Michael Vey: The Prisoner of Cell 25

by Richard Paul Evans

  “Thank you. Tara, I’m going to spend a little time with Taylor.

  Why don’t you find yourself some earrings.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This way, Taylor,” Hatch said.

  The jeweler led them to a small private room. In the center of the room there was a round polished marble desk with a mirror and a magnifying glass. “Shall I bring in a preliminary selection?”

  “Please,” Hatch said, matching the Frenchman’s formal tone and winking at Taylor. The man nodded and left the room.

  He returned a moment later carrying three boxes, which he laid reverently in front of Taylor, lifting the lids off one by one. “I would like to show you a sampling from our classic selection. First, the Loop Necklace.” He held it out for her to examine. “This elegant piece is made up from three hundred and fifty-eight round diamonds. It is immaculate.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Taylor said.

  “Would you like to see it on?” Hatch asked.

  “Really? Sure.” Taylor held her hair off her neck while the jeweler placed the necklace on her. He fastened the necklace, then slid a small oval mirror across the table toward her so she could look at herself.

  The necklace felt heavy and cool. Each diamond glistened like it was on show.

  “Wow . . .” She touched the necklace. She couldn’t believe she was wearing it.

  “Show her the next one,” Hatch said.

  “The next one?” Taylor asked.

  The man nodded as he unclasped the necklace Taylor was wearing. “Certainly. The Baby Wreath Necklace consists of one hundred seventeen round and marquise-cut diamonds for a total of twenty-five carats. The pendant is set in platinum.” The necklace was shorter and thicker, the diamonds set in an intricate pattern of holly-shaped links.

  “Do you like it?” Hatch asked.

  “It’s cool,” Taylor said.

  “And the one I’ve saved for last. Nightlife. Made up of sixty round and pear-shaped diamonds for a total of thirteen carats within a platinum setting.”

  Taylor gasped when she saw it. The brilliant diamonds hung from a delicate-looking platinum chain, the different diamond cuts alter-nating in a stunning pattern.

  Hatch turned to Taylor. “Anything stand out?”

  Taylor smiled in spite of herself. “This one. Definitely.” She touched the necklace delicately.

  The jeweler nodded approvingly. “A beautiful piece,” he said.

  “We’d like to try it on please,” Hatch said.

  The man lifted the necklace out of its case and handed it to Hatch. Hatch put it around Taylor’s neck. The white diamonds glistened against her tan skin like they were alive. Taylor had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. She wondered what her friends would think if they saw her now. But rather than joy, the thought brought her sadness. She missed her friends and she felt guilty for enjoying herself.

  “What do you think?” Hatch asked.

  “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “How much is this trinket?” he asked.

  “Just a minute, sir.” He turned over the tag. “That piece is one hundred sixty-eight.”

  “One hundred and sixty-eight dollars?” Taylor asked.

  The jeweler almost choked.

  “No,” Hatch said. “One hundred sixty-eight thousand dollars.”

  Taylor suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “That’s like wearing a house.”

  “Fortunately not quite as heavy,” Hatch said smiling. “But do you like it?”

  “It’s incredible.”

  “Good. Then it’s yours.”

  She looked up at him in amazement. “What?”

  “It’s our welcome-home gift to you.”

  Taylor was speechless. “You’re kidding.”

  Hatch put his hand on her arm, touching her bare skin. “I would never kid about something as important as that. We are so glad you’ve come home.”

  As he spoke his thoughts coursed through Taylor’s mind. A chill rose up her spine and the depth of the darkness filled her with such terror she was suddenly nauseous. Taylor shuddered and pulled away.

  Hatch looked at her curiously. “Are you okay?”

  Taylor swallowed. “Sorry. I guess I’m not used to sushi.”

  He nodded. “Of course. It’s an acquired taste.”

  “Would you like the necklace wrapped up or will you be wearing it out?” the jeweler asked.

  Hatch looked at Taylor. “Taylor?”

  Taylor unfastened the necklace. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, sir. But you’ve already done enough. I’m really not used to all this.”

  “I understand.” He turned to the man and handed back the necklace. “Put this on hold. The young lady would like to think about it.”

  “Very well, sir,” he said, disappointment evident in his voice. He returned the jewelry to the display case.

  “Can we just go back?” Taylor asked.

  “Absolutely. You came in the Rolls?”

  “Yes,” Taylor said.

  Hatch took out his phone and pushed a button on it. “Pick us up outside Harry Winston.” He slid the phone back in his pocket. “Come on, Tara.”

  Tara took off the pearl earrings she was trying on and said to the woman helping her, “Sorry. Out of time.”

  The three of them walked outside, where the Rolls was waiting for them. The black Escalade was parked behind it. Griffin opened the door and Taylor climbed in first. Hatch sat down next to her. Tara sat in the front next to the driver.

  Hatch said, “You know, Taylor, everyone in the family is very excited to meet you.”

  Taylor swallowed. Then she forced out, “I’m looking forward to meeting them as well.”

