Veronica traded in her sweater and skirt for NYU sweatshirt and jeans. Jamie changed into a colorful flannel shirt and cargo pants that made him look like he came off the cover of a fall catalog. Maggie was back to her all black ensemble that she wore with her usual ponytail. The images of normalcy.
Veronica gathered children and toothbrushes, and then they were off, heading upstate in Zach’s Audi. She clicked on 1010 WINS, the all-news station, as they knifed through the darkness of the Taconic Parkway.
Bad decision.
There was just no avoiding their current reality. The newscaster grimly reported the death of Jim Kingston. He was found in a Manhattan apartment building owned by Aligor Sterling, dead of an apparent suicide.
Talk about a reversal of fortune.
One minute he was elected leader of the free world, and twenty-four hours later he was in a bunker taking his life, just like his great-grandfather—at least according to the history books. Whatever the details of either death, Veronica couldn’t deny the trail of destruction that was handed down from generation to generation. She did the math. Kingston’s death left three members remaining in the bloodline.
Veronica switched off the radio, and drove the rest of the way to the soothing sound of silence. They arrived at Flavia’s around ten. Maggie and Jamie had been sleeping since they hit the Taconic, but awoke as soon as they hit the gravel of Flavia’s driveway. Veronica parked the Audi behind Flavia’s Jeep and they moved to the front door, carrying their overnight bags.
To Veronica’s surprise, the door was open. “Hello,” she shouted upon entering.
A note was left for them in the kitchen. Flavia had gone into town to check on something at her art gallery and would return shortly. It instructed them to put their items in the guest bedroom and make themselves at home.
The sleepy children dropped their bags in the kitchen and looked like their last fumes of energy were finally zapped. Pretty understandable—not their usual con jobs to get Mom to do all the heavy lifting for them. Veronica grabbed their bags and carried them into the guest room.
She heard the door slam behind her.
She turned and attempted to open it. It was jammed. She jarred it a few more times. It wouldn’t budge. She had underestimated them once again.
“Maggie! Jamie! This isn’t funny.”
She heard Maggie scream and her heart jumped. Footsteps headed toward the door. Along with a rhythmic tapping she recognized.
She pounded on the door, “Let me out of here!”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, Veronica,” a man’s voice said.
“Ben, is that you?” Veronica asked. “What is going on?”
“Think of me as a gypsy moth, Veronica. I have come to defoliate your family tree of evil.”
Maggie screamed out, “Mom—help!”
Her world began to spin out of control. She banged harder on the door.
“Your children are fine, Veronica. Let me set the scene for you. I’m holding Maggie down with the tip of my umbrella. I’m just going to lightly prick her with it and she will go to sleep. I am holding a gun in my other hand at Jamie’s head, but I don’t want to use it. I’m hoping he will cooperate and I will put him to sleep, also.”
“No!” Veronica shouted. “I don’t understand—why you are doing this?”
“Oh, I believe you do. And I think deep down you have the same fears I do about what the future brings for them. You know of their genetic makeup—they are the last leaves on the most evil family tree in history. The world cannot allow this disease to spread any more.”
“How did you know we were here?” Veronica asked sharply.
“I was able to attach a little gadget to Maggie’s cell phone when she visited my place, which allowed me to track her. Isn’t modern technology fantastic? When I was a boy, the automobile was a luxury, and now the whole world is connected by a signal.”
“Where’s Flavia?”
“She can no longer hurt anyone. Same with Jim Kingston, who was struck down by a sudden stroke earlier today, even if they are calling it a suicide.”
“My children are innocent!” Veronica shouted through tears, “Please let them go.”
“We both know that isn’t true. But let me tell you a story about someone who was innocent. My father was a doctor in Munich who helped those who couldn’t afford medical treatment after World War I. It was there he came across a young prostitute named Etta who was impregnated by a German corporal. He threatened her with violence if she didn’t terminate the child. But my father risked his life to help secretly deliver the child—a girl named Ellen.
“What he didn’t know was that his loyalty had helped to continue a shark infested gene pool. I think you have most likely figured out what that young corporal’s name was, Veronica. And how was my father rewarded for this? He was murdered by those with the same blood as your children.”
Veronica kept frantically pounding the door, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried kicking it, but the only damage she inflicted was on her own foot.
“If you do this, you are a monster just like those Nazis you hunted. Just like those secret police who tracked down Anne Frank hiding in that attic. Just like the ones who killed your father and fiancée. Just like the ones who loaded the trains with children and the elderly, and sent them to their death …”
She hoped to strike a nerve of guilt, but Youkelstein seemed unfazed.
“Mom—please!” Maggie called out again, and Veronica’s heart almost exploded.
“The ironic thing, Veronica, is after all the evil I hunted down across the globe, your family came to me—when Carsten brought the letters between Ellen and Heinrich Müller. That in itself was quite an impressive discovery. But you see, one of the letters was dated April 20,
and in that letter Ellen and Müller discussed the birthday of their son Josef’s grandfather, who was an Apostle named Peter. April 20 happens to be the birthday of a certain former German leader. It allowed me to connect the dots.
“When I learned that Carsten’s grandmother was Ellen, it brought me back to the story my father told me. I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence, and I had to eliminate the tree at the roots.”
“You killed Carsten!” Veronica shouted through sobs. She was now bull-rushing the door with no success.
“I enjoyed my time with Carsten. He was intelligent and passionate, much like his daughter. As was Ellen when I surprised her with a visit. But in the end, I had no choice.”
“If it wasn’t for Maggie and Jamie then the world as we know it would be gone. How could someone who did that be evil?”
