House of V

by Raen Smith

  He had heard about the story of Holston Parker while he was in prison. The hometown hero had made national news. Holston Parker had made every single drug dealer, murderer and psychopath next to Fred look like sweet little kittens.

  Fred had never heard of Holston Parker before the news broke about his murder. He tried to sort through his drug-filled memories of the nineties, but nothing about Holston Parker surfaced. The first time he had seen the guy was in the photos in the newspapers.

  So the fact that Fred’s name was on some list made no sense to him whatsoever. He wondered what the list was for anyway. Did it matter if his name was on this apparent list if Holston Parker was dead, anyway? What danger could he possibly be in?

  He swirled the last drink of Scotch in his glass as he thought of the harm in meeting this guy. It was in a public place in downtown Oshkosh in the early evening. The Wisconsin summer stayed light until around nine anyway. According to his parole, he wasn’t allowed to carry firearms, but he didn’t feel like he needed any protection. After all, he didn’t have anything to hide, and as far as he was concerned, didn’t have any enemies anymore. The crowd he ran with back in the nineties was long gone. They had all broken up and gone separate ways. Some probably dead, others in jail, maybe out of state or otherwise. Hell, he didn’t even remember half of the guys anyway.

  Fred was in his mid-fifties now, the heyday of his youth long past him. He sat here with nothing to show for his name other than a small, rented apartment in small-town Wisconsin. No family or friends. They were long gone, disowning him for his past. He didn’t blame them, but it was just so lonely.

  He was lucky enough to get shift work at a packaging plant that kept him just busy enough and paid him barely enough to afford living expenses, including food and the crap apartment he was sitting in. Everyone told him how horrible prison would be, however no one had told him how miserable he would feel after.

  He looked at the clock again to see that ten minutes had passed. It would take him fifteen minutes to get down to the pizza place. He had five more minutes to make his decision.

  He played the message again, listening to the voice of the man. The caller seemed relatively calm and collected except for when he mentioned Holston Parker. The name had caught in his throat. Fred closed his eyes as he finished listening to the message. The answering machine clicked as it stopped and the humming of his window air conditioning unit filled the silence.

  Hell, he knew he had nothing to lose. Heading out for pizza tonight with some guy seemed better than staying here. Plus, he was a little curious how his name ended up on some list that Holston Parker kept. Fred knew that Holston was taking out criminals when he was alive, but that was the key phrase, alive. Holston Parker was long gone, and he shouldn’t have to worry if his name was on some list. Yet Fred kept going back to how he had gotten on that list anyway. Call it morbid curiosity. Maybe the caller would know.

  He set the glass back down on the table, contemplating if he needed to change his clothes. It was a hot day in the plant, and he definitely did his fair share of sweating, yet he knew that no one expected much from a sex offender anyway. It was hard to disappoint anyone.

  He grabbed the glass and set it in the sink before he wiped the table with a towel from the counter. He took the towel to his own face, wiping it before he threw the towel back down, and grabbed his wallet stocked with exactly eleven dollars and his driver’s license.

  He had eleven dollars to get him through the night and nothing more until tomorrow’s pay day. It would be enough for some pizza and maybe a beer if he was lucky.

  Fred grabbed the keys to his ten-year-old Chevy Cavalier and ran his fingers through his hair.

  Just be normal, he reminded himself as he walked to the door. He pulled the door open with a quick sweep and looked up to see a man in a baseball cap and glasses waiting in front of it. He wore khakis and a button down shirt.

  “Can I help you?” Fred asked, dangling the keys in his hand.

  “Are you Fred Sullivan?” the man asked in a cool and steady voice. Fred recognized the voice; it was the caller from the answering machine.

  “Yeah,” he answered, still holding the door open. Nothing about the man alarmed Fred. He was used to hanging around convicts and criminals. This guy didn’t seem like one; he was shorter, somewhat stocky, fit, but not muscular; maybe in his late fifties, early sixties. Nothing to get worked up about.

