MORE THAN THE MOON

by A Rosendale

  With a nod, the woman left the room and the key scraped the lock once more.

  Dirk stared after her, thinking. The pills roiled on an empty stomach and within minutes he was stumbling to the bathroom to vomit. On the way, he bumped into the doorframe, jarring broken ribs and causing another wave of nausea. After the pills were vacated, more liquid came up until he was hugging the porcelain appliance, shaking uncontrollably.

  * * *

  Something in his addled brain recognized the sound of the door unlocking, but didn’t deem it important enough to rouse him. It wasn’t until he heard Johnson’s laugh that he even opened his heavy eyelids.

  “You spend the whole night here, Travers?” he scoffed.

  Dirk used the bathroom wall to sit up, stretching muscles stiff from lying in the fetal position on the cold, tile floor all night. He slumped against the wall weakly. Every day afforded him a better view from his left eye so the gigantic form of the man in the doorway filled his vision.

  “I thought you’d enjoy the freedom I’m affording you, but…perhaps not…”

  “What do you want?” Dirk asked with less conviction than he’d hoped.

  “Why don’t you come out here and we’ll talk?”

  “I’m perfectly comfortable right here,” he replied stubbornly.

  Johnson shot him a frown and motioned into the hallway. A big black man appeared, peeled Dirk off the bathroom floor and deposited him unceremoniously on the couch amid a chorus of painful grunts.

  It took Dirk several minutes to recover from the rough treatment and right himself on the cushions. Johnson sat in an armchair across the table. His voice was businesslike.

  “Travers, you know I intend on killing both you and your wife. There’s no question, right?” He waited for a nod of understanding that never came. Clearing his throat, he continued. “The question does remain, however, of how difficult we need to make this. You help me find her, and the whole process becomes much less painful. A simple gunshot, or even as nice as a handful of sleeping pills. I’m willing to ease both your sufferings.” He studied Dirk’s pale, but stern face. “Or things can get ugly. Torture, burning…rape.”

  Dirk’s jaw clenched at the idea. “You should have let me die when you had the chance. At this point, you’re only wasting money and resources. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever help you find her.”

  Johnson expression darkened to a scowl. “Not intentionally, perhaps. But there’s no way to stop her coming to your rescue.”

  “She thinks I’m dead,” Dirk countered. “And you don’t even know where she is, so how will you convince her otherwise?”

  “Oh, she initiated contacted, Travers. She called me. How fantastic is that?”

  Somewhere in a mind foggy with drugs and pain, Dirk remembered the man pinning him to the bed in an angry rant. Alma wouldn’t have been kind to talk to, he guessed.

  Dirk forced a smile. “And yet you still don’t know where she is. She’s so much smarter than you, Johnson. You’ll never find her.”

  Johnson’s bulk moved quickly across the room, far faster than Dirk’s weak body could react. He grabbed the sides of Dirk’s head, digging his fingers into the scabbed crease, drawing blood and causing dizzying agony. Spittle flecked from his lips when he spoke. “I will find her. And you will watch her suffer.” He released his grip and Dirk collapsed onto the couch with blood running down the left side of his face.

  Chapter 63

  “Do you still have him?”

  Nolan looked at the phone in surprise. He hadn’t heard that voice in two years. “Of course I do. He’s still living outside town, drinking himself into a stupor every day.” He could still smell the whiskey on Ramsey’s breath from two days ago.

  “That will make your assignment easy, then.”

  “You want it done now? He has family staying with him.”

  “Family? He doesn’t have any family!”

  “Sure. His niece and great-nephew are here.”

  “Niece? What does she look like?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her. Owner of the grocery store says she’s quite the looker, though.”

  “And there’s a boy?”

  “Yeah.”

  Johnson mused for a moment. “Well, we can’t have witnesses. Wait until they leave.” He almost ended the conversation there, but added, “If you see the woman, call me.”

  “Why?”

  “I happen to be looking for someone else, but she wouldn’t have a child. Just call me.”

