Taken

by Edward Bloor

  “I parked the car and walked up to the house. Everyone was chattering in Spanish. I understood that the house was a clinic, but the doctor was not in. I didn’t hesitate. I raised my hands for silence. I told them all that I was a doctor. A real doctor. I set to work on that poor girl. It turned out she had a broken leg and contusions on her legs and arms, but nothing life-threatening. I had her in a leg splint and cleaned up in about twenty minutes.

  “Well, you’d think I was the Second Coming of Christ! Suddenly the people were all around me, pumping my hand, hugging me, crying on my shirt. When I finally got free of them and started to go, I saw that a line of people had formed outside. They were waiting for that clinic doctor to return. A mother held a baby up to me and said, ‘Ella está enferma. She is sick.’ What could I do? I went back inside and started acting like a damn doctor.

  “Somewhere along the way, someone asked me my name. I thought up ‘Reyes’ on the spot. ‘Reyes’ for the Three Kings, because that’s what I felt like. I added the M. later, just for fun. In one day, pretending to be Dr. Reyes, I helped over fifty people. These were people with serious problems—infections, sores, broken bones. I cured them all! I was so pumped up, so elated by the experience, that from that day on, I knew what I wanted to do with my life. With every remaining day of my life.”

  I must admit, I was fascinated by his speech. I never knew he had it in him. Or I knew it when I was little, but I had forgotten. Between the words of this caring, enthusiastic man and the retro sweet taste of the ElectroPlus, I felt like I was five years old again.

  He aimed both pointer fingers at me; his eyes were shining. “Charity, think about it. All of our time, energy, and money go into keeping people away from us, into building up walls. What if we didn’t do that? What if we became part of the world around us? What if we used all of that time, energy, and money for something else? For a greater good? We would no longer be people who were only worth a trash bag full of ransom money. We would be people who were worth something real. You and I, we could…redefine our lives; we could change them completely!”

  He paused and waited for a reply. I didn’t know what to say. Foolishly, I blurted out, “Can I use the bathroom?”

  He sat back, disappointed, I think. He answered, “Of course, I said you could. So go ahead.”

  After I got up, he added tersely, “We could head out of here now, too. If you’re ready.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  I laid my bottle down and hurried into the bathroom. I could hear him tidying up in the living room. What was going on with this strange man? I still didn’t know if I could trust him. I still didn’t know who he really was.

  When I came out, he was standing by the kitchen archway. He had a small brown suitcase in his hand. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He led the way out the kitchen door. We crossed a patchy lawn to that old German car. It was a diesel hybrid of some kind, a two-door sedan with dark tinted windows. My father unlocked it manually. “Now, here’s a car nobody would want to steal. It’s very economical, though. It used to cost a fortune to run my 700D.”

  I got in the passenger side. The car smelled like tacos. I asked, “Where are we going?”

  “To the turnpike. We’ll stop at the rest area and talk a little more, if you’re willing.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I will take off, in this car, to the south.” He paused and added, “I hope…with you. But I will fully accept it if you choose to go back.”

  I was going back. I asked him, “How, exactly, will I get back?”

  “Uh, you will call Mickie, or Victoria. I expect they will send Highlands security here to get you. I’ll hide out and watch until you’re safely in their custody, and then…I’ll go.”

  After a few blocks, I asked him, “What’s in the south?”

  “That’s where I live.”

  “That’s where Dr. Reyes lives?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you just shredded his identity, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ve shut down his clinic, too. I’ve found a bigger space that I’ll be moving to.”

  “As who? You can’t be Dr. Reyes. You can’t be Dr. Meyers.”

  “As someone new. Anew version of me. Slightly older, I’m thinking.” We pulled onto the Florida Turnpike ramp. “The clinic will have good diagnostic equipment. Refurbished, but good.”

  “Equipment supplied by Albert?”

  “That’s right. That’s the plan.”

  “And you don’t think anyone is ever going to find out who you are?”

  “No. People down there have more important things on their minds. More important than a dead rich guy who couldn’t fly a helicopter.”