  “I hoped you’d say that, because I’ve asked the chef to prepare a special dinner in your honor—a personal favorite of mine, beef Wellington. I hope your stomach is a little more agreeable with that than the sushi.”

  “I was raised on casseroles and pizza. I’m afraid I’m just kind of an average girl.”

  Hatch frowned. “No, Taylor. You’re anything but average.” His expression lightened. “But don’t worry, we’re not all china and crystal, we eat pizza and hamburgers too. However, tonight is a very special occasion and requires a special cuisine.” He leaned back and smiled.

  “The prodigal daughter has returned.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hitching a Ride

  Jack lived about twelve blocks from my home, in an even poorer neighborhood than the one my mother and I lived in. I found his address in the school directory, then, after school let out, I went to see him.

  Jack’s house was at the end of a short, dead-end road called Leslie Street: an aged box of a home with chipped aluminum siding and faded cloth awnings. The front window had been broken and was covered with cardboard that was kept in place with duct tape. The yard was overgrown with weeds and pyracantha bushes. There were at least six cars at the house; some of them parked on the grass or on the road in front, most with flat tires and rusted bodies. Only one or two of them looked like they might actually run.

  I climbed three steps to the AstroTurf-covered porch. The doorbell had yellowed masking tape over it with the word BROKE written in marker. I opened the rusted screen door and knocked on the wood door behind it. A minute or so later Jack answered. He was wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing his muscular arms and shoulders, as well as his tattoo. I forced myself not to blink. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  The TV was blaring behind him and I wondered if someone else was inside. “Not here. I need to talk to you someplace more private.”

  “Why?”

  “I just do.”

  He looked at me for a moment, then stepped out on the front porch, shutting the door behind him. “Go ahead. My old man can’t hear you.”

  “I need a ride.”

  “You think I’m
your chauffeur now?”

  “To Pasadena.”

  His face looked even more distressed. “Isn’t that, like, in California?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Man, what is this, a shakedown? I went to Dallstrom like you said. I’m not going to let you keep bullying me. I’ll go to the teachers and tell them what you did.”

  “Calm down,” I said. “I’m not here to bully you. You’re the only one I can go to with this.”

  “Why not your old man?”

  “I don’t have a father.”

  “Then your mother?”

  “Don’t you watch the news?”

  “No.”

  “My mother was kidnapped. I’m pretty sure she’s in Pasadena.

  That’s why I need a ride there.”

  “Why don’t you call the police?”

  “It’s complicated. They can’t help.”

  “Dude, I’m not driving all the way to California.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of bills I had taken from mom’s secret stash. “Look, I’ve got money. I’ll pay you three hundred dollars. It’s all I’ve got.”

  He eyed the money. I could tell he was wavering. “Where’d you get that kind of dough?”

  “It’s my mom’s emergency stash.”

  “Three hundred bucks, huh? When do you need to go?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Just us?”

  “And my friend Ostin.”

  “What if I bring someone? To help drive.”

  “Who?”

  “Wade.”

  I hated Wade even more than Mitchell, but if it got me to California sooner, I’d deal with it. “Okay.”

  “What do we do after we’re there?”

  “You drop us off and you’re done. That’s it.”

  “No ride back?”

  “No. I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

  Jack looked over at his car, a restored 1980 Chevy Camaro with a navy blue body and yellow racing stripe. “And you want to leave today, huh?”

  “As soon as possible. I just need to get some things from my house. And pick up Ostin.”

  He scratched his stomach, then slowly exhaled. “Okay. I’ll call Wade. Where do you live?”

  “Not far. Over by the 7-Eleven off Thirteenth East. We’ll meet you in the 7-Eleven parking lot in an hour. Deal?” I reached out my hand but he just looked at it fearfully.

  “I’m not going to shock you.”

  He took my hand and we shook. “Deal.”

  I walked back to the apartment and knocked on Ostin’s door. “We leave in an hour.”

  He looked at me as if I’d spoken in Chinese. “Leave? Where?”

  “California. Didn’t you think I was serious?”

  “With Jack?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.” I purposely didn’t say anything about Wade.

  Ostin looked anxious enough without being thrown in the car with his archenemy.

  He looked back over his shoulder. “Man, my mom’s going to be so chapped at me. She’s going to ground me until I’m fifty.”

  “Ground you from what?” I asked. “Homework or clogging?” We both knew that Ostin pretty much spent all his time in his room anyway.

  “From hanging out with you.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Well I wish my mom was around to ground me.” I slid my hands in my pockets. “Like I said, you don’t have to go.”

  Ostin frowned. “Let me get a few things. I’ll be right there.”

  About ten minutes later Ostin knocked on my apartment door then let himself in. He had a backpack that was mostly filled with junk food like potato chips and cheese puffs.

  “What did you tell your mom?”

  “I told her I was going to hang out with you.”

  “She’s going to be worried out of her skull,” I said. “She’ll probably call the police.”

  “I thought of that. I taped a note to your door. It says I went to Comic-Con with you and my uncle.”

  “Will she believe that?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s where my uncle is this week. He’s hard-core, and he never takes his cell phone, so my mom can’t check.”

