Watched

by C. J. Lyons

  Miranda never believed her until now.

  But when you’re already facing your greatest fear, what have you got to lose?

  The thought calmed her—better than numbers, better than any ritual. It was as if the blitzkrieg of panic brought about by her agoraphobia had cleansed her, stripped her naked but also free to act. Ariel could have never fought her way through the fear, but Miranda, living daily trapped by her own mind, had skills Ariel didn’t.

  In a warped way, the agoraphobia had prepared her for this moment. Miranda was glad King couldn’t see her smile—he would not have liked it, not at all.

  “I know about your video,” King said. “I really don’t care about it too much, but having it out there might make my exit inconveniently rushed. Last thing I need is to be on a no-fly list.”

  Miranda said nothing. She was too busy listening. The click of computer keys. King was typing—if he had a computer nearby and she could get to it, she could let the police know where she was…but what about her mom?

  The car stopped. There was the sound of a car door slamming—the driver leaving.

  “Where’s my mother?” she asked.

  “Nothing will happen to your mother as long as you do what I say.”

  “I’ll do anything you want. After I see her.”

  “You’ll do anything I want. Period.” His foot ground down against her chest, making it impossible to breathe. Her vision went dark before he released the pressure. “I’m going to untie you. We’re going inside the arena. You will not speak to anyone; you will not try to escape. If you do, your mother dies. Understand?”

  Gasping for air, she nodded.

  “Once we have Jesse secured, you will destroy the video. If any footage exposing me or Richard escapes, your mother will die and Jesse will die. You won’t. You, I’ll give to men with tastes far worse than anything Jesse’s uncle ever did to him. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again.

  He yanked the pillowcase off, his face mere inches from hers as she squinted in the sudden bright light.

  Howard Kerstater—she’d gotten it right. But he seemed an ordinary man. Shaved head, round face, bland even. Except the eyes. Plain brown but…soulless.

  “Answer me, Ariel. Do you understand?”

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth felt filled with cotton as if she’d swallowed the pillowcase. King raised an eyebrow, waiting. Finally she forced the word out. “Yes.”

  “Very good. Then we have a deal.”

  41

  Miranda’s father leaves to get into position and Oshiro’s men plan vantage points and tactics while I sit and worry, watching the clock, waiting until it’s time for me to leave. “I want to talk to my mom,” I tell Oshiro.

  He finishes giving orders to a state trooper and dismisses him. There’s been a parade of uniforms in and out of the small house, but now it’s just the two of us facing off over the dining room table. “Why?”

  “I need to know my sister’s okay.” It’s the truth but not all of it.

  “She’s safe. Still in the hospital.”

  “With my mom?” I want Mom as far away from everything happening today as possible, but I also need to tell her…It’s overwhelming, the things I need to tell her. My stomach clenches and I realize facing her might be worse than facing King and my uncle.

  “We brought your mother here. She’s at the police station, being interviewed by the locals. A diversionary tactic in case King has any men on the Smithfield force.”

  As much as I don’t like Oshiro using my mom, at least I know she’s safe. “Can you bring her here?”

  He raises an eyebrow, reminding me he can do any damn thing he pleases. “Why?”

  “I need to talk to her.” I gulp but there’s nothing to swallow. Still, I square my shoulders and face him dead-on. “I don’t want her to hear about my uncle from anyone else.”

  Something shifts in his face; there’s maybe even a faint glimmer of humanity. Maybe. It’s replaced by stone so fast I’m not sure. But he nods and ten minutes later one of his men is escorting my mother inside the house.

  I watch from behind the kitchen door. I can’t face her—not with that look on her face. It’s more than fear; she’s terrified. Of me.

  Oshiro is a gracious host, welcoming Mom with much better manners than he showed me or Mr. Ryder. He sits her down at the table in the breakfast nook where we’ll have some privacy, gets her coffee, then gestures for me to join her. He seems to understand my hesitation. “Want me to hang around, kid?”

  Mom has said nothing since she got here. She just sits there, staring at the coffee Oshiro poured for her like she can’t figure out if it’s poisoned or not. Then for the first time, she raises her face and makes eye contact with me. Her face is a total blank. Even when Dad left, even the one time Janey got really sick and was in the ICU, I’ve never seen her like this. Utterly drained. Defeated.

  And the worst is yet to come. This is going to be so much harder than I ever dreamed.

  I glance at Oshiro, who’s still standing beside me. I shake my head. He gives me one of those twisted things that pass for a smile and to my surprise claps a hand on my shoulder like I’m one of his men. “Okay, then. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

  He crosses through to the dining room where he can keep an eye on us without listening. I shift in my chair, trying to figure out how to start. “Janey’s okay?” Talking about Janey is always safe ground.

  Mom nods. “No more fever. They think it’s probably just a virus. If her cultures are negative tomorrow, they’ll let her come home.” She gives a little jerk of panic, realizing we have no home for Janey to return to. A tiny noise escapes from her, and it breaks my heart.

  Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to avoid exactly this moment. Great job, there, Jesse.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” I start, not sure how much the Feds have told her. “He’s not dead.”

