by A Rosendale
Dirk’s entire body jerked with electricity and his back arched.
When the treatment was over, the doctor ripped the electrodes from his skin, none too gently; not that Dirk felt it because his skin was still buzzing with electricity. Then he released the wrist restraints and leaned over his patient. “I’ll see you again soon to provide further ‘antibiotics’.” He enjoyed the panting, involuntary whimpers for a moment, then packed away the machine and left to tend his next patient. He was getting paid triple the going rate to keep this madhouse of hostages to himself.
* * *
Johnson’s monologue had lasted the entire morning and afternoon into the early evening. Alma let him talk, convinced the more time he spent trying to persuade her to hate her husband, the less time he spent torturing Dirk, Cooper, and Ramsey. But she had to admit that some of his tales hit home and made her ache, knowing she could never not see those images again.
“You should have been more careful, dear. The ones we love are often the ones who kill us,” he finished.
When the conversation, if one-sided, died away, she sat forward in her chair, her empty crystal glass dry. “You can spin whatever story you want, Johnson. But you’ll never drive a wedge between Dirk and I. I’m certain that the Arab-Frenchman in your story isn’t the first or only man he’s stabbed to death. Dirk’s got almost as much blood on his hands as you do. Hard to imagine, I know.” She accompanied the words with a powerful stare that exuded much more confidence than she felt. Standing, she said, “If I have your permission, sir,” she spat the title, “I think I’ll turn in for the evening.”
Johnson didn’t reply. He sipped his fourth glass of vodka and watched her go.
Chapter 75
She didn’t hear the door open and not even the beam of light from the hall light roused her. It wasn’t until an unfamiliar hand found her leg under the covers that she woke. By the time her weary mind could react, he was already straddling her.
Vodka-rich breath filled her nostrils and made her dizzy. His hands roamed her body, brushing away sheets.
Alma came awake with a start. Daylight filled the small bedroom. She ran a hand through her long hair and sat up. Exhaustion and stress weighed heavy on her and the nightmares weren’t helping. It wasn’t until the doorknob jiggled that she extracted herself from the sheets and got to her feet.
Cooper squeezed through the door before it was even open and leapt into his mother’s arms. She held him tight.
“You have fifteen minutes,” Amelia growled and shut the door.
Alma held her son for a long while, then steered him to perch on the bed beside her. She’d had a long time to think before sleep finally gripped her amidst troubling visions of Johnson’s descriptions.
“Cooper, have they hurt you?”
“No,” he answered instantly.
She’d expected nothing less. No one had laid a vicious hand on her, either.
“I need you to listen to me, okay?”
He nodded while he wiped tears from his cheeks.
“I need you to try to get close to Eric Johnson.”
“The fat man?”
She couldn’t help but smile at his innocent description. “Yeah, the fat man. I want you to go undercover, like Dad. I want you to get him to like you.”
He shot her a look of incomprehension.
She gave him a gentle grin. “You are the most likable kid around, Coop. Pretend you’re interested in him. Convince him that you like him.”
“Why?”
There were footsteps in the hall. Alma pulled him to her chest. “Because I need you to, okay? I think you can help us all.” She kissed his head.
Cooper looked into her eyes. The childish shimmer in his gaze faded and was replaced by a familiar stubborn glint.
Alma forced another smile and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Cooper! Stay strong, okay? You’re the toughest boy I know!” She knew it was a rough echo of Dirk’s words over the years and it had the desired effect. Cooper drew back his shoulders and took a deep breath. When Amelia entered, he kissed his mother’s cheek and resolutely followed the stranger.
* * *
It took all Cooper’s courage to creep from the bedroom. He tiptoed downstairs without a sound; if his nerve failed him, he could run back to the safety of the room and no one would ever be the wiser. He found Johnson in a downstairs office, staring at a Mac desktop. His eyes shifted left to right like he was reading.
“Um, Mr. Johnson?” Cooper said quietly.
