Why hasn’t Vandermill come? Didn’t he hear the shots? Maybe the sound didn’t carry all the way out to his helicopter. Maybe Aileen and her cats were waiting for him. If not I wish that he’d hurry up and get it over with.
After Sean covered Randall’s body, and we, the Price family, settled together, he sat down on one of the logs and stared off into the dark reaches of the cavern; his gun comfortably resting on his lap. From my sideways position, I watch the aura around his body. It is hard to see in the lamp and fire light, but I get the impression of soft blue, but sometimes it fades to tan, or all the way to khaki. I try to remember what the colors mean but all I get is a loving, emotional person who has to spend much time internalizing a problem before coming up with a solution. How does that fit with this gun-toting goon?
I had blocked any of his thoughts, not wanting to see how he was planning to do us in. Now I begin to understand that maybe that’s not what he is thinking.
I slip into his mind.
What I see brings me to a sitting position, and then to my feet. My head spins for a second, and I can feel a throb where my head struck the ground.
“Becky?”
“It’s okay, Mom.” The throb recedes and I walk over to Sean and crouch down in front of him. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen Miranda, hasn’t it?”
“How do you know about her?”
I ignore the question. “She’s almost a teenager. Take it from me, who is one, you should be there for her. Whether she knows it, or will even like it, she’s going to need you.”
“Who are you?” He is not listening to my words. He’s more focused on the fact that I know about his daughter.
“You’re sitting here trying to figure out how to get out from under Vandermill’s control.”
His brow pulls together and his eyes, locked on mine, close to a slit.
I glance over at Dad. He’s watching me very closely, well aware of what I’m doing. “You don’t work for him just for the pay, do you? He has a hold over you. What is it?”
He suddenly stands. I fall backwards. He grabs my arm and forces me back to Mom and Dad, and then shoves me the last few feet. “Stay there! Don’t say another word!” He takes three steps away and then looks back at me. “Sit down!”
I sit, cross-legged next to Mom. He returns to his stool.
“What were you doing?” Mom whispers.
“He saved our lives. I thought maybe he was turning against his boss.”
“Who is Miranda?”
“His daughter. She’s twelve, I think. He hasn’t seen her in a long time. For some reason I remind him of her. That’s why he killed Randall.”
Dad reaches across Mom and pats me on the knee. I look at him. He points to his head and then mine. I open up.
You hit something when you asked if Vandermill has a hold over him. That’s how he works.
I know. I read about it in your journal.
Dad says, I think that’s how he gets most of his people. He buys their loyalty.
“What are you guys talking about?” Mom demands.
I tell her.
“So we know that. What good does it do us?”
Dad and I look at each other and sit back. There has to be a way of using that knowledge. I have to know more.
I close out Dad, and again reach into Sean’s mind.
Chapter 67
Reba
I get an image of a little girl in a hospital bed, and then a doctor saying to him that she needs an organ transplant immediately, but that there currently is nothing available on the national organ transplant system.
The organ is a heart.
The depth of his sadness is great. He has pushed himself and his wife to the end of their money just to keep their only child alive. Now it’s only a matter of time.
Vandermill appears; contacted by a friend of a friend of the family. A heart arrives, and the operation happens. All expenses are taken care of. Sean willing becomes a lifelong employee of Victor Vandermill’s.
Just like that.
Sean is riddled with guilt. At the time he thought it was the money for which he was forever obligated. Recently he learned that Vandermill had arranged for the heart to become available.
Holy shit to hell!
He had selected another child—a very alive and very healthy child—in some other corner of the United States, to become a heart donor.
Holy shit to hell to the umpteenth power!
And then it was just recently, like a few days ago, that Sean learned that Randall was the person who carried out the order from Vandermill. It was Randall who killed the girl so that she would give up her heart for his Miranda.
Sean never liked Randall. Now, after knowing what he had done, Sean had no problem taking his life to save ours. He couldn’t watch Randall kill another child . . . me. And now . . . oh God!. . . he is preparing to take his own life. At the same time I see the thought, I feel it in my chest and then see it actually happen in my psychic mind. He is really going to do it right now. He brings his gun around to point it at himself.
“No!” I jump to my feet. “It’s not your fault.” What am I doing? If he kills himself, we can take his gun, and Randall’s, and then maybe we can fight our way out of here.
He turns his face toward me, full of hopelessness and defeat.
“Vandermill is the one to blame. You didn’t know. If you had known, you wouldn’t have chosen to kill another little girl to save Miranda.” I’ve got his attention, at least for a minute or two. I’ve momentarily deflected his suicide.
He forms the question in his mind, but before he says it, I crouch in front of him again and say softly, “I know about this because . . .” I almost confess my power, “. . . I can’t tell you. I just know. Killing yourself is not the answer. Your death will not stop it from happening again to someone else.” My heart is pulsing hard, each beat causing a stab of pain at the injury on the back of my head. “You aren’t the monster.” I point to the form of Randall’s body under the blanket where a bandaged foot sticks out. “He was.” I drop my hand. “And Victor Vandermill still is.”
He rises to his feet again and looks down at me. His gun is pointed at the ground.
