by Ryan King
"Very good," Massengill answered. He reached for the latest specimen of NCF-102, but his hand froze. Tilting his head upward, he asked. "Do you hear that?"
Her face was blank. "What, doctor?"
"That blasted tapping," he answered. "Like metal on metal or something."
"I don't hear anything," she said. "Could be the guards up above."
He picked up an empty IV pole and raised it up in both arms, hitting the ceiling with the end several times. Standing still, he listened carefully.
"Nothing now," he said.
"Must have worked."
"Put on the music please," he said.
"Vivaldi?" she asked.
Massengill nodded. "Yes, Four Seasons. Let me see the subject's chart."
She started the music before handing the clipboard over. Twenty-eight-year-old female in excellent health. A+ blood type with borderline high blood pressure. The subject has never given birth, and examinations indicated that she has never been pregnant, making her perfect for the latest drug trial.
"Would you like me to proceed with the injection, doctor?" Helga asked.
"Go ahead," Massengill said, looking at the subject again. She was incredibly beautiful. Even her name was vaguely appealing.
Heather Daniels.
Chapter 27
Bridgett fidgeted, wanting to chew her nails, but she didn’t want to mess up her manicure. She forced herself to place her hands behind her back and try to look at ease. Lucas Ross made her nervous in a way that no other man could, and she didn't want him to ever comprehend the depth of that insecurity. Bridgett realized that her efforts at nonchalance were wasted since he was totally engrossed in the draft article she had given him.
"Holy shit," Lucas said, shaking his head and flipping a page.
She wanted to sit, but dared not without his permission, and this was not a time to ask or take liberties. There was danger in the air. Will he blame me for this? she wondered.
He threw the report down and pushed it away from him, disgusted. "I thought you had control over him?"
Bridgett swallowed and forced what she hoped was a casual smile. "Allen bought the story I told him about Jack Winters. The only problem was he started digging on his own."
"And dug a little deeper than we wanted," Lucas said, cutting his eyes toward the report. "Hell, he found out things my people haven't yet uncovered."
"He is a good journalist," Bridgett said.
Lucas sat back in his chair. "Yes, but how committed is he?"
She shook her head. "I don't understand the question, sir."
He picked up the report again. "This is a hell of a story. He's not only uncovered the disappearance of Jack Winters, but also the disappearances of his former girlfriend and four other college friends. One of whom is actually a soldier who is AWOL. I'm surprised he delayed running the story at all."
"I asked him to let us see it first," she said. "Told him given the governor's connection to Jack Winter's father that we might have a comment."
"And now we have to give a comment," said Lucas with a frown. "Otherwise there will be a sentence at the end saying that the governor refused to comment."
Bridgett looked away towards the door, but then forced herself to relax and meet his gaze. "Sir, it was the only way I could think to get him to delay running the story. As it is, he's looking to send it to his editor soon."
Lucas sighed and rubbed his head. "Can you talk him out of it?" he finally asked, looking her up and down suggestively. "Tell me the truth."
She frowned and ran her hands down her slim waist and full hips before forcing her hands together again behind her back. "Sir, Allen is quite fond of me, but he realizes this is a story that he cannot pass up. At his core, he is a journalist. He loves reporting. There's no way I can convince him to just forget about this."
Staring at her hard for several seconds, he finally picked back up the report. He spun in his chair and began to feed the report page by page into a shredder. When he was finished, he turned back to her and seemed more composed.
"All right then," he finally said. "Tell your young and eager reporter that the governor's office would like to speak to him about this story. Stress that this will be off the record, and if he tells his editor we are speaking with him, it's off. Tell him there are some things about Jackson and Jeremiah Winters that the governor knows but has kept secret. That should whet his journalistic appetite."
"And then what?" she asked.
"I'll call Devin and he'll call you," Lucas said. "I imagine he will give you a location where Allen can meet a representative of the governor's office. Stress to your reporter friend that he can tell no one about this. No one."
Bridgett hesitated, thinking about Allen and his strong hands and alligator smile. "Sir, does it really have to come to that?"
His eyes narrowed at her, and his hands knotted together tightly on his desk in front of him.
Her heart began beating even faster, and she felt the fluttering of death around her like a murder of crows swarming the office. She had stumbled into working for Lucas for the exceptional pay funneled from rich lobbyists, but she sometimes wondered if it wasn’t enough considering how it all might end for her. She forced herself to smile as seductively as possible. "It's just that we have worked so hard to cultivate this relationship. He could still be useful to us, granted he is such a silly boy."
Lucas leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk. "Bridgett, I chose you to be a part of our team because of your considerable skill and persuasive abilities. You have been a valuable member and helped us to accomplish things that are part of the greater good. I judge you can see the bigger picture and understand that things can get messy at times. Can I still count on you?"
Bridgett felt tension in the air and knew her very life was on the line. She thrust her hip out in his direction and tossed her hair back. "Why, sir, of course. He is only a silly boy, after all. We can't let him interfere in what we are doing."
He stared at her with narrowed eyes for a few more moments before nodding. "All right then. Devin will be in touch. Do what he says."
