by C. C. Piper
A memory came back to me of Kit when he’d returned from his trip. He’d been tanned but not relaxed, and though I’d asked him about it, all he’d told me was that the trip hadn’t been as fun as they’d planned. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, so I’d let it go, figuring he’d tell me if it was important.
“What did you do?”
“I called the authorities, of course. I didn’t draw any attention to myself, but somehow, they looked up right as I gave the dispatcher my location. They saw me, and I ran.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I went straight to my hotel and on the way back to my room, I texted Robert. He said to meet him in the lobby, so I stayed there and waited for him. I told him about everything on the way to our rooms—his was next to mine. But then, once we arrived, my room had been destroyed.”
“Destroyed?”
“Yeah, like the television was smashed. The mattress and bed linens weren’t just disheveled, it looked like someone had hacked into them with knives. The furniture was ripped up, too. It was a nightmare. There was a note by the phone saying if I mentioned one more word about what I’d seen, my life and my brother’s life would be forfeit. I contacted the police service again, and they asked me to come down to their local headquarters. Robert and I went down to his car to go, but all his tires had been slashed.”
“Jesus.”
“I was freaking out, but Robert was cool as a cucumber. Instead of calling the police again, he called this person, the woman we’re here to see. And I don’t know any specifics, but within an hour, the police had contacted us. They said these two guys matching the description I’d given had confessed to everything: the beating, the destruction of my room, the slashed tires. The guy they’d been punching died later on, upping that charge to murder. They ended up being sentenced to prison for life.”
“All because of this woman?”
“Yeah. Robert told me to keep this to myself, but she has all these connections. Like, to the White House and the FBI. All these different law enforcement agencies. And it’s not limited to the U.S. She has ties to Scotland Yard and Interpol, but she’s got a finger in the pies of the various international mafia and crime organizations, too. Because of this, she can get anything—literally anything—done. She’s powerful and untouchable.”
“Why does she do these things?” I asked, my head spinning. Who was this lady?
“From all outward appearances, her motivation stems totally from receiving money. Pay what she asks, and she’ll set everything in motion.”
“Does she have a name?”
“She’s known as the…” He paused, cringing. What the hell was that about? “Wish Maker.”
Oh, well, that explained it.
“The Wish Maker?” Incredulity seeped into my tone. There was no stopping it. Was he joking?
“I get that it sounds pretty out there.”
“Oh, you think?”
Kit’s face crinkled as if preparing for a blow. “I know, bro. But she works miracles. She’s gotten organs to transplant patients far down on the list. She’s made criminals who escaped justice vanish off the face of the earth. If she hadn’t stopped those men down in Bermuda, they might’ve killed me and Robert both.”
“Okay, fine. But she lives here? In Clarendon Hills?”
“Yeah.” His smile filled with genuine humor. “She says she likes to hide in plain sight. She won’t stay here long, though. She keeps on the move. Guess that’s part of the gig.”
Kit pulled up in front of Old-World style home designed to look like a cottage, with stone accents along the front and classical European shutters next to every window. The residence reeked of understated wealth and elegance but didn’t necessarily draw the eye. I suppose for a person like her, it made sense.
Still, I felt uneasy. What if this was all some hocus pocus bullshit? I’d found out the hard way that if something sounded too good to be true, it usually was. As we approached the front door, one decorated with a fall wreath no less, I almost backed out. It was more likely that a lady who loved to knit lived here than the one he’d described.
“I don’t know about this,” I told Kit. “What if what happened in Bermuda was one giant coincidence? What if this woman is just some charlatan who pulled the wool over your eyes?”
“I wouldn’t be where I am now if I was a wool puller.”
This didn’t come from Kit. It came from a woman who stood on the other side of her open door, looking as ancient as her craggy voice sounded. She was ninety years old if she was a day.
“I suppose you’re the Wish Maker,” I said, a hint of sarcasm in my tone. This whole thing struck me as beyond crazy all of a sudden. She couldn’t possibly be capable of the deeds Kit had listed, and I didn’t enjoy being tricked, however unintentionally. I also didn’t enjoy wasting my own time.
“A silly moniker I realize, but in my business, it pays to keep true identities under wraps.”
“I bet.”
“You don’t believe I am who your friend here has told you I am, is that it?” she asked conversationally, as if we were discussing the weather.
“Something like that.”
“Well, then, you’re free to leave.” Slowly, she turned as if to close the door, and for the first time I spotted the simple wooden cane she leaned on.
Exasperated, I thrust my hands in my pockets and happened upon the wrinkled newspaper page. I yanked it out, glancing at the now slightly distorted image. An epiphany came to me in that moment. Something far ghastlier than I’d ever considered before.
I couldn’t deny how much I wanted Jack Brisbane to be forced to make reparations for the crime he’d committed against me. How much I wanted to make him suffer. It might be small of me, but I wanted vengeance. I needed it. I couldn’t imagine anything else making me feel better.
What if this woman held the key to helping me gain the upper hand?
