Starr Gone

by Kim Briggs

  “Damn glad someone at least had the foresight to protect their people.”

  Frank leans into me. “I’ll always protect you Di. Never forget that.”

  I’ve never been the damsel in distress, but with Frank, I think I could cosplay.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Starr

  “Honey, you’re home,” Treadwell laughs.

  It is times like these I really wished I stayed and allowed him to train me as an assassin. Then I could kill him with my pinkie.

  The rest of my “team,”—let’s call them Team Asshole, shall we?—duck their heads to peek out the window, taking in their new living quarters with one excited gasp after the other.

  “Is that the mansion they use in those home repair commercials?” Jody asks in awe. Of course, Jody would remember something from our HGTV binge sessions.

  “That’s the Biltmore estate,” I reply with an air of haughtiness. I haven’t forgotten my new persona. “The Chamberlain estate has only ever been owned by my family.

  Samantha glares at me. I raise an eyebrow, daring her to try to say something. Anything. I’d love any excuse to be rid of her.

  The driver presses a button at the entrance call station. A moment later, the gate swings open. A car could break through these gates with no problem. My grandparents obviously didn’t consult with Treadwell or the Organization with their security details. I will use this weakness to my advantage. The garage is filled with dozens of cars. I only need one car and one key, and I can pop that lock.

  But that gate—if that gate had been closed the day I went for a run.... My life would be much different. I wouldn’t be crammed into this SUV with people I hate. I would have returned to the hotel room sweaty, probably gotten yelled at by Christian for disappearing, most likely gotten into a huge argument, and I could have disappeared out the window never to see or hear from him or my grandparents or the Organization again.

  I shake off the fantasy. The past I can’t change. The past I can’t erase. I can only prepare for the future, whatever that might hold.

  Steven pulls up to the portico. Without assistance, I stomp up the stairs, not even sparing one glance at it. Architectural details don’t rate high on my list of priorities. Although.... I glance up. I could rappel off it.

  “Really,” Samantha says in a low undertone only I can hear. That’s it... Let her think I’m actually admiring the structure rather than asking Grandfather and Grandmother if I can take up rock climbing.

  At the top of the stairs, an old man with white hair and bright blue eyes, wearing a black tuxedo-type jacket with a white pressed shirt and black bow tie, opens the door for me. “Miss Jessica, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

  I stare at him. “You weren’t here during my last ‘visit.’”

  “No Miss Jessica, I wasn’t, but I remember you when you used to visit with your mother and father. Call me Willingsby.”

  I detect a sadness to his voice. I immediately soften to him, but I should know better than to let my defenses down. I only get hurt that way.

  Treadwell marches up next to me. I stiffen. All the softness seeps into the marble. Mr. Willingsby clears his throat. “Right this way, Miss Jessica.”

  Without approval of Treadwell or the rest of Team Asshole, I follow him through the foyer and down the hall to a large room on the right. I think Marian, the tour guide, told me it was the Jefferson Receiving Room or something. And yes, every room has a name. Sometimes first and last.

  Upon entering the Jefferson Receiving Room, Grandmother rushes over to me from her wingback armchair. Thomas blocks her path. She gasps, then composes herself. “What is the meaning of this?”

  I always appreciated his stubborn dedication to Treadwell.

  “Let’s confirm that the terms are in order prior to receipt,” Treadwell says.

  “Very well,” she says, smoothing out her dress. “Horace, take care of business.”

  “Huh, I didn’t realize I was a good to be sold and traded. Guess we are back in pre-Civil War South,” I snap.

  “Kenneth,” Grandfather says without even a dismissive wave in my direction.

  At least they’ve confirmed where I stand...in the back pasture, ankle deep in horse manure. Oh wait, that’s not right. I’d smell like shit. I’m a china doll to be placed in a vacuum-sealed glass case on the very top of the tallest shelf to collect dust and grow fragile from lack of use.