  “I’m the guy that called you about the list,” he said, holding up a piece of paper. “Do you mind if I come in?”

  Fred opened the door wider, allowing the man to come in, not knowing that the glass of Scotch was the last he would ever drink.

  7

  June 18, 8:45 a.m.

  Norway

  My eyes flashed open to see the numbers glowing a light yellow that I could barely read. I blinked in rapid succession, trying to moisten my eyes when I realized my brown contacts were still in. I closed my eyes long enough to count, and when I opened them, I read 8:45 on the clock. The morning sun was streaming through the windows now, casting light on Ryan’s bedroom. Our bedroom. And the bag that I left beside the bed was now sitting on top of the dresser right in front of me.

  Shit.

  I thought of the dream I’d just had, the cowboy running through it with a vengeance. He was trying to tell me something, warn me of what was to come. Someone wanted me back; someone was trying to get my attention with the death of Father Haskens and the threats to Sister Josephine. I wondered how far this person would go if I didn’t come back. Would he move on to the Jones family - my family? Who would be next? Delaney? Mark? I knew I had to go back. I couldn’t let Sister Josephine end up like she had in my dream, and I sure the hell couldn’t risk the rest of the Jones family’s lives.

  I turned to see an empty spot next to me. I felt my shoes heavy against the sheets and my canvas jacket restricting my movement. I was fully dressed, lying in bed. I should be gone by now.

  Shit, again.

  I was abruptly brought back to the time when I was seven, living with Holston - even in my memories, I can’t resign myself to calling him my father - in a tiny, single-story home he’d rented. It was right before he had made all his money; his empire still in the budding stages as he scratched his way to the top. He had just come home, and it was past my bedtime, by a long shot, I was sure.

  I had packed a suitcase with my toothbrush and one pair of underwear, determined to leave. He hadn’t muttered a word to me, but simply stepped aside, letting me stroll through the front door. Holston had shut the door behind me. So there I was, a seven-year-old with a tattered suitcase, set to take on the world. However, I had never moved from that front porch, and instead, had curled up on the bare concrete like a cat. I had awoken in the morning to find myself in the same clothes from the night before, suitcase still by my side and a low grumble in my stomach. I had walked back through the front door, Holston sitting at the table, drinking coffee with a stoic stare. A single apple sat across from him.

  Are you finished? Those are the only words he had said to me as I sat down across from him. I replied with silence, knowing that I couldn’t leave him or that house. At least, not then. I would obey, I had no choice.

  And now here I was, fully dressed and unable to leave again. It was different this time around, though. I didn’t want to leave. I had someone here that loved me, and I loved him. That was the problem.

  The fresh aroma of coffee beans wafted through the air and beckoned me into the kitchen. He would be there, waiting for me. I thought about snagging the bag and crawling out the window, but I owed it to Ryan to talk to him one last time, so I walked through the hallway, feeling the shame wash over me. I hated myself for the last twenty-four hours.

  He stood with his back to me and looked out the window above the kitchen sink. He knew I was standing behind him.

  “I thought you said we were going to stay,” Ryan said, not turning toward me.

  I was silent because I didn�
��t know what to say. How could I argue with him? He was right; I had lied to him.

  “Why didn’t you go then?” he asked, putting the mug of coffee down on the counter before turning to face me. He held the knife he had given me in his other hand and twirled it for a moment before setting it down. The emptiness sank into my chest.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. Why did he have to love me so much? Why did he have to look at me with those eyes? Why did I have to love him so much?

  “That’s not good enough,” he replied. I knew he was right.

  “Come with me,” I said.

  “You know I can’t.”

  “I love you.” The words didn’t quite come out right. They fell empty in the kitchen, the distance between us too far.

  “But not enough,” he retorted, leaning his hand against the counter.

  “I can’t stay here knowing that Sister Josephine is in danger. That my family is in danger. I just can’t do it. This is who I am. I can’t pretend that I am someone else. I’ll get in and out before they’ll know I’m even there and then I’ll come back.”

