited the Superman building. I was prepared to dismiss it. And then it hit me. 

As soon as I hung up my phone buzzed. I thought it was Tommy texting me back. It was Dr. Kilroy: Gazebo. Roger Williams Park. Luke is here. Come alone.

Fuck that. I put the car in gear, floored it, called Rufus and brought him up to speed.

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Don’t go John,” he urged. “She has control of your mind.”

There was a long silence.

“What?” I asked, aware that Rufus was holding something back.

“The ATF found a piece of red wire under her husband’s workbench,” Rufus said.  

I hung up.  

I made it from the East Side to Roger Williams Park in record time. I jumped out of the car and forced myself to stop.

I took a couple of slow breaths to calm myself then walked into the Park as slowly as I could. Whatever was about to happen, it wouldn’t happen without me.

The gazebo’s massive structure juts out into an artificial lake. Twelve towering columns support a large stone dome. To shelter beneath it, you cross a wide bridge bordered by low-slung iron railings. 

As I made my way over the bridge, I saw Dr. Kilroy and Luke standing at the gazebo’s far end. 

Luke was dressed in his Air Force jacket and jeans, hopping back and forth, swaying side-to-side from the cold. His eyes were wild. His nose was running. He didn’t seem to recognize me, or even know I was there.

Kilroy wore a long camel-colored wool coat, black gloves and a welcoming smile. 

“Hello John.” 

I stopped about twenty feet from the pair, fighting the urge to draw my gun.

I had a strange thought: maybe I wasn’t fighting the desire to shoot Dr. Kilroy. Maybe hypnosis was staying my hand. 

“Luke!” I called out defiantly. “Time to go.” 

“Really, John?” Kilroy asked, shaking her head with condescending amazement. 

My son remained by Kilroy’s side, moving constantly and erratically. Was my boy was dope sick or hypnotized? Or both?

“Luke is just as good a subject as his father.” 

“Alright Doc,” I said, feigning calm. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s not what you can do John. It’s what you will do. What you have to do.

“Because my mother’s ancestors owned slaves.”

“Enslaved people,” Kilroy corrected.

“All of us, right?”

“Every single one.

“Who else Doc?” 

“That’s for me to know and you to never to find out.”

“Was this your husband’s idea?”

The look on Kilroy’s face showed I’d hit a nerve. A stupid move from an experienced negotiator.

“I understand your anger,” I said, backtracking.

Kilroy laughed.

“What are you going to do with Luke?”

“Nothing,” she answered, turning deadly serious. “That’s your job.”

There are people who do terrible things out of what they think is necessity. Stupid people who don’t know any better. Lazy people looking for a shortcut.

Criminals who act out of low animal cunning, screw anyone else. Evil people who enjoy the suffering of others.

And then there are fanatics. People like Dr. Kilroy, motivated by a unshakeable belief that their heinous actions are justified in pursuit of some greater good.

Fanatics are a negotiator’s worst nightmare. All you can do: maneuver them into a place where they can be subdued or eliminated.

I knew full well what Kilroy meant by “that’s your job.” She was going to use hypnosis to get me to kill Luke.

And then, presumably, myself. Or hypnotize me not to kill myself after shooting Luke. So I’d spend the rest of my days in Hell, suffering endless, crushing, suffocating guilt.

Shooting Kilroy before she could put me under her spell was the money move. It would be easy enough. I’m no fanatic, but I’d sleep well enough knowing I’d removed my former therapist from the face of the Earth.

Besides, protecting, no saving Luke was job one. My sacred solemn duty. And yet… I couldn’t do it.

There were other victims of Kilroy’s hypnosis out there, somewhere. Human time bombs programmed to kill themselves. Or worse.

More than that, deep down inside myself, I knew I could resist Kilroy’s commands. Nothing could make me shoot Luke. Nothing.

“Close your eyes,” Kilroy commanded. “Take a deep breath, let it out slowly and relax.”

God help me, I thought as I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply and let my breath out slowly…

This time, I didn’t “blank out.” I heard Dr. Kilroy’s instructions all-too-perfectly.

“You son Luke is terminally ill,” Kilroy said, her voice suffused with faux sadness, “He’s in terrible pain, heading for a painful death. You’re the only one who can ease his suffering.

“You know it John. You know it’s the kind thing, the right thing to do. You will do it. When you open your eyes, you will shoot your son. Saving him from his awful pain. Sending him to Heaven to be with Cristina.”

Kilroy counted me out of trance. I opened my eyes, drew my Wilson from its holster and aimed it at my son.

“You’re an excellent hypnotic subject John Canali,” she said with an air of self-congratulation. “And a good man,” she added.

I think she meant it sincerely. It was no consolation. Nor did it give me a moment’s hesitation.

I moved my gun to the left, placing Dr. Kilroy in my sites. 

“I am an excellent subject Doc,” I agreed. “Just ask Professor Novikov.”

