by Amira Rain
“I don’t care what they are. If they’re coming to kill you, we need to think of some way—”
“Don’t you understand, Tara?” Frowning, my dad took the skillet off the burner, shut off the burner, and looked at me. “They’re going to break the spell… or, the curse, or whatever happened to me when your mom died. They’re going to break the spell. Everything is okay now. No more pain. No more heartache. I’ll be free. You’ll be free. We’ll all be okay. I won’t be drinking, gambling, and making life hard anymore.”
Again, I sputtered briefly. “Yeah, because… because they’re going to kill you! And you’re acting like you’re all right with it!”
After setting down his spatula, my dad came over and put his hands on my shoulders with something like a smile on his face. “They’re going to break the spell. Some people might even say it’s a mercy.”
“Or murder.”
Now my dad kind of smiled and frowned at the same time, giving me a look something like pity, as if he felt bad that I just didn’t understand. “I was a little scared yesterday, but I’m not now.”
“Let’s just try to think of some way—”
“They won’t do it in front of you, you know. They’ll take me somewhere. They have something of their own code of ethics, and they don’t do things in front of family members. They’ll take me somewhere else to do it.”
“Dad, please. We—”
“You won’t see my body again, I’m pretty sure. I’ll probably just… disappear. I will ask them to call you when it’s done, just as a courtesy, just so you can know it’s over. They’ll probably do that much. Like I said, they’re not terrible—”
“Dad, listen. We—”
“I’m not scared, Tara. I’m ready. Tell the boys I love them. Tell them I wasn’t scared.”
“Listen to me, Dad. There’s got to be some way—”
“There’s not, sweetie. Now, let’s just enjoy our nice breakfast. I haven’t felt this good in years… haven’t felt this hungry.”
I sat with him at the table, silently, drinking coffee, but I didn’t eat. He, however, ate with enthusiasm, tucking away two plates of food while glancing over at the bright sun beyond the kitchen windows with a faint smile on his face.
Once he’d cleared the dishes away, actually humming a bit, which I hadn’t heard him do since before my mom had died, he pulled a large bottle of vodka from the freezer and took a long, thirsty swig. “I’m heading in, sweetie… heading into what’s going to come. And I’m not scared. That doesn’t mean I want to head into things stone-cold sober, though. In fact, I think heading into things in a sleepy sort of state might suit me just fine. Then I’ll fall asleep in the car, hopefully, and just… just never wake up, hopefully. Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”
He began drinking heavily, soon becoming drunk or near to it. As he usually did in this state, he began just kind of wandering around the house holding a framed picture of my mom, looking out windows, picking up random objects, examining them, and putting them back down, all the while periodically mumbling to himself. While he did this, I paced around the living room, wracking my brain while near-panic made my legs feel as if they were filled with jelly.
I knew getting a bank loan was out of the question, not least of all because it was Saturday and the banks were closed. Even if they weren’t, I knew I’d never be approved for a loan of the size I needed. I couldn’t ask Uncle Steve for the money because he didn’t have it. He’d recently told me he’d just been laid off and was going to have to downsize from a two-bedroom apartment to a studio in his building until he found a new job.
I couldn’t even call any friends for advice, because I feared they might call the police, even if I begged them not to. Then, if the police showed up at the apartment and the mob men saw, I was terrified they’d go after the boys if they were able to locate them at the hotel.
Which, now that I was thinking about it, didn’t seem like it would be that hard for them to do, since Kevin had paid for the room using his debit card, which I was certain the mob men could easily trace.
After a while, I began cleaning and doing dishes, feeling some urgent need to keep my hands occupied while I continued thinking. My dad continued drinking and wandering, becoming increasingly unsteady on his feet. I asked him if the mob ever considered “payment arrangements,” and he just chuckled faintly, then resumed his mumbling, turning my mom’s picture toward a window, as if he wanted her to see the sun.
Around one in the afternoon, he took to his recliner, eyes closing. I paced some more. I’d just pretty much resigned myself to the fact that begging the mob men for some sort of an extension was my only hope and option when my dad stirred in his recliner, lifting his head from his chest and opening his eyes.
“Don’t… don’t try to argue with them or fight them in any way, Tara.”
His speech was so slurred I could hardly understand him.
“Don’t give them any trouble. As long as you don’t, they won’t hurt you in any way. It’s their code. Just let them take me.”
With a sudden prickling in my eyes, I looked at my dad in his recliner, near-empty vodka bottle still in his hand, a bit of drool darkening the front of his tattered blue robe. “I’m going to ask them how we can work this out, Dad. I’m just going to beg them—”
“I’m sorry, Tara… for everything. I know I haven’t made things easy for you. I know I haven’t been a….” Belching, he lifted a fist to thump his chest a few times. “A good dad.”
For some reason, because of what he’d said, my prickly eyes suddenly stopped prickling, and my blood boiled. But before I could angrily say, “Well, that’s the damned truth,” in response to what he’d said about not being a good dad, a loud knock sounded at the door.
