by Martha Carr
Chapter Twelve
It was Saturday and Wallis had signed Ned up for a kind of tween-sized survivor course that took up every Saturday morning for eight weeks. Ned was going to get the chance to climb walls, bike over rough terrain and kayak in the James River.
Wallis had come up with it as a way to try and combat his nightmares and maybe even break through the wall of silence that seemed to surround him these days.
Earlier in the year she had tried ballroom dancing and cotillion as a way to help him connect with at least his grandmother’s past. Norman had rolled his eyes at the suggestion when she showed him the invitation. The entire thing was by invitation only and it was because Harriet had danced in the same group over fifty years ago that Ned was even invited.
It was clearly a Management feeder group but Wallis didn’t care just this once. Too many of Ned’s friends were signed up and she wanted him to feel a part of something.
The dances were held once a week at the Richmond Women’s Club building on Franklin Street. The mothers who got there early enough and wanted to stay for the two hour lessons on dancing and manners could watch from an upstairs balcony. Wallis always stayed. A handful of the women from Bunko night were up there and it gave her a chance to gossip about nothing while watching Ned interact with his friends, and more importantly, girls.
The instructor was an older man who looked well over six feet with dark, wavy hair who tended to dance with the taller girls in the group. They towered over the boys their own age and Wallis could see the look of relief on their face when they got a chance to dance with Mr. Louie. It made her like the man just a little even if he was always snapping little instructions at the children.
He had an assistant, Mrs. Parker who helped him go around the room while the children were dancing and correct their moves. It just made everything seem more awkward.
Ned had done everything that was asked of him down to introducing himself to every partner. He seemed to at least be having a half-way decent time of it and kept earning the weekly red ribbons for being a gentleman but Wallis knew better.
After the stop for ice cream or a burger with the other kids and their mothers at a local Red Robin was over, Ned would stop talking and sit sullenly in the back seat, staring out the window.
He would answer if Wallis asked a direct question but only in short syllables. She was glad he seemed to be having a good time when he was with the other kids but sometimes she felt desperate to reach him for just a minute.
She wanted to see a piece of the Ned she had known before Oscar Newman had broken into their house and died on their floor.
She wanted to know why Ned blamed her for so much of what had happened but she knew better than to try and get Ned to prop up her feelings.
Besides, he was already complaining enough about everything she said to him. No need to actually hand him some ammunition.
There was still the holiday dance to go before the cotillion year was officially ended. That was when the boys were expected to wear a little tux and the girls came in formal dresses with small nosegays made up of rosebuds. The parents would get to dance with their children and there would be a live band. Wallis was hoping that Norman’s presence would help lighten the entire mood and maybe they could have fun as a family for one night.
In the meantime, there was the extreme sports course to get through. Ned had already been to two of them and after the last one had gotten in the car and announced how much he hated all of it. The rock climbing wall had scared him so much that so far all he had been able to do was climb his height of just over five and a half feet before he panicked and came back down again.
When he got in the car last Saturday he had buckled himself in and quickly pronounced, “I hate you,” and then turned toward the window and refused to say another word. When they got home he had hurried out of the car and run up to his room. Wallis had to call the instructor to find out the other kids had made fun of him when he had once again stopped and scrambled back down to the ground.
Ned tried to argue with Wallis about ever going again and even resorted to first bargaining about how much better he would be around the house and then looking to Norman to back him up and let him out of the whole thing.
“Sorry, buster. You’re going. It’s a good idea. Both your mother and I think so.”
Ned had stomped out of the kitchen and gotten in the back seat of the car. Wallis heard the door slam from the kitchen.
“Sorry,” said Norman. “I’d drive him but I have to check on something, I’m sure of it. The grass maybe? Walk Joe?”
“Very funny. It’s okay, this was my big idea. I’ll face the music.”
“That’s appropriate since this all feels like you’re facing a very angry firing squad.”
“I just want him to stop being afraid of everything. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? He checks the doors at night to make sure they’re locked and he carries his cell phone with him everywhere. I never see him on it but he makes sure he has it. He didn’t use to be that way.”
“He didn’t use to be a teenager either. Okay, okay, some of this is from the shooting. Maybe a lot of it. But just as much is hormones combined with you trying to fix the situation. Did it ever occur to you to just let him be miserable for a while?”
Wallis didn’t look up as she tried to find her keys and hurried around the kitchen looking for her phone.
“Frankly, no, and that’s not like me either. Geez, I’m exhausting myself. I can’t let go of this idea that people are always watching us.”
“And we’re not even celebrities.”
“Why jokes, Norman? Is this really the best time for jokes?”
“Wow, okay, you really are wound up. Have you eaten anything?”
“I’m sorry,” said Wallis, “that wasn’t fair.”
“What are you trying to find? Can you ask for some help?” he said in a gentle voice.
Wallis stopped in the middle of the kitchen and looked at him. “Apparently not. If it makes you feel any better, Laurel pointed out the same thing but not in such a nice way.”