The big man jumped in his chair. “What do you want?” he snapped. His double chin warbled with the exclamation.
“Um, I’m bored,” he said tentatively. “I can’t get into my Mom’s or Wyatt’s rooms. I…I wondered if you would play a game with me…or something?” He fidgeted with his hands. He felt awkward under this stranger’s scrutinizing gaze.
Johnson stared at the boy. His hair was sandy brown, like his mother’s, but those eyes were identical to his father’s. Those sea-green eyes had haunted him day and night for twenty years. But it was strange to see them in the innocent frame of boyhood, baby fat still clinging desperately to those soft cheeks and not a wrinkle to be found in the young face. He sat back in his chair and considered the child’s invitation.
“Sure,” he finally said. “You play chess?”
Cooper nodded.
“Let’s go to the den.”
* * *
They were three-for-three. The entire day had been whittled away stooped over this oak chess table. Johnson had to admit that the boy shared his parents’ brilliance. He’d not let Cooper win; in fact the last game had been a brutal battle.
“Tell you what, sport. You win this next game, and I’ll show you a surprise.”
“Surprise?” Childhood curiosity lit his face.
“Yes, but only if you win.”
“Deal.”
* * *
Dirk heard footsteps in the hall. Scrambling to the window, he abandoned the meager exercise he’d been attempting. It had been hours since the doctor’s last dose of antibiotics and electroshock and the twitching in his fingers and toes had finally ebbed enough to try pushups and sit-ups. Now that Alma was undeniably involved, he was determined to regain enough strength to protect her. He wiped sweat from his brow as the knob turned and tried to look natural, leaning against the windowsill.
“Good evening.” Johnson stood in the doorway. His expression was shadowed by the fading light in the room.
Dirk didn’t deem it necessary to respond.
Johnson pushed the door open further and a smaller figure was silhouetted against the hall light.
“Dad?” Cooper’s voice was faint and cracked.
Dirk couldn’t suck in breath. He felt simultaneously sick to his stomach and relieved.
Cooper couldn’t believe his eyes. His dad had been dead. Both Alma and Wyatt had said so. Did they even know he was alive? How was it even possible? He bolted across the room and into his father’s arms.
Dirk squeezed him tight and buried his face in the soft, baby-scented hair.
They had only embraced for a minute when Lusana reached for Cooper’s arm.
“No!” Cooper begged, clinging to his father.
Dirk yanked him away and pushed the boy behind him. “Leave him be, please.” He appealed directly to Johnson.
White teeth split the shadows in a grin. “No, Mr. Travers. My chess partner is far too valuable to me.”
Dirk’s look of confusion allowed Johnson a chuckle.
“Come on, Cooper,” he beckoned.
“No,” the boy said quietly. “Please let me stay with my dad.”
“You owe me a lot more games before I’ll allow another visit.”
Lusana reached for Dirk’s arm to pull him out of the way. Dirk kicked the man’s knee. The guard shot him a look of surprise; their prisoner was regaining strength.
“He’s just a child,” Dirk entreated.
“A captivating child at that,” Jo
hnson replied. He stepped forward to help Lusana pry the pair apart. It wasn’t until the black man was able to grip Dirk’s wrist and wrap it around his back in an arm lock that Johnson managed to lay hands on Cooper and drag him from the room. Lusana wrenched his prisoner’s arm painfully and shoved him to the floor. Then he landed an excruciating kick to the ribs and left.
Chapter 76
“What are we doing today, Mr. Johnson?” Cooper asked. It had been a week since he’d seen his dad and nearly as long since he’d been permitted to visit his mom or Wyatt.
“Stay on his good side. Don’t ask to see us. Keep doing what he wants,” Alma had instructed five days ago.
“I have a meeting in the city,” Johnson answered. He looked over his young charge for a moment. “Why don’t you come with me?”
“Me? But…I…” He motioned to his jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers.
“I ordered some appropriate clothes for you. I’ll have them delivered to your room.”
