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STEVEN ARRIVED AT HOWARD Pharmaceuticals two hours earlier than usual. He stepped out of his truck and looked around. The parking lot was empty. Pale fingers of light were beginning to streak the eastern horizon, dawn inching up the city’s skyscrapers one floor at a time. The wind blew his suit coat open and he shivered at the freezing onslaught against the thin fabric of his dress shirt. He turned up the collar of his coat and darted for the building.
The security guard at the front desk rose to his feet, bleary-eyed but curious. “Morning, Sir.”
“Good morning, Tom.” He strode past and was about to enter the elevator when he paused and turned back. “Was anybody working after hours last night?” he asked.
The guard scratched his head and sniffed. “Dr. Devlin was here as usual, and his sons came by to visit.”
“Anyone else?” Steven wondered how far he could trust Marcus and whether he was working both sides of the fence. Did he drop in for visits with the doctor as well? Were they planning things behind his back?
The guard suddenly realized his shirttale was hanging out and began tucking it back into his pants. “Just that lawyer guy,” he said, looking up. “You know–the scary one. Mr. Fillmore?”
Steven nodded. “I know the one. Thanks.”
Plush carpeting muffled his footsteps down the hall to Frank’s office. With his hand on the door, old insecurities washed over him. He hadn’t entered this office since Frank’s heart attack. Even dead the old man had power to make him feel small. He straightened his shoulders and pushed through to the wood-paneled inner sanctum.
After locking the door, he took his time looking around the room. The bookcases with glass doors held potential, but they would take forever to go through, and he didn’t think his uncle was really much of a reader. Frank’s collection of rare, first edition books were more for show than personal pleasure. The entertainment center, bar, and sitting area seemed too innocuous. Where would Frank hide something so important? Someplace where he alone had access, some secret cubby that he’d dreamed up.
The desk was a monstrous thing, heavy walnut, intricately carved and embellished with brass trim. It was designed and built specifically for Frank by a local artisan. Frank liked to brag that it was paid for by prescription drug addicts the world over. He loved that desk more than his Mercedes.
Steven pulled out every drawer and rifled through them. The file drawer on the right was locked. He took a set of keys from his pocket. Marion gave him the keys, unsure which were personal and which business. He selected a small rounded one. It fit. He turned it and the drawer slid smoothly out as though gliding on butter. That’s what you get for fifty thousand bucks, he thought. The drawers on his desk always moved in a herky-jerky fashion, as though the rails were bent. They probably were. It wasn’t handmade after all.
File folders were filled with personal information, loan papers, paid bills, etc. All except one. At the back of the drawer was a file marked: Attorney, Fillmore. He pulled it out and laid it down. He’d take it with him and look through it later.
Frank’s cigar box sat on the corner of the smooth, polished desktop. He reached across and picked it up. It was heavier than he’d anticipated. Maybe it had a false bottom or something. The lid opened easily. He dumped the Cuban cigars out on the desktop. Two rolled over the edge onto the floor at his feet. He tipped the box over and looked carefully at the underside, then ran fingers along the inside lining feeling for a loose flap or something. Nothing. It was apparently nothing more than what it appeared, a fancy humidor.
He set it down and sank back into Frank’s Italian leather chair with a frustrated sigh. With his feet propped up on the desktop he laced his hands behind his head. He hadn’t found what he came for, but at least he was able to finally relax in this office. His uncle was gone, and he was now CEO. No need to feel like the poor relation looking for a handout anymore.
The phone rang. He jumped up from the chair so fast he nearly fell flat on his face untangling his legs from the desk. His foot hit something and slid forward. One of the cigars had rolled beneath the desk. He bent down to pick it up and bumped his head. Rubbing his bruised skull with one hand he peered up at the underside of the desk lip. An inset button no bigger than a screw hole winked back. Short of crawling under the desk, he never would have found it.
The phone rang twice more but he ignored it. He pressed the button and slowly rose to his knees to peer inside the tiny compartment that popped out as though spring-loaded. Empty. He felt along the sides with his fingers. Whatever Frank kept inside had already been found. But by whom?
His only option now was the video surveillance room. He stood up, pushed the secret drawer back in and took Fillmore’s file with him.