  As we drove in his run-down Daimler alongside Ferraris and Peugeots and Porsches, he added, almost boisterously, “And you know what, Charity? I can’t wait! I can’t wait to get there and move in and set everything up and get started.” Again, in a flash, I remembered my father the way he used to be, back when my mother was alive. He was boyish, and idealistic. He was someone to look up to.

  We drove for about ten miles in silence except for the wheezing of that old car before he finally spoke again. “I said, on Christmas Eve, that you only get one chance to choose your path in life. I asked you to think about that. Did you?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Not really.”

  “Okay. Well, that’s good, because it’s not true. I was lying. You get as many chances as you want; as many as you dare to make for yourself.”

  We pulled off the turnpike and into the rest area. I looked at the long row of cars parked ahead of us and realized something: I was back in civilization. I was free to run to any one of these cars and knock on the window and announce who I was. I asked him, “Aren’t the Highlands security guards looking for me now? And the police?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because your ex-stepmother knows what’s good for her. She followed my instructions. She told the authorities exactly what she was supposed to tell them and nothing more.”

  We pulled into a diagonal space. I said, “You mean, Mickie did what was best for Mickie?”

  My father shook his head sadly, but he spoke with a measure of forgiveness. “It’s not her fault. It’s mine. I never should have married her. I was so unhappy when I met her. I was like…a recluse. A hermit. All I did was work; you know that.”

  “You had no life.”

  “Not really. I was stumbling along, down the wrong path. And Mickie happened to be standing on it.”

  “Does she really think you’re dead?”

  “Oh yes. She’s already filed a claim on my insurance.”

  “What about me?”

  He looked down at the steering wheel. He spoke softly. “Obviously, if you call her tonight, she’ll know you’re okay. If you don’t call her? I expect she’ll draw her own conclusion, a limited conclusion based on what she saw on the vidscreen tonight and what she’ll hear from Victoria.”

  I suddenly remembered the scene in the field. I warned him, “You’d better not have hurt her!”

  “Who? Victoria? No! Heavens no. She ran away from us, and we let her run. She left the bag right there on the seat. We even waited for her to come back and drive away before we set off after you. She was fine.”

  “No, she wasn’t fine! Not if she didn’t have me! She was upset.”

  He cringed. “Yes. You’re right. I don’t know what I can say about that except, again, that I’m sorry.”

  “You used her like a pawn, too.”

  “I suppose we did, but that wasn’t the plan. Mickie was supposed to deliver the currency.”

  The thought of Victoria driving home without me filled my eyes with tears. My father waited for a long time before adding, “Anyway, however this plays out, based on what we know about Mickie, you’ll probably wind up as the subject of her next vidseries.”

  My anger at Mickie overtook my anger for
him. “That’s so phony! She doesn’t care crap about me. How can she do that?”

  “Because it’s all just video to her. Mickie Meyers is what you see on the vidscreen. There’s no one else in there. When the camera goes off, she ceases to exist.” He shut off the engine. “Come on. We need to get you some solid food.”

  I nearly said, “That’s what Mom told you once,” but I stopped myself.

  I followed him into the rest area’s food court, a circular room of salad bars, Smart Water stations, and fast-food outlets. I half expected someone to point at me and yell, “That’s the girl on the ‘Taken’ flyers!” But no one paid any attention to us.

  We both ordered Mexican pizzas and liteshakes. I pointed out, “This will be my first solid food in three days.”

  My father grimaced. He picked up the tray and led the way to a clean table in the back with no other diners near it. He looked around to be sure no one was listening, then he began: “Do you remember what Victoria called Albert tonight, out in the field? Were you listening to that?”

  “I was listening. But what? What did she call him?”

  “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde! She called Albert that. And she was right, to some extent. But she should really have called me that.”

  “Victoria is always right.”

  “She is. Yeah. She’s great.”

