Son of the Enemy

by Ana Barrons

  “Did Ty go down to see you?” she asked. “Speaking of belligerent.”

  Ty Bradshaw, who lived each day wondering when his father was going to prison. How intimately John knew that particular hell, how intensely he wished he could spare the boy that pain.

  “Yeah, he did. I enjoy his company. And he’s badly in need of a supportive adult in his life. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he gets sent to your office as much as he does.”

  She crossed her arms on the desk and leaned forward. “I got the feeling from watching your Frisbee game on Friday that Ty enjoys your company. Christian too.”

  “You were watching?”

  She fiddled with her ring. “Well, I was supposed to be working, but it was such a pretty day that I had a hard time concentrating, and I kept finding myself at the window, you know.”

  Ah. She had been watching him. Otherwise she wouldn’t be so flustered. He couldn’t contain a grin. “Yeah, Christian was guarding me. Frisbee’s a great way to connect with the kids because it’s not as competitive as soccer or basketball.”

  She smiled. “Arthur was terrible at sports, but he was out there every day anyway and the kids loved it. They looked out for him a little bit, you know? Like not plowing into him even when they got the chance. Ty was especially protective of him.” Her smile weakened and her eyes filled with compassion. “He’s a very sweet, loving kid. It’s not right that he gets so little in return.”

  “You care a lot about him, don’t you?”

  “I feel for him.” She looked away. “My father and I were never close, and I needed him so badly. I know what it’s like.” Her eyes appeared focused on some distant point in the past.

  “Why weren’t you close? Or don’t you know?”

  Her harsh laugh was filled with pain. “Sure I know. He couldn’t bear to look at me.” Sensing she was about to say more, John waited. To his surprise, she reached behind her and plucked a rose petal, which she proceeded to rub between her thumb and two fingers. She held it to her nose and sniffed it delicately.

  “When I got the first bouquet,” she said, “I actually thought they were from him. The note wasn’t signed, and I read it over and over, fantasizing that after all these years he realized he missed me and sent the flowers as a way to reach out to me.” When she turned to him again, John could see the emptiness in her eyes as clearly as he could see the thick dark lashes blinking back tears.

  “What did the note say?”

  She pulled a small card out of a clay jar filled with pens and pencils. “Lovely girl, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you all these years. Soon we will be together again.” She laughed hoarsely and cleared her throat.

  “How do you know it wasn’t from him?”

  She shrugged. “He would never write that. ‘Lovely girl.’ Right. If he had missed me so much, why didn’t he ever return my phone calls or send me birthday cards or—God, I’m doing it again. Whenever I’m around you I start talking about my parents, of all people.”

  “Talk to me, Hannah,” he said, feeling like a hypocrite. “I want to help.”

  “You can’t make my father love me. And you can’t give me my mother back.” She gazed at him, unsmiling. “She cheated on my father and her lover murdered her. How’s that for justice?”

  Her words socked him in the gut. He wanted to shout that her mother’s lover could never have murdered her. The man who had been the center of John’s universe for twelve years was kind and funny and had wrestled and played baseball with him and read him stories. He was no murderer. Deep in his heart he had always known that.

  “You consider that justice?” he asked, incredulous.

  “My father apparently did.”

  “He told you that? How old were you?”

  “Six. He didn’t have to come out and tell me. It was clear in everything he said and did while I was growing up that he believed my mother deserved what she got.” She walked to the window and stared out. As she stood there, one arm braced against the window frame, John got the impression she was holding herself up. “From the day I was born people said that I looked just like her, including my father. I’m sure if he saw me now…”

  John came up behind her. “No one deserves to be murdered, Hannah.” He could hear the anger in his own voice. “I have no doubt your father was hurt and humiliated that the rest of the world knew his wife had fallen in love with another man, but to reject you because of a superficial resemblance?”

  She hugged herself and continued to talk, almost as though he wasn’t there. “There was a party. I was only fourteen, but I looked older. The guys were mostly football players, and things got out of control. Some neighbor called the cops. When they arrived I was naked in bed with one of the senior boys.”

  John said nothing.

  “They called my father—Marblehead is a small town, and they all knew the famous Dr. Duncan, neurosurgeon. They spared him the indignity of picking up his tramp of a daughter at the police station and brought me to my door.” Her sigh was ragged, and John wanted badly to pull her into his arms and tell her it was okay. “A week later he drove me here to the Grange School, dropped me off and never looked back. I had embarrassed him, just like my mother had by dying and making her infidelity public.”

  “He actually called you a tramp?” She nodded. What kind of monster was her father? “He had no right to inflict that kind of guilt on a young girl.”

  “Maybe it was easier for me to have a reason, instead of believing I was just inherently unlovable.”

  John grasped her shoulders and turned her to him. “Did it ever occur to you that your father didn’t know how to love?” The depth of sadness in her eyes shook him. “That maybe your mother went looking elsewhere because of that? That maybe you did too?”

  “If I had slept with you on Friday night,” she said quietly, “would you still insist that I’m not a tramp?”

