What are you not telling me?
Where is Sean right now?
Several times, the last question was met with a strikingly anxious glance from Dad. His muscles working to answer, but unable to respond appropriately. He did know something, Abby was fully aware of it, but it was a safe she couldn’t crack, sealed tight, only for Dad’s muddled mind to know.
With the monotony of watching Dad’s slow recovery and not wanting to leave the estate, Abby found herself occupied with other tasks around the house. Their household secretary had recently had another child and had reduced her time to only a few hours a week, so Abby took it upon herself to sieve through the incoming mail, tossing advertisements in the garbage, putting aside fan mail for later perusal, forwarding threats and scary mail to their security service, and putting anything involving money or lawyers into manila envelopes that were picked up daily by Mom and Dad’s management services.
Slinging an armful of fan mail into a bag, Abby went out to the pool and dropped her feet into the calming water. The warmth of the Florida sun was in full force in the summer humidity, and Abby lifted her face to its rays before diving into the bag.
Most of the letters were get well wishes from Dad’s constituents and Mom’s fans. Some were letters of appreciation from people having watched Mom’s latest movie. It was still getting high appeal at the box office and Mom’s producers had begun the task of preparing for award nominations. Mom, of course, wasn’t ready for the onslaught of appearances. Her heart was continuously focused on her husband.
By the time she’d gotten through half the stack, Abby had come across three envelopes that had been addressed to Abigail Ellwood. One was an offer to nanny her baby, another was a marriage proposal, and the third was a letter thanking her for caring for Senator Ellwood. The media had learned that the Ellwood family only had a nurse coming in once a week for services. Abby took care of the medical work herself, while Mom handled his hygiene.
Abby began to toss the remaining letters to the side, but one caught her eye. It had their address, but no name. The choppy handwriting was familiar, and the return address was from Dubai. She pushed the rest of the mail to the side, then slid her finger under the seal to open it.
The letter within was scrawled with the same block writing, all upper case, sloppy, and uneven - as if written with a non-dominant hand. The first word proved that Abby’s suspicion of the sender was correct.
Jamie:
Long time, no see.
Hope you’re doing well.
Be sure to check out Solomon’s concert dates Jan. 15 & Feb. 2.
And hope we can meet up for that Valentine concert.
Regards,
Barrage
The letter only compounded Abby’s confusion. She didn’t know anyone named Solomon. Maybe Sean had gotten some sort of weird communication. Probably someone pretending to be her, just like they did on Facebook.
Abby hadn’t been on a computer since the night of her and Mom’s pampering, and then it was only to see what kind of media attention they’d received after their appearance. Abby didn’t even own a laptop.
Mom was gone at a meeting with Dad’s lawyers, and the only computer Abby currently had access to was in Dad’s office. She hadn’t been in there since before the attack. The room was rarely entered now. It was where Dad had had his stroke.
She closed her eyes in prayer, allowing God’s hands to reach out to her through the sunshine and breeze before gaining enough strength for the task ahead of her. Then, shoving the rest of the mail back into the bag, Abby made her way to Dad’s room where she found him sleeping peacefully. She checked his vitals and slipped off quietly to get some questions answered in his office.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
IT was dusty.
The normally shining surfaces of Dad’s oak desk and the hand carved bookshelves surrounding the room were now a dull brown. Abby used the bottom of her sundress to brush off the grime that dared enter the one place that always looked, smelled, and felt like the man himself.
Papers were sitting idly on Dad’s desk. Of course, his secretary and lawyers had come in to tidy up after the stroke, making sure that all the p’s and q’s were in order - just in case the inevitable happened and Dad hadn’t been able to enter the room again. Abby tried not to think about that. She pictured him striding back into the room, maybe not full force, but well enough to sit at the big desk, shuffling papers and speaking orders into the old black phone that sat with importance at the corner of his desk.
Abby powered up the computer and entered the password. Dad was never one to remember passwords, one of his few downfalls, and Abby had the one for his personal computer memorized. Inevitably, it hadn’t been changed since Abby’s last hack and she watched the monitor come to life at her hands.
She did her magic on the keyboard and managed to get into a private search. It wouldn’t protect her from Dad’s security company finding out that she was online, but enough that she could check Facebook without hitting any alarms along the way.
She pulled up her Jamie Poser account but saw that there was no activity. Then she clicked into Sean’s old mowing company page. Again, nothing since the attack. She flitted through messages and images until she remembered. Her blog.
Immediately clicking off Facebook, Abby opened the page to her Jamie Poser’s New World blog and thought about how her most recent blog would have to be Jamie Poser’s New, New World.
On the left side of the screen, Abby saw that there was one comment. She clicked on the link and found the same information she’d seen in the letter, along with a few more strange notes. It was dated several weeks ago and made no sense.
Hey Jamie:
Got some notes for your calendar.
Be sure to check out Solomon’s concert dates Jan. 15 & Feb. 2.
And hope we can meet up for that Valentine concert.
