State of Life: A Mystery Thriller Novel (Virgil Jones Book 12)

by Thomas Scott

  “Yeah, and he made damned sure everyone knew how much it set him back. Here’s a news flash for you, Karen. All those diamond earrings and gold bracelets and ruby and sapphire necklaces he gave her…like she was his queen? He’d leave the price tags on them so she’d know how much they all cost. Those weren’t tears of joy we saw on her face every year. They were tears of guilt, sorrow, and shame.”

  Karen shook her head and waved her hands in front of her face as if she could erase her brother’s words from the air. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore. You’ve got your opinion, and I’ve got mine. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Don shrugged. “Fine with me. I’m just trying to help…to get you to see the truth.”

  “Well, here’s some truth, and you’re not going to like it very much.”

  “What now?”

  “He went out and bought a Mercedes,” Karen said.

  Don rolled his eyes. “So what? He’s always liked his cars.”

  “Yeah well, this one is a brand new convertible SL, top of the line.”

  Don visibly swallowed. “That’s not good.”

  “You’ve got that right. The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

  Don thought for a moment, then said, “Nothing, I guess. It’s his money.”

  Karen got right in his face. “No, it’s not, dummy. It’s our money. We’ve got to rein him in somehow. He’s spending our inheritance right out from under us.”

  “Maybe we could get him committed,” Don said. “Mental incapacity or something like that.”

  Karen was already shaking her head. “That won’t work. Plus, I can’t afford a legal battle right now. The casino has cut my hours, and with your gambling debts, I’m guessing you can’t either. And even if we could, if we lost, guess who gets cut out of the will?”

  Don looked at her for a moment. “Have you ever seen the will?”

  “Of course I have. I’m the executor. I’ve got a copy at home.”

  “What’s in it?” Don said.

  When Karen told him, Don was so stunned he could hardly speak. “That’s…that’s…that’s…”

  “Shut up. You sound like a stuck record.”

  Don got his words under him and said, “That’s not fair. That can’t be right. Can’t be.”

  Karen didn’t seem all that worried. “It is what it is. We’ll deal with it when the time comes.” Then she looked over at her brother’s van. “You’ve got to stop doing that. You’re gonna get caught.” Karen knew what was in the van, and when she spoke, her words sounded as if she might simply be referring to the spare tire.

  Don had made the mistake of sharing his secret with his sister after he’d taken the second girl, six years ago. He was drunk, and so overcome with grief on the anniversary of his mother’s death that he simply blurted it out one day. Karen acted like it was no big deal. She knew her brother was bent…and she knew she was as well. “Someone has to save them,” Don said. “I’m honoring mom.”

  “No, you’re not,” Karen said. “You’re trying to kill yourself. You’re just not very good at it.”

  “I’ll tell you when I’ll stop,” Don said. “I’ll stop when the old man finally croaks and I can get on with my life.”

  Karen laughed with her shoulders. “Like that’ll ever happen.” Then she got in her car and drove away without another word.

  Don didn’t know if she was speaking of the rapes and murders he’d committed over the years or their father’s eventual death.

  Either way.

  Once she was gone, Don carefully opened the van’s sliding door, then quickly jumped back. He didn’t want to get kicked in the face, a lesson he’d learned the hard way after taking the third girl. She was a fighter, that one.

  The fighting turned his crank like nothing ever had. All those years of being a pleaser, being the savior of the family, the leader of the kids even though he was the youngest child…they wore him down. He’d let the girls out of the van, and with their hands still bound behind their backs, they all tried to run. He’d chase them down, then tackle them and beat them into submission. It wasn’t that hard.

  Once he had them subdued, he’d carefully cut their clothes from their bodies, spend a few minutes admiring them, then he gave them a chance. He told them that if they could fight and beat him, they’d be free. All they had to do was fight for their life, something his mother had never quite understood. So they fought. Two of them were actually pretty good. One even scared him, as she’d nearly kicked his ass. But so far, none of the girls had gotten away.

