by Edward Bloor
Albert stepped toward us. He spoke softly to Dessi. “Don’t you understand, Neve? It’s over now. We have succeeded.”
Dessi spat back, “Succeeded?”
“Yes. Take your share of the currency. It’s a small fortune. Take it and build yourself a new life.”
Dessi’s eyes flashed. “No!” He kicked at the bag again, but Albert pulled it away quickly. “No! I won’t take one cent of it. And neither should you.”
Albert set the bag on the floor behind him. He mumbled, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“I do feel that way! We lied and robbed and killed to get that. We hurt innocent people. That money is poison!”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is! Don’t you take it, either, Monnonk, or you will be damned. Do you hear me? You will be condemned to death, and executed, and damned to hell!”
Albert answered quietly, “I’m so sorry it came to this, Neve.” His hands moved lightning fast. He grabbed Dessi by the left arm. Dessi tried to fight back, swinging his right arm and landing a glancing blow to the back of Albert’s head, but it had no effect. Albert was too big and too well trained. He twisted Dessi around and pinned both his arms behind him. Then he forced him across the floor, toward Dr. Reyes.
Dr. Reyes reached into his medical bag. He held up a syringe in the moonlight. He tapped at the liquid within.
I screamed “No!” and launched myself at Albert. He turned himself so that I crashed with all my fury into his back and bounced right off.
I had no effect on him, either.
I screamed again, for all I was worth, but it didn’t matter. Dr. Reyes calmly plunged the needle into Dessi’s arm.
Dessi struggled for a few seconds, and then it was all over. I watched him fall lifeless to the floor.
Dr. Reyes put the needle back into the bag. With his free hand, he took hold of Dessi’s sweatshirt while Albert took hold of his feet. They dragged him just beyond the doorway, where Albert hefted his body up and bent it over his right shoulder. Then Albert carried him off.
All I could do was whisper, “Thank you for helping me, Dessi.”
Dr. Reyes remained in the doorway, blocking my escape.
I knew that I was next. He would kill me next. What could I possibly do about it? Could I hurl myself through the front window? That would lacerate my face, but I might get through; I might hit the ground running; I might have a chance.
Dr. Reyes was staring at me. Hideous. Small. Evil. And I thought, No, damn it. I’m not running from him to die beside the road like a stray dog. He’s a common thief. A murderer. I am better than him.
I dared to look him in the eye. I would not be cowardly at the end of my life; I would be defiant. I would be brave—like Patience, like Victoria, like Ramiro. I told him boldly, “So you got your trash bag, full of trash. Congratulations. That’s all it is, you know. Dirty paper with dirty ink on it. It’s trash. And so are you.”
Dr. Reyes closed up his medical bag and laid it down. He took one step toward me and held out one hand in a “calm down” gesture.
I sneered, “So what are you going to do now? Reload and kill me? Or is Albert next? Is that it? A big surprise for Albert? You don’t need him anymore. Will you stick a needle in him? Then me? Then everyone will be dead but you. And who are you?” I hocked up what little liquid I had left in my throat, leaned forward, and spat on the floor like I had seen Victoria do. “You are a small, ugly, evil man with a big bag full of trash.”
He lowered his hand and, to my surprise, spoke. “Who am I?” He held both hands out. “I am a fellow passenger to the grave.”
He straightened his back. It must have been a trick of the moonlight, but he actually seemed to grow taller in the process.
He peeled off his surgical scrub shirt and then his pants, revealing a white cotton T-shirt and blue jeans beneath. He reached his right hand up and, in swift, methodical gestures, pulled off his surgical cap and mask, his dark glasses, and finally a black wig.
Then he stood before me, immobile, daring me to believe my own eyes.
Oh my God, I thought to myself, too stunned to even whisper the words aloud. My whole body shook back and forth with one great spasm of shock, like I’d been standing in a field where they had tested a nuclear bomb.
My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open. For there before me, risen from the depths of Deep Lake, was my father, Dr. Hank Meyers.
After a long, long pause, I managed to whisper, “You…No. You’re dead.”
“No. Not dead. I’m alive.”
“I saw you die. In the lake.”
“No. You saw a helicopter crash.”
“Your helicopter.”
“My drone. With no one in it. My drone, made to look like the real thing; shown from far enough away to look like the real thing.”
I went on whispering, like I was talking to myself. “I saw you get in the real one. At the helipad.”
“Yes, but you didn’t see me get out. I landed it on the floodwall of Deep Lake. I put my shoulder under the fuselage, and I tipped the whole thing into the water. Then you saw me walk to the ambulance.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.” He held up the Dr. Reyes mask and wig. “Dressed like this.”
“But…But you couldn’t have. You drove there with us, in the ambulance.”
“No. I didn’t. Neve opened and closed the door and made noise like I was getting in. But I wasn’t there. He was up front alone.”
I stood, working my jaw, for a full minute before I finally allowed the thought to get through. “You’re not dead.”
He dropped the costume to the floor. “To the rest of the world, I am. And I’m going to stay that way. But not for you. Not for you.”
“Why?”
