Castle of Sorrows

by Jonathan Janz

  At the thought of Tanya, Teddy frowned. What kind of a black woman wanted to have sex to Def Leppard and Poison rather than Marvin Gaye? He once tried to play “Let’s Get It On” to put her in the mood, and she laughed at him. It made Teddy so mad, he’d given it to her as hard as he could, thinking to punish her. Yet she’d enjoyed that, and after a couple minutes, he had too. That was Tanya—prudish most of the time, but when she let loose, the wilder the better. Occasionally wanting to find ways to spice things up, some of them dangerous. Some of them…

  Teddy felt a chill, and his erection began to soften.

  Elena Pedachenko was looking at him.

  “Hey, Elena,” Teddy said with what he hoped was a relaxed smile.

  Her pouty lips had gathered on one side of her mouth in a look that was both rueful and coy.

  “I was just thinking of someone else,” Teddy explained.

  “Your wife,” she said.

  For once, the low purr of her voice—just the merest hint of a Russian accent, so slight you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t listening for it—didn’t make every nerve ending in his body tingle. Nope, this time the words she uttered made him want to run away screaming.

  But he said, “I miss Tanya sometimes, sure.”

  Elena smiled her Sphinx-like smile and continued toward the arched doorway leading to the library. Teddy watched her tight butt sashaying beneath the silky sundress, but the sight did little for him.

  Christina ended her call. When she pushed back her sunglasses into her thick, dark hair, the welcoming sincerity in her eyes almost pushed away the upsetting memories that had just besieged him.

  Almost.

  “Teddy,” she said, reaching out and clasping his hands.

  “How you doing, Mrs. Blackwood?”

  Her face darkened in remonstrance. “How long has it been, Teddy? Almost a year? And I still have to remind you to call me Christina? ‘Mrs. Blackwood’ makes me feel so aged. And,” she said, lowering her voice, “it reminds me I was married to Stephen. I’d rather not be reminded of that, okay?”

  “Sure thing,” Teddy said. Her fingers grasped his, and as he smiled back at her, he marveled at how much like a teenaged boy she made him feel. Teddy was only a couple years her junior, but whenever she turned that sweet smile on him, he felt like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. In fact, Teddy mused, now that he thought of it, she did sort of remind him of Anne Bancroft in that film. Not quite as worldly and jaded as Mrs. Robinson, but every bit as sultry.

  “Anything else you need, Christina?” a male voice asked.

  They both turned and saw Jorge Navarro crossing the foyer to join them. Jorge nodded at Teddy. The big Hispanic guy was polite though never overly friendly, but in Teddy’s professional opinion, Jorge was a good person to have around. Teddy had a suspicion Marvin and his men were going to make a move soon, and the fact that Christina and her motley coterie of hangers-on were heading to the Sorrows for a week was a relief. At least it would delay what Teddy felt was the inevitable showdown. Marvin wanted his money; Christina refused to pay him. Men like Marvin did not relent, so Teddy figured the man and his thugs would soon descend on the estate like the jackals they were. If that happened while Teddy was around, he hoped Jorge was on duty.

  Christina smiled. “No thank you, dear. You should have some water before you dehydrate.”

  Jorge chuckled. “You sound like my wife. She’s always on me to drink more water.”

  Christina opened her mouth to say more but was interrupted by the appearance of her other bodyguard.

  Chad Wayne came lumbering across the foyer, the sweat streaming down his forehead in runnels. Teddy wrinkled his nose in distaste. Wayne had what Teddy thought of as weightlifter breath.

  “How come we have to take all those books?” Wayne asked. He was in his late twenties, but to Teddy the guy sounded like a twelve-year-old being made to mow the lawn. Even his brown ponytail seemed fatigued.

  “Peter needs them for his studies,” Christina explained.

  Wayne was bent over, hands on knees, panting like a water-deprived dog. “Man, those boxes are heavy.”

