Invidious Betrayal

by Shea Swain

  “Maybe you could,” he said, suggestively.

  She hooked a stray hair behind her ear and smiled bigger. “I’ll be at the nurse’s station if you should need anything.” Walking away, she glanced back to see if he was looking at her. He was. Oh the things he did for science and research.

  Later, after securing nurse, what’s-her-name’s, personal information, Vincent stepped back inside the room and closed the door. He went to Noemi and took her pulse. His eyes roamed her arm until he found the small injection site. He opened one of the drawers and placed a Band-Aid over it, then walked around the bed and checked the IV that was in her other arm.

  Injecting her with Syn-Beta was the solution. He was sure of it. He’d gone over the data a million times since Noemi had been rushed into the hospital last week. Every day she’d gotten worse. The baby she carried was killing them both. The way Vincent saw it, his sister-in-law and the child were dying anyway, so at least now they had a fighting chance. He let that last thought wash over him as he sat in the recliner to watch over the results of his work.

  February 29th, 1992

  The stool hit the wall cabinet and the thundering sound of breaking glass and metal on metal carried throughout the operating room as a nurse hurried out with the naked, crying newborn inside an incubator.

  “Dr. Becker?” a surgical tech said timidly. She wanted them to call it.

  “Dr. Howl?” Dr. Becker questioned. When Vincent Howl didn’t respond, Dr. Becker glanced over at the tech. “I’m calling it.” He looked at the time. “1:05 a.m.”

  Victor felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew it was one of the nurses trying to console him. “Mr. Howl,” she said, hovering over him. He looked up at her. “I am so sorry.”

  Victor couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He’d held his wife’s hand during the labor, telling her that she was being brave and that she was going to be the best mother any kid could have. He’d told Noemi how proud he was of her, and that he loved her so much.

  Victor looked at his hands which still clutched hers. His were warm, blood still flowing with life; Noemi’s were not yet cold, but cooling with every passing second. His eyes burned from staring so long, but Victor didn’t want to close them. He just wanted to watch her.

  Victor just wanted to watch her.

  “Senator,” Dr. Becker said, speaking to him now and not his brother. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”

  Victor shook his head. Noemi had no one but him. “She lost her only family her freshman year of college,” he managed to mutter. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t gone. She wasn’t really dead.

  “Dr. Howl,” a nurse said quietly.

  Victor closed his eyes and took a much needed deep breath. He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped breathing, only that he had and he needed air. It was good that his body knew this and reacted on that need because if he had to think to breathe…

  He looked across the room to where his brother sat on the floor in a corner with his head hung low. Vincent had a meltdown when Noemi couldn’t be revived, and he’d thrown a stool across the room.

  Victor slowly stood, rolling the stool he’d been sitting on aside. He rubbed Noemi’s cheek, then bent to kiss her chilled lips. She was beautiful, and his image of her would be forever young. Victor felt the wetness of his tears as he sucked in a gulp of air and began to openly sob while he gazed at her angelic face.

  He had to be strong.

  A hand firmly gripped his shoulder and Victor knew it was his brother. When he felt Vincent’s arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly, it shocked him. Vincent wasn’t the hugs and kisses type.

  “I’m so sorry, Victor. I just couldn’t stop the bleeding,” Vincent sobbed.

  Victor touched his brother’s arm and squeezed. Vincent and Dr. Becker were the best, and if they couldn’t save her, then... “The Lord called her home, brother”—he sniffed—“there was nothing you could do.”

  Dr. Becker cleared his throat. “We should clean her up.”

  Victor didn’t want to leave her, but there were things that needed to be done so he reluctantly let the nurse escort him and his brother out of the operating room. His mind was cloudy as he stepped out into the hallway. He had no destination, no purpose. When he sat down in a small sitting area, he rubbed the back of his neck as if doing so would clear the haze in his head, so he could think. He had to call his son, Richard, and tell him that his mother was gone. How do you tell a kid that their mother was no longer coming home? They had adopted him when he was just five years old, and now the only mother the kid has ever known was gone.

