Housebroken

by The Behrg

  For an instant, he thought of throwing himself over, just leaping from the cliff into the shattering waves. He had to get a grip, but he wasn’t sure what he was grasping at.

  “Dad, can you say something?”

  Blake’s hands went into his pockets. He rubbed the metal corkscrew between his thumb and forefinger like a good-luck charm. The words didn’t come easy; hard to know what to say at a funeral when the murderers were standing beside you, pretending to mourn.

  “Conrad was a part of this family. She was a protector, a friend, a beloved pet, a family member. Her life was taken unjustly.” He paused at the crashing of another wave. “But her memory lives on. Let us remember her love, her friendship. Let us learn from her example in these times of trial, and—” He paused, his mind wandering over rocky terrain. “And never give up.”

  A chorus of amens surrounded him. Blake grabbed his son, pulling him close. For a nonreligious guy, it was the best he could do. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he whispered.

  “It’s okay, Dad. It wasn’t your fault.”

  But wasn’t it? For not acting sooner? Not finding a way out of this entrapment they had been forced into? Or could he have prevented this from happening, his wife being hurt, by convincing his family to just live within the confines of their “woos.” Rules made to be broken.

  If there was a God, Blake wondered if he hadn’t done the same—created rules that were impossible not to break. Maybe he liked seeing his children suffer while claiming, as Joje did, that he “hated violence.” Or maybe that torture really was a refiner’s fire. Either way, Blake knew he was on his own. No “god in the machine” happy ending for his family.

  He squeezed his son hard, bringing his mouth close to Adam’s ear. “Take the first chance you get and run. Don’t worry about your mom or me. Just go as fast and as far as you can. Understand?”

  It was hard to know if Adam’s upturned face and complacent nod meant he would listen. Blake could only hope. And maybe pray.

  Back inside, Jenna lay motionless on the couch. She had slept there all night, flitting through restless bouts of sleep and pain. Blake had lain beside her on the rug, barely convincing Joje to let him stay there. Administering pills, converting a bowl into a bedpan, and coating Jenna’s legs repeatedly with enzyme cream had made for a restless night.

  “We need to call that doctor,” Blake said.

  Drew came out from the bathroom, the flush of the toilet like thunder following lightning. The sink, however, had never been turned on. His right eyebrow had been split open and stapled shut with a staple gun from the garage. Blake still shuddered thinking about it. His bottom lip was swollen, giving him the look of a pouting child. “What doctor?” he asked.

  “What we need to do is some work,” Joje replied. “You’ve been getting some angry e-mails lately, a lot of very upset customers. Time you teach me how to work your magic.”

  “George, you said—”

  “It’s Joje!” His eyes met Blake’s, and in them, Blake saw only murder.

  “We saw what happens when Drew breaks a rule, but what happens when you do?” Blake asked.

  “I do not break my own rules.”

  “You’re breaking one now by refusing to let me keep my routine! My wife is dying on the couch! She’s dying, Joje. Look at her.” He couldn’t keep his voice from cracking. A light blanket had been draped around her body, but Jenna’s face had gone gaunt, her color almost mirroring Drew’s skin. “This is my family,” Blake continued. “Not a game.”

  “How’d you find a doctor without Internet?” Adam asked. He was sitting on the counter, his legs kicking beneath him.

  “A policeman, yesterday,” Blake said. “He gave us the number.”

  “And you didn’t say anything to him? About us? Or them?” Adam asked.

  Blake’s left eye twitched, his head throbbing. Soon he’d look like Joje, with some hideous tic. “I’m doing what I have to, Adam, to keep our family safe.”

  Adam didn’t say a word, but the look he bore made Blake begin to question even himself.

  Joje sighed, removing a thin wallet from his back pocket. He took out the card from inside and threw it into the room. It spiraled down like a fallen leaf. “Call the doc. Just remember, once you make your own bed, you lie in it.”

  Blake grabbed the card, turning it over in his hand. On one side, Officer Randall’s information—station address, office number, cell. On the other, a scribbled name and phone number. It was a double-sided coin; either way, he couldn’t lose.