  When he looked inside the van at number eight, he knew she wasn’t going to get away either. He’d pushed her head into the tree trunk a little harder than he thought.

  She was already dead.

  Don Whittle sat down on the ground and cried. Eventually, he got himself together, lifted the girl from the van, and carried her like the child she was to his special place in the woods…the whole time saying over and over again, “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. You should have fought. I did everything I could, but you should have fought. I’m so sorry…”

  Chapter Seven

  PRESENT-DAY:

  The next morning, Wu walked down to the guesthouse and around back to the pool area. He knew that Virgil had slept outside all night because he’d kept an eye on him via the security cameras. He hadn’t listened in on Virgil and Murton’s conversation…he wasn’t spying on them, but he was watching, mostly to make sure that Virgil was okay.

  Wu was many things, among them, computer coder, hacker, thief, fighter…and physical fitness freak. At five foot two, and ninety-five pounds, he looked like he could be blown away by the slightest of island breezes. But looks could be deceiving, as some of his past adversaries had learned the hard way.

  He walked over to Virgil’s chaise lounge and gave the chair a little kick. It was six in the morning.

  When Virgil didn’t stir, Wu gave the chair another nudge. Virgil mumbled something unintelligible and pulled the blanket tighter around his body.

  Murton walked outside with a cup of coffee and said, “Morning, Wu.”

  “Morning to Wu too. I think Virgil has overindulged.”

  Murton smiled. “That might be a bit of an understatement. Can’t believe he slept in that chair all night.”

  “We are to get his head on straight if my information is correct.”

  Murton took a sip of his coffee and said, “That’s the plan. Any suggestions on how to start?”

  Wu tipped his head to the side, and said, “PTSD is something that must be taken very seriously. Wu has never experienced it, but I have studied it.”

  Murton was impressed. “For how long?”

  “Many years, actually. I once had a friend…” Wu shook his head. “A story for another time, perhaps. But, PTSD…many people think it is a made-up problem, like chronic fatigue. It is not. It is an actual physical and emotional disorder in which a person has difficulty recovering after experiencing or witnessing a terrifying event. It can change the brain’s chemistry and is not to be taken lightly. I understand that he has been through it before.”

  Murton nodded. “He has. We both have, I guess, but for Jonesy…I don’t know…he has trouble letting it go.”

  “That is because it is not something you let go of. It is something you rid yourself of. In many cases, if nothing is done, the condition may last months or even years, with triggers that can bring back memories of the trauma causing intense emotional and physical reactions.”

  “That sounds like our boy,” Murton said.

  “Tell Wu of his symptoms.”

  Murton took another sip of coffee and looked at nothing as he considered Wu’s question. “He’s been depressed, he overreacts to certain situations, he’s easily irritated, and he’s told me on more than one occasion that he can’t quiet the noise in his head. He calls it a thought tornado.”

  “He has not tried any medications?”

  “No, he’s too stubborn
.”

  “That mean Wu will have to do it the hard way.”

  “What, exactly, is the hard way?”

  “Virgil’s treatment will include different types of trauma-focused psychotherapy in multiple steps to help rewire his brain. Wu can do.”

  Murton raised his eyebrows. “You seem awfully sure of yourself, Wu. How many steps are there?”

  “That not up to Wu. It up to Virgil.”

  Murton nodded. “Okay. Sounds simple enough. What’s step one?”

  “This,” Wu said. He reached down and pulled the blanket away from Virgil, who was still sleeping.

  Murton laughed quietly. “That’s it? That’s step one? Let him get a sunburn?”

  Wu shook his head. “No. Sunburn is very bad for skin and can lead to complications later in life. Still, the removal of the blanket as step one marks the beginning of the process.”

  “Okay, I get it,” Murton said. “It’s more of a ritualistic thing.”

  “That is one way of looking at it.”

  “Is there another?”

  “Yes. It is the prerequisite for the next step, of which we are now ready.”

  “What’s the next step?”