  The thought made him tear up all over again. Then he thought, oh God, the baby. When the baby was born, Victor had held him up, so Noemi could see him. The kiss she gave their newborn son would be the only one he would ever have from his mother. And Noemi’s only gifts to their son were his life and name. Ian François Howl, she’d managed to whisper with her last breath.

  February 28, 1999

  THE LOUD MOTOR OF THE lawn mower drew Ian’s attention to the patio doors. Ralph, the gardener, looked at him through the glass panels and shrugged. The gardener mouthed the word ‘sorry’ then gave Ian a wave as he drove the lawn tractor away from the house. A seven-year-old Ian watched Ralph’s back as he headed for the other side of the vast lawn. He wished he was outside. Heck, he would even cut grass right now if he was allowed outside.

  “What’s up, bud?”

  Ian turned his head around at the jovial voice. He dropped his pencil and swung his legs from under his desk, turning his body toward the door. “Richard,” he yelled. Ian jumped to his feet and ran to his big brother. Richard lifted him in a tight embrace. “When did you get back? Are you staying for a while? Did you bring me something?”

  Richard sat Ian on his feet and kissed him on the head. “Whoa now, Ian, one question at a time, please. I got home a few minutes ago. I’m staying for a few weeks. And…” Richard lifted three wrapped packages. One looked like a cassette and the other resembled a book. Ian snatched the packages and ripped one open. “You know not to let Dad see that wrapping paper, right?”

  Ian nodded. Holding the new Final Fantasy game in his hands, he mouthed the word “Wow.”

  “How’s he doing?” Richard asked his tutor, Mr. Freidman.

  Ian forgot all about his tutor being in the room, vaguely paying attention to the adult conversation as he sat down at his desk and unwrapped several comics and a small book. Ian read the cover of the book, The Magician’s Nephew. Uninterested, he placed the book at the corner of his desk and began flipping through the Marvel comics.

  Mr. Freidman sat on the edge of his small desk with his arms folded over his chest. “Aside from him zoning out every thirty minutes, he’s doing exemplary. Last week young Ian here began sixth grade coursework.”

  “Imagine that,” Richard said proudly, ruffling Ian’s hair. “You’ll be graduating high school before you can legally drive.”

  Ian shrugged. He didn’t get all excited like grownups did when talking about academics. He pushed his brother’s hand off his head and jumped up. He ran to the paper shredder and shredded the evidence that he’d gotten an actual birthday present, then went back to his desk and sat down to read the game’s description.

  “Not if he doesn’t want to,” Mr. Freidman said.

  Ian looked up to see his tutor unfold his arms and walk around his desk. “Your brother has this idea that if he doesn’t do his work, he can get into the second grade, where he thinks he belongs.”

  Tattletale, Ian thought, but didn’t say it. He’d thought he and his tutor were friends, but the man was trying to get him in trouble. Then it dawned on Ian that if Mr. Freidman was trying to get him in trouble, he wouldn’t be discussing this with Richard. He’d be telling their father, not his brother.

  Richard kneeled down beside Ian, giving him the ‘What’s going on with you’ look. “Can I talk to him alone?” Richard asked Mr. Freidman, but continued staring at
Ian. Richard dragged the assignment Ian was supposed to be working on across the desk to inspect it.

  “What?” Ian snapped, after Mr. Freidman left the room.

  “Don’t you ‘what’ me. How long have you been shucking your work?”

  “About a week,” he mumbled.

  Richard smiled. “Excuse me?”

  Ian shifted in the chair. “About a week, I guess,” he said louder.

  “You guess. You guess? When have you ever guessed at anything, Ian? What’s the problem?”

  Ian sighed. He tapped the cover of his new game until his brother flattened a hand over his. “I want to be around people my age and not old people. I want to go to school.”

