Familiar Stranger

by Sharon Sala

  “No.”

  Moments later, the President was back on the phone.

  “Is there anything we can do for you?”

  David thought of the hundreds of agents who could be instantly at his disposal and knew that their presence would do nothing but drive his brother further underground. It was time for all of this hate to end.

  “No. I’ll let you know when it’s over.”

  There was a hesitation on the other end, and then a softening in the tone of the President’s voice.

  “Just make damn sure the call I get is from you, personally, do you understand me, son?”

  David almost smiled. It was as close as the President would come to saying “be careful” without actually voicing the words.

  “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  “All right then. Those men I sent are there to help you in any way that they can. Use them or send them home. It’s up to you.”

  “Yes, sir, and once again, sorry about the fuss.”

  “There was a need. You made the right decision. Now go do your thing.”

  David disconnected, walked into the other room and handed the phone back to Agent Ryan.

  “Thanks for escorting Detective Foster out to see me. You men have a safe journey home.”

  For the first time, the agent’s composure was rattled.

  “But sir, don’t you—”

  “No.” Then he softened the answer by adding, “But thanks.”

  They nodded, ignored Foster’s presence and smiled courteously at Cara. “Ma’am,” they said, and then stepped aside, waiting for Foster to make his excuses.

  He quickly took his cue. “Mrs. Justice, if you need anything, you know where to call.” Then he looked at David. “Why do I feel the urge to tell you good luck?”

  A wry smile tilted the corner of David’s mouth. “Probably because I’m going to need it.”

  Moments later, they were gone, leaving David and Cara alone in the hall. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying, but he saw the gesture and opened his arms.

  “Come here to me,” he said gently.

  She walked into his arms.

  “I’m not going to cry and I’m not going to beg, but so help me God, if you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you,” she muttered.

  “I’m not going to die on you, baby. I spent too much money on that ring to let it go to waste.”

  “That isn’t funny,” she muttered.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m smiling.”

  She looked up. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “Oh, yeah, crazy in love. What do you say we call it a night?” He touched the side of her face where the bruising was starting to show. “I have this sudden need to just lie down beside you and listen to you sleep.”

  Cara knew he was trying to reassure her that there would be no lovemaking this night because of the trauma she’d suffered.

  “We can do more than sleep, if you want,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Maybe you could, but I don’t think I can. I’m still trying to get past the sight of that son of a bitch holding a gun in your face.” He hugged her again, this time almost desperately. “When I think how close I came to—”

  “But you didn’t, and I’m still here. Let’s go to bed.”

  Together, they locked the doors and turned out the lights before walking hand in hand up the stairs toward the bedroom.

  A small lamp she’d turned on earlier lit the way as they went. It was a moment in time that was neither remarkable nor different, and yet Cara knew it would be in her heart forever. Small things she might never have noticed became things to remember.

  Like the warmth of his hand as it enfolded hers.

  The steady clip of his footsteps beside her.

  The scent of his aftershave and the tick of the grandfather clock standing in the entryway.

  The rush of cool air against her skin as she undressed.

  The crisp, clean sheets on the bed as they slipped between the covers.

  The way he pulled her into the curve of his body and then promptly fell asleep, as if girding himself for the trauma to come.

  Unwilling to waste her last hours with him by sleeping them away, she lay without moving, savoring the rise and fall of his chest behind her.

  Sometime after midnight, exhaustion claimed her. When she woke the next morning, there was a rose on her pillow with a note beneath.

  Don’t be mad at me for not saying goodbye. I did it once and look how things worked out. This time, I’m saying I love you, and please wait for me.

  David.

  Cara covered her face. To her surprise, her cheeks were already wet. She’d been so certain that the pain she was feeling was too terrible for tears. It would seem that she’d been wrong.

  In another part of the country and at the same time they were going to bed, Frank Wilson was lying on top of his covers, smoking his last cigarette of the day and watching TV. But his mind wasn’t on the programming. He was going through scenario after scenario, plotting all the different ways he could enact his revenge. A few minutes later, he stubbed out his cigarette and turned off the TV and lights and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he was asleep.

  It was the first football game of the season and Frankie was almost ready to go. At sixteen, his voice had deepened to what would be his normal pitch and he’d finally grown into his feet. And he had a girlfriend. At least, in his mind, he did. The fact that Ellen Mayhew had yet to acknowledge he even existed was beside the point. He liked her, therefore he must be in as close a vicinity to her as possible without giving himself away.

  He started out the door, his hair combed into a perfect ducktail, his sideburns just brushing the lobes of his ears. He thought he looked a little like Elvis.

  “Frankie, you get your little brother back here by ten. School tomorrow,” his mother said.

  He froze, his hand on the doorknob, and then turned abruptly.

  “Why do I always have to have that brat tagging along? How am I ever going to have any friends if I’m always baby-sitting with him?”

  Davie leaned against the sofa, his gaze beseeching his brother to relent, yet a little afraid that if he did get to go to the ball game with Frankie, he’d pay for it later.

  “Friends are fine,” his mother said. “But brothers are family. Brothers are forever.”

