Truth and Consequences

by Sarah Madison

  We tucked our guns out of sight and joined the crowd. I followed John’s lead as he effortlessly dodged the police and news reporters before we could be questioned, keeping well out of sight of any cameras. Fire crews had blocked off the street, and the fire seemed to be under control. That made sense. Our adversary couldn’t have had much time to get a fire going, especially from the outside. I was no expert, but the damage looked superficial to me. John took me by the arm and guided me through a knot of people, and then we were on the far side of the crowd, walking toward his car.

  “I’ll check on your mom,” I said, as we got into the car. I brought Jean’s number up on my cell.

  “If he was the guy in the cooking class—” John broke off to slam his fist on the steering wheel. “If he’s killing everyone who can connect him to these boxes….”

  I don’t know how he managed to pull smoothly out of the parking space without a squeal of tires and drive normally through the city streets. Speeding away from a crime scene would have called unwanted attention to us, but as I listened to Jean’s phone ring, I wished he’d thrown caution to the wind and broken the land-speed records.

  “Anything?”

  “No answer.” I laid the phone in my lap. “There could be a number of reasons why she didn’t pick up.”

  “He can’t be that far ahead of us. Send some units to the house.”

  I did as he asked. I called the police, identified myself, and requested someone be sent to Jean’s to make sure everything was all right.

  “You don’t know he’d go after your mom,” I said when I finished the call. “What would he have to gain?”

  “To fuck with me? I screwed up his plans. That’s reason enough for a megalomaniac like this guy. I didn’t get very far in, but what I saw? This guy thinks he was destined to have the boxes. Christy was supposed to have brought Mom as leverage against me tonight, not you. I think he probably intended to kill us both.”

  “Then he can’t be able to read people over the phone like you can.”

  “What?” He turned his head briefly in my direction and then concentrated on the traffic again.

  “This guy—Bas, for want of a better name—he called Christy while we were all at the house. She didn’t tell him that your mom was there, and though I can’t be sure, I didn’t get the impression she was shielding from him. So that’s one for our side. You can read people over the phone. He probably can’t.”

  John said nothing, but accelerated the car forward.

  It took us forever to get out of the city. Though we were past rush hour itself, cars still crept along, hemmed in by volume and stoplights. Twilight deepened, and street lights began to click on. Traffic slowed to a crawl at times, and I could feel John’s frustration mounting. Mine too.

  Finally we were on the highway. The car sped through one pink-tinged pool of light after another along the freeway, and John zipped around vehicles that were moving too slowly. He drove with intense concentration, his hands throttling the wheel.

  She had to be all right. Had to. In just this short time, Jean had become the mother I wished I’d had. I couldn’t lose her now.

  I tried calling her again. Still no answer.

  “This is all my fault.” John’s voice, when it broke the silence, was gritty, as though he’d swallowed sand.

  His face was in profile, illuminated only briefly when we passed through a street lamp. “How do you get that?”

  “Three dead. Because I destroyed the boxes. That’s what made him snap. If I’d just waited a little longer, we could have had him too.”

  “I doubt it.” I had to think for a moment in order to put my impressions into words. “Look. In all the time you’ve been a telepath, has it ever occurred to you once to attack someone psychically?”

  He shot me a quick glance. “No.”

  “No.” I nodded in agreement. “No. It wouldn’t. That’s not your style. If you shoot someone, they’ll be awake. They’ll be facing you, and they’ll be armed.”

  “You’re quoting something, aren’t you?”

  “More or less. My point is this—the two of you have been telepathic for roughly the same amount of time, based on when the artifact was stolen from the Weir. I think that’s why he’s made so many mistakes. He’s fairly new at this, and the power’s gone to his head. He probably thought he was invincible. You, on the other hand, only use your powers for good.”

  “This isn’t a game.”

  “I’m not being facetious. I’m telling it like it is. Maybe it’s a fundamental difference of nature, or maybe you just haven’t tried to see what else you could do with this ability. All I know is, this guy hit me with a psychic sledgehammer while I was trying to jam him, and you’ve never done anything like that to me. I don’t think he intended for you to leave that apartment alive. Anyone brought along to use as leverage against you was just going to be collateral damage. The second he realized that his minions were captives and we held the upper hand, he decided to kill his associates. Maybe to protect himself from exposure, but also in the hopes of killing you too. That’s cold. But you’re his biggest threat. You’re the only one who can stop him.”

  “If he hurts my mother—”

  “If he hurts your mother,” I said, each word clipped and tight, “I will personally reach down his throat and pull his testicles out through his mouth and strangle him with them.”

  That generated an abortive chuckle. “I don’t think that’s anatomically possible.”

  “I. Don’t. Care.” If he hurt Jean, there was no place on the planet where he could escape me. Not on the summit of Mount Everest or at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. I would find him. I would utterly destroy him.

  The car leapt forward like a racehorse from the start gate as John gunned the engine again.

  We were hurtling down the highway when a state trooper vehicle pulled onto the tarmac from behind a billboard, blue lights flashing as it sped to catch up with us. John cursed vehemently and slowed down, no doubt hoping it would pass us by on the trail of someone else, but the car followed us as John eased onto the shoulder. It came to a stop behind us. John rolled down his window, his badge in hand.