  Treadwell peers over Kenneth’s shoulder as, I assume, he pulls up the off-shore accounts or wherever they stashed money. I wonder if Grandfather has any idea that Kenneth works for the Organization and reports his findings of this household and everyone in it to General Treadwell.

  “Splendid,” Treadwell says, “Thank you for your expediency in this matter Horace.”

  “It’s Mr. Chamberlain to you,” Grandfather growls. “I do not wish for such treatment in the future.”

  “Now, now. Everything is taken care of and your granddaughter is safe at hand, along with her personal...,” he pauses to eye my grandmother who has her head cocked to the side as if she’s a young child waiting to learn if she gets to keep the doll or not, “entourage. Samantha and Jody Lynn.” They nod, though I think Jody Lynn would have preferred to curtsy. “Jude and Thomas.” Jude nods his head. Thomas clicks his heels together and stands at attention. “If you find that Jessica is difficult, please let me know and I will ensure that she complies with your wishes.”

  “Really?” I snap. “And how do you suppose you will accomplish that now that I’m here?”

  Treadwell’s face turns that shade of red I enjoy so much. Even the vein on his forehead has joined the party.

  Before anyone can respond, the butler opens the door. “Excuse the interruption Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlain, Mr. Jerry White and company have arrived.”

  Grandfather looks over at Grandmother. He does nothing to mask the surprise on his face. She, however, smirks—quite proudly as a matter of fact—to herself. “Please send him in,” she says.

  Mr. Jerry White almost skips into the room. His own private army of bodyguards hurry in after him. It’s almost comical how paranoid they are since everyone in the room is on the same “team”—with the exception of one.

  Grandmother stands up and claps. “Oh Jerry, it’s so wonderful that you can join us on such a joyous occasion!”

  “Indeed it is, Evelyn,” he says clasping her hands, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  And five million in Swiss bank accounts.

  “Where is the reason for this momentous event?” He searches the room until he finds me. “Could this be the prodigal granddaughter come home?” He pauses for dramatic effect. I witnessed this tactic countless times during his podcasts. “Indeed she is a beauty.” I grimace as his eyes linger too long on areas not normally thought of as Christianly. I feel the urge to cover up with a blanket. “My, my,” he says licking his lips. This does nothing to ease my nerves. “Jerry Jr. must be introduced to this splendid creature.”

  Yes, he called me a creature. I’m a goddamn show pony.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Di

  “Black Escalade!” I shout pointing. My phone buzzes. “Yep, on it.”

  “That was Christian. Ben and Coda picked him up. They’re less than five minutes behind. They just came in signal range.”

  I pull out behind the Escalade. “We can’t see a damn thing with those tinted windows.”

  “I know. If Rebecca were here, she’d probably tell us we are right. Where is she anyway?”

  “On her way to the church.”

  “By herself?”

  “Ben wanted to go with her, but he’s more worried about Christian than anyone else.” The Escalade turns north on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We take the winding curves behind it. “I sure hope they aren’t tracking us, because if we get run off this road, no one will find the car until fall.”

  “I thought forest green would be a good color. Wasn’t really thinking logistics if we go
t run off the road again,” Frank says.

  “You should have. It was a day and a half ago.”

  “True. Hey, they’re turning onto the interstate. That’s the way to Starr’s grandparents!” he says excitedly.

  “Dark Cloud. Over.”

  Frank picks up the walkie-talkie. “Must be no cell signal.” He pushes down. “This is Dark Cloud. Over.

  “That’s the ramp to the Prize’s store.”

  This cryptic radio talk is really getting on my nerves.

  “10-4.”

  “We’ll go first. Copy.”

  “Copy that.”

  The red sedan races past us. I keep about three cars behind, but our eyes never leave the Prize. The second ramp, the Escalade quickly exits.

  “That’s the exit to Starr’s grandparents’ place,” Frank says.

  The phone rings. “Hey.” Pause. “Yeah, I know.” Pause. “We’ll see. It is looking good though.” Click.

