by Jeff Altabef
“We’re going after her. We need to find her. You can’t stop us.” Tom’s voice shook while his right hand balled into a fist. “We’ll be in more danger if we don’t understand what’s going on.”
Jack grabbed Jackie’s right hand with both of his, and a shock zapped through her. She tried to pull back, but he held tight, so she brought down her left hand in a forceful chop. He released his grip. She felt short of breath. Sharper and more intense than an ordinary shock, she had never experienced anything like that before.
Jack groaned and brought his hands to his head, as if worried that it might shatter and he needed to hold it all together.
“Jack, are you all right?” Tom asked.
Jack took off his sunglasses and rubbed his face. “I’m fine. I have a headache, and Aunt Jackie isn’t making it any better.”
She massaged her hand and regarded Jack suspiciously. “I should be going.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Jack growled. “Not until you show us what’s in the bag.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young man! You’re not so big that I can’t take a belt to you!”
Tom observed as Aunt Jackie stared at Jack, a razor edge in her eyes as she clutched her bag close to her chest. He sneered back at her, eyes equally dangerous.
Maggie always played peacekeeper between them, but in her absence, Tom jumped in between the two. “Come on, Aunt Jackie. You’ve never touched us in your life, and we’re too old for you to start now. We need to find Mom, and we’re not going to stop until we figure out what’s going on.”
Her face softened. “You shouldn’t have looked in my bag, Jack. You’ve been raised better than that.”
“I didn’t look in that giant sack you carry around.”
“How’d you know what I brought with me, then?”
“I just guessed. We’re wasting time. Tell us what we need to know!” His voice rumbled in a tone Tom had never heard him use before.
Her eyes shifted from Jack to Tom and back again to Jack. Her shoulders drooped as she leaned back in her chair. “Okay, I guess you boys are old enough to make your own decisions. I’m going to need some real coffee. This stuff tastes like rusty water.”
She removed a small tin of coffee grounds from her bag and made her way to the coffee pot. As the coffee brewed, she began. “Solitary Day for your mom wasn’t a holiday, or some day for her to be alone and meditate or any of that New Age crap. It meant much more to her.”
She brought a full cup of coffee back to the table. “It all started when she was young. Your grandparents worked in various resorts when she was little. Your grandmother worked as a maid, and your grandfather liked to work with horses, but more often than not, he worked as a handyman. They traveled around a lot back then. At one of their stops one summer, your mom met a boy named Cooper. She was young—I don’t know exactly how young—but not quite a teenager when she met him. Initially, they became friends.
“This boy was a guest at one of these resorts. He began following Maggie around, and by the end of the first summer, he started scaring your mother. She wanted nothing to do with him and told him so, but he wasn’t the type to settle for that. The next summer, he came back and things just got worse. Maggie tried to avoid him, but he kept popping up.”
“Didn’t Mom tell Grandpa?” Tom asked. “He wouldn’t stand for that.”
“No, she never did. Maggie worried that he would act rashly and lose his job. He had a hot temper. Much like you, Jack.”
Jack rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, this boy Cooper wanted Maggie to come home with him and leave her parents behind forever. She refused, of course, and things got even worse. The boy was disturbed. He’d hurt animals like cats or dogs and even horses. He was quite creepy and scary.
“After your mom refused to go with him, something bad happened at that resort. She wouldn’t tell me what, but I could tell by the way she told the story that she realized how dangerous he was. Your mom never spoke to him again after that summer, but she thought she saw him out of the corner of her eye every once in a while. He haunted her, becoming her personal bogeyman.
“When she became an adult, she started receiving letters. Every August 25th Cooper would send one—nasty, horrible, letters. As time went on, the letters became more involved, and came with pictures in them—horrifying pictures of girls that were tortured before they died.”
“Why would someone send letters like that?” Jack asked.
She shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Who knows why he sent them? In his twisted mind, maybe he thought they connected him with your mom. Perhaps they were his sick way of showing his devotion to her. Perhaps he just wanted to hurt Maggie because she rejected him.” She sipped her coffee.
“Didn’t she ever tell the police or anyone else?” Tom asked.
She shook her head. “Maggie was afraid. Cooper was a powerful person from a powerful family. She was sure that the police would protect him. Besides, she had no proof that he had sent her those letters, and they always contained nasty threats. At first there were threats against her parents, and then your father, and then you boys. He included pictures of you. He always knew where she lived and what she was doing. The letters arrived on the 25th of August like clockwork. She spent that day mourning the girls in those pictures and hoping it would all end.”
Aunt Jackie placed her coffee cup back on the kitchen table. “It tore her up. She felt so useless, afraid. Guilty, even. I’m the only person she ever told about Cooper. She worried about you two boys, and said if something were to happen to her, she wanted me to protect you from this monster.”
Jack’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the tennis ball. “So who is this Cooper?”
“I’m not sure your mom knew. She never told me. She worried I would go after him.”
“But you do have the letters in your bag, right?” Rough and angry, Jack’s voice sounded as if it had been rubbed raw over a cheese grater.
“I have some of the letters and photographs. There were others that Maggie wouldn’t give me. They must’ve been truly terrible because these are pretty bad.”
