Commitment Issues

by Wynn Wagner

"Bomb,” I said. “Somebody threw a bomb into your grandmother's house. I know your grandmother is hurt, and she was taken to a hospital. You know that FBI agent who has been hanging around?"

  Debbie nodded.

  "She was hurt, and there are reports of an officer being missing. My FBI contact doesn't know if the agent who was hurt is now missing. He's finding out details and is going to call back. He says it isn't safe to go there, and we probably shouldn't go to your house either."

  "I wanna go home, Mommy,” the middle girl said.

  "So do I, Cathy,” Debbie said. That meant the smallest girl was Anna, by the process of elimination.

  "Did you test your blood?” Mason asked, apparently used to being the older brother.

  "I didn't bring my stuff,” Cathy said.

  "Cathy, we can't go buy you another insulin meter every time you forget yours. Do you have anything?"

  "No, Mommy,” she said as she started crying. “I don't like ‘beeteez. I hate it. Why did you let me get it?"

  "Nobody's fault, Cathy,” Mason said quietly. “It just happens. You got diabetes. I'm gay. Mommy is left-handed. We're all different."

  "I don't wanna be different,” Cathy cried. “I wanna be gay and left-handed."

  "If any girls want to kiss me,” Mason said, “I'll send them to you. ‘Kay?"

  "Gross,” Cathy said.

  Debbie drove the minivan to the grocery store. It had a sign that said Pharmacy in bright letters.

  "I guess we restock the Nelson pharmacy,” she said, shaking her head. Everyone was tense from the news of the bombing at Mrs. Nelson's home. Debbie was worried about her husband, and I was worried about Wyatt.

  "Does she forget her supplies often?"

  She nodded.

  "Can't we turn around and go back to get everything?” Mason said. “Can't we do that?"

  "Not this time, Mason,” I said as Debbie parked the minivan.

  "Some birthday,” Mason said.

  "I know, dear,” Debbie said. “Nobody counted on a bombing. We'll celebrate properly later."

  I could tell Mason wasn't really happy. Debbie left the engine running as she went inside to shop. I would have volunteered, but I had no clue what the girl needed. I guessed that I was going to get a quick lesson in diabetes.

  "Birthday?” I said to Mason.

  "Yup, that's what they tell me. I don't remember being born, so I have to take their word for it.” He sounded almost bitter, but he knew it wasn't his parents’ fault. I guess it was hard for a teenager to let somebody else be the center of attention on a day that was supposed to be his special day. The kid wanted to lash out but knew he couldn't. It's tough being a kid. I don't miss it.

  "How many years?” I asked.

  "Sixteen,” he said. “Still below the age of consent in Wisconsin."

  "Sex isn't everything, Mason,” I said. “Do I need to give you Uncle Sean's lecture about condoms and disease?"

  "No, I'm good,” Mason said with a pout.

  "Dating anyone?"

  "Nosy,” he said, and his pout was back.

  "Sorry,” I laughed, “but I think it's neat that you can date. I had to sneak around and hide when I was a kid."

  "Twenty-first century, Uncle Sean,” Mason said. “But if I date somebody who's eighteen, they can be sent to jail. You can boink whoever you want to boink."

  "I only boink your uncle."

  "I thought he boinked you,” he said. Did the kid have hidden cameras? They don't make sixteen-year-old boys the way they made them when I was that age, and it wasn't that long ago.

  "There's plenty of time for you,” I laughed, ignoring his prodding.

  "Tell that to my hormones,” Mason said, and it made me laugh that a kid would be so smart about that kind of thing.

  "Play safe, Mason,” I said.

  "Of course, Auntie Sean,” Mason said as he batted his eyes at me. “It isn't like I get much chance to play, safe or otherwise. Dad won't let me do sleepovers with nobody."

  I didn't much like being called “Auntie,” but it was clear that Mason was relaxing around me. That was a major hurdle in my book. I even borderline liked the kid, and I never like teenagers. It was probably because he was a Nelson, and he had Nelson genes. He was effeminate but really cute for a kid. Like Wyatt and Toomas, his eyes were green. And there was that Asian thing on his eyelids. I had to remember to ask about that when there wasn't a funeral going on. Mason was almost like Wyatt, but pint-sized and with a couple of teenage pimples.

