The Salvation Shark, Chapter 33

Becki

I’m sitting at Detective Keenan's desk. No one has been in the room since we came here from the hospital. That's where Detective Rogers finally got through to SpectraCom. My manager screamed that I was to be taken to a more secure location immediately and no one was to talk to me until company representatives arrived. The cops laughed about the threats until Keenan was told the FBI were turning over authority to SpectraCom Security. Since then, none of the officers even want to make eye contact. I want to cry, and I’m not sure if it’s out of fear or joy.

The door opens and a tall man in a brown trench coat comes in. "Miss Murphy?” he asks.

I nod. Does he really need to ask who I am?

He extends his hand and we shake. “Special Agent John Martin. I’ve been following you since Atlanta. I’m glad this ended so quickly. I was worried about you.”

“You knew?” I ask.

"I'm glad you're safe." He pulls a metal chair next to me and takes hold of my hands. "Do you need anything? The hospital said you were only superficially hurt."

"I'm fine," I say, looking down at our hands. I wait a moment and pull away from him. "I don't want to go back to SpectraCom." Finally, I can look at his face.

"SpectraCom didn't send me," he says, smiling gently. "Anton Lazarus is a very dangerous man. I've been looking for Anton Lazarus for a very long time."

I want to tell John everything that happened, but suddenly, I’m terrified. Everyone knows Anton. Everywhere we went, he was greeted by name. Who else knows him? Who else will be able to find me even if Anton is behind bars? What kind of connections does Anton have? What could he do to me if I tell on him. “I... I asked Anton for a ride. I was trying to quit music, and he found me. He said he would take me back to Boston.” I look in Agent Martin’s eyes. “Nothing happened, we just drove from Atlanta to here. I was wrong though, and I'm ready to start singing again.”

Agent Martin’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?” He leans forward. “Miss Murphy, when they found you, he was physically assaulting you.”

“No, it was an accident. I fell into the tub and he was helping me out."

"But you called..."

"It was a mistake!" I shout. "It was an accident, and I shouldn't have done it. Let Anton go and I'll go back to singing. I'll give you my manager's cell phone, and we can forget the whole thing.”

He looks shocked. “Miss Murphy, I don’t know why you are trying to protect Anton Lazarus. I don’t know what he said or did to you, but let me tell you about him. Let me tell you what he has done... what he confessed to me personally to have done.”

“He was a gentleman. I don’t know what you are talking about...”

“Stop,” he orders. “Just listen to me.” He pulls the chair in and stares in my eyes. “A few years ago, he met a girl not much older than you. Here name was Sandra Anderson." John leans in close. "At that point, I'd already been looking for this man, Anton Lazarus, for some time. He changes his name frequently, but he knew I was onto him. Every so often I'd receive a letter suggesting I look again into a case, and came to see the same hands at work. The letter I received about Sandy said she was already dead."

"Anton killed her?" I feel like I'm getting smaller in the chair. Shouldn't a detective be present during this questioning? What if this guy is a pervert?

"She hadn't even been kidnapped yet," Martin whispers. "This was before Facebook, there were no Internet searches. I couldn't find her right away, even though Eleazar sent me her senior portrait."

"Who is Leezar?"

"It was a nickname in Jerusalem," Martin says. "This was the name Jesus called to wake his friend. You call him Anton. He has more names than you will ever hear." John takes a photo from his jacket pocket but holds it to his chest where I can't see. "I couldn't find her until the report came in she had been kidnapped. The letter said I would find her in Florida, so I spent a week driving up and down the state showing her picture to sheriffs and state police."

"Wh-what happened?"

John holds out the picture, face down. I can barely take my eyes off his. "She was in a motel with the same picture tacked above the bed." He grins. "Some officers even suggested I might be responsible." His lips shrink to the same emotionless stare.

I take the picture, and turn it over. There is so much blood I can't identify what I'm seeing at first. When I realize, I drop the picture on the floor.

"We caught him," John says, collecting the photo. "Two days later, and he confessed every detail with great pride."

"What is he doing on the streets?" I ask, offended that Anton had been captured once, but was free to kidnap me.

John sits back and stares at me a couple seconds before replacing the photo in his pocket. "I told you. Eleazar is a very dangerous man." John claps his hands together and folds them on his lap. “He didn’t just get away though. He went to court, was convicted, and before he could be sentenced, he got free and killed everyone in the police van that was transporting him back to the jail.” Martin puts his hand over mine. His fingers are cold. "Anton Lazarus is a monster. You need to tell me what happened."

"I asked him for a ride," I say and collapse sobbing on the desk. "Nothing else happened."

Martin watches me a few seconds before he stands. "If you'll excuse me then," he says, sounding disappointed. He leaves, but I don't look up to watch.

All of this is just too much to handle. Detective Keenan dialed my parents for me, but they weren't home. I tried calling back when I was left here, but I can't make the phone work.

A key rattles in the door, and Officer Anderson comes in. She is a large, auburn-haired officer that drove me here from the hospital. She told me her daughters listen to my music every day and she can't wait to tell them we met. She unlocks the door with a key and comes in.“A man from your company just called. He said he would be here in less than an hour.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, putting my head back down. At least this nightmare is almost over. "I told Agent Martin this was a mistake."

“Agent who?” she asks.

“Agent Martin," I say. "He was just here. I'm ready to start singing. I told him this was a big mistake, and you can let Anton go. He didn't hurt me,” I say, looking up at last.