I could test her. Ascertain if she really was all she was cracked up to be. My palms grew sweaty and a peculiar pit of coldness developed below my sternum, indications that doing what I was about to do went against the grain for me. These were warning signs. Red flags. They made me nervous and on edge. But I ignored my disquiet. I needed to follow this through.
I thrust out my foot at the last second, stopping her from shutting her door.
“I have a proposition for you,” I told the old woman. She stared me in the face, her ancient light blue eyes remarkably clear and cunning.
“I’m all ears.”
Once inside the cottage, I laid the photograph across her coffee table. “This girl.” I pointed at her image, squinting to read her name. “Rachel Brisbane. I want her. I want her to go missing and for her father to be beside himself over her disappearance. I want him to willingly give back the proprietary secrets he took and to make a public apology to me for stealing them. I’d love for his stock prices to take a hit in the process and for his reputation to be tarnished, as well. The more he suffers over this, the better.”
“Such a thing is certainly possible,” the Wish Maker claimed. “But pricey.”
Now for the test. “Before I agree to pay for any of that, I’d like you to prove to me that you are what you say.”
“And how would you propose I do that?” Again, she used a bland voice, as if nothing could upset her equilibrium.
“I’d like for you to have an emergency helicopter fly over this house within the next five minutes, low enough for us to be able to catch a view of its pilot.”
For a woman of her supposed resources, such a task should prove to be a piece of cake. In reality, though, I knew this would be almost impossible, especially on such short notice. Other than incredibly powerful leaders, no one could simply summon a medical vehicle away from its duties elsewhere. Its time was too valuable, and the money it would take would be substantial. I set an alarm on my phone, wondering if she would take the bait or come up with some excuse.
Without looking away from me, she retrieved an ancient-looking flip ph
one from the pocket at her hip. She then pressed some buttons on the obsolete cell, each touch making a beeping noise. And I knew. This woman belonged in a loony bit or in assisted-living somewhere because she was utterly and totally off her rocker.
Worse, Kit had fallen for her charade.
I wondered how much money his brother Robert had paid her to “take care of things” in Bermuda. Whatever it was, it was too much.
As I waited for my alarm to go off, I noted the furrowed brow of my best friend. I felt bad for him. But sometimes, charlatans sounded convincing. I’m sure he and Robert weren’t the first people she’d conned. She continued to press buttons haphazardly. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to what she was doing. Maybe she thought this provided a good enough show on its own.
As my timer counted down from one minute, I heard a noise off in the distance. A lawn mower or maybe a leaf blower? Could be either. It was mid-morning now. Then as the seconds ticked on, I recognized the sound. It sounded like the blades of a helicopter chopping through the air. But it couldn’t be. Or at least, it couldn’t be due to Ms. Nutty-as-a-Fruitcake here.
I went outside to her front yard, scanning the heavens. And I saw it. The outline of a helicopter. It was unmistakable. I continued to watch as it flew directly towards me as if I’d hailed it like a taxi. It hovered overhead for a few seconds, long enough for me to see both the distinct red cross painted on its side and to notice the pilot tipping his hat at me. The chopper then rose, moving away along an opposite trajectory.
I stood there on her lawn both stunned and transfixed.
She hobbled out to join me, looking for all the world like a decrepit old woman when I now knew her to be anything but. “Well, Christoff Green,” she started. I hadn’t given her my name yet. “Would you like to move ahead with your plans?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
5
Rachel
The week passed in a flurry of classes and rehearsals. Now, as I waited under the narrow ledge of the hall where our quartet had spent the past hour and a half practicing together, I tugged my thin summer sweater more tightly around me. The weather had gone from sunny and warm to an absolute deluge of rain, lowering the temperature and drenching everything in sight.
It wouldn’t have been such an inconvenience if I’d remembered to bring my rain jacket or umbrella, but I hadn’t. I’d always been cold-natured, and as I stood there, I shivered, searching the curb for one of the many limousines attached to the Brisbane estate. I sighed and closed my eyes, feeling dread descend on me like some harbinger of ill-will.
I wasn’t looking forward to going home.
Pushing what faced me out of my mind, I set my cello case down beside me so I could retrieve my phone from my bra. This particular outfit didn’t have pockets, so I’d been forced to use my undergarments to carry my cell.
I called my parents' home. Gerald, our family’s butler, was the one to answer, thank God. I didn’t want to have to deal with another confrontation with either my mom or my dad until I had to.
“Gerald, did you send the car?”
“Yes, miss. I sent it a half hour ago.”
“It’s not here.”
There was a brief pause as he muttered something to someone else, probably another member of my family’s extensive staff. “Would you like me to send another, Miss Rachel? It can be there in no more than fifteen minutes.”
I stared out at the gray sky. Clouds swirled above me in rolling patterns and the wind had a chill to it, but the rain had settled down into a drizzle. I knew my parents would kill me if I showed up any later than five o’clock tonight, which meant I had another two hours before I was due. Technically. Besides, I wanted to put this off for as long as humanly possible.
