The upside was they got one more night together, although he wasn’t sure Taylor would see that as a good thing. They had been extremely lucky that no one had recognized them yet. Even though they were in small town USA, it would be prudent to take more precautions. Jack knew what they had to do. They returned to the motel.
* * *
Taylor stood in the small motel bathroom. “I thought you said we didn’t have to?”
“Let’s just say my gut is telling me it’s a good idea.”
“My hairdresser’s not going to be happy. May as well get it over with.” She braced herself while he began to cut her hair. When he was finished, she looked at him with surprise. “It actually isn’t half bad.”
He took a bow. “One of my hidden talents. My mother taught me how. She thought paying for haircuts was wasteful.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t always have such a steady hand. Remember when you butchered your sister’s hair. I thought she was going to kill you. It was all uneven and spiky.”
He laughed. “I had to sleep with one eye open for weeks.” He took a deep breath and winced. “My turn.” He made broad cuts to his blond hair, cutting it close to his head. Then he picked up the razor.
Taylor winced. “You’re not going to shave it all, are you?”
He made the first swipe right down the middle. “Yup. Guess we’ll get to see what I look like bald.” He grinned. It didn’t take him long to finish. Wow. Who knew hair made such a difference? He wondered what Taylor thought.
“Well?”
Taylor ran her hand over the smooth surface that was now his head. “At least it will grow back.”
“Not exactly a ringing endorsement.” He shrugged. “We’re not done yet.” He grabbed the box of hair color from the drug store. “I don’t know how this will turn out.” He paused and took a long look at her. “I always imagined I could see the reflection of the sun in your hair. I’m sorry to have to do this.” He lifted a strand and held it between his fingers.
She flicked his hand away in obvious annoyance. “Just do it.”
What was wrong with him? Just when the tension between them started to dissipate he acted like an awkward teenager rushing in for his first kiss.
“Here goes nothing.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The Institute, 1975
December
Today is Christmas. The only one I’ll ever spend with my baby. I sing carols to him and tell him of the love of Christ. I continue to pray for him and for myself. I must believe that a mother’s prayers count for something—it’s the only thing that keeps me going. I’ve been thinking of my parents too. Can they see me from Heaven? Are they able to offer some protection, some prayer for me? Long-forgotten Bible verses, recited to me as a child by my mother return to me and give me some comfort. I lay my hands protectively on my belly and rub them back and forth, imagining I am stroking my child. How I wish I could hold him against me. It is agony to realize he will never know my love in this life. All the more reason for me to put my hope in the next.
I am singing “Joy to the World” when I hear his footsteps. I make my voice louder, forcing a jubilance to it that I don’t feel. I refuse to allow him to steal Christmas from me, and I wait, almost eagerly, for his reaction to my praise. He says nothing when he opens the door, merely stares, his expression inscrutable. I look away and back down at my stomach, continuing my song. It takes every bit of resolve I possess to keep singing and pretend he isn’t there. As I finish the last chorus, he begins to laugh.
“Well, Maya, quite the little convert.”
“Can’t you leave me alone on this day, of all days? Is there nothing sacred to you?”
He raises his eyebrows. “This is not a holiday I feel the need to celebrate. Now, the birth of my son, that will be cause for celebration. Only a fool would give his life for the world. My son, he will give the world what it deserves.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Doesn’t what?” His tone becomes hard.
“Doesn’t follow in your twisted footsteps. What if he has plans of his own? Noble plans?”
He stands up and turns his back to me. “That is no concern of yours. I am quite confident his upbringing will have the desired outcome.” As he opens the door and steps from the room, he calls over his shoulder. “Oh, Merry Christmas.” I hear his laughter echo as he walks away.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Taylor was now a blonde. Beau started whining and turning in circles.
“Aw, baby, it’s okay. It’s still me.” She knelt and called him over to her.
He approached her tentatively and began to sniff. Tail wagging, he licked her face until she was laughing and had to push him away.
“Good job, Jack. My own dog didn’t recognize me.”
He had to admit that her appearance was quite changed. Even with his hack job, she was still beautiful. The familiar longing returned, burning in his belly like a shot of Jameson.
“It’s almost dawn. Why don’t you take him out, and then we’ll hit the road before the sun comes up?”
With his face plastered all over the news, Jack was keeping the lowest profile possible.
“Come on, buddy.” She put the leash on Beau and stepped out into the bracing air.
Jack frowned. “Be careful.”
Taylor walked Beau to the back of the motel and gave him enough leash to find a satisfactory place to relieve himself. Why were dogs so particular about that? It seemed to her that one blade of grass was as good as another. She hopped from one foot to the other trying to keep warm. The temperature had dropped suddenly and sharply. Now she wished she had some gloves. She shoved her free hand in her coat pocket and tugged on the lead. Enough was enough. “Come on, boy. Go!”
