Discovering Normal

by Cynthia Henry

  But George was a smart guy; and a guy that Chris was never able to completely trust. The combination was less than comforting.

  Now here he was, on a plane bound for anywhere. Beth had probably already been informed that he was dead and she was most likely seeking comfort against the smooth texture of George’s all-season black Armani.

  And Noah and Audrey. Did they know? Had Beth told them that Daddy didn’t love them enough to play it through no matter how much he was hurting inside? He’d walk through flames laced with broken glass for those kids--for Beth too, but she was an adult and she’d made her choice. It couldn’t matter anymore what she thought, but the kids were another story.

  Chris lifted his cuffed hands and smashed his elbow into the smooth wall of what had to be a fairly decent-sized plane. Pain rippled through him, but he repeated the motion. A moment later a door slid open and a beefy bald guy pushed through.

  “Quiet.”

  Chris repeated the painful, noisy move. “Did George Bauman hire you?”

  “I know of no such man.”

  Chris squinted. An articulate thug. “What the fuck do you want with me?”

  “I know nothing. Quiet now.” He backed out of the door.

  He’d bet next year’s crop on the fact that that guy was one of the ones who’d beaten him and then pinned him. What’d happened in the ensuing time though? He didn’t remember a thing after he’d finished the clipped and cryptic note.

  What the fuck was going on?

  Chapter 10

  Beth lay in her otherwise empty bed and listened to the wind whistle through the trees. In the eleven years that this had been her home, she’d never spent an entire night alone in the house before.

  She flipped onto her side and stared at the branches outside of her bedroom window, dancing in the thick breeze. Tomorrow was Noah’s first day of fifth grade in a brand new town. He didn’t know a soul; she wasn’t even sure her mother would find his backpack in the Target bag in her room. Audrey had never had a night away from her. What would she feel when she woke up tomorrow and her mother still hadn’t returned from the mystery trip that she’d fled to yesterday morning?

  And what would either of them think or feel if her intuition proved wrong and she actually had to divulge that their father had taken his own life in a selfish act of revenge. There was no question that if that was the case, Beth would lose her son too because Noah would never find it in his heart to forgive her for robbing him of his father.

  Beth curled into the fetal position and tugged the wedding ring quilt to her chin. She’d spent an hour remaking the bed--ironing the sheets and smoothing them over the cushy pillowtop mattress. Like a strange ritual, she tended to the bed as if it were a beloved child, recalling the things it had seen beginning with Noah’s conception and birth and finishing just forty-eight hours ago when Chris had brought another woman into it.

  Beth swiped her millionth tear and tried to close her eyes. Ramona and Deej had both offered to stay, but Beth declined. She needed to be alone as she attempted to discover a way to purge herself of this hurt, fear and isolation.

  George had called, but she couldn’t talk to him so he settled instead for telling Deej that he’d be in tomorrow at noon. Beth glanced at the clock. It would be dawn soon, close to twenty-four hours after she’d first heard that her husband was gone. Like an eerie little clue the phone rang out into the quiet.

  Beth sat up, flicked on the light and snatched it. “Yes.”

  “It’s Deej. I have some information. Are you awake enough for me to stop by?”

  “Of course.”

  Deej hung up the phone and Beth jumped from bed, pulling her winter robe from the closet and wondering why she hadn’t packed it in the first place.

  Deej made excellent time from the sterile EconoLodge six miles away. He was at the door in ten minutes flat. Beth motioned him in and shivered. Fall was descending early this year. “I made some coffee.”

  “Thanks.” Deej plopped down. By the looks of him, he’d gotten about as much sleep as she had.

  Beth poured a steaming mug and set it before him. “Just tell me if they’ve found him.”

  Deej shook his head and took a hot sip. “No.”

  Beth slid into the chair across from his. “Tell me.”

  Deej set the mug down and pushed it aside. “Ms. Anita Borden doesn’t own a yellow legal pad and doesn’t seem to think Chris was all that upset about you leaving him.”

