The Castle

  The Castle

  Chronicles of the Order

  JB Michaels

  Harrison and James Publishing

  “From the opening pages to the final sentence, you are treated to a rollercoaster of fun and frights.”- DT Chantel

  SEE THE BACK OF THE BOOK FOR MORE!

  For the man who introduced me to all the monsters

  For Bud’s fans at Hancock

  For Robbie- Warrior of All

  Chapter One

  DATE NIGHT

  The candlelight flickered. The soft glow accentuated his finely drawn cheekbones and strong jawline. His blue eyes bore a look of joy in the laughter he shared with his female companion. The brunette with the green eyes and ruby-red lipstick closed her eyes and laughed, nearly spilling the wine from her medieval goblet. Before she stopped giggling and her eyes reopened in recovery of her jovial fit, his brow furrowed. His eyes showed his true condition—a menacing yet brief look, one of lust and of hunger in full and equitable measure. The look vanished. His courtly composure retained.

  “Oh, my dear Vincentas, who knew you could be so amusing?”

  “Shall I take umbrage with your last statement and just kill you right now?” Vincentas grinned.

  Another loud burst of laughter.

  The Cabernet Sauvignon didn’t have a higher level of spirits than any other wine he usually picked from his cellar. Still, Vincentas poured more into her goblet. His attempts at humor could land, but usually with a casual, rather weak effect. She acted as if he’d performed a comedy routine for years and had earned his own television show.

  “That is enough wine for me, Vincentas. What are you trying to do me?” She leaned over the small table, giving him full view of her cleavage.

  “I do nothing that one does not allow amicably.” He smiled, leaned forward, and kissed both of her cheeks then pulled back to survey her reaction.

  She stood up from her chair, took another swig from her goblet, walked to his side of the table, and pulled him off his chair. She grasped his shirt collar with both hands and kissed him like a lioness devoured a fresh kill. Her aggression took Vincentas by surprise.

  She wasn’t the real monster though.

  The candlelight moved violently, then the flames extinguished, and darkness overtook the room.

  Vincentas didn’t need the light. His hands caressed her where they had touched many other women in his long life. He loved discovering the slight variations of the female physique. The curves, the hips, the muscles both hard and soft, the flesh. His particular favorite: the length of the neck.

  She moaned.

  The sensual and soft sounds of sexual assurance turned to a panicked scream.

  A loud crash filled the dark room. In the struggle to free herself, she kicked over the dinner table.

  “No! No! Please! Plea—” Her voice gargled with blood.

  The wicks of the candles were once again alight with flame.

  Vincentas held his prey in both arms and feasted on his favorite body part. Perhaps his enthusiasm got the best of him. He lifted his head from her neck and spit out a piece of her vocal cords, then dropped her on the stone floor.

  He sighed, looked up, and shook his head.

  “Much needed. Much needed.”

  A voice from behind him called, “I take it she wasn’t suitable.”

  “Just another eager gold digger, I am afraid. Take this husk away. I need to work on my compositions anyway.”

  Chapter Two

  ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT

  Bud stood in his grandfather’s home, his mouth agape. The ordeal he thought had ended with sealing the nasty poltergeist into a tree in Chicago’s Jackson Park continued on. At least Maeve, an empathic monk of the Order of St. Michael, and Ivy, his newest friend and amateur archaeologist, were with him. Bud’s inclination to retreat from humanity in tough times had started to change and reverse with the trials of the last couple days. His android companion, Bert, had malfunctioned and threw himself off the top of the Willis Tower and then rampaged his way into the Art Institute where Bud was forced to behead the fellow.

  Bud continued to stare at the mess of his old office. The broken computer monitor screen still sparked. His keyboard was cracked in half. The tree symbol was carved into the wood of his desk.

  “We need to find out everything we can about that symbol.” Ivy traced the split wood with her fingers.

  “It’s not the first time we have seen it.” The newly rejuvenated Maeve went to stand next to Ivy.