She nodded and turned to leave.
"One more thing," Lucas said.
Bridgett stopped and turned slowly.
"Make sure there is no connection between you and Allen. You'll need to go through his apartment, car, wallet, everything. Throw away the burner phone you've been using to talk to him. Nothing can tie back to this office. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," she answered, feeling faint.
"And you've followed my instructions?" Lucas pressed. "No one has seen you out in public? He's kept the relationship a secret?"
Bridgett nodded. "He still believes I'm married and will leave my husband for him. He knows that no one can know."
"Good," answered Lucas. "I'll get you a new target soon."
She turned slowly and moved out of the office as if in a dream.
Lucas picked up the phone and punched in a number.
"Yes?" answered Devin.
"I've got a job for you," said Lucas, staring thoughtfully out the open door at a retreating Bridgett. "Maybe two jobs. I need you back here tonight."
Chapter 28
Deloy Dequese had asked his daughter to go fishing with him in order to try and cheer her up. After her mother ran off, he and Rena spent nearly every day out on the gulf together. The tranquil waters had soothed their rejected and broken hearts and helped them to draw closer together. In many ways, Deloy would say that he had truly become a father in those difficult days. Now Rena seemed more distant from him than he could remember.
He pulled the boat into the cove where he regularly docked and cut the engine. Rena jumped out of the boat and onto the old weathered surface, tying them off. She then unlocked the thick chain and ran it through a ring on the bow to secure it. Thieves were rare, but it never hurt to be careful. They gathered their gear, which didn't take long. The day had been largely unproductive, both in catchin
g fish and reconnecting with each other.
They walked along the worn trail and the silence between them felt pregnant with deeper meaning. Deloy had never been a talker, but the deadness that existed between them was more than he could bear.
"We had no choice," he said simply.
She grunted and shook her head. "We always have choices. Isn't that what you taught me?"
"You know what I mean," he said. "That man was trouble. All the people who go to the camp are. That's why they take them off the mainland and send them here...to start a better life."
Looking at him angrily, she picked up her pace. "Even you don't really believe that. You know what they do there."
"That man was trouble," Deloy repeated. "What were we supposed to do? Hide him? Sneak him off the island?"
They rounded the curve in the trail and walked into the neat opening that surrounded their cabin. She started up the stairs, but Deloy grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. He meant it to be gentle, but she resisted and it became rough.
Wrenching away from him, her eyes appeared on fire. "We could have tried. That's what we could have done, instead of letting them take him."
He stepped back from his daughter in surprise. Deloy had seen that look on her face before, but never directed at him.
He frowned. "They would have found out and it would have been bad. I had to protect us, protect you. We owe them."
She nodded, angry tears starting to form in her eyes. "Yeah, we owe them. They saved your life when the doctors said there was no hope and I'm grateful for that, but that doesn't mean we're indebted to them forever and have to do everything they say. Especially when it's wrong. Don't you understand? He trusted us and we betrayed him. Why doesn't that bother you?"
Deloy felt his own heat rising. "We have nothing to be ashamed of. He would have died without our help. You saved his life. No need to feel bad about anything."
"Isn't there?" she asked her hands on her hips. "We saved his life only to give it away to them," she said, pointing to the west "What do you think they're going to do to him?"
"It's for the greater good," said Deloy, and he hated how weak his voice now sounded.
She shook her head at him. "That's the first time I've ever known you to lie to me. To use their words. Their slogans. Not even when mother left did you try to shelter me by lying. Why are you doing it now?"
"Why does this bother you so much?" he asked. "We've turned in runaways before. This is just—"
"Because I love him!" she screamed, tears running freely now. "Because I love him. And he might have even loved me."
"Oh darling," said Deloy, reaching out for her. "You only knew each other a few days."
She pulled back away from him. "Don't. It's not something you can fix or explain away." Looking down at the ground, she sought words. Finally, she looked up at him. "It bothers me because I'm ashamed."
Deloy didn't know what to say and only stared at her until she turned and walked away into the woods.
"Rena," he called, but she ignored him and continued. He thought about following. She needed time though, time alone in the forest. She had always found peace there. It would heal her again, he hoped.
Picking up their fishing gear, he climbed the stairs heavily and walked into the cabin. After setting the gear on the floor, he turned to the kitchen to begin cleaning the few fish they had caught for dinner. Something made him freeze and peer into the shadowy corner of the room. There was a presence that didn't belong.
"It's me," said an old but strong voice from the chair in the corner. "I'm sorry to come in uninvited, but I didn't really think you would mind."
"Johnny?" asked Deloy. "What are you doing here? I thought you left the island."
"I did for awhile," the old black man answered, "but this is my home. Even if I have no home anymore. My roots are here and bones belong here. Nowhere else seems right."
Recovering himself, Deloy picked up the fish and walked into the adjacent kitchen. "Well, you're welcome to stay for dinner. Where do you plan to live?"
"I thought I would stay here," said Uncle Johnny with a smile.