“If you feel you have to kill anyone, kill the one who is responsible. Kill Vandermill.”
He knows I’m right, but the thought of turning on his boss scares him.
“What the hell is going on!”
We look up at Vandermill looking down at us. Baldy and Nick stand next to him, their automatic weapons pointed our way. Unlike Randall, I’m sure they have their safeties turned off. A shutter runs through my body. How much did he hear? I was talking quietly. He couldn’t have heard anything over the waterfall.
He looks directly at Sean for a few seconds, and then says, “Is she trying to sweet talk you, Sean. Do you blame her? She’s gotten her family into a tight spot and is battling to get out of it, coming up with whatever tool she can think of. Don’t fall for her female lies. Be also aware, Sean, that your obligation to me is nearly up. I have been preparing to cut you from my employment, with a healthy seven figure severance of course, so that you may return to your family.”
Bullshit! I instantly jump into Sean’s mind and talk to him. Don’t believe him, Sean.
Vandermill says, “Miranda is getting to that age where she needs her father, don’t you think?”
Sean is now looking at me. Shock and confusion replaces his earlier face.
“Don’t look at her, Sean. Look at me. Tell me you’re not listening to her bullshit.”
He’s right, Sean. Don’t look at me. You’re going to have to pretend your loyalty or he will kill you right now.
He looks back up at Vandermill and laughs. “She’s a piece of work, that’s for sure.”
“That she is, Sean. That she is.” Vandermill starts down with Nick. Baldy remains in place, keeping an eye on us. I back up and sit-down next to Mom again.
Dad pats my knee. I ignore him. He pats mo
re and then it turns into a slap.
What!
What happened?
I don’t know.
Whose side is he on?
I don’t know.
Mom pats my knee.
“What?” I whisper, but my voice is angry.
“What just happened?”
“I stopped him from killing himself,” I whisper and then tell her what I learned about his daughter. By the time I finish, Vandermill is with us. I shut up.
He lifts the blanket, looks at Randall, and then turns his growing rage at us. “What the hell happened here?” Mom is shaking against me. “I leave for ten minutes and come back to find one of my men shot to death and everyone sitting around having a fireside chat. What the hell happened, Sean?”
“He went nuts.” Sean’s voice is raspy. He clears his throat. “He wanted the girl, and you know Randall. He would have done her right in front of her folks.”
“He tried to rape her? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“How did he wind up with a chest full of lead?”
There’s a long, dead silence, almost too long. Sean says, “When he went after her, she fought back. She bit his tongue and stabbed him with her nail file thing. He went into a rage and was screaming that he would kill them all, but she got his gun away from him and killed him.”
Vandermill turns his angry face on me. I lay on my evilest glare. I reach into Sean’s mind again to see what his reason is for blaming me. He is a jumble now, sweating inside his brain. I cannot get a handle on where he stands. I reach into Vandermill’s mind and find only a blank slate wall. He strides over and picks up the semiautomatic weapon lying on the stump next to Sean. “Is this Randall’s?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Vandermill then walks over to me and stops ten feet away. He points the gun at me. Dad starts to his feet. Vandermill turns the gun toward him. “Sit down, Zach. I’m not planning on killing her. If you all get a little too excited, however, my trigger finger may get nervous.” Dad settles down. Vandermill directs his attention back to me.
“He was going to rape me,” I say.
“You bit his tongue?” He seems amused in a way.
“He was stupid.”
“I don’t disagree that he was stupid. That dick of his has gotten him in trouble more than once before. He has finally paid the price.” One of his hands is running up and down the barrel of the weapon, his eyes focused on something just over our heads; or maybe not focused but in deep thought toward a pending speech. His face turns serious. “I’ve lost a lot of good men in the last few days. Now I’ve lost Randall, who would do absolutely anything I ask, and then it seems I may have lost my pilot; a good friend as well, who has been with me near fifteen years. Under most any other circumstances, I’d kill you all and leave you where you sit. Fortunately for all of you, though, I need you for a time, assuming of course you can still fly a helicopter, Zach.”
Dad doesn’t nod or attempt to say anything.
“For your sake and the sake of your ladies here, you’d better say you can.”
Dad nods.
“Very good. I’m going to trust that with these two in the bird with you, you won’t do something stupid, like fly us into the side of a mountain.”
Dad shakes his head, and then says, “Foo.”
“What’s that, Zach?”
“Food!” Mom says. “If he’s to keep up his strength to pilot your helicopter he needs to eat.”
Vandermill analyzes Dad for a few seconds, seeming to consider the request, and then says, “Very well. I think we all could use a little nourishment.” To Mom he says, “Why don’t you take care of that; whip up brunch for everyone.”
Mom struggles to her feet. I can tell by the way she moves that sitting against the wall has not been good for her back. I start to get up with her and Vandermill says, “No, little one. Not you. You’re going to sit right here next to your father. Nick, find some rope or something. Tie up her feet so she isn’t quite so dangerous.” He calls after Mom. “Lay out the table for six, Mrs. Price, and make a couple to go for my boys out yonder. We’ll have ourselves a feast.”
What table? I want to say.