  Virgil was a big man. He weighed a tad over two hundred pounds—virtually none of it fat—and stood about a half-inch over six feet tall. Basically, he was twice the size of Wu. What Murton saw next made him wonder if he should laugh out loud, or run back inside, pack, and get the hell off the island.

  Wu bent over, his arms and legs corded with muscle, and gently snaked one hand under Virgil’s neck, the other behind his knees. Then he picked him up and tossed him into the pool. He looked at Murton and said, “That is step Wu. I will be back after breakfast. Chef will bring fresh fruit down shortly.” Then he turned and walked away.

  Virgil was thrashing about, trying to get his bearings, and he looked like a drunken sailor who’d fallen from the stern of his own ship. Murton laughed, then went inside to get a towel for his brother. And a cup of coffee. Maybe some aspirin as well.

  Virgil got himself toweled off, put on clean clothes, took some aspirin, drank a cup of coffee, and through it all, was thoroughly pissed. “What the fuck was that?”

  Murton, known for his big toothy grins, gave his brother one and said, “According to your sensei, that was step Wu.”

  “Very funny, Murt. Where is he?”

  “Who? Wu?”

  “Knock it off,” Virgil said. “You sound like an owl. Yes, Wu.”

  “He said he was going to go get some breakfast, then he’d be back.”

  “Yeah, well, when he gets down here I’m going to wring his neck.”

  Murton tipped his head to the side, serious now. “Think you could?”

  “We’re gonna find out,” Virgil said.

  “Ah, lighten up, Jones-man. He’s a friend. He’s trying to help. It’s why we’re here.”

  “I came down here to clear my head, not to get thrown in the pool.”

  “It was sort of funny. I guess now we know what Nichole meant when she said, ‘Among other things.’”

  “Whatever. When he gets back, he’s the one who’s going in the pool.”

  “Wu you talking about?” Wu said.

  Virgil spun around and when he saw Wu he headed straight toward him like a steamroller. Wu held his ground, stuck out his hand in a stop sign fashion, then held up a single finger and made a ssst, ssst, ssst, noise. It stopped Virgil in his tracks.

  Wu smiled, did a polite little bow, and very formally said, “Good morning, Virgil.”

  Virgil pointed his finger at him. They were standing about two feet apart. “Nobody puts their hands on me, Wu. Nobody. Understood?”

  Then before Virgil ever knew what was happening, Wu reached out—lightning quick—and lightly slapped Virgil four times…once on each shoulder, and twice on the sides of his neck. His hands were back at his sides before Virgil registered that he’d been touched.

  “I think you are mistaken,” Wu said.

  Virgil shook his head, and said, “Oh that’s it.” Virgil didn’t want to hurt Wu…they were friends after all, but he wasn’t going to let him get away with anything. He moved to slap him, but when he did, all he caught was empty air.

  “Too slow for Wu, it would seem.”

  Virgil, still pissed about being thrown in the pool, reached out to grab Wu. He was going to put him in a bear hug, toss him in the pool, and give him a taste of his own medicine. But when he reached out, Wu took one step back, turned his body just so, and when Virgil stepped forward, Wu slipped in behind him and tapped him on the back three times.

  “If you do not like others to put their hands on you, it seems you would try harder to prevent such a thing from occurring.”

  Virgil was gritting his teeth. “Wu, I’m done playing. Knock it off.” What Virgil didn’t realize was that when he and Wu swapped positions, it put his back to the pool.

  Wu smiled and held up his hands. “Wu apologize. It was wrong to throw you in the pool. I can see now that you did not like it.”

  “Would you?” Virgil said. He practically yelled it at him.

  “Of course not. That is why it has never happened.”

  Virgil was beginning to calm down. “Yeah, well, that’s because you weren’t sleeping at the time.”

  “Are you asleep now?” Wu asked.

  Virgil put as much sarcasm as he could into his voice. “Nooo.”

  “That is good,” Wu said. “It is always better to be awake when you hit the water.”

  Then, quick as a cat, he stepped forward and pushed Virgil into the pool for the second time that morning.

