Remember Me

by Rainwater, Priscilla Poole

  Heart beating frantically, Charles sat in stunned silence as the last image faded from view and the screen went blank. Suddenly, the cell phone that had arrived with the viewer began ringing. Snatching it up with a hand that was now shaking, he looked at the caller ID, but saw it was an unknown number. “Hello?” he answered in a quavering voice.

  “You got the package, I see.” a smooth female voice purred. “Have you had a look at your present yet?”

  “Yes. Who are you?” he replied, frantically searching his memory in a futile attempt to connect a face with the voice.

  “Let's keep names out of this conversation, shall we?” the woman replied. “And don't try to figure out who I am, because you don't know me.”

  “But, how do you...”

  “Anyway...” the voice interrupted, “As you can see, Doctor Parker has been dealt with accordingly. No more digging around, looking for proof of his guilt, you understand? It would be healthier for you if you don't. Much, much healthier. In return for my services, there IS one thing you can do for me, and more importantly, for yourself.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I want you to move on. Your burning need for justice to be served is over.”

  “Listen, I know he's dead, but...”

  “No 'buts'.” the voice interrupted again, somewhat impatiently. “Listen, I'm sorry for your loss, I really am, but it's all over now. He suffered plenty, believe me, although he WAS a tad disappointing. I promised someone that Mr. Parker would suffer for days, but his heart gave out long before that. I guess in the end he was better at doling out pain than he was at receiving it. Oh well, no one gets everything they want, right?” she chuckled in a voice that sent shivers down his spine. “In my business, dead is dead, but you would be amazed how many people want the mark to suffer, how many people want a blow-by-blow, detailed analysis. I'm not talking about you, Doctor Quentin, but while we're on the subject, would you like to know what made his heart give out? I feel that you, of all people, along with the families of his other victims, deserve it.”

  “No, I've had enough, I've had enough of all of it.” he croaked, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

  “Good for you! When I was doing my research on you, I had a gut feeling you weren't the ghoulish type, that you just wanted justice. Well, I know it's easier said than done, but now you can begin the healing process. Do yourself, and you surviving daughter a favor, and contact her. I understand she's doing some wonderful things at that little clinic in West Virginia. I even made a donation for her black lung fund, I hear that's a very nasty condition.”

  An uneasy feeling swept over him at the mention of his other daughter, Tamra, and he demanded, “Look, it's not that I'm ungrateful, but I have to know, why would you do this for people you don't even know?

  “Every sweet has it's sour, every evil his its good, Ralph Waldo Emerson.” she quipped, quoting not only his own favorite philosopher, but his favorite quote as well, which only served to spook him even more. “What did you do with him? Brett Parker’s body, I mean?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

  “I'm not at liberty to say, but you can rest assured, like I said a moment ago, that the bridge he had to cross to get from this world to the next was...most unpleasant. As for why I did this, I care because I understand your pain. You have a rare opportunity, Charles, you can let go of the burden of guilt that's been eating away at you for so long. What happened to your daughter was never your fault to begin with, and the person who was responsible paid for it with his own life, in a more horrible fashion than you can possibly imagine. Doctor Quentin, I've found the price for vengeance is very high, and once you go down that road, it's hard to take a different path. Be thankful you no longer need to walk that path, and pay that price.”

  “Well, I'm in debt to you, Tamra and I are both are. We...”

  “One last thing.” the woman's voice interrupted for the last time. “The digital image viewer you received, after I hang up, I'm going to dial a number, and that number will send a signal to a tiny detonator inside. No need to worry, the explosive charge is a minuscule one, about the size of a pinhead. It'll be just enough to fry the circuitry. I can't afford to have my superiors find out I'm freelancing revenge for people, it would make my own life extremely uncomfortable. Good luck, Mr. Quentin.” she finished in a weary voice.

  “WAIT!!! Don't destroy......” he yelped, but found himself talking to a dead connection. Looking at the digital viewer helplessly for twenty seconds or so, he jumped a little as he heard a muffled 'POP', and saw wisps of smoke coming from the device. Letting the cell phone clatter to the floor, he put his face in both hands, then broke down and cried. Cried for the loss of his daughter, cried for the lost years between himself and his estranged daughter Tamra, and cried with relief, because for the first time since his daughter's death, his hatred for Brett Parker was gone. He could let go of his baby now, and let her rest in peace. He would always love her and mourn her, but the stranger was right, it was time he moved on and cherished the things he did have left.

  Wiping his eyes dry, he grabbed his own cell phone from his pocket and scrolled down to find a number he hadn't dialed for far too long. He knew he may not have a chance, maybe he had tossed that chance away years ago, but he still hoped and prayed they would be able to reconcile, become father and daughter again. Bracing himself for disappointment and offering up a silent prayer at the same time, he dialed the number.

  “Dad?” a cautious voice answered after only four rings.

  “Tamra....” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Hi, honey, yes, it's me.”

