by Greg Herren
They must not have Dad, so best not to say anything.
“What do you care about, Scotty Bradley?” she asked, a smile twitching the corners of her mouth. “And why should I believe you over Dr. Fleming?”
“It’s true!” Taylor exploded. “He’s a liar!”
She looked at him coldly. “Gag him.” I heard movement behind me, and another grunt from Taylor—which probably meant he was now gagged.
I looked her straight in the eye. “If you know my mother’s name, you know Veronica trusted her.” I said. “They were friends since childhood. Veronica always turned to my mother when she needed help.”
“Veronica’s dead,” she snapped, her face taking on a worried look. She rubbed her eyes. “Leave me alone with them.” The three men vacated the room, shutting the door behind them. She walked over and knelt down in front of me. “Look, if you’re telling the truth about Fleming, I’m sorry about this, I really am. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice rose in tone until the last few words sounded almost like a childish whine. What I’d taken for coldness I now recognized as worry and stress. I relaxed a little. That I could deal with.
“Let me guess,” I said in a soft, gentle, understanding tone. “You’ve been thrust into a leadership position because someone murdered Veronica, and you don’t know what to do.”
She bit her lower lip. “I thought taking the tiger was a bad idea,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Now we’re responsible for the damned animal, Veronica’s dead, and we didn’t kill her.” She slammed her fist down onto her leg. “I know that’s what they’re going to try to pull, you know—that we killed her.”
“What was the plan?” I asked. “Surely you had to plan for a long time if you were going to steal the tiger. Was Veronica’s daughter involved in the plan?”
“Veronica’s daughter?” She looked and sounded shocked, and was pretty convincing at that. “Veronica doesn’t have a daughter.”
“Yes, I’m afraid she does. Her name is Hope, and she is one of the veterinary students who work with Mike the Tiger.” I could tell by the look on her face she was getting worried, and I know it was small of me, but I was enjoying it tremendously. Hey, I was tied up! They’d held guns on me! “The police think Hope had something to do with the tiger’s theft because of who her mother is.”
Her face hardened. “Good enough for her.” She raised her chin defiantly, but her eyes still looked panicked. “Veterinarians are butchers.” She went on at great length about how evil veterinary science was—since it primarily existed to continue the enslavement of animals by humans.
The obvious response to that was So it’s okay to let animals get sick and die or not help them with serious injuries? But getting into an argument with her about AFAR’s mission and positions on animal rights wouldn’t get me—and Taylor—anywhere.
I couldn’t believe I’d gotten Taylor into this. I’d put Frank’s nephew into danger his first day living with us.
If this was what parenting was like, no thank you.
“Fine,” I replied. “So, what happened with Veronica? Did you get into an argument about the tiger, and someone shot her?”
“I told you, we didn’t kill her!” she insisted. “Look, the last thing in the world I or anyone else in our group wanted was to kill her. Sure, there were times when I wanted to—she was a rather exasperating woman, and there was just no arguing with her, she was always right—you have no idea how infuriating that can be.”
Don’t I? I thought, thinking about Mom.
“But the last thing we would have done was kill her, especially after we stole that fucking tiger!” She stood up and began pacing around. “She was the only one who knew what to do with the tiger. She wouldn’t tell any of us what the plan was—said it was better we not know, in case we got caught, that way we couldn’t talk. So we took the tiger and went out to the place in the swamp. We get there, and she’s already dead.” She shuddered. “Then what were we supposed to do? We couldn’t give him back so he could live a life of slavery. But what was she going to do with him?” She ran her fingers through her short hair, gripping it with both hands and yanking until her eyes got watery.
She’s fucking nuts, I thought. Better not do or say anything that could set her off. “So, if keeping him in his habitat on campus would be slavery, surely a zoo would be out?”
She narrowed her eyes and stared at me. “Zoos are an abomination.”
“Well, then the only option would be to set him free in the wild.” I would have shrugged, but I was tied too tightly to move at all. “Did Veronica know anyone with that kind of money, who could return him to the wild?”
She bit her lower lip. “No. There was no one like that.”
“Then what could she have had planned?”
She swallowed. “She may have wanted to euthanize him.”
I closed my eyes.
It very clearly stated on AFAR’s website that they believed a noble death was better for animals than a lifetime of slavery to humans. There had been a bit of a scandal a few years earlier—not much, really, it was reported a few times but it didn’t go viral and after a few days everyone forgot about it—that AFAR’s unwanted animal shelters in various cities throughout the country were actually death camps. The story, released by a former employee, was that people would bring abandoned or unwanted animals to these shelters, thinking AFAR would find them good homes, when in fact they were all euthanized within twenty-four hours of being dropped off. He claimed that they honestly thought the animals were better off dead than in loving homes. I’d been absolutely horrified, but I was unable to find any corroborating evidence, and most of the news agencies, once the story didn’t get any traction, dropped it as the ranting of a disgruntled ex-employee. AFAR’s reputation for advocating for animal rights was pretty strong, so most people didn’t think it was possible that they’d kill animals trusted to their care.