*****
ZANDER WOKE TO THE distant buzzing of a chainsaw. He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. The cabin was still dark. Someone had installed levered blinds on the windows, sufficiently shutting out any stray rays of sunlight that managed to circumvent last night’s storm clouds.
He sat up and listened. The buzzing stopped and now he heard the chop of an ax on wood. Thunk. Thunk. Someone else must have decided winter was here and it was time to split logs. He was glad he didn’t have to get out there this morning. The woodstove had kept the cabin considerably warm during the night. It was starting to feel cool now but not unbearable. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders and tromped barefoot to the woodbox in the corner. A neat stack of split logs awaited. His dad had thought of everything. He opened the woodstove, placed three chunks of wood onto the embers, added some crumpled newspaper and closed the door.
He moved to open the window blinds and peered out into a strange new world. A blanket of white covered everything in sight. The woods no longer appeared menacing but rather inviting, like the first snow when he was small. His mom couldn’t hold him back long enough to eat breakfast. He wanted to run right out and roll in the fluffy stuff, build a snowman, and play war with the neighbor kids.
He wished life could rewind as simply as that. Remember happier days and suddenly be there again. He thought of Emma and shook his head. No. He’d rather go on with what was dealt to him than return to living a lie, oblivious to the existence of his sister. Some things were more important than temporary contentment.
In the kitchen he found the toaster and inserted a couple pieces of bread then poured a glass of bottled apple juice and chugged it down while he waited. The toast popped up and he spread peanut butter between the slices and ate it, looking around the place. The night before he’d been too tired to investigate, just fell asleep on the couch after getting a fire going in the woodstove.
It was five steps from the tiny kitchenette to the front room, and four steps into the even tinier bathroom. The old tin shower stall was starting to rust through in spots; the enamel on the toilet and sink chipped but serviceable. A foggy mirror pulled open above the sink, revealing a medicine cabinet stocked with over-the-counter medications, pain relievers, disposable razors and shaving cream.
He moved back to the front room, four steps, and pulled on socks and shoes. His cell phone lay on the floor by the couch. He picked it up to check the time. No service. Great. If there were no phone service, there would definitely be no Internet service. How was he going to keep in contact with Emma?
Pulling on his jacket, he trudged outside. The air was crisp and clean with an underlying smell of pine and wood smoke. He breathed in deep and slowly expelled. Everything looked bright and new in the morning light; even the outhouse appeared quaintly serviceable under a layer of fresh powder. A Cardinal sang from the roof of the Buick, then flew off toward the trees.
The snow had crystallized on top. It made a loud crunching sound with every step he took. With great care he lay back in the snow and swished his arms and legs up and down. Up and down. He stood up and jumped away, not wanting to damage his creation. The snow angel was perfect. He grinned. The last time he made an angel was when he stayed with Aunt Marion for a week when he was eleven. His parents were on vacation at some island resort avoiding the cold and he was out wallowing in it. Aunt Marion called it his guardian angel. Well, he could use one about now.
His phone buzzed, and he flipped it open. A text had come in. The signal was weak but at least there was one. He scrolled down to the message. It was from Michael.
“Whassup monky boy are you sick? Scool is boring without ya”
Zander smiled. Some things never changed. He started to type back but stopped. What could he say? His dad told him not to tell anyone where he was. It would be easier to ignore the text, pretend he never got it. He flipped his phone shut and stuffed it in his coat pocket.
*****
ANDREW DROVE SLOWLY past the house and parked. He put his cell phone to his ear as though in conversation and smiled at a woman walking her dog down the sidewalk. She waved a mittened hand at him. Zander’s car was still parked where it had been the night before. Maybe he’d stayed home sick with the flu or something. Kids were always sick.
The clinic where Dr. Brock worked brimmed with kids on any given day, hacking and coughing, serving up germs by the cartload to anyone crazy enough to set foot inside. He’d thought about going in after hours, searching her office, but he chose not to take the chance. The odds that she’d hidden something there and the police would find it and link it to her death were so low as to be almost non-existent.
He drove around the block and parked in front of a large two-story with a Lexus in the drive. Houses in the suburbs all looked the same to him. Taupe. Tan. Gray. Ochre. The same neutral colors, the same cars in the driveways, the same perfectly planted trees in the front yards. He couldn’t live out here. It was too clean, too patterned. He was a controlled person, but he needed an environment of randomness to thrive. Acts of violence, discord, noise, crowds, and graffiti-marked buildings was where he got his life energy. The suburbs were invented for people like the judge and his mother, people who lived by rules and regulations.