“I’ll explain that soon. It’ll take some time, though. For now, I just want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to think I was dead. I’m sorry you had to get so sick. I’m sorry for all that bad stuff.”
I started babbling random words directly from my brain. “How? Why? What?”
Albert came back in, alone. He took one glance at my face and said, “It looks like you told her.”
My father’s voice answered, “I told her the basic fact. We need to talk at length, Charity, but not here. We can wait until we get back to the house.”
A syllogism started running through my head: People are either alive or dead. My father is not dead. Therefore…
Albert picked up the trash bag full of currency and started out the door. I had no idea what to do next, so I followed him, walking zombie-like out to the waiting truck. Albert stashed the bag in the back. Then he and I climbed in. I sat on the front seat, while he slipped behind me and sat on a jump seat. I whispered, “Where’s…”
Albert assured me, “He’s on the stretcher.”
“Is he dead?”
“No. He’s fine. He’s sedated.”
“Are you lying?”
“No. No more lying.”
My father climbed into the driver’s seat.
Then the three of us rode in absolute silence back to the house in Mangrove.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
The half moon was still shining weakly on the old car and on the yellow walls of the house when we pulled up. Albert unclicked his seat belt and ducked into the back of the truck. After a minute, he called out, “His blood pressure’s one fifteen over eighty.”
My father answered, “That’s good.”
“Shall we leave him here?”
“Yes. Let’s keep him in here, with the engine running. We’ll keep an eye on him through the monitor.”
My father then got out, so I followed. He led me through the screen door and into the living room, where he pointed to the recliner. “Why don’t you sit there, Charity.” He pulled up a red chair. “I’ll sit in this one.”
I hesitated, still too shocked to comprehend my situation, but I knew I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to scream, but I h
eld back.
I remained standing until Albert entered. For some reason, the sight of him released my anger. I snarled, “I guess your nephew was as stupid as I was! He believed in you, too!”
Albert looked at my father, and then at me. “I understand that you are very angry. And very confused as to why—”
“Angry?” I spat at him. “Do you really think ‘angry’ covers it?”
Albert shook his head no. He muttered, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”
My father added, “So am I. I—we are very sorry. We tried to make this as painless as possible for you.”
I turned to him. “As painless as possible? I’m supposed to be grateful for that?”
His eyes showed hurt. He finally answered, “No.”
I felt my anger surging like molten lava. “So…I’m supposed to thank you for poisoning me, for drugging me, for kidnapping me?”
“No. No—”
“For sticking me in front of a vidcamera and making me watch my own father’s death? Making me react to it? Is that what this was all about? Did I look crushed enough for you? Did I cry enough? Was it a convincing performance? Did we fool Mickie?”
After a long pause, he finally admitted, “Yes. You’re right, of course. That’s what it was all about. You did convince Mickie. She firmly believes that I am dead. And you’ll convince anyone else who ever sees that clip. Video doesn’t lie.”
Albert exchanged an uncomfortable look with my father, then finally mumbled, “Okay. I’d better start packing the truck. Someone could be watching us; someone could be waiting to get their hands on that currency.”
My father nodded. “Right. Do you need my help?”
“No. I’m only taking about half of this.” Albert pointed to the equipment scattered around us. “Only what’s in working order.”
“All right. Set up what you can. I’ll be down soon. Don’t forget to paint the truck when you get there.”
“I won’t.”
My father pointed to the chair again, but I just shook my head no. I stood and stared at the floor while he went about some final bits of business. He activated a small machine, a steel document shredder. I watched as he fed piece after piece into it—name tags, government IDs, papers. He also fed in the wig, followed by the surgical gloves and cap—all the props of their kidnapping plan. Finally he held up two items of mine—my red backpack and my footed pajamas—like he was asking my permission to dispose of them. I just looked away, so he stuffed those into the shredder, too.
Albert made about a dozen trips in and out with the medical equipment until the room was half cleared away. Then he hefted two trash bags.
As much as I hated to speak to Albert, I just had to know. I asked him, “So where did the second bag come from?”
Albert looked at my father for permission to speak. My father stopped his shredding to deliver the answer himself. “It came from our vault. It’s all of our currency. I pulled it out of the Robinson before I tipped it into the lake.”
“I see. So you actually got paid two ransoms?”
“Correct. The first one, supposedly, was destroyed.”
“I see. So how much was I worth, exactly?”
He winced at that, then answered, “A whole lot. A fortune. Enough to let us do what we want to do.”
I blurted out, “But you are a rich doctor! You already had all the money you could’ve possibly needed, ever, in a hundred years!”
He turned away from the shredder and stepped closer. “No. Dr. Henry Meyers did. He had enough money to be Dr. Henry Meyers for the rest of his days.” He pointed at his own heart. “But that’s not what I wanted.”
I shook my head. “No. This is nuts.”
“At first, Charity, yes. It seems nuts. That’s why you have to sit down and listen to me. To hear me out.”
I turned away, more determined than ever not to sit anywhere.