  Murton was laughing so hard he didn’t notice Wu moving toward him. Murton ended up in the water as well.

  Once they were back out of the pool and dried off again, Virgil looked at Murton and said, “Not so funny when it happens to you, is it?”

  But Murton had never been one to let others get over on him. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jones-man. I thought it was funny. Besides, I was going to take a morning dip myself. I wasn’t going to do it fully clothed, mind you, but it was refreshing.”

  Virgil was still annoyed. “You seem to think this whole thing is some kind of joke or something.”

  “Well, one of us does, that’s for sure. Want to know who it is? Go look in the mirror.”

  Virgil pointed a finger at him. “Look, I agreed to come down here with you so we could spend some time together and I could clear my head. What I didn’t come down for was to get man-handled by—”

  “Hey, Virgil?”

  “What?”

  “Relax. Go with the flow. I had a little conversation with Wu while you were sleeping. I think he knows what he’s talking about.”

  “Wu do,” Wu said.

  Virgil and Murton turned around in their chairs and saw Wu walking over. Virgil started to stand, but Murton put a hand on his arm and held him in place. Wu sat down and looked directly at Virgil.

  “Wu give you his word on two things: One, I can help if you want me to.”

  “What’s the other thing?” Virgil said.

  “If you do exactly what I tell you, Wu not throw you in pool ever again.”

  Virgil stared at his little Asian friend for a long hard minute. He’d promised his wife and children that when he came back home, he’d be his old self again. And not only did he promise, Virgil knew they deserved it. He owed it to them. Finally, he said, “What did you have in mind?”

  Wu spent the next twenty minutes laying out his plan. When he was finished, Virgil looked at Murton and said, “And you’re on board with all this, because if I’m doing it, you are too.”

  Murton shrugged. “Why not? I like a good adventure. Besides, I could stand to clear a few cobwebs out of my brainpan as well. It all sort of sounds like that old Karate Kid movie. You know, Wax on, Wax off.”

  Wu laughed. “By the end of the week, you will both be too tired to wax off.” Then he slapped his thighs like it was the funn
iest thing in the world.

  Chapter Eight

  Wu worked them like dogs all week long, from sunrise to sunset. They ran the hills of Hanover Parish, eventually working their way up to ten miles a day. In addition to the running, he had them do manual labor around the estate—everything from cutting the grass, painting a few of the outbuildings, and replacing part of the roof on the guest house garage. They worked with Chef to prepare their own meals, and they labored with a construction crew to build a new home for a local family in Lucea. For some odd reason, they hand-shoveled an entire dump-truck load of dirt from one side of the drive to the other. They helped cater a large event, working as humble busboys, rebuilt two engines on a couple of Cushman scooters, and in general, whatever Wu told them to do. The only time they were allowed breaks was for water, to use the bathroom, have lunch, or meditate.

  Virgil thought the whole meditation part was bullshit, but Wu made him do it.

  By the fifth day, Virgil noticed he was waking up in the morning with a quiet mind, and a sense of calm he’d not felt in a very long time. He started looking forward to the meditation, doing it on his own every night before bed…box breathing and focusing on nothing except the end of his nose.

  On the day before they were scheduled to leave, Wu asked Virgil how he was feeling.

  “I’m exhausted, Wu. But if I’m being honest with you, I’ve never felt better.”

  “Wu told you. Relax your mind, work your body, rewire your brain. Your fog is gone?”

  Virgil nodded. “It is.”

  “And your cerebral cyclones?”

  Virgil gave him an odd look, then he immediately got it, and laughed. “You mean the thought tornados?”

  “Yes. Wu being funny. It one of my many gifts. Just ask Nicky.”

  “That might be debatable,” Virgil said. “But to answer your question, yes, the thought tornados are gone.”

  “Do you feel you are done?”

  Virgil nodded. “I do.”

  Wu looked at Murton and said, “Today, you may do as you wish.” Then to Virgil, “You are mistaken. You have one more task to complete.”