Veronica’s plan was to hold on as long as she could. An elderly man who suffered a multitude of injuries over the last two days, including a gunshot wound to the shoulder he held his weapon with, couldn’t hold out much longer, could he? Even fueled by his thirst for revenge, he’d ultimately run out of gas and drop his weapon.
She hoped.
Keep him talking, she told herself. Play into his ego … his vanity.
But Jamie threw a wrench into her plan. “Hey Maggie, let’s play the game we did at the subway.”
“No, Jamie—no!” Veronica shouted out.
But it was too late—she heard his small feet running across the floor and yelling out a nonsensical, primal scream.
“No!” Veronica shouted again.
A gunshot rang out and she heard a body hit the floor. Maggie screamed.
Veronica dropped to her knees, yelling at the top of her lungs. But there was nothing she could do to drown her pain.
Footsteps moved toward the door once again. She scrambled back, but it was too late. The door swung open and a man stood before her.
She thought she must be dreaming, because when she looked at the man with a gun in his hand, it was Zach. She shook the cobwebs out.
Still Zach.
Was he in on this?
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She didn’t know what to say. But when Jamie bolted into the room with a smile on his face, she had her answer … she was perfect.
“But how?” she asked, still in shock.
“There was something Sterling said on that tape Youkelstein gave me, which got me thinking. He said he would protect your children from Youkelstein, who came to
harm them
.”
Before she could completely digest Zach’s words, she heard Maggie’s voice in the other room. But she wasn’t sure she liked what was coming out of her mouth. “He’s losing a lot of blood—we need to get him to a hospital.”
Veronica couldn’t believe Maggie was trying to help the man who tried to kill her. Youkelstein was not dead—he had been shot in the same shoulder as last night. But that was her daughter. Maggie wasn’t evil; in fact, she represented everything that was good and hopeful in this world.
Youkelstein had other plans. As if he mortgaged every last ounce of strength in his body, he rose to his feet and mumbled something, the only word Veronica could make out was ‘Esther,’ and rushed toward Maggie with his umbrella pointed at her.
Veronica instinctively grabbed the gun out of Zach’s hands and fired.
Youkelstein fell to the ground, dead.
Veronica threw the gun as far as she could and pulled her children into a group hug, trying to shield them from the horrible scene.
Veronica Peterson’s week from hell ended on a blissful Saturday afternoon. It was as if Mother Nature was signaling that things would be okay.
The Petersons’ long journey back to normalcy was beginning with some good old fashioned yard work and leaf raking. But it predictably turned into the kids playing in the leaves as Veronica photographed them. She was trying to capture every moment of their innocence.
She had sent them to school on Thursday and Friday. Well, Maggie went to school, but the judge upheld Jamie’s sentence. He spent his days at Uncle Phil and Aunt Val’s, probably longing for a return of the Nazis.
Veronica got back to normalcy herself. That is, if you can call making funeral arrangements normal, along with wrapping up Ellen’s affairs at Sunshine Village.
She still had mixed feelings about Ellen, but Flavia left this world with nothing but her respect—not that Flavia cared what she thought. Veronica realized that she never really hated her. She actually envied her, because she was a constant and painful reminder of the person Veronica used to be. The one that Carsten fell in love with. She vowed to never lose herself again.
Flavia also left her art gallery and farmhouse to the estate of Carsten Peterson. Leaving it to someone who brightened her life, as the farmhouse had been left for her. Veronica could see herself running the gallery, keeping Flavia’s dreams alive, but also re-starting her own. She visualized Maggie working with her during her summer vacations from school, maybe even hanging a Maggie & Veronica Peterson original on the wall. And while logic told Veronica to run as far away from the ghosts as possible, her gut disagreed.
Next week would be the full-dress police funeral for Lieutenant Edward Peterson, who would be laid to rest as a hero. Journalists like Zach might see nobility in the quest for the truth, but Veronica thought the world was a better place when there were more heroes than scoundrels, even if that conflicted with reality.
She believed the same about Youkelstein, who was also being hailed as a survivor who sought justice. And since his body was laid to rest deep in the caves beneath Flavia’s property, it likely would never be found, and Veronica and her children would never have to be questioned about the shooting or what led to it.
And Eddie’s police family continued his legacy as the protector. They wouldn’t allow anyone to get within a hundred feet of Veronica’s house, or the children at school. This police protection wasn’t for any reprisals or revenge from the Nazis or Kingston supporters—it was from the media. The last thing Veronica wanted was their association with Ellen to cause them to be dragged back into a drama they never asked for.
Veronica looked at her children through her camera lens. Jamie was running and jumping into the piles of leaves like he was performing a cannonball dive into a swimming pool. Maggie had bunched handfuls of leaves under her shirt. She yelled, “Look Mom—I look like a pregnant lady!”
Oh God—no!
It’s way too early to even start thinking about those things.
Veronica thought again of her natural instinct to protect. Did that mean that nature would eventually win out in the never-ending debate?
That’s what scared her.
Did this mean Maggie and Jamie had a ticking time bomb inside them? Did she give birth to Rosemary’s babies? According to many accounts, including Ellen’s, Hitler didn’t embrace his vile views until his teens. Before that, he was supposedly just a passionate artist with a temper—sort of like Maggie.
So every time Jamie poisoned a classmate’s lunch or Maggie displayed a passion for politics, Veronica would wonder if it was the zest of youth, or a cancer spreading inside them. For a mother, it was eternal damnation—they might have caught the bad guys, but this would never be over.