  “So you decide not to do your work? That’s not going to get you what you want. And even if Dad said that you could go to school, it may not be possible to go with kids your age, Ian. You’re seven years old doing sixth grade work. It may not be that easy to integrate you with young or older students right now. Have you talked to Dad about this?”

  “Dad never listens to me.” Ian pouted. He hardly ever pouted. His father disliked childish behavior of any kind.

  “I’ll talk to him for you, but only if you start doing your work again.”

  “Really?” Ian gushed. He hugged Richard around the neck. “Thanks, Richard.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, bud. You know Dad is hard to sway.” Richard stood and turned around to leave, but looked over his shoulder. “I almost forgot. That book...the series was one of Mom’s favorites. Happy birthday, little guy.”

  “Technically, it’s not my birthday,” Ian grumbled, trying not to sound so miserable. Mention of the mother he never knew was a double-edged sword. He wanted to know everything about her short life that neither his father or brother felt inclined to discuss, but when one of them let a tidbit of information about her slip, it was almost always painful to hear. He reasoned that if they’d only talked about her more, that maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly.

  After Richard left, Ian moved the game out of the way and pulled the book to him. He smoothed his hand over the hard cover, then opened it. It was one of her favorites. He knew then that it would be one of his favorites as well. He would read the entire series too, just like his mom had.

  Chapter One, The Wrong Door, he began. This is a story about something…

  Victor waved his eldest son inside his office as he listened to the assistant he’d recently hired through his speaker phone. He lifted up the phone receiver and continued to listen as Richard took a seat in one of the chairs that faced his desk.

  “I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon, so see if he’ll allow a dinner meeting tomorrow evening. If he agrees, then reserve a table at his favorite restaurant.” He waited for Elaina to ask the name of the restaurant, but she didn’t. She knew, and that impressed him. “Enjoy your evening, Elaina. Goodbye.” Victor stood. Walking around his desk, He shook Richard’s hand. “When did you get in?” He patted his son on his shoulders.

  “A few hours ago.” Richard frowned. “Why does everyone keep asking that? I came in town once and decided to hang out with a few friends for a week before I came home, and now everyone seems to assume that it’s my usual behavior.”

  Victor raised his brow, but didn’t comment. He was sure that wasn’t the first time his son had come to the tri-state area without dropping by Casa Two.

  “Did you get what we talked about?” Victor asked. Richard looked away and shook his head. “You didn’t get it?”

  “No, I got it, Dad. It’s just that I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. If you want Ian to have something, just get it. Don’t you think it’s juvenile to pretend you don’t like giving him fun things?”

  Richard didn’t understand. No one would understand how Victor could love someone so much, but at the same time feel that he must keep his distance. Whenever he looked at Ian, Victor saw his wife, his Noemi. In so many ways, Ian was her. He had her beautiful gray eyes that darkened or lightened depending on his mood. His naturally tanned skin, dark hair, and perfect features were so like Noemi’s. Even some of his mannerisms were that of his late wife. Aside from his external beauty, Ian’s inner beauty was all Noemi as well.

  Victor only saw black and white, right or wrong, good or bad. Not only had Noemi seen the gray in every situation, she seen a rainbow of choices. Ian saw life in Technicolor, too. That was probably what initially attracted Victor to the quiet beauty he’d met his sophomore year in college, but the things he’d found alluring and attractive in Noemi, he now found distracting and annoying in their son.

  Of course Victor knew the reason he’d failed or made a conscious decision to not bond with his younger son. It was the most basic reason of all—self-preservation. He couldn’t lose Noemi again. And in so many ways, Noemi lived in Ian, so he kept the boy at arm’s length to keep his sanity.

  “I don’t know about all that gaming mumbo jumbo. Besides,” Victor said, sitting in the chair next to Richard, “that’s what big brothers are for. I have one night here before going home to Casa One.” Victor said, changing the subject, “So what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

  Richard’s eyes dropped as he shifted in the chair. Victor’s eldest son was nervous. “We could have a birthday party…for Ian.”