  Bud’s attention had shifted again to the desecrated pictures and dismantled frames that held pictures of him and his grandfather. His chest heaved repeatedly. Waves of anger, sadness, and then despair struck the heart of the young genius-inventor.

  “Bud, you okay?” Maeve turned to see Bud’s inconsolable state.

  “He is still out there somewhere. He must be. Why would the assailants who penetrated this house target these pictures? They must… Why?” Bud shook his head.

  “It might not mean anything, Bud. They trashed the whole house. Perhaps, it would be best to not get too caught up in the pictures,” Ivy said.

  “Ivy’s right. Whoever did this is messing with you, Bud. It doesn’t mean they know anything about your grandfather’s whereabouts. What is more disturbing is that someone stole some of your precious tech, shut down your teleportation wristband, and of course Bert’s head,” Maeve said.

  “Any rivals at school or in general, Bud? I mean, let’s face it, you aren’t the most lovable guy on the planet. A disgruntled spouse whose marriage you ruined with your PI investigations?” Ivy pressed.

  “Not likely. The tree connects to when Bud and I first met. Brother Mike had tree symbols all over his teacher edition textbook. Brother Mike is doing hard time. Though he could have had an accomplice that we don’t know about, I suppose.”

  “Do we call the cops or what?” Ivy asked.

  “No, that is probably not a good idea.”

  “Bud Hutchins! Hands up! Now!” A deep male voice sounded from the front hall.

  “No need to summon the police. Not to worry. I have been through this before.” Bud put his hands up.

  The police officer removed his right hand off the gun in his holster and brought out the handcuffs. “Keep them up!”

  “You’ve been arrested before?” Ivy asked.

  “Yes, he has,” Maeve interjected.

  “Indeed.” Bud felt the cold metal of the cuffs on his wrists, this time without the comfort of teleportation to provide an escape.

  Chapter Three

  RIVALS IN JUSTICE

  Bud had been in a similar state before—the state of criminal arrest. This time, the surroundings were much different. The quaint, wood-paneled, cozy atmosphere of the Salem police department building contrasted with the square room with white walls, bright fluorescent lighting, and a large mirror adorning the wall of the Chicago police precinct he now sat in. The place smelled of urine. Many suspects apparently lost control of their bladders in the interrogation room. Bud’s leather jacket squeaked and sounded as he shifted in his chair.

  “Ahh…Hutchins, dat right?” A large man with a thick mustache entered the room. He embodied the image of stereotypical Chicago sports fan. He examined a flip chart and held a tablet computer underneath the chart.

  “Yes, Bud Hutchins is my name. I seek no counsel. No need for it. I know my rights.”

  “Oh, great. I’m Officer Wendt. Just need to ask ya a few questions. You face some pretty serious charges, the worst of which is aggravated battery and that battery happened ta be inflicted on a police officer.”

  “Must you talk that way? It is rather distracting to count how many needless words you use before you finally spit out what you mean with your thick Chicago
accent.” Bud didn’t mince words, his mood not conducive to making his life easier.

  “It is very clear ta me dat you really don’t want ta get outta here, do ya? This will be quick, den.” Wendt smoothed his tie over his rather large beer gut and sat across from Bud. He thumbed through a few pages on his flip chart then brought out the tablet and fumbled with the button to wake it from sleep mode.

  Bud rolled his eyes.

  “Deez damn things are a pain in da ass, ya know?” Wendt smiled. The tablet screen finally brightened up. “Dere we go! All righty, dis you, Buddy?” He slid the tablet over to Bud.

  “Slide through da pics. We have plenty. Are these all you?”

  The pictures showed Bert’s rampage with Bud running after the malfunctioning android on Michigan Avenue, in the lobby of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, then across the street to the Art Institute.

  “Yes, that is…”

  A muscular, bald man with a blue FBI jacket busted through the door.

  “What in da hell? I am in the middle of an interrogation” Wendt stood up, and his belly hit the side of the table and nearly knocked it over.