  “Sure.” Nolan stared at the phone for a moment after he hung up. He’d rather not kill a government employee, but his bank account had certainly benefitted from the strange man’s automatic payments over the last twenty-four months. He had a trip to Hawaii planned with his wife as soon as the final sum came through when the assignment was complete.

  * * *

  Johnson entered the suite with a glass of scotch in hand. He’d spent the afternoon thinking about his conversation with the sheriff in North Dakota. After a few drinks, he could no longer stifle his curiosity.

  Dirk was stretched on the couch, staring at the puffy clouds outside the window. “What?” he greeted gruffly without moving or even glancing at his captor.

  “How’s the stomach ache?” Lowering himself into the armchair, he took in Travers’s appearance. His skin was still pale, accented by the dark red gash that ran from his left eye to the back of his skull. ‘A quarter inch lower and he’d be missing an ear,’ Johnson mused. Dark circles tugged at the bottom of the man’s eyes and some of the brilliant luster of those startling jade eyes had faded. He looked worn out and done in. The idea brought a smile to Johnson’s lips and he sipped the liquor.

  Dirk ignored the question. His stomach still heaved every time he managed to down the pills, which the black-clad maid insisted upon before leaving the room every morning and night. But this morning, he hadn’t vomited, just groaned through an ache in his empty belly. Although the woman brought delicacies of fruit, eggs, toast, and even fanciful main dishes in the evenings, he’d only managed to keep down a couple pieces of toast. The disappointed frown she shot him when she retrieved the tray was never overlooked.

  “I have a curious question for you, Travers.”

  “You can keep it to yourself,” Dirk muttered, avoiding looking at the corpulent man across from him and maintaining his gaze on the wistful clouds.

  Johnson bristled. “Do you have a son, Travers? Were you selfish enough to bring a child into the unfortunate life you lead?”

  The question shot a bolt of guilt and anxiety through Dirk that made him feel like throwing up again. But he retained a passive expression and finally met Johnson’s eyes with an incredulous stare.

  “You think I’d be stupid enough to drag a kid into this kind of mess?” He waved a hand around the room. “What you must think of me, Eric.”

  The first name title rocked Johnson momentarily. He didn’t expect his weak captive to exhibit such boldness. He sipped the scotch with a scowl. When he looked back at Travers, his gaze was directed back outside.

  “You can wish you could join the clouds as much as you want, Travers.” He stood to fill Dirk’s view. “But that won’t change the fact that you’re here, at my mercy, for as long as I want.” He stomped to the door and turned back. “And for God’s sake, start eating something!”

  Dirk thought a string of curses at the man, but didn’t expel the energy to verbalize them. He hoped his offhand nature had dispelled Johnson’s suspicions of Cooper’s existence. He sighed heavily and watched the clouds disappear over the horizon. Bright blue sky replaced them. A view that would have filled him with a sense of ease before only made him feel lonely and depressed. He even wished briefly that that bullet had been two inches to the right. He felt empty of everything except the ball of guilt and anxiety that whirled around thoughts of his wife and son. He was stuck here, at a madman’s mercy, with no way to help them. Hell, they didn’t even know he was alive. ‘It�
�d be best to keep it that way,’ he thought dismally. There was no doubt in his mind that Alma would come flying blindly to Boston to help him, and right into Johnson’s hands. He stared dejectedly at the happy blue sky, then rolled over to face the back of the couch.

  Chapter 64

  Ramsey was surprised to smell bacon wafting through his house, but was even more startled to find the chef was Cooper, not Alma.

  “Good morning,” the boy greeted brightly. “Coffee?”

  Ramsey blinked groggily and nodded. A mug of coffee met him at the table.

  “Sugar? Cream? My mom likes two sugars, but my dad doesn’t take…” The present tense of the statement caught Cooper off guard and he stopped midsentence. Without finishing, he returned to the stove where he had a pan of bacon cooking alongside fried eggs.

  “Where’s your mom?” Ramsey asked.