  “And if you actually do it, which I highly doubt, what’s going to happen the next time? And the time after? What is it going to be the next time something pulls you away from me? You want me to sit and wait?” Ryan asked, his brown eyes staring straight through me. I knew it wasn’t fair. Not to him. Not to us.

  “It’s not like that, I?” I stammered, looking for the right thing to say, but it didn’t come.

  “Just go, Evie,” he said, pointing to the front door as he hung his head down in rejection. He was tired and so was I. “Just don’t expect it to be like last time. Don’t expect me to come chasing after you again. I won’t do it. I will never do it again.”

  “And if I come back?”

  “What do you want me to say? You want to know that I will be here if you come back?”

  Silence.

  “I don’t know if I can do it, Evie.”

  It was all I needed to hear. It shattered me, yet I did what I do best. I turned and left without saying a word. Without muttering, I love you or I will come back. I didn’t know if he would be here waiting for me, but I left anyway because I had to. Because I was Evie Parker.

  ***

  I made one quick stop before heading to the airport to catch my flight. I knew Ryan would disapprove, but at this point, I didn’t know if Ryan ever wanted to see me again. And I knew I couldn’t turn my back on someone who reminded me so much of myself, of the lost little girl I once was. This could be my last chance. The last time I set foot in Norway.

  Aaron’s wife Linn had followed me as I walked along the road to town for a solid two minutes before I finally agreed to get in her car and accept the ride. She had pulled just outside the building, and I asked her to wait in the car.

  I swung open the door to Bernard’s bakery. The fresh aromas of the bakery teased my nostrils, trying to dissuade me from what I needed to do. I shook it off and focused on the man bending down behind the counter. The man I needed to have a word with.

  I leaned across the counter and silently snagged a six inch blade he was using to slice his bread. I moved back, waiting for him to pop up and attend to me. As soon as he did, I leaned across the counter again and pulled at his shirt with one fluid motion. I held the knife up to his throat, pressing it lightly into his skin.

  Before he could utter a word, I warned him in a steady, cool voice in broken Norwegian that I knew he would understand. “Do not lay a finger on Rolf again, Bernard, or I swear to you, I will come back here, hunt you down and make you regret every single thing you have done to that child. Do you understand?”

  Bernard’s pale face shook with fear, his eyes widening as I pressed the knife until the smallest trickle of blood appeared on his skin.

  “I promise you that, Bernard,” I said as I let his shirt go and pushed him away from me. He straightened his shirt, brushed off his apron and then nodded his head. I walked out of the shop, leaving the knife on the display shelf right before I walked back into the sunlight with a roll in my hand.

  ***

  I stood at the Svolvar airport, watching the next airplane to Oslo pull to the tarmac. Ivy Stone had made it through the first check. Only two more checks to go, Oslo and New York, before I headed to Chicago.

  I had been flagged for buying my ticket with cash, and the attendant had looked over my IDs with scrutiny. American student with an emergency at home, I had explained to her. My mother had died, and my dad had wired me cash to pay for the ticket. I had shrugged my shoulders with a solemn look on the verge of tears. The hairy-eyed attendant pushed me along, barely looking in my bag. Death had that effect on people. No one wanted to deal with a sobbing woman, make that college student, in the airport.

  I turned to the seats behind me, scouring the faces of my fellow passengers. I glossed over a woman with three kids, two of them kicking each other while the third played a handheld game.

  Not worth the hassle.

  I was nearing the end of the row when I spotted a man in a business suit who was busy with his cellphone. He was leaned over, a briefcase sitting near the sheen of his loafers. His blonde hair was trimmed and molded to perfection, and his tie pulled tight to his neck. Most likely not American. Just what I needed.

  I walked over to him, my head hanging low as I worked the tears into my eyes. It took some major coercing on my end, but within the twenty second walk, I had developed a small stream that had rolled down my face. This was going to work. I stopped a few feet in front of him and waited, but he didn’t look up.