  We each took a bite and reflected on Victoria. Then he spoke again: “But it’s really like the Jekyll-and-Hyde story in reverse. Dr. Henry Jekyll became an evil character, Edward Hyde. Edward Hyde grew ever stronger and took over the life of the good but weak Henry Jekyll.

  “For me, the opposite happened. Every time Dr. Reyes appeared at the clinic and helped heal wounds and stop infections and save lives, he became stronger. And Dr. Hank Meyers, hiding behind his walls, hoarding his currency in his vault, became weaker. Soon I was actively plotting how to escape into Reyes full-time. I made Hank Meyers into even more of a selfish buffoon, with the golf and the helicopter and the college football. The more self-indulgent Hank Meyers became, the less chance there was of anyone relating him to the selfless Dr. Reyes.

  “Then one day Albert came walking into my clinic, in regular clothes, of course. He had brought his sister there for help. I froze when he looked at me. I thought my double life had been exposed and all would be destroyed. But Albert had a secret of his own. He had lied to get medical coverage for his sister, and he was in a lot of trouble with RDS.”

  I said, “I actually know this part. Dessi told me.”

  My father looked confused again; then he remembered. “Oh. Right. Neve.”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  He collected his thoughts. “Okay. RDS contacted me about firing Albert, but I said no. Instead, Albert and I made a deal. I would protect his lie, and he would protect mine. And I would give his sister the best medical care I could.” His eyes widened. “Then, just on his own, on his days off, he started to help out at the clinic, too! He assisted with the more complicated procedures, like the cleft palate surgeries.”

  “As Dr. Lanyon?”

  He looked amazed. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “I just figured it out. Dr. Lanyon was another name that you used. Dessi used it during the kidnapping. So if Albert used it during a cleft palate surgery, a girl who wanted to thank him with a tornada would carve an L on it.”

  He pointed at me. “That’s very good. Yes. He showed me that doll. He was proud of it.” His voice rose. “Of course he was! What else did he have to be proud of? Trimming Mickie’s damn Christmas tree? Washing my car? No. Albert plunged into the new life just like I had, full tilt.” His voice dropped. “And that’s when the kidnapping plot was born.”

  I held up a hand to stop him. “That’s what I can’t understand. Why did you have to attack me like that? Your own daughter.” He looked wounded. I added, “Why couldn’t you just divorce Mickie, move out with me, and open your own clinic down south?”

  He pressed his pointer fingers together. “Because we wouldn’t belong there, and people would know it. There are bad people down there, Charity. Lots of them. Bad poor people. Poor doesn’t equal good, believe me. They’d go after a wealthy doctor and his daughter. We would never have been safe.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And your ex-stepmother? Would she ever leave us alone, with a story like that to tell? No. I knew I had to give Mickie another story, and now she has it. Her husband is dead; her stepdaughter has been taken. She’ll run with that one for years.”

  A noisy family of four sat at the table next to us. My father leaned forward and whispered, “The final, ultimate question was: Could I leave Dr. Henry Meyers behind forever? And the answer was, I could, except for one thing—my daughter. You. I wanted you to have the chance to join me, Charity. To join me in the kind of life that we once had, where we were free. That’s what this was all about. And, as crazy as it might sound, I think it was the right thing to do.”

  He sat back, as if he had rested his case.

  Now it was my turn to reply. He wasn’t going to like what he heard. “Okay. Thank you for the explanation. But…what you did was outrageous, and dangerous, and it did hurt a lot of people. Look at Dessi. Look at Victoria. As to the clinic doctor business, I think you should do it if it makes you happy. But it’s not for me. I have friends. I have school. I have Victoria.”

  He replied, with an edge of desperation, “But you’d go to school. I have one in mind. It’s a Catholic school with real kids, not vidscreen kids.”

  “What? I would go to school disguised? Like at Halloween? That’s nuts. That’s no way to live.”

  “Listen! Listen. You forget who I am. I have a unique ability. I can change the way people look almost permanently. You could change your appearance and never have to worry about being recognized. You could have fun with that—choosing your new hair and eyes and all. You could change your name! I already have one for you. Listen to this: Caridad. ‘Charity’ in Spanish is caridad. You’d be Cari, and I’d be Dad.”