“I give Laurel cash on the side.”
“Back to jokes.”
“Sorry, I joke when my wife is testy. Reflex. What are you looking for?”
“My keys, I can’t find them.”
“Well, that explains why Ned palmed them on his way out the door. How did you think he could slam the car door so well? Maybe you’re right. He might be mad at you but I still say it’s because you have the unlucky job of being the mother to a teenager.”
“It actually makes me feel better that he’s actively trying to get me back for something. At least he’s thinking. I was more worried when I thought he was going along with all of my ideas and just suffering.”
“Spoken like you belong to this family. Pick up bagels on your way home. You and I can have something to eat while our child engages in things that are good for him that he will tell all his friends proves how stupid we are and even cost us lots of money.”
“I look forward to that,” said Wallis as she rushed out the door. Ned was in the back seat of the car, his usual spot when he was angry, and the car radio was blasting a song Wallis didn’t recognize that she was pretty sure would still be unintelligible even if the volume was more reasonable.
“I should make Harriet drive him,” Wallis said, as she opened the door and leaned in to first turn down the music.
“I was listening to that,” said Ned, sounding hurt.
“And you’re still listening to that,” said Wallis, as she started the car, “just not at the same volume.”
They drove in silence to Pump Road but Wallis noticed that Ned seemed to be choking down words.
“Your roots are showing, you know,” he said, looking at her reflection in the rear view mirror.
Wallis glanced in the mirror above her visor. “You’re right,” she said, ducking her chin down to get a better view. “Thank you for pointing out the grey.” Wallis’ hair was
a varying shade of auburn depending on how things turned out at the hair salon. But the roots showed that lately her real hair color was becoming white and bypassing grey altogether, despite what she had said.
Her hairdresser had said it was a sign of stress or poor nutrition.
“You used to take better care of yourself,” said Ned, still looking directly at her reflection and breathing harder.
Wallis felt a pain in her chest watching how angry Ned was, without knowing what was really causing all of it beyond what they had gone through when he was younger.
“Ned, I can see that you’re not very happy with me right now but I’m not going to start defending myself to you. We’re not in a debate about whether or not I’m a good person.”
Ned’s breathing had picked up till he was practically hyperventilating.
“If you want to talk to me about something, I’d love to hear it but I’m not going to be your punching bag.”
Ned seemed to crack open.
“It’s all your fault,” he yelled. “All of it.” Tears were pouring down his face, startling Wallis. She pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park so she could turn around and face Ned.
“What is? What’s my fault?”
“Who we are, you did this to us. I know about everything, all of it,” he yelled so loudly, it came out in a growl. “I know who we are.”
Wallis felt the blood rush to her face. “What do you mean?” she asked, holding her breath.
“We’re part of that group that killed Mr. Blazney. We’re one of them,” he shouted. His nose was starting to run.
“No, no, we’re not. We’re not at all.”
“Liar! Liar!” he screamed, his voice cracking as he strained against his seat belt toward her. “Our family started the whole thing. We are the bad guys.”
Wallis had to press her nails into her palm to stop herself from crying. Ned hung his head and loud sobs came out of him as his body shook. Wallis got up on her knees on the seat and leaned across the back so she could rest her arms on his shoulders. Ned tried to shake her off but she held on tight, crawling over the seat till she was next to him, holding him tightly.
“We’re not, Ned, we’re not the bad guys. Bloodlines don’t make you the bad guys. An accident of birth can’t make you good or bad. It doesn’t work that way, no matter what anyone says.”
Ned stopped trying to pull away from her and his weight came to rest against Wallis’ chest as she pulled him closer. He was still crying, his body shaking.
“Everybody gets to decide for themselves who they are, no matter what family they’re born into. You can decide for yourself who you are, no matter what your dad or I think about what you should be. We have ideas but in the end, we want you to be happy.” Wallis couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. She tasted the salt as she leaned her cheek against Ned’s hair.
“That’s all I want, Ned. For you to be happy. I really don’t care about the details. I trust you and I figure those will be alright if you’re happy.”
“Kids at school said I have no choice. Destiny is destiny,” said Ned.
“Destiny is the excuse people use when they are afraid to just trust people a little and see what happens. I make you a promise, Ned. I’m afraid but I trust that everything will be okay and I’m going to do my best to act like that.”
Ned had stopped crying and had curled up against his mother, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“I know I haven’t done the best job of being confident lately, Ned but that’s going to change. Let me tell you a little something that a very wise old woman told me recently. Either God is nothing or God is everything.”
“Was that Alice?”
“Yes, that was Alice Watkins.” Wallis leaned back so she could see Ned’s face. She smiled as she wiped the tears off of his cheek. “Alice was quite a broad, wasn’t she?”
Ned nodded.
“And she definitely wouldn’t want us to walk around with our heads down. She’d be yelling at us right now if she knew. Can’t you just hear her?” asked Wallis.