  Just knowing that Mason had turned sixteen made him seem like a little adult to me. Before I had known it was his birthday, he was a dopy little rug rat. Somehow he had changed into a person, a real teenager. It wasn't like he was a complete adult, but my brain saw that he had emerged from his cocoon. Mason was a guy, not merely a larva. Sixteen wasn't a major milestone like twenty-one, but it meant something in my head. I saw Mason as a pint-sized adult suddenly.

  I'm not used to being around kids, and I put everybody into little classifications and cubicles and boxes. He was the same individual as before, but my brain somehow saw him differently. He and I could talk about things. Before he was an official human, I would have tried to get him to wear Pampers and play with plastic toys. It's dumb, but that's the way my head works.

  "Have you been diabetic long?” I asked Cathy, who was officially still a child in my head, and she just nodded.

  Mason shook his head to disagree. “Maybe a year,” he said. “It happened right after she had the flu."

  "Flu caused it?"

  "Nope, don't think so. It just made it appear. Doctor says it is a good thing we caught it before any damage was done. I guess some diabetic kids get foot trouble or eye trouble. I don't know exactly."

  After a few minutes, Debbie came out of the store with a big bag in one hand and a cupcake with a candle in the other. She handed the cupcake to Mason, and we all sang “Happy Birthday” to him. It had to be awful to try to mark your kid's birthday when your father-in-law's body was in a funeral parlor and your mother-in-law was in a hospital room fighting for her life. It was hard to do anything when you didn't really know if your husband was safe.

  Debbie was trying to make it all work. Mason probably knew it, but he didn't like anything. He wanted to be an adult, but the family had to bury his grandfather first.

  I made a note to tell Wyatt that we needed to do something really nice for Mason. Maybe we could take him out to dinner. Maybe we could go with Mason's boyfriend, if he even had one.

  Then it was back to business, and Debbie handed a box with Cathy's new meter and a little blister pack with a plastic tube to Mason. He had done this before. He tore into the new meter box and opened the tube. He pulled a thin rectangular thing from the tube and stuck it into the meter.

  "Test strip,” he said as he read the tube. “Code is nineteen."

  He punched buttons on the front of the meter. There was a longer plastic wand thing, and Mason pulled it into two pieces. He fished around in the meter box, pulled out a little plastic thing, and put it into the wand, and then he screwed the two halves of the wand back together.

  "Here,” he told his sister. “My favorite part."

  "He likes to see me yelp,” Cathy said as she held the wand against her finger. She pushed a button on the wand, and it made a pop. “Ouch."

  Mason gave her the meter with the test strip. He pulled the meter back at the last minute and pulled out the test strip.

  "Timed out,” he said as he pushed the test strip back into the meter. Cathy got a drop of blood on her finger and dragged her finger across the tip of the test strip.

  "Five, four, three, two, one,” she said as the meter counted down numbers on its readout.

  "Survey says...,” Mason called out. “410."

  Debbie shook her head and pulled out a card that she kept in her purse. “410. Uh, that's four units."

  "Okay,” Cathy said as her mother handed her a syringe, a vial of insulin with a big “R” on the
label, and some kind of sanitary wipe in a little packet.

  "You can buy syringes?"

  "Yeah, insulin and syringes are over-the-counter,” Debbie said.

  "That's for people like Cathy,” Mason added as Cathy kicked him. She pulled the plunger back, wiped her stomach, and wiped the top of the vial. He pushed some air into the vial and then turned it upside down on the needle. She looked and counted each unit.

  "Four?"

  "Yeah, it's a lot because you messed up,” Mason said as he tickled his sister.

  "Mommy, make him stop."

  "Mason."

  "She's just jealous because I'm gay, and she wants to be gay."

  "Do not,” she said. “I just want you to have my diabetes. You can have both."

  "Being gay isn't a medical thing,” Mason told his sister. “Not like diabetes or being ticklish."

  "Mommy!"

  "Mason, let her finish,” Debbie said as Cathy checked for air bubbles. The girl pinched the skin of her stomach and shoved the needle into her stomach. I think Debbie snapped a little harsher than usual, but I couldn't blame her. She was holding things together better than me, and she had more to hold together. Regardless of what the officers said, I was scared for Wyatt. I wanted to know the details of the explosion at the Nelson house. I had to know Wyatt was safe, and “no news is good news” just wasn't working.