  He smiled a heartbreaking smile at me. Heartbreaking because it was not going to be returned. I shook my head back and forth and whispered, “No. It’s a crazy plan. You should never have done this to me. My answer is no.”

  We sat in miserable silence until he managed to say, “All right. Well, thank you for listening. And again, I am sorry.” A tear bubbled up in the corner of his right eye and rolled down his cheek. “You remember when you made that plea into the vidcamera, when you asked me to please help you? I was sitting in the house, just ten meters away, and I was answering you back. ‘I am,’ I said. ‘I am helping you.’ But I guess I was wrong.”

  “Yes,” I told him. “You were wrong.”

  He wiped his eyes with a napkin. “Maybe you’d like some time to think—”

  “No.”

  He folded the napkin carefully and set it down. “Okay, then. I’m sorry again. Just tell me when you’re ready to go.”

  “I’m ready right now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  As I stood up to leave, though, my mind began racing, like when I first came to my senses after the kidnapping. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I was ready to go home to The Highlands. That’s all I had hoped for since the ordeal began. I was ready to go back. Wasn’t I?

  After we had walked through the food court, I surprised my father with a question. “What did it say in Rockefeller Center? About useful service?”

  He smiled curiously, and sadly. “You remember that?”

  “Yeah. What was it?”

  “‘The rendering of useful service is the common duty of mankind.’”

  “Yeah. And the part about selfishness burning up, and—what’s the rest?”

  He held the door open and told me, “‘The greatness of the human soul is set free.’”

  “Yeah.”

  We stepped back out into the cold air. The moon was gone. The stars were shining brightly all around me. I stepped off the sidewalk into the wide parking lo
t and looked down. I was standing on top of a yellow line. It ran from my feet across many meters of asphalt and off into the darkness, into infinity. It was a thick line, cracked in many places, stained with tire marks and oil spots—the line that separated northbound traffic from southbound traffic.

  Those were my two choices.

  Northbound was life with Mickie and Victoria. Southbound was life with my father and, in a way, the ghost of my mother.

  I stood on that line for what seemed like a long time, looking both ways. I thought about everything that had brought me to that point. I went back over what I had learned about myself in the last two days. And I thought about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

  El Día de los Reyes

  My father pulled the old Daimler into a dirt field. It was not a great parking spot, but we were both happy and relieved to be out of the car after the long drive from Miami.

  We walked quickly toward the clamor of activity and excitement at the center of town, a celebration advertised by a red-and-white banner that spanned the main road: LA IGLESIA DE LA NATIVIDAD WELCOMES YOU TO THE TOWN OF MANGROVE’S CHRISTMAS CARNAVAL, JANUARY 6, 2036.

  We turned left at the banner and began a slow progress through the crowd: people dressed in wild, feathery costumes; people waving brightly colored lanterns; people squirting water at each other from plastic pistols.

  Up ahead, I could see the stage lights and other preparations for a Mickie Meyers vidcast. Mickie and her crew had set up, once again, in the town center of Mangrove. I could see her standing with the mayor and Mr. Patterson on a short riser while an assortment of kids-to-be-used-as-props flanked the stage. The Highlands kids, with their lighter derma, occupied the area to the right. The Mangrove kids stood to the left.

  We veered left, and I walked right through the Mangrove kids as if I were one of them, as if I had always been one of them. From behind, I heard my father whisper, “Don’t get too confident now, Cari.”

  I smiled a perfect white smile. “I won’t, Papi.”

  As before, a large vidscreen had been set up on the side of the stage. Until the show began, a stationary camera on top of the screen was scanning the faces in the crowd. I moved forward carefully until I could see both my father and me on it. My father had very dark skin, and the white hair and white bushy mustache of an elderly Hispanic man. He looked somewhat hunched, as if he’d spent a lifetime picking lettuce. (He did not look that way in his clinic, though, as Dr. Nueves.)