Go! - Hold On! Season 2

by Peter Darley

  Earl turned off the truck’s engine and unhooked the crane.

  Tyler stepped out of the van. “Hey, man. How much do I owe you?”

  Earl smiled. “I’ll get the invoice.”

  “Ty, can I talk to you for a second?” Belinda said.

  “Sure.”

  She led him around to the side of the van and saw the driver’s side door was still open. “Ty, I think Brandon is seriously sick. I don’t think we can go on.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He’s staggering all over the place, and he’s as white as a sheet.”

  Tyler rubbed his forehead. “What do you think it might be?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Tyler pointed to the strap under the seat. “I didn’t put that there. What is it?”

  Belinda climbed up, pulled the strap, and drew out the backpack. The moment she opened it up, she felt her blood turn to ice at the sight of vodka bottles. Several of them were empty.

  “What’s in it?”

  “Oh, my God, Ty,” she said tearfully.

  “What?”

  “He isn’t sick.”

  Brandon smiled at Earl with drunken abandon. “Y’know what, bud? You’re a f’ckin’ life-saver.”

  Earl stepped out of the truck’s cab as another individual arose inside, seeming to emerge from the footwell—a young man wearing a checked shirt. He exited the truck with something in his hands, but Brandon couldn’t make out what it was. He couldn’t even be sure if it was one or two men. Whoever it was, the young man threw whatever he, or they, held to Earl.

  “Hey, were those guys havin’ a nap in that ol’ truck?” Brandon said with intoxicated laughter.

  “Oh, there was only one guy in there, you drunken jerk.”

  “So, how much do I owe ya, bud?”

  Earl replied in a gruff voice, “Just the van should settle it.”

  Brandon finally noticed the double-barreled shotgun aimed at him, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  Fifteen

  .45

  Brandon staggered toward the two men before him, laughing insensibly. “The van? You want the van? Sure. Jus’ help yourself.”

  The younger of the two men smiled. “Hey, Pa. This is gonna be easier than we thought.”

  Earl chuckled. “You got that right, Bobby.”

  Bobby became aware of a clicking sound in his right ear, followed by a crippling sensation in his left arm.

  Earl turned around sharply to see Bobby writhing in pain with his arm twisted up his back. Tyler held him with a .45 aimed point-blank at his temple.

  “Drop the gun!” Tyler bellowed. “You hear me? Drop it!”

  Earl slowly lowered the shotgun onto the ground.

  Belinda appeared from behind the van.

  “Kick it toward me!” Tyler said.

  Earl complied. Belinda ran forward, picked up the shotgun, and trained it on Earl.

  Earl raised his hands in surrender. “D-don’t do anything. Just let us go, and that’ll be the last you see of us.”

  “It had damn well better be.”

  Earl walked backward to his truck, his gaze on the rifle at all times.

  Tyler released Bobby and pushed him forward.

  A glint of recognition appeared in Tyler’s eyes. “I know you, you son of a bitch. You’re the one who slowed down in the station wagon earlier and then drove on again. What were you doing? Weighing us up for a heist?”

  Bobby turned, ran past Brandon, and climbed into the truck. Earl pressed his foot on the gas.

  Belinda handed the shotgun to Tyler and ran to Brandon. He no longer had the ability to stand still, and his eyes were rolling. It was clear he was on the verge of losing consciousness.

  She gripped him under his armpits and held him steady. “Sweetheart, let’s get you back in the van. You’re not well.”

  Tyler joined her. Together they guided Brandon up the step and onto the passenger’s seating area.

  “Strap him in,” Tyler said. “I’ll drive.”

  Belinda pulled the seatbelt around Brandon and caressed his cheek sadly. “Why, Brandon? Why?”

  Tyler stowed the shotgun under the seat along with the .45.

  “Where’d you get the pistol, Tyler?” she said.

  “Back home. It’s a Super Carry HD. One of the best. I wasn’t gonna take another chance with that crappy sonic thing Brandon sent me to Denver with.”

  Brandon slurred a response. “Ol’ Archie the whiz made it. Funny ol’ guy. Had hair a’ th’ sides of his head. None on top. He never finished the power cell thingy before I took it.”

  Belinda gently pushed up his eyelids, but all she could see were the whites of his eyes. “He’s passed out.”

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Tyler said. “There’s every chance those two bozos will be back with reinforcements.”

  “You’ve got a point. Let’s go.”

  They hurriedly closed the side doors. Tyler pressed his foot onto the accelerator and glanced at his unconscious brother. “What do you think’s wrong with him? Why would he do something like that at a time like this?”

  Belinda shook her head in despair. “I should’ve seen it coming. I can’t believe I missed the signs.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I first met your brother, his life was nothing but stress. He was consumed with guilt over being unable to save everyone else on the night he rescued me. It was like he truly believed it was his responsibility to save the world.”

  “Yeah, I always got that impression about him too. When I first met him at Leavenworth, he was real emotional and just wanted to throw his arms around me. He sobbed like a baby.”

  Belinda succumbed to tears. The thought of Brandon so alone, and in such a vulnerable place, was unbearable.

  “He talked about you all the time,” Tyler said reassuringly. “He loves you, you know.”

