by K A Bryant
She places the cloth on my head and rests her hand on it, holding it down. Vin walks to the window.
"Gretchen, I know." Richard places his hand on hers and I feel the weight of their hands on my head. "This boy is every bit my concern as he is yours. I promised his father I would keep him safe and this is the biggest risk."
"Then let’s do just that! Keep him here. With us, he is safe."
She stands. I can see hope in her eyes.
"Your son is gone, Gretchen. He's gone. Now, we must make sure no one else loses their son to this monster. You know I'm right. You know the inevitable. You know."
Silence. I open my eyes slowly.
"I'll have no part in this." She takes keys and a jacket. "Make sure he eats, yes? I need some air."
"Gretchen."
Vin starts to go after her.
"No, Vinnie, leave her. She'll be alright."
The front door closes.
"Maybe she's right, Vinnie. I'm so tired."
I hear Richard’s seat creak as he sits back. Vin stands at the window, the shutters slightly open, allowing a stream of light to come through, gazing at the blue water just beneath the window.
"International peace is at hand, Richard-" Vin starts.
"SHH!" Richard interrupts.
He doesn't notice my open eyes beneath the cloth. Vin continues.
"It is only a matter of time! We've come this far, and no offense, I didn't risk my life to bring him here for you to back out of the other half of the plan. At least tell him, and let him decide. Tell him, Richard, tell him everything. I haven't known him long, but I know him enough to say he's quick. Like his father in many respects, from what you said."
"I - I don't know."
Vin gestures toward me. Richard looks at him in wonder about what I may have heard.
"How do you feel?"
"Hungry. Sorry about that plate," I say, sitting up.
Richard hands me large bowl of spaghetti with Italian garlic bread. I don’t know if it’s because I’m hungry but this is the best spaghetti I have ever had.
"There is something you need to know, Caleb," says Vin.
"Vin! Easy, please," interrupts Richard.
“No, please, let him continue.” I say taking mouth-fulls of food. I don’t care if they talk all afternoon. I forgot how good food tastes.
"We don't have time for subtlety, Richard! This is serious. You didn't see what happened in New York! People died, and he needs to know."
"Needs to know what?" I ask. "Vin, just tell me."
He opens his mouth to answer me and Vin freezes. A confused look in his eyes, then, he looks down at his chest. Blood spreads over his shirt just above his heart. A bullet ripped through the slit in the shutters and hit Vin in the chest.
"NO!" screams Richard, lunging to catch him before his body hits the ground.
I roll off the sofa and crawl to Vin and drag him into the hall. Richard applies pressure to the wound.
"Vinchenzo!" Richard yells. Spittle from his shout lands in his beard and his rough wrinkled hands are covered in Vin’s blood.
Vin’s eyes are open and staring at the ceiling.
"Vinchenzo, hold on, son! Hold on!" begs Richard.
CHAPTER TEN
Vin's eyes slide to me.
"Caleb... keep them safe."
I nod at him. His stare goes blank. The door bursts open. I look at Richard. He is shattered. It's Gretchen. Breathless, hair wind blown.
"Richard! They are here! I saw a boat in the harbor, we must..."
Richard is rocking Vin. She puts her hands over her mouth and her eyes widen.
"We have to go. Richard, Gretchen now." I say.
I feel as if I automatically stepped into the space Vin just left empty when he died. Richard gently lowers Vin’s head to the floor, closes his eyes places his hands on his chest. He stands and pulls Gretchen.
"This way," Richard says to me.
Richard picks up the old phone on the wall table, dials three numbers and the sound of a sliding door opening in the bedroom sounds. He hangs up the phone. We step into a doorway and Richard presses a button and the door slides closed behind us. A steep stairwell.
We go downstairs, cross a small opening into the next building and come out to a field.
In the distance behind us, the cluster of townhouses dot the shoreline. Beneath some brush, Richard reveals a classic mint green Fiat. Inside, silence. A moment to mourn Vin.
How do you miss someone you just met, so much? He saved my life. He made me laugh. He reminded me, of me. Young with a vision that exceeds him. I don't know how I ended up driving. Richard is pointing me down a long winding gravel road.
"How could they have found us? We were so careful, so long," asks Richard, breaking the silence with what sounds like his private thought.
"They must have followed Vin. It was the chance we had to take," replies Gretchen.
"We're here. Park there. Quickly, inside." Richard says looking around nervously.
Stately, two-story country house with vines growing on it. Inside, it is fully furnished and stocked, despite its external abandoned appearance. The grass overgrown and vines overtake the walls giving it an authentic rustic feel as if it were abandoned. Richard looks out of the window.