  “Stay cool,” I warned. “If you throw the badge in his face, he’s likely to give us a hard time, just because he can.”

  “You don’t think I know that?” John snapped, his glare calling me an idiot for good measure.

  The trooper walked toward us slowly, speaking into a radio at his shoulder, one hand on his holstered gun, the other holding a powerful flashlight that could have doubled as a club. “You boys in a hurry?” he asked when he came abreast of the car.

  “I’m sorry, officer. Yes, as a matter of fact, we are.” John was all politeness, holding up his badge for the trooper to see. The guy should have already seen the government plates on the car and let us be on about our business. But no. The rivalry between the police and the FBI was rooted more deeply with some officers than others. Some cops had to dick with us, just because, up to a point, they could.

  “I have reason to believe that a witness is in danger. We’re en route now. Units have been called in. Perhaps if you check with dispatch?” Oh, John was good. Very good.

  The trooper flicked his flashlight in my direction. When he did, I was appalled to see that I had a good bit of Christy’s blood on my hands.

  “What the hell…?” the trooper began, training his flashlight on my bloodstained fingers.

  Jedi mind trick. Try the Jedi mind trick.

  John coughed. “Umm… there is nothing to see here. You can go on your way. Drive carefully now.”

  The trooper stared at us so long that I thought he might have fallen into a trance, but finally he said, “There’s nothing to see here. You can go on your way. Drive carefully now.”

  John thanked him, waited until he stepped back from the car, and then rolled up the window and pulled onto the interstate so fast that gravel sprayed up behind our car.

  “Okay. That was co
ol,” John said, when we left the trooper behind us. He spoke lightly, as though we were out for a Sunday afternoon drive, but I could hear the underlying tension in his voice.

  “Now I’ve created a monster,” I said. “If you try that on me, I will hurt you.”

  We fell silent as John took our exit and we headed into familiar neighborhoods. We passed the shopping center where Richard’s store was located, and I was forced to soundproof my worries about whether Richard would have the chance to get to know Jean better. I wanted him to have that chance. But I didn’t want John to read my doubts.

  However, soundproofing, as I’d learned over time, in and of itself was often a dead giveaway as to what I was thinking. Surrounding my thoughts with an impenetrable shroud was the equivalent of shouting, “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” John had to know I was thinking dire thoughts about the outcome of the evening.

  Finally, finally we turned onto Jean’s street, and John cornered so hard there was a squeal of wheels on pavement. My heart jumped into my throat and choked me when I caught sight of the flashing blue lights parked in Jean’s driveway—despite the fact that we were the ones who had called the police. John pulled up too fast and had to brake hard. We came to a stop with a jerk. I winced and rubbed my shoulder where the seat belt caught me.

  John held the steering wheel tightly and leaned forward to stare at the house. For a long moment, during which I held my breath, until he relaxed suddenly and slumped back in his seat. “She’s okay,” he said, taking one hand back through his hair and letting out a little sigh of relief.

  For now.

  I regretted the thought as soon as it happened, regardless of how true it was.

  “Keep your hands in your pockets,” John said. He got out of the car and slammed the door shut. I got out as well but moved more slowly. I felt the weight of everything I’d been through in the last few weeks compress me as though I were stuck in that same old garbage compactor.

  “Mom,” John called out as he opened the front door.

  “John.” Jean sounded both delighted and relieved. “Oh, good. You have Lee with you.”

  She came over and gave us both a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, I feel like the biggest ninny. I’m so sorry you went to all this trouble. I was just telling these nice officers here that I thought I had a break-in the other night, and how you had an alarm system installed today because of it. I can only imagine how worried you must have been when you couldn’t get ahold of me.” She spoke brightly, waving her hands a bit, playing the part of a sweet, but slightly ditzy older woman to the hilt.

  Seated on the couch, one on either side of Elsie, were the two police officers. As we entered the house, they both stood, looking sheepish. There was a pitcher of tea on the coffee table and some glasses on a platter, along with some cookies. Hazel and Betty were sitting in flanking armchairs. To my surprise, Richard was also there, holding a glass of tea and looking bewildered. Hazel gave me a wink when I caught her eye.

  Introductions were made, and then John asked, “Why didn’t you answer when we called, Mom?”

  “Oh. Well, that.” Jean fluttered some more—a beautiful butterfly, something to be admired but not taken seriously. “I had an accident with my phone earlier today.” She gave me a meaningful look. “It must have gotten damaged when it was in my purse.”

  She meant when I drop-kicked it out of Christy’s reach. I managed just barely not to wince.

  “You could have called us on one of your friend’s phones,” I said carefully. “Just to let us know you were okay.”

  Jean’s real intelligence shone out of her eyes, and then she became spritely again. “Not all of us have your gift for remembering things, Lee. Heavens, I don’t know anyone’s phone number anymore. I just press a button and the call goes through. I could no more call you or John than the President of the United States.”

