His dad walked over. “Michael, don’t forget to finish your term paper on the condor.”
“Okay,” Michael said.
Gary raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Really? Just get it done. ’Night boys.” He took Maddy’s arm and swept her out of the house.
No sooner had the door shut when Maddy popped her head in again. She ushered Michael towards her. “Michael, do me a favor. Keep Danny away from the windows and all those dead birds. I don’t want him to get scared, okay?”
“Sure, mom. Don’t worry, we’ll be cool. Have a great time tonight.”
“I love you, baby,” she said.
With that, the door closed, and the boys were on their own.
Chapter Three
Michael finally coaxed Danny into bed at nine o’clock and then kicked back to watch TV, a can of Coke, and a bag of barbecue potato chips resting on his stomach. His term paper on the condor sat unfinished, open on the laptop next to him.
He was just dozing off when a segment on the eleven o’clock news about a murderous rampage at the Plaza in New York City caught his attention. He was almost immune to reports of shooting sprees by maniacs since they were plastered across the news all the time, but this one piqued his interest. Michael sat upright with a start, the empty bag of chips falling forgotten on the floor.
Five assassins had swarmed into an awards presentation at the Plaza at ten-thirty that evening and started a shooting spree, which left five people dead and at least fifteen injured.
Survivors said after only a few minutes of searching the crowd, men grabbed a couple and dragged them from the room and out through the kitchen. So far the suspects hadn’t been apprehended, and the FBI was scouring the hotel for leads. Michael listened, sweating and nauseous, as the newscaster announced they would report more details as soon as they came in.
Michael rushed to the phone and called the number his mother had given him at the Plaza in case of emergencies. All the lines were jammed, and he couldn’t get through. He punched in the numbers to her cell phone, but it went right to voicemail. “Mom, Mom, please call me when you get this,” he shouted into the phone.
He couldn’t believe this was happening. He pictured his mother and father leaving that evening, never for one moment thinking anything would possibly happen to them.
Michael ran back into the living room to watch the news, hoping the deep, sinking feeling in his stomach was just nerves and not a horrible premonition. He kept glancing at the door, desperately wishing his parents would burst in and tell him they were fine and he shouldn’t have worried. He turned back to the newscast, tears streaming unnoticed down his face.
Michael’s parents didn’t come home that evening and after a sleepless night, the eight a.m. news made him sick to his stomach, his worst fears confirmed.
A grim-faced announcer filled the screen. “The hostage victims have been identified as Madeline and Gary Anderson, two of the neurophysicists being presented with awards last evening. The police have uncovered evidence believed to be left behind by the kidnappers, though at the present time they are unclear as to its meaning. The kidnappers dropped a bag in the hotel kitchen filled with snapshots of birds and photos of a little boy who has just recently been identified as Daniel Anderson, the six-year-old son of the Andersons. What they are most interested in is a set of notes allegedly linking the kidnapped victims to Samuel Herrington’s organization. He is being contacted as we speak.”
Samuel Herrington? The crazy corrupt biophysicist who once tried to buy his way into NATO? Michael remembered reading about this guy a few years ago. How Herrington thought he could intimidate everyone with his billions and his secret laboratories where he claimed he had at his disposal enough bio-chemicals to bring down the entire human race. Reports of his doings created panic around the globe, but the FBI and Homeland Security assured everyone none of it was true and Herrington was no threat to anyone. That the government had gained access to his labs and there were no bio-agents of that magnitude at any of his facilities.
Still, there was always talk when unexplained atrocities occurred around the globe. Was Herrington responsible for the recent strain of a virulent flu, which left thousands of people dead across Europe? Or was he the one responsible for the thousands of dead fish that washed up on the shores of the Philippines last month? What about the disappearing Coral Reef?
Herrington claimed he was a philanthropist, dedicated to finding cures for diseases, such as cancer and diabetes and constantly pushed his agendas in Africa, where he offered free vaccinations to thousands of people to help fight everything from malaria to whooping cough.
But other people weren’t so sure, including Michael’s parents who were constantly glued to the news when anything related to this guy came on. They were more concerned with his side interests. The stuff most people ignored, like Herrington’s weird curiosity about death, or his obsession with numbers and colors.
Michael was fascinated with government conspiracies and read alternative collusion websites. So many rational people thought the government was covering up things for their own agenda. That they may even be conspiring with Herrington on some level. The mere mention of the man’s name gave Michael the shivers, and the thought of his parents being linked to Herrington scared him to death. The guy had power, money and frankly, seemed a little skeevy whenever he saw him on television. It wasn’t so much what he looked like, but how he moved. He was nearly always dressed in a perfectly pressed gray striped suit, when he wasn’t in his tennis whites. Whenever he was on the news, he would pat his head, as if his gray hair wasn’t slicked back enough from his forehead. And for a guy, he wore an awful lot of jewelry. Jeweled rings on many of his fingers, diamond tie clips, a watch that sparkled so much the lights from the cameras would glare off of it, as if Herrington had to continuously boast to everyone how rich he was. The problem Michael had with him was how his eyes would constantly shift around as if he were expecting someone to come at him suddenly. How he would never shake anyone’s hand. The way he spoke, like a robot, so cold and monotonous, as if he were giving a lecture all the time, rather than just having a conversation with regular people. Michael didn’t trust anything the guy said.
