by Brinda Berry
“I’m here. Merry Christmas, Dad.”
* * *
He sat in the dark, alone in the room he’d spent the first eighteen years of his life. The bed seemed smaller. The posters on his wall, a juvenile tribute to the bands and videogames he loved. He picked up a photo from his desk. A teen stood next to a pretty girl in a swimsuit. He’d forgotten he’d even dated her.
It was like he’d traveled in a time machine. His room looked the same. His family acted as though he’d never left. He didn’t regret anything that’d happened. Regrets wouldn’t build a future, change the past, or force forgiveness. Forgiveness hadn’t been granted tonight. He’d given his dad a story about running off to California to be with a girl he’d met online.
Eighteen-year-old kids did stupid things. It was an easy story to believe. He added in a story about drugs. Drugs from the girlfriend. And another story of being too ashamed to contact home.
But he’d told his dad that he was straight now. He’d said he had a job in California working for a small gaming company.
But the hurt went too deep for forgiveness after a few hours. The anger was there. It was the same he’d felt toward his mother when he’d seen her as an adult. Nancy Taylor had run away, taking his little boy heart with her, to a new life. His first thought had been to kill her when he’d discovered her. Actual murder. Then he’d come to his senses and considered things like prison and hell.
And he’d never really hated her. Not when he reached down deep inside, to that place where he could still remember her.
He was stronger than that.
But, he was thinking about killing again. Not that he was a bad person, but he didn’t know how to stop Eli Bleeker any other way. And he now had authorization to do it.
The man and the genetics corporation called Aidos gambled that no one would stop them. Gambled that political agendas would get in the way.
But Bleeker didn’t understand family.
Pete leaned against the headboard, cursing the fact that Dr. Eli Bleeker—criminal, sicko, and butcher—had made this personal.
7
Christmas Photos
I crawled into bed, tired and ready to crash. One second after placing my head on the pillow, I heard a ding from my cell phone. A text message appeared onscreen. It was Austin.
“Merry Christmas Babe. Hope u dreamed of sugar plum fairies and rock concerts. What time do u want me to come to ur house? Haven’t been 2 bed yet. Played Quest all night. Is there more of Em’s candy at ur house?”
“How did you know I was awake?” I texted and yawned.
“Gifted. U aren’t only 1 with super powers.”
“Ha.”
“I see u r in bed.”
“You’re good. Can you see me putting the phone down and going back to sleep? Talk to you tomorrow.”
I placed the phone on the nightstand and fluffed my pillow. After fifteen minutes of tossing, I still wasn’t asleep. I pushed my comforter off and walked over to my bedroom window. It was still dark outside, but the quarter-moon cast a dim light over the trees. No streetlamps meant I couldn’t see the snow covered ground as well as I would like.
I pressed my face to the cold window in amazement. Thick piles of pristine snow covered the ground, unmarred like a smooth blanket.
My phone dinged with another text. I picked it up, expecting to see yet another note from Austin.
“Snow is beautiful.” The text wasn’t from Austin, but from Regulus.
“Yes.” I sighed. We’d stopped texting weeks ago. It was almost like he knew I was thinking about him.
The phone dinged again and a picture popped up on the display. Probably taken from his dorm window at Whispering Woods University. The streetlights lit up the place. Large drifts of snow covered the parking lot. Not even one vehicle stood in the lot. Were Regulus and Arizona the only ones there?
Ding.
Another photo of Regulus and Arizona’s motorcycles. That was a weird thing to photograph. But Regulus didn’t always think the way I did.
I climbed back into bed and Biscuit entered my room, walking in a slow, sleepy trot. I’d made some noise and woken him. He leaped onto my bed and ducked his head under the covers.
Ding.
Regulus was as bad as Austin and needed to get some sleep. Snow was not that exciting. Or maybe it was an excuse to talk to me. I picked up my phone. This one was in his hallway. I couldn’t pick out anything special and wondered why he would send it.
Ding.
I squinted at the next image; the photo was small and my eyes strained. In the right corner was a gloved hand. Why was he showing me this? I shot up in the bed, dislodging Biscuit in the process. The photo was dark, but I could see bunk beds in the background. I tapped in on the photo and made it larger. A person slept in the bottom one and a second person in the top. I recognized the striped comforters.
Regulus and Arizona in their bunk beds.
I got out of bed and found my shoes. No socks, no real clothes, no time. I shrugged on my heavy coat and called Arizona’s number. I muttered hallelujah that I’d put him in my favorites call list.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
“Hello.” His voice was groggy from the other end.
“There’s someone in there. Wake up. Get up.” I whisper-screamed.
“Is that you, Mia?”
“Yes, it’s me. Get up. Someone is in your room.” I didn’t need argument or calm reassurance. I needed action.
I heard Regulus’s voice in the background. “Is she OK?”
“I’ve got the lights on. It’s just us.” Arizona sounded irritated. “Did you have a bad dream?”
“No. I didn’t.” I sat on the edge of my bed, unsure if someone was going to kill them or not.
“We’re fine. Why would you think someone was in here?” Arizona said. His voice teased.