He’d wait another hour. If the tracker didn’t signal movement of the vehicle, perhaps he’d have to try a more direct approach.
*****
SERENA PICKED UP THE dirty clothes scattered across Zander’s room. He was usually so clean and neat. She didn’t know what had gotten into him lately. He was absent-minded, always in a hurry, and now sloppy. She bent and pulled a pair of jeans from under the bed and stuffed them into the laundry basket. His white dress shirt hung over a chair in the corner. She snatched it up and looked at it. The last time he’d dressed up would have been for Frank’s funeral. A small, square object showed through the light material of the pocket. She poked her fingers in and pulled it out. An SD card.
She shook her head, lips pursed. When would he learn not to leave things in his pockets? The last time she washed clothes he’d left his wallet in a jacket pocket. She had to hang his cash and photo I.D. up to dry. The leather wallet was ruined.
The doorbell chimed through the house. She set the basket down, laid the card on Zander’s desk and went to answer the door.
Her eyes narrowed when she pulled open the front door and saw the man standing on her front step. “Why Mr. Fillmore. What brings you to the neighborhood?”
Andrew Fillmore’s SUV was parked out on the street rather than in the driveway. She wondered why he hadn’t parked closer in this weather. Wearing a dark wool pea coat and black jeans he looked oddly menacing. She didn’t remember ever seeing him wear anything other than a suit and tie, even to company Christmas parties. He’d shaved his head recently and cut himself in the process. A tiny speck of blood had dried just above his left ear.
“Hello, Mrs. Howard,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a passing car then turned back, a stiff smile lifting his lips. “Do you mind if I step inside? It’s rather cold out here.”
Serena had never liked the man, but he was Frank’s attorney and perhaps he had something to tell them about Frank’s will. Although, Steven should be here if that were the case. She reluctantly stepped back. “Is this about Frank? Steven went to the office quite early today. I’m sure you can catch him there.”
She backed up another step and pointedly left the door open, but he pressed forward and closed it firmly behind him. “I don’t want to speak with your husband. I want to speak with your son.”
“Zander? Why? Did Frank mention him in his will?”
“Is he here?” He glanced curiously up the staircase, ignoring her question.
“No. He’s at school.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now what is this all about?” she demanded, already fed-up with his rude behavior.
Pale brows rose skeptically. “At school,” he repeated. “Well, when do you expect him home from school?”
The man was definitely an odd character, but Frank had trusted him and apparently, he was here on company business. It couldn’t hurt to tell him. “He’s staying with Marion for a few days. To keep her company. She’s taken Frank’s passing rather hard.”
“Is that what your husband told you?”
“That’s what I know. Now I think you should leave.”
Andrew licked his lips, his eyes never leaving her face. He seemed to enjoy making her feel uncomfortable. Finally, he turned to open the door. “I’m sorry I missed him. Be sure and tell your husband I dropped by.”
He stepped outside without another word. Serena pushed the door closed and twisted the deadbolt. If she didn’t know better, she’d take that request as a threat. But why would Andrew Fillmore be threatening her husband? And what did it have to do with Zander?
She hurried back upstairs to retrieve the laundry basket and remembered the SD card. Why did Zander have a memory card at the funeral? She forgot about doing the laundry and sat down at her son’s desk. His computer was already on, so she slipped the card into the reader.
*****
“SO... STEVEN HOWARD thinks he can play hide and seek with me.” Devlin leaned back in his chair and tugged at his earlobe, his gaze on the office ceiling. The news was not unexpected. He knew at some point Steven would make a move to protect his son. Especially after what Fillmore did to the nice lady doctor. Which probably did need to be done, but he should have thought of a more subtle way to insure her silence, other than slitting her throat and leaving her to be the lead story on the five o’clock news.
Fillmore took off his coat and draped it over one arm. A frown wrinkled his normally placid expression. “He sent the kid away without telling anyone. Not even his wife. Steven will never give up his son–and without him, you’ll never find the girl.”
“Au contraire. He’ll lead us directly to the girl. He just needs the right motivation.”
“Do you want me to motivate him?”