“Mom, did she suffer? When she died, did she suffer?”
“Ned, I can’t make that part better for you, I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “But I can tell you this, whoever it was, Alice took a piece of them with her. She didn’t make it easy.”
“Alice had a weird kind of faith, didn’t she,” asked Ned.
“Yeah, I suppose so. It was faith mixed heavily with kicking ass, when necessary. Alice had a kind of confidence that no one was going to take from her. That’s a wonderful reminder, Ned. You know, we can honor her memory by refusing to let anyone tell us who we are. We get to decide, just us, and we will write our own history.”
“Mom, can we please skip that class today?”
Wallis laughed and shrugged. “Why not?” she asked. “But you’re going to have to try that wall again. I know you can do it Ned, even if I have to convince your father to try it with you.”
“That’s a good one, Mom. Dad doesn’t really strap himself into anything.”
“Good point. Come on, let’s go get bagels. We can hang out together this morning as a family. Much better idea. Have our own little memorial for Alice.”
“Much better idea, Mom.”
Wallis climbed out of the back seat and went around to get back behind the wheel. She looked at Ned who seemed to look better than he had in a very long time.
“You know that dance is in just two weeks,” she said.
“One miracle at a time, Mom.”
Wallis laughed but felt a shiver go down her back. She pulled away from the curb, heading back toward home.
Chapter Thirteen
The sun wasn’t even up yet but Mark knew he didn’t have more than a half hour before the next transmission. The soldier’s presence was making it an imperative for Mark to gather more information so he could tell if his family was in any real danger and needed to run.
He went into the basement to retrieve the old iPhone he had tucked into a forgotten dresser. It was meant for an extreme emergency and he had been hoping he would never need to use it.
He checked on the Sergeant in the hidden safe room who was softly snoring. Mark had stopped the bleeding that first night the best that he could with the medical supplies he was trained to keep on hand. He knew basic field medicine and could stitch someone up or set a simple bone break but he had to hope that if there were internal injuries, the Sergeant would be able to recover on his own.
Otherwise, he was going to have to bury him somewhere on the property when his children were asleep and forget he had ever seen the man. Jake would demand an explanation. Mark knew he might even need his help to hide the grave.
He was hoping none of that would happen to avoid doing one more thing to his son that couldn’t be undone.
He checked the time again. Two more minutes.
The signals he was waiting for were actually ongoing in order to hide what was truly important and they were sent from a variety of locations that pinged so many times it was impossible to detect the original source. The one Mark was looking for would have started last night and the reading would be continuous in order to appear random. At the appointed time, the coded message would be read and the old phone would hopefully still be able to decode it.
The notes he was getting through the mail indicated that whoever was trying to contact him was using the last codebook he would have received before he abruptly left Richmond.
He carried the phone back up to the kitchen and plugged it in to the wall. Fortunately he had saved the old charger. It took a few minutes to get enough of a charge but the phone was ready to go before the old appointed time.
The transmission came through just like they always did, two years ago. Mark felt a sudden panic at being so easily pulled back into an operation.
“Had better be important,” he muttered, half hoping it wouldn’t be so he could ignore all of it and go back to a quiet life.
&nbs
p; It was the second Article of the Constitution, Section I. ‘The executive Power shall be vested in a President of the United States of America. He shall hold his Office during the Term of four Years, and, together with the Vice President, chosen for the same Term, be elected, as follows:
‘Each State shall appoint, in such Manner as the Legislation thereof may direct, a Number of Electors, equal to the whole Number of Senators and Representatives to which the State may be entitled in the Congress: but no Senator or Representative, or Person holding an Office of Trust or Profit under the United Sates, shall be appointed an Elector.’
Mark felt his heart speed up and wondered for a moment if he was having a panic attack. When he was first introduced into the Circle and learned about the OTP there was one code that young recruits joked about never wanting to hear.
It was Article II, Section I that described the office of the President and meant that the Keeper was in danger of being captured. It was worse than hearing one of them was killed.
Carol Schaeffer, the previous Keeper had been caught out in the open and murdered trying to escape on a sailboat in Savannah, Georgia. She had been minutes from getting away when Management had found her and easily snapped her neck. The newspapers had reported it as an accident but Mark had learned otherwise after he met her husband, Robert and what was left of her family.
Carol had been an orphan, raised on the grounds of one of the Circle’s feeder orphanages and had been such a standout that eventually she had been groomed to be at the head of the organization, while living in plain sight. Even Robert had not known her real role.
People without families usually made better Keepers because they could come and go more easily without a lot of questions but an exception had been made for Carol and for years everything went well.
That is, until Harry Weiskopf.
Carol never did understand the depth of Harry Weiskopf’s insecurities or she would have realized what he was capable of doing. He was a descendant of the original twenty and the uncle to the child who was connected by blood to both Management and the Circle. She thought he could be trusted as a friend.