  "Hurt?” I asked.

  "Nope,” she said. “Blood test hurts, but the insulin doesn't. Want some?"

  "I'll, uh, pass for now,” I said. “Maybe later."

  Cathy counted to five before pulling out the needle. She got the cap on the dirty syringe and put it into a paper towel that was on the floor of the minivan.

  "Good as new,” Debbie said with a forced motherly smile. “I think we need to get your supplies mounted to your shoulder or something."

  "Sorry, Mommy,” Cathy said. “I just forgot."

  "I know, dear. I know."

  "It really sucks being Cathy some days,” Mason whispered.

  "Mommy!"

  "Mason, watch your language, dear.” He just rolled his eyes and pulled out his video game.

  "Where do you think we...?” Debbie started to say when her phone rang. “It's Wyatt,” she said. “Wyatt, honey?"

  She listened for a minute and then handed me the phone, and I saw pure terror in her face.

  "Hello?"

  "I am Jeremy Whitlock,” the voice on the other end of the phone said.

  "What have you done, Jeremy?"

  "I have my lover with me,” he said without an ounce of emotion.

  "Wyatt? He's not your—"

  "Yes, Wyatt, Mr. Roberts. Wyatt is with me, and that is where he is supposed to be. He wants to be with me. He is my lover, not yours. He won't be seeing you again, Mr. Roberts. He will never see you again."

  "Let me talk to Wyatt."

  "Maybe you didn't hear me, Mr. Roberts. Get the tennis ball out of your fucking ear and listen to what I am saying. Wyatt and I are going away. If you try to follow, I will kill you. I will kill Wyatt. If you report any of this to the police, I will kill you, and I will kill Wyatt. You need to go back where you came from. These proceedings are concluded."

  "Is Wyatt okay?"

  "Listen to me, jock-breath!” he screamed. “Wyatt is with me. I have his sister here too, and some other woman who claims to be with the FBI. The bitches are going with us for a while to make sure we have clear sailing. If Wyatt and I are left alone, I may release the women. If you try to follow me, I will kill them. I will kill both women and you and Wyatt. Are we clear on that?"

  "I understand your words,” I said, but Jeremy Whitlock was already gone.

  "What's going on?” Debbie asked.

  "He kidnapped Wyatt, Katariina, and the FBI agent."

  "Oh my God."

  "I need to call 911."

  "Sure."

  "911 Operator, what is your emergency?"

  "There was a bombing a short time ago in Madison."

  "It's already been reported, sir,” the operator said.

  "Don't hang up. The bomber just called me. Is the FBI working this case? If so, can you connect me with one of the agents?"

  "Just a moment, sir."

  "FBI,” came a man's voice after several clicks. “Special Agent Williams."

  "Hi, I'm Sean Roberts."

  "Yes, Mr. Roberts. Agent Iacocca told me about you. He should be landing shortly."

  "You know about the bomb?” I asked.

  "I do,” he said.

  "Jeremy Whitlock just called,” I said. “He said he was holding Wyatt Nelson and Katariina Nelson and an FBI agent."

  "Did he call the phone you're using now?"

  "He did,” I said.

  "Just a moment,” Williams told me. After several seconds, he came back on the line to say that somebody was going to try to triangulate the location of the phone that had called a few minutes ago.

  "What else did he say?” Williams asked.

  "He said that if I tried to get Wyatt back or if I called the police, he'd kill the agent and Katariina and Wyatt."

  "Standard threat,” Agent Williams said, “but you did the right thing."

  "You're FBI, so I technically didn't call the police."

  "He probably wouldn't split that hair, but I see your point. Yeah, you can tell him you didn't talk to the police. Where are you?"

  "Beats me. Let me put my sister-in-law on the phone."

  Debbie told the FBI agent our location. They could use shorthand language that only a local would know. The agent told her to pull off the side of the road. He told her there was a coffee shop nearby, and he suggested we go there to wait.

  I didn't really want to go there. I didn't want to wait. I wanted to be doing something. Jeremy had kidnapped Wyatt and his sister and an FBI agent, and Jeremy had a history of violence.