He lowered the sound on the TV and heard a car door close outside the house. Inching quietly to the window, he peeked through the living room curtains and saw an unmarked brown sedan idling across the street from the house. Two uniformed officers stood outside the car, talking and staring at the house.
Excited, he ran to the door and was about to open it when the phone rang. He picked it up, hoping it was his parents.
It wasn’t.
“Michael?” The voice was familiar.
“Dobber?” Michael asked. “Is that you?”
Dobber was Dennis Dobbernesky, one of the scientists who worked at his parent’s lab. He was a funny, gentle guy, always telling jokes, doing science experiments like oozing liquid or blowing things up to make them laugh when they visited.
He wasn’t laughing now. “Michael, where’s Danny?”
“He’s still sleeping. Dobber, did you hear what happened to my parents?”
Dobber ignored him. “Listen to me. You have to get Danny and you as far away from those cops at your house as possible. Do you hear me? They’re not real policemen. They work for Samuel Herrington. The people who took your parents are now coming to get you.”
Michael’s head was spinning. “What are you talking about? Why would they come to get us? And how do you even know the police are here?”
Dobber raised his voice, seething with frustration. “I can’t explain it to you now. There are things you don’t know, things which were kept from you to protect you. You have to trust me. Get out of the house right now and run. These people want Danny.”
“Why would they want my brother?”
A knock sounded on the door.
Dobber started yelling at him. “Run now, don’t let them in, please. Danny has to be protected. His powers a
re growing and these monsters are going to use him unless you protect him. Don’t trust anyone, Michael.”
Suddenly the line went dead. As Michael stared at the phone in shock, the knock sounded again. He turned to the door, unsure. Dobber was one of the nicest, funniest and most laid back guys he had ever met. He never raised his voice. Why would he be scared of the police? This had to be a mistake.
Michael put down the receiver and walked over to the door. He opened it a crack, staring at two smiling police officers.
A female cop stepped forward. “Hi, Michael, are you boys okay? Our lieutenant had us come over to check on you after we realized what happened to your parents. I’m sure you’re scared.” She flashed her badge and credentials at him.
She looked so kind, so…normal. He nodded. “I am.”
“Do you mind if we come in? We’ve been told to escort you both to the police station to protect you and see if maybe you can tell us a little bit more about your parents so we can try to help them.” She smiled and leaned in, touching his arm. He opened the door further, her smile widening. “Don’t worry. We’ll find your parents. I’m sure they’re okay or we would have heard something by now.”
Her voice was calming. Michael turned to the other cop, a guy, who nodded reassuringly. He could feel himself being swayed. Without thinking, he opened the door the entire way. The police officers came in and stood in the living room.
“Let me go get my brother, okay?”
“Sure.” They nodded. “Want some help?”
“No, let me just wake him up and get a few things together for him.” As Michael moved down the hallway he saw the woman pick up a photograph of his family and show it to the male cop. He nodded, and she put it down.
Michael went into his room and threw some of his clothes into a backpack and then, suddenly overwhelmed, he sat hard on the edge of his bed and put his face in his hands. Images of his parents being hurtled through the hotel at gunpoint and being tortured raced through his head. He wanted to scream in helplessness and started to cry. He prided himself on becoming a grown-up, but he felt more like a child than ever.
His dad’s voice echoed through his head. Think of Danny.
That made Michael sit up straight, and he wiped savagely at his eyes. The police were here and they could help. Dobber had made a mistake. How did he even know the cops were here? That thought niggled at the back of his mind as he grabbed a few more personal belongings, went into Danny’s room, and gently woke him. “Get dressed, Danny, we’re going on an adventure.”
“Can Mr. Teddy come, too?” he signed, yawning.
Michael wasn’t sure if he would laugh or cry. In a six-year-old’s mind, a teddy bear could offer all the comfort you ever needed in the world. He wished he had his own magical bear to make this go away. “Sure, just hurry, okay?”
Danny got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and then put on his favorite Spiderman T-shirt and sweatpants.
Michael stuffed a few day’s worth of Danny’s clothes in his bag, remembered to grab the hundred and twenty-five dollars he had stashed under his bed and the Visa card his dad finally added his name to in case of emergencies. He then put Danny’s jacket on him and led him down the hallway towards the living room, but stopped before the bend.
The police officers were talking quietly, and he heard their conversation. “We should have just grabbed them.” The male cop said.
The woman scoffed, “You don’t think their kicking and screaming will attract attention? This way’s better. The kid can’t know a thing yet. We cut the line before he was told anything.”
“Let’s just get him to Herrington and we can be done with this.”
