Where would I start? My own game?
She’ll think I’m Michael...I can use that...misdirection...surprise her like they’re doing in the Juggernaut storyline...the ally is the villain...
Or...throw her off...tell her I screwed up...the game is over...make her think I’m dead...
There’s no game without me...if I’m dead, she’ll have no use for the kids...bad idea.
Sara thumbed out: ‘Penalty enforced. Ready for level three,’ then took a deep breath, her finger hovering over the ‘Send’ button.
Get it over with. Quit stalling.
She pressed it, and waited.
Teddy inhaled deeply, opened his eyes into two slits. “Why’d you stop?” He tried to sit up. Winced. Grunted. And then fell back onto the seat.
“We’ll go soon,” Sara said. “Waiting on something. Hopefully it won’t take long, then we’ll get you some help.”
“I’m fine.”
“Teddy, you don’t have to do that.”
“My right arm is completely numb, and my heart feels like it’s beating funny, but other than that—when did I piss myself?” he said, noticing the drying stain on his crotch.
“Earlier, when you thought he was going to shoot you.”
“What a dick. Who
was
that guy?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t, we need to tell the cops.”
“He’s dead, Teddy.”
“Dead? Good. He deserved it.”
“He had...problems.”
“You think?”
Sara could understand the sarcasm, after what he’d been through. “It’s not an excuse, I know, but he wasn’t really—he wasn’t in control of himself, if that makes any sense.”
“You’re defending him?”
“Not...he was...I felt—I felt sorry for him.”
“C’mon, Sara. Really?”
“How much do you remember? Any idea whatsoever how you got here?
Why
you’re here?” She checked the phone. No response.
What’s taking you so long?
“You saw me, didn’t you? I wasn’t exactly coherent.”
“But what do you
remember
? You were going to tell me who you thought the woman on the phone might be, right before he—”
“Beat me half to death? Honestly, I don’t have a clue. Shelley and I left the office about ten o’clock this morning—”
“Shelley? You left
with
Shelley? For what?”
He angled away from her, sucked in air through his teeth, put a hand on his ribs.
“Teddy?”
“Something stupid. I should’ve known better. Anyway, I got in my car, and woke up in that cabin.” He rubbed his eyes. “Can we go now? Those trees are getting blurry.”
Sara checked the screen. Still nothing. She checked the clock, bit her lip, checked the clock again. “Couple more minutes, then we’ll go.”
“Fine. Two minutes.”
“Shelley?” She didn’t know why, but the mention of Shelley’s name stuck out at her. Intuition, something odd, inexplicable. Strange for her to be leaving
with
Teddy, like he’d said. Shelley despised him as much as everyone else in the office. Had confided to her behind a locked door that he’d been hitting on her. Said he was disgusting. Distinctly remembered her calling him a pig.
Pig...pig...Teddy said the voice told him he deserved it for being a pig. No...Shelley? Not a chance.
She repeated it again. “Shelley?”
“For God’s sake, Sara, leave it alone.”
“Teddy,” she said, her voice rising. “Whoever’s doing this has my kids—do you remember me telling you that? Do you? If you know something, if you have any idea about what’s going on and something happens to them because you didn’t tell me, I will
not
hesitate to bring your scrawny little ass back up here and finish what they started. Got me? Now, why were you leaving with Shelley?”
“Okay, okay, calm down. It’s embarrassing, that’s all.”
“And?”
“She said—she came into my office after you left, said she was leaving early and wanted to know if I’d come have an early lunch with her.”
“That’s it? You left to go have lunch?”
“I thought she wanted—you know how I am—the way she said it...I hadn’t been laid in about a week. Figured it was worth a shot.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “And you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary—”
Michael’s cell chimed, saving Teddy from her scolding.
Sara glanced down at the screen.
Sis says: Good. Sorry for the delay. Napping.
Sis says: She chose #1? You’re not driving, are you?
Sara said, “Hang on, here she is.”
“Who?”
“
Ssshhh
, let me think.”
What would he do? What would he say?
