“Dead Eyes ain’t going back to Mexico?”
“No, he’s not. However, the nanomites recorded everything he said to me down in the basement—you know, bragging about kidnapping you and doing other bad stuff. The nanomites transmitted the live audio to my FBI friend, Special Agent Gamble. Plus, he has the other charges from before. I think Dead Eyes will go to prison for a long, long time.”
Emilio went quiet. I could tell he was troubled. We reached the gate and marched past its twisted, bent remains.
After we’d walked for a few minutes, Emilio found a way to express himself, “Dunno, Gemma. Kinda liked what that lady said. You know, about Dead Eyes donating both his kidneys? I mean, you gotta have kidneys, dontcha?”
“Yes, you need at least one kidney to live.”
“Well, them takin’ both his kidneys sounded okay to me.”
“You mean because then Soto would be dead and we’d never have to worry about him again?”
“Yeah, and ’cause he killed Mateo.”
“You know about that, huh?”
“The big *blank* told me he did. Even bragged about it and all.”
I nodded. “Yes, that sounds like him.”
“An’ he scared Sean, Gemma, and Sean’s just a little kid. I don’ want Dead Eyes scarin’ Sean again. I’d rather Dead Eyes be plain ol’ Dead, not just Dead Eyes.”
It is so ugly and wrong when kids are traumatized, when they are scarred by the horrors of this life. I know. I remember Genie terrorizing my childhood; I remember how it felt to lose my mom and dad on top of Genie’s mistreatment. I didn’t want Emilio damaged by the wretched things he’d seen and experienced any more than he wanted Sean to be scared.
I put my arm around Emilio’s shoulders. “I understand, Emilio. I used to feel that way about Dead Eyes, too. Well, maybe I still feel that way. But how about we let the FBI take care of him instead, huh? They are pretty good at their job.”
Emilio shrugged. “All I gotta say is they better not lose him again.”
I seriously agree with you, kid.
I saw a car in the distance, coming toward us.
“Ready to go home to Abe?”
Emilio brightened. “Yeah. That would be great.”
“Well, here comes our ride.”
~~**~~
Chapter 17
Gamble let us out at the curb in front of Abe’s house. I don’t know who was more excited, Emilio or me. On the drive in, we’d stopped and retrieved my phone from the bushes, and I’d called both Abe and Zander with the good news.
They were waiting for us on Abe’s porch.
While I thanked Gamble and said goodbye to him, Emilio ran from the car and raced up the steps into Abe’s arms, then Zander’s, then back to Abe.
“Cute kid,” Gamble observed.
“Yeah, he is. He’s had a rough start, but we’ll try to help him. Steer him right.”
“Group project?”
I laughed. “Something like that, yes.”
As I reached for the door, he said, “Talk to you soon, Gemma.”
“You know how to reach me if you need me, right?”
“Right. Craigslist. Uncut gemstones.”
Emilio had already flown into the house to “see his room”—as though it might have changed in his absence. Abe and Zander followed him inside. With the nanomites covering me, I left the car and skipped up to the porch steps. Just within the doorway, the nanomites uncovered me and I walked into Abe’s arms—and then Zander’s.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered into my hair. “I’ve missed you.”
Oh! Oh, how good, how wonderful his warm breath felt. It was hard to pull away from his embrace, but I made myself do it. Then Zander took my chin and turned my face this way and that. I could see how sad the bruises Soto had administered made him.
“They will fade quickly, practically overnight,” I promised. “The nanomites will fix them.”
Zander’s hand dropped, and we stood there, so close to each other, but no longer touching.
Abe, noting the strain between us, tipped his head. “I promised that boy I’d make him spaghetti when he came home to me. I can make four servings as easily as two.”
My belly lurched and growled. “Can you make six servings? ’Cause I’m starving.”
Abe and Zander laughed, and it broke the tension.
“That I can, Gemma. That I can,” Abe assured me. “I promise you won’t go home hungry. Say, close the front door, will you?”