  Teddy glanced at Christina, observed the way she was looking at Jorge, and not for the first time had an idea something was going on between the two of them. And if it wasn’t, it wasn’t because of a lack of desire on Christina’s part. Teddy supposed he understood why. Jorge’s long black hair and perpetual five o’clock shadow gave him the tough, dangerous look of a hit man. Or a teacher of salsa dancing.

  Christina turned as a figure approached from the library and then brightened when she saw who it was. “Elena! When did you arrive?”

  The little Russian woman allowed Christina to wrap her up, Christina a full six inches taller than Elena. They embraced a moment, and before they pulled apart, Teddy saw Christina kiss Elena on the cheek. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it wasn’t a peck either.

  Christina sighed happily. “Are we all here?”

  “All but Dr. Grant,” Jorge said.

  “What time is it?” Christina asked.

  Teddy said, “About five till noon.”

  “There you are,” Christina said, and they all turned to see Peter Grant striding toward them. The professor was in his mid-fifties, his graying hair distinguished and neatly trimmed, his thick-framed glasses adding another thirty points to his IQ.

  Grant sighed extravagantly. “Sorry about that, Christina, but Professor DeGroote is in possession of a text I absolutely need but with which he steadfastly refuses to part.”

  “What sort of book?” she asked.

  “Oh, just a dusty old tome in ancient Greek. It isn’t essential to my studies, but it would be useful for cross-checking a few things.”

  Christina looked from Jorge to Chad Wayne. “You’re certain you two got everything?”

  Jorge nodded. Wayne massaged one beefy shoulder. “Unless you want me to grab a couple of those big bookcases from the library and haul them out to the truck too.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Chad. And thank you for all your help today.”

  Wayne nodded, looking slightly mollified.

  Christina looked at Jorge. “And your wife will understand your being gone this long?”

  “She understands.”

  Teddy said, “Could I have a word, Christina?”

  He moved a good distance off from the others, Christina leaning toward him solicitously. “What is it, dear?”

  “I just want to prepare you,” he said. “You know, in case this doesn’t go according to the script.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I told you earlier Ben had agreed to cooperate with the feds.”

  “Yes?”

  Teddy gave her an embarrassed grin and rubbed his chin. “He said he’d cooperate with the feds, not necessarily with you.”

  Her smile faltered. “Why wouldn’t he cooperate with me?”

  “No reason I can think of,” Teddy said, “except he hasn’t yet, and I don’t want you getting your hopes up.”

  “But if he changed his mind about talking to the agents, why wouldn’t he talk to me?”

  “I’m not saying he won’t. I’m just saying he might not. Given what happened, he might be a bit volatile right now.”

  “He’s met with me before,” Christina went on as though speaking to herself. “He was complimentary of my son. If he and Chris got on well, why wouldn’t we?”

  Teddy opened his mouth to explain, but decided not to push the matter. He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get along fine, Christina.”

  Her forehead furrowed. “I’m more worried about you. Your other clients won’t mind your being unavailable for the next week or so?”

  “They can survive without me a little while,” Teddy said, not feeling the need to disclose that Christina Blackwood was currently his only
client.

  As she and Teddy rejoined the group, Christina surveyed each of them in turn and sighed appreciatively. She reached out her hands, linked them with Peter Grant’s and Elena Pedachenko’s. Peter and Elena grasped Jorge’s and Teddy’s hands. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, Chad Wayne joined hands with Jorge and Teddy to complete the circle.

  Christina said, “Then let us return to the place where so much tragedy has occurred. Let’s allow our collective energy to edify us against evil. May our group spirit overcome whatever fell presence resides on the Sorrows. May love and light overcome malice and darkness.”

  “Let it be so,” Elena said.

  Peter Grant said, “Indeed.”

  Chad Wayne merely looked confused.

  Jorge remained silent.

  Teddy Brooks thought, What in the fuck did I get myself into?