  She nodded but was unable to speak.

  “Hey, everybody gets hammered once in awhile. I’ve done it plenty of times. Maybe that’s all it is. I bet you have too.”

  “Sure I have. But think about it. What state was he in when I saw him for the first time after he escaped?”

  Tyler glanced at her with a look that suggested he knew where she was going with this. “Drunk.”

  “Exactly. And have you noticed how he’s been sipping on gin and vodka since he’s been back?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well I have. He made it look so casual and harmless. After you showed him the pictures of his real family, what did he do first?”

  “You’re right. He headed straight for the liquor cabinet.”

  “Right. And why always gin and vodka?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They’re the least likely to leave a smell on you, Ty. He’s been doing whatever he could to hide the fact that he’s got a problem.”

  Tyler checked the satellite navigation unit on the dashboard. “Well, we’re about two hours away from Woodville. I just hope he’s sobered up by then. I’d hate for this to be Emily’s first impression of him.”

  “Two hours? Don’t hold your breath. How did you find Emily, anyway?”

  “It wasn’t easy. I had to hire a private detective in the end. Brandon was easy enough for me to trace on my own. He’d left quite a trail behind him with police records, court transcripts, and military records. But Emily had just vanished. She was eventually traced to this Carmelite convent. She works with St. Mark’s church in Woodville. She goes by the name Sister Veronica.”

  Upon hearing terms like ‘Carmelite convent,’ ‘St. Mark’s church,’ and ‘sister,’ Belinda shivered.

  At four o’clock in the afternoon, Tyler pulled up on a dusty roadside beside the church. Brandon was still in a deep sleep.

  Tyler became apprehensive the moment he turned off the engine, and looked down at his hands. “Damn it, I’m trembling.”

  “Are you OK?” Belinda said.

  “No.”

&nb
sp; “Want me to come in with you?”

  “You don’t have to do that. Stay here and watch over Brandon.”

  “I hardly think he needs watching over. He’s seriously away in dreamland.”

  After a moment, Tyler concurred. “To tell you the truth, I could use the support. Thank you.”

  “OK. Let’s do it. You’re gonna meet your sister for the first time, and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Tyler took the keys out of the ignition, climbed out, and closed the door behind him.

  Belinda linked her arm with Tyler’s in a gesture of support as they walked across the path to the front entrance of the church. The closer they came to it, the chill running through Belinda’s heart grew ever colder.

  Disturbed by the vibration of the doors closing, Brandon stirred and his eyes fluttered open.

  Sixteen

  Ghosts of the Past

  With Belinda by his side, Tyler pushed the church door open to an unexpected sight. Seven nuns, five priests, and a bishop seemed to be in conference, with no congregation members in sight.

  A young priest broke away from the gathering to greet them.

  Tyler noticed Belinda’s sudden movement and couldn’t miss the fear in her eyes. There had been an underlying abhorrence of anything religious in her since he’d first met her. Yet neither she, nor Brandon, would tell him what it was all about. This time, he knew he had to force the issue. “Belinda, what’s wrong? You look terrified.”

  “You deal with the son of a bitch.”

  “May I help you,” the young priest said.

  Tyler turned to him and forced a smile. Shit. What do I call this guy? Father? Brother? Padre? After a moment, he gave a contrived, convivial, “How’re you doing, sir? We’re looking for someone. Maybe you can help.”

  “Certainly. Who might that be?”

  “Well, it’s a kinda complicated story.” Tyler reached inside his jacket pocket, took out his business card, and handed it to the priest. “My name is Tyler Drake-Faraday, Executive Investment Specialist for the Faraday Corporation. My father owns it.”

  The priest smiled warmly. “Well, that sounds fascinating, but—”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Maybe I should explain.” He paused to brace himself against the fluttering in his stomach. “I was adopted, and I’m trying to find my sister. We traced her to here.”

  The priest frowned. “Here? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “We were all separated when we were very small. She was just a baby. Her name is Emily Drake. Do you know her?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of her. Perhaps if I pass you over to—”

  “Sister Veronica.” Tyler said.

  The priest’s expression dropped, and Tyler noticed. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re Sister Veronica’s brother?”

  “Yes, sir. Do you know her?”

  “I think you need to talk to the bishop. Would you mind bearing with me for a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  As the priest walked away, Tyler turned back to Belinda. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

  “Something’s always wrong when it comes to these twisted places.”

  Tyler cringed. Between the look on the priest’s face when he’d said Sister Veronica was his sister, and Belinda’s hostility, none of this looked like it was going to pan out favorably. To add insult to injury, Brandon was passed out drunk in the van.

  He watched as the priest conferred with the bishop. Then the bishop said something to the gathering. Most of them turned away and exited the church. Tyler noticed Belinda backing away as the parade of robes crossed her path.

  The bishop approached Tyler. “Mr. Faraday, is it?”

  “Y-yes, sir. How do I . . . ? I mean, what do I . . . ?”

  The bishop smiled. “Do not allow my appearance to distress you. We are all God’s children. Not one above another. I am Bishop Neville Jessop. Please, take a seat.”