He finally obliged and trotted back to her with a contented expression as they walked toward the front of the hotel. Then, he growled, a deep, suspicious snarl from the back of his throat.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He was still growling, and she stood still, paralyzed by indecision.
She pulled on the leash and tried to coax Beau slowly forward, but he refused, seemingly rooted the ground.
Then she saw them. Two figures in black skulking in the shadows, moving in the direction of their hotel room. What should she do? She had to warn Jack, but how?
As if reading her mind, Beau bolted upright, tore away from her and went bounding at the two men at full speed.
He leaped and sunk his teeth into the first man’s arm. The man screamed as he tried to shake loose of the determined canine.
“What the hell?” he screamed.
The man next to him lifted the hand holding a gun and pointed it at Beau.
“No!” Taylor yelled, and instinctively ran toward them.
The motel door flew open, and Jack flung himself at the man with the gun. It went off, just as Taylor collided with Beau and fell onto the pavement.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
The Institute, 1976
January
I spent New Year’s Day thinking of resolutions, and of years past, when I had my entire life in front of me. This New Year will be my last. I think of how different things could be if I were free. My precious son would have an entire family to love him. It is too unbearable to ponder. I try to relish the little time I have left and use it for some good. When my thoughts become too torturous, I pray.
My stomach lurches as I hear the familiar clicking on the cold, marble floors. He is coming.
His boasting begins again.
“Maya, how is it possible that you are still so naïve? Do you imagine the throngs will resist me? I have Madison Avenue in my back pocket. The fools believe whatever we tell them to. Slowly, very slowly, we have been shifting society’s values. Small steps, moving the line ever so slightly until they don’t even realize the gigantic leaps we have taken. Just a few years ago we couldn’t show a married couple sleeping
in the same bed. Soon, they’ll be watching strangers having sex, during the so-called family hour, and no one will blink an eye. By the time we’re through, morality will be a distant memory and the very few that try and hold on to it will be classified radical fanatics.”
His arrogance is infuriating. “What’s in it for you?” I blurt out.
He looks right through me. “I am serving my master. He desires the ruination of souls. It is my pleasure to assist him in that quest.”
“Enjoy it while you can. I can assure you, eternity is not going to be fun for you.”
“Don’t preach to me, Maya. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Too bad you won’t be around to see your son serve the master.”
He knows exactly what to say to shut me up.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
She looked up from the cold concrete when she heard a rapid succession of popping noises. A different man was standing across from Jack with a gun in his hand. Where was the man Beau had attacked? She turned her head. There he was, lying on the ground, blood pooled around his middle, eyes closed. Was he dead? Jack held his own gun to the head of a third man, at whom Beau was growling, ready to pounce again. Taylor winced as she put her weight on her arm and pushed herself up and stood.
“Who are you?” Jack was glaring at the man.
“Jeremy sent us.”
Jack still held the gun trained on him. “How do I know you’re really with Jeremy?”
“Saint Christopher is on your side.”
“I’ll be a son of a—”
“Come on, we’ve got to move before someone sees us.” He motioned with his head for them to look behind him, and Taylor saw a van with its back doors open and engine running.
Jack didn’t hesitate. He pulled the man he was holding over to the van. Three men jumped out. One cuffed Jack’s prisoner, while the other two retrieved the body. It was all cleaned up within a matter of minutes.
“How did you find us?” Jack asked.
“There’s a tracking device in the St. Christopher medal. We’ve been keeping tabs on you. Jeremy got inside intel that we’ve been compromised. We found the traitor but not before he alerted The Institute.”
“The what?”
“No time. We’ve got to get going.”
“Can you take us to Jeremy?”
The man shook his head. “Don’t know where he is. We were dispatched for this only. No one has his location. It’s safer for him that way.”
Jack felt inside his jacket pocket for the medal and handed it to the man. “Take it back. I don’t want to throw it out, but I’m not keeping it on me in case you’re compromised again.” He hoped he wasn’t bringing back luck on himself by giving the medal away. He shook his head. Don’t be a superstitious idiot, he thought.
The man took it, ran back to the van, and they drove away.
“What was he talking about? What’s all this with the Saint Christopher medal?” Taylor asked.
“It was a code. I didn’t realize when she said it, until I heard him repeat it.
“What do you mean, a code?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you in the car. Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, hurt my arm a little, but I’m fine.”
“What were you thinking diving in front of Beau like that?”
She shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t.”
Jack looked down at Beau. “Come on fur ball. You deserve a big treat.” He opened the back door, and Beau jumped in.
Taylor put on her seat belt, still trying to catch her breath and steady her shaking hands. She looked out of the back window as they drove away.
“So are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
“A nice old lady gave me a Saint Christopher medal the other day when I helped her to her car. The last thing she said was “Saint Christopher is on your side.”
He continued to surprise her. “When did you help an old lady?”
“When I went to the drugstore for supplies, she was in front of me in line and fell. I walked her to her car.”