“The bastard hypnotized you!” Kilroy hissed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Inoculated me, you might say. Put your hands behind your back. Dr. Kilroy you’re under arrest. You have the right –”

“Does Luke seem sick to you John?” Kilroy interrupted, putting her arm around Luke and pulling him next to her. “I think he’s, how do you cops say it? Dope sick. Such a shame after all the good work we did down at the rehab.”

“You evil bitch.”

“Don’t worry John. I can get him straight like that!” Kilroy said snapping her fingers. “Or not.”

“Novikov will fix him.”

“You sure about that? Do you really want to bet Luke’s life on it?”

“I’m listening.”

“Put down the gun.”

I ignored her order.

“Let me go and I’ll put Luke back on the straight and narrow.”

“What about the other ‘subjects’?”

“What other subjects?” Kilroy asked in what we both knew was a lie.

Luke looked at me for a moment, without recognition.

“Make Luke clean, tell me who else you’ve fucked with and I’ll let you go. Either that or I’ll blow your brains out and take my chances.”

“How do I know you won’t shoot me when I’m done?”

“How do I know you’ll tell me the truth?”

“It looks like we have to trust each other.”

I stood there in the gloaming hating Kilroy with every fiber of my being.

I hated her for the trail of devastation she’d left behind in her demented quest to redress Rhode Island’s original sin. A kind old lady living out her final days. A husband and father taking his young children for ice cream. An academic who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

I hated Dr. Kilroy for everything I’d told her about myself in the privacy of her office. For opening me up. Toying with me. Using me.

But if I’d learned anything playing the fool in Dr. Kilroy’s cynical charade, it was that hatred clouds the mind. You either make your peace with it or it eats you up, day by day, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left. Nothing human.

Anger? Properly applied and managed, there’s nothing wrong with anger. It’s a gift from God, even when you aim it at Him. It keeps you sharp. Focused. Determined.

So I put the brakes on my hatred while holding down the gas pedal of my anger. At the same time, I consoled myself with a thought.

With at least two three-letter government agencies chasing Dr. Kilroy as a domestic terrorist, how far could she run? One way or another, whether here or in the afterlife, there would be a reckoning.

Kilroy nodded at me to seal the deal. I nodded back and lowered my gun.

Kilroy turned Luke to face her, tapped his forehead and said the word sleep. My son collapsed onto her shoulder, just like the college girl at Novikov’s demonstration.

The physical contact between the two turned my stomach and made me wonder if I could keep my promise not to shoot her when she restored Luke. When I knew what other blue bloods she’d hypnotized to take their own life.

“Listen closely to me Luke,” she said in ‘that’ voice. You are clean and sober. You will never touch drugs again as long as you live. When you open your eyes that’s the way you are and that’s the way you will always be. Open your eyes.”

Luke - the secret son I’d abandoned and reclaimed - was back, clear-eyed and confused. I cursed myself for feeling grateful for Kilroy fixing what she’d broken.

“Dad?”

“Come here son.”

I hugged Luke, staring at Kilroy over his shoulder, letting her know I was still prepared to use the gun I was holding by my leg.

“Names.”

“I have them in a book” she said with calm resignation, reaching inside her coat.

She never made it. Multiple gunshots tore into her center mass. Dr. Kilroy collapsed to her knees, expressionless, then fell backwards.

I continued holding Luke in our hug, sparing him the sight of Dr. Kilroy’s last moments, blood pouring from her body, staining the wooden decking.

Rufus ran up from behind us, gun in hand. He walked up to Kilroy and shot her again, straight through her heart. Luke’s body jumped in my arms.

When I released him, Luke turned and looked, dumbfounded, at Dr. Kilroy corpse.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” I screamed at Rufus.

“She was reaching for a gun.”

“She was reaching for a book.”

“How was I supposed to know that? What book?”

“A book with the names of the other people she’s hypnotized.”

“Bullshit,” Rufus said flatly.

He holstered his gun, bent over Kilroy’s body, reached carefully into her jacket and extracted a small blue notebook, blood-spattered but intact.

“It’s probably blank,” Rufus said dismissively, wishfully, opening it slowly.

“How many?” I asked.

“Not many,” Rufus said slowly, turning a page. “No one we know.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Luke asked, his teenage mind starting to spool up.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rufus said, looking around the park.

“Seriously?” I asked. “They’re not that stupid.”

But Rufus was right. Luke would get dragged into The Mother of All Shit Storms. Clean and sober or not, I didn’t want him to face that stress. Not then. Not ever.

I sighed and holstered my firearm. We were set to go our separate ways when something in Rufus’ eyes made me stop. Something he wasn’t telling me. Something important.

“What?” I demanded.

“Not now John,” he said, shaking his head.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Rufus looked at Luke, then me.

“A friend in the FBI. Way up. Called me this morning.”

“And?”

“Mia’s in witness protection.”

“What?”

She’s alive John. She has Cristina.”

“Where is she?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted.

But I had one, and one only. Find Cristina. Bring my daughter home.