  “Thank you.” Tyler relaxed and sat in the nearest pew while Belinda stood behind him.

  “You say that Sister Veronica is your sister?” Jessop said.

  “Yes. We were separated as children. There were three of us. Me, my brother Brandon, and Emily.” Tyler took the photograph of his baby sister out of his pocket and handed it to the bishop. “This is the only photograph I have of her.” He watched the clergyman’s knowing expression as he took the photograph.

  “There is no need to convince me, Mr. Faraday,” Jessop said. “Your resemblance to Sister Veronica is astonishing. I could see it the moment I laid eyes on you. Would you give me a moment? I have something for you.”

  “Sure.”

  They waited as Jessop disappeared into the back of the church.

  Moments later, the bishop returned with a photograph. Fascinated, Tyler took it, and cast his eyes upon the answer to a question he’d had for many years—what did his sister look like? He gazed, mesmerized, at a color photograph of a nun standing against a backdrop of storm wreckage. The close, quarter-length shot left her face clear and identifiable. Despite the habit, to Tyler’s eyes it was the face of a female version of himself. “Oh, my God,” he said with quavering emotion. “Is she here?”

  “I’m afraid not,” the bishop said.

  Tyler looked up sharply. “Where is she?”

  “If only you had arrived yesterday. You may have been able to persuade her to stay.”

  “Stay?”

  “She fled. She was here only this morning.”

  “W-well, where is she? Where did she go?”

  “We don’t know, but we are all very worried about her. This is what we were all discussing when you arrived.”

  “B-but—”

  “What did you do to her?” Belinda said in an accusatory tone.

  “My child, nobody did anything to Sister Veronica,” the bishop said.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  The reverend mother strode over to join them with a stern, domineering expression. “You just watch your tongue, young lady. We are all deeply worried about Sister Veronica. She is lost in the world now, with no knowledge of life outside the convent. She is terribly vulnerable, and an outburst like that is not likely to help matters.”

  “Why did she run away?” Belinda demanded.

  “She had a crisis of faith.”

  Tyler turned back to the bishop. “Do you have any idea where she may have gone?”

  The bishop shrugged his shoulders. “The nearest town is Wolverheath, five miles south of here. After that, there’s Crispin Rock, another four miles along. They’re small towns, but they have stores and motels. There’s nowhere else she could have gotten to on foot, but she may have hitchhiked and picked up transportation away from the area. We are very worried about her.”

  “Well, why don’t you call the police? Send out a search party? Anything?”

  “She’s legally an adult. This is out of the jurisdiction of the law. She has the democratic right to go wherever she pleases. Our concern is for Sister Veronica, personally. We feel she is ill-equipped to navigate life on the outside.”

  “How much money does she have?” Belinda said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “How much money does she have? Is there a chance she could get picked up for vagrancy?” She tilted her head and gave the clergyman a sardonic stare. “That wouldn’t look very good for your pious image, now would it?”

  Tyler turned to Belinda angrily. “What is it with you? This isn’t helping, Belinda. I’ve got enough to deal with right now, so you just go outside and cool off. I’ll handle this, OK?”

  “As you wish.”

  Tyler waited for her to leave and then resumed his conversation. “I’m sorry, sir. She’s been through a lot. Please forgive her rudeness.”

  Jessop placed his hand on Tyler’s. “Think nothing of it. May I ask who the lady is?”

  “I guess she’s kinda like my . . . sister-in-law.”

  The bishop squinted inquisiti
vely. “I see.”

  “Kinda.”

  Belinda stepped out into the blistering heat and took a deep breath.

  A thirty-something woman of apparent Hispanic origin approached the church with a young girl of approximately twelve at her side. They appeared to be impoverished judging from their shabby clothing, and the mother’s weathered face showed an age beyond her natural years. She glanced at Belinda, but the brief exchange offered no desire for communication on either side.

  However, Belinda’s heart was overcome with empathy and concern for the girl.

  The door opened, and Tyler and the bishop stepped out. The abbess followed.

  “We pray that you find her, Mr. Faraday,” Jessop said. “I believe that God has sent you at this, the most desperate time of her life.”

  Tyler looked at him skeptically. “You really believe that?”

  “I do. You have not come here by chance at this very moment of all times. That’s far too much of a coincidence. Yours is a divine mission.”

  “I doubt that. If the big guy in the sky had anything to do with us being here, he’d have got us here yesterday.”

  Through the open door, Belinda watched as Father Henry entered one of the confessionals. Her heart pounded as the Hispanic woman led her daughter into the adjoining cubicle. Belinda’s own protective, maternal instinct took control of her. Her feet shuffled unnoticeably past Tyler, the abbess, and the bishop.

  Stepping onto the aisle, trance-like, she made her way toward the confessional. In her mind, voices—ghosts of the past—echoed, driving her forward.

  Have you something to confess, my child?

  Yes, Father.

  Can you tell me about it?

  I-it’s difficult, father.

  He knew.

  Belinda continued forward, slowly.

  Have you touched yourself in a way you know you shouldn’t have?

  Y-yes, father.

  Her fists clenched. The confessional was within reach.

  It’s all right, Belinda. Join me in here and show me how you do it.