Cooper was dumbfounded for a moment before hurrying to change.
He returned twenty minutes later in a blue button up, black slacks, and dress shoes. ‘I’m dressed like Dad,’ he thought, looking in the mirror.
Johnson thought the same thing when the boy entered his study; he looked impeccably like Travers. The idea unsettled him until he recalled the man secured upstairs, currently at Dr. Smith’s mercy.
“You look brilliant,” he complimented.
“Thanks,” Cooper said shyly.
* * *
“I’m glad we could follow up so soon after our last meeting.”
Cooper couldn’t believe his eyes. Compared to the stranger, Johnson looked like a marathon runner.
“Me, too, Michael.”
The stranger was eyeing Johnson’s small companion.
“Ah, forgive my rudeness. Cooper, this is Michael Flescher.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cooper muttered, extending his hand.
The blubberous hand engulfed his and pumped it soundly. “And you. An apprentice?” he asked his associate.
“Of sorts. You remember Dr. Alma Decker, of course?”
“Of course! Your mother is Alma Decker?”
Cooper nodded and the spark of an idea started to sprout.
“I haven’t seen her in ages! A brilliant scientist! Brilliant!” He noted the surprise in the boy’s eye. “She helped me on a number of environmental bills.”
“Flescher used to be the Representative for Washington State,” Johnson explained.
“Didn’t your parents move back to Washington some time ago?” Flescher asked.
Cooper shook his head. “Oregon.”
“Ah! That’s right! Your dad…” He wracked his memory.
“Dirk Travers,” Cooper provided before Johnson could cut him off.
“He was a computer specialist? Is that right?”
He nodded.
“Passed away recently,” Johnson said and shot Cooper a pointed glance.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Cooper!” Flescher said, genuinely shaken. “How’s your mother?”
“Bereft, I’m afraid,” Johnson answered again.
“Poor dear. I’d love to see her sometime, if she’s up for it.”
“She would like that,” Cooper replied. He purposefully avoided the sharp look Johnson delivered. “Perhaps next week?” He gave his guardian a supplicating smile. The man couldn’t scowl in the presence of his colleague. “I mean, if it’s okay with you, Mr. Johnson?” His expression was one of practiced childhood innocence. The clever glint behind his eyes gave Johnson a chill; it was too similar to his father’s. Perhaps the boy was too dangerous to continue to toy with.
He forced a smile and distractedly agreed. He instantly regretted the arrangement.
“Shall we have lunch?” Flescher invited, waving to the restaurant they’d met in front of.
Cooper zoned out while the two men talked about government terms he couldn’t comprehend. He picked at the spaghetti and meatballs he’d ordered. It was no fun to eat spaghetti without his dad’s ridiculous, overdramatized silly slurping sounds across the table.
Johnson scowled when his colleague turned his attention from their discussion involving his reentry into politics to the boy, who looked downcast while he poked at a meatball.
“I remember the first time I met your father,” Flescher said wistfully. “Man, I wanted to punch him in the face.”
Cooper shot him a wide-eyed stare and the balding man chuckled.
“Alma, she was quite a looker, if you know what I mean.”
Cooper couldn’t stop his face from scrunching in disgust, drawing another laugh from the stranger he was beginning to like.
“I know it’s weird to hear your mom talked about like that, but it’s true. She was talking to me at a gala and up strode your dad. I knew from that look in her eye that I was chopped liver. He was a handsome fella, dashing in that tux.” He shook his head. “They were a perfect couple.” He frowned and placed a comforting hand on Cooper’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Travers.”
The comfort combined with the sudden title made tears well in Cooper’s eyes. He glanced at Johnson, who gave him a stern stare, ordering him to keep silent about his father’s continued existence.
“You know, Eric, I’d really like to see Alma. Cooper said next week. How’s Monday?”
The expression on Johnson’s face disappeared as if it’d never existed. “Monday’s great, Michael. Same restaurant?”