  Chapter Three

  Claire sat beside Ben at gate twenty-nine. Joshua lay curled in Ben’s lap, sniffling. Last night Joshua had asked her what had happened to Julia and Grandma; Claire had been at a loss for what to say. Perhaps knowing Joshua would figure things out eventually, Ben said that Grandma had joined the angels but that Julia would be back home soon.

  Ben had been insistent upon the fact that Julia had been abducted instead of murdered, and that morning as they were driving away from the beach and Ben’s meeting with the three FBI agents, Ben had been proven correct. Samples of blood from all over the house had been tested, and none of them had matched Julia’s uncommon blood type: B-negative. That wasn’t, the voice on the phone had cautioned, confirmation that Julia was alive, but the news, coupled with Ben’s insistence on the abduction theory, had been enough to allow Claire to hope that she might someday hold her baby girl again.

  Now Joshua looked up at his dad. “Why can’t you come with us?”

  Ben kissed his son on the top of the head and said, “Look at me, honey.”

  Eyes wide and brimming with tears, Joshua sat up and looked at his father.

  Ben cleared this throat. “I need to tell you something.”

  “It’s about Julia, isn’t it?”

  Ben only hesitated for a fraction of an instant. “Yes, honey. Someone…took her.”

  “Why?”

  “What I need you to know,” Ben continued, “is that Daddy’s going to get her back.”

  Joshua fell silent a moment, thinking. “The one who took her,” he said.

  She saw Ben tighten. “What about him?”

  “Will he…hurt her?” Joshua asked.

  Ben swallowed. “No.”

  Claire looked up to see Joshua nodding slowly, the tears finally starting to streak down his face. “I miss her, Daddy. I miss playing with her.”

  Now Ben’s voice did grow raw. “I do too, honey. Daddy misses her too.”

  Joshua seemed to remember something. His hands went to his upper legs. “I don’t have the boppy. What will I put her on when we get her back?”

  Claire smiled through her tears.

  Ben said, “You can use the boppy when we’re all home.”

  “When will that be?”

  Claire looked up at Ben. She’d been wondering the same thing. Their tickets were one-way.

  She could tell by the way Ben glanced down at his lap that he was choosing his words carefully. When he finally looked up, he said, “Not long. A few days at the most.”

  Joshua nodded at this. Then a new fear seemed to creep into his face.

  “What is it, honey?” Ben asked.

  “Will you be okay?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “What I mean is…” Joshua’s breathing started to hitch.

  Claire put a hand on his leg, whispered, “What is it?”

  “It was the monster, wasn’t it?”

  Ben looked like he’d been slapped. He put out his hands, rubbed Joshua’s bony little shoulders. “Joshua, he—”

  “I knew he’d find us,” Joshua said in a voice that was nearly a wail. “I knew he’d do something to hurt us again.”

  “Honey, he can’t—”

  “He did!” Joshua moaned. “He swam in the ocean and found our house. He’ll get you too, Daddy. Please—”

  “Now boarding gate twenty-nine,” a female voice declared.

  “—don’t go, Daddy. He’ll kill you, I know he will. He already has Julia… He can’t—” Joshua’s words devolved into violent sobs.

  Claire rubbed the back of Joshua’s head. She had no idea what to say, no idea how to take his terror away.

  Ben had drawn Joshua against his chest. He was caressing his son’s back, though his stubbly cheeks had gone rigid. His voice thick, Ben said, “I swear I’ll be all right. Julia will be all right too.”

  “How do you know?”

  The corded muscles in Ben’s arms tensed, his jaw flexing. He took Joshua by the shoulders, peered down at him and said, “Daddy doesn’t give up, does he?”

  “Uh-uh,” Joshua said.

  “And when things were scary that other time, Daddy didn’t leave you, did he?”

  Joshua swallowed. He shook his head no.

  “Now,” Ben said, drawing closer and resting his forehead against his son’s. “I don’t know how…” His mouth trembled, but he cleared his throat, pushed through. “…how that thing found us, but I do know you’ll be safe in Colorado.”

