Milton Residence
St. Paul, Maryland
G
regory Milton expertly sliced the carrots then tossed them into the bowl with the potatoes, onions, and sweet potatoes, then drizzled olive oil over them before seasoning the mixture and tossing it all together several times. His back spasmed and he gasped, reaching behind to massage his still tender muscles.
“Are you okay?” asked his wife Sandra as she dried her hands on a dishcloth and rounded the kitchen island.
“Yeah, just overdoing it.”
“You go sit down. I’ll finish up.”
He nodded, in no shape to protest.
“Daddy, are you okay?”
He forced a smile for his young daughter’s sake. “Yes, sweetie, I’m okay. Just tired.”
Niskha took his hand and led him into the family room where he sat in his chair. She pushed the ottoman closer and he put his feet up.
“Thanks, sweetie.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“How about a hug?”
She leaped into his lap, squeezing him tight, his back protesting, but the pain worth it.
Sandra shooed her away. “Okay, that’s enough, let your father rest.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
Niskha returned to the kitchen and hopped up on a stool at the breakfast bar, returning to her coloring as Milton massaged his back, first injured a few years ago when he had been shot twice, then again when he was beaten mercilessly a few months ago for information he had resisted giving up.
His life had been filled with hellish things, almost all due to his best friend’s penchant for getting into trouble. He closed his eyes and tried to find a position where he could get comfortable, finally succeeding when his phone vibrated on the kitchen counter.
He opened his eyes. “Who is it?”
Sandra leaned over and checked the call display, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “It’s Mai Trinh.”
“Mai?” He beckoned her to bring him the phone and she grabbed it, walking it over to him.
“Has she ever called you before?”
“I don’t think so.” He took the phone and answered the call. “Hello?”
“Hello, Dean Milton, this is Mai Trinh.”
“Hello, Miss Trinh. How can I help you?”
“Umm, have you seen the news, sir?”
He tensed, knowing his best friend was out of the country, which meant ample opportunity for trouble. “No, why.”
“I think you should turn it on, sir. There’s been a bombing at the Guggenheim in Spain.”
His eyes shot wide and he leaped for the remote control, his back screaming in agony. “Oh my God! Are they okay?”
“Yes, well, no, well, they weren’t killed, but the police are saying that they did it.”
“What?” He turned on the TV, switching to the news, a commercial playing.
“According to the news, an international manhunt is on for them.”
“What?” He paused. “Wait, if this is some kind of joke, I swear you’re in serious trouble, young lady.”
“No! I swear, it’s the truth! Just turn on the TV!”
The commercial ended and any doubts he had were quashed with what he saw. The entire main level of the Guggenheim appeared a smoking wreck, fire crews still dousing the flames as rescue workers ferried the survivors and the dead out. The ticker scrolling across the bottom of the screen said at least 50 confirmed dead.
Then pictures of his two best friends appeared on the screen.
Known animal rights extremists.
Sandra stood beside him now, dinner prep forgotten. “Animal rights extremists?”
“Yeah, that doesn’t make sense. Sure, they like animals, but they don’t even have any pets. And aren’t most animal rights activists supposed to be vegetarians or vegans? There’s nothing Jim loves more than a good steak. There’s something wrong here. Something’s not right.”
Sandra pointed at the screen. “Look at that! That’s Jim’s Facebook feed. Look at all those posts!”
Milton grabbed his tablet and brought up Facebook, tapping on Jim’s smiling face in his friends list. It had exactly three posts, all automated from Facebook, with six friends—certainly no mention of any animal rights zealotry. “What the hell are they talking about? This doesn’t look at all like what they’re showing.”
“Search it.”
He jumped, forgetting he had a phone pressed to his ear. “What?”
“Don’t bring him up from your friends list. Search for his name,” explained Mai.
He tapped in the search box and entered his friend’s name. It showed his listing, but there was another just below with the same profile picture. He tapped it and gasped. It was filled with the nonsense the news report had mentioned. “What the hell is going on here?”