  She dips her face, talking into her coffee cup. “I know. The agent who drove me here told me. Said the dental records didn’t match Richey’s. But where is he? How did that man end up in our garage, dead? Why do they think you would ever kill your uncle?”

  Suddenly it all pours out of me. I don’t have the time or energy to be delicate, and honestly I’m so damn mad that this is the first time she’s ever asked any real questions that I almost don’t care how much the truth hurts. Almost.

  I know how devastated she was when Dad left, understand the pressures of working two jobs and still not being able to keep a roof over our heads, not to mention how overwhelming it is to have a sick kid like Janey to take care of. But damn it, couldn’t she have found a spare second, an ounce of energy to pay attention to me, to ask what was really going on in my life?

  I worked hard to hide it, I know, but I was just a kid, not like I’m that great of an actor. Not if she really cared.

  She’s in tears now. They’re dripping into the coffee that she refuses to let go of but isn’t drinking. “No,” she protests, not for the first time. “Richey saved us.”

  Finally I realize. It has nothing to do with how hard I worked to hide the truth…she never had a chance to see it. My uncle must have made tons of money from King, but he made sure we were always scraping by so she couldn’t quit either of her jobs. Anytime she needed help, he was there, playing the hero, rearranging his shifts at work or taking me with him to the fire station so she could get Janey to a doctor’s appointment or take care of her when she was sick.

  He kept her hopes alive that my dad might still be out there somewhere, encouraging her to spend what little money and free time she had on searching for him. And when Dad wasn’t anywhere to be found, he coaxed her into the depths of despair with hints that Dad had left because of her.

  She was powerless against him, her own brother, someone she’d trust with her life. The man sh
e’d trusted with my life.

  Both of us victims.

  Anger spins me out of my chair. Oshiro steps to the doorway, but I wave him off. Silence fills the space, sucking out the oxygen, leaving my chest tight.

  I wait, fists at my side, bouncing on my toes. I know her next words will change everything. Will she believe my truth? Or cling to denial?

  Mom chokes back her tears and finally relinquishes her hold on her coffee mug. She knuckles her eyes and wipes her face on her sleeve. She’s still wearing her coat, hugs it around her as if she’s freezing.

  Finally she stands and faces me. Looks me straight in the eye. I brace myself—can feel Oshiro also tensing behind me.

  “Jesse,” she says my name like it’s too heavy to hold on to. “Jesse. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.” She’s blubbering now. I can barely make out her words as she rushes to take me in her arms. I tense, almost pull away, still furious. She only grips me tighter, despite the fact that I’m a foot taller than her and her arms barely fit around me anymore. “I’ll make this right. I’m sorry. I never, I can’t—”

  I smother her words as I finally release my anger and hug her back. We hold each other, swaying as if we might both fall if one of us relaxes our grip, and I wipe my tears on her shoulder. Oshiro clears his throat and I know my time is running out. “Mom, I have to go now.”

  She clutches my arm, pulls me to her with strength I didn’t realize she had. She wraps her arms around me tight. “I love you, Jesse. Please believe that.”

  I break away from her embrace and stand. I clear my throat, sucking in all the tears before Oshiro can see them. Then realize I really don’t give a shit what he sees.

  “No, Jesse. Please, don’t go. I couldn’t bear it, if anything happened…” she cries and I worry that this is too much, that she’ll finally break.

  But I can’t carry that burden anymore. I can’t protect her and still save Miranda. I lay my hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “Good-bye, Mom.”

  • • •

  King—she couldn’t bring herself to think of him as Howard Kerstater—tore the tape off Miranda’s wrists and forced her inside the arena’s rear entrance, away from the crowd. He kept a gun jammed into her back, hidden from view inside his coat pocket. They took a private elevator that he had the key code for up to the top level where the corporate skyboxes were situated.

  The elevator was okay, but as soon as they exited, they were on the top level of the twenty-foot-wide concourse, curved windows revealing the sky as they arched overhead to form the arena’s dome, the interior wall also with glass windows between the entrances to the skyboxes. Miranda hugged the interior wall, looking down over the huge expanse of the arena’s seating area. On the main floor, far below the Jumbotron suspended from the center of the dome, exhibitors were already swarmed by eager car enthusiasts. Shiny new cars on rotating platforms gleamed in the harsh lights. They were so far away they looked like Matchbox toys.

  Panic sped up Miranda’s breathing and she fought to get it under control. Only one threat here that she needed to focus on: King. She forced herself to memorize the key codes as he entered them, tried to pay attention to any detail that might help her escape.

  They didn’t see anyone until he opened the door to the broadcast booth that housed the Jumbotron controls. There they found a man, young, he looked like a college kid, hunched over a large console filled with levers, buttons, and dials. He spun in his seat when he heard them.

  Before Miranda could say anything, King shot him in the chest. The sound echoed like thunder as she stood, stunned, the acrid scent of gunpowder mixed with blood filling her nostrils. The man looked down in surprise, back up at King, his mouth opening, then he slumped off the stool and fell to the ground.

