by The Behrg
No burn cream. Damnit!
He grabbed a large bottle of aloe vera, realizing at the same time he should just leave it there. “For temporary relief of minor sunburns and pains,” it read. Jenna would need something a little stronger. Like morphine.
“Your omelet’s cold.”
Blake stopped halfway to the family room. Drew stood on the other side of the island, a smug smile on his face. It was the most absurd thing someone could have said in the moment, and Blake’s fractured mind struggled to make sense of it. That ridiculous apron, that pale white skin still wet and shiny—not from sweat, Blake realized. From water.
Pool water.
Blake leapt against the island in a surge of adrenaline, reaching across and grabbing a surprised Drew by the apron and pulling him forward. The metal rack holding fruit on the island went reeling, mangoes and oranges tumbling and spinning to the floor. Blake tried to slam Drew’s head against the counter, but his reach was too far extended, and the momentum didn’t carry. Drew twisted back, wriggling from his grasp.
“Boys!” Joje said, having reentered the room.
That sliding noise of a gun cocking was enough to bring Blake back to his senses and reprioritize his agenda. It was a skill he had mastered, as had every successful individual he’d ever known—attack the most important task first without losing sight of what’s next in line.
As Blake moved back to his wife, retrieving the blanket from the ground, he went through the list in his head.
One, get Jenna help.
Two, kill Drew.
Three, kill Joje.
Four, save his family.
The order of those last few might need to be rearranged, but he couldn’t think right now. Anger clouded judgment.
Joje kept his distance, gun still pointed toward him. Blake laid the blanket lightly over Jenna, praying her skin wouldn’t stick to it when he would need to pull it back. He knelt beside her, sliding the fishing line down and wrapping her wrists with gauze. The trickle of blood had all but ceased. He paused as he worked, really seeing her for the first time in a long time. She was so beautiful. Without makeup, her face swollen and bruised, eye crusted shut, she was still perfect. He tucked her hair behind her ear, and she opened her one eye, looking into his.
“Conrad,” she said.
Before Blake could shake his head, she had fallen back under. Her legs were shaking, spasming beneath the blanket. He pulled it up to take a closer look.
Blisters and boils dotted her legs and feet like raindrops stuck to a pane of glass. Several of the toes on her right foot had fused together, skin melting into one connected piece. The bottle of aloe vera slipped from his hands to the floor.
“I can’t do this,” he said. “I can’t play this game anymore.”
“Think of all we’ve accomplished in just two days,” Joje said. “Convincing your boss to keep your job. The lengths you went to to save your family? Your wife’s still alive. You still have your son. That’s a lot worth continuing for.”
“I’m taking her to the hospital,” Blake said.
“We never intended for anyone to get hurt,” Joje continued. “It doesn’t have to be like this, but that’s up to you. Not me, not Dwew. You determine how we behave.”
Blake stood, moving back into the kitchen to the rack of keys.
“I wowee you’re not listening,” Joje said.
They were gone. The car keys, gone.
“Where are they? The keys!” Blake yelled.
“Dwew, will you kindly fetch Adam?”
Drew removed the apron and headed out the kitchen through the living room, shirtless.
Blake opened a cupboard, then another. He wasn’t looking for medicine, he was looking for something—anything—that would give him a chance to take on Joje.
“She really is exquisite.” Joje stood over Jenna. “Was your first wife this beautiful? Or did you upgrade after your success?”
Blake slammed the cupboards closed, grabbing the only thing that came to mind—the frying pan from the stove. Still warm. He rushed into the family room with it.
“This won’t end well,” Joje said. “Put it down.”
Blake swung at Joje who sidestepped the pass with the practiced efficiency of a martial artist. Blake realized how little he really knew about his captor.
Adam peeked his head from the corner of the entryway, Drew undoubtedly behind him. Blake yelled, charging forward and swinging the pan left, right, and down, whooshing through air with each attempted strike and never seeing the opening when Joje moved in, his fist catching Blake in the throat. His bruised, swollen throat.
