Messages

by John Michael Hileman

  “Have you heard anything else about Brad Knight?” Claire asked. “They haven’t said much about him on the news.”

  “Not yet. He’s...” David’s pocket buzzed. “Hold on a second, my phone’s going off.” He reached in, pulled it out, and flipped it open. Immediately his blood ran cold. He twisted around on the couch and scanned the room. “Where’s Ben?”

  “What?” Sharon’s mouth gaped.

  “Ben! Where is he?”

  “He’s playing in the backyard. Why?”

  “Is he alone?”

  “Yes.”

  David sprang to his feet and ran toward the back of the house.

  “What’s wrong, David! What’s going on!”

  “Ben’s in danger!” He reached the sliding glass doors, and his heart constricted. Oh God! No! This isn’t happening! It was true. His son was alone, and the terrorists knew it.

  Ben’s fragile life was vulnerable to whatever evil the terrorists intended, and there was no way David could stop them. The twenty-five yards separating him from his son lying on the merry-go-round felt like a mile. David gripped the handle on the door.

  “David?” Sharon said, clutching his arm.

  He looked at his wife, his face shivering with emotion. There was so much to say, but no time. “Sharon,” he whispered, “if this is the wrong move, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He slid the door open and tore free from her urgent fingers.

  “David!”

  He leaped from the back porch onto the cold crisp ground. He didn’t call out. He didn’t announce his presence. He just ran as hard as he could. He ran, pushing with every ounce of his strength, bridging the gap between him and his son. I’m here! Take ME! Take your shot! I’M the one you want!

  But no shot rang out.

  Only the sound of crisp thuds on the cold ground, and short fevered breaths.

  The merry-go-round turned slowly and Ben’s head came into view. David struggled to keep his eyes trained on his son. Just as his face came around, something flashed in the darkness below. David slowed, his head tilted. What the... The tiny light blinked a slow steady rhythm. With each flash, David’s horror increased.

  “Dad?” Ben rose to a sitting position.

  “Ben! Don’t move!” David put his hand up. “Stay right there!” He slowed to a jog, then to a walk.

  “What is it?”

  “If you’ve ever listened to me, listen to me now. Stay where you are. Don’t move.” He reached the slowly spinning circle and got down on his hands and knees. Inside the dark opening of a large paper bag, the light blinked steadily. WHO put this here? How did they know? He drove his fist into the ground. When was this nightmare going to end? He crawled in closer and squinted. There was no countdown on the face of the device, which meant there was a remote detonator, or another trigger.

  Alex shouted from the porch. “David! What’s going on?”

  “It’s a bomb! Call the police!” Thank God it was Alex. He knew more about this kind of thing than David did.

  “Is there a timer?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t think so!”

  “I’m coming down there!”

  “No! It could go off!” He heard the ground crunching behind him, and for once, was actually grateful that Alex never listened to him. Even as kids, no matter how hard he argued, Alex always managed to talk him into going on some foolish adventure, which David never wanted any part of, mostly because Alex’s idea of adventure was always connected to something life threatening. And David liked living.

  “Well––what have we here?” Alex crawled up next to David.

  “Something blinking in a bag.”

  “Dad?”

  “Not now, Ben. Just hold tight.” Ben didn’t look happy. At all.

  “Here we go,” said Alex. “It’s pressure sensitive.” He poked his head up. “Ben, stay very still.” He put his mouth close to David’s ear. “This thing set itself when he got onto the merry-go-round, it’s rigged to blow when the trigger is released.”

  “Ben, do what Alex says. Don’t move.” David ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

  “Dad...”

  “Just do it!”

  Ben held his position. “Is it––a bomb, Dad?”

  He looked up at his son. “––Yes, Ben. That’s what it looks like. And if you move, it might go off.”

  “Where are your messages now, David?” said Alex, half under his breath.

  David snapped his head around. “Yeah. That’s what I need right now.”

  “Calm down, man.” Alex burrowed under the merry-go-round and carefully ripped the bag open.

  David looked over his shoulder and scanned the rooftops and windows of the houses on the other side of the fence. The dark feelings from yesterday still lingered in his mind. He could almost feel the cross hairs hovering over him. Watching him. Waiting for the perfect moment to end his life. Did they follow me here? If so, why not just kill me last night? Maybe they followed Jerry. No. They couldn’t have. A bug! Maybe they bugged Jerry’s car. But if that were true, they would have used his family against him last night. But they hadn’t. David stood up. “Alex?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What kind of terrorist plants a bomb under a merry-go-round, instead of on the side of the house?”

  “What on Earth are you talking about?”

  “I don’t think the terrorists want to kill me or my family. They just want to scare me.”

  Alex came out from under the merry-go-round. “I know you’re under a lot of stress, David, but snap out of it, your son needs you.”

  “What kind of terrorist warns his victims? No kind I’ve ever heard of. They just blow things up and let the terror ensue. There’s something different about these terrorists. They have a plan, and I fit into it somehow.”

  “David...”