“No.” Devlin got up to walk Fillmore out. “It’s time I took matters into my own hands. I’ll call you when I need you,” he said, dismissing him with a flick of his fingers. The man was like lint caught on a cashmere coat. He couldn’t seem to get rid of him. Soon he’d take out the roller and brush him off for good.
Fillmore’s mouth set into a grim line. He turned abruptly and left the lab.
Devlin followed and watched until the doors of the elevator closed on him. He turned to go into his office and nearly ran into one of the twins blocking his path. “Where did you come from?” he asked, startled and annoyed at the interruption. He moved around him.
Twin grasped his arm. “Father, you don’t need her. You have us...me,” he corrected.
“Why do you keep saying that? I told you the girl is special. She needs to be brought in. Two sets of twins are better than one. Can you imagine the accolades in the science world when they hear of my research? Mind reading, thought manipulation, and now healing.” He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Trust me. This is necessary.”
*****
EVEN THROUGH THE DARKENED windows of the Saab, Marcus marveled at the brilliant blue of the morning sky. The storm had passed, leaving a couple inches of slush on the city streets as temperatures rose slightly above freezing. He sat patiently waiting, listening to Beethoven’s fifth symphony play quietly on the stereo. Knowing that no one could see inside, he lifted his hand and played conductor as the music swelled.
The circumstances of this day were not to his liking, but someone had to stop things from spinning out of control. He would not be caught in the web of Devlin’s making. Things were going from bad to worse. He’d tried to protect Zander out of concern for his daughter’s mental state, but he wouldn’t spend a day in jail for anyone. He’d been a senator, a presidential candidate, and was now a very influential lobbyist. He couldn’t allow his reputation to be sullied by the self-righteous behavior of his son-in-law.
Through the rearview mirror he watched Andrew Fillmore exit the building and climb into a Lincoln Navigator. His jaw was tight, his hands in fists at his sides. Often it was hard to tell what Andrew was feeling, or if he felt anything at all, but Marcus had known him since he was a boy. He was obviously angry about something. The truck roared to life and soon disappeared from view.
Steven pushed through the front doors a few moments later, a cardboard file box in his arms. He hurried to his truck, placed the box on the front passenger seat and moved around to the driver side door. A man with a black stocking over his face hit Steven on the back of the head. Steven crumpled to the ground and lay unmoving. The man reached across the seats and grabbed the box. He strode briskly across the parking lot toward the rear of the Saab. Marcus pushed the trunk release button. The man placed the box inside, closed the lid and walked quickly away.
Marcus backed up and drove slowly past where Steven lay. The door of the truck hung open above his bloodied head. He sighed and looked away. It was Steven’s own fault. He had no business trying to take down the company. Devlin certainly needed to be dealt with, but quietly, not with law enforcement and a media blitz. Which is what would happen if the Sensiline Project ever came to light. For sixteen years he’d put his reputation, money, influence, all on the line because of this project. He deserved to be rewarded, not punished.
A mile down the road he turned into an alley, stopped and pulled the stolen plates off the car. He reattached the dealer plate and climbed back in. If Steven were stupid enough to call the police–which he doubted–they’d ask to see the tape from the parking lot cameras. The license plate number would lead them to a rusty blue Oldsmobile with bullet holes in the side door owned by a lowlife drug dealer by the name of Willy.
*****
STEVEN TRIED TO STAND. His knees buckled, and he nearly went down again, but grasped the door and pulled himself upright. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and he blacked out for a second, his grip tightening on cold metal as though it were a life preserver. He eased onto the seat of his truck, groaning with each movement. Breathing heavily, he managed to close the door and turn on the ignition. Shaking from shock and cold, he flipped the heat on full blast and leaned his head wearily against the steering wheel.
The box of discs was gone. Someone was always one step ahead of him. The empty drawer in Frank’s office...and now this. Was Devlin behind the attack? He’d like to get his hands on the man’s throat and... He closed his eyes and tried to think through the pain. What now? What chance did Zander have to live a normal life if he couldn’t find evidence to control Devlin?
Something warm dripped down his cheek and he adjusted the rearview mirror to see. Blood. He reached up and felt a gash in the side of his skull. His hand came away sticky with blood. He pulled a wad of fast-food napkins out of the glove box and pressed them to his head. The bleeding slowed, and he threw the damply red wad of paper to the floor.