Blake’s vision went black; when it returned, he was on his knees, leaning against the couch next to Jenna. To not return to that void beckoning to him as he inhaled and exhaled required all his concentration. He felt Joje’s breath on the back of his neck.
“You still don’t understand how this works. You can’t fight it. When you try, you only hurt the ones you love. And next time?”
Joje grabbed Blake by the hair, tilting his neck back to stare at Adam, who stood wide-eyed in the hallway. “It will be your son.”
5
Blake drove to the pharmacy with Joje in the same vehicle that had started it all. Joje’s refusal to allow Blake to take his wife to a hospital forced him to take the only alternative he could get. Joje made calls on Blake’s behalf, playing secretary in an effort to track down a physician of a friend of a friend; they hadn’t had the time or the need to locate a doctor since the move. The spotty reception along the coast kept Joje occupied.
Eventually, they got a contact for a physician who dealt with patients only through e-mail. For what he charged, those e-mails should have performed surgery. The sense of urgency must have come through, as half a dozen prescriptions for pain meds, antibiotics, and some enzyme cream called Santyl were waiting at the pharmacy for them.
The pharmacist, a tall man with thick white hair and a thicker mustache, couldn’t take his eyes from Blake as he scanned the drugs. His bifocals slid down the bridge of his nose as he asked, “How’s the other guy?”
It took Blake a moment to remember how bruised and cut up his face was. “Pretty sure he came out ahead.”
Joje made conversation as Blake confirmed he understood the risks of the prescriptions on the digital keypad and swiped his card. Joje then asked the pharmacist how to treat a burn wound on a canine.
“How bad are the burns?”
“I’d say pretty bad, wouldn’t you, Bwake?”
“Card Declined” flashed on the screen, giving Blake pause. He swiped it again.
“You talking blisters? Pus?” the pharmacist asked.
“Blistered,” Blake said. “Skin’s . . . cracked. Like dry leather.”
The small display repeated its ominous message: “Card Declined.”
Blake took a step back. His Cyborg—the phone— was connected to every one of his accounts. Savings, checking, even his slush account Jenna didn’t know about. Had he really handed Joje a skeleton key to every locked vault in his name?
He brought out another card, a black American Express he rarely used, slid it through the reader, awaiting the confirmation of his fears.
The pharmacist continued his conversation with Joje, politely pretending not to notice Blake’s predicament. “Second, maybe third-degree burns. Take her to a vet. She’s going to need fluid, IVs. Burns that severe require serious treatment.”
Joje held up one of the pill bottles. “Why we have these.”
“For a dog?” the pharmacist asked. “You trying to kill her?”
The display above the reader spit out the same message. Blake held his wallet in his hand, realizing how utterly worthless the plastic he carried had become.
“I got it, Bwakey,” Joje said, throwing two hundred-dollar bills onto the counter. “You can pay me back later.”
Blake’s demeanor must have revealed the absolute horror he was feeling. The pharmacist snatched the bills, taking
a step back from the register.
“If we don’t take her to a vet, will she live?” Blake asked.
“Without treatment? You won’t be able to stave off infection. That cream will do as much good as handing two aspirin to someone who’s broken an arm.”
“Dogs don’t have arms,” Joje said.
“What kind of dog is it?” the pharmacist asked.
“Just a bitch,” Joje said.
The pharmacist placed the change from the register on the counter, backing away.
“Take her to a vet. Or a hospital. If you’ll excuse me.” He stepped behind the partition into the adjoining room of licensed drugs and plastic containers. It was the only time Blake had seen someone use prescription drugs as an escape without actually swallowing a pill.
The BMW’s tires spun beneath the loose gravel on the road as Blake took a turn too fast on the drive back up the coast. His thoughts were spinning even faster, but on a hamster’s wheel, never making progress. The ping from his phone announcing an incoming message or e-mail was gasoline to the fire.