CHAPTER TWO
With my heartbeat sounding like a jackhammer in my ears, I dashed over to the door and looked through the peephole. Three men stood in the hallway, and there was no mistaking that these were the men who’d come to “collect.” With all of them dressed in dark gray and black, and two of them wearing sunglasses even though the apartment hallway was dim, they may as well have been stereotypical mobsters from a Hollywood movie. One of them was even wearing an outdated-looking, cheesy gold chain.
One of the men didn’t look entirely stereotypical, though. Broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, he carried two cheap ballpoint pens in his front pocket, as if being ever-ready to jot down a quick note was more important to him than maintaining any image of vaguely menacing sophistication. He also differed from his two companions in that his hair wasn’t dark and slicked-back with about a half-pound of grease.
In fact, his hair was a little wild, furling out in all directions in waves and puffs that were a brassy strawberry-blond mixed with gray. The expression on his craggy, oval face was fairly neutral, indicating possible boredom, like maybe he’d done what he was intending to do a hundred times before.
Suddenly, I didn’t want to try to strike some sort of a deal with this man and his companions, primarily because I just didn’t feel like they’d go for it, no matter how hard I begged. I just felt like I should call the police, which I was now thinking I should have done hours earlier. They’d listen to me, they’d get the FBI involved, and the feds would go to the boys and protect them long before the mob men ever could get to them..
They’d also immediately place my dad and me in protective custody, I was sure. They’d probably send us all to a safe house far away. It all seemed so simple now, so obvious. Of course I should call the police.
Turning from the door, I began pulling my phone from my jeans pocket, intending to call 911. Before I could even get my phone fully out, though, there was another knock, followed by a deep male voice.
“Just open up, Mr. Fowler or Miss Fowler. I hope nobody’s thinking about doing anything stupid, like calling the police.”
Cringing inwardly, I turned back to the door and looked out the peephole, thinking that it had been the man with the cheap
ballpoint pens in his front pocket who had spoken. I just had the idea that he was the leader of the group of three men or something. And sure enough, he now looked expectant, as if waiting for some sort of a response to what he’d said, whether that be the door opening or something shouted through the door.
I definitely wasn’t about to just open the door. At the same time, though, I was wavering in my resolve to call the police. With perspiration breaking out across my forehead despite the fact that a cool April breeze was wafting in through the open windows, I found I just didn’t know what to do.
“We know where the boys are. We have men outside the hotel right at this very moment, in case anyone tries to do anything dumb. Just know that those boys will be long gone before the police ever know anything about it.”
Now I did know what I had to do. Ballpoint Pen Guy had made up my mind. I had to open the apartment door, just hoping against hope that I could somehow negotiate with these men. There was no other alternative. Not unless I wanted to put my brothers in serious danger, maybe even causing them to be killed.
Thinking that my dad had to at least be panicking a little by now, now that things were really happening, I turned from the door to look at him across the living room in his recliner, thinking that I was going to see him sitting up with his eyes wide, betraying a little fear. I was going to whisper to him not to worry, that I was going to get the men to spare his life by striking whatever sort of bargain I had to.
However, I didn’t find my dad sitting up with his eyes wide, finally showing that he didn’t want to die. Instead, he was slumped over, eyes closed, thin body not appearing to show the slightest bit of tension. A rattling sort of snore was coming from his half-open mouth, a rattling sort of snore that he only made when he’d had way, way, too much to drink. Incredulous, I looked at him, realizing that he’d actually passed out, leaving his daughter to deal with the mob men all alone.
And in that moment, I didn’t hate my dad, because I could never hate him no matter what he ever did to me or what he put me through. But at that moment, I came as close to hating him as I probably ever had in my life.
“Open up. We’re not going to ask again before we break the door down.”
Suddenly livid, at both the mob men and my dad, I furiously unlocked the door and then flung it open, glaring. “Come on in, then. I have enough bills to pay without worrying about a broken door.”
Standing just slightly behind Ballpoint Pen Man, the two dark-haired men exchanged glances, eyebrows raising. Ballpoint Pen Man’s expression, however, didn’t change at all.
He just looked me dead in the eyes, dipping his head in the faintest of nods. “All right.”
I stepped aside to let them all in, shut the door, and then ushered them all into the living room, where we all came to a stop. I certainly wasn’t going to ask them to sit down. I didn’t want murderous criminals even touching my furniture.
While his two companions glanced over at my passed-out dad, Ballpoint Pen Man kept his gaze right on me. “Now, we don’t have time for any speeches about what a wonderful man your father really is, or—”
“He’s not a wonderful man. He’s a miserable, selfish asshole who’s done everything in his power to make sure that his children’s lives have been a complete living hell the past six years.”
In response to what I’d said, Ballpoint Pen Man’s bored expression finally changed slightly, becoming one of very mild surprise.
“All right.” After lumbering a few steps over to the faded tan couch, one of the few items in the apartment that my dad hadn’t been able to sell in the previous month, Ballpoint Pen Man looked at me again. “Mind if I have a seat? My arthritic joints are begging me to.”