But if Veronica had planned on euthanizing Mike, then it was probably true about the shelters being death camps.
Someone needed to expose AFAR to the public. I took a deep breath and gave it another try.
“Look, just let us go,” I said softly. “You can take Mike back. Just make an anonymous call to the police or the veterinary school in Baton Rouge. Seriously. You have no reason to keep us here. We won’t rat you out or anything. You can trust me.”
I could see she was wavering. “I’d like to believe that.” But then her eyes clouded over and she shook her head. “Like I can believe anything you say?”
She walked over to me and swung the hand holding the gun.
The last thing I saw was the butt of the gun coming toward my eyes.
And then everything went black.
Chapter Eleven
Three of Cups
Happy conclusion to an undertaking
I was floating through darkness with no sense of time or space.
It had been a long time, I realized as I drifted downward, since the Goddess had summoned me to speak with her.
I’d never really understood where I was when I came here, but I did know that despite the endless physical sensations I was only here in spirit. My physical body always remained on the earthly plane.
I could hear some sounds, the way I always could when I came here, sounds that soothed my soul and made me relax even further than I already was. Coming here was like smoking a joint and taking a Xanax at the same time. No matter what concerns or worries I had in the real world, they no longer weighed on my mind when I was here.
And of course, just being in her presence was always a comfort.
I kept drifting, floating in a gentle free fall. I didn’t know where the ground was, or if I was facing up or down. The darkness at first was confusing, but gradually I became aware of stars sparkling in the velvety darkness above me. It was warm, almost perfectly warm, with a soft, gentle breeze ruffling my hair and making me feel like I was enveloped in peace and love. I could smell flowers: roses and daffodils
and honeysuckle and lilac. I was at peace, blissful, wonderful peace, and I never wanted this feeling to ever go away. I didn’t want anything to change. I didn’t want to go back to the real world.
And then I felt the ground beneath my feet, warm sand between my toes as water lapped over them. The darkness began to brighten, and the black velvet sky overhead gradually transformed into a beautiful, bright azure blue as the sun began to materialize. The water was brownish-blue, and I could smell the sea, that odd smell of salt and water and fish. I knew I was standing on the shore of the gulf somewhere, and I could see her a few yards away from me. She was facing out to sea, but as always her face and form continually shifted and changed. She has many names and appears to different people in different ways. But she is always love and peace and hope—unless she is angered.
And you do not want to see her angry.
She beckoned to me, her long, silky white sleeves flowing through the air “Come to me, Scotty, we have to talk and there isn’t much time.”
The white sand scrunched under my feet as I walked over to her side, keeping my eyes down.
“What they have done to the beautiful world I created,” she said softly. There was no anger in voice, only sadness. “This great big beautiful world, full of wonders and life, and it is being destroyed, killing my innocent creatures, poisoning the water and everything around it in the obscene quest for wealth.” She shook her head gently. “Why must man be so destructive?”
I bowed my head. There was nothing I could say to contradict her, and I had no words to say in defense of my own kind. It was true. The long-term damage to the gulf from the Deepwater Horizon disaster couldn’t be measured or estimated for years—we would still be finding its effects for generations to come. Globs of oil were still washing up on shore from Lake Charles to Pensacola. I kept hearing dire stories about mutated shrimp and fish, and that the oyster beds weren’t producing the way they did before the oil slick.
“You are in danger,” she said simply, turning and walking along the shoreline, her feet in the water. I walked along side her, unable to find the words to say anything to her. “But you must be brave, and if you do not falter, you will be a great hero.”
“I’m no hero,” I replied, my heart sinking.
“You will find that being a hero sometimes simply means doing the right thing, no matter how badly you don’t want to. Now go, and may your heart be brave.”
Everything began to fade away before my eyes.
I opened my eyes and winced almost immediately, blinded by bright light directly above me. I blinked a few times, and as my eyes started adjusting to the brightness above, my first coherent thought was where the hell am I?
My head ached a bit, and my throat was dry. My tongue felt like it had swollen to the point where it had filled my mouth.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and groggily took in my surroundings.
I was in a very small room. The bright light was coming in through a round window about three feet above where I was laying. As the fog started clearing, I realized I was in a twin bed, and not a very comfortable one at that. The mattress was hard, and the blanket I was lying on top of was scratchy and coarse. There was a tiny table right next to the narrow bed, and there was a door on the opposite wall from the window. The room was swaying a bit—rising on one side before leveling and then rising on the other side, and the air smelled a little funny—
Like the sea.
That thought did the trick—I was now wide awake and adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I somehow managed to get up on my knees and pulled myself up to the window. I looked out, and my heart sank when I realized I was right—I couldn’t see anything but dark-blue water in every direction. I felt for my cell phone in my pocket and yanked it out. The battery was almost dead—there was a picture of it on the screen with a little bit of red colored in, along with a little note saying Low Battery, Less than 10% charged. I touched the little Ignore button below the message and my phone screen went back to normal…but it didn’t matter—in the upper left-hand corner were the words No Signal.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered.
