by Martha Carr
“Makes sense,” he said, marking the hole with another ‘x’. “Nice wide view of the room and no one ever looks up there anyway. Look, you can see the back door from there too. Will be interested to see if these cameras connect. Doubt it. Probably all wireless and top shelf.”
“What if it were the Feds doing this?” asked Wallis. Alan let out a short, surprised laugh.
“Who are the Feds? Right now, that’s the Circle. That’s possible,” he said, giving a shrug. “It’s alright. Whoever might be listening would know all of this. What could you be doing that the Circle wants to know this badly? Could be Management, who have been the Feds in the past. It’s an interesting concept that the Feds is a label that can be shed.”
“Sometimes your Zen gets on my nerves,” said Wallis, turning to go back down the hallway.
“My wife says the same thing all the time,” said Alan. “Hey, another one. The kitchen was jacked up.” He sounded impressed.
Wallis went up the stairs trying not to make any noise. It was a ridiculous thought. She had already made so much noise that if Harriet was home, she was sitting up, waiting for her.
“I knew something was wrong.” Her mother was sitting up in the same guest room where Tom had recuperated after his leg was broken. She had on a short pink quilted bed jacket tied in a bow at the neck with her small pearl-handled pistol in her lap. Her makeup was flawless and her hair wasn’t matted at all from lying in bed. Ladies Home Journal magazines were nearby.
“You’re always ready at a moment’s notice to take someone out. No days off for recovering from a stroke. I see you have the close range variety today. Thank goodness it wasn’t your shooting hand.”
“Agreed. And a small gun can take care of some pretty big jobs. Ask Oscar,” said Harriet, pulling her lips into a straight, thin red line. “I know this is going to be bad. You look like you were dragged behind a tractor in a plowed field and you’re trying to distract me with your idea of a sense of humor. You get that from me. We kill them with laughter. Your father was much too straight forward to see the angles.”
“You have several methods of killing. I don’t seem to have gotten that one from you,” said Wallis, sitting down on the other side of the bed, picking at the bed spread. Harriet gathered the magazines and tossed them onto the floor.
“This is bad. Sitting down next to me and on a work day. Don’t want to tell me yet?” asked Harriet, studying her daughter’s face. “Okay, most bad news doesn’t change if you wait to tell it. And don’t be so sure you don’t have more of me in there. That part of you that wants to believe the world resets itself to a natural cooperation is at war with the part that believes we scratch out an existence in the middle of anarchy. I’m the cooperation,” said Harriet, arching a perfectly drawn eyebrow.
“Your father was the anarchy,” she said. “Don’t frown, dear, it causes wrinkles. I know, I know. You’re his daughter and you loved him with all your heart. As it should be. But he turned a blind eye to everything Management was doing and let them use him when they needed to, to still the waters.”
Wallis blanched when she realized that’s what George Clemente was demanding she do for him.
“Norman is gone,” she whispered, as a round teardrop hit the bedspread, soaking into the chenille leaving a faint, dark oval.
Harriet noisily let out a breath, waiting a moment before she answered. She reached out and took her daughter’s hand.
“I know he didn’t leave you. The man loves you beyond his ability to reason. That was proven when he stood up to his father to marry you. Even stood up to Esther, which despite what everyone says couldn’t have been pleasant.”
Wallis grimaced, trying to get out the next words.
“Is he dead?” asked Harriet, giving Wallis’ hand a squeeze.
“No,” said Wallis, as she leaned in to whisper into her mother’s ear. “He’s been taken. There’s more,” she said, telling Harriet all of it despite what she had been thinking. “Alan Vitek is downstairs. We found cameras.”
She sat back and watched her mother’s eyes widen as she pulled the bed jacket closed.
“I don’t know where it is safe to talk,” whispered Wallis. Harriet rolled her eyes and leaned over to turn on her radio. BBC News came on. There was a loud buzzing in the background.