Michael says: Sry. Drivn slo.
Sis says: PULL OVER RIGHT NOW.
Sara held up a finger to Teddy, counted to twenty in silence.
Michael says: #1 yes Teddy taken care of.
Sis says: No names! How many times do I have to tell you?
Sis says: Wait
Sis says: How do you know his name?
Sara gasped. “Shit.”
Don’t do anything to the kids...don’t hurt them.
Teddy said, “What happened?”
“I might’ve screwed up.”
Think!
Michael says: Heard Mother Goose say it.
Sis says: Okay. Anyway, good job. You MIGHT get a reward if it goes well. =)
Sara didn’t know how to respond. She’d recovered from the misstep, but what would a man under the spell of his psychopathic sister say to that?
Michael says: I’ve been good. Please?
Sis says: IF you’re good.
Michael says: Back in a sec. Mother Goose losing it.
She said to Teddy, “That was close.”
“What was?”
“Hush. I need to think.”
Michael says: Ok, back. Crazy woman. Backhand worked.
Michael says: What kind of reward?
Sis says: Leave some for me. That’s MY job.
Sis says: Reward? Let’s see...
Sis says: Should I wear red lace or black lace? ;-)
The phone almost fell out of Sara’s hands. What else had he kept hidden from her?
Michael says: Red!
Michael says: Please.
Sis says: MAYBE. Get Mother Goose here fast.
Sis says: Can’t take much more crying.
“Time to go,” she said. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”
And me back to the kids. I’m coming guys, I’m coming. Hang on a little longer. Mommy’s coming.
Sara started the car, pulled back onto the gravel road.
“What was that all about? The texting.”
“Talking to her about what to do next.”
“You’re texting the kidnapper?”
“She thinks I’m her brother. The one at the cabin.”
“Can I help?”
“You can’t even stand up on your own. I’ll drop you off at the first emergency room we can find.”
“You don’t have time for that.”
“No, I don’t, but—”
“Just get me into the city, drop me off at a gas station somewhere. I’ll be fine.”
“Teddy, no.”
“Sara, yes. Conversation over—your kids are more important. That’s it,
no mas
, end of story.”
For as long as Sara could remember, it was the first sign of humanity, the first sign of caring for another human being other than himself, that she had ever seen from Teddy. It was unfortunate that it took something like the last six hours for it to emerge.
Sara choked back the lump in her throat.
I asked for him to die.
She said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“Those weren’t
your
fists.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Honestly, I don’t want to know. Just stop calling me Little One and we’re good.”
“Done.”
But, I can’t ever tell you how one-sided that deal actually is.
***
Thirty minutes later, Sara pulled up in front of a well-lit Chinese restaurant on the eastern side of Portland. Lights aglow, parking lot filled with cars. She was nervous, anxious, ready to be moving, ready to get back to her children, ready to face the inevitable, but feeling torn, feeling guilty, feeling like she owed Teddy at least another few seconds. She told him to be careful, and to check in with her in a couple of days.
“Unless—” she said, “unless you see me on the news.”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t. Whoever she is, she has no idea who she’s dealing with.”
Sara shook her head. “I’m—I don’t know.”
“You want to know the difference between us?”
“The difference?”
“Self-awareness. I
know
people hate me, and it doesn’t bother me. I get it. I can see why, and I don’t care. I get a kick out of seeing how far I can push people, but you? You’re clueless when it comes to understanding just how much people respect you. There’s a reason for it. And I can promise you this...if I see you on the news, it’ll have some headline like,” he said, using his hand to swipe across an invisible marquee, “
Badass Chick Thwarts Kidnapper
.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Teddy shrugged, opened the door, dragged himself out, one arm around his ribs. He took a step, said, “Sara?” and then leaned into the car. “Eight o’clock, Monday morning. Got some good ideas for Juggs 3 that I wanted to run past you.”
He closed the door and limped away, shuffling toward the restaurant.
She envied his confidence in her.