Gretchen slowly removes sheets from the settee, her tears still rolling down her cheeks. Richard uses a box of matches on the mantel, lights the fireplace that is already laid with logs. It catches quickly and warms the cottage room quickly. Gretchen stands staring into the fire.
"Richard," she says softly.
He holds her and sits with her on the sofa.
"Vinchenzo was with us since your father helped me flee. He had a choice to leave, but he stayed."
"Are you alright, Caleb?" Gretchen whispers to me. She goes into a closet and takes out a duffel bag.
"Some clothes, shoes, and bottled water." she says, handing it to me. “You need to drink. You are still healing.”
"Thank you, Gretchen." I say.
I look at the clothes. They are exactly what Vin would have worn. I don’t think I ever wore a dead man’s clothes. I change into the jeans and a sweater. The sofa faces an antique oval table and two single chairs side by side. No pictures on the wall, nothing that made this safe house feel homely. I feel responsible for them. It's crazy, I haven't felt obligated to anyone for years. Like an only son looking after his parents. Vin is gone, their greatest helper and source of protection.
"What did I need to know? Vin was saying, that I needed to know something," I ask Richard.
"Caleb," begins Richard, "What happened to you in the kitchen. What did you see?"
"A dream, it was just a dream that I have. Often. No big deal."
"What dream?" asks Gretchen, looking concerned. "Is it the same dream?"
"Yes."
"Caleb, start at the beginning. Tell us the dream," she says.
"What's the point? Doesn't mean anything."
Guarding, something I've done for years. This dream, my warp companion. Distorted and meaningless. To tell it means letting these people enter into a part of my life that is private. I'm struggling to break the secrecy of my life but looking into their wide eyes I see it may be deemed to be a small exchange for a friendship. Until this point, they asked nothing of me.
"Okay," I take a deep breath and run my through the top of my roughly cut hair. I ram my hands into my jean pockets.
Standing in front of that fire place, in the warm light, exposing the deepest darkest part of myself, actually feels good. It feels like telling your parents a bad dream. Once said, it strips it of all power.
"It always starts the same. There are people. Just regular people, but they’re hiding in woods and sewage tunnels. Anywhere they can find. Whole, terrified. At first, I don't see what they are running from, but I feel like it was... something. Something God didn't make. The police or FBI is looking for them.
“The funny thing is they aren't criminals or anything.
Just regular people living regular lives. The only thing they did wrong is believe, believe in something that the government decided they shouldn't believe in. They were hiding together and praying. Hungry. Sick. Scared. But..."
"But what?" Gretchen asks.
Both of them are on the edge of their seat listening. Gretchen has stopped crying and is astonished. I hesitate, almost afraid of their response, believing I will lose their respect somehow. I'm afraid to let the crazy out. My fists are squirming in my pockets.
"It was some kind of a training exercise," I say.
"Impossible," says Gretchen, with a haunted gaze.
"Please, Gretchen. Caleb... continue. Did you see it?" asks Richard.
"No."
I can't. I just can't give it all, not yet.
"Can't be..." murmurs Gretchen to herself. "How could this be Richard? It is impossible, but clearly..." walking in a daze to the fireplace.
"What?" I ask.
Richard answers me.
"What you dreamed was not just a dream. It happened. It's what we fear will happen again and again. The plot of a madman. The prototype created was tested. Over five hundred people died and it was never even heard of." He exhales. "It was indeed an experiment. One that should never have taken place. But there was no one to stop him. No one to stop it!"
"Is this what Vin said I should know?"
"Yes," Richard answers flatly. "The Ex-Secretary of Defence is the man responsible for your parents’ death. He is behind all of this."
Quickly, I put all of the pieces together. I watched the retirement dinner of the Secretary of Defence, Wilkes on television at the hospital.
The man who stole my coat, found dead. They must have realized it wasn't me and killed him. The hospital explosion broad-casted as a terrorist attack on New York City. The media urged people to band together. It was all covered up.
"He won't kill you. You stand to lead him to billions," says Richard. "Vinnie, they had no use for, but you. You they need desperately. Do you know where the drives are?"
"No. I don't."
"Your father was a brilliant man that thought ten steps ahead. It will come to you. You need time. Unfortunately, we don't have it."
Standing, we are eye to eye. My squared jawline and close haircut make me look like I stepped out of the military. Nothing could be further from the truth. My build is lean yet sculpted and my height has always been an asset.
"You look like him. Just like him." Richard embraces me. As if he were holding my father. Gratefully, comfortingly.
The air in the room thickens. He knows this is a death mission. If I find the drives, Wilkes will kill me. If I can't, Wilkes will tie his loose ends and kill me. Either way, I end up pushing up daisies.
He sits on the sofa beside Gretchen again.