He put the car into gear and looked in the mirrors before backing out. Devlin was approaching his vehicle, smiling broadly, white hair blowing over his forehead in the wind, his hand raised as though waiting to speak with him. Steven shut off the engine and opened the window. Anger seethed in his gut, but he tamped it down.
“Devlin.”
“Steven,” the doctor greeted with feigned warmth. “It’s good to see you. I’ve wanted to speak with you ever since Frank’s death and offer my condolences. It’s just been such a busy time.”
“Is that all?” Steven ground out. If it weren’t for his head feeling like it was going to explode at any second, he would have flung the door open and throttled the man.
“Are you all right? You’re bleeding,” Devlin said, not with concern but rather what looked like morbid curiosity. “Did you have an accident?”
As if he didn’t know. “You could call it that. Now what do you want?”
His nostrils flared slightly as though excited about something. With palms on the window ledge, he leaned in closer. “I want to offer you my congratulations as well. You and Dr. Brock managed to hide the girl from me for sixteen years. It was quite a fait accompli. But now that I know–she belongs to me.”
Steven was tongue-tied. How could Devlin know about Zander’s sister? He’d just found out himself. Devlin laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners, teeth bared like a wolf. Not waiting for a response, he sauntered away, his lab coat blowing back in the wind
Steven stared after him and swore under his breath. He pounded the steering wheel with both hands, letting loose the anger he’d kept contained for so long. No matter what he did it was never enough. He couldn’t make up for all the sins he’d committed along the way. He couldn’t make anything right, not even save his son from Devlin’s maniacal grip. He rested his head in his arms on the steering wheel and felt a dam break inside. Tears coursed down his cheeks into his beard. He didn’t try to brush them away. Whiskers wet with tears, his head damp with blood, he finally went to the one his father said could, “wipe away tears, heal broken hearts, and save lost souls.” He knew he was lost and broken. From the depths of his very being he cried out, his voice strangled with tears of remorse.
“God, please help me.”
*****
ZANDER WALKED ALL THE way to the main road and back, trudging through the woods, but stayed close enough to the winding gravel drive to not get lost. Not that there was much chance of that. He could smell smoke and roasting meat coming from a neighbor’s cabin. It couldn’t be too far if he followed his nose.
Boredom had already set in. His cell phone only worked outside, and only if he faced a certain direction and held it high. Texts seemed to go through, but calls were iffy. Emma had sent him a text earlier. She wrote that she and her sister were staying home from school, but this time to celebrate as a family. They were all going to the zoo.
He smiled, remembering the time he went to the zoo with Aunt Marion. Funny thing–seemed like Aunt Marion had been a bigger influence on his life than he’d realized. All the fun times, the special adventures, had been spent with her. Their conversations almost always involved God. Sometimes he wondered why he had such a hard time believing. Aunt Marion’s faith was rock solid.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the tiny Bible Emma had given him. Maybe now was a good time to check it out. He didn’t have anything else to do. He didn’t want to go inside. The closet-sized quarters made him feel a bit claustrophobic. Someone had nailed rungs up the side of the cabin, to make for easier access to repair the roof or clean the chimney. He’d have a great view up there, maybe even be able to see the highway in the distance.
He climbed the makeshift ladder, brushed away a crust of snow and sat down on the arch of the roof. The chimneys of two other cabins poked up through the trees, reminding him that he was really not that far from civilization.
He took out the Bible again and opened it to a book called, John.
*****
STEVEN LET HIMSELF in through the garage door to the kitchen and paused to listen. The house was still, no sound of his wife moving about. He went to the sink and washed his hands, making sure to get all the blood out from under his fingernails. He didn’t want to leave a trail on his way upstairs. Serena would flip out if she saw him and wonder why he didn’t call the police. Long past due, explanations at this point would be lengthy and he didn’t have time.
He’d take a quick shower and try to call Zander again. The one thing he hadn’t really thought about was cell phone reception out there. It must be spotty at best. Hopefully, his son would realize he needed to get to a place with reception and check in soon. He couldn’t chance making the trip out there himself. Someone was probably tracking his every movement.
At the top of the landing he paused outside Serena’s door and listened. It was quiet. She must be napping. He started down the hall before realizing Zander’s door was partway open and the light was on. He pushed the door inward and reached for the light switch.