  “He wanted to tell us we just took the exit to Starr’s grandparents’ house—which we already knew. He’s hoping he might be able to see her if she gets out of the car.”

  “How?”

  “From the road. I think he’s planning to park by the gate.”

  “Well, that’s a great way to draw attention to oneself.”

  “Let’s hope Coda and Ben can talk him out of it.”

  The right passenger door swings open. “What the...?” I say, automatically lifting my foot off the accelerator. Christian’s bald head pops out. The brake lights brighten.

  Before the car comes to a complete stop, Christian dives out and rolls down the embankment.

  “Did he just...?’ I shout.

  “Yeah..., he did,” Frank says. He shakes his head. “I have to say, if he doesn’t break his neck, he gained some points with me. Which by the way would mean he’s not a complete asshole. Only partial.”

  “Frank, shit. What are we going to do?”

  As if on cue, the phone rings and the walkie-talkie beeps.

  “You get the walkie-talkie, I’ll get the cell,” I shout.

  “Hello?”

  “Di, it’s Rebecca,” she says.

  “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  “I’m pretty sure we have a bigger one. Christian just dove out the car door.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Uhhh, lemme check. Frank, is Christian alright?”

  He snorts shaking his head. “He’s fine. He just took off into the woods across the street.”

  “What? Rebecca, I’m going to have to call you back.”

  “Yes, of course,” she says. Her voice sounds hollow.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The Council found out we made up the story about the accident. They want to launch their own investigation into what’s going on.”

  “What does that mean for us?”

  “They’re suspending all invited guests to the Qualla Boundary.”

  “Oh,” I pause and look at Frank. He’s watching me curiously. “Can we at least get our stuff from Ben’s house?”

  “Ben and Coda may not even be able to return. It’s effective immediately.”

  “Alright, alright, let me just take some time to think.”

  “Di, time is something we do not have,” she says.

  “You don’t need to tell me that. I’ll call you back.”

  “Di, what’s going on with Rebecca?” Frank asks.

  “It’s not Rebecca. We’ve got some problems with the Tribal Nation,” I say.

  “I think we’ve got a bigger problem. Christian wants us to go to Ben’s, pack binoculars, a sleeping bag, and bring more food and water for him.”

  I pull away from him. “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely serious. He swears he saw Starr get out with Jude, Sami, Jody, and some other guy. He knows they’re going to stay. Said he had a dream last night,” he snorts. “Convenient don’t you think.”

  “Are you really going there?” I snap.

  He crosses his arms. “I really am.”

  Sometimes I want to punch him in the gut so bad. He’s lucky he’s recovering from his GSW. He’d have a lot more problems once I was done with him. He can be so damn thick. “You don’t believe he had a dream?”

  “I’m just saying, it’s convenient is all. Makes him look better than he actually is.”

  “Frank, Christian doesn’t give a flying fuck who he looks good to. He wants to save Starr, and if he says he had a dream. He had a dream.”

  “A dream doesn’t mean anything.”

  “You don’t believe in dreams at all?”

  He scrunches his face like the answer should be obvious. “No, do you?”

  “I do. Sometimes your subconscious is showing you something. Other times I believe dreams are like a premonition of what might happen or could happen if certain circumstances play out in the manner they’re supposed to. As a matter of fact, I had a dream about you last night.”

  He nudges me, suddenly interested. “Was it a good dream?”

  I wink. “It was a very good dream, but I guess it doesn’t make any difference if you don’t believe in them.”

  “Want to tell me about it or,” his eyes take on that dangerous glint when he’s thinking racy thoughts, “or better yet, show me?”

  “If you don’t believe in that dream mumbo jumbo, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “I’m willing to allow you to make me a believer.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re so cheesy.”

  “You love me,” he says.

  “Oh god, you’ve been hanging out with Starr far too long.”

  “I hope I get to hang out with her again.”

  “Yeah, me too. Me too.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Starr

  “Wouldn’t it be marvelous if they dated?” Grandmother gushes.