  Debbie dialed the phone when we got the kids into a booth in the coffee shop. She ordered coffee, and I ordered iced coffee. All of the kids ordered Coke Zero, sugar-free soda. It was probably to show solidarity with Cathy and her diabetes.

  "Toomy? No, I heard.... Can you talk...? Yeah.... How's she doing...? I am so sorry, Toomy, but I am happy you're okay.... Okay, yeah.... Uh, huh... uh, huh... wow.... Yeah, I will. I love you, Toomy. Bye."

  "What's up?"

  "Mrs. Nelson isn't expected to live."

  "Jesus,” I said. “Sorry, I forgot the kids."

  "The FBI agent was hurt pretty bad, but they got the bleeding stopped. Toomy said the bomb took out the whole back of the Nelsons’ house. The kitchen and everything is gone. Mrs. Nelson was in the kitchen. Right after the explosion, the FBI agent came running into the kitchen, and this guy Whitlock was already there. He shot the agent in the arm just to make his point. He had his gun pointing at Katariina and ordered her to help the FBI agent. She grabbed a towel or something to hold against the wound just as Whitlock put another bullet into the agent. The second bullet went into her stomach. Whitlock told Wyatt to carry the hurt woman out to his car, and they all left. Toomy got a good description of the car and called in the license plate, but that's the last anybody heard from them. He didn't follow because he was scared of Whitlock hurting everybody, and he needed to see if he could help save his mother."

  "I understand."

  "I am so sorry, Sean,” she said in tears. I know it was tough for her. She was so happy to know that her husband was okay, but she knew that I'd be devastated. She didn't have much use for Mrs. Nelson, but the woman was the grandmother of her kids. Debbie was torn every which way.

  "Mario?” I said into my phone. I answered so fast that it barely made a beep.

  "You off in a safe place?” he said.

  "Yeah, coffee shop,” I said, “with Wyatt's sister-in-law and three kids. You hear about the bombing?"

  "Yeah, and the kidnapping. This guy is a real piece of work, isn't he?"

  "Did they tell you about Mrs. Nelson?"

  "They did. I'm sorry, Sean."


  "And the threat to kill everybody if I go to the police?"

  "They always say that, Sean. It's like a bad Hollywood movie. They all tell you not to go to the police, but this guy has no intention of releasing the FBI agent. We only have a little time."

  "What about Wyatt and his sister?"

  "I don't know,” Iacocca said. “This is kind of out of my area. I've never really dealt with somebody as weird as Wyatt's ex. They told me you got a good lead on a cell phone he's using."

  "Yeah, and they got the license plate of the car."

  "He changed cars. They found his car abandoned near where there was a carjacking. He's heading out into the country. Listen, you guys need to stay put. There's not much left of the Nelson house, and the hotel is someplace that Whitlock might go looking for revenge. I'll call you when I know something."

  Iacocca was being as vague as he could be. If he'd been honest, he would have told me that Whitlock was certain to kill Wyatt and the women. He didn't want to be completely honest with me, and I knew it. Wyatt was a captive of a murderous psychopath who had already killed with bombs and guns. Whitlock had nothing more to lose because he knew the police would lock him up forever or execute him. There was nothing he could do at this point that could add to his sentence. He wanted to get away. If he couldn't get away, he wanted to die, taking as many others with him as possible. Wyatt was in the middle of Whitlock's sights. He was in mortal danger, and I was miles away. I was supposed to stay there. They wanted me to be safe while my lover was, you know....

  I got up and ran out of the coffee shop. I knew that I couldn't hold it back any longer. Nobody was around to hear, so I screamed at the cars in the parking lot. This couldn't be happening. The man of my dreams was being held by a bomber who was wanted for killing people. Wyatt was the hostage of somebody who wouldn't hesitate to kill him. I worried about Katariina and the FBI agent, of course, but I was terrified about what might happen to Wyatt. It wasn't a lump in my throat but tightness shot through my entire body. I was afraid, and my anger was about to explode. They said I had to wait. I was supposed to sit around while... you know.

  "Not again!” I screamed at the sky. “You gotta fix this,” I said to the heavens, and then I sank to the asphalt parking lot and cried. I hit the back of my head against the brick wall of the coffee shop. “You gotta fix this,” I cried as my face burrowed itself between my knees.