The diners stared at him out the window. Confused, pointing. A man stood up and cupped his hands against the tinted glass, hoping to get a better look. Teddy waved at them and lurched toward the front entrance. Waved like he was the homecoming queen, perched atop the highest spot on a parade float. She couldn’t see his face, but she imagined him smiling, loving every second of the abject attention.
She watched him go, looking after him with a little less disgust, but not exactly admiration, realizing that her arch-nemesis, the virus that had plagued her for so many years, might, on some planet, actually be likable.
Teddy made it to the doorway before he collapsed. A waiter emerged, cautious.
Go, before somebody calls the police.
Foot to gas, acceleration pushing her against the seat. She was gone, leaving Teddy behind, hurtling forward through a sea of taillights and neon signs. Knowing where she was going, but driving blindly into the coming storm.
CHAPTER 21
DJ
DJ approached the front door of 121 Blaylock, gun drawn and held ready at his side. The shades were closed and he kept a watchful eye for any subtle movements. When he was certain it was clear, he motioned for Barker to join him. Satisfied they were out of the line of fire, he risked a peek through the decorative, paned window above his head.
“Anything?” Barker whispered.
“Empty.”
“Nobody home?”
“No, I mean
empty
empty. No furniture that I can see. Nothing.”
“What? You sure this is the right address?”
“On file. Should we bother knocking?”
“Try the doorknob first.”
DJ reached down, grabbed the cool, brass metal. Twisted to the left, heard the latch click, followed by the groaning of corroded hinges.
Barker said, “Saved us a grand entrance. Careful, now.”
They crossed the threshold. DJ first, Barker following. Hunched over, intent, all senses redlined, waiting for an ambush. The shallow Berber carpet gave them the advantage of silence as they crept.
Backs to walls, shuffling from one spot to the next. Every door open, every room void of any signs of habitation. No toothbrush, no shower curtains. Spotless kitchen counters, spotless refrigerator, two empty ice trays in the freezer.
A single cup sat next to the sink. Blue and plastic. Bone dry.
They relaxed, holstered their weapons. DJ scratched the back of his neck, let out a huff of air.
Hands on his hips, Barker said, “As empty as my cold bed at night, cowboy. Now what? Any more bright ones?”
“I thought for sure...”
“Not your fault. Gotta go with what they give you.”
“We should check for prints on the cup.”
“Hospitals aren’t this clean, but we might as well. I got a couple baggies in the car. Poke around some. I’ll be back in a minute.”
DJ stepped around the kitchen counter and into the living room. Pockmarks and dings and scrapes on the walls. Typical of a rental, like his own place when he and Jessica had moved in together. She said they gave a place character, showed signs of life. He had complained about the previous tenants’ lack of respect.
He bent down, examined the carpet closer. No indentations from couch legs or tables.
Nobody’s been here for months. Fake address. Where’s she staying?
They could track down the owner, ask if a Shelley Ann Sergeant had ever been here, or had ever signed a rental agreement. But with a fake address given to the DMV, more than likely she would’ve been smart enough to use a fake name. Fake bank account.
She’d used her real name at LightPulse. They’d have a real address on file, wouldn’t they?
She wouldn’t be that stupid. That’s probably not her real name, either.
So she leaves Sara’s husband down south, moves up here, somehow gets a job working for her. Bides her time for a couple months...watches patterns...figures out schedules...snatches the kids...takes them back to San Diego...Winthrop has his kids back...everybody lives happily ever after.
It’s missing something.
Damn it. The note.
He heard the front door open, moved his hand closer to his pistol. “Barker?”
“Hand off the go-boom, JonJon. Just me,” Barker said as he popped around the corner, shaking the baggie open. “Got an APB out on our girl. Doubt it’ll do any good.”
“She hasn’t gone anywhere yet.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The note, Barker. The one from this morning.”
“Meaning what?”
“For starters, I’d say you were right about the husband,” DJ said, then went on to explain his theory about what happened to Brian Winthrop, and the possible reason that Shelley Sergeant was in Portland. He watched Barker nod, watched the flickers of comprehension light up his eyes, listened to him grunt his agreement.