Genevieve is turning 43 on the 27th and Samuel’s turning 20 on the first. Be sure to tell them happy birthday.
Did you see Claud’s email to Felix? Still no charges. I’ll keep waiting.
Anyway, would love to see you soon. Hopefully less than seven years.
Barrage
Abby printed the message and shut down the computer. None of it made sense, except for the last sentence. Abby remembered the last text she’d received from Sean.
Will not be able to make it.
Gen 29:20
It had referred to Jacob waiting seven years to marry Rachel.
She glanced down at the paper in her hand as she made her way to her bedroom. As she sat on the bed, her eyes shifted to the bible on her bedside stand. Was it possible that Sean was trying to send her another message?
Solomon and Samuel made sense. They were both biblical names. But the rest weren’t even slightly familiar. Abby flipped open her bible to Solomon’s Song of Songs and turned to the fifteenth verse of the first chapter. It was the only thing that could possibly relate to January 15. Her eyes blurred as she read the words.
How beautiful you are, my darling!
Oh, how beautiful!
Your eyes are doves.
She turned to the second chapter and read the second verse.
Like a lily among thorns
is my darling among the young women.
Yes. It was definitely from Sean. But what about the rest of the message. Abby looked up Genevieve in her biblical index but there was nothing. She turned to Genesis 43:27, wondering if that’s what he was referring to.
He asked them how they were, and then he said, “How is your aged father you told me about? Is he still living?”
Abby’s heart began palpitating. He was trying to tell her something, she could feel it like a bumblebee trapped in her stomach, fighting its way out. She turned to the 1 Samuel 20:1.
Then David fled from Naioth at Ramah and went to Jonathan and asked, “What have I done? What is my crime? How have I wronged your father, that he is trying to kill me?”
Tr
ying to kill him? Was Sean referring to the moment when Dad had shot him in the hand? But Mom had said that he was sorry about it, that he’d felt remorse, that he knew Sean wasn’t responsible for the attack. It wasn’t possible that Dad could still be after him. But then, there was so much that Abby didn’t know.
She looked up Claud in her biblical index, hoping to get more results than she had for Genevieve. There was no note of a Claud, but there were three verses in Acts that referred to a Claudius, and one about a Claudia. Abby focused in on the Claudius verses. The first verse was only a notation of the reign of Claudius, but the second was a message addressed to His Excellency, Governor Felix.
Abby swallowed her nervousness down and glanced once again at the letter sitting on the bed beside her.
Did you see Claud’s email to Felix? Still no charges. I’ll keep waiting.
She flipped to the passage and felt tears begin to form in her eyes.
Claudius Lysias,
To His Excellency, Governor Felix:
Greetings.
This man was seized by the Jews and they were about to kill him, but I came with my troops and rescued him, for I had learned that he is a Roman citizen. I wanted to know why they were accusing him, so I brought him to their Sanhedrin. I found that the accusation had to do with questions about their law, but there was no charge against him that deserved death or imprisonment. When I was informed of a plot to be carried out against the man, I sent him to you at once. I also ordered his accusers to present to you their case against him.
Abby grabbed the letter and bible and raced back down the stairs to Dad’s office. She didn’t care about security finding out that she was doing a search into his computer. She only wanted to know what he’d been up to with Sean before the stroke.
Dad’s email was filled with messages regarding senatorial campaigns, legislation, and ass kissing. She scrolled down to the days before he’d had the stroke and found several messages to and from an S. Barrage.
To: Ellwood
From: S. Barrage
Subject: Possible Complication
Had a slight complication. Photo taken by bystander in parking garage. Shots fired. My people working on recovering photo.
To: S. Barrage
From: Ellwood
Re: Subject: Possible Complication
Received word from your intel officer. This is a hell of a lot worse than a possible complication. You fucked up. I’m sending my people in now to get her out of the country. You will avoid all contact from this point on. I want her exact location.
Now.
Two days later, another email had been sent. It was the day that she and Sean were together at Oyana’s sister’s house.
To: Ellwood
From: S. Barrage
Subject: Location
Unable to provide location at this time.
Abby glanced at further emails to Dad. There had been no other communication with Sean after the last one. She did a search for Barrage and found messages from the weeks prior; Dad asking where she was, what she was doing, and Sean reporting back the details of her life. She looked them over and noticed that they went back over a month.
Sean had been watching her. It would have been unnerving if it hadn’t been Sean doing it. The fact that he’d been reporting back to Dad made her want to punch him, but she knew if she saw him, punching would be the last thing on her mind.
Abby clicked through the messages again, nearing the day of Dad’s stroke.
One message on the day of Dad’s stroke had the word ‘Barrage’ in it but wasn’t addressed to Sean. Abby opened it.
To: M Undisclosed
From: Undisclosed
M-
I paid that son of a bitch to protect her, and now a picture of him molesting her in a parking lot is flying all over the internet. Go ahead and let him rot in jail for a while. I’ll send my lawyers when I feel up to it.
