by T. K. Leigh
His legs bouncing, Alexander scanned the large living room, the scene like a macabre Rockwell painting. Tyler sat on the loveseat with his pregnant wife, Mackenzie, their little boy, Charlie, playing with a bunch of toy cars at their feet. Carol was on the floor with him, trying to keep his innocent mind off the reason they were here, redirecting him every time he asked if Melanie could come and play. They had just celebrated his second birthday, and he was too young to fully understand what was happening. Alexander had to swallow back the lump in his throat every time his nephew asked when Melanie was going to be home.
Not soon enough, he thought to himself.
The sound of a phone ringing echoed through the air. Everyone looked up from their respective conversations. Disappointment showed on their faces when it was just another agent’s phone. Frustrated with the entire situation, Alexander got up off the couch, wanting to escape the hushed voices and sympathetic eyes. He felt like an intruder in his own house.
Heading out of the living room, he passed the kitchen, his mother busy making trays upon trays of her famous lasagna. Apparently, she planned on feeding a small army. Alexander didn’t say anything, though. This was her coping mechanism, but eating was the last thing on his mind, as was probably the case for most everyone else there.
He continued down the hallway, looking at the photos hanging on the walls. Each of them told a story. Melanie’s first Red Sox game. Her first trip to Walt Disney World. Her first T-ball game. For a man who, at one point, never wanted a wife or kids, they had become his world.
Coming to a stop at a black-and-white canvas, Alexander ran his hand over it. The photo had been taken when Melanie wasn’t even a day old. She lay in a custom-made pink blanket, his hand resting on her stomach, as if protecting her from this strange new place in which she found herself. She was so small, so vulnerable. He remembered looking into her eyes and finally feeling as if he were whole.
Melanie was everything he never knew he always needed.
Placing his hand on the wall to steady himself, he bit his lip, fighting back the emotions wanting to break free. Out of nowhere, whispered voices cut through the silence, snapping him out of his memories. Creeping down the hallway, he turned a corner into an alcove leading to Melanie’s playroom, seeing Olivia and Martin in deep conversation. They simultaneously shot their heads toward him.
“Sir,” Martin said in greeting.
“Everything okay?” Alexander asked with a furrowed brow, curious as to what they could have been discussing. Olivia appeared jumpy, as if she just got caught with her hand in a cookie jar. Then again, she had been fidgety all day.
“Certainly,” Martin answered. “I was just reassuring Mrs. Burnham that she’s doing the right thing by making the drop. That what she’s doing is a brave thing, but she has nothing to worry about.” He looked between Olivia and Alexander. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll give the two of you some privacy. I’m sure you’re both tired of constantly being under the FBI’s watchful eye. Take a few minutes for yourselves.” Martin gave Alexander a look he couldn’t quite explain. Remorse? Apprehension? Perhaps a bit aloof? “Try to find some sort of normal amidst the turmoil. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen, trying to convince your mother that four trays of lasagna are more than enough for the handful of people here.” His normally resolute expression softened when he spoke of Alexander’s mother, then he turned and left.
Once Martin disappeared from view, Alexander peered into Olivia’s eyes. He wished he knew exactly what was going through her mind. Was she nervous about what she had committed herself to do? Worried? Afraid? Her eyes didn’t give anything away.
Taking her hand in his, he led her down the hall, stopping outside a rounded oak door in the style of the late nineteenth-century house.
“Alex, no…” She began to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip, narrowing his eyes at her.
“Just humor me, love.” He gave her a pleading look, telling her he needed this as much as she did.
Letting out a sigh, she stopped fighting him. He gave her an encouraging smile, then opened the door. He flipped the switch, light spilling through the room. Relief washed over him, the tension that filled his body throughout the day slowly leaving with each step they took inside their own little oasis within the chaos.
Framed prints of some of their favorite musicians hung on the walls — The Beatles, Prince, Billy Joel, The Eagles. All the classics. Several guitars sat on their stands against one wall. On the opposite wall, a couch and loveseat made up a sitting area. In the center of the room was the focal point…a stunning baby grand piano. Its beautiful music filled the room on a daily basis, except today. This was the first day since Alexander could remember that he didn’t hear the familiar sound of a hammer hitting strings. It had always brought him joy. He needed to feel that again. He needed to feel something other than anger and heartache.
“Play something for me,” he whispered into Olivia’s curls, nuzzling her neck.
“I… I can’t, Alex.” Her voice was barely audible as she stood frozen in place, staring at the piano.
“You need this, Olivia.” He ran his fingers down her back, wanting her to feel some sort of love in a world that didn’t seem real.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Please,” he murmured against her skin. “For me. I need this, too.”
Spinning around, she met his eyes. He knew he was asking a lot of her, considering the mark Melanie had left on this very room, how pronounced her absence had become in the last few seconds. They needed this time to themselves, their own way of praying for the safe return of their daughter. Some people went to church. Some found God in nature. Music had always been a big part of all their lives. This was their sanctuary. Their refuge. Their temple.