  “But you’re going to the castle, aren’t you? Back to the island?”

  Ben paused, staring into his son’s eyes. Then, evidently deciding it was better to tell him the truth, he said, “That’s right. It’s where I’ll find your sister.”

  “And you’ll come back?”

  “I came back last time, didn’t I?”

  Joshua’s little mouth worked. When he was finally able to speak, he said, “But it hurt you. You were all cut up—”

  “I came back,” Ben said. “I came back then, and I’m coming back this time.”

  “Last call,” the cool female voice proclaimed. “Last call for gate twenty-nine, non-stop to Denver.”

  “I promise,” Ben said. “I promise we’ll come back.”

  Joshua reached into his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack and came out with something Ben had forgotten about, an eagle’s talon he’d won Joshua at a fair a few months prior.

  Placing the long, black talon in Ben’s hand, Joshua said, “Take this with you.”

  Smiling, Ben kissed his son on the forehead, and when he drew away, Joshua leaned up to him with his lips puckered. Ben kissed his son on the lips, then wrapped him into his arms. For the first time in months, Claire felt as she often used to feel—that she was an outsider, a third wheel to Ben and Joshua’s special bond. But the feeling disappeared as Ben reached out for her, drew her into their little circle, and kissed her on the lips too. Then they were clenched in a long embrace, and when it ended, it felt too soon.

  “Be careful,” she whispered to Ben. He kissed her hard, told her he would.

  The airport worker was releasing the doorstop as they approached the gate.

  “Just a second,” Ben called.

  The worker paused and held the door open. The woman working the desk looked a little put out, but took their tickets uncomplainingly. Then Claire and Joshua were moving toward the door. Just before they passed through the doorway, Joshua stopped. He had his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack slung over one shoulder.

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  Ben averted his eyes, and when he looked up, there was a strained smile on his face. “I love you too, buddy. Take care of Mommy, okay?”

  Joshua nodded. “Okay. Don’t lose my claw.”

  Claire watched Ben over her shoulder as she and Joshua passed inside the tunnel. Her last glimpse of her husband was brief but poignant: one hand on his hip, the other one raised in farewell. He was trying
to smile but failing, and even from here she could see the tears streaking his face. Claire moved away, an unbearable wet heat in her throat. She held Joshua’s hand as they moved down the tunnel toward the plane, the picture of Ben standing there etched vividly in her mind.

  Claire hoped she would see her husband again. She hoped she would hold Julia again. She wanted more than anything for her little family to be together and safe again. But something more powerful than instinct told her it never would.

  The helipad at Santa Rosa Memorial didn’t work out. There was a single helicopter stationed there, and at around noon, a delivering mother with severe complications had to be lifelined to San Francisco, which left Morton scrambling for a replacement.

  The replacement was named Gus Williams.

  They’d found him, strangely enough, in the hotel phone book. A freelancer who gave rides over the coast for a hundred bucks an hour, Williams appeared oddly unimpressed with the federal agents and distressingly nonchalant about their mission.

  “You do understand,” Morton had said during their brief phone conversation, “this is a delicate situation, one that requires complete secrecy from all parties.”

  Jessie watched Morton’s expression go from bemused to exasperated during the conversation with the pilot, and after meeting him on the scraggly strip of concrete he used for a helipad, she understood why Morton had reacted the way he had to Gus Williams.

  While Jessie, Morton and Castillo bustled about making phone calls and trips back and forth from their car, Gus had merely lounged in his rusty red pick-up truck sipping from a dented silver thermos. The only time Gus had left the comfort of his truck was to open the side doors of the old chopper, one of which was apparently held shut with wire.

  Now Gus was back inside his truck, some old Doobie Brothers’ song wafting slowly toward them as they loaded the helicopter. Her dad had been a Doobie Brothers fan. At least she thought he had been. She hadn’t seen him for thirteen years.