I, Alex Cross (Alex Cross 16)

“He’s a funny little gerbil, isn’t he?”

He reached down and pulled the boy up, then spun him around so the punk could see the twenty-year-old wood chipper in the car’s headlights.

“Now, you know why you’re here, so I won’t quibble on the details,” he said. “I just need to know one thing from you, and I want you to think real careful about this. You ever tell anyone about this place? Anyone a’tall?”

The kid shook his head way more than he needed to—no, no, no, no, no.

“You’re real sure about that, son? You wouldn’t lie to me? ’Specially now?”

The head changed direction and went yes, yes, yes.

Remy laughed out loud. “You see that? He looks like one of those stupid bobbleheads. For your dashboard?” He bent his knees to be face-to-face with the kid, and palmed his skull. Then he started rocking it up and down and side to side, laughing the whole time.

“Yes, yes, yes… no, no, no… yes, yes, yes…”

Then, just as fast, he twisted the head halfway around with a crisp snap and let the boy fall to the ground like a broken toy.

“That’s it? Break his neck?” one of the other two asked. “That’s what we wanted him alive for?”

“Oh, it’s jus’ fine,” Remy told them, pushing the accent a little. “I got an intuition about this stuff.” They both shook their heads like he was some ignorant redneck, which Remy took as a compliment to his acting abilities.

“Hey, you fellas want to stick around for a drink? I’ve got some good stuff out back.”

“We’ve got to keep moving,” said the dark-skinned ghost. “Thanks for the offer. Maybe some other time, Denny.”

“Suit yourself. No problema.”

In truth, there wasn’t a drop of alcohol anywhere on the property. The only thing Remy drank besides bottled water, which he bought by the case, was the sun-brewed iced tea he sometimes made from it. Alcohol was poison to the system. He just liked letting these sanctimonious pricks think what they wanted to think about him anyway.

They were typical government issue, those two, the way they saw everything and nothing at the same time. If they looked a little closer, they’d know when they were being tested, and what they were up against.

“One other thing,” he added. “No more pickups.” He prodded the dead boy with his foot. “That part ain’t been working out so well, you know? I’ll do the disposals, starting with him.”

“Agreed. He’s all yours.”

They drove off without even a good-bye wave. Remy waved, then he waited until he couldn’t hear the car anymore, and got to work.

The kid was just skin and bones, and it didn’t take any more cutting to get him ready than it would have for a girl. Two at the knees, two at the hips, two at the shoulders, one at the neck. Then one long swipe down the middle of his skinny little torso. It was messier with the knife than it might have been with a chain saw or an ax, but Remy liked wet work, always had.

Once that was done, it took only about ten minutes to get the Philly Flash through the machine and into a plastic bag. It was amazing how light the bags always felt—as if it was something more than just foam and residue that got left behind inside the chipper.

He took a shovel and a flashlight from the cabin and threw the bag into a wheelbarrow. Then he started walking into the woods. It didn’t matter which way. Wherever this kid landed, he was going to disappear forever.

“Never to be seen or heard from again,” Remy muttered to himself. He bobbled his head up and down and side to side as he walked, and started to laugh. “No. No. No. No. Never. No. No. No. No.”

Chapter 21

A LOUD NOISE woke me in the middle of the night. Something had fallen and broken downstairs. I was almost sure of it.

I looked at the clock. Saw it was just after four thirty. “Did you hear that?”

Bree raised her head off the pillow. “Hear what? I just woke up. If I’m awake.”

I was already out of bed and pulling on a pair of sweats.

“Alex, what is it?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll go see. I’ll be right back.”