Taking her hand, Alexander led Olivia across the refinished hardwood floor and pulled out the piano bench. She looked at him, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. He squeezed her hand, hoping to give her some of his supposed strength. He refused to let her know he felt anything but strong at that moment.
Drawing in a long breath, she closed her eyes, then lowered herself onto the bench, placing her hands on the cool ivory keys. Alexander sat beside her, needing to stay by her side. He didn’t know how much time passed as they sat in the still room, the ticking of the clock like an unyielding metronome counting down to zero hour. Just when he didn’t think Olivia would actually play, the sound of the piano filled the room, soft and low, almost timid. He placed his hand on her leg and their eyes met.
It was just as difficult for Alexander to listen to this song as it was for Olivia to play it, but they needed to do this. This was Melanie’s song. The song she always begged Olivia to play for her. The song she always sang as she danced through the house. The song Olivia used to sing to her when she was just a baby. It brought Melanie comfort in those early days. Now, it made Alexander feel oddly at peace.
Olivia’s voice reverberated against the walls, the tone sweet and measured as she sang the first verse of the song Judy Garland made legendary. Alexander closed his eyes, losing himself in the music. For the first time all day, he let himself feel Melanie’s absence. He could almost hear her laugh as she spun and twirled around the room, dancing to “mommy’s music”, her sweet, innocent voice shouting “again, again” after Olivia had finished one song.
He glanced at his wife as she sang the bridge at a languid tempo, her voice becoming strong and impassioned. A memory rushed back, hitting Alexander hard, leaving him almost breathless. They were still living at Alexander’s penthouse on the waterfront in Boston. Olivia had turned his music room into a playroom for Melanie. He was sitting on the couch and Olivia lay on the ground, a play mat and various toys scattered around her as she played with a babbling Melanie. At the time, she wasn’t yet one. She had been taking a few uncoordinated steps here and there, but still hadn’t been able to master the art of walking.
He could almost hear the muddled cheers in his mind that
erupted from both his and Olivia’s mouth when Melanie took that first unassisted step, then another, and another, babbling “Dada” as she stumbled toward Alexander, her arms outstretched.
She was always a daddy’s girl, he thought to himself.
He lowered his eyes back to the black and white keys that had become blurry through his tears, the memory of Melanie taking her first steps making his heart ache. He feared that, no matter what he did to get her back home, it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing had gone right since this all started. Now he was at risk of not only never seeing his daughter again, but also losing his wife. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it, the pain of everything almost unbearable.
When a glimmer caught his eye, he shot his gaze to a sterling silver frame sitting on the corner of the piano. Melanie couldn’t have been more than a week old at the time. He sat in a glider, a little bundle wrapped in a pink blanket in his arms. His forehead was pressed against the baby’s, her body tiny compared to his tall, muscular frame. Alexander was grateful Olivia had captured the moment. In all the months of her pregnancy, it had never sunk in that he was about to be a father. Even after she had given birth, it still didn’t seem real, complications with labor and delivery preventing a true celebration. But once they were released from the hospital with this human who now needed comfort, food, and changing around the clock, it finally set in.
Alexander had never dreamt of starting a family and being a father. He didn’t exactly have the best relationship with his own father when he was alive. He had no desire to repeat the cycle of disappointment. But in that moment, his life changed. He was so moved with a love he had never experienced before, he couldn’t imagine life without the small bundle in his arms.
Now, she was gone.
Tears fell down his face more steadily. He tried to hide them from Olivia. He needed to keep himself together. He couldn’t fall apart in front of her, not when she was about to put her own life on the line.
Consumed by the pain that had been eating away at him all day, he didn’t notice when the music stopped. In an instant, two arms were around him as he struggled to hold himself together.
“I’m sorry,” Alexander whispered, clearing his throat, wishing there were something that could take this pain away. He raised his hands, about to wipe his cheeks, but Olivia grabbed his arms, preventing him from doing so. She peered into his eyes. He could see his own pain staring back at him.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “As much as you want everyone to believe you are, you’re not a stone wall incapable of feelings. You’re hurt. You’re angry. You’re lost. Don’t bottle it up, Alex.”
He shook his head and looked away, hating that something as innocuous as a song, a series of notes and rhythms strung together, could be the thing that broke him.
“I need to keep it together. It’s the only way—”
She grabbed his face, forcing him to return his teary eyes to her. Smiling, she kissed his cheek.
“A wise man once told me it’s okay to show weakness.” She winked, reminding him of something he had told her time and time again. “You can’t carry the weight of this alone. Let me help shoulder the burden. You can’t save the world all on your own, ya know.”
“You can’t, either.”
“We’ll see about that.” She smirked, lightening the tension.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Burnham,” Martin interrupted.
Olivia and Alexander looked up to see him standing just inside the room, a grim expression on his face. Her body went rigid, and Alexander grabbed her hand, squeezing it.
“The call just came in. He’s asking for Mrs. Burnham.”