Flescher shook his head. “No, no. Some place special for Dr. Decker. The Palm for lunch.”
“You must think quite highly of her.”
“Oh, I do, Eric. She single-handedly won me the favor of Washington environmentalists, which propelled my career far beyond the House. I owe her quite a debt.” He frowned sympathetically at Cooper. “And I’d like to extend my condolences.”
“Of course. We’ll see you at the Palm on Monday, then.” Johnson shook Flescher’s hand and waved Cooper to the door.
* * *
Cooper pretended to be blissfully unaware of his host’s angry stares when they returned to the mansion. He crossed the entry hall and shot a winning smile over his shoulder.
“Do you want to play chess?” he asked innocently.
The look on his face and the offhand, casual question made Johnson think of his captive upstairs and the way he’d so casually dealt him the worst blow of his life.
“Get out of my sight,” he growled as rage boiled in his chest.
Cooper didn’t wait to be told twice; he ran upstairs and knocked gently on his mom’s door. The knob was locked, but he could whisper through the door.
“Mom?” he called softly.
He heard soft footsteps cross the carpet. “Cooper. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“I met Mr. Flescher today.”
“Flescher? Really? How?”
“Mr. Johnson took me to lunch with him. He wants to have lunch with you on Monday.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Mr. Johnson told him Dad was dead. He wants to pass on his ‘condolences’. What are those?”
“He wants to say sorry in person.”
“But Dad’s not dead.” He wished he could see her face.
“You’ve seen him?”
“Yes.”
“How is he?”
Cooper thought back to embracing his ‘dead’ father. He’d been so consumed with joy in the moment, he had to think hard about his dad’s condition. “Skinny.” He’d clearly felt Dirk’s ribs through his shirt. “Weak.” He’d leaned back against the wall while they embraced as if supporting their combined weight was too much to bear. Then there had been the moment Lusana yanked Dirk into an arm lock and shoved him to the ground. Cooper frowned at his assessment.
“Was he ill?”
His brow furrowed in consideration. “I don’t think so.”
Alma’s sigh of relief was audible th
rough the door. “And Wyatt?”
“His room is next to yours. I’ve talked to him a few times. He said his shoulder hurts and he’s been sleeping a lot.”
“You said lunch with Flescher on Monday?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. You’re doing alright, Coop?”
He shrugged before realizing she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’m doing what you said. I play chess with Mr. Johnson a lot. I think he was starting to like me, until today at least, when I suggested you meet with Mr. Flescher.”
He thought he heard a smile in her tone. “Good job, Cooper. I’m proud of you!”
Heat flushed his cheeks. Footsteps sounded on the wood stairs.
“I gotta go, Mom.”
“I love you, Coop.”
“Love you, too. Bye.” He scurried down the hall and into his own room.
Chapter 77
“Either yourself or your son, Travers.” Johnson’s voice floated through the cloudy scene. Alma felt like she was invisible, watching from afar while Dirk held a pistol and faced Cooper across a gray landscape. His hand shook violently.
“Make your choice or I’ll do it for you.”
He lifted his arm, slowly leveling the gun at their son.
“No!” Alma screamed and her voice echoed in the dream.
Without acknowledging her exclamation, Dirk’s elbow bent and the barrel of the gun touched his temple. Unfamiliar tears streaked his cheeks.
“Nnnooo!” she screamed again, begging her corporeal body to react, to snatch the gun from his shaking hand.
The scream carried into consciousness. She clamped her jaw shut and the sound stopped abruptly. The glow of the clock on the bedside table read 1:00 am. Just like every night since involuntarily arriving at the mansion, she suffered a terrifying nightmare and woke less than two hours after lying down. The sleepless nights were wearing on her, not to mention the emotional nerve-frying that accompanied such vivid, awful dreams.
She sat up in bed and pinched the bridge of her nose, then massaged her temples, trying to do away with the nightmare. A sob built in her throat. She just wanted to be safe at home with her two boys and the dog.