Before I did as he asked, I peeked across the cul-de-sac to check on my old home—and stared in stunned surprise: There, parked in the driveway, sat my aging Toyota.
“Who . . . Why is my car in the driveway?”
I saw Abe and Zander exchanging glances. “Who’s at my house? Do you know?”
Zander nodded. “Close the door, and I’ll tell you, Gemma.”
I followed Zander into Abe’s living room; Abe went directly to the kitchen—which was probably wise, because I was getting pretty hot under the collar.
I put both hands on my hips. “What’s going on, Zander? Who’s in my house?”
“It’s Genie.”
Two-by-four to the gut.
“What? Are you kidding?” I was too astounded to be angry—for a moment.
Zander rubbed his neck. “Apparently, Genie got on Cushing’s bad side when she was here last, so Cushing got her fired from her job. We think Genie’s broke, Gemma.”
“You knew she was in my house? And you didn’t tell me?” The volume of my voice rose with each word.
“Hold on a sec. I haven’t exactly had a chance to talk to you in the past week, have I? Abe says Genie got here last Thursday—a little more than a week ago, the same day we left the mountain and took Dr. Bickel to the FBI’s field office. The same day I found out Soto had taken Emilio. The last time you and I talked face to face was that night at the coffee shop, and I didn’t know about Genie until the following morning. You and I haven’t even spoken on the phone since then.”
My next demands were close to shouting. “You couldn’t have called? Texted? Sent a carrier pigeon?”
Zander’s voice rose, too. “And for what, Gemma? You’ve been worried sick about Emilio and have been preoccupied with finding a way to save him. Why would I distract you from that? What if I’d told you about Genie, and it threw you off your game? What if it had caused you to bungle getting Emilio back safely? What if he’d been hurt? How would you have felt, then?”
“You should have told me anyway!”
Okay, it was official: our first fight.
“And what purpose would that have served?”
“Because it’s my house, not Genie’s! I—”
Gemma Keyes. Stop. Look.
I spun on my heel. Emilio watched us from the hallway, his face scrunched in agony, tears streaming down his face.
“Oh, no. Oh, my God. No.”
O Lord, what have I done?
Emilio ran into his bedroom and slammed the door.
I fumbled for an excuse, but I knew in my heart I had none. To make matters worse, Abe hobbled into the living room and folded his arms across his chest.
I knew that face: He was about to deliver a strong rebuke—and I deserved it.
“Gemma, for shame! All Emilio has known his whole life is abuse. Anger. Shouting. Hitting. Abandonment. He’s just started trusting us, just started believing we would never do those things to him. Girl, you know I love you, but the pain you just caused that boy undid a whole lot of the good you thought you did him.”
He leveled his next censure at Zander. “And, Pastor? Don’t care if you are a minister; the same goes for you.”
Zander hung his head. “You’re right, Abe. Gemma, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
“I-I shouldn’t have . . . I shouldn’t have gotten so angry, either. I-I need to tell Emilio. Tell him I’m sorry.”
Zander put a hand on my arm. “No, Gemma. We need to
tell him.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
We knocked on the bedroom door. When Emilio didn’t answer, Zander turned the handle. “Emilio? Gemma and I need to talk to you. Emilio?”
The huddled lump under the covers, clear down at the foot of the bed, had to be him. The “lump” quivered and shook as he sobbed his heart out.
I sat near him on the bed and placed both hands on him. “Emilio. I’m sorry. It was very wrong of me to yell at Zander like that. I need to tell you I’m sorry—and I need to ask your forgiveness.”
Zander added his bit. “Me, too, buddy. I was wrong to yell at Gemma.”
When Emilio didn’t respond, I broke. “Emilio! Please forgive me! I love you. Zander and I are sorry we yelled. Please. Please forgive me.”
My shoulders sagged and shook with regret and grief. I hardly noticed when Emilio crawled out from under the covers until he climbed into my lap.