  “We understand that he caused a lot of problems for you and the department, but we are taking him into federal custody. I’m Special Agent Jordan. Mr. Hutchins, you are coming with me.”

  “Jesus Christ. What bullshit. He smashed one of our guy’s hands. He’ll have pins in his hands for months!” Wendt didn’t seem to want to let Bud go.

  “Wonderful. Officer Wendt proved most annoying if I might say so.” Bud stood up to leave the room with Jordan.

  “You shouldn’t say so. You are in deep shit, Hutchins. Wendt send over everything you have on this kid, please, asap. I already have some of your people doing that. Just make sure I get everything I need and ask for.” Jordan walked over to Bud then cuffed him again.

  Bud hoped that Maeve and Ivy were monitoring his situation. He had no idea where the intimidating federal agent would take him.

  Chapter Four

  BUSTED BUD

  “This isn’t good.” Maeve leaned forward and gripped the steering wheel of Bud’s parents’ sedan that she and Ivy had borrowed.

  Bud was escorted by a scary federal agent into a black SUV outside of the Chicago Police station on 111th and Vincennes. The streetlamp’s amber glow didn’t provide much light to get a good look at the agent. He was big and black in contrast to Bud’s pasty whiteness.

  “Shit. That’s the FBI. That car looks FBI-ish.” Ivy leaned forward as well then pulled her glasses from her face and wiped the lenses. “Definitely FBI. The federal government is taking him. That complicates matters.”

  Maeve shifted into drive. “We have to follow them.”

  “They are most likely going downtown on the Dan Ryan. FBI has an office downtown,” Ivy said, still not fully recovered from nearly being killed by Professor Covington-turned-Mr. Hyde. The monster who drank an improperly prepared ancient elixir would haunt her indefinitely.

  The black SUV traveled east on 111th St. to the expressway.

  “Well, if you are gonna tail someone, might as well be a high-speed one.” Maeve turned onto the expressway behind Bud and the black SUV.

  “What do you mean tail? Don’t you think we should try and bust him out of there before he gets to the FBI headquarters?” Ivy asked.

  “You have a point. I mean, I was thinking the same thing. I just didn’t know you would be game for this.” Maeve smirked, pushed down hard on the accelerator.

  Chicago’s Dan Ryan expressway was a huge multi-lane expressway that ran south to north toward downtown. The many cars darting between lanes would provide good cover.

  “Wait, wait, we should think about this a bit more.” Ivy pulled out her phone and examined locations that could be suitable to run the SUV down.

  Maeve slowed and stayed two cars behind Bud and the FBI agent.

  “What you thinking Ivy?” Maeve looked over.

  “Well, if they stay on 94, we will be forced to run them down and bump or block them on an exit ramp. If the FBI guy exits to Lake Shore Drive, then we have plenty of room to push them off the road, and that will most likely be clear of civilians. I mean, it’s almost eleven.” Ivy kept scrolling through the map on her phone.

  “Okay, so we just chill and make our move when we get closer to downtown.” Maeve eyed the SUV ahead of them.

  Bud looked out the tinted window of the black SUV at the White Sox ballpark, which had changed corporate sponsorship so many times that even he, the genius, couldn’t remember its official name. Most people referred to it as Comiskey, even though the miserly owner of Chicago’s original baseball team had sold the franchise years ago.

  “Hutchins. You are connected to some pretty incredible and dangerous tech. We have been keeping tabs on you ever since you popped up in London and busted Robbie McGann and provided the murder weapon that matched wounds in bodies at locations in Salem, Louisiana, and Wales. Pretty interesting that you are tied to a weapon that killed so many people in such a small span of time across such great distances. Then we saw surveillance feeds of you vanishing from the Medieval Armor gallery in the Art Institute with the head of a robot in your hand. You seem to be around some pretty impressive things and perhaps even done some incredible things.” Agent Jordan didn’t seem to want to wait to get to the office downtown to begin.