“Have you checked that for bugs?” asked Wallis.
“Every day,” said Harriet in crisp tones. “Not my first day on the job. First thing I do every morning is check all the devices and last thing I do at night.”
“It’s our family’s version of bedtime reading,” said Wallis. “Like the Brothers Grimm.”
“Someone always dies a horrible death in those stories. Have you ever noticed? Do you know who took him? Wait, I can guess this one. George Clemente,” Harriet said in a hushed tone. “Do you know that Norman is alive?”
Wallis pulled the photo from her pocket, staring at the image for a moment before gingerly handing it over to her mother. Harriet took it by the corners and held the picture closer, studying the details.
“He’s not restrained, that’s good. They don’t see him as a threat,” she said, still talking in a low voice. “And he looks defiant, so they’re not torturing him at all. Norman was trained, well somewhat, for something just like this. His father insisted all of his sons be trained. He never did get over what happened. I suppose you don’t. I supposed I know that too.”
Wallis’ throat ached with the words she wanted to spill out but Norman was the one person she could take all of them to and let them go.
“They want something badly, or I should say, he does. What though?” asked Harriet, looking up at Wallis. “They’ve been in contact? They want you, don’t they? Damn them,” she said, angry, gripping the handle of the gun in her lap.
“No one to shoot right now, Mother. Yes, he wants me. It’s for propaganda. He wants me to give a speech to a Management crowd of bigwigs.”
“Not bigwigs, dear. I’d imagine it will turn out to be a high level of middle management. The worker bees who interact with all of the field operatives and the recruits. He wants to make them doubt their existence. Very clever, actually, and after all the losses they suffered, good timing.”
“Can we stop admiring him?”
“Making sure everyone knows how angry you are at your opponent is a distraction,” said Harriet.
“That sounds like something Alan Vitek would say.”
“I wondered who was helping you downstairs. I thought it might be Father Donald. He must be beside himself.”
“He was there when Norman was taken. They were in the parking lot of St. Stephen’s.” Wallis’ face twitched at the images she created in her head.
“Well planned, I’m sure. The Father will be blaming himself. You have to have a certain amount of internal guilt for that profession. But there would have been a determined group. Even if I’d been there I could have only taken out one or two of them. What does Alan say?”
“Not a lot just yet, besides to stop seeing it all as good versus evil.”
“Oh yes, the waters are much too muddy for that kind of contest.”
“How do you know Alan?”
“He’s a favorite of Esther’s. When she likes someone, she becomes like a mother hawk. Not as maternal as a hen and a lot more watchful.”
“You never picked out favorites, did you?” asked Wallis, trying not to let it sound like an insult. Harriet’s mouth drew into another red straight line anyway.
“As long as I was the other Keeper and had that diary I couldn’t afford to be seen as having favorites. Who you choose says a lot about you. I warned Esther about that more than once. She was drawing a bullseye on anyone she picked out of the crowd. But, I get why she likes Alan Vitek. No one’s player. Did you know that? He refuses to choose a side. He’s not actually a member of the Circle and has never been a part of Management. He’s an independent observer. Imagine that.”
“How does he get away with it?” asked Wall
is, with a little resentment in her voice.
“Born under different circumstances. But anyone who’s alive and breathing is a part of the game, whether they know it or not. That’s unavoidable. And if it wasn’t Management trying to manage the world and the Circle fighting the good fight, it would be someone else. It’s human nature. Alan Vitek is in the game but he’s playing by his rules. Just like me, for the most part. Having the key to that diary made things a little complicated. Still, it was something I chose. I wanted revenge.”
“For your family in Germany?”
“Your family too, and yes. I have no regrets, if you’re wondering. This all had to be done and if not me, then why someone else?”
“Do you have anything from that side of my family? Pictures, letters?” asked Wallis.
“Yes, some, but for another time. First, we rescue Norman. I take it Ned doesn’t know yet.”