Alexander looked at her, her eyes wide, then addressed Martin. “We’ll be right there.”
“Certainly,” he replied, retreating and closing the door behind him, giving them one last minute of privacy.
Alexander didn’t want to leave this room, but he knew every second counted. There were a thousand things he wanted to tell Olivia in case something went wrong. That he was grateful for everything she’d given him. That he couldn’t imagine anyone else he’d want to share his life with. That he loved her.
Love seemed like a completely inadequate word to properly convey how he felt about Olivia. Four letters strung together were insufficient. He doubted there was a word in any language that would do his feelings for this woman justice.
Without saying a word, she stood up and headed toward the door. Alexander hesitated for a minute, watching her walk away. He prayed it wouldn’t be the last time. He planned to do everything in his power to make sure it wasn’t, but what if that wasn’t good enough?
“Olivia,” he called out, taking purposeful strides toward her.
“Yes?” She turned around.
Before she could react, he held her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers. Her body grew taut, then melted into him.
Through that kiss, he gave her everything he had. Every forgotten apology. Every missed opportunity. Every fight. Every reconciliation. Every up. Every down. Every smile. Every tear. Every day he waited for her to finally walk into his life. He gave her every piece of himself, hoping it would give her the strength to survive this, although he doubted she needed it. His wife had proven to be braver than most men he fought overseas, and he couldn’t be more proud of her.
Pulling back, she peered into his eyes. “What was that for?”
He ran his hands through her hair, a mixture of emotions flowing through him. “I had to, just in case—”
“Shh…” She placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. “You have nothing to worry about. Nothing’s going to happen to me, Alex.”
Dropping his head, he simply nodded, wishing he could ignore the unsettled feeling in his gut that something horrible was about to happen.
Chapter Twenty
December 19
5:05 PM
WALKING DOWN THE HALLWAY, hand in hand with Alexander, the sound of frenzied activity greeted Olivia’s ears before they even stepped foot into the living room. Agent Moretti barked orders at everyone in sight, all of them jumping to action, typing furiously on laptops or making phone calls. Agents murmured in the background that the call was untraceable, that it would take weeks to pinpoint the origin because of the number of satellites he used. Olivia grew more nervous.
The clicking of her heels on the wood floor caught Moretti’s attention and he looked up immediately.
“Mrs. Burnham…” He rushed toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders, staring into her eyes. “Do just what we discussed earlier. Agent Long will be right next to you and will help with what to say, if you need it. We’re still working on a profile of this man, but we believe he has specifically requested to deal with you simply to upset your husband. He wants to get to him any way he can. He’s arrogant and thinks he’s untouchable. He chose to take your daughter from your home, making it look like the man you both trust more than anyone else was responsible, instead of abducting her from somewhere with much less security. He thinks he has the upper hand, that he’s succeeded in making you both feel completely vulnerable and exposed. You need to act as if that’s the furthest thing from the truth.”
“But it—”
“Just trust me,” he said slowly. “I know it sounds like we’re playing a dangerous game, and we are, but this is the only way we can learn more about him. By catching him off guard, by making him think his actions haven’t had the desired effect.”
“I’ll be right next to you the whole time,” Alexander encouraged, placing his hand on the small of her back.
“He’s going to try to upset you,” Moretti continued. “That’s what he wants. If he veers off-topic, don’t respond. Just try to get him back on course. All we need to know is where he wants you to make the drop so we can get Melanie back. Ready?”
Olivia didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t know if anyone could ever truly be ready for what she was about to do. This phone call would set into motion a ch
ain of events that would be completely unstoppable once it began.
She drew in a deep breath and nodded, then followed him toward the formal dining area where all the equipment had been set up. On shaky legs, she took a seat next to Agent Long. Alexander sat beside her, squeezing her hand.
A younger FBI agent with dark-framed glasses met her gaze across the table and raised his eyebrows, mouthing, Ready? She nodded once more. He pressed a button, then nodded at her.
“Hello,” Olivia said, trying to mask her nerves with a steady voice.
“Oh, Mrs. Burnham,” a man with an accent she couldn’t quite place answered. It sounded Indian or perhaps even Middle Eastern. Based on the bomb detonated during the press conference earlier, she guessed it to be the latter. “So nice of you to finally join us. I was beginning to think you weren’t ever going to come to the phone, which would have been quite tragic for little Melanie.”
Olivia opened her mouth, a fire building deep in her stomach as she listened to this monster speak her daughter’s name. He didn’t deserve to even say her name, let alone be in her presence.
When a hand touched her bicep, she whipped her head to her left. Agent Long gestured toward the legal pad in front of her.
Reading it, Olivia struggled to calm her temper, forcing herself to do just that. She needed to play the part this waste of space wanted her to play.
“I have the money you requested. Where do you want me to make the drop?”
“Ah, do you now? I’m actually rather surprised at this. You must be quite resourceful, Mrs. Burnham… I’m sorry. Do you mind if I call you Olivia? I’d much rather prefer that.”
