by JL Terra
“They aren’t raised, it’s all below the skin.” The doctor leaned back, eyes unfocused like he was talking to himself. “Could be some kind of localized blood poisoning. An infection. We’ll have to run some tests—”
“No!” His mom yelled, her face red. “Get off me.” She even pushed at Grant, tugged against his hold on her.
He gave the doctor a stern look. Like this was all his fault and not instigated by the nurse. “Back up.” He motioned the doctor to move, then sat on the side of the bed. “Okay, Mom. The doctor is just concerned as to what this is.” He lifted the gown back over her shoulder, which appeared to satisfy her. At least for the moment.
“I want to leave, Grant. They can’t keep me here.” She clutched at him, her tone desperate. “I don’t want more tests. They’ll look at me like a…” She used a word he didn’t understand. A guttural word that might’ve been German.
“What?”
“A specimen.”
He shook his head. He should be assisting the team, trying to find Ben. The first time Ben was abducted had been awful. Day after day of silence, of feeling helpless. Then his brother had come back. He hadn’t remembered anything, so they’d all agreed not to talk about it. Swept it all under the rug and pretended it never happened. Like that helped.
Grant shifted to get more comfortable on the side of the bed. “What is it?” He’d never seen her like this before. His mom was always so calm, so level-headed. She loved life, and she loved her family. She lived for her grandchildren. This fall seemed to have thrown her into some altered state.
He glanced at the doctor. “Is this the concussion?”
“Her paranoia?”
His mom stiffened. “It isn’t paranoia if they’re really out to get you.”
That was the mom he knew. Grant smiled at her—then saw her face. “You’re serious.”
“They attacked me. Tried to get me to tell them where he is, but I wouldn’t.” She gasped. “I wouldn’t tell, so they hurt me.”
“I thought you fell.” Grant rubbed one hand over the back of his mom’s. “Everything’s okay now.” Except that it wasn’t.
“Liar.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Who was it? Who attacked you?” Did she know about Ben? How could that be, when he hadn’t mentioned anything about his brother to her? There was no way she could know that Ben had been abducted from the parking lot. But whoever took him might have used an attack on his mom to draw Ben into the open.
“I can’t remember their faces. I think I forgot them.” She took a deep, choppy breath. “I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”
She had to be confusing this fall with something else.
“Mrs. Mason, how long have you had that spot on your chest?”
It was the size of his palm, so Grant wouldn’t have exactly called it a “spot” but what was it? His mom bit her lip, not answering.
“Mom,” he said. “How long has it been there?”
She shifted her hands from under his and brushed at the blanket. “Since 1941.”
“Your chart says you were born in 1959.”
Grant studied her face. “Why would you lie about your age?”
She lifted her gaze and met his eyes. No subterfuge, no humor. “Don’t believe everything you read, Grant. I was eight years old. It was 1941.”
She didn’t appear to be lying. Most of the time he figured she should be nominated for sainthood. Especially considering she’d raised the four Mason boys. That should get her some kind of medal. Or combat pay at least.
“Mom—”
“Some people simply look good for their age.” She touched her temple, though her hand shook slightly.
Grant frowned. Why lie about when she’d been born?
“The life is in the blood.” Her gaze had drifted away, her thoughts somewhere long ago.
Grant hardly knew what he was supposed to do. His mom had always fended for herself, even more so since his dad died. The old man’s death had been a blow to all of them, and yet she’d soldiered on. If there was grief, she smiled through it and remembered the good times. He didn’t think she’d ever had depression in her life, while Grant didn’t even want to voice the fact he could hardly get out of bed some days since he’d been “let go” from his job as director of the US Marshals.
Why had she lied about her age? If what she claimed now was true, she didn’t look like she was in her eighties. Could she be?
This whole situation was bizarre.
The doctor said, “May I speak to you in the hall, sir?”
Grant followed him out, while the nurse stayed with his mom. “What is it?”
The doctor turned and faced him, a slight frown on his otherwise unlined face. He flicked his head, and the curtain of hair moved off his face. “Has your mom ever had any kind of mental break?”
“Excuse me?”
“An altered mental state caused by a breakdown,” the doctor said. “Has she ever been admitted under any kind of psych watch?”
“Of course not,” Grant said. “This is all just the concussion, right?”
“Except for that mark on her chest. The nurse noticed it when she was helping your mother in the bathroom. She asked me to take a look at it.”
Grant folded his arms. “That doesn’t mean you needed to freak out my mother.”
“At which point she lied about when she got it.”
“I have no idea what was up with that.” Grant sighed. “But maybe I can talk to her, get her to tell me where she got the mark from. I’ve never seen it before.” Though he couldn’t think when he’d have had the occasion to look at his mom’s chest. She always dressed modestly, so he’d never seen that part of her.
Was dressing like that her way of making sure no one ever saw the mark? He didn’t even know what to think about it.
The doctor nodded. “Keep me posted. We’ll see how she progresses and make a decision from there.”
At least the guy wasn’t ready to throw his mom into the crazy ward.