  “Still asleep. She hasn’t slept in a while and I know she’s sad, so I let her sleep.”

  “Where did you learn to cook? Your mom?”

  “Both my parents. My dad used to cook breakfast, especially if Mom didn’t feel good.”

  “So you thought you’d do the same?”

  He nodded while flipping eggs.

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  “Yum. It smells delicious,” Alma’s voice announced from the hall. She was dressed in a new pair of jeans and a thick black sweater.

  “Good morning, Mom.”

  She glanced at Ramsey with the same surprise he’d expressed when he entered the kitchen.

  “You’re making breakfast, Cooper?”

  “Yeah. Dad used to make breakfast for you when you didn’t feel good,” he explained again.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” She swallowed a ball of emotion and kissed his sandy brown hair. “Thank you.”

  He smiled winningly and dished up three plates of bacon and eggs to deliver to the table. Before sitting down, he poured himself a glass of milk and a mug of coffee for his mother, carefully adding two spoonful’s of sugar.

  “Wyatt, is it alright if I teach Cooper how to shoot out in the woods?”

  “Yeah, sure. The nearest neighbor is five miles down the road. I think I have some nine millimeter rounds you can use.”

  “Really, Mom?” Cooper said excitedly.

  “Yes. Your dad wanted to teach you, but you’ll have to settle for me.”

  He smiled timidly. “You clearly know what you’re doing,” he joked quietly.

  Alma looked at him in shock for a moment until Ramsey laughed out loud.

  “That she does,” he chuckled. “I think you’ll have an accomplished tutor, Cooper.”

  “How can you joke about-”

  “If you can’t joke about it, you’ll never get over it,” Ramsey advised.

  Cooper nodded in agreement while Alma thought it over. She and Dirk had eventually managed to laugh off all their dangerous encounters over the years.

  “You’re right.” She finished eating and stood to clean her plate.

  “I’ll get it, Mom,” Cooper offered.

  “Thanks, Coop.” They exchanged a warm smile.

  “Can Bailey come with us?” he asked after the dishes were clean and put away.

  “I think it would be best if he stayed inside. We don’t want any accidents, right?”

  He nodded and patted the dog’s head.

  “I’ll keep him company,” Ramsey promised. “I’m going to stay in and finish my report.”

  “Thanks, Wyatt.”

  “Any time, buddy.”

  Alma led her son across the driveway and into the forest. Soggy undergrowth squelched under their shoes. She picked a spot fifty yards from the house to stop. Using a downed tree trunk as a table, she set the pistol down to outline a set of rules. Then she showed him the safety and how to check the clip for ammunition. They picked a target thirty feet away and she showed him how to hold the gun and how to stand. Her five demonstration shots peppered the targeted branch. She was surprised at how quickly it all came back to her. She could imagine Dirk beside her, correcting her grip and aim.

  “Your turn,” she announced.

  Cooper took the gun and she reached around him to repeat Dirk’s instructions of years before.

  “Can I shoot it now?” he asked.

  “Make sure the safety is off.” A muffled click announced the action complete. “Go ahead.”

  The kick back from the first shot startled him, but he quickly recovered and adjusted. After five shots, he stopped to hear his mother’s advice.

  * * *

  They were still out there when Ramsey finished sending his report to the branch office in Bismarck and the sheriff in town. He stood and stretched, considered adding a dash of liquor to his coffee, but a glance at the dog somehow made him feel ashamed, and he left the house with just coffee in hand.

  He approached the pair through dense foliage and watched for a while. Cooper’s aim was improving with each round. When the clip was empty once more, Ramsey announced his presence and moved through the trees.

  “Nice shootin’, Tex,” he complimented the boy, who blushed crimson, making that pair of brilliant eyes even brighter.

  Cooper put the safety on and checked the clip before passing it back to his mom. He led the way back to the cabin, kicked off his muddy shoes and went to the bedroom with Bailey tagging along.