“Still the Boy Scout.” She grinned at him.
He narrowed his eyes at her good-naturedly. His stint in the boy scouts had lasted exactly one meeting. He’d said it was a little too gung-ho for him. “Funny.”
“I can still see you in your uniform, your cute neckerchief slide around your neck.”
“Thanks for reminding me. I had to pay my parents back for that uniform out of my allowance when I refused to go back.”
She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. The image of the man lying on the ground filled her mind and she sat up.
“Jack? Was that man dead?”
He ran his fingers over his lips then nodded.
She shivered. The bodies were stacking up. “It’s strange. I know they were there to kill us, just like the man at the cabin.” She swallowed. “But I still feel bad. I mean—they were people. Two days ago, all I could think about was getting ready for my baby. Now we’re being chased by killers. How can that be?” She turned and pressed her forehead against the cold window. Her eyes fixated on the yellow line on the road stretching out forever, toward nowhere. What was in store for her now? Her future unrolled before her like a foreign scroll, inscrutable and indecipherable.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
“What do you mean, they got away?” Damon Crosse barked into the phone.
“We didn’t know the girl and the dog were outside. They snuck up and attacked us.”
Damon shook his head in disgust. “A dog and a pregnant woman attacked you?”
“They had help. Four men showed up out of nowhere. Lucky for me, they threw me out of the van instead of killing me.”
“Too bad they didn’t. They would have spared me the trouble.” Crosse hung up. They must have been Jeremy’s men. No one else would be stupid and sentimental enough not to finish the job. Threw him out of the van. How disappointing. Jeremy was weak. How did he think he could ever win when he couldn’t handle the simple matter of disposing of an enemy properly?
“If they’re in New Hampshire, Jeremy’s facility must be close. I want aerial surveillance over the whole state and the surrounding ones. Find them.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
This time, the library was open, and Taylor entered the brown brick building. She scanned the signs on the shelves, looking for the fiction section. The facility was small, and it didn’t take her long to find the M shelf.
She found the book immediately and blew the dust from the top of it. She held it close to her, suddenly irrationally fearful of it being snatched away. Sitting down at the empty table, she opened it and began to slowly turn the pages. There it was. A plain white slip of paper with one word written on it. She took the paper, returned the book to the shelf, and left.
She got back in to the passenger seat. “Do you see a road called Clayton?”
“Yeah, here it is, Clayton Drive.” He pointed to it on the map.
“Then we are off to Thirty-Seven Clayton Drive.”
“Great going, T.” He held her gaze and smiled broadly.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”
An hour later, Jack and Taylor pulled onto Clayton Drive. It was another long and dusty road that seemed to go on forever. Just when they thought they had hit another dead-end, they pulled in front of a small Cape Cod that backed into woods. There were no other houses around. Jack turned to Taylor and raised his eyebrows.
“Not what I expected, but here goes nothing.”
She unlatched her seat belt, but he put a hand over hers.
“Wait here until I assess the situation. I don’t know what we might be walking into. Get in the driver’s seat—that way you can take off if you have to.”
“Seriously? We’re in this together. I can take care of myself.”
“Sorry.”
They approached the front door, and it opened before they had a chance
to knock. Standing before them was an older man with white hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He smiled warmly.
“We’ve been expecting you. Certainly took your time getting here.” He chuckled at their shocked expressions.
Jack held out his hand. “I’m Jack—”
The man interrupted him. “I know who you are.” He turned his attention to Taylor. “You, child, must be Taylor. Come in, come in.”
Taylor gave Jack a bemused look as they walked into the foyer. Now that they were inside the house, she saw that it was actually quite large—she could see into a long, eat-in kitchen and beyond it another large rectangular room. Before the door was shut, Beau began to bark from the backseat.
“Well, well. Who is that?”
“My dog,” Taylor replied.
“Go get him. Poor thing must be going crazy all cooped up.”
Taylor smiled gratefully and went immediately to retrieve him.
Beau ran into the house whimpering and licked the man’s hand, his tail swishing in a frenzy.
“Are you all going to stand in the hallway all day or come in the kitchen and have something to eat?” a voice called from the other end of the house.
The man smiled. “That’s Gilly. Come on, she’s eager to meet you.”
They were greeted by a sweet-looking older woman who was bustling around the kitchen and setting out a variety of scrumptious-looking desserts. She held out her arms and insisted on giving each of them a warm hug.
They sat at the round, wooden kitchen table. Jack cleared his throat, ready to start asking questions, but the man spoke again.
“Guess you’ll be wanting some explanations. I’m Professor Carl Rittenhouse and this is my lovely wife, Gilly. I taught at Harvard for the past thirty years. Retired last year, so I could devote myself full-time to my research and writing.” He leaned back in his chair.
“Jeremy was one of my students many years ago. One of the brightest but also the most troubled. He hated my class, didn’t think it applied to him, even sought to get it removed as a program requirement.”
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