  “Excuse me?” I said in a small voice with my best Wisconsin accent. As soon as he looked up, I brushed the tear away from my face. “I’m sorry to bother you, but my mother just died -” I tripped on the word, pausing, before I continued.

  “And I need to contact my dad to pick me up in Chicago tomorrow. I have no phone or other money. I need to send him an email,” I finished, scuffing my toe on the ground. It seemed a bit melodramatic, but I laid it on thick anyway. I had nothing to lose and the flight would be leaving soon.

  “Email?” he replied in a thick, Norwegian accent.

  “Mor. Dode,” I said in forced Norwegian, the tears welling in my eyes again. Mother. Died. I hung my head low before I reached out my hand to point to the phone. “Telefon?”

  “Yes,” he replied quickly, tapping his phone several times before handing it to me. His eyes were a cobalt blue, his face patient and stricken with remorse. As I took the phone in my own hands and flew through the screens to block the IP address and login to the anonymous email account, I felt his eyes watching me with a soft sort of sadness. I wondered if he would be happy to learn that my mother actually hadn’t died, or would he be scornful that I had lied? My guess is the latter, so I typed the message quickly.

  Chicago, Lincoln Park Zoo. June 19, two p.m. By the penguins. All zoos have penguins, right? V

  I closed the internet browser and met the gaze of the man - still patient, still sad - as I returned his phone. My lips turned up into a meager smile as I said, “Thank you.”

  He nodded his head as he straightened his jacket and settled back into his seat.

  Twenty-five hours later, I would be standing in Chicago with three hundred dollars in my pocket.

  ***

  I held my breath as I stepped off the plane in Chicago, half-waiting for the swarm of officers to overtake me. No one came, so I strolled into the warm summer air to flag down a taxi. I hopped in and asked the woman to take me to Lincoln Park Zoo. I figured it was the best place to go in Chicago to stay unnoticed. After all, everyone should be looking at the animals.

  A hundred dollars later, I found myself at Lincoln Park Zoo, meandering through the animal exhibits and watching the animals walk aimlessly around in their cages. It was almost two, but I didn’t know if Delaney had even received my message. With less than two hundred dollars, my resources were scarce now, so I would have to rely on Delaney helping me out. I
usually didn’t operate this way, yet then again, I’d never had a warrant out for my arrest.

  I waited by the eagles, just yards away from the penguins, standing near a bush that hid me just enough without looking suspicious. Pretending to look at a map, I surveyed the scene ahead of me. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  You could say that I had a knack for surveillance. In college, I had a stint for almost two years guarding an underground MMA fight ring. Adam Carlburg, the budding twenty-year-old entrepreneur who organized the ring, recruited my services after watching me scale the rock climbing wall in the university gym. It took him a few tries, but I finally agreed, even though I didn’t need the money. I stopped doing it when the ring broke up after a freshman was knocked unconscious and rumored to suffer brain damage. I liked that job, and in fact, I liked my job at Parker Enterprises. It turned out, though, that Adam Carlburg was a better boss than Holston Parker.

  A woman in a green dress appeared in front of the penguins, her brown hair blowing in the gentle breeze of the summer afternoon. She flipped up her sunglasses to rest on top of her head before she turned toward me, her body profile exuding a small round bump beneath her dress. I recognized her face, slightly plumper, but just as I remembered. My sister. Delaney. Pregnant.

  I scanned the area, looking for anyone that would have followed her, but I saw no suspicious activity to turn me away. I straightened my glasses and strode toward her, tucking the map into the inside of my jacket.

  Pregnant. I didn’t anticipate to see her pregnant already, her maternal instinct not necessarily something I would peg her for after the brief time we’d spent together.

  “A baby? That didn’t take long,” I said, pulling her arm along as I walked away from the penguins and toward the outstretched waters of the lake flanking the east side of the zoo.

  “Tell me about it. Where are we going?” Delaney asked. She hesitated before she fell into step with me. There was something in her voice that caught me off-guard, something that triggered a jolt of awareness through my body.