  Alma silently reloaded the 9mm clip at the kitchen table.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about last night,” Ramsey said.

  She nodded. “Me, too. I agree with you. Let’s stay here. Johnson probably doesn’t know we’re together. Hopefully whoever he sends will be caught off guard by the three of us.”

  “Okay. Sounds like a plan. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”

  She finished loading the clip and slammed it home like an expert before meeting his gaze.

  “I think you should read the last section of the book. Travers thought of everything, right? Maybe he really did think of how to comfort you.” He was giving her a sympathetic smile that shaved at least ten years off his age.

  She frowned. “Maybe you’re right.” With that, she retired to the office.

  Chapter 65

  “What’s wrong with you? Amelia says you haven’t eaten in three days.”

  ‘Amelia,’ Dirk thought distractedly. ‘That’s her name.’ He was curled on the bed, staring at a blank beige wall. He felt Johnson’s prominent presence at his back, but didn’t have the energy or compunction to face him.

  A fleshy hand shook him by the shoulder. “Wake up, Travers.”

  “Leave me alone,” he whispered.

  “Look at me, you worthless fool.”

  Dirk scooted closer to the wall, away from the rough hands.

  “What’s your play here?” Johnson demanded, grabbing his bony shoulder again. When there wasn’t another response, he forcefully rolled his captive over and stared into Travers’s emaciated face. He’d lost weight alarmingly fast. Flesh clung to his cheekbones and the bags under his eyes made him look dead. Those bright eyes that had haunted him for twenty years in prison were dull. The lackluster glaze actually brought a jolt of unease.

  “Get it together, Travers!” he ordered with a shake.

  Since his handful of successful pieces of toast earlier in the week, Dirk had been unable to keep anything else down. The lack of nourishment was one thing, but the effort of throwing up wrenched his injured ribs and sapped energy he didn’t have to spare. ‘Drained’ didn’t fully describe how he felt. He stared up at his enemy’s fat face without an ounce of emotion.

  Johnson glared and grabbed him by the collar. “Get it together and eat something or I’ll force feed you.”

  “Screw you,” Dirk murmured halfheartedly.

  Johnson shook him. “I will not let you die, Travers! Take care of yourself, or I’ll do it myself!”

  “I’m sick, you bastard.” His voice lacked any conviction.

  “Sick?”

  “It me
ans I’m ill, idiot.”

  Oddly, the sarcastic jibe reassured Johnson that his victim wasn’t at death’s door. He needed him.

  “Fine. I’ll call the doctor.”

  “Please don’t.” Dirk was surprised the words were spoken out loud. He’d meant to keep them to himself.

  Johnson chuckled in delight. “Are you giving up?”

  All Dirk heard was the pulse throbbing in his ears. It was far faster than it should be. The sudden grip on his chin grabbed his attention and a fuzzy image of Johnson’s face filled his vision.

  “Are you giving up?”

  “Only if you leave Alma alone,” he muttered.

  Johnson leaned closer so his rancid breath billowed in Dirk’s face. “Never.”

  * * *

  “Sorry you’re not feeling well.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Dirk muttered sarcastically to the doctor.

  Chills wracked his body from the fever raging in his blood. He hadn’t been able to rally the strength to move from the bed in two days. Between depression and illness, he found himself wishing for death. If he were dead, Johnson could no longer use him against his family. ‘It’d be best for everyone,’ he thought dully. But then a whiff of Alma’s lavender-scented hair would drift through his memory and he’d remember their family kayak adventures with Cooper laughing and splashing through the water. If they could just outlast and outsmart Johnson, maybe that life could still be salvaged.

  “The wound in your side is healing nicely and the broken ribs should mend in the next four or so weeks.”

  “You get paid for those observations?” Dirk murmured. “A second grader could have told me that.”

  The doctor laughed. “You get mean when you don’t feel well, Mr. Travers. Those observations are the good news. Bad news, you have a fever of 103-degrees and this gash on your head is infected.”

  “So much for your antibiotics, huh?”