  “I am impressive. Of that I can assure you, Special Agent.” Bud grinned.

  “It’s too bad the CPD wants to charge you with aggravated assault. It’s also too bad that your inventions cannot be allowed to exist without endangering others,” Agent Jordan said, all the while keeping his eyes on the road.

  “I am fully aware that I have certain inalienable rights and don’t have to converse with you on such matters.” Bud shook his head.

  “I could just turn you back over to the CPD, Mr. Hutchins.” Agent Jordan gave Bud a snide look, one Bud was used to giving, not receiving.

  “Oh, oh. He is going to Lake Shore Drive.” Ivy pointed.

  “I got it. Okay, so what is the plan?” Maeve merged to the right and kept pace behind the SUV.

  “Once we get past the Museum Campus and Soldier Field, try to force him off the road to the left. There is a grassy hill that leads to the lake shore, and there is no beach there. Let’s not wind up in the lake.”

  Signs for Lake Shore Drive North were posted above them, their green with white lettering clear in the ambient light of the big city. The McCormick Place convention complex was on their right and stretched over the road with a walking bridge and extended to another building on their left. They drove parallel to Lake Michigan. Soldier Field and its mighty columns was up ahead, and behind that, the Field Museum.

  “Get ready to make your move, Maeve.”

  “I got this.” Maeve gripped the wheel harder. When they merged onto Lake Shore, the traffic had dwindled but not enough to ensure no one else would get hurt. Still, no car was between Bud’s SUV and them.

  “See that Brontosaurus skeleton on the right next to the Field Museum? That is when you should make your move.” Ivy pointed to the paleontological specimen.

  Agent Jordan drove at about fifty miles per hour around the slight right curve beyond the Field Museum.

  Silence had filled the car. Bud didn’t want to talk. He was too smart to incriminate himself regardless of the various camera feeds that showed him running after Bert all over downtown. Bud pondered the possibility that perhaps he would be better off with the CPD than the federal government, but he knew Jordan wouldn’t give him up. It was all too obvious why the government wanted him. A genius like Bud needed to be cultivated, used, but also controlled.

  “Oh, Hutchins. I guess I will make a phone call to the CPD.”

  Bud felt the heat under his seat. The smoke billowed from his feet resting comfortably on the all-weather floormats.

  “Agent Jordan, your pathetic, macho posturing should summarily cease. Your government-issued lemon is on fire.” Bud cou
ghed from the smoke billowing from the undercarriage.

  “What the hell did you do, Hutchins? Shit!” Agent Jordan looked back, then rolled the windows down. The FBI Agent pulled the car to the eastern curbside of Lake Shore Drive and hopped out of the car. Flames danced underneath. The tires melted.

  “You will unlock the door, you bumbling buffoon.” Bud kept his cool. He coughed though. A lot and wretchedly. It would only be a few seconds until the flames hit the gas tank.

  Chapter Five

  SAFE BOAT

  Agent Jordan took off his jacket, wrapped it around his muscly arm and hand, and approached the SUV’s door handle. The tongues of orange flames licked at the door. The law enforcement officer pulled the hot handle.

  Bud tumbled out of the car.

  “Better run, Hutchins!” Agent Jordan grabbed Bud and ran toward the lake and out of traffic on Lake Shore Drive.

  Bud craned his neck around to the road. About twenty feet in front of the burning SUV was his beat-up old Grand Am. He smiled.

  “How in the hell does a brand new SUV erupt into flames? Jesus Christ.” Agent Jordan panted and kept a strong grip on Bud’s arm.

  “I don’t surmise a wise, middle-aged prophet had anything to do with the car’s poor build quality.” Bud watched the SUV burn.

  The flames grew more intense as they met the gas tank. The explosion heated Bud’s face. His ears pained from the booming sound.

  “Shit. My phone was in the car!” Agent Jordan shook his head.

  “Shan’t we wait for the emergency responders? Assuredly, they can bring us to FBI headquarters.”

  “Oh, is that where you think you are going?”