Revenge, Inc.

by J. D. German

  Chapter 4 – Crazy

  Lynn was sleeping fitfully, tossing and throwing the bed covers off. She was dreaming terrible things – so terrible she wouldn’t remember them when she woke up. She tried to wake herself and was finally able to break free from the dream. She looked around the room, lit by faint moonlight glowing though the curtains. As she turned over her eyes flew open. There was someone in the room with her! She heard the soft sound of almost silent steps coming toward her bed. She lay still, hoping whoever it was would go away. But then someone whispered in her ear. “Hello, Lynn. It’s me Jack. You look like you’re asleep, but I know you can hear me. I want to tell you something important. I will always be here near you whenever you need me. Just think of me and I’ll be there. You can let go of your grief because I never really went away. I’m here, watching over you, always.”

  Lynn sat up. “Jack? Jack, where are you? I can’t see you. I want you back, alive. I want to grow old with you.”

  She heard no more whispering. He must be gone. She turned on the bedside lamp to check, but the room was empty. She switched it off and curled up in bed, hoping he would return. As she dozed off she thought she felt him snuggling up to her back again with his arms around her waist. That was always their favorite snuggling position.

  When Lynn came into the kitchen Harriet already had the coffee made and was frying some hash brown potatoes. Lynn poured a cup and sat at the bar behind Harriet. “Good morning, Harriet.”

  “Oh, you scared me! I didn’t hear you come in over the sizzling potatoes. Did you sleep good?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, I think Jack came into my room and talked to me.”

  “Just a second. Let me get these potatoes off the burner so I can pay full attention to you. . . . There. Now did I just hear what I thought I heard?”

  Harriet freshened her coffee and sat down on the bar stool next to Lynn.

  “I think Jack came and talked to me last night.”

  “That’s what I thought I heard.” Harriet didn’t know how to respond. If I go along with it, allowing her to think it might be possible, then I would be feeding her fantasies about visits from Jack. But if I tell her it’s all foolishness, I might be pushing her deeper into depression. I’ll take the middle ground.

  “That’s interesting, sweetie. What did you hear Jack say?”

  “He said he would never leave me, that he would always be there for me.”

  “It could have been the wind. It was really whistling through the trees last night. Maybe your mind interpreted it as Jack’s voice . . . telling you what you wanted to hear”

  “No, it seemed more real than that.”

  “Were you awake?”

  “Yes . . . at least I think so. I sat up and turned on the light to look for him. . . . or did I dream that? I just don’t know, Harriet.”

  “What happened after he spoke to you?”

  “As I was falling back asleep I felt him snuggle up to my back . . . the way we always slept.”

  Harriet didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Then, “Have you thought about my suggestion to see someone – a professional counselor who would understand what you’re struggling with a lot better than I can?”

  “No, but after last night I guess I need to. . . . But what if the counselor makes Jack go away? I don’t want to lose him.”

  “That’s a chance you’ll have to take, dear. Think of it like this. If somehow Jack’s spirit is visiting you, he won’t stop just because you’re talking to a psychiatrist. But if he is an illusion, the sooner you can put that out of your head, the sooner you will be normal again . . . Well, you never were normal, but you know what I mean.”

  Lynn laughed at Harriet’s humor. “I don’t know any mind doctors around here. Do you Harriet? Actually I don’t know any psychiatrists anywhere.”

  “There was one at the FRA. Whenever an agent went through a traumatic experience, like killing someone, we had to spend a few sessions with him. Let me give him a call and see of he can recommend someone here in town for you.”

  “Thanks Harriet. You’re such a special friend. You know, I have never had a close friend before . . . except for Jack of course. I just never got close to anyone. Didn’t see any need for it. But now that I have you, I can see what I’ve been missing. Confiding in someone I trust takes a huge emotional burden off me. End of discussion, though. I need to think about what you said.”

  “Okay, I’ll change the subject. Have you been taking care of your financial affairs since Jack died?

  “Jack hired an estate lawyer as soon as we were married to put together a will and arrange for disposition of his assets if something should happen to him. He didn’t tell me, of course – he didn’t want me to worry about what might happen to him or us. We all were living on the edge for a few months where any of us could have been killed. I knew what I was into so I didn’t worry about myself. But it never occurred to me that Jack would be making arrangements.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what were the arrangements?”

  “I would rather wait until your husband joins us. I trust his judgment on these things.”

  Harriet shouted “Rick. Get you lazy butt out of bed and get down here!”

  Three minutes later Rick joined them in his bathrobe and slippers. “What’s up?”

  Lynn told him what she had just told Harriet, and added that the estate lawyer had visited her at Jack’s cabin three weeks after his death. “I wasn’t in any mood to listen to him. I just wanted to cover my ears and say “Na na, na na, I can’t hear you,” but he said it would only take a few minutes.