  “Brilliant,” I said. I picked up my bag. “Ready?”

  “Let’s do this.”

  I looked out to make sure no one was watching, then I locked our apartment door and we walked down the hall and out the building.

  The 7-Eleven was only fifty yards from my home. Jack wasn’t there yet so we went inside and got cherry cola Slurpees and sat on the curb to wait.

  “What if he doesn’t come?” Ostin asked.

  “He’ll come. Besides, I’m paying him three hundred dollars.”

  “Where did you get three hundred dollars?”

  “My mom’s emergency fund.” I rubbed one foot with the other. “If there ever was an emergency this is it.”

  About fifteen minutes later Jack’s Camaro pulled into the parking lot and up to the gas pumps.

  “There he is,” I said.

  Ostin squinted. “Who’s that in the car with him?”

  “Wade.”

  Ostin’s eyes widened. “You didn’t tell me Wade was coming.”

  “Sorry. It was part of the deal.”

  “I hate Wade.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “You don’t understand. I really, really hate Wade. Like, if he were in a shark tank and reached up to me for help I’d throw chum in the water.”

  Ostin has a great imagination.

  “Look,” I said, “we don’t have a lot of options. Wade can help drive. Besides, he’s not going to do anything to you. He’s afraid of me.”

  Ostin just shook his head. “This just keeps getting worse.”

  Jack and Wade both climbed out of the car. Jack walked up to me.

  “I need money for gas.”

  I took the roll of bills out of my pocket and counted out a hundred and fifty. “Here. Half now, half when we get there.”

  He stuck his jaw out a little. “Fair enough.”

  Wade looked at Ostin and smiled. “Hey, I know you. I didn’t recognize you with your pants on.”

  “Stay away from me.”

  “Relax,” Wade said. “That was before I found out your friend’s a Taser.” He smiled and went inside the store. Ostin and I carried our packs over to the car. Jack opened the trunk and we put our things inside. Jack finished filling the car with gas about the time Wade came back out. He had pork rinds, mini-doughnuts, beef jerky, and a six-pack of Red Bull. “Let’s go, boys.”

  “Sit in back,” Jack said to Wade.

  “What?”

  “I want to talk to Michael.”

  “But . . .”

  “Back, now.”

  Wade scowled, threw Jack the bag of jerky, and climbed in the backseat. Ostin stared at me with the look of a man climbing into a snake pit, but he got in anyway.

  I shut my door and Jack fired up the Camaro. I think he’d taken off the muffler to make it louder, because it roared like a jet. He looked over at me and smiled wryly. “California, here we come.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Road Trip

  A few minutes after we were on the highway, Jack turned to me, offering an open bag of beef jerky.

  “Here, help yourself.”

  I took a piece. “Thanks.”

  He set the bag to his side. “If you want more it’s right here.” He rubbed his chin. “So how long have you been shocking people?”

  After all the years I’d spent hiding my power, it was strange talking so openly about it. “Since I was a kid,” I said. “Like two or three.”

  “Do you know how much it hurts?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. I’ve never been shocked.”

  From the backseat came Ostin’s first words since he’d climbed into the car. “You’ve never been shocked?”

  “I don’t think I can be,” I said.

  “So, you could like grab a power line and i
t wouldn’t hurt you?”

  Wade asked.

  “I don’t know. But when I was four I chewed through the vacuum cleaner’s power cord and it shorted out in my mouth. I just remember it tickled a little and afterwards I felt really good.”

  “Wait,” Ostin said. “You mean it’s possible that electricity makes you stronger?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know. I’ve never tested it.”

  “You could, like, eat batteries,” Wade said.

  “No,” I said. “They’d break my teeth.”

  Ostin looked happy again as he finally had something to think about besides Wade. “We need to test this,” he said. “I’ll think of a way to test this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  According to Plan

  Hatch sat back in a tucked leather chair in his plush, mahogany paneled office at the academy.

  Four flat-screen television monitors played on one wall. All were set to different channels, but all of them were covering the same story.

  In the past hour, two British Airways jets leaving London’s Heathrow Airport had crashed shortly after takeoff, strewing wreckage across miles of coastland. He watched it all with a knowing smile.

  His phone buzzed. “Sir, your phone call.”

  “Is the line secure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Put him through.”

  Hatch lifted the receiver. “Hatch.”

  The voice was gravelly and coarse with a slight British accent. “I just heard the news. Well done.”

  “Just as planned.”

  “BA is claiming mechanical difficulties.”

  “That’s a little hard to swallow with two wrecks within the same hour, but not surprising. They have to tell the public something. So far there are also three terrorist groups claiming responsibility, but they’re late to the party—we gave British Airways a specific schedule a week in advance. There will be another accident each day they don’t meet our payment schedule.”

  “Has any money been transferred yet?”

  “Not yet. But it will. We’re offering them a bargain. Those 747-800s are going for a little over three hundred million dollars each, not to mention the lawsuits and loss of business. British Air can pay the ransom or shut down.”