He patted me the way I usually patted him, and I hugged him to my chest.
“It’s okay, Gemma. I forgive you.”
Sweeter words I’d never heard.
***
Eventually, we ate spaghetti and garlic bread. Emilio gobbled down his share, but I had two large plates to his one. To top it off, we had vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce drizzled over it.
When Emilio dropped his spoon into his empty bowl with a great contented sigh, Abe grinned at him. “Young man, it sure is good to have you home.”
“Yeah.” Emilio ducked his head. “I mean, yes, sir.”
We three adults laughed, then Emilio laughed with us.
“Well, you’ve been gone a fair spell. Your clothes are worse for wear, and it looks like you haven’t had a bath in a while.”
Emilio shook his head. “Nope. I mean, no, sir. Dead Eyes din’t have no shower.”
“We’re back to square one, then. I don’t have any clean clothes for you ’cept one of my t-shirts. We’ll get your clothes from your foster home tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll run a bath for you and throw what you’re wearing in the washer.”
“Yes, sir. Can I have some of that bubbly powder ’gain?”
“Comin’ right up.” Abe sent Zander and me the ‘stink eye.’ “You two can get after the dishes. And finish up your business in a kindly manner.”
We answered, “Yes, sir,” at the same time.
They left the table and Zander and I started clearing the table. While we worked, Zander talked about Genie.
“Last Friday, as soon as Abe told me Genie had moved into your house, I went over and confronted her. Said she was trespassing.”
“And?”
“And, from what I could tell, she has no place else to go. She said she was ‘housesitting’ while you were gone. Said if you objected to her being there, you could call the police.”
He scratched his head. “Kinda had me over a barrel there, you know? In the end, I figured it was better for her to be taking care of the place than it was leaving it open to thieves or vandals.”
I nodded, just to let him know I understood—not that I approved.
“Speaking of taking care of the place . . .”
“What?”
“Cushing’s jackboots trashed your side doors when they stormed in, so I replaced them.”
I nodded again. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“What will you do, Gemma?”
“It’s not my problem that she lost her job.”
“No, but you’d better have God’s heart on this before you go over there half-cocked.”
I hung the dish towel to dry. Sighed. “You know, it seems like the thing I feel justified in doing—that I have a right to do—always end up being the opposite of what Jesus wants me to do. It’s confusing.”
“Confusing? Yeah, sometimes it is—giving mercy to an enemy when they don’t deserve it? Sowing kindness when we’ve received harshness? In many instances, we have to stick to our principles and say ‘no,’ but there are times when I’ve discovered that God needs to do a work in my heart before I can take a ‘principled stand’ against wrong.
“His objectives are always the redemption of lost souls, the wholeness of our walk with him, and the restoration of splintered relationships. Ugliness in us or from us can’t accomplish any of those goals. When I’m more intent on being right than I am in the salvation of those who are lost, I have probably missed the whispers of the Holy Spirit.”
I scowled, unwilling to admit that he made sense.
“Yeah. I get it, Gemma. Genie doesn’t deserve your mercy.”
I glanced at him sideways. He was holding back. Baiting me. “What?”
He shrugged. “Just that I didn’t deserve God’s mercy, either.”
I expelled a ragged, frustrated breath. “Oh, bother.”
“Why don’t we pray, Gemma? Once we invite the Lord into the situation, you’ll be fine. You’ll know how to handle Genie, and it will be right.”
We sat at Abe’s table and held hands.
Zander prayed, “Lord, you know how painful this is for Gemma. Please give her your heart. Show her what to say to Genie and how to say it.”
He waited for me to pray, too. Finally, I murmured, “Lord, I second what Zander said. Please show me what to say to Genie. I . . . I don’t want to blow it. I don’t want to be a jerk, Lord. Please help me.”
Zander added, “Amen.”
“Amen, Lord.”
Abe came wandering back into his little dining nook. “You two take care of your business?”