“No,” said Wallis, standing, “and he’ll be home soon. I have to at least wash my face, look hopeful.”
“Put on a little color, dear. You look too ashen,” said Harriet.
“Why does that sound oddly comforting coming from you?” asked Wallis.
“Consistency, dear.”
“Telling Ned is going to take courage. That’s more your department.”
“Wallis Jones, that is a bold faced lie. Courage isn’t a steely exterior. I assume that’s what you meant about me. It’s okay, I own it. Courage is being smart enough to be afraid and doing something anyway. That’s you.”
“There’s more than a few lawyers in town who would say I have the steely exterior too.”
“That’s just envy. Pay them no mind. Do what has to be done because it has to and let that be enough. Opportunities George Clemente didn’t see coming will present themselves, and when they do we will finally filet the bastard like we should have all along.” Wallis saw the flash of anger pass across her mother’s face and wondered what the backstory was behind it. It wasn’t like Harriet to get mad as much as just get even. When there was more time Wallis was going to try and get it out of her. No more long family secrets. It was too dangerous.
Wallis managed to wash her face and reluctantly tried to put on some makeup, admitting to herself Harriet had a point. Her pale pallor wasn’t going to help convince Ned that things would be alright, especially since she’d already be fighting her own doubts when she told him.
Ned came through the door singing, “Welcome to my house. Play that music too loud. Show me what you do now.”
His singing stopped abruptly. “Mom? Hey, Mom!” he shouted, bounding up the stairs, his feet falling heavily on each step.
“In here,” yelled Wallis, taking one last look in the mirror as she walked quickly through the master bedroom. She still couldn’t take herself to look around the room. Too much of Norman was in there. Norman when he was safe and sound.
“Who’s that in the living room? What’s he doing?” asked Ned, bounding into the room. He looked more curious than concerned. Wallis wanted him to stay that way. It’s not even fair anymore, thought Wallis. He has to know.
“He works for your dad and me. That’s Alan Vitek, our private investigator. He’s looking for bugs, cameras, that sort of thing,” she said, working at sounding routine, calm.
“Routine check?” asked Ned. “What are we doing out in the hall?” he said, brushing past her into the master bedroom. “Where’s Dad? He be home soon? He’s finally coming home today, right? I want to make Sloppy Joes but not with the can stuff. We were supposed to do that a couple days ago but then he got called out of town.”
Wallis reluctantly followed him into her room and made herself take a long look around at the tie and jacket that were still on the back of his favorite chair. She walked over and turned on the small clock radio on her side of the bed, just in case outsiders were listening. Alan hadn’t swept the upstairs yet.
Norman’s side of the bed was stacked high with books he most likely had started and abandoned for the next one. He always swore he was getting back to them. Wallis usually gave it a month and then found a shelf for the bottom few. Not right now, though, she thought. Let them stay till Norman comes home.
“Mom? You listening?” Ned was snapping his fingers in front of her face. A standard teenage ploy. His bangs were sweeping down in front of his face, covering one of his eyes. It didn’t seem to bother him.
“Can we sit down?” she asked. She wasn’t interested in sitting and knew it wouldn’t help but she was unsure how to start.
“Why, what’s happened?” he said, his expression slowly going from open and curious to suspicious, stepping back from her. It was a measure of how far he had come that it took a minute for him to be able to grasp at the old emotions that had eaten at him after the last blow up. He had even settled back into his room and rarely talked about any of it. At least not to Wallis. She wondered how much they could do without Norman. He was the ballast.
Ned started shaking his head, still looking at her.
“Where’s Dad?” he asked, his eyes growing wider with fear.
“He’s not dead,” said Wallis, having learned from Father Donald when he had tried to tell her. It was only yesterday.
“But he’s not okay,” said Ned, his voice breaking into a squeak. It hadn’t done that in a while. He was becoming a young man, finally taller than his mother, his voice deepening. He sounded more like his father every day.