  Beth adjusted in her seat.

  Deej cleared his throat. “Bethie, I’ve been in contact with some top ranking guys in the last few hours. I’ve discovered some things.”

  “What things?”

  Deej pulled in a breath. “We’ve known for a while that Harold Holden had a son.”

  Beth crossed her arms over the checkered tablecloth. “I’m sure he has lots of sons, Deej. He was quite prolific if I recall.”

  “He was and you’re right, there are several, but most of them were little more than babies when the Jaelyn siege occurred. His first-born was a boy. He’d fathered mostly girls after that until about two years before Jaelyn.”

  Beth massaged her temples. “What does all of this have to do with Chris, Deej?”

  “Do you know Frederick McLean?”

  “The Director of Special Operations?”

  Deej nodded. “That’s the one.”

  “I know of him of course.”

  “I’ve been talking with him, Bethie. He believes that Bryan Holden is trying desperately to rejuvenate Flora-Sky.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Apparently the kid is as psycho as his father. After the siege, his mother took him away and attempted to get back to functioning in the real world. She’d been a British citizen but fell in with Holden Senior. She got pregnant, became his first wife and had Bryan. He was about twelve when you were there. Any recollection at all?”

  There was nothing. She’d tried so hard for so long, and nothing of that time had ever become apparent. She shook her head. “No, nothing.”

  Deej took another sip of coffee. “Bryan is twenty-four now.” Deej flipped a candid photo onto the table. Beth remembered the kind--blurry, black and white, snapped from the safety of a telephone booth or café table yards away from the subject. A young thin man paid for a newspaper at a corner stand. He was more pretty than handsome with dark hair and long lashes, evident even from that distance away. “That’s him. He’s going by the name The Most Masterful now, but that’s Bryan Holden.”

  Beth closed her eyes, took a cleansing breath and opened them. “Deej, I’m sorry, but I’m still confused.”

  “I think--we think--that Bryan Holden and his new group did something to Chris.”

  And then it was all so painfully clear.

  Revenge.

  Deej cleared his throat. “We got word about six months ago that Holden was trying to whip up his own twisted following. We investigated, but found little going on that the Bureau could pursue so we passed it along to S.O. They didn’t take it too seriously either--just a kid trying to ride on his dead father’s glory--but they kept a watchful eye. Holden was able to amass a few lackeys--mostly female--but he was quiet and didn’t really seem to be doing anything illegal since from what we could tell, they’d come willingly.

  “About four weeks ago S.O. received word that weapons and ammunition had been stolen from an army training sight in Wyoming. They traced them to London and then somewhere into the Netherlands before the trail dried up. Because weapons were involved, the Bureau was notified. We began to suspect Holden who had by then vanished. We had what’s left of Jaelyn thoroughly searched as well as a few of the locales around it that Harold Holden had been known to hang his hat, but there was nothing. We don’t know where they are, Beth, but I’d bet my mama’s manicotti recipe that the new and improved Flora-Sky--wherever they are--know what happened to Chris.”

  Beth was staring, gaping at the man who had guided her through so much.


  “Has this sunk in yet, sweetheart?”

  “It’s like a horrible, awful dream.”

  Deej nodded. “Damn straight.”

  “What now?”

  “That’s where you come in, Bethie.”

  She knew her face registered utter bewilderment.

  “You were the best profiler we ever had and we believe that you can break through because to Flora-Sky, you’re still Farley-Fauna the Divine.”

  “Deej, that was twelve years ago! I was brainwashed! I’m not even sure how much procedure and skill I even retain. I’m a completely different person now. George is the best and he’s the one you should be talking to.”

  “George is good, but he’s more of a calculator. Your strength was emotion and instinct. Even if this weren’t the father of your children, Beth, I’d be sitting here asking for your help. An agent--albeit a former agent--is believed to be in danger and we need you.”

  “Is he alive?”