She hoisted her bag on her lap, pulled out a thin yellow folder and steadily placed it on the table. Shifting her eyes between her nephews, she left her hand on top of the folder. “She didn’t want you two involved in this, and spent the past nineteen years protecting you. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you going after her.”
The brothers looked at each other.
“We’ll do whatever it takes to get Mom back,” Tom said.
“Whatever it takes,” Jack repeated.
Charles Sheppard sat comfortably in the supple leather backseat of the sedan. It hummed as hidden mechanical fingers dug into his back and gave him a shiatsu-style massage, burrowing into tense muscle. His nerves bothered him, and that rarely happened.
He had taken the special plain-looking car for this meeting instead of the typical limo. From the outside, the nondescript car appeared old and battered. The cracked back right brake light didn’t work and duct tape secured the trunk. Only upon close inspection would someone notice the bulletproof glass, the steel reinforced carriage, and the purr from an engine much too powerful for anything caged in such a rundown exterior.
The car had just entered the Westchester Ghetto. He scanned the streets and frowned. “How did we let things become so bad?” Every time he entered one of the awful ghettos, the same feeling of loss buffeted him.
He thought about all the lives ruined and futures destroyed, as they made their way through a once vibrant downtown street. Metal bars protected window frames, and plastic bulletproof sheets were installed where glass should have been. The more common vacant stores had broken windows, the shards of glass scattered across the sidewalk and sparkling in the morning sunlight.
He detected movement within some of the dark spaces, and a chill blew through his body.
Once a week, the state sent in powerful street vacuum cleaners to suck away th
e mess and prevent pestilence. Rat poison distribution trucks followed the street cleaners, spreading toxic pellets across the concrete like fertilizer on plowed fields. Whenever the pestilence problem worsened, the pesticides grew stronger.
The effects on the human population were not well understood. He’d commissioned a study to determine safe levels for the toxins, but most within the government didn’t care. The stupid, small-minded men only cared about keeping the vermin away from other areas—their areas.
Charles shook his head as the car’s efficient air purification system blew a cool, scented breeze against his face—lilacs.
The sun had just risen, and only a few cars navigated the pitted streets. A couple slept under the protection of an awning beside a garbage bag filled with their possessions. A few prostitutes leaned against buildings, hoping for one last trick for the night. Glazed expressions shone dully behind exhausted eyes.
He took a long sip from his vitamin-infused water bottle. A specially designed cylinder tucked into the back door kept it cool.
Steven drove the car, his blue eyes razor-sharp and bright. He expertly weaved around potholes and larger debris in the street as he navigated their way to the meeting place. “We can still turn back, Mr. Sheppard. I don’t like this meeting.” He spoke plainly, almost mechanical in tone, his military training showing through.
He’d started working for Charles four months earlier and, though average in height and thinly built, was lethal as a cobra. Charles knew other security men with bulging muscles and wide chests, but they all paled in comparison to Steven. Training, decisiveness, and ruthlessness were the necessary ingredients in a good bodyguard, and Steven had all three in abundance. Charles trusted him completely, and had immediately installed him as the head of his private security.
“I realize there’s some risk involved, but I need to meet with them in person and in secret. We could both gain from a mutual friendship. They’d be stupid to try something and, from everything I’ve been told, they’re not stupid.” Charles had never met the ghetto leaders before. He was sure they weren’t stupid, but he wondered whether they would buy what he needed to sell them.
“Yes, Mr. Sheppard. We’ll be at the meeting place in a minute.” Steven swung the car to the left and drove down a narrow side street. Once-magnificent Victorian houses dotted both sides of the road. Windows were boarded up and the paint had peeled off wooden shingles. Many of the structures looked unsound, and weed-infested gravel had replaced glass yards.
“I think this car suits you, Steven. It’s beaten up on the outside, but has a lot left in the engine.”
“It suits me just fine, Mr. Sheppard, but I’d rather take you fishing.” As an avid fisherman, Steven made his own equipment.
“Maybe in a month or so when things slow down. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at fishing.” Charles sounded far away. They both knew things wouldn’t slow down in a month or two or three.
Steven slowed the car as two men blocked their path. He lowered the glass and showed one of the guards Sheppard’s citizen identification card.
The man took a long look at the card and then an even longer look at Sheppard. Eventually, he handed the card back and nodded toward a spot by the curb. “We saved the best parking space for you.”
Steven swung the car in front of a pink Victorian house, and turned toward Sheppard. “Remember to stay with me at all times, Mr. Sheppard. I can’t protect you if I’m not near you.”
Charles smiled and nodded. Steven meant well. He wanted to protect him, would even die trying if he had to, but Charles would do what he wanted, trusting in his instinct and luck. It had gotten him this far.
He gracefully stepped out of the sedan, dressed casually with a light brown sport coat, a plain Egyptian cotton dress shirt, and tan slacks. His antique gold Rolex wristwatch gleamed in the morning sun. He always wore the antique, given to him by his father, to important meetings. It was his lucky watch.
Two hulking armed guards led them through the front door of the old house.