Deloy laughed nervously. "You know you're welcome, but do you think that's really best? I mean, what do you believe will happen if they find out you're here?"
"Now why in the world would they find that out?" asked Johnny. "Unless you decided to tell them."
"I would never do that," said Deloy, his jaw tight. "You're a guest under my roof."
"Forgive me," said Johnny, "but I couldn't help overhearing some of the conversation between you and your lovely daughter. If I might say, it appears you have done just that. And recently."
The big man turned away and laid out a medium-sized red snapper on the cutting board while pulling the knife out of his belt. As he began cleaning the fish, he realized how easy it would be to get rid of the meddling old man. He would get them into trouble with the camp. It could be dangerous for Rena.
"Whatever you're thinking of doing," said Johnny, "I won't stop you. You can turn me in or...whatever other solution you may have come up with."
Deloy savagely buried the tip of the knife into the board and spun on the old black man. "I didn't ask for any of this. I'm just trying to protect and raise my daughter. Things get all complicated when strange men like you and...well, like you come around."
"Tell me about the other one," said John. "The man your daughter is in love with."
Turning back around, Deloy worked the knife carefully out of the wood so as not to break the point. "Not much to say, just another mainlander. You know the type."
"Yes," answered John slowly. "Why don't you tell me anyway? Indulge an old man."
Deloy shook his head and remembered something. "He actually said he knew you. Wondered what happened to your old house. I told him you had died."
"How very nice of you," said Johnny.
"What was I supposed to tell him?" said Deloy. "That they burned you out and ran you off, nearly killing you in the process? That they still ask about you and would love to track you down? Honestly, Johnny, why the hell would you come back here after all this time?"
"Like I said," answered Johnny, "this is my home."
"Well, this is my home," answered Deloy. "And you're putting my daughter and me in danger."
The old man chuckled. "You're already in danger. You just don't have the sense to figure it out."
"What the hell do you mean by that?" asked Deloy.
Johnny stood and moved up close to Deloy. "Do you think that when they are done with what they're doing over there that they will leave any witnesses?"
"We promised them we wouldn't talk," said Deloy more confidently than he felt. "We're loyal to them and they know they can trust us. We've never said anything to anyone."
Johnny stared at the big man and smiled sadly. "Why don't you tell me about this man your daughter loves."
"It doesn't matter. He's gone, and we won't see him again."
"Then why are you so reluctant to talk about him?" asked Johnny.
Deloy stopped cutting the fish and sighed. "Fine. His name was Jack. Actually told Rena he was a lawyer, but I doubt that. Only bums and dregs get sent to Bog Island."
Johnny frowned. "A lawyer named Jack? Did he say anything else?"
"Actually he did," said Deloy, turning to face him. "He said he knew you. That you used to work for his father. Called you Uncle Johnny or some such nonsense."
Johnny Crittenton sat down heavily in the kitchen chair behind him.
Chapter 29
Amanda and Brian were together again playing in the woods as they had when they were children. Both of them were grown now, but the years hadn't come between them as in real life. They held hands and talked and shared. Amanda knew it wasn't real, that her brother was dead, but she didn't want reality. It hurt too much. She dove into the wonderful oblivion of her dream and turned her back on reality.
"You hungry?" he asked her, pointing at the rows of bushes pregnant wit
h ripe blackberries.
She smiled and began popping them into her mouth, as did he. Her stomach rumbled, and it felt like she couldn't get enough of them.
"Easy now," he said, putting his hand on her arm. She looked down and saw a spot of blood on his hand and what looked suspiciously like a piece of brain and bone.
"Wha-wha-wah is that?" she asked and realized she had stuttered. Amanda hadn't stuttered since she was ten and hardly ever around Brian. For some unknown reason, the condition was rare in girls. It had never bothered her brother but made her parents embarrassed and disinterested of her.
Three of the soldiers from the clearing emerged from behind trees, except they were dressed like kids from school. "Aw, look at the little stuttering fr-fr-fr-freak," said Jimmer, now dressed in a high school letter jacket.
Lyles and Brennan, who were dressed to match, laughed as well.
"Leave her alone," said Brian, standing between her and the boys. He had always protected her against the bullies and those that teased her. Her brother had taken some serious beatings over the years on her behalf, but he didn't seem to care.
She tried to pull him back. "Don't, Brian. It's o-k-k-kay."
"K-k-k-" mimicked Jimmer while moving close to Brian. "That's the sound your sister is going to make when we pull down her panties and nail her over and over again until she bleeds."
Her brother flew at Jimmer, who kept smiling evilly at her even as punches landed on his face and body.
"Stop it!" she screamed. "He already killed you!"
Both Brian and Jimmer did stop and turned to look at her. She saw that Jimmer's throat was cut and that a large portion of Brian's head was missing.
Her brother gazed at her with sad eyes. "I'm dead, too, you know."
"No you're not," she cried. "Don't say that!"
"It's true," he insisted. "You can't stay in this place. If you do, you'll die."
"I don't care," she answered covering her face. "You can't be dead." Noticing that she wasn't stuttering anymore, she looked up and saw the three boys were now gone.