  Victor got to his feet. They’d been through this so many times. He went to the chair behind his desk and began typing. “We are not having this discussion again. I cannot celebrate the day my wife died. We haven’t made a fuss over anyone’s birthday since…so there’s no need to start. If there’s something else Ian wants for his birthday, he can earn it.”

  “Like he earned that game,” Richard said sarcastically.

  Victor looked up and pinned his son with the ‘you’re about to cross over into the no-return zone’ look.

  Richard conceded. “All right, no birthday party. Technically it’s not his birthday anyway, and we both know how literal Ian can be. I did want to talk to you about something concerning him, though.” Richard sat back in the chair, absently flicking his thumb nail with his index finger nail. “He wants to go to school.”

  Victor gave Richard a droll stare.

  Richard ignored the stare and retorted, “What? It’s not like he hasn’t earned it.”

  Victor’s face softened. “All right, but I have a requirement.”

  A month later

  Richard didn’t know which was scarier; the ominous-looking building that his driver just parked in front of, or the large-muscled man that resembled a character from Ian’s Street Fighter arcade game. The man was large with cropped hair, tanned skin, and was even dressed in camouflage—a tight-fitting tank and cargo pants. He had to be the guy and this must be the place, because it was his uncle Vincent who had just stepped out of the brick two-story building the commando was standing in front of.

  “That building looks abandoned, or it should be,” Richard mumbled. He surveyed the dilapidated building with a frown.

  “Come on,” Ian said enthusiastically. With more vigor than a kid stepping into the darker side of the District should have, his little brother sprung from the car.

  “Hold on, Ian,” Richard called. He told the driver to stay close, then got out of the car and caught up to his brother. As always, Vincent put his hand out for Ian to shake before Ian was able to give him a hug. His brother stopped, then held his hand out to shake their uncle’s.

  When they released each other’s hands, Vincent gave Ian a halfhearted smile before turning. “Hello, Richard. It’s nice to see you.” Vincent shook his hand. “Will you be joining Ian in learning self-defense?” They walked toward the man who looked like a very capable body guard.

  “No, just here to watch,” Richard said.

  “Jasper, these are my nephews, Richard and Ian,” Vincent introduced. “This is my very good friend, Jasper.” Jasper shook Richard’s hand, but gave a slight bow to Ian. “Jasper is very good at what he does. He’ll have Ian straight in no time.”

  They followed J
asper into the building, and to Richard’s surprise it didn’t look too bad inside. It was some kind of warehouse with high ceilings and visible beams. A nice gym with large mats and lots of equipment was to their left, and to the right was a fairly nice garage with two motorcycles and two tricked-out cars. A third car that was obviously being worked on sat off to the side with its hood raised and doors opened. Richard found himself wondering what the second floor looked like.

  He and Vincent took a seat on one of two benches near the floor mats while Jasper began Ian’s first lesson. Richard looked at his little, frail, calm brother and wondered how he would fair with the mammoth of a man called Jasper. But this was their father’s requirements for Ian’s possible placement in a school. Ian had to learn to protect himself if he would be going to school with kids older and bigger than him.

  “Let’s see if this kind of training is for you,” Jasper said to Ian.

  What does that mean?

  Richard rose from the bench in a panic, but Vincent took his arm and held him in place as Jasper’s palm connected with Ian’s face, whipping his brother’s head to one side. The hit was loud enough to echo to the rafters and hard enough for Richard to wonder if his brother’s jaw was broken.

  “What the fuck?” Richard yelled, as he struggled to get free of his uncle’s strong grasp. “Are you insane?” His focus was on Jasper, who didn’t even acknowledge his comments.

  “Relax, Richard,” Vincent instructed. “Jasper needs to know if Ian is right for this kind of training.”

  Richard looked over his shoulder at his uncle. “And he does that by beating him to death? Ian is a sensitive kid with medical issues!”