  John stared at her. “Do you honestly think I would have considered you a tramp for sleeping with me?” She didn’t answer and fury rose in his gut. “Your father really did a number on your head. He couldn’t have damaged your psyche more if he’d tortured and brainwashed you.”

  She pulled away and walked back to her desk. “Did you come in here for a reason or just to see if you could get a rise out of me? Because if you don’t have something important to talk about, I’d rather you left. I’m very busy.”

  John started counting to ten and stopped at five. He’d never made it to ten in his life. He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, okay?”

  Focusing her attention on a stack of papers on top of her desk, she said, “Okay.”

  “I just don’t like you implicitly defending the man who did this to you.”

  “I think we established that it’s none of your business.” She closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe I told you all that. I haven’t told anyone here about my parents.”

  Her words both pleased and humbled him. “So if your father hasn’t been sending the flowers, who has?” He pointed to the vase behind her. “Who sent those?”

  “Oh, those are from Thornton,” she said, her tone dismissive. “I have no idea who sent the others. Maybe they’re all coming to the wrong place and they aren’t really for me.”

  He frowned, his unease intensifying. “All of them? How many have you gotten?”

  She pressed her lips together and swallowed. “Seven bouquets.”

  “Seven? Someone has left you seven bouquets and three mutilated squirrels—” At her sheepish expression he asked, “Or have there been more?”

  “One or two,” she admitted, hugging herself.

  He threw up his hands. “Jesus, Hannah! You may be dealing with a stalker here, or worse. Don’t you see that?”

  “I’m sure it’s just a prank.”

  It was obvious she wasn’t sure of any such thing, but for some reason she refused to let on t
hat she was frightened. Pride? Or was she just very good at denial?

  “Okay, fine.” He’d lay off the squirrels for now, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to drop it. At least until he convinced her to call the cops. “When did they start coming?”

  “What?”

  “The roses.”

  “Oh. About a month ago, I guess.”

  “Do the cards have your name on them?”

  “No. They’re usually just sitting on my front steps or on the porch. And then the other day they were left here.”

  “Do you have a separate address from the school?”

  She shook her head. “Everything comes here. So much for privacy. I guess it’s a good thing I don’t subscribe to Playgirl or have an affair going with a married man or—” She sighed and glanced up at him. “He was married. Her lover.”

  John knew exactly who she was talking about. “It happens. Must’ve been rough on his family too.”

  “He had a little boy.”

  John swallowed hard.

  “I wonder whose psyche ended up more damaged, his or mine.”

  “I wonder,” John said.

  Ty handed Christian the rolled-up fifty-dollar bill he had just used to snort a line of cocaine, while keeping a knuckle pressed tightly against his nostril. “Here, dude,” he said between sniffles. “Go for it.”

  Christian looked down at the thin lines of the white powder on the mirror lying on the ground between them, glanced at Grange Hall, which could easily be seen through the naked trees, then back to Ty. “Hannah’s making my parents get me tested. If it comes up positive, she’ll kick my ass out and I’ll end up in fucking military school.”

  “Yeah, right,” Ty said. “Haven’t you figured her out yet? If she likes you, she’ll keep giving you chances no matter how many times you fuck up. Go ahead and do a couple of lines. Nobody’ll know. You can come home with me. My old man’s never—” A flash of light deeper in the woods. What the hell was that? Was someone else out here?

  Christian was huddled over the mirror with the fifty-dollar bill up his nose, snorting up a line. He raised his head, sniffed several times loudly, and bent his head again.

  Ty got up on his knees and strained to see who was out there. Shit. There was some guy up on a high stump with binoculars pointed in the direction of Grange Hall. Some damn pervert, probably, trying to get a look at young girls—or young boys, for that matter. Or could he be an undercover cop looking for kids doing drugs in the woods?

  “Shit,” he murmured. “Hey, Christian—”

  Christian lay sprawled in the dirt on his back with his hands clutching the front of his flannel shirt, his legs jerking like he was some kind of spaz.

  “What the hell are you doing, dude? We gotta go, there’s some guy over there with binoculars, okay?”

  Christian stopped moving.

  “Christian?” Ty kicked his leg. A glance at the mirror told him Christian had done all the lines himself. How many had there been? Maybe four or five, he figured. “Must’ve been one hell of a rush, dude.” Ty kicked him again. No response. He picked up the mirror and shoved it into his backpack, then crawled over to Christian’s head.

  “Shit!” Christian’s lips were turning blue and he was covered in sweat. It looked like he couldn’t breathe. Ty looked around wildly. “Hey! I need help here! Somebody help!” he shouted. He tried to stand up but the rush was so strong he sank back onto his knees. “Oh, fuck, fuck, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “Have you tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?”

  Ty gasped and fell back. A short, stocky man dressed in camouflage stood before him like he had materialized out of nowhere. He had a round, youngish face, thinning blond hair and pearly blue eyes that were unnaturally light. Wet lips formed a tiny, almost impish smile that might have looked friendly if Ty had, say, bumped into him at the grocery store, but looked ghoulish under the circumstances. The guy was definitely a freak but Ty didn’t care about that. Not now.

  “I…I don’t know how,” Ty stammered. “Shit, is he going to die?”