Charles’s eyes widened. The inside had been restored to its original condition, with sparkling, polished cherry wood, newly painted textured ceilings, and even a slight air-conditioned breeze.
The larger of the two guards grinned at his reaction. “You’ll be meeting Mr. Moses and Mr. Gabriel in the library.” He waved them inside a room to the right.
Black bookcases covered all four walls of the large rectangular library. Stamped tin squares decorated the tall ceiling, and a clean oval desk sat on one end of the room with a leather chair behind it. A sitting area had been set up at the opposite end of the room with four wingback leather chairs arranged around a square cocktail table. Centered on the wooden table sat a glass bowl with a pomegranate in it.
The guard shut the door, leaving them alone.
Charles smiled. “I guess we aren’t the only ones who use deception.”
He eyed the fruit suspiciously. He had been briefly known as the “Miracle of the Pennsylvania Pomegranate” when he survived a train wreck aboard the Pennsylvania Pomegranate as an infant. Both his biological parents died in the crash, and the rich Sheppards had surreptitiously adopted him. He thought that secret well buried, but apparently it rose from the dead like a zombie fruit.
Ignoring the pomegranate and what it meant, he wandered over to the bookcases on the far end of the room. “This is a substantial collection. You don’t see many hardcover books anymore.” He pulled out To Kill a Mockingbird. “Have you read this one, Steven?”
“No, Mr. Sheppard. I can’t say that I have. I read mostly historical novels.”
“It’s a classic. I have a copy just like this one back at my apartment. I’ll give it to you.” He replaced the book in the bookcase as Moses and Gabriel entered the room.
The two men couldn’t have looked more different.
Moses, short and wiry with a pasty white complexion, wore his shockingly bright yellow hair shaggy and long, falling in front of his light blue eyes.
Gabriel, on the other hand, was dark skinned, had short, curly red hair that matched his tight beard, and stood five inches taller than Moses. He also appeared twice as broad, with wide shoulders and rippling muscles.
They both looked young, neither man appearing older than late twenties, and both dressed casually with loose-fitting, long-sleeved shirts, blue jeans, and sneakers.
Charles smiled at them.
The shorter man stepped forward with his hand out, his voice soft but strong. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Secretary. I’m Moses.”
Charles shook it firmly and Moses clasped his second hand on top in a European style greeting. He held onto Charles’s hands for an uncomfortably long moment while he stared deeply into his eyes.
The smile stayed fixed on Charles’s face as the seconds melted away. He would not look away. Trust was important.
Moses released him.
“Please, call me Charles.”
“This is Mr. Gabriel.” Moses nodded at Gabriel, who stood a step behind him with his arms crossed over his chest.
Charles stepped forward and proffered his hand, but Gabriel stayed behind, stubbornly refusing to move. Charles nodded at the big man and returned his hand to his side. He’s going to be tough, Charles thought, but he had confidence in his skills, if not in what he offered.
“I was admiring your library. You have some great works in here.”
“Reading opens up windows for the soul to explore, and imagination for the mind to ponder. Without it, we are stuck only with the current, depressing circumstances.” Moses waved at the bookcases. “We have a collection of history books and fiction. I prefer fiction, while Gabriel reads history.”
“Most people have e-readers these days, but I don’t think you can fully appreciate a book without feeling the pages in your hands,” Charles commented. “There is something about the feel of paper and the written word that e-readers and audio files cannot provide.”
“It’s a luxury we’re
happy to enjoy, Mr. Secretary. All of these books were castoffs from abandoned homes.”
Gabriel whispered into Moses’s ear.
Moses nodded toward Steven. “I thought this was a private meeting. Your friend can wait in the hallway with Jayden.”
Steven’s face remained an unreadable rock, but Charles knew he wanted to stay with him. “Yes, of course it’s a private discussion. Steven, if you would be so kind as to wait outside. I am sure that I’m perfectly safe with Moses and Gabriel.”
Gabriel shut the door when Steven left, leaving Charles unprotected. He wasn’t sure they wouldn’t harm him, but his instinct said to trust the two men, and in the end, he always sided with his instinct.
Moses gestured at the vacant chairs in the sitting area. “Please, take a seat.”
Charles and Moses sat while Gabriel stood behind Moses, his arms still crossed, his face tight, and his eyes hard.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” Charles began. “I’ve heard complimentary things about both of you from our mutual friend. I think we share many of the same goals.”
Moses nodded. “We respect the work of the Fourteenth Colony and Rachel in particular. She has spoken highly of your motives, but it would be a mistake to confuse us. We are different from Rachel and her organization. Our people are suffering greatly. Time is running out.”
“I understand your situation. I didn’t come alone. There are others who agree with me—important people. We must restore balance in this country—to what it can be—with opportunities for everyone willing to work for them. We’re making progress, but both our efforts can be facilitated if we learn to trust each other and work together.”
As a master salesman, Charles had built a wide-ranging empire. The Sheppard Group invested in cutting edge computer technology, biotechnology, military hardware, and a small but popular swimsuit collection.
Gabriel whispered into Moses’s ear.
Moses smiled. “We appreciate the efforts you’ve made with the brain cancer vaccine. When will the vaccine be made available to us?”