  “Alex! If they wanted me dead, I’d be dead! If they wanted to kill my family, they would have done it already! They don’t want us dead, they want us scared! They could have thrown the bomb through the window and left a hollowed out socket for me to find. But they didn’t. They threaten me, play games with me!”

  Alex looked at him blankly.

  The emotion left David’s face. “Alex. Go back to the porch.”

  “What are you...”

  “GO BACK TO THE PORCH!”

  Ben’s eyes got wide. “Wh- what are you doing, Dad?”

  David turned around and began sitting down on the merry-go-round. “I’m taking your place.”

  “Dad!” Ben pushed at his father’s back.

  “You need to get up slowly as I sit down. I am going to replace your weight.”

  Alex took a step back. Then forward. “Have you lost your mind?”

  David looked at Ben with fierce intensity. “Get up slowly, son. Lean forward and get up slowly.”

  Ben’s body shook as he put more weight on his feet. David watched and applied more weight as his son got off. Ben turned to his father. His whole body was trembling. “Why, Dad? Why did you...”

  “Because I love you. Now go.”

  Ben began to cry. “I love you too, Dad. I don’t want you to die.”

  His heart broke. “I’m not going to die, Ben. I’ll be okay.”

  Sharon came down from the porch. Her face was covered with tears.

  “Go to your mom, son. Alex and I will take care of this.”

  Ben nodded and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then turned and ran across the lawn to the porch.

  Alex shoved a finger at him. “You’ve got a screw loose!”

  “It’s only going to get worse.” David looked up at his friend with lifeless eyes.

  “Please tell me you are not going to test your foolish theory.”

  “You never listen to me, Alex, but you don’t have a choice this time. I’m going to count to twenty, and then I’m going to stand.”

  Alex began to pace. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really believe these terrorists want you alive? They shot
at you last night! They tried to kill you in that parking lot! Have you forgotten?”

  “Why a sniper, Alex?”

  Alex’s face twisted in disbelief. “What?”

  “Why not drive up and shoot me in my car?”

  “I don’t know! Maybe they didn’t want to be seen.”

  “Why didn’t they kill Ben and cover up the cases of hazmat? Why threaten my family? Why not just kill them?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “They’ve had plenty of opportunity, but they’ve avoided taking it. Why? I’ll tell you why. They don’t want me dead!”

  “You’re nuts!”

  “One.”

  “Don’t do this, David!”

  “Two.”

  “You’re making a big mistake!”

  “Three.”

  Alex fell to the ground and crawled under the merry-go-round.

  David continued to count. “Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight...”

  “For the love of all that’s holy, at least count slow!”

  “Nine.”

  Alex wiggled like a worm, desperately tinkering with the bomb. David counted. The number climbed slowly, and as it did, David’s resolve solidified. He was going to do it. He was going to force their hand, and no one was going to stop him. Not even Alex. He had to know the intention of the terrorists. He wasn’t going to play their game any longer.

  “Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen...”

  Alex let out a long bold scream, like a warrior racing into battle.

  “Twenty.” David leaned forward and stood up. The merry-go-round squeaked, and a deafening silence filled the yard. David sucked in a deep breath and let out a stuttered exhalation. His whole body tingled with adrenaline. He turned and started backing away from the merry-go-round. The light was no longer flickering from the darkness below.

  Alex crawled out, got to his feet, and brushed himself off. “You are so gonna get a beating.”

  “I was right. It didn’t go off.”

  “You could have gotten us both killed!”

  “You didn’t have to stay.”

  “What was I going to do, let my best friend get splattered all over the yard in front of his wife and children?”

  “I knew what I was doing.”

  Alex came up into David’s face. “You were reckless!”

  “What is it with you? You never trust me! You’ve never trusted me! I know what I’m doing! But you don’t trust me!”

  “This isn’t about trust! This is about you making some kind of power play, risking your life on a foolish notion!”

  “Oh, it’s a power play? I question the all knowing Alex, and I’m on some kind of power trip! Call it what you want. You just don’t trust me.”

  Alex scowled. “I trust you.”

  “You always make the decisions and it burns your butt that I made one for a change. You’ve never trusted my opinion. You always do what you want!”

  “I don’t always agree with you, but I trust you.”

  “Then why don’t you listen? Why do you bully me into doing things your way?”

  Alex’s tone changed. “I’m persuasive. You think I’m a bully? You didn’t have to go along with me. I never forced you.”

  “You’re my best friend. I had to. Who else would keep you from getting yourself killed?”

  Alex looked wounded. “I didn’t know.”

  “Well now you know,” David said defiantly. It felt good to stand up to Alex. In all their time growing up, he had always looked up to Alex, but never once had he stood up to him.

  Alex reached out and gripped David by the back of the neck. David resisted, but Alex had a strong grip. He pulled David’s head in and their foreheads touched. Alex spoke softly. “I’m sorry, David. I should have listened more.”

  David looked down at the ground, his forehead pressed firmly against his friend’s. “Yeah. You should have.”

  “I’ll do better. You’re closer to me than family––than blood. I would never do anything to hurt you. If I’d known you felt this way, I wouldn’t have pressured you. You know that, right?”