  “What are we doing about the TV?” Drew asked.

  “If you let me online, I’ll order a new one,” Adam said.

  “That’s fine. What’s the number, Bwake?” Joje asked.

  Blake read the digits, and Joje punched them in on the Cyborg.

  “If it’s not too much to ask, Joje, I’d love to look for another dog?” Adam asked.

  “That’s a great idea,” Joje said, glancing up from the phone. “Let’s do it.”

  Blake felt like he had been sucker-punched, his son asking their kidnapper instead of him. And yet, he hadn’t even considered how Adam must be grieving. He should never have told Adam to run; his son needed someone to hold him right now, not push that kind of burden onto his shoulders.

  Joje tossed Blake the phone just as he was about to go to his son. Joje went to Adam instead. The victory Blake had just achieved was swallowed up as Adam wrapped his arms around Joje’s back in a tight embrace.

  “Thank you,” Adam said, “for understanding.”

  The ringing of the phone was like a whirlpool sucking Blake down. When the doctor finally answered, it took Blake a long moment to remember why he had called.

  2

  Blake and Joje locked themselves in his office, diving into the semantics of the various projects he was embedded in. Like spinning plates. But with the impossibility of communication, these plates were dropping from their poles and shattering on the ground.

  Two of the major corporations Blake had consulted with for years had sent notice they would no longer be employing his services due, in one form or another, to his lack of communication. One he had expected: the ScanneX project, an app that would convert a phone into a millimeter-wave scanner, was one he had dropped the ball on. Using technology similar to airport scanners, the thought was to allow a phone to take, in effect, medical X rays of the body without the radiation. The other company had been a shock, and yet Blake’s business model, promising immediacy and an unparalleled level of service, was a noose he had knotted with his own hands.

  With Symbio on the rocks and his relationship with JT hanging by threads, Blake could soon find himself in a position he would have considered impossible a week ago. Penniless. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when the many C-corps he employed deposited checks attached to accounts now emptied.

  Blake’s phone lit up, vibrating across his desk like some tantalizing stripper—look all you want, but don’t touch. Not without consequences. He glanced at the hologram clock on his desk. Eleven forty-six. The doctor he had called should be here any minute.

  Joje moved between the shelves on the wall of Blake’s library, studying the plaques, degrees, and pictures. He seemed not to notice the phone. He pulled a book down from one of the top shelves, turning it around and reading the back.

  As Blake surveyed the room, he realized not one photo contained a picture of his wife or son. There were no photos of family trips to the Grand Canyon or Hawaii, not a single shot of him with Adam earning an award at Boy Scouts or at a school project. Impossible to have pictures of events that never took place or, worse, took place without him. His success had come at a cost he may not have realized. No, that wasn’t true; he had always been aware of the sacrifice, it had just seemed necessary at the time.

  The phone started its phantom spasms again, screen leaping back to life as it continued its death march across his desk. Blake leaned forward, looking at the caller ID on the screen.

/>   “It’s JT. I wouldn’t miss his call. Especially twice,” he said.

  “I’ve never seen anyone in such a huff to impress their boss,” Joje said, setting the book down on a ledge and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hehwo?”

  “Who the hell is this?” JT’s voice blared from the phone. Joje must have accidentally pushed speaker. Or maybe it hadn’t been an accident.

  “It’s your—what’d you call it, Bwake—potential partner?” Joje said.

  “JT, I’m here—you’re on speaker,” Blake said.

  “Caught the cozy couple together,” JT said. “A driver’s en route to pick up your equipment. Laptop, phone, any other material you’ve taken from the office. I expect cooperation.”

  “What? What happened to our arrangement?” Blake said.

  “Nothing happened, that’s the problem. Not a single update? For a guy as wired in as you, Blake, that reeks of bullshit. Cooperate when the driver arrives, or I’ll be sending another out to deliver a subpoena.”