“Someone was in this room? Talking to you here?" After I nod, she says, "There ain't no FBI.” She looks around. “God damn reporters sneaking in here...” She presses the button on the phone and says, “Tina, I think someone from the press snuck in, have one of the guys take a look around.” Anderson looks back at me. “Don’t worry, hon, you’ll be back on stage in no time. You know my kids had tickets to that show last night.”

I’m totally blown away and I want to start crying. I hear the gunshots before I can start.

Officer Anderson looks up, her eyes wide. “What the...”

The sounds are far away at first, but get closer, and there is screaming. Officer Anderson half stands and puts her hand on her gun. "What... what the hell?" She checks to make sure the door is locked.

Something heavy slams against the wall on the other side of me. I cry out and nearly fall off the chair, expecting Anton's fist I’m sitting against, making me jump and cry out. I know the locked door won’t help. The gunshots are right outside the room now, and men are crying out. I know what is about to happen.

When it does, I scream anyway.

Anton walks in as if the door isn’t locked at all. Officer Anderson is pointing her pistol at him, but he is ignoring her orders to freeze. His clothing is full of holes, but there is no blood. He points at me arrogantly, wagging his finger. “Look at the trouble you’ve caused me!”

Anderson steps forward, putting pressure on the trigger. “I told you to freeze!” she screams.

Anton’s hair is still perfect, and he is still smiling. He points down at his shredded suit. “Does it look like that did anything before?” When she shoots him anyway, he grabs the top of her head with one hand and squeezes until it cracks and blood runs out of her nose. He looks at me and shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how much I paid for this suit?” he asks, pointing at his clothing. Before I can respond, he tosses Anderson’s corpse aside and says, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

I obediently follow out of the room, where Anton stops, looking down the hall at Agent Martin. John has his gun pointed. “Good morning!” Anton cries cheerily. “Haven’t seen you in quite a while.” He looks Martin up and down. “Done some changes, eh? Who is in there, Abraxas or Martin? I can’t even tell at this point.”

“One in the same, now,” Martin says.

Anton points to the gun. “You aren’t going to shoot me too, are you?” he asks. “I mean, really, you of all people should know better.” He bends down and takes the revolver from the hand of a dead cop. “It doesn’t really work,” he says. Anton shoots the gun into his own chest four times, and I scream with each one but he doesn't fall. Anton pushes me to the ground, and Agent Martin starts shooting.

“Get out of the way, Eleazar!" John shouts. "I'm taking the girl!”

Martin stops firing. Anton looks at the gun at his hand and tosses it aside. “I’ve put a lot of work into this one, you can’t have it.” He nudges me with the heel of his shoe and says, “Get up.” He crosses his arms and says to Martin, “Do you remember what I can do to you?” Without looking at me, Anton helps me up. “Let’s go,” he says, giving me a push.

“Stop!” Martin yells.

Anton turns to face him, his eyes blazing. “Now look,” he snarls and holds out his hand. Agent Martin is engulfed in blue flame. He turns back to me and says, “That should hold him for a little while. A little faster now,” he says. “I can’t keep the reporters away for long.”

Anton leads me out the front door, where a jet-black Ferrari is waiting by the curb. Not a single reporter is in sight. He points to the passenger’s side door and says, “It’s unlocked, get in,” jogging to the back of the car. He opens the trunk as I get inside and buckle my seatbelt. Anton gets in a moment later wearing a new suit. “Are we ready?” he asks. “Abraxas will probably be ready to follow us soon.” He starts the car and the engine roars to life. “Buckle up.” The engine whine is more high pitched than any car I've heard before. I went from used car lot directly to limos, I've never ridden in a car like this. It sounds like a panther. I don't know what city this is. They all look the same. The air is starting to turn gray with the morning sun. There are no more obstacles getting on the highway which leads into the country.

We are both quiet for a long time. Finally, Anton says, “Police are easy.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I am quiet again. I don't want to ask him any questions. “Anton?” I say, to keep myself from losing nerve. I wait until he looks over before I ask, “Are you the Devil?”

He looks at me for a long time, without ever glancing at the road. Still he follows without the slightest swerve, like he knows every inch of the highway. He stares, blank-faced, not even smiling, until finally he says, "When you were seven years old, there was this dress at the Bon Ton that you wanted more than anything. It was the nicest dress you had ever seen, green and shimmery, and you could not imagine anything greater than this dress. Your family was not nearly as well off as your embezzling father has made it now, and they could not afford to spend two hundred dollars on a dress you would grow out of in a year. That would be silly." He pauses, like he's giving me a chance to respond. "You got the bright idea to steal the dress, which you thought was going off without a hitch. Unfortunately, you didn’t know about security cameras. You were picked up by the store detective as soon as you stepped into the mall. When your parents were called, they said to scare you and take you to the police station. It worked very well, and you were crying and pleading that you didn’t want to go to jail. It’s rather ironic, seeing as your father made an extra hundred-thousand dollars illegally last year, and your mother knows all about it. While you were in Officer Baker’s office, you insisted that the Devil made you do it.” He pauses and looks at the road at last. He’s quiet for a few more seconds until I’m about to speak. At last, he says, “I don’t make people do bad things, I just convince them to do the things they really want to do. They call me ‘the Tempter,’ not, ‘the Forcer.’ Humans have the same free will I have.”

I want to throw up. There are red lights flashing in the mirrors.

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