“Then we’re going to set ourselves some bait.”
Chapter 68
Reba
Nick finds rope and does as Vandermill ordered. He and Sean then go up and relieve Baldy and Black Beard, who come back for chicken noodle soup and Ritz crackers. They eat quickly and then return to their posts. When Nick and Sean come back, Sean gives me a long look. I start to reach in and talk to him, but then become nervous with Vandermill still hanging around. Fifteen minutes later, Vandermill gives the order that we’re going up to the entrance. Nick releases my feet and ties my hands together, then tethers me to him with a ten foot length. Mom and Dad are left free. I’m being picked on, but I can’t see a great benefit in trying to make a big deal about it.
We start out. Vandermill leads, followed by Mom and Dad, Sean, Nick and me. Tylenol, food and rest have done Dad some good. Mom, on the other hand, doesn’t look so well. I don’t think she ate. She looks completely drained, both physically and mentally. She looks frightened. She looks stressed. Every few steps she stops and twists her body, stretching out the muscle fatigue, or realigning her spinal column. With everything that has happened to her in the last few days, I’m surprised that she’s walking at all.
I’m feeling hostile, like I’d like to dig in my feet and refuse to go, or turn around and run back down the path and see how far I can drag Nick with me. Seeing as he is at least two of me with rock-hard muscle, I alter my thinking. My muscles are well-toned, however they were built pushing against water, not solid mass. I could certainly out swim him. I’d only drag him about two centimeters on land. The only thing I have going for me out of the water is endurance; However, near forty-eight hours of this is beginning to take its toll.
I could have all the endurance in the world, and be four times his size, and still not be able to withstand a dozen bullets. Don’t be stupid, Becky.
I continue to acquiesce.
The entire ordeal is quiet, except for Mom’s breathing. Vandermill moves ahead. Mom stops every eight or ten paces to rest. Dad tries to give support but I really wonder if he’s being any help. When we get over the rise within sight of daylight poking through the trees, there are silhouettes of two people, one being Vandermill, I’m sure, and the other being Black Beard. The beard gives him away. As we get closer I see that Baldy is there as well, squatted down beside Black Beard. Sean and Nick join them and Vandermill holds a meeting. He directs Baldy and Black Beard off to the left and Sean and Nick off to the right. He tells them to stay together and hidden, to cover each other’s back, and to keep a watch on me. “If she tries to bolt, shoot her,” he says.
I’m tied up. Where the hell am I going to bolt to?
Then he tells them the plan.
I don’t much like it. I’m going to have as many as four automatic weapons pointed my way, and me without even a nail file for a shield.
He sends them off to sneak to their positions, and then comes toward me.
I love you, Dad, I say as Vandermill starts fiddling with the knots on the rope.
I’m proud of you, Reba, Dad says. Don’t fight back. It’s not worth it. Just do what he wants. Then we’ll fly out of here.
I will. I’m tired of doing stupid things. Mom is curled in a ball with Dad’s hand on her shoulder. I can’t tell if she’s asleep or awake. Vandermill can’t seem to get the knot undone. I could probably do something to make it easier, but I don’t. He is losing patience with it. I sense frustration rising in him, and then suddenly I can see more. The slate wall that protects him, that keeps me out of his mind, dissolves a little. He is angry. At first it is anger at the knot. That is the now, surface anger. It in itself is very thin, very shallow, but it is being fed by a snake-like twist of other angers, the most predominant being Aileen Bravelli. Another is the loss
of Ace, his pilot. He is scared that he’ll have to walk out of here. He is scared of the cats. He is angry at the loss of so many of his men. He is scared that his burning need to find Aileen will eventually turn the FBI on to him. He is angry with himself for being driven by this need.
Anger and fear . . . and a woman.
I start to laugh and then check myself. I don’t think he notices.
Suddenly, my hands are free. He straightens up, in control again. Just before his slate wall seals up I see one more thing. His intention was that as soon as he had Sam, we would have been killed. Now that he has lost his pilot, he needs Dad, which translates to he needs all three of us. Ace’s death has bought us a few more hours, or days, of life. I don’t see past that, but I’m sure our deaths are still penciled into his day planner.
Do you think she’s still around? I ask Dad.
“You know what to do, don’t you?” Vandermill says.
Of course I know what to do. I listened to his orders to his men. “No.”
Yes, I do, Dad says.
“You’re going to walk out there and sit down next to the helicopter like your enjoying a fine, Montana morning in the mountains.”
Do you think she’ll fall for this? I ask Dad.
“You’re not going to do anything but sit and sun yourself. You’re not going to make hand motions or head motions . . . nothing. If you see her, you’re not going to wave or nod.” He pauses for a few seconds. “On second thought,” he adds, “I want you to pick some flowers as you sit down. They’re all over out there. If you see her, throw them away from you in her direction. Do you understand?”
Dad breaks in. If it was me and I just walked up and saw you sitting in the middle of the field, all by yourself, I’d probably fall for it. Knowing Sam, though, she’s watching right now, knows exactly what he’s up to. I don’t think she’ll be fooled.
“Do you understand?” Vandermill repeats, a stern demand in his voice.
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