  “We’re making progress! I’ll send you a report right now!” Blake sputtered.

  “You haven’t gone outside five miles of your home in the past two days! What progress could you possibly be making?”

  “How does he know that?” Joje asked.

  “What, are you stupid? Your phone!” JT shouted. “We’ve tracked your every movement since our little meeting. And don’t think we won’t be analyzing every conversation that’s taken place with Betti in earshot. You forget, Blake? That bitch is always listening. If you’ve so much as given anyone the lint collected on that phone, we’ll know, and you won’t be facing a law suit, my friend. It’ll be a jumpsuit. A nice bright-orange one with a big sign on the back that says ‘Enter Here.’”

  Blake stared into the phone. If JT’s threats weren’t idle, and Blake didn’t believe they were, then the monkeys in IT would be combing through every bit of data collected from Betti. They’d be able to recapture the progress of their kidnapping one conversation thread at a time.

  So why wasn’t Blake rejoicing? Why the feeling of mounting dread?

  An image flashed before Blake, of digging a grave, only this one was much larger than Conrad’s, and in it he laid his son and his wife, the recycling logo on the boxes replaced with skull and crossbones.

  “I’m on my way to you,” Blake said. “Call back the driver. I’ll—I’ll come in, bring it to you myself.”

  “No need—”

  “No, there is a need,” Blake said, cutting JT off. “Look, I’m sorry things have gone the way they have, this—it was out of my control. Least I can do is come in and shake your hand on my way out.”

  Silence from the phone. Then JT finally spoke. “I have a meeting in an hour. Be here before then.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

  Joje tossed the phone back onto Blake’s desk. It clanged against the back of his monitor. “That was the best you could come up with? We’ll come to you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “And you knew this whole time and failed to mention your phone has some kind of spy surveillance crap on it?”

  “Artificial intelligence, and yes, it listens to every conversation,” Blake said. “It’s recorded every word you’ve uttered since arriving here, and you better believe JT will be contacting the police.”

  Joje shook his head. “I chose my mentor so poorly.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t fight for anything, do you? Not your family—that’s already been established—but I thought then maybe you’d fight for your job? You didn’t even try to dissuade him! ‘Let’s shake hands on my way out!’ I don’t think there’s anything to learn from you. You stumbled into success—you never earned it! You don’t deserve . . .” Joje looked around the room, then threw his hands up. “Any of this! Your wife, your son, your job, your success? It was never yours! You were just keeping the seat warm for someone who deserves to sit there.”

  He’s going to kill me, Blake realized. This was never a game, it was an usurpation, a coup, and Blake was the one being replaced.

  Joje grabbed a crystal globe the size of a softball from the corner of Blake’s desk, then brought it down, crushing the phone beneath—electronics, glass, and plastic splintered off like broken limbs. “Problem solved. Good luck getting recordings from that!”

  Blake stared at the shattered phone that had consumed so much of his life just a few days ago. He thought its loss would have been catastrophic, and yet instead he felt as if a weight had lifted. Its destruction could become his family’s salvation.

  “At least one of us knows how to fix things,” Joje said.

  Betti’s data wasn’t stored on the actual phone; that was a sheer impossibility. But if Blake led Joje to believe he had solved their problem, he wouldn’t know JT still had access to all that had transpired the past few days. JT might resent having to act on it, but Blake knew the bastard wouldn’t have a choice—he would call the cops.

  The real question was whether that would save his family or result in their deaths.

  Jing Jong.

  The doorbell caused Blake to jump in his seat, the soft chimes seeping into the room through the open door. The last time he had heard that sound was when Joje had entered his life.

  “Looks like the good doctor’s arrived,” Joje said. “Remember the rules?”

  Blake nodded.

  “Do you? Really, Bwake? Or do you just remember the ones you think I made?” Joje gave a bitter laugh. “I never said you have to let us do whatever we want. Never said you couldn’t fight back. But that’s your routine, isn’t it. Letting your son, your wife, your boss walk all over you.”

  Jing Jong. Jing Jong. Jing Jong.