  Dead, Miranda realized, her hand over her mouth, although she didn’t think she could scream if she tried. Her throat was clamped tight. King had killed the stranger without blinking—had he done the same to her mom? Was she dead already?

  “Just to let you know how serious I am,” King said. He motioned Miranda to a chair, then kicked the body aside and took the man’s seat at the controls. “Don’t get any ideas about the cavalry coming. This booth is soundproof.”

  Miranda realized he spoke the truth when she spotted the microphone and cameras lining the desk along the glass wall at the front of the booth. Of course, they broadcast sports events from here.

  A laptop was connected to the AV console. King used it to pull up the security camera feeds. “Now I can see everything.”

  If she stretched her foot out, she could have touched the man’s body. She didn’t stretch her foot out.

  King watched as Jesse appeared on the laptop’s screen. “Here’s our boy, right on time.”

  42

  I walk across campus, just another student out for a Saturday morning stroll except for the armed U.S. Marshals and ATF agents tailing me.

  I don’t bother with the front of the arena, instead head around to the rear entrance my uncle used for his fire inspections. The door is unlocked. I’m not surprised—if King can control any camera on campus, there’s no reason why he couldn’t also control the electronic locks.

  There’s a camera directly over the door. I look up and shrug, arms wide, looking as meek and innocent as I can. No one here to worry about, just Jesse/JohnBoy, the kid who never fights back.

  The tunnels that run beneath the arena are brightly lit and smell of exhaust fumes from the cars idling on the exhibition floor overhead. The noise is overwhelming: the pounding footsteps from the crowd above echo in time with my pulse. I wish I wasn’t frightened, but all I can think about is what King might be doing to Miranda.

  The path to the right leads onto the concourse, the twenty-foot-wide concrete ramp that corkscrews around the arena, hosting vendors, restrooms, and entrances to each seating area as it climbs. At the top are the skyboxes and the broadcast booth holding the Jumbotron controls.

  Down here, at the bottom of the spiral, lies the infrastructure that keeps the arena working: electrical and mechanical, vents and pipes and conduits, and the fire department command center that controls the alarms, elevators, water pressure, and sprinklers.

  I feel at home down here, out of sight. A lot like my real life. Now I just have one more role to play.

  The FD command center is a room the size of a walk-in closet. It has cinderblock walls, a bunch of pipes, gauges, alarm indicators, access to the audio evacuation system, and a radio that can reach first responders or the building security staff. No one ever goes there except when there’s a fire inspection, like when my uncle first brought me here.

  The command center’s solid metal door is shut when I arrive. I stand in front of it—I’m a few minutes early and wonder if I should wait.

  The tunnel is empty except for me—and whoever’s watching through the security cameras. No signs of Mr. Ryder, but I know he can’t be far.

  Before I can turn the knob, the door flies open, and I’m pulled inside so hard I’m jerked off my feet and careen into the opposite wall. I turn to face my attacker, hands held up, ready to fight. Until I remember the only way I can win this battle is to surrender.

  I lower my hands and my gaze. Look up meekly. My uncle smiles at me. It’s not the kind of smile you ever want to be on the receiving end of. With his black eyes and swollen nose and his teeth all showing, his smile is the kind of twisted grin you’d find on a Halloween monster mask.

  “Jesse.” He sighs my name with satisfaction. “I knew you’d come.”

  “Where’s Miranda?”

  “Not so fast.” He spins me around, pushes me against the wall, one hand pressing his gun to the back of my neck, the other patting me down. He doesn’t bother with the chewed- up pen in my pocket but does take my knife, cell phone, and my lighter.

  I almost protest—the lighter has been my touchstone for so long…
but then I remember. It was his to start with. It’s always been his.

  I’m glad to see it go.

  He keeps me shoved against the concrete wall, leans in close. I realize he’s hiding his face from the camera—from King. His voice drops. “We have a decision to make, you and I.”

  “What do you want?”

  “What I’ve always wanted.” I don’t like the way his voice tightens with need. “You, Jesse. It’s always been about you. King and I, we’re headed off to one of those island paradises where no one can touch us. As long as he has a computer, he can rebuild his business.”

  “Then he doesn’t need you. Why should he let you live? Why should he let either of us live?”

  “Because I can supply the raw material for his business. We’re partners.”

  Maybe I can turn him against King. “He can find his victims online. He doesn’t need you or me.”

  He shoves me harder, my face smashes against the wall. Then he steps back. Whatever decision he was making, it’s made. I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.

  I dare a sidelong glance over my shoulder. He’s not looking at me; he’s looking up at the security camera in the corner.

  “King’s watching us, isn’t he?” I say for the benefit of Oshiro and his team. “He’s in the security office.”

  I hope that’s where Miranda is as well. All I need to do is stall my uncle long enough for Oshiro’s men to reach her.

  I notice the fire alarm control panel. Lights all red. Valves shut. No pressure in the system. The key’s broken off in the lock so there’s no way to reset it. “Why did you sabotage the fire suppression system?”

  “What better diversion than to start a fire in the middle of that crowd upstairs?”