  “She has a point,” John said, with a long-suffering sigh. “Officers, I apologize on calling you out for a false alarm.”

  “Just doing our duty,” the taller of the two policemen said. “About that break-in? Did you report it?”

  John scratched the back of his neck. “Well, we can’t entirely be sure anything was taken.”

  “Ah.” The way the officer drew out the vowel spoke volumes. “Well, Mrs. Flynn, you seem to be in capable hands now. If you need anything else, especially if you think someone is prowling about, don’t hesitate to call. Okay?”

  She thanked them prettily and escorted them to the door. Once the police had gone, she dropped the act. “Finally. Oh, my dears. I was so worried about you.” She moved swiftly toward us and pulled us both in for a group hug. Before John could even think about squirming, though, she set us both back at arm’s distance. “So, why do you both reek of smoke? And why is Lee hiding his hands in his pockets?”

  Hazel stood up. “I think it’s time we were going. Come on, Elsie. I’ll give you a ride.”

  “But we were just getting to the good part,” Elsie protested, as Betty and Hazel took her by the arms and forcibly steered her toward the door.

  Richard stepped forward to place his glass on the coffee table. “I suppose I should be going too.”

  “Thank you so much for coming on such short notice, Richard.” Jean took his hand in both of hers. “I really appreciate it. Before the police arrived, I thought it might be important to have a male presence here, and short of John or Lee, you were the first person I thought of.”

  Richard beamed down at her, and then a small frown crept over his features. “A male presence…?”

  “Ah, well. Yes. You see, I didn’t have access to my gun.”

  “Oh.”

  “But your support here means so much to me. I will tell you all about it, as soon as John gives me permission to say anything on the subject.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “FBI business, you know.”

  “Oh,” Richard said again, but this time he looked a bit more chipper.

  When he left, it was just me, John, and his mother, standing in her living room.

  “Now,” she said, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Someone tell me just what the hell is going on.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE EXPLANATION John gave his mother was definitely the Reader’s Digest version of events. Nah. That’s not even right. It was more like a movie made from a best-selling novel. Parts of it bear some resemblance to the book, but most of it is just creative license. Though I was surprised John stuck as close to the script as he did, given his history of not telling you things for your own good.

  We sat on the couch while John caught Jean up on the events of the evening. The expurgated version of what happened after I left with Christy and Co. did include the fact that they were killed by the man we went to meet.

  “I didn’t know for sure before, but now we do. This man is very dangerous. I don’t know if he’s the same man you saw at the cooking class or not, but if you ever see that guy again, I want you to get the hell away from him. As far as possible, as rapidly as possible. Do you understand? Your life could depend on it.” He paused and lifted an eyebrow for good measure. “Hell, not just your life. Lee’s and mine too.”

  “But what could possibly be so important about that little blue box that someone would kill for it?” You could tell Jean couldn’t fathom anything being that valuable.

  “I don’t know.” John lied without batting an eyelash. The bastard. “What I do know is I didn’t want anyone else trying to pull the same kind of crap, so I destroyed the box I had. Hopefully that will be the end of it.” He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. For once, the overhead light was unflattering. “If anyone comes looking for it, you tell them it doesn’t exist anymore.”

  “You weren’t supposed to have that box, were you?”

  John’s lips tightened, and he shook his head. “No. I wasn’t. And I destroyed an historical artifact rather than turn it over to my own agency. I can’t explain that, Mom. I had to do it. I
can’t say any more than that.”

  “Well, if you had to do it, you had to do it.” Jean blinked and yawned daintily, like a cat. “Oh dear. I’m tired. I should put away the refreshments. Going to bed early with a book sounds like a good idea.”

  “Mrs. F.” I had dried blood on my hand, but I reached out to stop her when she would have stood up. “I just want to say you were magnificent today. You weren’t just brave and fierce, but you kept your cool, and you didn’t get rattled. Just now with the police, you chose to play the part of a dotty little old lady, rather than the levelheaded woman I know.”

  Jean blushed prettily and patted my arm. “Well, I didn’t know what kind of story you’d given the police. I wasn’t going to bring up them taking you hostage, or the interest in the little blue box, until I knew what was going on—in case I let the cat out of the bag.”

  I stood up and held out a hand to help her to her feet. “Which is exactly why you are a gem among women and why I would have been devastated if anything had happened to you.”

  “Oh, my dear.” She hugged me. “I feel the same way about you. I was terrified for you when they took you away. I wanted to call the police right then, but you seemed to be throwing out so many hints not to and to play dumb. I see now that John shouldn’t have had the box in the first place. I’m betting Nancy gave it to you?” She glanced at John for confirmation and then back to me again. “Hazel came in no sooner had you gone, and it was her idea to call Richard. Oh, I know. We could have taken care of ourselves, but the thing is, someone looks into a room of middle-aged and elderly women, and we seem like easy targets to them. Besides, it doesn’t hurt for a man to feel needed from time to time.” Her smile was a mirror copy of John’s at its most wicked. “I’m so glad that you’re all right. That both of you are all right.” She reached out to John, who got to his feet as well. “I couldn’t do without both of my boys.”