“Yes. We’ve prayed. Now I need to go talk to my sister.”
All Abe said was, “You watch your heart, Gemma. Pay attention, you hear?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Calling the nanomites to cover me, I left Abe’s.
It was the weirdest sensation in the world, walking across the cul-de-sac from Abe’s to my house—as I had done countless times while growing up and after Aunt Lucy died—but this time knowing that Genie had taken over my house. Through our childhood and beyond, she’d taken and taken from me. Now, she’d stolen my house.
My home.
I felt the anger churning again and stopped mid-stride.
“You watch your heart, Gemma. Pay attention, you hear?”
“Lord, please help me. I thought I’d let go of my old life. Guess it took someone squatting in my house to prove that I haven’t let it go, that I’m still clinging to what is dead and gone.”
I reached the curb and sat down on it. “Jesus? Is this a piece of the ‘laying down my life’ thing we talked about in the cavern?”
Greater love has no one than this:
to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
“And she’s not exactly a friend, Lord. In fact, if-if it were anyone but Genie . . .”
Anyone but Genie.
I shook my head. Those three words underscored a different problem.
“I know you expect me to forgive her, but she doesn’t deserve my forgiveness, God. She’s, well, she’s evil.”
The passage from Matthew that had spoken a crucial truth into my heart, came rushing into my deliberations.
“. . . Everyone who hears these words of mine
and puts them into practice
is like a wise man who built his house on the rock.
My excuses didn’t wash.
“You sure know how to stick it to a girl, don’t you?” I groused.
I got to my feet, walked up the drive, and climbed the side porch steps. Both of the new doors were locked. The nanomites unlocked them, and I let myself in.
No lights were on. I wandered through the kitchen and found Genie in the living room.
Not the Genie I knew, the Genie of designer shoes and perfect looks and performance. She was curled up under a blanket, staring at the cold, dead fireplace. Her hair was . . . well, dirty and disheveled, and she looked . . . empty.
Gemma Keyes, the ambient temperature in this room is 54°.
“Huh. Why is that?”
It appears that the utility companies have recently shut off the electricity and natural gas for nonpayment.
I hadn’t given the utilities at my house a single thought since I’d left, and that had been the end of October. It was mid-December now.
I tried to remember: Had I paid the October utilities?
Guess not.
Genie didn’t sense my presence, but something did. It slid out from under the blanket where Genie huddled for warmth.
It stretched. Narrowed bright green eyes. And hissed.
“Jake?”
Genie bolted upright in a panic. “Who’s there?”
~~**~~
Chapter 18
I waited until the mites uncovered me before speaking.
“It’s me, Genie.”
“Gemma?”
She sprang to her feet and dumped Jake—who was sitting on her blanket—onto the floor. Rather than the snarl or scratch he would have bestowed upon me, Jake rubbed himself along Genie’s leg.
And purred?
Genie didn’t really notice, but I did.
What in the world . . .
Genie was too preoccupied with my unannounced visit—and the whole, “I moved into your house without so much as a by-your-leave” elephant in the room.
“Gemma, I know I didn’t ask if I could stay here, but I can explain.”
Guilt is a funny thing, and I might have expected guilt—except I didn’t deem Genie capable of the emotion. So, if Genie wasn’t awash in guilt, what was it?
She squinted and inched closer to me. “Gemma? You look different. But I can’t see you too well.”
Remember, the electricity was off, and it didn’t help that Genie had all the curtains drawn—probably to keep the cold out—so the house was shadowed. Dim.
“It’s dark in here.” I went to the window and pulled open the curtains.
When I turned back, Genie gaped. “What the *bleep* happened to you?”
I shrugged. “I suppose I lost a few pounds. Got fit. Changed my hair a while back.”
At the mention of hair, she remembered her own. “I look like crap.”
“I look like something that dratted cat dragged in. You’ve never looked like crap in your whole life, Genie.”
Stealth Retribution Page 18