  Deej shook his head and shrugged. “I honestly don’t know, Bethie. By all accounts Bryan Holden is less hasty than his father, but he’s also believed to be more ruthless. And that ain’t saying a lot.”

  “Hypothetically, what’s the plan?”

  “Ideally I’d like you to reveal as little as possible. Tell your friends here that you’re pursuing a lead. Instruct them to say they truly have no information if asked about Chris. Tell your family and Chris’ the same thing. Then I’d like you to make sure the kids are tended to without letting on that their father may be dead.”

  Beth breathed in air that was more gulp than swallow.

  Deej slid his ample palm over hers. “I know this is all overwhelming, Bethie, but you’re our only hope.”

  Beth closed her eyes and tried desperately to make sense of the utterly senseless. The smells and sounds of her life surrounded her--the coffee, the vanilla candle near the stove, the chirp of the few morning birds that still lingered, the slow creaking whirl of the windmill that was no longer functional, but treasured by both she and Chris. This couldn’t be happening.

  She felt Deej’s hand tighten around hers.

  “Bethie, look at me sweetheart.”

  Beth opened her eyes to see Deej--disheveled and weary--tilting his head to better meet her. “I’m sorry you and Chris were struggling. I’m sorry you couldn’t find a way to make it all work out because it was you two who made me believe in marriage. I’m sorry too that now you’ve gotta face this--whatever the hell this is. I’ve gotta admit that at first I was skeptical. I told you earlier that I talked to Chris just a few weeks ago. He sounded sad, he sounded scared. He told me you were unhappy and he told me that he didn’t know if he could fix it. Whatever died between the two of you, you loved him once, Beth. You loved him like I’ve never seen anyone love before, and he loved you right back.

  “I was with him when Flora-Sky took you and we didn’t know where you were. He was crazed. He was like an animal--enraged and focused on nothing but springing you from that insanity. And then when we finally located you, he insisted that he go in. I didn’t want him to; not because he wasn’t the best--he was--but because love was motivating him, not duty and that’s when you get stupid and make mistakes. But Chris single-handedly took down a madman and his empire because you were inside of those walls.”

  Deej let go of Beth’s hand and rubbed his tired eyes. He sighed, adjusted his large frame in the seat and looked back to her. “I sat with him when you were at the Institute-- oblivious, angry. I tried like hell to get him to go, get him to come back to the states with me and enjoy a little of his glory. But he wouldn’t budge. He sat there day after day--”

  Beth raised her palm. She couldn’t listen. “I know all that, Deej, and I want Chris to be safe more than anyone--I have his children--but I don’t think I can help because it’s dangerous to take on something you’re not equipped to do.”

  “Crash training, Bethie. You know it’s possible. We’ll leave today; I’ll have you in top Bureau form in no time.”

  “If he is alive, he could be dead in no time.”

  Deej shook his head. “I’m a gut man myself, Bethie, and I agree with you now; I think he’s alive. They want something from him. They didn’t execute an intricate kidnapping just to waste him before the end of the first reel. You’re his best hope, Bethie.”

  “All right,” she said because really, there was nothing else to say.

  Chapter 11

  “I just don’t understand any of this, Elizabeth.”

  Beth massaged her temples as she tried to devise a way to combat her mother from seeping into the fragile structure of her nerves. Beth raised her head and reached for the cup of tea Francine had poured her. “You don’t need to understand it, Mother. You only need to take care of Noah and Audrey for me.”

  Her father lit his pipe. “You’re a parent now yourself, Elizabeth. Certainly you can understand our concern.”

  Beth squeezed a lemon wedge into her tea. “I do, Daddy, and I’m sorry that I can’t be more clear, but there is a good reason for us to believe that Chris is alive and has been taken somewhere against his will.”