  “Marvelous indeed,” he replies, his eyes calculating my future performances.

  “All the financial matters have been settled, Mr. White,” Treadwell reports dutifully. Always the Boy Scout.

  “Good, good,” he says, still staring at me. Jude moves in front of me, blocking his view.

  Jerry frowns. The perfect Southern gentleman gone and replaced with someone who’s used to getting what he wants. “Who are all these young people you’ve brought along Treadwell?”

  “Jessica’s personal attendants. Samantha, Jody Lynn, Thomas, and Jude.”

  “Surely, a beauty such as herself doesn’t need four bodyguards,” Jerry says.

  Ah, he’s smarter than he looks. He doesn’t care about my grandmother’s reaction or anyone else. He thinks he is in charge. This might get real interesting.

  “Don’t let her appearance fool you, sir. She is quite capable physically and mentally to either escape or cause harm to anyone in this room. Remember she was to be our secret weapon for the Organization in the northeast sector.” There’s a hitch to Treadwell’s voice that makes him almost sound wistful.

  “There may be use for her yet,” Jerry says.

  Grandfather jumps up. “Absolutely not. I’ve paid for her in full. She’s mine now.”

  Jerry finally shifts his attention away from me. “No, no, Horace you misunderstand. I’d never dream of putting your beautiful granddaughter in harm’s way. You did pay for her and quite handsomely indeed.”

  “That’s it. Just to remind you all, I am standing right here. I am not a prize. I am not owned by anyone. I will not be told what to do or who to date. Now, if we’re done here I would like to go to my room.” I walk out without a backward glance. Thomas and Jude flank both sides of me, but they don’t try to stop me, and from the rank smell of rose perfume and heels on wood floor, I assume Samantha and Jody Lynn followed my “male attendants” lead.

  “Jessica dear, would you like something to eat and drink first?” Grandmother calls down the hall. I’m surprised she’s capable of raising her voice. Surely she has servants to do that.


  “I’ve had quite a full day. I’d like to lie down.”

  She pulls her lips together into a perfectly choreographed frown. “I understand.”

  Her sympathy almost unhinges me. To combat the weakness, I think about wrapping my hands around her throat and squeezing. I wonder how long before Team Asshole stops me or is that part of Treadwell and Jerry’s plan? Rid the world of Evelyn and Horace Chamberlain and take over all the holdings.

  She smiles at me. “I must say Jessica you look much more polished than your last visit. Your hair is absolutely stunning.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “It’s not mine.”

  ***

  A proper Southern lady never allows herself to demonstrate surprise. She does not blush. She is not only in complete command of her outward appearance, but she controls her internal reactions as well. She retains this composure by 1) smoothing her dress, which Grandmother does, 2) carefully fingering the corner of her mouth with the tip of her professionally manicured pinky nail to ensure her lipstick isn’t caked into an unsightly blemish, which Grandmother also does, and 3) does not gasp or sharply inhale to suggest she is in anyway surprised by the response. Grandmother follows all her lessons perfectly. Once composed, a proper Southern lady changes the subject with such careful orchestration, the receiver does not even remember what he or she said in the first place. Well, unless of course, he or she wasn’t raised by proper Southern ladies. “I’ll show you to your room,” she says.

  I grunt to myself. It’s a refreshing change of recent events to be in control of the situation. I allow her to catch up to me before I climb the stairs. The estate is exactly as I remember it from my last visit with Marian and from my early childhood visits. The antique Oriental runner. The grandfather clock. Even the candy bowl on the hall table. A mirror image of my childhood with the exception of two things—my dad won’t be hiding in one of the rooms playing a game of hide and seek, and my mom won’t be stressed out that I’ll leave fingerprints on the protective glass or candy wrappers in expensive vases. One is dead—killed by the Organization as a warning of its growing power. The other thinks her daughter is dead. At least Mom will never know that Grandmother and Grandfather claimed their prize.