  Frankie glared at the little brat, ignoring the fact that Davie wasn’t so little anymore and that the kid’s body was probably going to be more muscular than his own when he reached full growth.

  “If you go, you’re not sitting with me and my friends, you hear?”

  Davie nodded. “I won’t, Frankie, I promise.”

  “And I don’t want to have to go looking for you when the game is over. You be waiting for me by the ticket gate, you hear?”

  Davie nodded again. “I hear. I’ll be there.”

  Their mother hugged them both. “That’s fine then. You two go and have a good time, but remember, home as soon as the game is over, and Frankie, Davie’s care is in your hands.”

  “Damn,” Frankie muttered, and shoved his kid brother out the door ahead of him.

  “I’m sorry, Frankie,” Davie said. “I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

  Frankie muttered a curse word and hoped to God that Ellen Mayhew didn’t see him walking into the grandstands with Davie in tow.

  Two hours later the game was over. Davie Wilson stood by the ticket gate, watching anxiously for a sign of his big brother’s face. Families filed past him, laughing and talking about the big win that they’d had tonight, and with each group that passed, Davie was certain that Frankie would be in the next group to come along.

  But he wasn’t.

  When the gatekeeper and a couple of teachers came by, he slipped into the shadows, unwilling to be questioned as to why he was still at the field.

  The lights went out. The last car drove out of the parking lot. Davie was alone.

  He could hav
e walked home by himself and would have, except then Frankie would have been in real trouble for abandoning him. So he waited, knowing they would be in trouble for being late, but at least they would be in trouble together.

  A half hour passed, and then another. It started to rain.

  He pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck and hunched his shoulders against the downpour. Everything that had been so familiar under the lights on the playing field now took on ominous tones. Familiar buildings became sinister shapes, waiting to morph into swamp monsters and ghouls. The only benefit to the downpour was that it hid the continuous stream of tears running down his face.

  “Hey, kid.”

  He spun, his heart in his mouth. Frankie was standing before him with a sheepish expression on his face.

  “I waited, Frankie, just like you said.”

  It was one of the few times in his life that Frankie Wilson was truly ashamed. Gently, he cuffed his little brother on the side of the head and then gave him a brief, bearlike hug.

  “Yeah, kid, you sure did. I’m sorry, okay?”

  Davie smiled. It was going to be okay. Yeah, they were going to catch hell from their folks, but it didn’t really matter. Whatever happened, they were in it together.

  “What are you gonna tell Mama?” Frankie asked, as they walked through the rain toward home.

  “Nothing,” Davie said.

  Frankie felt even worse. “She’s gonna be real mad at us.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Frankie paused beneath a streetlight, staring at the rain running out of Davie’s hair and down his face.

  “You aren’t gonna snitch?”

  Davie frowned and shook his head.

  “Why?” Frankie asked. “I probably would.”

  Davie shrugged. “You’re my brother.”

  An ambulance sped by the Chicago hotel with sirens blaring. Disoriented, Frank bolted from bed, his heart racing with the image of his brother’s face in his head. Just for a moment, the magnitude of what he’d been planning to do overwhelmed him and he let out a cry and covered his face. The sound shattered within him, bringing him to his knees. He could hear his mother’s voice as clearly as if she was standing by his bed.

  You are your brother’s keeper.

  Thou shalt not kill.

  Blood is thicker than water.

  He moaned. Could he really do this? The first time had been in the heat of the moment, wrapped up in the day-to-day combat and the anger that had dragged him into a war he didn’t understand. And he’d fueled that anger all these years with the need for revenge. He wanted to destroy him, that was certain. He wanted him defiled as he’d been—his reputation in shreds as his had been. But could he rip the heart from a man who was his blood?

  Then he fingered his scars, remembering why they were there, and that his little brother had set him on fire. It didn’t matter to Frank that David had thought him dead—that he had been trying to hide the evidence that would mark his brother a traitor.

  He stood abruptly and strode to the wet bar, pouring himself a very stiff drink. He tossed it back without hesitation then poured himself another. By the time the liquor hit his stomach, his brief moment of uncertainty had passed. He moved to the window overlooking the city and to his surprise realized it was raining. Too restless to sleep, he turned on the television and then lowered the volume as he surfed through the few available stations. With nothing but CNN and some pay-per-view movies for company, he retrieved his laptop and decided to check his messages.

  Using the bed for a desk, he crawled onto the mattress and centered the laptop between his legs. The television was on mute on the other side of the room, and only now and then did he even bother to look up to see what newsworthy event CNN was covering. When the You’ve Got Mail sign flashed across the computer screen, he refused to anticipate the contents of the box. With a click of the mouse, e-mail began to download. As it did, he glanced at the television screen across the room and then hit the mute button to reinstate the sound.

  A spokesperson for some local police department was making a statement regarding the deaths and capture of suspects involved in a week-long crime spree somewhere in the state of New York. He was reiterating the well-being of one of the victims when the laptop signaled the end of the download.

  Immediately, Frank hit mute again and looked at the screen. As he did, he missed hearing the location of the incident and the name of the man who was credited with the rescues. He didn’t know it yet, but fate was already dealing him a handful of bad cards.