Grant trailed back in the room. Pinkie, the nurse, didn’t even acknowledge him, she simply strode out of the room. Grant sat on his mom’s bedside.
She cracked her eyes open. “Is she gone?”
Despite what was happening, he smiled.
“I want to leave.” She narrowed her eyes, a gleam of amusement there. “These fascists can’t keep me here.”
“You have a concussion.” He paused for a second. “Maybe that’s why you were confused about when you got that mark. You weren’t alive during World War II, Mom.”
“You’re right. Brenda DeRose didn’t exist until later.” The corners of her mouth curled up. “I always did like that name. DeRose. I’d decided I was going to be a movie star. That’s why I picked it for my new identity.”
Grant didn’t even know what to say. Half his family was in witness protection. Maybe she was just confused. “They’re trying to make you feel better.”
“Better than what?” she said. “I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”
Grant tried to think back to a time she’d been ill. He couldn’t think of a single example of a memory when she’d had even allergies, let alone a cold. “What happened to you, Mom? Did someone hurt you?”
“It was late Monday night, I think. I was walking home from Bunko, probably a little before midnight. I’d had a good night.” She smiled slightly, but it dropped from her face almost as fast as it had come. “I felt it move through me, like a surge. A rush of something I’d felt before, but not for many years.”
“What was it?”
Her focus moved to him. “If I thought you were ready to hear it I would tell you.” She glanced around, and said, “Where is Ben?” As though she’d only just realized he was missing.
“He was here.”
“I thought so.”
She’d been unconscious, but it was possible she’d been lucid enough to hear his brother talking to her even though she couldn’t open her eyes. She touched the ban
dage on her temple. “I think I hit my head when I fell. And then I was having the strangest dream.” A shudder moved through her. “It was about Ben. Where is he?” She looked around again. “Shouldn’t he be here?”
“He had to get back to work.”
“I do hope he’s okay. I would hate to think something bad happened to him.”
“Me too, Mom.” Grant sighed. “Ben’s in trouble, actually.”
He should probably not tell her, but something deep in him believed she wouldn’t get upset, even with the worst news. Not about Ben. His mom had never ever worried about Ben, which was basically crazy because he had probably the most dangerous job of all of them. She worried full time about John, and Nate. About Grant. About her grandchildren, whom she video-called every week, if not more often.
But not Ben.
“Did you hear me?”
She patted his hand. “I’m sure he’s fine. You probably got a miscommunication. Wires crossed, something like that.”
“I don’t think so. Remy was pretty clear.”
“That girl might be a genius, but she certainly doesn’t know everything.”
Grant actually thought that might not be true, but he didn’t argue with his mom. “Something did happen.”
If this went wrong, the doctor would admit his mom. Grant didn’t know if he would stop it. Another thing that was his fault. Add it to the list.
He said, “Ben was abducted from downstairs late last night. Two men took him from the parking lot.” He didn’t speak louder than a whisper. “He’s gone, Mom. He’s been abducted. Just like he was during that camping trip.”
She hadn’t been there. When they got home she’d refused to believe it. The point she finally succumbed to the truth was a moment he didn’t want to relive. She touched his chin with her thumb and two fingers. “No, he isn’t.”
Did she know Ben had since escaped his captors? He was still missing, But Remy had reported in to Grant the latest update.
“What do you know about it, Mom?”
His mom had fallen at a time very close to when Ben had encountered those two men in the woods. The carnage from that… Grant hadn’t seen the reports, but Remy had filled him in on the basics. He’d thoroughly believed his brother was a killer. Not that he was some kind of monster. Okay, not totally a monster. He was Grant’s brother.
“Mom—”
The nurse came back in. They wheeled his mom off for a CAT scan. Grant walked to the closest store for something to eat. Just to waste time. The hair at the back of his neck tingled the entire time he was out. Grant scanned the street as he walked, regularly changed direction, and otherwise did everything he could to ascertain no one was following him.
There was nothing more he could do. Remy hadn’t emailed with anything new. He checked his kids’ social media pages. They were at a park with a group of friends playing Frisbee golf. Grant flicked through the pictures and smiled. They were happy despite a recent break-up between Sierra and “the one,” something Sierra swore she would never get over. Alaina seemed to be doing a stellar job dragging her sister out of her funk.
Grant rode the elevator back up to his mom’s floor and found they were just wheeling her back into her room. She looked asleep.
When the nurse wandered out, he asked how she was.
“Your mother became extremely agitated. The doctor decided we should sedate her. He’ll have the scan results for you shortly.”
Grant nodded. The nurse wandered away, and he found a seat in a row of three down the hallway. He set his elbows on his knees and hung his head in his hands.
His family was falling apart.
What was he going to do?
Chapter 29
Charleston, SC. Friday, 09:13hrs EDT
Two streets from the motel, Remy’s phone rang. Not a call, but FaceTime. She answered the call amid the rush of traffic. “Hello?”
Taya’s face came on screen. Then Ben. His mouth moved, but Remy couldn’t hear.