The conversation with the pharmacist had left him rattled. He had to get Jenna to a hospital, he just wasn’t sure how. Add to that complication the fact that his captors were secretly robbing him blind.
“How much have you taken?” he asked.
“Taken?”
“My money!”
“We’re not robbing you, Bwakey. I’m no thief. It’s all there. You just won’t have access to it. Not during the next phase of our pwoject.”
“The next phase?”
“I’ll be honest. I got a little upset when I saw how many zeroes were attached to the numbers in your bank, and yet you wouldn’t buy a ten-dollar subscription?”
“That has nothing to do with why you’re here,” Blake said.
“It has everything to do with it. Can’t you see? Who would you be without your money, your success? That’s all I’m interested in finding out.”
Another ping. This time Joje answered the text, silently typing a short reply, probably to Drew.
“You can have it all—take it! Just leave me and my family alone. Take Drew, take this car, I don’t care, but leave! Get out of our lives, just—just leave.”
“You know I can’t do that,” Joje said.
“Then let me take my wife to the hospital. We can leave her there. Continue at home with your project. No one will know!”
“You have nothing to bargain with.”
“Oh, no?” Blake skidded around another corner, pushing his rage into the machine that was his car. The speedometer climbed, fifty . . . sixty . . . seventy. He took the next curve without hitting the brakes, tires chirping as they grabbed and slid, grabbed and slid, the BMW fishtailing before catching. And still Blake refused to let off the gas. Seventy . . . seventy-five . . . eighty.
“Do I look afraid, Bwake? Or concerned?” Joje’s voice was calm, relaxed, even as Blake’s knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel.
Flashing lights and a burping whirl suddenly sprang from behind them, an unexpected answer to prayer. There’s my bargaining chip, you bastard, Blake thought.
“Don’t pull over,” Joje said as Blake braked. “No, pull over.”
Blake slowed but continued driving, a floodgate of ideas breaking through the dam of depression. One way or another, he had stumbled onto their way out.
“Pull over!” Joje said, glancing behind them. Blake continued driving, passing a gravel turnout with more than enough room to have stopped. Joje laughed. “Bwake, I’m trying to help you.”
“No, but this cop might. Should I lead him to the house?”
“Lead him wherever you want,” Joje said. “Just whatever you do, don’t let him open your trunk.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I left a little insurance in there,” Joje said. “In the off chance we might need it.”
Another wide turnout was ahead. Blake brought the car over, gravel grinding beneath the wheels. He put the car in park, a cloud of dirt sweeping past them.
“What the hell is in my trunk?”
“You can’t believe I wouldn’t have a plan for something like this?” Joje asked. “Get the cop to leave, or you will never see your family again. In more ways than one.”
“What’s in there?” Blake repeated.
“Not what. Who.”
“What—?”
“Your fingerprints on the body, murder weapon in your house,” Joje said.
“Bullshit.”
“Think. Do I need to bluff?” Joje held up Blake’s phone. “One button and your family disappears forever, long before any cops can arrive. No, the insurance is for something more, for when you’re no longer afraid to lose your family.”
Blake looked in the rearview mirror. It was a motorcycle cop. He couldn’t see the face beneath the helmet from this distance. “Whose body is it?” he asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Whose body!”
“Your neighbor. The one you were arguing with on the street.” Joje’s lips pulled to the side, his tic taking over. “Your little dispute was convincing on camera—his, not mine. Probably provide a nice motive. He had a lot of surveillance, that one.”
Tom Jones. He’d never be placing his sausage finger into someone’s handshake again. Blake wanted to believe it was all a fabrication, an elaborate lie to keep Blake from talking. The emblem of Tom’s business card spun in Blake’s mind—a diamond being crushed by another diamond, just as Joje was crushing him now.
Because the only crime is letting them put you away.
Blake wondered if Tom would think so now. “How do I know you’re not lying?” he asked.
“Because. I don’t lie.”