Albert made one final trip to the truck, then approached me in a manner that I would call, to use a Mrs. Veck word, sheepish. He said, “Listen, Charity: I don’t blame you for hating me. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.” He brought his big hand forward, and I looked at what he was holding. It was his leather chess set. “Nobody wants to be a pawn in the game, do they? Everybody wants to be a king or a queen.”
I wasn’t inclined to answer. He added, “But you can’t play without that row of pawns. Can you?” After another silence, he answered himself. “Take it from me, you can’t.”
He finally turned to my father, saying, “Well, I’ll see you down south,” and left without another word. A minute later, I heard the All-Natural Organic Fertilizers truck back out and pull away.
At that point, I had to speak, because I had to know. “What’s he going to do with his nephew?”
“Neve? He’s going to leave him someplace safe.”
“Abandon him, you mean?”
“No. I mean he’s going to take him someplace and wait until he’s all right. Then he’s going to tell him what really happened.”
“What really happened?” I scoffed. “You three were so screwed up, with your fake names and disguises and Plan B’s, and your need-to-know basis. Do any of you even know what happened?”
My father answered, “Mostly. I’ll tell you everything that I know in just a little bit. For now, be assured that Neve—”
“His name is Dessi.”
That seemed to confuse him. “Really?”
“Yeah. And I’m not feeling too confident about what you know. You don’t know the first thing about him. You don’t even know his name.”
“Okay. You got me there. But I know this: Albert will make sure that his nephew is all right—physically, financially, psychologically. Albert will tell him that we never killed anybody.”
I felt a rush of pity for Dessi. He really hadn’t known. He was just a pawn, too. I snarled, “Oh, isn’t that kind of Albert. And of you.” I glared at my father with real hatred. But my legs were now burning with exhaustion after that long run for freedom. I couldn’t stand for another second, so I flopped into the red chair. My father walked around and sat in the recliner. Just sat. He didn’t say anything.
I finally asked, wearily, “So what happens now? People think you’re dead. Do they think I’m dead, too? That we’re both dead? Do we just sit here and act dead? Is that Plan C?”
“No. Of course not. There’s so much I want to tell you. And the first thing is…that you’re free now. Right now. Free to use the bathroom, or get a drink in the kitchen, or spit in my eye. Anything. All I ask is that you hear me out for a few minutes.” He exhaled long and loud. He seemed exhausted, too.
I answered, “What do you have to drink?”
He smiled as best he could. “ElectroPlus. There are two bottles left in the refrigerator, a red and a blue.”
I got up, half expecting this to be another lie, but it was true. I took the red one and carried it back to my seat. Then, from years of training by Victoria, I asked, “Did you want one, too?”
He smiled widely. After a long look at me, he said, “What a princess you are. Really. You are.”
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a no. I can’t drink that stuff.”
I sat down. “If I’m free to go now, when can I go?”
“In a few minutes, I’ll drive you someplace safe, and Victoria can pick you up if you like.”
“That sounds great. Provided it’s true.”
“It is true. I swear it is.”
“You swear?” I scoffed.
“I swear on your mother’s grave.”
“My mother?”
“Yes. This is about you, and me, and her.” He leaned forward and cupped his hands like he was holding a large ball. “Remember how we used to live? With your mother? We were free. We had no walls, no security guards.”
“I remember,” I admitted.
He let the ball drop. “Then it all stopped. We moved into a prison called The Highlands. And you were like the princess in the
tower. What’s her name?”
“Who?”
“The princess.”
“There are lots of princesses.”
“The hair one.”
“Rapunzel?”
“Yes. A princess locked in a tower. And that wasn’t going to change, ever. Except maybe change for the worse. You wouldn’t be the princess going to the ball, would you? You’d be the princess going to the guillotine.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My…my fear for you. For us. And where life was leading us.”
“Us? My life was fine. Talk about your own life.”
“Yes. I will. Okay? Hear me out. This is what I wanted to say. Will you give me the chance?”
I took a deep swig of ElectroPlus. The taste flashed me back many years. I gave my father a gesture somewhere between a shrug and a nod, and he began:
“I don’t expect you to follow all of this, Charity, you being so young. But after I married Mickie, I found myself trapped in a life that I could not stand. I got up every day and played a role that was not me. I was as fictional a character as Victoria and Albert. But they at least had a purpose for their act, didn’t they? What purpose did I have? What did I actually do with my time? On a typical working day, I turned a rich woman with white skin into a rich woman with brown skin.
“I hated myself for doing that, but I continued to play that character—that DermaBronze playboy doctor. I guess I took a perverse sense of pleasure in playing someone I was not. Everyone was fooled. But deep inside, I felt nothing but pain. I was a sham. I was worthless. I did no good in my life.
“Then one day, on a trip to Miami, I happened upon a car accident. A child had been hit and left in the road. A hit-and-run. She was a girl just about your age. A woman and her son came running out of a house. They picked up the girl, which they shouldn’t have done, and carried her across the street to another house. They yelled at some kids to go get the girl’s family and bring them there, too.
“I watched all this, thinking, What does this have to do with me? I should just keep driving. But I didn’t. Instead, I decided to break the pattern of my life; to do something that was not like me at all. I decided to help these people.