  “He told me that Jack had set up a trust fund where all his assets would automatically be transferred upon his death. There were provisions to pay off any outstanding bills and taxes, and continue to pay the bills as they came in. I was the sole trustee for the account and could transfer money in or out with a phone call. He put $100,000 in a savings account that I could access from an ATM. So far I haven’t touched any of it. It cost me nothing to live in Jack’s cabin, and I used my own ATM card to buy groceries and gas.”

  Rick made some notes. “It sounds like Jack and his lawyer knew what they were doing. How much is in the trust fund?”

  “A little less than a million dollars. None of it is in investments, so there’s no risk of losing it.” Lynn smiled, “Unless of course the entire financial system of the United States crashes and money becomes worthless.”

  Rick added, “That could have happened if Charles Winston was running the country. I hate to say this about anyone, but Winston’s assassination was a good thing – the best outcome we could have expected from the mess he put us in.”

  “So Rick, what should I do with this trust fund? Should I move the money somewhere else, or put it all into gold and silver like the ads on TV say?”

  “Who is managing the fund?”

  “Wells Fargo in Denver. We were living at my mountain home in Telluride when he set up the account. . . .” Lynn choked up at the thought of her home – and what happened to Jack there. The man who shot him – and Selena – did it in that house. Then he burned it down with the bodies inside. The image of their charred bodies came back to her and she burst out crying. She ran to her room and laid down on the bed, crying and wailing.

  Harriet started to follow her but Rick put a hand on her shoulder. “Let her cry some more. She still has a lot of tears that need to be shed.”

  Lynn continued to cry for the next couple of hours. She didn’t want to go back to sleep – she was afraid of what she might see or hear. So she leaned against the headboard, drew her knees up to her chest, and tried to blank out her thoughts. She wanted to turn into a vegetable – feel nothing, think nothing, do nothing – except breathe, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep on doing that. If she had a batch of sleeping pills right then, she would swallow them all, and drift away to whatever world Jack was in. Anything to end this unb
earable emotional pain. She thought of the pistol she knew Rick kept in his bedside table . . . I could sneak into their room, get the gun, and kill myself right there. That would end the pain. . . . but it would make a mess of their bedroom. I need another plan.

  If I had the gun, I could bring it in here – to the guest bathroom – lay down in the bathtub, and do it. The blood could just be washed down the drain. Out of sight – out of mind. But would Rick and Harriet be able to live in a house where I killed myself? They love this home. I don’t want to ruin it for them.

  What if I took the gun out to the woods. The mess wouldn’t matter out there. But would anyone find me afterward? Would animals gnaw on my body? Coyotes, bobcats, or . . . eww, vultures?

  She was imagining the buzzards picking apart her body when she realized where her mind had taken her. From wanting to be a vegetable to thinking about shooting herself in the woods. That’s what happens when you try to drive all thoughts from your mind. It fills itself with irrational thoughts that can start to seem rational. The emotional pain is unbearable, therefore end the pain with death. How rational does that sound? Got a problem? Solve it by ending it. There I go again. If I don’t fill my mind with something useful, it will jump off the crazy cliff. What can I think about?

  How about what I’ll do with my life when I get through this. I can’t just lock my door and become a hermit. That will surely lead me to death. I have to be busy, working with other people around me. So what will it be? Checker in a supermarket, bank teller, nurse, even a doctor. Or maybe, social worker – I could do that well. I have an inner compulsion to help people. I wonder how much schooling I would need for that.

  But what about all the computer skills I learned from Jack? . . . Here come the tears again. Push them back! Don’t let them grab me again.

  Where was I? Oh yes, computer skills. I don’t have any formal training, but my teacher was the best there is. But who would hire her based on that?

  Well, I don’t have to figure it out right now. I can take my time.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a light knock on the door. It was Harriet.

  “Lynn, are you awake?”

  “Yes, I’m awake. And mostly sane again. Come on in.”

  She saw Lynn sitting on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest.

  “What have you been doing?”

  “Thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Lots of things, both good and bad.”

  “So tell me about the good thoughts?”

  “I was wondering what I could do with myself, something I can immerse myself in, with people all around, to keep me from thinking about the bad stuff.”

  “Did any ideas pop up?

  Yeah. . . . I think I want to use my computer skills, especially the hacking techniques Jack taught me. But I have no credentials – degrees, experience – that will get me hired. No one knows my capabilities.”

  Harriet thought for a minute. “I know someone who does. David Cramer.”

  “Cramer. What could I do for Cramer Security and Investigations Company, CSIC? Dave was Jack’s good friend since college. He would hire me out of pity and I don’t want that.”

  “I would bet he doesn’t have a hacker as good as you are, and you’ve proven yourself with a gun. He knows you wouldn’t be afraid to use it. Besides, most of his detectives are men. He doesn’t have a middle aged, knockout redhead on his staff. He could use you for undercover work because, at five-nine with green eyes and a figure to die for, you don’t look like a detective.”

  “Let me think about it. Don’t you or Rick call him about this. I’ll take care of it myself.”