  “I'm guessing you're calling about Brett, I saw what was going on on CNN.” she replied in a flat, neutral voice.

  Hearing her tone of voice, pain lanced his heart. He knew she was expecting him to do nothing more than rant and rave about Brett Parker, like he always did. Understanding she had a right to be angry, he pleaded, “Tamra, please don't hang up! Baby, actually, I called just to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you grieve alone. I'm sorry for the years I neglected you. I'm sorry for letting my thirst for vengeance consume me to the point I ignored the only good thing I had left in my life. Please forgive me, Tamra.”

  “Wow, Dad, I don't know what to say.” she sniffled after an uncomfortable silence.

  “Just say you'll forgive me.” he begged.

  “Dad, I never stopped loving you, not for one minute. I know you were just doing what any loving father would have done, I just wish you would have let me in, let me comfort YOU. But it's not too late. I love you Dad, I always will. Yes, I forgive you.”

  “Oh, thank God.” he wept. “Thank you, baby! Listen.” he said as he tried to bring his sniffling under control. “I was thinking I could come down to West Virginia and check out that clinic you started. You don't know how proud I am that you're helping low income people in that area. I could lend a hand! And it'll mean we can make up for lost time together, too! What do you say? Think you can put up with your old man for a while?”

  “Really? You want to come HERE?” she squealed with delight.

  “Yes! I'm sick to death of this place, nothing but painful memories.”

  “You can stay with me, if you want!”

  “Sounds good. I need a fresh start, and a fresh, young, lovely face to smile at over the breakfast table in the mornings. Thank you, sweetheart, I'll start packing my bags tonight.”

  “This is going to be soooo great! I've told all my colleagues what a brilliant surgeon you are. Well, second only to MY expertise!” she teased.

  Laughing for the first time in years, he offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

  ***********************************

  Black Mountain Kentucky ( R&M Securities: Testing Facilities)

  Raven pulled her silver 2008 Cadillac DTS into the entrance of the gated facility, and rolled to a stop as she held up her credentials to the window for the guard to see.

  The burly guard looked at her ident
ification, then looked at the empty passenger seat. There was usually a younger woman accompanying her, the woman's sister, from what he'd been told, and they would usually stay for several days at a time. No one knew exactly what they did at the facility, as nearly everyone gave this woman in particular a wide berth. As he waved her past the gate, he wondered for the hundredth time what her story was, but he had been working there long enough to know it wasn't wise to ask too many questions. Heading back into the guard shack, he flipped the tiny, portable television inside to his favorite cartoon, 'Drawn Together', and chuckled at the antics of Captain Hero as he was put in his place by Foxxy Love.

  Finding a parking space, Raven killed the engine. Grabbing the cell phone she had used to converse with Dr. Quentin, she flipped it open and snapped it in half, then put the broken halves in her purse.

  Bracing herself for the visit, and hoping it wouldn't be a bad one, she reached over and grabbed several bags from the passenger seat, bags that contained new women's pajamas, bubble bath, and other sundry HBA items, then climbed out of the vehicle and looked at the building in front of her. More specifically, she looked up at the floor she had purchased years earlier to protect one of the few precious things in her life.

  Closing the car door and locking it, she slid her black Channel sunglasses on and made the short walk to the main entrance, where she stopped for a moment, then fished the broken halves of the phone from her purse, then tossed them into a trashcan. Pulling her black leather trench coat closer to make sure her side holster couldn't be seen, she stepped inside the main entrance.

  ************************

  Dimitri Rybin watched as the tall black woman, who was always dressed the same, in all black or brown leather, complete with matching trench coat and boots, stepped inside. And, as usual, danger seemed to roll off the woman in waves. His gray eyes narrowing, he thought of the nickname the other guards and staff called her behind her back. The name was never uttered while they knew she was on the grounds, and even when she wasn't, the name was still only whispered, never spoken aloud. 'The Reaper', is what they called her, and in his opinion, it suited her. When she walked past him she never acknowledged him, and something about the way she moved made him think that she could end a person's life with a simple flick of her wrist.

  He had taken this job a little over a year ago, after managing to escape a Russian mobster, in his homeland, who'd had a hit put out on him for screwing around with his mistress. From the first day he had came to work here, he had been warned to never set foot on the floor that belonged to this woman. He was informed that only a handful of people in the woman's own employ were allowed on the floor. His supervisor's words still haunted him: The Reaper is not someone you want to piss off! Listen son, I don't know who or what's up on that damn floor, and I don't want to know. All I do know is that the last guy who had your job made the mistake of slinking around up there one day, and when he came back down, the look on his face was...well...he looked like someone had shoved a harpoon up his ass sideways, then dunked his head in a septic tank. He walked straight out the main entrance, got into his car and left, and that's the last anyone ever saw of him. And that's not all, one guard told me a girl ran from the place screaming one day, but the staff got to her and pulled her back in there, never saw her again, either. When The Reaper comes around, you just act you don't see her, alright? Same thing when she leaves. My advice is to forget that floor even exists. The money is damn good here, we get a month’s paid vacation a year, and great medical. Just mind your own business, and you'll end up loving it here.