  He scanned the list of messages, and as he did, his heart skipped a beat. Quickly deleting all but the one from Reunion, he began to read. As he did, a cold smile spread across his face, puckering the burn scars on his cheek and neck.

  “At last, little brother, you finally got some balls.”

  He fumbled for the remote and turned off the TV. There were things to do and arrangements to make. He rolled out of the bed, dragged his suitcase from the closet and began to pack.

  It was almost over.

  But Frank Wilson was due for some more delays. He caught a few hours sleep and by daylight was on his way to the airport. By the time he got to Chicago O’Hare, it was just before seven in the morning and the gentle rain of the night before had turned into violent storms. Planes were grounded until further notice, and the airport was a melee of angry and unruly travelers.

  Cursing the weather and people in general, he bought himself a cup of coffee and a doughnut, then settled down to read his newspaper. Time was still on his side.

  The small Canandaigua Airport was a madhouse of voices and people. David stood at the windows overlooking the runway, watching the big silver plane coming in for a landing. As the wheels touched down, his heart skipped a beat. His daughter was on that plane, and for the first time in his life, he was going to see her in person.

  Shifting nervously, he watched the plane as it began to taxi toward the terminal. A voice over an intercom announced the arrival of flight 447 at gate 9, and people began gathering, anxious for that first sight of their loved ones. David wondered what it would be like to stand with those people—to see the look of recognition on Bethany’s face and feel her arms around his neck as she greeted him with delight. But as he’d learned long ago, he kept his thoughts to himself, masking emotion behind an expressionless exterior.

  A few minutes later, the first of the passengers appeared at the gate, then more and more, until a steady stream of travel-weary travelers straggled from the ramp into the terminal.

  He shifted his position so that he could better see the faces, his anxiety growing as the line continued and still no sign of the woman he’d seen in Cara’s pictures.

  Then suddenly she was there, walking beside a tall, sandy-haired man who was carrying one sleeping child while Bethany held hands with the other. Her shoulder-length hair was dark and straight like his, and she was taller than he’d expected. She was slim and graceful and when she smiled, he could see the beginnings of a dimple in her left cheek.

  Without thinking, he moved toward her, wanting to hear the sound of her voice. Although there were at least a dozen people between them, he could hear her talking to her husband about how good it was to be on firm ground and laughing at something her oldest daughter just said.

  God in heaven, he didn’t think this would be so hard.

  He paused a few feet away and watched as they passed by. As they did, a small stuffed rabbit fell out of the oldest girl’s backpack. He pushed through the passengers and snatched it from the floor, then caught up with them a few feet away.

  “Excuse me,” he said, and briefly touched Bethany’s shoulder. “This fell out of her backpack.”

  Surprised, Bethany turned, saw the rabbit in the stranger’s hands and smiled.

  “Oh, my! Thank you so much, that’s Rachel’s favorite toy.” Then she looked down at her daughter and lightly touched her on the head. “Rachel, would you like to thank the man for finding Henry?�
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  David felt himself smiling as the little girl nodded.

  “So, his name is Henry?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I saw him jump out, right?”

  Her eyes widened appreciably as he handed her the toy.

  “He jumped?”

  Without breaking a smile, David nodded. “It looked like it to me. Better hold him tight.”

  The child clutched the rabbit against her chest.

  “Thank you so much,” Bethany repeated. “Losing Henry would have been nothing short of disastrous.”

  “You’re welcome,” David said. Resisting the urge to touch the children, he nodded a goodbye to her husband as well as Bethany and disappeared into the crowd.

  Bethany looked at her husband. “That was fortunate, wasn’t it?” she asked.

  Her husband nodded, still looking in the direction that the man had gone.

  “You know, he reminded me of someone, but I can’t think who,” he muttered.

  Bethany shrugged. “Come on, Tom. I’m anxious to get home and check on Mother.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” he said, and then headed toward the baggage claim.

  A short while later, they were on the road home, unaware that the man they’d just seen was on a plane of his own and bound for the nation’s capital.

  Chapter 11

  All day, Cara found herself listening for the sound of David’s voice, although she knew that he was gone. Never in the three years she’d been widowed had she felt so alone. A gut-wrenching fear had settled itself in the pit of her stomach, and she couldn’t find a way to get past it. She could only imagine what he was going to have to face, but could not wrap her mind around the truth of it. His brother wanted him dead. Dear God, how much more was he destined to withstand?

  She’d prayed for him until her mind was spinning and the words numb upon her lips. She had nothing left to do but wait, and it was the uncertainty that was driving her mad. In desperation, she cleaned her house from top to bottom, even preparing some extra food, knowing Bethany and her family would arrive before the day was out.

  During the cleaning, she’d run across the envelope of pictures she’d taken on their day at the lake. It had almost been her undoing. Looking at the images of a happier time and wondering if they would be all she had left of him had sent her into another wave of weeping. Unwilling to put the pictures away, she searched out some empty frames and framed the best of the lot, adding them to the mantel with the others of her family. Only after she stepped back to look at them as a whole did the pain begin to subside. It was as if the pictures had given credence to his reappearance into her life.