  “I know, Alex. I’m sorry. I was frustrated.”

  They pushed apart.

  “You made the right choice today, and if I wasn’t such a prideful idiot, I would have listened.”

  The group from the porch gathered around them. Sharon put her arms around David.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “I called the police,” said Stan. “They’re on the way.”

  As Stan spoke, David heard the sirens echoing in the distance.

  They had been there all along. But he hadn’t noticed.

  Chapter 30

  Karen stepped into the newsroom, and was greeted with a standing ovation. She returned their enthusiasm with a humble acknowledgment, although she couldn’t have disagreed more with their praise. The story of the milk farm bomb threat had been left unfinished, and she had uncovered nothing about Brad. She felt like a complete failure.

  But the staff of Channel Seven thought differently. Karen had stood on a spot no other reporter could get to, and covered a story the entire country wanted to hear about, and got shot while the camera was rolling! Surely she had earned her fifteen minutes of fame.

  Fame? What an odd creature. It had a life of its own, choosing when it would come and to whom it would visit. People love the person who can do what they cannot. People love the ones who exude excellence. And Karen had displayed excellence simply by being where no other reporter could be. It didn’t matter that random luck had placed her on that spot that particular evening. The viewers didn’t care. She had displayed courage in the face of danger, and America had seen a beautiful, sophisticated woman willing to take a bullet to report on an impending public threat. Excellence. All excellence.

  Some crowded in to offer further congratulations on the story, some remarked on her recovery, others passed by with silent looks of camaraderie. Jim Coldfield came up and put a gentle arm around her. “It’s good to have you back in one piece.”

  She smiled graciously. “It’s good to be back.”

  “How’s the arm?”

  She wiggled it in the sling. “Never better.”

  “You’d say that if they cut it off.”

  She scrunched her face.

  “If you want to take some time off, I’ll understand.”

  “No. I’m all set.” She looked around the room.

  “I figured you’d say that. Well, your desk is right where you left it.” He gave her a squeeze on the shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  Jim left the newsroom, and Karen went to her desk. Still messy. No surprise there. She plopped down and slapped the space bar on her keyboard; the computer came to life. She had followed up on some things with her PDA at the hospital (much to the frustration of her doctors) but there was no replacing her desktop, her lifeline to the world of fluctuating information. She slid some newspapers out of the way, and a little pink Post-it caught her eye. It was attached to a Fed-Ex package. It said, page 49.

  What’s this? She ripped the package open to find a book inside, a novel by an author she had never heard of. She looked at the address on the package. It didn’t ring a bell. Maybe it had ended up on her desk by mistake? She cracked open the book and turned to page forty-nine. It was the first page of a chapter titled, The Tryst. Her eyes scanned the page. She didn’t know what the author of the Post-it wanted her to find. There was nothing noteworthy in the three paragraphs on page forty-nine, besides the mild coincidence that the main character’s name happened to be Karen.

  In the brief narrative, the woman found herself at eighty-five Chestnut Drive, a stately yellow house with black shutters, the home of her childhood sweetheart. She remembered fondly swinging from the tire swing that hung from the oak tree in the yard, and the love that had been kindled there, so many years ago, on that little dead end street in rural Massachusetts. She wante
d to go up the dirt driveway and knock on the door, but she didn’t dare. Instead she did what she and her former sweetheart, who still lived in the house, had agreed on. She beeped her horn three times to let him know she had come. And that was it. End of page.

  “You’re back,” said a voice over her shoulder.

  She turned and looked up. “Oh. Hi, Nerd.”

  “Got shot, huh?”

  Right to the obvious as always. Nerd had a gift for speaking the unnecessary.

  “Yep. Right in the arm.”

  “What’s that you’re reading?”

  Reading? The question caught her off guard. The book had made so little an impression, she’d already forgotten it was in her hand. “This?” She looked at the book, then around the office. “I think someone’s playing a practical joke on me. They left a Post-it on this Fed-Ex package with a page number on it.” She threw the book on her desk. “It’s nothing. Maybe someone put it here by mistake.”

  Nerd picked up the Post-it, and Karen gave him a quizzical stare. “Looks like David’s writing,” he said.

  “Chance? The intern? How do you know?”

  “David makes his p’s weird. See how it looks like the stem comes out of the center of the circle?” He stuck the note in front of her. “He does that when he’s rushing.”

  “Why would David Chance want me to look at some obscure page in a book?” She flicked the Fed-Ex envelope. “In a Fed-Ex package that hasn’t even been opened? And it’s not even from him!”

  “I don’t know. But if David did leave you the note, and I think he did, I would pay close attention.”

  Was he joking? She examined his expression. Nerd had the worst poker face of anyone she knew. If he was messing around, he couldn’t keep it from her.

  His countenance didn’t waver.

  “Well, sorry, I don’t get what he’s trying to tell me. He’ll have to explain it. I don’t have time for games.”

  “What did the book say?”

  “Please, Nerd. Whatever your fascination with this is, can you give it a rest? I have work to do. And as you so aptly mentioned only a few moments ago, I’ve been shot––so I’m a little irritable.”