Abby pushed back from the desk, the chair rolling back, only to slam against the cabinet behind her.
Rot in jail.
Abby once again looked through the bible verses that Sean sent her and thought about Dad’s desperate need to communicate with her lately. The email had been sent only hours before he’d been discovered lying on the floor of his office from the stroke.
Had Dad been trying to tell her about Sean this whole time? In jail? Did Sean think that Dad had sent him there to rot?
There was only one person that could answer that question.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
ABBY raced up the stairs into Dad’s room where she found him awake. His eyes were staring blankly at the television screen. She sat on the chair next to his bed and grabbed his hand.
“Can you squeeze my hand?” Abby asked.
She felt a squeeze. It was now a familiar feeling. They’d been practicing it daily for several weeks. He was usually more lucid after he’d woken from a nap. If there was any time to answer important questions, it was now.
“Did you send Sean to jail in Nairobi?”
Immediately, Dad’s jaw began to work into a frenzy, his hand jerked spasmodically, and moisture began to appear in his eyes.
“It’s okay. Dad,” Abby tried to soothe. “It’s okay. I know you were mad, but I understand.”
His movements slowed a fraction. Abby knew she had little time to get answers before he fatigued, so she asked quickly.
“I’m going to do what I can to get him out, but I need your help,” she said, keeping her voice smooth and in control, unlike the heart that was beating out of her chest.
“Remember how I taught you the letter game? You squeeze my hand and I figure out the words?”
Dad squeezed once. His face muscles had calmed, and his eyes were focused.
“I have access to your emails. I need you to give me the name of someone I can contact to get him out.”
Dad’s eyes closed in concentration along with the squeezes. It only took three letters for a bell to ring in Abby’s head.
“M-C-C. James McCarrin?”
Dad squeezed again. If anyone would be able to help, James would. Abby sat with Dad, reassuring him that she loved him, and everything would turn out fine. After four minutes, his breathing eased, and he once again fell asleep.
James McCarrin’s personal phone number was listed in the old rolodex on Dad’s desk. She pushed her fingers around the ancient rotary dial phone, hoping that she was doing it right. He picked up after only two rings.
“McCarrin.”
“Hi. Mr. McCarrin? This is Abigail Ellwood.”
“Abigail?” His voice was pleased, but with a bit of shock in its practiced tone. “How’s your dad?”
“He’s better,” she said. “He’s communicating, and I have something important I need to talk to you about.”
“Sure. Give me just a minute.”
Abby listened as he excused himself from what seemed to be dinner conversation in order to gain some privacy for the phone call. She looked at the grandfather clock across the room and saw that it was six-thirty. Of course he was at dinner.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“I’m sorry I interrupted your meal.”
“No worries. Meatloaf leftovers are nothing to be concerned about.”
“Yes, I suppose not.” Abby was experiencing the seizing of her throat as she tried to get words out. She closed her eyes and forced herself to compartmentalize. Now was not the time to lose her voice. “Before my Dad… well, right before the stroke, my dad had put a man in jail…”
“Sean Court,” James said.
Abby was surprised. She thought for sure that Sean’s name would be a trivial thought, forgotten as soon as James had heard it. “Um, yes. Sean Court. I just…”
“Your dad didn’t put him in jail, Abigail. It was the Nairobi police. He was jailed on multiple allegations, one of them being discharge of a firearm in a public place.”
“But my dad…” She choked on nothing, as if a giant hand had come acros
s the base of her neck and grabbed hold.
“He had nothing to do with it. When one of my agents came across the intel, I was sure to let your dad know right away. He was mad about a photo that had surfaced, but he didn’t put him in jail. That was Court’s own doing. From what I understand, you were in the parking garage when the incident occurred.”
His tone wasn’t accusatory. Only concerned.
“Yes.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m…” Her words weren’t working. They kept sticking in her throat, the giant hand squeezing harder around her neck.
“You’re wondering about Sean. He’s fine. We’ve made sure of that. Of course he had to ride out his sentence. We aren’t about to let our folks pull out a gun in a parking garage and start shooting at people without consequences. But according to my agents, he’s been out for a couple weeks now. I’m surprised he hasn’t contacted you.”
Our folks? Confusion and distrust flowed through her. “I think he has.” It was barely a whisper.
Silence on the other end of the phone indicated James’ thought into her answer. “Tell you what, Abigail. I’m going to check on Court, make sure everything’s okay. It’s the least I can do for all your dad’s done for me. Sound good?”
Abby nodded her head and grunted. It was the only sound she could manage.
“Okay then. I want you to go take care of your dad now.” His voice was a soothing drone, like a grandpa wiping a granddaughter’s tears after she’d taken a fall off her bike. “And say hi to your mom for me. And you take care of yourself too, Abigail. Have a glass of wine, a bubble bath, pedicure. Whatever it is that makes you happy. You’ve been through hell, and you deserve every bit of happiness you can get. My wife and I? We’ll continue to pray for all of you.”
Given New Worlds Page 26