She turned off video, shifted the phone to her ear and said, “Hang on a second.” She picked up the pace back to the hotel, Dauntless happy to acquiesce to her burst of speed. After making sure nobody had followed her, she got the door open and dropped the leash so the dog could go ahead of her.
Remy dumped her backpack and turned the video back on. “Okay. Can you hear me?”
Taya nodded. The woman’s slender face sported dark circles under eyes and a red mark on one cheek. She had a bandage on her forehead. Beautiful despite the injuries; in a way, Remy felt suddenly very inadequate.
Taya said, “We need your help.” She tilted the screen so Remy could see Ben.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah, Rem. I’m okay.”
Physically he looked fine. Remy blew out a breath. Ben had helped her at one of the worst times of her life. She could never repay him for that and counted him as a good friend now.
She said, “I just got back from a meeting with the Tiller’s neighbor. Trying to figure out who Ted and Eric were—or are, in Ted’s case—working with. I might have a lead, but if I find something concrete I’ll tell you.”
While she spoke, Remy opened a program on her computer and started to triangulate the closest cell tower to their location. She could just ask, but would Ben even give her a truthful answer? She wasn’t sure. The man did value initiative—so long as it didn’t involve her changing the Access Granted voice at the office to that of his long lost love.
And now here he was, with her.
“What happened to you?” Remy realized it was a dumb question and added, “I know you escaped. Daire and Mei went to the house. They talked to Elaine.”
Ben didn’t react. That was telling enough. It hadn’t been pleasant. “I found Taya. She’s been with Roger this whole time.” Ben leaned over and kissed her forehead, just below the bandage. Then he turned to her like she hadn’t just witnessed the first time her boss had ever shown affection to anyone and said, “Any idea where Mei is?”
Remy tried to figure out how she was going to get the whole team back together. “Last I heard she and Daire were on their way from Clear Spring back to me, so we can regroup. They’re really worried about you. I can give you her number so you can call her, or have her call you.”
“Just make sure she’s safe,” Ben said. “We think she might be in danger.”
Remy wanted to ask more questions, but shot a text to Mei instead. “Grant should be checking in shortly. I’ll tell him you called.”
Taya and Ben shared a look. Then Ben said to Remy, “I don’t want you to tell the team where I am.”
“Why—”
“I need you to do what I ask on this, Rem. No questions.”
Really? Using a nickname to butter her up now? That only worked with Shadrach, and she was working hard to shore up her defenses against it. He didn’t need to know she was sweet on him. “Of course I’m going to tell your friends—your family—where you are. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m your boss, and I’m ordering you not to.”
Remy pressed her lips together. “This doesn’t make any sense. You’re free. Why wouldn’t you want to meet back up, figure this all out together? We’re so close.”
“Be that as it may,” he said, “I don’t want to put them in danger. Not any more than they already are.”
Taya held up a book. “This is Roger Stilson’s journal. Over the years he did experiments on a whole list of people, including Mei.”
Remy sucked in a breath. Dauntless came over and set his chin on her knee. She gave him a scratch, but didn’t take her attention from the call. “He experimented on Mei?”
“I’m sure you can make a lot better sense of it than me. After you translate it back to English.”
Because that was an easy process? She loved science, but in an abstract way. As a researcher. Experiments done on her friends was a whole different thing. Was that the danger Ben expected?
Ben said, “Roger is dead, bu
t the people who took me had medical equipment—and a doctor on their payroll. All of this is connected, Remy. I just need time to figure out exactly how.”
“But—”
Taya said, “I’ll take photos of each page and send them to your email.”
Remy gave the woman her new email address.
“Thanks.”
The laptop dinged. Ben and Taya were currently in the long stay parking lot at Denver International Airport. How was she going to get them to come to her?
Ben said, “Call us back when you know what it all means. We’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll find out what it means.”
“Thank you, Remy.” Taya smiled.
Remy did not. “If you want to know when I do find out, then you’ll have to come to me.” She said it before the idea even coalesced.
Taya frowned.
Remy sat up straighter, trying to look like she wasn’t quaking in her Converse. She focused on the woman, not wanting to contemplate the fact she was pushing her boss into a corner. Never a good idea.
“You’ll have to come here. I won’t tell you what that journal says without a face-to-face.”
She ended the call and turned to the dog. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
Chapter 30
Richmond, VA. Friday, 10:23hrs EDT
Grant entered the hotel conference room, unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat while the man pulled a cord and twisted the blinds shut, blocking out the view of a park. The hotel meeting room was big, far bigger than was needed for two men to meet.
The man was older, probably in his sixties, and also dressed in a suit. Glasses. A nice watch. He strode to his chair across the desk, higher set and taller than Grant’s, so that he looked down on whomever he spoke with. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Mason.” He set his elbows on the desktop and tented his fingers. “I appreciate your taking the time to see me.”
Not too long ago he’d been, “Director Mason.” Head of the whole US Marshals. However, it also dawned on him that being a divorced empty nester who had recently been let go from his career was not the time to have an identity crisis. That was just cliché.