Maybe someone had a gun pointed at his head and he couldn’t tell me.
“Hi. It’s me.” Regulus had taken Arizona’s phone. “What scared you?”
“Where is your phone?” My voice cracked.
He paused. “Just a minute.”
I waited and Biscuit nuzzled my back.
Regulus cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I always leave it on my dresser.” I heard the sleepiness leaving his voice by the end of his sentence.
“Someone sent me pictures from your phone. The last photo has a hand in it. Are you sure no one is in there? Do I need to come over?”
He laughed, but the sound had a nervous edge that he couldn’t hide. “Pictures of a hand?” After a minute of silence, he spoke, “You’ve been in these rooms. There is nowhere to hide. Wait a minute.” Seconds passed. “Checked the bathroom. Nobody.”
“I’m coming. This doesn’t feel right. I can call campus security.”
I heard Arizona ask for his phone. “We’ve got this,” Arizona said in a voice that sounded much more alert.
“But—”
“Mia, it’s Christmas. Your dad will be getting up soon. I’ll text you as soon as we figure out what’s going on.”
“OK,” I said in a resigned voice. I hadn’t even told them about Pete.
I tapped END and took off my coat and shoes. I wondered if Pete was already asleep. I climbed back into bed where Biscuit happily snuggled.
I knocked once softly on the wall that separated my headboard from Pete’s.
A soft echoing rap made me smile.
I thought about Regulus and the photos. My thoughts forced a shiver through my body. “I have a bad feeling about this,” I said to Biscuit. “Whoever had his phone could have easily killed them.”
Biscuit didn’t answer. He was tired of me talking.
I hadn’t shut my curtains and rays of morning sunlight streamed into my room. Fat snowflakes thickened into a whirl of white outside my window.
Ding.
My hand shook as I picked up my phone. An image of my house and my bedroom window stared back at me.
I ran
and looked out my window. Footprints marred the perfect snow below.
* * *
Snow blanketed the ground in a postcard setting. Although we didn’t get up until mid-morning, Dad made biscuits accompanied by chocolate gravy and popped the casserole from Em’s mom into the oven. He played Christmas music and we sang along. Dad and I had saved one gift apiece to be opened. Pete played Santa and brought out his gifts for us.
Having Pete home made us giddy.
We lounged on the sofa with our feet perched side by side on the coffee table. Dad sat in his recliner watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the one-millionth time.
I checked my cell phone constantly for a text from Arizona. I was a minute away from texting him when he sent a message.
“Someone has stolen Regulus’s cell phone. See you soon.”
The lack of information was enough to remind me that I shouldn’t care. If they didn’t want me to know, it didn’t matter, because I needed to distance myself from the IIA and especially from Regulus.
“What are you frowning about?” Pete asked.
“Nothing.” Although I wanted to tell him, I was scared. I’d trust Pete with anything. But if I told him, he would think he needed to take action. And I knew that was the reason he’d returned.
I didn’t want him taken away from me.
The text reminded me of the present upstairs from Regulus that I had dismissed so easily. Dad wouldn’t accept my offer to clean up the kitchen so I ran to my room, taking the stairs two at a time. The box sat where Regulus had left it last night.
I lifted the cell phone from its nest of paper and held my breath, wondered how easily the weapon function triggered. My own stunner. Last fall, I had asked for one during training with Regulus and been told no. An emphatic no. A you’ll-shoot-your-eye-out no. That was back when I thought I would be a permanent addition to Regulus’s team. Now the answer had changed from no. Regulus didn’t realize that hell would sell snow cones before I’d join the IIA now.
Powering it on, I could see that it was a match for the functions of my current cell phone. I wondered how IIA agents got their weapons. Did the IIA make this for me? Knowing that I wouldn’t be satisfied until I could try out the stunner features, I tiptoed downstairs. If I could slip outside for a minute alone, I could aim it at a tree or rock.
I stood on the third from the bottom step when I heard Dad’s raised voice. He was angry at someone. His tone was different from any he’d ever used with me.
“I think it’s in poor taste to pick today to suddenly call. Honestly, you can’t expect Mia to welcome you into her life after all these years. She doesn’t even know you.” My dad’s voice shook, each word biting the ear of the listener.
Silence.
“Well, that’s not how it works. This call will upset her and she’s been depressed over a boyfriend lately… No… No…”
More silence and I could hear Dad pacing.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t talk to her ever. It’s just not going to be today. This is bad timing. I also find it odd that you wouldn’t ask about our son.”
I could hear his uneven breathing.
“What is it that you really want? You’ve never called before.” Pause. “Yes, it is my business. I am the one who raised her.”
The oven door slammed. The smell of burning food filled the air.
“You are being ridicu—”
I heard Dad put the phone down. The call had ended.
I stepped softly to the front door where I slipped outside. Leaning against the door, I stood on the porch and momentarily forgot about the weapon in my hand.
Nancy Taylor had wanted to talk to me, her daughter. That was a nice change from trying to kill me. Dad had no idea the phone call was loaded. Loaded with evil possibilities. What did she really want?