Serena sat at the desk, her profile to him. She stared at the monitor, elbows on the desktop, head in her hands. At his intrusion she turned slightly and her face paled. Her eyes, red and puffy from crying, sparked with angry accusations. “How could you do this? Be involved in baby stealing and experimenting on children? Your own son!” she screamed and buried her face in her hands.
He moved to touch her, but she shoved him back.
“You can’t explain all of this away!” she waved a hand at the screen still bright with information. “Zander is my son too. And I want to know where he is!”
He glanced at the screen, confused. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, his heart racing with new hope. He grasped her forearms. “Tell me! This is important. Zander’s life could depend on it.”
“Now you’re worried about Zander’s life?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm and she stood up and moved away from him as though she couldn’t bear his proximity.
Steven sat down at the desk and scrolled through the information. He clicked to the top. “This is Frank’s back up. Where did you get it?”
“I found the card in the pocket of Zander’s dress shirt. The one he wore to the funeral,” she mumbled, refusing to meet his eye.
He found a recordable disc and prepared to burn the information on it. Two copies were safer than one. “Maybe Marion had it. He was with her alone for a time. I can’t believe she knew about all this and didn’t say anything.” He’d never known Marion to lie or to keep silent if she thought someone needed to hear the truth. If she gave Zander the card, then she probably didn’t know what was on it.
He slipped the disc back out of the drive and pulled the card as well. With this information he would be able to protect their son and Emma. He stood up. “I’m sorry I kept you in the dark for so long, honey. It was never my intention to hurt you or Zander. The exact opposite in fact. I promise I’ll explain everything. But right now, I need to make a call.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” She whirled around, daring him to leave the room. “You are up to your eyeballs in lies and making a call is more important than all of this?” She waved her arm, encompassing the room and apparently the last sixteen years of their lives together.
He opened his cell and dialed. “Yes.”
*****
ZANDER STRETCHED OUT his legs, the Bible open on his lap, and read the verse again. It must be important because Emma had underlined it. “...I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”
The light of life. Emma certainly had that. She glowed with inner life and healed from the same source. Apparently, that source was Christ. The light. The truth. The way–according to John.
His cell phone rang, surprising him. Finally. Wireless reception was much better on rooftops. He grinned and slipped the phone out of his pocket. “Hey, Dad. Guess where I’m sitting? On top of the world!”
“Zander, listen. Emma may be in danger. Devlin knows about her. I don’t know how, but he does. We need to warn her, but I don’t know how to contact her.”
He felt the breath go out of his lungs as though someone had punched him in the gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear what his dad was saying. Emma was in danger. Why did he leave her alone? Of course, they knew. That man had followed them to the hospital. He probably questioned the nurses and found out where she lived, everything about her.
“Zander! Are you there?” His dad’s voice was strident with worry.
“Yeah,” he finally managed to say. He tried to shut off the emotions like Dr. Akhilesh had taught him but realized that it wasn’t so easy when they were his own and not the anonymous feelings of a passing individual. There was no escape valve for this. He took a deep breath. “I’ll call her.”
“What if you can’t reach her? This is the first time I’ve been able to get a call through to you, and I’ve been trying for the past hour. Give me her number. I’ll call her too. Just in case.”
“All right.” He rattled off the number, his gaze on the smoking chimneys in the distance. If something happened to Emma, he would never forgive himself. No one knew she existed until he went to meet her. His selfish longing for blood ties and belonging had put her life in danger. The meaning to life that he’d been looking for wasn’t in their relationship as siblings, but in Emma’s relationship with the God of the universe.
“Zander, whatever you do, stay where you are. I have the information we need to stop Devlin, but it’s going to take time. Stay put. I promise to watch out for Emma.”
“Okay, Dad.”
As soon as the line went dead, he dialed Emma’s cell. It went directly to voice mail. He left a message for her to call him back. She was probably still at the zoo and unable to hear her phone, but what if she didn’t check it before she got home? What if they knew her address? What if...?
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, cleared his mind and tried to reach her. Nothing. The miles were too many. The chance that she would sense his worry and call was beyond ridiculous. Then he remembered what she did when the odds were stacked against her, when things didn’t make sense. She prayed. Maybe he’d try that and then call again. “God,” he began, looking up at the clear blue sky from his rooftop perch, “can you hear me now?”
His phone lit up and he answered it before the first ring escaped. “Emma!”