  The man dropped to his knees and felt Christian’s neck for a pulse. “I don’t know. He might.” The little smile was still there.

  “Fuck!” Ty shouted. “We gotta save him. Oh God, oh God.” He was about to pee his pants he was so scared.

  The man pulled Christian’s chin up and put his ear to his lips. Then, without another word he began blowing into Christian’s mouth.

  Ty forced himself to his feet even though his head felt wobbly on his neck. “I’ll go get help.” He took off running at a crazy tilt toward the school.

  Chapter Five

  Hannah hugged herself as she sat hunched over in the hard plastic chair. The emergency room at Middlesex Hospital was blessedly peaceful at five o’clock on a Monday evening. Despite its small size, she had heard good things about the private, rural facility. She prayed it would live up to its reputation by saving Christian’s life.

  Please, God, let him be okay.

  Paula Smythe, Christian’s mother, had arrived ten minutes earlier in skimpy workout clothes and was now inside with her son. The last time Hannah had checked in at school, Larissa was still trying to track down Bill Smythe. He had apparently been out of the office all afternoon, much to the chagrin of his secretary, who admitted she had no idea where he’d gone or when he would be back. Christian had once confided that his parents were both having affairs, so it was possible the man was shacked up somewhere with his cell phone turned off.

  She rubbed her arms to stop the shivering that had taken over ever since she jumped in the back of the ambulance to ride with an unconscious Christian to the hospital. The rescue squad had put him on a respirator and pumped Valium into him, but he hadn’t regained consciousness. When they arrived at the hospital, one of the doctors said something about a possible “subarachnoid hemorrhage”, which Hannah figured out meant a ruptured blood vessel at base of his brain. What if he slipped into a coma? Or worse? She trembled violently.

  “Hannah!”

  She raised her head. John Emerson was striding through the ER toward her, looking nearly as worried as she felt. She began to rise, the impulse to walk into his arms surprisingly strong, but she held herself back. Best not to go there.

  He sat beside her. “I went back to school, hoping to catch you, and Larissa told me what happened. Is he okay?”

  She shrugged and wished she had given in to the impulse to seek comfort in his arms. “I’m so afraid, John,” she whispered. “I’m so afraid he’ll…”

  He reached for her hands. “I know. Hey, your hands are like ice. And you’re shivering.” He shucked off his jacket and laid it over her shoulders, then went to work warming up her hands by rubbing them vigorously between both of his. She told him what little she knew about Christian’s condition—and then she remembered.

  “I hope you’ll treat this episode sympathetically. You know, in the book.”

  He squeezed her hands. “You can count on it.” The concerned look in his eyes made her believe him.

  “Thanks,” she said softly.

  “How about if I go get us both some coffee?” He lifted her hair out from under the jacket in a tender gesture that melted something inside of her. “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head, the thought of food making her nauseous. “Just coffee would be great. Thanks.” She watched him walk through the waiting area and turn down the corridor leading to the cafeteria, then closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall.

  John Emerson was becoming important to her in spite of the short time they’d known each other. Earlier this afternoon she’d bitten his head off for meddling, yet she’d been the one to wave her ugly past in his face. Why she felt safe sharing such painful memories with him she couldn’t imagine, but right now having him here made it easier to deal with the horror of Christian’s condition.

  Good Lord. Christian was lying in a hospital bed unconscious, possibly close to death, and she was thin
king about what she needed. With her eyes still closed, she sent up silent prayer after silent prayer that the boy recovered. According to Ty, Christian had been snorting a mix of cocaine and methamphetamine when he keeled over and seemed to stop breathing. Ty was so shaken up as he told the story that it wasn’t clear how he had gotten Christian to breathe again.

  “Hannah?”

  She opened her eyes at the sound of the familiar voice. “Thornton,” she said, straightening. “Is Ty with you?”

  Thornton took the seat John had just vacated. “No.” He picked up her hand. “Larissa called and told me what happened and that you had gone along in the ambulance, so I got here as quickly as I could. How’s Christian?”

  “I don’t know any more than I did the last time I spoke to Larissa.” She turned in her seat so she was looking him in the eye and squeezed his hand tightly. “I’m sure Ty was high too. When he ran into the office, he was totally freaked out.”

  “Did he tell you he was high or are you just assuming?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said in a loud whisper. “We found an unconscious boy lying in the woods with white powder in his nostrils and no sign of any drugs or paraphernalia. Are you going to try to tell me Ty just watched Christian snort cocaine or whatever it was and didn’t participate?”

  Thornton adjusted his red silk tie and glanced around the waiting room. “I don’t know what he did or didn’t do. I was hoping you could tell me, since I don’t know where he is at the moment.” He frowned. “Whose jacket is that?”

  She leaned forward, alarmed. “You mean he didn’t go home?”

  He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “No, he didn’t come home, but I’d really rather not announce that to the world. I’ve got people out looking for him. I just thought you might have some idea where he’d go.”

  “Oh God, in all the excitement I didn’t realize… What if he’s had a bad reaction too? He could be lying somewhere—”

  “Don’t overdramatize,” Thornton said. “Can you give me some names of kids from school he hangs out with?”