Francis Ackerman Jr. stepped from the vehicle and sucked in the cool night air. The infamous serial murderer had once doubted he would ever taste free air again, and he had especially never expected to be working for the federal government the next time he did.
The wind picked up dry gravel and swirled it around them. The air carried a strange, sweet scent. To Ackerman, it smelled like a crematorium. He knew the smell well. He had burned many people alive during the dark days of another life.
But now, he had found purpose. A use for his unique talents. Not to mention that he felt propelled by divine purpose to show the demons of society that redemption was within reach. If not in body, certainly in spirit.
Emily Morgan, his counselor and babysitter, said, “Remember, you’re not allowed to touch him.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun. No touching. It’s like an Amish courtship.”
“I’m serious. You cross the line, and you’ll be back in a cell by the end of the day. Or they may just decide to explode that chip in your neck.”
Ackerman rubbed the base of his skull at the thought.
He was relatively certain that he could find a way around the machinations of the Department of Justice and the CIA, who had supplied the technology. There wasn’t a security system in the world that couldn’t be bypassed by a determined mind. And his mind had always served him well. Still, he was in custody because he chose to be, because this was where he belonged. For now, at least.
“Fine,” he said, “I’ll play nice. But what if he tries to get frisky? I would be honor bound to protect you.”
“I can protect myself. Stick close to me. And since when do you have any honor? What is it you always say? ‘Losing is just an excuse for not cheating hard enough?’”
Ackerman laughed. “Yes, but my father also told me to always keep my word. I promised to protect you, no matter what, and I promised my brother not to kill anyone without permission.”
“Who made you promise to protect me?”
“No one made me. It was just a promise I required of myself. And I’ve always felt that promises you make with yourself are the worst kind to break.”
Once upon a time, Ackerman had tortured and killed Emily’s husband and endangered the lives of herself and her child. Emily even carried a scar across her forehead from the encounter, which she covered with her hair as best she could. That seemed like a lifetime ago now. Another life in another world. At the time, he had been wandering with no purpose through a darkness without borders. But the light had found him, and the journey had changed him.
It had changed Emily as well. She wasn’t the same woman he had held captive and forced to play one of his games. Although, he wasn’t sure if her changes had been for the better. It seemed that she had grown harder over time. He had once thought her to be fragile, something he would never accuse her of now.
Emily added, “Sometimes I can’t decide if you’re actually starting to think like a person or if you’re only trying to manipulate me. Make no mistake, Frank, I’ll kill you before they can ever activate that implant if you step out of line. I don’t want to, but if I have to choose between your life and the life of some innocent person, I’m going to save the someone else every time.”
“Fair enough. But you should know that if it comes down to my life over yours, I will choose your life, every time.”
She was quiet a moment, and he wondered if he had done something wrong. Finally, with tears forming in her eyes, she said, “Well, let’s just try to make it so we never have to face either circumstance.”
Willoughby’s Exotic Gunsmithing and Firing Range sat at the end of a long, dead-end lane with mountains in the background, nothing but dry dirt surrounding it, no wind breaks. The main building was made of corrugated metal, weather beaten and worn. The paint had long since faded and chipped, and the proprietor hadn’t bothered with repairs. Ackerman imagined that, like many small businesses these days, the majority of the man’s sales were done online, which didn’t facilitate the need for a beautiful storefront.
Emily said, “So what’s your plan?”
“I was thinking a simple knock and kick.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where you knock, and when they answer the door, you kick it in on them.”
“This guy is the owner of a gun shop and firing range, and you want to just kick his door down?”
“Shortest distance between two points is always a straight line.”
“Let’s at least try the diplomatic approach. And I told you not to touch anyone. Kicking a door into someone’s face would classify as physical contact.”
“Fine. You can kick the door in.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Listen, I’ll get us inside and then you do your thing with him to send a message. Just make sure that whatever you do at that point is all bark and no bite.”