“Are you all right?”
“I am now,” he began. He looked up again and mouthed, thanks.
Emma listened to his warnings and worry for her safety without interrupting. Then she said, “Okay, I understand you feel responsible, but you’re not. If this whole thing was turned around and I learned of your existence, I would have sought you out as well. That’s not selfishness. It’s love. And I’m saying this out of love–do not come here. Stay where you are. Be safe.” She paused, and he heard the beep of a car horn and someone calling her name in the background. “I’ve got to go. We’re heading home. Don’t worry, Zander. God’s in control.”
*****
“SO, ULTIMATELY YOU did all of this for me.” Serena eyed him across the kitchen table, her expression softening by degrees as she took in the depths he had gone to for her sanity. She wasn’t forgiving yet but coming to an understanding of what pushed him to such extreme measures. Was it her depression and desire for a baby that was the catalyst, or his love for her and need to please her that led him to such disastrous lengths? Whatever it was, she knew his and other’s decisions at the company had brought them to a crossroads, one she wasn’t sure they could survive.
He shrugged, his head bowed and hands on the table between them. “That’s what I’ve told myself all these years, that I was doing it for you. That in the end the good would make up for the bad. But today I realized that when I stand before God, he won’t ask what I’ve done to counteract the sins I’ve committed. Because I can’t even come close.”
Serena stared at the gash on her husband’s bowed head and wondered if she’d heard right. She was amazed by the turn of conversation. Steven had always avoided God talk. Didn’t want anything to do with church or “religious jargon,” as he called it. She reached out and touched his hand, encircling her fingers with his, and prodded, “What will he ask?”
He looked up and licked his lips. “If I’m trusting in the death and resurrection of his son. And I am.”
A warm surge of emotion flooded her heart at his words. “So am I.”
“I’ve wanted to tell you everything for a long time, but I didn’t think you could handle it,” he admitted.
“I probably couldn’t have.”
“You seem different lately. More upbeat, lively, like the girl I fell in love with.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Is there something I should know?”
She laughed, the sound becoming more familiar to her ears each day. There were a lot of years where laughter was a stranger in her life. But lately...she’d been looking up. “I was afraid to tell you because I thought you’d say I was confused or something.”
“Tell me what?”
“I went off my meds. I haven’t taken them in over five weeks. I finally realized something was wrong. They didn’t make me feel better, they just masked my feelings to the point that I wasn’t really here.”
“You mean the doctor made a mistake and gave you the wrong thing?”
Tangible concern in Steven’s voice released the last of her suspicions. She shook her head. “It wasn’t a mistake. I know that now. Back when we were trying so hard and unable to have a baby, I met Carl Devlin for lunch one day and confided in him. He wrote a prescription for me. Said it would help me feel better, maybe even relax me enough that I’d get pregnant. One miscarriage after another and I continued to take the pills he supplied. Not realizing how much he hated you and how far he’d go to have revenge.” A tear slipped down her cheek and Steven reached out to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. She clasped his hand and held it to her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“What for?”
“For not trusting you like I should have.”
He sighed. “Devlin couldn’t have pulled this off alone. You know that.”
“I know. I always felt better after being at Strickland for a few weeks. I guess I was there long enough for the drugs to get out of my system. But once I was home, I started taking the prescribed meds again and back down the rabbit hole I fell.”
“I don’t understand. I picked up your prescriptions myself many times. How could Devlin make the switch?” Steven got up and went to the sink for a glass of water. His hand shook slightly as he turned and gulped it down.
“He didn’t. My father did.”
He set the glass down so hard on the counter that she thought it would crack. “Marcus?”
“I think so. He would visit me when you were at work. The pills looked different after he was gone, but I didn’t think that much about it at the time. My mind was way too foggy to think about much at all.” She moved to stand before him and put her hands on either side of his face. “It’s not foggy anymore. I see you clearly for the first time in years. I remember why I chose you and not Devlin. Because I love you, Steven. I loved you then and I love you now.”
He pulled her in and kissed her, savoring the feel of her beneath his hands and lips.
After a minute or two she broke away breathing heavily, and pressed her hands to his chest, a coy smile playing over her lips. “Later, stud. Remember your son and his sister? They’re depending on you.”
