Sleeper Cell Super Boxset by Roger Hayden, James Hunt Page B

rang throughout the house like the thunder from a storm at sea. His face and body grew hot until his face was a beet red. He clenched his fists at his side, searching for a way to make them see, make them understand. “I haven’t had a drink in over a year. You understand me? A year! You’re in danger, everyone is in danger.”
    A police siren blared out front, and Dylan watched a cruiser pull into the driveway, blue-and-red lights flashing in the morning air. He shook his head and turned back to Evelyn. “No, this is a mistake.” The police officer walked through the front door, and Peter pointed at him, screaming that he was drunk, that he was mad, and that he was violent.
    “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down and come with me.” The officer moved his right hand to the sidearm at his belt. “Now.”
    “Officer, listen to me, call DEA Agent Cooper. She’ll tell you why I’m here.” Dylan made a move for Evelyn, and before he realized it, he was on the floor, convulsing as three hundred watts of electricity coursed through his veins. The sting of the metal prongs in his back digging into his flesh. Even after the electricity had run its course, his muscles continued to spasm. The officer cuffed Dylan’s arms behind his back, and when Dylan looked up the staircase, he saw Mary and Sean at the top of the stairs, both of them looking down at him with the same pale-ghost tint on their faces.
    This was how they were going to remember their father. It didn’t matter what happened after that. This moment and all of the times that he came home stinking drunk from the bar, falling and vomiting over himself, those memories would be the ones that stuck.
    The officer picked him up and half carried, half walked him back to the cruiser, where he was placed in the backseat, head leaning against the window, and he tried to regain control of his faculties. A dull ache blanketed his body. He watched Peter and Evelyn speak with the officer and the hordes of others that had walked outside to witness Dylan’s episode. Each stare from the neighbors around seemed to be accompanied by a whisper. Whispers he could hear even through the police car. The drunk father. The worthless oaf. Couldn’t keep it together. Couldn’t keep his family above water. Useless. Craven.
    Dylan pushed himself away from the view of the window to the middle of the backseat, hiding himself from judgement. The officer opened the driver-side door and backed out of the driveway. Dylan maneuvered his way up to the chain mail that separated him from the officer driving. “Did you call Agent Cooper?”
    “The Harths have chosen not to press charges, but I’m taking you to the station to cool down. Twenty-four-hour watch period.”
    “I’m not drunk!” Dylan shouted louder than he anticipated. He shook his head as the tires bumped in the dip between the driveway and the road. “Listen, I’m sorry for what happened.” The houses and trees of the community flew by the window as he turned back to look at the house. “You have to call Agent Cooper. You nee—”
    “Oh, I called her. She told me to take you down to the station.”
    “What?”
    “Apparently she has some more questions for you.”
    “No, this... no, you have to call her again. We’ll talk to her together. Please, you don’t understand. They’re going to blow up Boston!”
    The police officer turned up the radio in the car, drowning Dylan out, and no matter what he said, no matter how hard he pleaded, the officer wouldn’t listen. No one would listen. A group of madmen were loose in the city, armed with bombs that Dylan helped smuggle. One member of his crew was dead, one was in the hospital, he was in handcuffs, and only God knew what happened to Billy. It was all too surreal, too foreign. He needed to get his kids out of Boston.

 
    ***
    Deputy Director Perry glanced over Agent Cooper and Agent Diaz’s work. He knew that the two were drilling a hole into his skull with