“That’s alright,” I told Gerald. “Why don’t you send a car to the condo in about an hour and a half? That way, I can change and get ready for dinner first.”
“As you wish, miss.”
Picking up Madison, I dragged her down the sidewalk towards the condo I shared with Drew. It wasn’t that far, only about four blocks, and that way I could delay the inevitable. Besides, by waiting, I wouldn’t be alone. Drew would be there, too, to face this debacle with me. It might not be brave, but I couldn’t help that.
I despised confrontation.
As I crossed the street, I saw a shop window prominently displaying no less than four magazines, all tabloids, with evidence of last Friday’s fun night out with Alicia. I hadn’t even noticed any paparazzi that evening, though considering how hammered I’d gotten, that wasn’t much of a surprise.
I realized they’d only been there because of my best friend’s level of fame, but that knowledge didn’t help. My parents had seen the photograph, the proof of my and my brother’s poor judgment. They were both angry, but my father had been fit to be tied. He’d told us in no uncertain terms that we would come to dinner Saturday.
As if the hangover the next morning hadn’t been punishment enough.
I understood that what we’d done, albeit accidentally, could damage the good Brisbane name. We had a legacy that we were responsible for, and besmirching that legacy wasn’t a part of the plan. I knew my father was embarrassed, and that he expected us to show the proper degree of contrition tonight.
I hated everything about the situation. That our transgression had been so visible. That we hadn’t prepared enough to avoid detection. That my parents were disappointed in me. That my father was about to lay down the law.
I might not always agree with my father, especially on the life path he wanted me to take, but I adored him just the same. He expected me to be his sweet angel, his princess, someone he could dote on and take pride in. Now, pride was probably the last thing he felt towards me. It made me want to duck my head in shame.
I’d never indulged like that in my life, choosing instead to maintain a low profile. I was the good little girl, the obedient daughter, eternally doing what I was told. Following what was best for my family and their image. I was no Paris Hilton. But I wondered if Daddy would see it that way. The one time I had made the decision to let loose had blown up in my face, plastered across magazines, newspapers, and though I hadn’t checked, probably social media, too. I wondered if from now on, my father would think less of me.
As I hurried along, I turned right down a short trail that led through the edge of a wooded area nearby. It was a shortcut that would allow me to cut a few minutes off my time off. My arms were used to lugging around my cello all the time, but my shoulders ached, especially when the heavens opened up again and soaked me to the bone.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I paused, pivoting on my ballet flats to glance behind me. No one was there, but I felt as if someone might be watching me. I scrutinized my surroundings, then shook my head at myself. I was being stupid. The incident with the paparazzi must be making me paranoid. Still, I pushed myself to a partial jog as I rushed to get inside.
Perhaps due to the leafy canopy of trees overhead, shadows lingered along the corners of my shortcut, making the hour feel later than it was. I’d just reached the end of the trail when I felt it again, stronger this time. I stopped in my tracks and turned in a full circle, looking for flashes of cameras or heads bobbing out of sight. Yet again, I saw nothing. Maybe I had the heebie-jeebies because I felt a bit alone.
Usually, people were out and about on a weekend like this, but maybe due to the chillier temperature or the damp, the only person I saw was a man walking his dog far in the distance. Even though he was on a side street in a direction different from the one I was heading in, I was tempted to run up to him.
A sense of disquiet had settled around me, and I couldn’t seem to shake it.
I saw the white gabled peaks of the set of condos along the horizon, though, and knowing I was this close to home and that Drew would likely be there, I calmed myself. What was wrong with me? I was being so silly for no reason at all.
Yes, I’d lived a rather sheltered
existence. I’d always had my parents, a member of their staff, or more often my brother watching over me. I appreciated it most of the time, though I’d had my moments of feeling suffocated by their constant hovering. It was well-intentioned, though. I knew that.
It was hard to resent something done out of love.
Despite my wet clothing, seeing that familiar roofline gave me instant relief. Puddles made the path muddy, but I picked up the pace anyway. I’d weather-proofed Madison’s case, but even a fleeting exposure to water could permanently damage the intricately carved body of my cello. I’d just turned to leave the trail when I felt someone behind me.
And this time I knew it was more than paranoia.
As I turned, a hand pressed a cloth over my mouth, the material smelling of some bitter chemical that caused my eyes and nose to sting. I tried to scream, to grind my heel into the perpetrator’s foot, to fight, but I couldn’t.
My eyelids drooped of their own accord, and before I could react, before I could do anything at all about the danger I was in, I felt my body go limp. I fell, having no choice but to give in to the numbness. And my last realization before I succumbed entirely was that I’d been pushed off the ledge of awareness and straight into oblivion.
6
Christoff
After a couple of days had passed, I woke up feeling as though I’d been living in an alternate dimension. Had I really visited some bizarre woman out in Clarendon Hills who promised to deliver things that were likely undeliverable? Had I seriously contemplated hiring someone named ‘the Wish Maker’ to kidnap Jack Brisbane’s daughter and expected it to actually be done?
Was I out of my goddamn mind?