  “You’re pathetic,” Joje said.

  Blake stood, picking up the crystal globe. No amount of CPR would save Betti. “Let me do the talking,” he said. “If you want there to be no questions, just let me handle it.”

  They suddenly heard screaming.

  “Help! Help us! Please, God, help us!” Jenna’s cries echoed down the hall.

  “Where the hell is Dwew?” Joje said, moving toward the door.

  Falling in step behind him, Blake raised the globe above his head. He brought it down, throwing his entire weight into that blow on the back of Joje’s head. The globe shattered, pieces breaking off like continents separating from a prehistoric Pangaea. Joje slumped forward. Blake followed him down, thrown off balance from the torque of his attack. Joje hit the side of a chair, rebounding and collapsing to the floor. Blake caught himself on the cushioned seat, dropping to one knee. In his other hand, he still held the jagged remains of the globe, blood dripping down the side of the broken world and from the bottom of his hand.

  His blood or Joje’s? It didn’t matter.

  Joje pushed himself up, then collapsed back to the ground, dazed. Blake had to get his gun. He pounced on top of him, driving his knee into Joje’s back and pinning him down. He wrapped Joje’s arms behind his back as if he were a cop on a crime drama, though with nothing to bind him.

  A string of relentless Jings and Jongs rattled through the house, but Blake was so swept up in the moment he could only focus on his downed opponent and keeping him restrained. So much so that he failed to hear or see Drew step into the office.

  The blow to Blake’s head was much more severe than a shattered globe. He never saw what Drew used, but as he flew off Joje toward the desk, he welcomed the darkness so quick to embrace him.

  3

  Adam’s fingers glided over the keyboard of his father’s laptop like a concert pianist preparing to play his first note. The TV was the first purchase he’d be making, followed by ordering dinner, then a wheelchair for Jenna, Joje’s orders. He’d see what else he had time for before they decided the computer should be put away.

  Alone in the kitchen, he scrolled the cursor through the icons at the bottom of his father’s laptop. He hovered over the symbol that read “a-mail.” He knew what it was
: Blake’s secret e-mail software that was supposed to read your mind or something. His heart beat a little faster as he considered opening it and sending out a one word e-mail to Blake’s list of contacts.

  Help.

  At the very least, it would make things interesting.

  He moved past it, instead launching Chrome. It was too late for help.

  His father was gone, probably had brain damage from that blow to the head. Drew had held nothing back when he swung that golf club. They had dragged Blake into the garage. Who the hell knew what they were doing in there?

  Adam clicked order on an eighty-five-inch 8k ultra HD TV without looking at the price. It was a model not being released yet to the general public, eight times the definition of 1080p with 3-D technology that didn’t even require glasses. He entered his father’s credit card info from memory, a card Blake didn’t even know he had. They had gone to a Nailers game a few years ago though neither of them followed hockey. It had been right after his sister was born, and Adam suspected Blake just wanted out of the house. One of the booths out front had been giving away jerseys if you signed up for a credit card. Blake had been on a conference call or something but told Adam to fill out wrong info for him to sign just so Adam could get the jersey. But the jersey wasn’t what Adam had been interested in.

  Since then he had mastered his father’s signature and now had a dozen or so credit cards in order to bounce balances back and forth. Intercepting the mail had never been a problem, and each new card came with a limit Adam would never reach. He clicked on the twenty-four hour delivery and watched as a spinning wheel began processing his order.

  His eyes flitted from the bright screen to Jenna on the couch. She lay staring blankly at the ceiling, her swollen eye barely cracked open. IVs ran from hanging bags of clear liquid the doctor had brought, connecting to her neck and arms. It may keep her alive, but it wouldn’t help the real problem. She was addicted to antidepressants, and Adam conveniently “forgot” to add those pills to the pain meds he was in charge of bringing her. Considering the stress of their current situation coupled with her injuries, he gave her another day at most before she turned into a total vegetable. She’d be so unresponsive Joje and Drew would be able to do anything to her.