Michael froze. Herrington? He squeezed his eyes shut, Dobber’s voice echoing in his head. Don’t trust anyone.
He made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. “Be right there,” Michael called out. “Just getting some things for Danny.”
He grabbed his brother’s hand and quickly moved to his parent’s bedroom. They had a patio off one wall of their room, which led to the backyard. Michael opened it quietly and led Danny past the pool, the covered fifteen foot motor boat hitched to the jeep and out to the storage shed at the far end of the property.
“Where are Mommy and Daddy?” Danny signed, yawning.
The lie came surprisingly easily. “They had to go away for a while, but they’ll be back soon. We need to go somewhere for a little bit.”
But where? Suddenly he remembered his old Scout Master, Mr. Mark Jacobs. Michael had been a Boy Scout for years until the age of fourteen and had always liked the guy, trusted him. He would at least know what to do.
As he opened the shed door, Michael smelled his dad’s aftershave and a lump formed in his throat. He choked it back and turned to his father’s motorcycle stored in the corner. Michael removed the tarp, which covered the bike and picked up two helmets hanging on the rack against the wall.
Danny pulled on his sleeve, his eyes wide. “We’re taking Daddy’s motorcycle?”
Michael nodded. “Daddy said it was okay.” He adjusted the helmet straps to fit Danny’s head. After securing the backpack in the travel rack, he hoisted Danny onto the back of the motorcycle.
“Now hold on tight,” he signed. Picking up the keys from the cabinet next to him made him pause. Another image of his dad filled his mind, and it was all he could do not to sob. He tried to stop picturing his father teaching him how to drive the bike, against his mother’s protests he was too young. It was true, but Gary Anderson always liked to live by his own rules and if he wanted to teach his son something, he did it.
Shaking his head to clear the image, he pushed the motorcycle out of the shed, glancing repeatedly at the house to make sure they weren’t seen, and walked it quickly down the dirt road, which ran behind the house. It was an old logging road from the 1850s and luckily for him it was hardly used anymore. The road ran for a half a mile through the woods and then onto the main highway.
The going was slow because the road was muddy and filled with rocks and fallen tree branches. Michael had to stop twice to move some of the larger branches out of the way so he could push the motorcycle through. He finally reached the road, his muscles aching from the effort. When he felt the blacktop under his feet, he got on the bike and started it. Within seconds they were cruising down Route 202 towards Mr. Jacob’s house.
He felt better with the cold wind whipping against his face and Danny’s little hands gripping his waist. There was something comforting about that. He wanted to tell Danny not to worry, that he would keep him safe, but there was no way to do it at the moment. He felt stupid running from the cops, and he didn’t understand anything Dobber had been talking about.
As they passed through town, they stopped at a light. Michael heard a heated conversation coming from the passengers in the car next to him.
“Hey, it’s coming on. Be quiet!” someone yelled.
Michael leaned in as the driver turned up the volume on the radio. A news announcer was speaking. “According to the FBI, Hi-Core Industries, the company where kidnapped victims Maddy and Gary Anderson work may be owned by Samuel Herrington or one of his affiliates. The company is vehemently denying any association. There’s talk the Anderson’s research project, while valid, may be a front and their true agenda is for Herrington himself.”
“I told you!” the driver said. “The parents were really doing experiments on their own kid the whole time. Can you believe that?”
A female passenger in the backseat piped up. “Besides being a biophysicist, Herrington’s a bioethicist as well. You know, those people all about life and death? He’s the one who bought all of the Nazi’s doctor’s experiment notes, which went on auction last year. Those experiments from The Holocaust where they brought people as close to death as possible and then would bring them back to life? To see if they really could see the afterlife.”
“I bet he’s doing the same experiments in some secret laboratory now and the parents are
using the kid,” another woman said.
Michael couldn’t remain silent. He turned, leaning towards the car. “Why would you think the Anderson’s are working for Herrington?”
The driver glanced at him, his eyebrows raised. “What, you’re surprised? The guy has his hands supposedly in nearly every government around the globe. Don’t think for a moment he’s not involved with us somehow or that he didn’t buy out those scientists to work with him behind the scenes. Dirty little spies. Herrington’s probably paying them millions.”
The light changed green and the car sped forward. Michael sat at the light for a few seconds, frustrated, until someone beeped. He kicked the bike into gear and within minutes came upon Mr. Jacob’s house.
He parked the motorcycle, grabbed his knapsack and his brother, and was about to ring the doorbell when Jacobs yanked it open. He glanced around them, his eyes wild and literally grabbed Michael and Danny and pulled them inside.
He slammed shut the door behind him. “Don’t say a word,” he whispered. He pulled the boys through the ranch house towards the family room in the back, shutting the shades, which looked out to the backyard. Only then did he take a breath, moving them to the table.
“I was hoping you’d come to me.”
Michael stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned. “Mr. Jacobs, what’s going on?”
Flying to the Light Page 2