“Right.” He tipped her chin and smiled into her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”
*****
ZANDER PACED INSIDE the tiny cabin, unable to get his mind off the fact that Devlin knew about Emma. The big question was, how much did he know? Was it just the fact that she existed, or her name and where she lived? He chewed at his thumbnail and stared at the tiny gas stove where he’d put the tea kettle on to boil. Flames licked up around the sides of the kettle, so he turned it down some.
Did Devlin know she could heal with music?
The thought of Emma being forced to perform against her will made him angry. He paced back into the living room, hands clenched at his sides. He’d been forced to do things his entire life; to perform tricks like a trained circus animal, to expand a part of his brain most people didn’t even know existed. Who knew what they’d expect of her.
Steam hissed from the kettle, and he turned mid-stride back to the stove. He filled a mug with hot water and stirred in powdered cocoa. With his drink in hand he returned to the front room and settled onto the couch. He glanced at his watch. Time seemed to stand still out here. He didn’t know if he could handle this insular existence for longer than a day or two. He wondered how monks or hermits stayed secluded away from the world for so long. It would certainly drive him insane.
He got up and placed more wood in the stove. The charred wood crumbled and broke apart as he pushed the new log on top. Fingers of flame licked around the oak, needy and all consuming. Sometimes he felt like that log; consumed by greedy individuals who wanted more and more, and it was never enough.
He remembered the schoolbooks in his backpack. He’d brought them along but left the pack in the backseat of the Buick. Might as well have something to do. He closed the stove door, and then picked up his jacket.
Someone had a radio playing in the distance. The sound carried clearly in the cold air. He wondered which cabin it came from. The one with the brick chimney and satellite dish, or the smaller one that had a plastic Santa and reindeer affixed just in time for Thanksgiving next week.
He reached into the back seat for his book bag. His cell beeped. He had a text. Maybe it was his dad. He’d promised to keep him updated on Emma. He flipped his phone open. It was Michael again. He obviously didn’t have spell-check enabled.
yo, dude. havnt herd from u. sorry bout yestrday at scool. i was jus playn with ya. ur not still mad r u?
Zander snorted a laugh. It was impossible to stay mad at Michael for long. They’d been friends since grade school. His pranks had gotten them both in trouble innumerable times, his temper as well, but he was still the closest thing he had to a brother. After everything that had happened lately, he couldn’t afford to lose another friend. He didn’t have that many to begin with.
He sent a text back. I’m not mad. Just out of town. See you when I get back.
Before he got back in the cabin, another text came in. He set his book bag inside the door and climbed the ladder to the roof. It was from Michael again.
whered ya go? disney world or a top secret bunker in so dakota?
Reception proved to be fine up here once again. His phone showed three bars. He typed back, both, and pressed send. At least he had someone to talk to. He looked across the trees toward the neighboring cabins. Santa had taken a tumble and lay hanging facedown the side of the roof.
The tune from Scooby Doo began to play on his cell and he answered it. “Emma. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I think.”
“You think?” He stuffed his free hand in the pocket of his jacket. The temperature had dropped in the past hour or so. “What’s the matter?”
“There’s a van parked out on the street. It’s been there for over an hour. I think someone’s watching our house,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He heard a piano being played in the background–badly.
“Are you sure?” His heart beat faster at the thought. Did Devlin send Fillmore to stake out her house and grab her if he got the opportunity? The man was certainly capable of anything.
“No, I’m not sure,” she said, her voice shaky. “But I’m scared. Mom and Dad wanted to do some early Christmas shopping and left Kylie with me.”
Zander couldn’t sit out here alone while his sister was in danger. He bit his lip, trying to think of a solution. Emma lived in Hanover. It would take him at least two hours to get back there, maybe three if traffic was bad. His phone beeped and he lowered it to take a look. Another text from Michael. dude r u in truble? That was a loaded question.
“Emma. Hold on a second.” He wrote Michael a long text and pressed send. “Okay, I’m back. Are you still there?”
The piano playing had stopped, and the line was quiet. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know.” She laughed self-consciously. “The bad guys always have those listening devices in the movies. They can hear right through walls.”
He smiled. “I know you’re scared. But I have a plan. I’m just waiting for Michael to text me back.”
“Who’s Michael?”
“A good friend of mine. You can trust him.” The text came through. “Hold on.”
im batman to your robin. just tell me where to go.
“Emma. Here’s what I want you to do...”