“He’s not okay, no,” said Wallis, digging her nails into her palm. She was determined not to cry. “He’s been abducted.”
It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Ned exploded into a spinning human form full of rage. Wallis had no idea how to stop him or even slow him down. She backed up, trying to let him get it out.
“What?” he kept shouting. “Why does this keep happening to us? What did we do that this shit keeps showing up at our door?” he yelled. “Literally at our door! There is no safe place to go! Where did they take him? It was from here, wasn’t it?”
All if it was yelled as loud as he could, his eyes wild. Wallis became aware of how much he was all knees and elbows. She had to swallow hard as the thought of Ned growing up with Norman came over her. I’m not enough, she thought. She shut her eyes for a moment. Please stay alive, Norman. I will do what they want. We will come and get you.
“What are you doing? Are you crying?” asked Ned. “We need more than that right now. We need to go get him. People have to know where he is. Does that guy downstairs know?”
“I’m not crying,” said Wallis, stung by the words. “I will tell you everything I know. Hold nothing back. You have a right to know. But we have to act like a team. They want things from us and we are going to have to all work together if we’re going to figure out how to give them what they want and get your dad back.”
“Who is they?” asked Ned, his hands on top of his head.
“A man named George Clemente. You met him before.”
“I remember him. He killed Uncle Harry.”
Wallis knew Norman must have told him the truth. He was better at telling Ned the harder things.
“Do you know Dad is still alive?” asked Ned, tears running down his face.
Wallis pulled out the photo and handed it to Ned who held it by the corners.
“Dad!” he cried. He looked up at Wallis. “Tell me everything. Everything! I’m in this one all the way. I’m not asking your permission.”
“I get that,” said Wallis, her eyes filling with tears. “You have a right to fight alongside us. Besides, we need you. I’m sorry if we made you, if I made you feel left out.”
“Don’t apologize! Goddammit! We don’t have time for your mothering.” He is so angry, she thought. I can take his anger, if that’s what’s needed. This is what I did to Harriet, she thought as she brushed away a tear, determined to still look at her son. Let him know she was in this with him.
“You’re right,” she said, feeling herself calming down. “We need to come up with a pl
an as a family. But first, I need to tell you everything. There’s a lot to fill in and it’s going to have to start with your grandmother’s story,” said Wallis. “I want you to understand, I get it. We stop waiting for them to bring the fight to us. This time, we go after them. This time we go in knowing we’re going to take some skin.”
Chapter 15
Ned waited till the house was quiet. Searching the house for cameras and microphones had taken a couple of hours and netted ten different cameras, two of them more amateur than the rest. No audio bugs were ever found even after Alan Vitek went to his office and came back with a more sophisticated sweeping device than his mother’s phone.
Still, Ned thought it was cool that she knew how to find a camera with her phone. Halfway through they ordered pizza but no one ate very much. Ned kept thinking of his dad somewhere out there, hungry, waiting to be rescued.
Nothing his mother, or Alan, or his Grandmother Harriet said about planting GPS threads on his father, or how much they still needed something from the entire family made him feel much better. He knew what the same man had done in the end to his Uncle Harry.
Shot him in the face.
George Clemente had shot his uncle in the face and gotten away with it. There was no trial, no manhunt for him. Apparently, that wasn’t the way things worked when it was Management against the Circle.
No one really talked about it all, till tonight. His dad had tried to bring it up a couple of times but he had looked like he was in so much pain. He was just trying to do the good dad thing. Ned let him off the hook and told him he had a lot to do. They could talk about it later. Eventually, Norman stopped bringing it up and given a little more time they even started laughing together again.
Their old routine of cooking together in the kitchen came back and Ned’s brain went back to wandering, thinking about what he could take apart in the house and reinvent as something altogether different. The parts of the riding lawnmower were spread out over half of the garage. He planned to sync it with an iPad and install new features.