“Fine. I won’t say a word, but in exchange, I’m taking Jenna to the hospital.”
“No,” Joje said.
“She’ll die if I don’t!”
“She won’t die.”
“I promise—I’ll play by your rules. I won’t say anything!” Blake said. “Just let me get her help.”
A knock at the window. Blake jumped. The uniformed cop was at Joje’s door.
“Promise me I can take her,” Blake said.
“I can’t make that promise.”
“Promise me, Joje—she’s my wife!”
Another knock. Joje glanced outside, held his finger up. One minute. It should have been a hilarious gesture, given to a police officer. Blake only wished he had held up two fingers; he needed more time.
“You will never step foot in a hospital while we’re here,” Joje said. “Play by the rules, and no one else gets hurt. Or call my bluff. But you should have said your good-byes before we left.”
Without looking away from Blake, Joje pressed the tiny lever, lowering his window. A light shone directly into Blake’s face, causing him to squint. As he shielded his eyes, he watched Joje’s smile creep onto his face like a spider scurrying from beneath shadows. Phone in hand, thumb rested lightly against the button that would decide the fate of Blake’s family, Joje broke eye contact.
“Good mauwning, offisoh.”
6
Adam sat on one of the swing-out chairs attached to the kitchen island, having finished the bacon and eggs Drew had made for him. Greasy dishes and pans were piled in the sink like the blocks of a Jenga game after one wrong move.
There have been a lot of wrong moves lately, Adam thought.
“Modern Warfare?” Drew asked.
“Yeah, sure.”.
Jenna lay on the couch in front of the TV, still covered in blankets. She wasn’t shivering anymore, and the even rise and fall of her chest suggested she was asleep. Drew and Adam both hovered over her, their shadows enwrapping her in yet another layer.
“Why’d you do it?” Adam asked. Drew stood there a long time without answering, so long Adam began to wonder if he had vocalized his question.
“She has to learn,” Drew replied, as if it was answer enough. In a way, Adam supposed it was. �
��Sorry about your dog.”
“Sorry about your hand.”
Drew nodded.
In some ways, they were so similar. Sacrifices had to be made in order to demonstrate how far one was willing to go. If anyone understood, it would be Adam. Still, he was fairly certain Jenna was a far way off from “learning her lesson.” Her injuries wouldn’t turn her into the submissive housewife Drew and Joje were hoping for. You don’t tame a lioness by breaking its legs; you just piss it off.
Beneath her closed lids, Jenna’s eyes hadn’t moved since Adam and Drew had stood over her. She was playing dead. Adam wanted to smile.
“You wanna play upstairs? In the theater room?” he asked.
A pause. “We need to stay down here, to watch her.”
“She’s not going anywhere. I’ve never played on the projection screen. It’d be awesome. Life-size soldiers, bombs exploding, bullets whizzing by in surround sound.”
“Why haven’t you played there?” Drew asked.
“My dad won’t let me. But he’s not here.”
“We can’t be there when George gets back,” Drew said.
Bingo. Adam went to the TV, unplugging the game console from beneath the mounted racks. “Grab some Pepsis?”
Drew moved to the kitchen without a word, so used to following orders. Holding the console and controllers against his chest, Adam went back over to Jenna. With his other hand, he reached out, gently squeezing her hand. He had expected her to return the squeeze, let him know she understood the time he was buying her. Instead, her hand lay limp against his, cold to the touch. Maybe she wasn’t faking.
Adam felt Drew’s presence before he heard him. For such a big guy, Adam was surprised by his stealth.
“You trying to wake her?” Drew asked.
“Just wanted to be sure,” Adam said. “I don’t want us to get in trouble.” Let him think they were in this together. Who knew, maybe they were?
Drew reached down, his hand sliding beneath the blanket as he groped Jenna’s chest. She gave no reaction. For the first time, Adam felt a twinge of fear from the pale face next to him. Eyes that seemed to look but not see. Like a stuffed animal.