"The man that murdered my colleagues, your father, your mother, five hundred people and Vin is not finished. I'm sad to say that murderous bastard will stop at nothing. He is using our prototype. As we speak he is gathering another team of scientists to attempt to reconstruct the project, who, no doubt, afterward will not live to see the glory of it."
"How do you know?" I ask.
"Banished, I am, disconnected, I am not. If he finds that hard drive before we do, you have no idea what he will be capable of. Genocide to say the least."
"You think I can handle him?"
"Yes. I do."
"Why?"
"Because you are your father’s son. Don't feel, think. He needs you. You are the one person in the world who does not have to worry about being killed, not by him. He needs you to find those hard drives. As long as he feels you have a chance to find it for him, your life is safe. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, that all makes sense but one problem. I have no clue where they are," I reply.
"Caleb, you do! You must, it's in there, son," Richard taps his temple. "You will find it. He will help you."
"And what makes you think that I won't just blow his head off? What makes you think that I will give a damn about this 'thing'?"
"The Beaston," Richard says.
"That's what it's called?"
"Yes. It was made from the BST-10 Project. So, we named it the Beaston Project. The Beaston must be destroyed. The life of the President of the United States is at stake, along with the future of America. His plan, part of it, is assassinate him and end peace between America and the rest of the world. A global war. Look at me, Caleb. That's what your father was really working on."
I bite my jaw tightly and look directly at Richard. That I believe. He has told me truth.
"Everything you have heard is truth. This is bigger than your revenge or mine or Gretchen’s. You don't think I want him dead! I've been reduced to living like a fugitive for years, me, Gretchen, Vinchenzo. If we don't get those hard drives first, he may. He represents greed and everything evil that accompanies it"
I feel trapped in the truth. Walking away with a free mind isn't possible. Gretchen's holding her breath.
"I'm in," I say.
It was a long flight and I'm still not sure why Richard insisted I start here. It looks familiar. The chatter of children playing gets louder. Loud laughter, then giggling.
"I won, I won! I won!"
"No, ya didn't."
"Yes, I did!"
"No, ya didn't!"
"Yes, I did! No stink! I told you he's not dead!"
"No, you didn't!"
"MOMMY, MOMMY, stranger!"
Dirt road. Blue jeans with brown leather jacket, long sleeve cotton shirt. Perfect. Me.
"Thanks, Gretch," I say to myself.
Brown Timberland boots, clearly new. I wiggle my toes. Socks. Nice. Soft and full, very different from my homeless days. It's cool. My hometown is like that. Christmas in shorts and flip flops. I
"There, momma! There! It's a mira-tel," they say with a lisp.
"Get back," a woman says.
Something familiar tickles my ear. The sound of her voice found a place to sit down.
"Caleb?"
I know that voice. County fare. Long walks with ice cream. Hand in my fourteen year old hand. My first kiss. I can feel her standing behind me.
Her voice quivers and my heart is racing. I shut my eyes almost afraid to turn around.
"Momma, whooz dat?"
"Go to grandma, baby. Take your brother."
I turn around. Our eyes lock and time freezes. The birds stop tweeting and I can't feel myself breathe. I'm consumed and from the look in her eye so is she. She's a tough cookie. I only saw her cry once. The day they drove me to the orphanage past her house.
"Skip any rocks lately?" I ask her, smiling.
I search her eyes and don't see anger for not having called for years.
"Not a chance. No worthy opponents," she says.
Her eyes are exactly as I recall. Deep hazel pools. She looks tired but it doesn't matter. I can feel my breath floating out of me and a warmth in my heart I haven't felt in years.
It's all gone. Richard, my parent’s murder, the drives I'm supposed to find, all of it. Right here, right now, there's one thing I want. To step back into my life with her.
"I hate you," she says.
Okay. Didn't expect that. She shoves me. "What, let me guess, your hands were broken so you couldn't write me."
She crosses her arms and drops one hip.
"I did write you," I say. "You're the one that never wrote back. You never came to see me."
I watch her pace while she talks. She hasn't changed at all.
"What? Of course I did." Throwing her hands up. "When have I ever broken a promise to you? Tell me."
She probably won't remember this.
"Ms. Harris' class. You said you'd do my homework, nothing. I failed. Summer school and you went to Disney."
She laughs.
"Don't cry about it like a little girl," she says.
"Vinetto, it had to be him. Father Vinetto was in charge of the mail and visitation."
"
Fat guy, no hair, flat feet?"
No idea how she could know he had flat feet. He did.
"Yes, that's him," I reply.
"I went there, he told me you didn't want any visitors. You were in some kind of therapy," she says.
Turning to look up the block toward my house is the best way I can think of to hide my emotions. Two minutes of talking to her and I want my old life back. But it's gone. And I can't pull her into mine. Not now. My present can't collide with my past.