I was at sea with no phone signal.
But they hadn’t taken my phone away—that was weird.
I pushed myself up to my feet and headed over to the door, which wasn’t as easy as you might think it would be, the way the room kept rolling and moving. I lost my balance and fell into the door, shoulder first, and wasn’t able to stop the side of my head from bouncing off it.
“Damn it!” I screamed as stars danced in front of my eyes. My head started throbbing, and as I felt my forehead I could feel a lump starting to form. Terrific, way to go, clumsy ass.
I turned the knob and was surprised that it not only turned in my hand but the door itself opened. I didn’t pause to think about what that implied other than I wasn’t a prisoner in the little room. I stepped out into a dim hallway. There were a few more doors on either side of the hallway but at the end of the hallway was a staircase. Holding on to the wall to keep my balance, I made my way over to the landing. There was a door at the bottom of the flight and two closed doors at the top. Obviously, the smart thing to do was go up, so I did. I turned the handle on the right door and pushed. It swung up and outward, landing with a loud crash. Bright light flooded the staircase, blinding me for just a moment, and a wave of hot, damp, fishy-smelling air slapped me in the face. I was just about to climb up and out when a loud roar from below me triggered some atavistic reaction in my DNA.
I froze in absolute terror as my heart sank into the pit of my stomach, my entire body went cold, and my stomach clenched into a knot.
Every hair on my body stood up.
The roar sounded like—like a tiger.
Did they set me adrift at sea with Mike the Tiger?
I climbed out onto the deck as quickly as I could and shut the doors behind me with trembling hands. Once my eyes adjusted to the bright light, I looked around to get my bearings. It was a big boat, one of those commercial deep-water fishing boats people hire out for a few hours to go try to catch marlin or whatever big fish there were out in the gulf. With the belowdecks quarters (and enough room for a tiger on a lower level), it might even be able to stay out overnight. A ladder led up to where the captain could drive the boat—I could see two swivel chairs, a steering wheel, and all kind of dials and gauges on the dashboard.
None of which would do me any good—I hadn’t the slightest clue on how to operate the damned thing.
But I could figure it out if I had to.
The gulf—the water was too blue to be Lake Pontchartrain—stretched as far as I could see in every direction. There were only a few wisps of white clouds in the sky above, and it was hot. The air was heavy and wet, and I was sweating. I could smell my armpits. I pulled my phone back out and looked at the screen. It was now about 6 percent charged and was going to die on me in just a few minutes. It still read No Signal.
And according to the clock in the upper left corner, I’d been unconscious for well over three hours.
I climbed up the ladder and sat down heavily in the pilot’s chair. They must have drugged me somehow, I thought tiredly. There was no way hitting me on the head with a gun would have put me out that long.
I sighed.
The ignition was right there next to the steering wheel, but the keys weren’t there.
Of course not, that would have been too easy.
I was so thirsty.
And it was hot. Every bead of perspiration rolling down my face or down my sides was more water leeching out of me.
There were another three or four hours to go before the sun went down and made things a bit cooler, but that wasn’t going to do me any good now.
But it was cooler downstairs and out of the sun.
I went back to the stairs and got a strong whiff of ammonia that made my eyes water, and I almost retched.
There’s a tiger belowdecks. Of course there’s going to be a strong smell. You t
hink he’s going to hold it?
My stomach also growled—and I remembered I hadn’t really eaten much before Diana and her AFAR cohorts had taken us prisoner.
I hope the bitch spends the rest of her fucking life behind bars.
I knew I shouldn’t send such negativity out into the universe, but at this point I was beyond caring.
I climbed down the stairs. I figured if there were little rooms for sleeping, there might be a kitchen—well, a galley—behind one of the doors.
I opened the first door to find a very small bathroom, with a little sink, a shower stall, and a toilet. I turned the faucet, but nothing happened. I sighed and went back out into the hall. The next door opened into a little galley. There were cabinets, another sink, a little table for two, and a full-sized refrigerator. My stomach growled again as I opened the refrigerator door. It was empty and the light didn’t come on; there were several bottles of water on the shelves in the door, but other than that, it was empty.
Gratefully, I uncapped one of the large bottles. It was lukewarm, but I didn’t care. I gulped down half the bottle, wiped my mouth, and put the cap back on. Much as I wanted to drink it all, my rational side warned me I might need to ration the water out.
Behind the third and final door in the hallway was another little cabin, with Taylor in the bed. He was curled up in a ball and out cold. I walked over to make sure he was breathing—and sighed in relief when he groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. The back of his T-shirt was drenched in sweat, and his thick blond hair was also damp.
I bit my lip and sat down on the edge of his bunk. At least he’s alive, I thought, my entire body relaxing. Some parent you are—the first day he’s with you and you put his life at risk. Nicely done, Scotty! Frank was probably going out of his mind with worry.