  Shuddering, he watched furtively as ' The Reaper' stopped in front of the elevator, then suddenly turned and looked straight at him. Turning his attention back to the computer security monitor, he pretended that something had caught his eye, praying she would go on her way.

  After what seemed like an eternity the elevator door opened and she glided inside, quiet as death.

  “Don't have to worry about me minding my own business.” he muttered, feeling that he had somehow managed to escape the lion's jaws for the second time in his young life. “Nope, don't have to worry about me at all.”

  *******************************

  At the penthouse door, Raven punched the security code in the state of the art alarm system as her thoughts drifted back to her missing sister. She knew somehow Thorn was connected, and as much as she dreaded the bloodshed that was sure to come, she would take on him and his people to get her back. She just hoped that when push came to shove she could count on Max for support she doubted he would go against Thorn for her again, although she had Carlito it wouldn't be enough to take on Thorn's forces. Carlito she trusted implicitly, after all, they had grown up together. And while it went against her grain to enlist anyone's help, against a man like Thorn and his inner circle, it would be decidedly foolish to not accept all the help one could get. Max, she suspected, hated Thorn himself, for what the man had done to her. He had left her for dead in Venezuela, at the mercy of a vicious drug lord. When she had managed to kill the man and escape, she returned to the states, and Thorn had did his best to make it seem as if she had sold the organization out. If it hadn't been for Max's help, she would have been killed on sight.

  Opening the door, she stepped inside and locked it behind her, then trudged down the elegant hallway. As usual, the place was absolutely spotless, and even though she herself owned the place, she still couldn't help but admire the priceless paintings hanging on the walls and the marble floors, which were adorned with imported rugs worth tens-of-thousands of dollars each.

  As she made her way further inside, she heard the soft sound of classical music floating through the air, and the wonderful, mouth-watering aroma of genuine Italian food. The scent of spaghetti and meatballs, judging by the smell, tickled her nose and tantalized her appetite. Removing her sunglasses, she slipped them in her coat pocket.

  “Ms. Floyd, welcome back!” a heavyset African American woman smiled wearily as she emerged from the kitchen with a tray in her hands.

  “Hello, Ms. Davis, how are things?” Raven asked her long time live-in aide and housekeeper, but dreaded the answer. She knew just by the way the woman was carrying herself that it had been a bad day. Putting the gift bags on a cherry Chippendale console table that sat just inside the living room area, she reached for the tray the tired woman had been carrying.

  “Last night was bad, ma'am.” she sighed. “She became so agitated I had to sedate her. She gets like that when you and Makena don't come regularly. More so when she doesn't see you. I know you try to get here as much as possible, but the more times that passes, the faster she regresses.”

  Raven nodded. Her last visit had been a month ago, and she couldn't help but feel the sting of guilt. “I'm sorry, I know she can be difficult. Please, why don't you and the rest of the staff take a week off, with pay. I'm free for at least that long. Why don't you go visit your sister in Tampa? You've been talking about that for a while. I'll even buy your plane ticket. Just write yourself a check from the household funds, I'll know where it went.”

  Smiling broadly, Ms. Davis couldn't hide her pleasure. A break was exactly what the staff needed, and they would all come back relaxed and refreshed. “Thank you, ma'am, I'll let the rest of the staff know. She's in her room, by the way. Today she regressed to..that time when she was twelve, I guess. I haven't given her her medication yet.” she explained, then thanked her again and hurried off to inform the rest of the her co-workers about their stroke of fortune.

  With a heavy sigh, Raven made her way to the kitchen and placed the tray of wonderful smelling dishes on the counter reluctantly, knowing it would be best to deal with the problem now, rather than later.

  Walking down the hallway toward her sister's room, she stopped in front of her door and opened it cautiously, not knowing what to expect, but praying for the best. Her younger sibling could be unpredictable under the best of circumstances, but especially when her fractured mind went back to th
e past. She was the classic passive/aggressive personality, one who could go from crying and wanting to be held one minute, and the next, becoming a raging, combative hellcat. She had hurt members of the staff on occasions before, it was one of the reasons Raven paid them so handsomely. And it also explained Ms. Davis's unabashed delight at the unexpected week of vacation. And in truth, Raven didn't blame her. As for her sister's mental state, the cycle had been going on for years, reliving the early childhood trauma for a week or two, then she would slowly crawl out of that awful dark place and into the light for a short while.

  Easing her way inside, she looked around the dimly lit room and called in a soft voice, “Faith? It's Raven.” Walking the rest of the way inside, she detected a faint sound of whimpering, coming from the bedroom closet. Her heart ached as she thought about her sister inside that closet, thinking she was still twelve years old, and that they were still living in a roach infested house with their mother, instead of a two million dollar Penthouse.