Not really wanting to, I moved my head in a slight nod anyway. Ballpoint Pen Man sat down. His two companions remained standing and didn’t ask to do likewise. I remained standing, arms folded across my chest. My dad remained snoring with a faint smile on his gaunt face. My mom’s picture sat in his lap, as did the near-empty bottle of vodka.
“One moment, here, Miss Fowler.” To my surprise, Ballpoint Pen Man briefly fished around between the couch cushions, pulled out some small, gray square, and looked at his two companions. “Want to get the others, guys?”
They began strolling out of the living room, and Ballpoint Pen Man returned his gaze to me.
“We had to plant a few bugs around your apartment yesterday morning, before we told your father it was time to collect. It was necessary to make sure nobody did anything dumb throughout this process.”
I didn’t respond, and he continued.
“I was able to hear that you wisely didn’t do anything dumb, I was able to hear that you don’t have the money, and from a few things I heard you say to your father this morning, I was able to gather that he probably wasn’t always the way he is now… and that you do probably love him.”
Still livid at my dad for passing out and leaving me to deal with the mob men alone, I didn’t say anything, and Ballpoint Pen Man leaned forward a bit, elbows on knees, with a faint sigh.
“Look. I don’t want to do what I have to do. I don’t want to. I don’t like it. Some in my profession do. I don’t. Never have. But I will do what I have to do. You see what I’m saying? I will. When there’s women and kids involved in a situation, though, I always see if there’s another way first, even though there hardly ever is. But I always think on it. I investigate a little.
Sometimes the wife has a rich uncle they haven’t asked for money yet or something. Sometimes the family even gives me the info I need in order to successfully rob the rich uncle, taking whatever’s needed to repay enough of the debt that my boss is happy. Sometimes things like this happen. The dad of the family lives. Not often at this stage, though, and my boss certainly doesn’t require that I look for these other little avenues.
In fact, he prefers things simple. He likes sending clear messages to the other folks we extend credit to. The thing is, though, I require it of myself to look for other little avenues. Only when I’m satisfied that there aren’t any more, can things then move forward. You understand?”
Suddenly allowing myself to be a bit cautiously hopeful, I moved my head in a nod, almost unconsciously loosening my arms across my chest.
“So, there’s a thing. There’s a thing that might just be the perfect thing for a young woman like yourself. It’s an unusual thing, though, and because I’m in a bit of a hurry this afternoon, you’re going to have all of about three seconds to decide if you want to do this unusual thing in order to pay your father’s debt.”
Intrigued, though with my stomach twisting into knots, I told him to please go on, and he did.
“Are you at all familiar with what’s been going on up north, in the FDS?”
The FDS, which stood for the Free Dragon State, had been formerly known as Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, or the UP. It had been established as a sovereign nation several years earlier, after the Great Dragon War, which had happened not long after some germ weapon had turned thousands of human men into dragon shifters. Then, a few years after the FDS had been established, it had come to light that dragon shifters weren’t the only kind of shifters in the nation. There were wolf shifters, bear shifters, and lion shifters, too, although after the United States government had tried to imprison dragon shifters, all these other shifters had remained hidden for as long as they could.
Now, in present day, some of these shifter groups had claimed land for their own within the nation, and other groups were still fighting with the government. I knew this much, although as far as Ballpoint Pen Man’s question, asking if I was familiar with what had been going on “up north” with the FDS, I really wasn’t familiar, at least when it came to specifics. I’d had far too many problems of my own in recent days to pay too much attention to international politics.
Looking at Ballpoint Pen Man, wondering where this was all going, I shook my head, and he continued.
“Well, all right, I’ll fill you
in on what’s been going on up in the FDS. In short, the dragons up there had some problems with another group of dragons they called the Traitors. The bear shifters came up a while back and helped the dragons rid the area of these Traitors, for the most part, anyway, fighting them on the ground while the dragons did their work in the sky.
Well, anyway, when all was said and done, Commander Iverson up there, the dragon leader, ended up giving the bears the Traitors’ old territory to have for their own sovereign state, just to say thanks for helping take those guys out, I guess.
So, this group of a couple hundred bears up there on the farthest northern tip of the peninsula has made their own city-state type place they call Greenwood, although really it’s more of a small town from what I’ve heard, at least as far as where they all live in this little city-state. The FDS has helped them get all set up, and the Canadians have helped them get set up, and they’ve built a bunch of houses and buildings and little roads and so on.
They’ve got the bear guys, and some women, a bunch of families, and like that. Some of the bears brought their whole families up from the US with them, and some of them even took their extended families, parents and grandparents and so forth.
So, anyway, from what I’ve heard, it sounds like they’ve got a real nice little community going on up there. They’ve had a few minor little problems with some wolves or something, but that aside, it sounds like they’re really making a good go of things. They just have one problem, though.”
“Which is what?”
I’d asked the question while a vague possible answer was developing in my mind.
“Well, the head guy up there… they call him the chief. He’s one of a bunch of guys who are still bachelors up there. When this Greenwood place was started, there was a fair amount of bachelor guys who wanted families like some of the others, so, long story short, the chief had some young ladies brought up.