  Her mother tapped her burgundy-colored lips. “Elizabeth, you sound as though you’re playing a spy game with your brothers. I enrolled you in the most prestigious ballet school in Connecticut--”

  Beth flung her spoon to her dainty saucer with a disturbing ding. “Mother, I know I’ve been a disappointment to you. I chose law enforcement instead of the ballet; I chose a man I loved instead of a man you believed was more suitable. I know all of this and I assure you that this is not a game. I’d much rather my husband was on the farm in Garrity, driving me crazy with his distance and stubbornness than missing and possibly in danger. I can’t reveal more because A) I don’t know more, and B) if I did, you and Daddy and my children could be in danger if you knew more.”

  Greer Williams pushed from the kitchen table--a sight in itself since Beth couldn’t recall her mother ever sitting in the kitchen before--and extended her hands to the heavens. Though Beth could never accuse her mother of being warm, the tear in her eye surprised her. “I cannot believe that you’re expecting me to live through this again, Elizabeth. God knows I wasn’t happy when you joined that ridiculous Bureau. You could’ve put your degree to similar use by pursuing law, but no, you had to be a liberated woman and join a group of testosterone driven men in saving the world.

  “Your father and I however, were forced to live without knowing where you were or what had happened to you when the madness of that cult descended on our orderly lives. We spent months of not knowing, and then a year of waiting before you even recognized us, Elizabeth. Then you married Christopher and took on yet another life that didn’t suit you. I did my best to accept all of that, even when you willingly and knowingly brought children into the equation. It didn’t work-- which I knew it wouldn’t--but please do not expect me to take part in this ridiculousness again.

  “Contrary to what you may believe, I want Christopher to be all right--he’s the father of my beautiful grandchildren and for that I’ll always be grateful to him--but it’s not up to you to save him, Beth. Leave it to professionals and carry on raising your children who will get wind of this without a doubt.”

  Beth watched her father take her mother’s hand and gently tug her back to her seat. She rested her head in her dainty hands.

  Beth swallowed, glanced to Francine who had witnessed the entire diatribe and then back again. “Mother, I’m sorry I’ve caused you distress. I never intended for that to happen. When I joined the Bureau I was young and idealistic and I truly believed then that I could make a difference. I did accomplish some good things in the eighteen months I was active, but I see now that with every bit of good you cultivate, seeds of bad pop up somewhere else. My children are the very most important thing to me now, but what kind of mother would I be if I didn’t do everything in my power to help their father if he needs me?”

  Her mother’s head abruptly lifted. “Needs yo
u? Honestly, Elizabeth! You stand five foot six and weigh no more than one hundred and twenty pounds. Christopher has six inches and eighty pounds over you. How much help can you be?”

  Beth shook her head, sighed and beat back the headache she could feel. “Mother, I’m a profiler. That means I can piece together information to help a case that is not otherwise apparent.”

  “You haven’t been a profiler in twelve years, Elizabeth,” her father said, still stroking his wife’s back.

  “I’m refreshing my training. It’s like riding a bicycle--you never truly forget once you’ve learned.”

  Her father’s blue eyes met hers. “Elizabeth, we’re trying here, darling, but you have to admit this is a hard pill to swallow. All of it.”

  “I know, Daddy, and I’m sorry, but you just have to trust me. I’m not sure I can help Chris, but I know I have to try.”

  Her mother reached for a tissue that Francine handed her. “To help him so you can then divorce him?”

  Beth pushed from her chair and set her teacup in the sink. “My feelings for him as my husband have nothing to do with this. He’s a fellow agent, he’s in danger and he’s the father of my children. Those are the only reasons I need.”

  Beth gave Francine a hug and bent to kiss both of her parents. “I just flew in to see the children briefly before I leave. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ve left a detailed list of what they need, what they like, what they’re allowed etcetera. Deej gave me a number where I can be reached indirectly. That office will contact me and I can then get contact you. I wish I could offer more, but I can’t. I will be in touch though and I love you both, and I’m sorry that I’ve been such a disappointment.”

  Her father stood and wrapped his arms that were so much stronger than they appeared when they were covered in designer suits, around her. “You’ve never disappointed us, Elizabeth.”

  “I love you,” she whispered before she headed to pick up her children for what could be the last time.