Surveying the blanket of white on the ground, I caught a glimpse of a familiar wooden structure at the end of my long gravel driveway. The pink stunner felt exactly like my cell phone with its lightweight case. I pointed at the little shelter I called my waiting booth and directed a mental command to shoot. I visualized the edge of the roof coming down. And then it did.
“Yahoo,” I squealed before realizing how loud my voice would be. Dad and Pete appeared at the front door to see me jumping up and down in glee.
“Mia?” Dad looked around. “Are you alone? Did you see something?”
“Oh. The snow. I was excited about the snow.” I threw my arms around him. “It’s cool, isn’t it?”
He looked at me with raised brows and a pursed mouth. “Get inside before you freeze.”
Pete shook his head and gave me a playful pat to the back of my head.
8
Where Oh Where
One self-induced sugar coma later, I moaned at the caller ID on my cell phone. My screen read, ‘Blocked call.’
Didn’t psychos take a break on the holidays?
“Biscuit?” I shuffled downstairs and through the house in my new bunny slippers. One floppy ear had been chewed already. Jealous dog.
“I let him out earlier,” Pete said. “He needed some fresh air.”
“It’s too cold.”
“Cold for you. Not cold for a dog.” Pete sat on a stool at the bar. He concentrated on his laptop screen and didn’t look up at me.
I peered through the opening in the kitchen curtains, searching for Biscuit. He usually stayed near the fence.
“He’ll come to the door when he’s ready.” Pete reached to the cookie plate nearest him, popped a macaroon into his mouth, then chewed once. “You make these?”
“No. Em.”
He grabbed a paper towel and covered his mouth with it. “Good. This tastes horrible.” He spit cookie into the towel.
I cracked the door and stuck my head outside. “Biscuit!”
“I want to talk to you about some things. Will you stick around here so we can spend some time together?” Pete cleared his throat. “You listening?”
“Uh-huh. Biscuit!” I yelled.
“Mia, this is important.”
“My dog freezing is important, too.” I looked around for my boots. “I’m going outside.” I stepped out of the slippers and into my insulated boots.
“Did you hear a word I said? I said you can’t—”
“Be right back. If he’s been into something, you’ll have to give him a bath because you let him out. He must have found something to roll in, something decayed.”
Pete groaned, irritation rolling off him in waves that smelled like a soured rag. “I’ll get my coat.”
I heard Pete leave the kitchen, clomping upstairs. I didn’t wait. I opened the door and a blustery wind blew the hair away from my face. The back steps were covered with a thin, slick layer of snow. I noticed the open gate.
“Biscuit!” I yelled louder. Running through the gate, I looked right and left for him. No sign of the rascal. A larger dog would have had trouble hiding, but Biscuit could squeeze into small places, under brush, between gaps.
After running the perimeter of the house once, Pete stopped me. “Slow down.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I kept running and he followed. “Not with me. Go the other direction or we’ll never find him.”
“You stick close to the house. Biscuit will come back here. I’ll look for him a little farther out.”
“OK.”
“You promise? Promise me.”
“Sure. OK. I cross my heart.” I drew my finger up and down, left and right over my chest. “Go. Get him.”
“Bossy as ever.” Pete ran to our gravel driveway that disappeared into thick woods before it met the main road. He jogged down the drive yelling Biscuit’s name.
The wind cut through my fleece sweatshirt, through my pajama pants, through my bones.
I gritted my teeth to stop them from chattering, but it didn’t help. Pete had been smart to get his coat. I turned to head back to the door when I saw a bit of Biscuit’s fur sticking out from the front bushes lining the house.
“Biscuit, come on. It’s colder than—” I suppressed a shivery seizure having nothing to do with the outside chill. Something felt darkly at odds, like an intuition, a premonition, my worst nightmare. I edged closer, holding my breath and angry that he had frightened me.
Biscuit’s head rested half-hidden underneath a thick bush of red and gold leaves. Blood covered his ear and muzzle. I couldn’t tear my focus away from his battered head.
Red, red, red, red.
I sank to my knees. A sharp pain knifed through my chest. Unforgiving branches scratched my face. I heard screaming that I didn’t recognize. Screaming that seemed so far away.
My hands clung to his body.
“I’ll take her into the house.” I heard my dad’s voice as though it was from miles away.
“Let go, Mia. Give Biscuit to me.” I heard the sorrow in Pete’s voice, but I didn’t care.
“No, no, no,” I screamed, attempting to cradle Biscuit’s broken body. “No one is taking him!”
I hugged Biscuit, limp and cold, to my chest. I fought Pete as he pried my fingers away from the small, broken body.
A stabbing, monstrous grief burdened my soul.
* * *
“I’m fine. I want to be alone.” I wanted to have a minute to think. To empty my brain of the burning image of the blood. I’d seen other things. Important things. Things that pointed to something other than a wild animal killing Biscuit. And I wasn’t alone.
Pete’s eyes had gone to the ground where a baseball bat lay under a bush near his foot. A baseball bat tinged in red. A baseball bat from our garage.
Pete looked at the garage and I did, too. For a split second, I saw the green haze of hate and shock and fear envelope his body. I saw the footprints. Footprints in the snow.
