by Camryn King
“Hey, Sherlock,” she whispered, trying to lighten the moment.
“Hey.”
Toby didn’t sound like himself. He sounded rattled. Kennedy had never heard him like that.
“Do you want to order something?” she asked.
“No, I’m not hungry. After you see what you photographed, you won’t want to eat either.”
“What is it, Toby?”
Toby looked around before removing his sunglasses, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward. “Who else has seen the pics?” he asked, his voice quieter than a mosquito peeing on cotton.
“Which one? I copied several.”
“The one of the island with the rainbow framed behind it.”
“Anybody who read the Sunday Star where those pictures were featured.”
Toby ran a hand over his face. He pulled a cellphone from his pocket. “Are they online, on the Star’s website?” Kennedy nodded, then waited as he found the site and scrolled through the pictures. “Wow, that’s crazy. Ninety-nine percent of people looking at these wouldn’t see anything at all. No, make that one hundred percent, unless they had the stuff I’ve got.”
“So, you saw something?”
Toby’s shoulders dropped as he relaxed a little. “My grandfather passed about four, five years ago. He was my hero, like a second father. He was strong, proud, quiet and humble. And from the time she was thirteen years old, my grandmother loved him to death.”
Kennedy sat on her side of the booth about to explode. This man had sent her cryptic texts as though he were Mafia, and now he was waxing sentimental over Gramps?
“I’m sorry for the loss of your grandfather, Toby,” she said softly, hoping there was empathy in her tone. “But what does this have to do with—”
“While preparing for his homegoing,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “We hunted down pictures of him dating all the way back to when he was a boy. Many of them I’d never seen before. They hadn’t been preserved properly, or at all. Many were faded, splotched, torn, fuzzy. I went online looking for a way to enhance the photographs, bring them back, as close to or better than the original. There are a bunch of them out there and I downloaded my share but none of them worked the way they claimed, the way I needed.”
It was the Toby she knew now talking, his words calm and measured, warm like a blanket over her anxiety-induced chill. The story was completely incongruent with the rest of their interaction. Irrelevant yet important. She didn’t know why. But that same small nudge of intuition that led her to delete the initial text to him, now led her to sit back and listen.
“I sent in several pictures of my grandfather, downloaded programs that were supposed to allow me to repair them myself. But the essences of the images weren’t captured. They were often heavily pixilated, the subjects often hard to make out. You’d get an idea of their face but not a clear image. It was frustrating. That’s what started my search to find equipment to solve that problem. Turns out the solution was time, giving the world of electronics enough time to evolve into developing what I needed. When that screen came out, I took money from my savings. Wife didn’t speak to me for a month! But I kept looking, finding programs that worked better and better until one day I brought her a picture of her mother at the age of ten. It was the first time seeing her at that age. It brought me so much joy to do that for her. It stirred the passion to the point that it became a bit of a side business. Because of the death of my grandfather, I found my true passion and a business was born.”
Toby paused and looked beyond her to the dining room. His look turned introspective before becoming resolved.
“It took conversations with God and my Grandpa’s strength to even show you what was photographed. But given everything you told me the other day, I knew it was the right thing to do.” He picked up his phone, slid his finger over the face and held it toward her. “Don’t say anything. Don’t react. Just take a look at what you’ve accidentally uncovered. Then you’ll know why Grandpa’s story matters.”
Kennedy’s eyes stayed trained on Toby as the phone hovered between them. Minutes ago, she couldn’t wait to see what she’d captured. Now she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She took the phone, placed it on the table in front of her.
Her head came up slowly. “No way.”
Toby’s eyes bore into hers. She looked again, used her fingers to enlarge the cropped view. Two men could be seen, their heads close together. She squinted, her hand rising to her mouth. She stared at the image for more than a minute, one that explained everything that had happened since it was taken.
“Am I really seeing this?” Her voice was almost like that of a child’s asking the question while knowing the answer. There was no Santa Claus.
Toby nodded. “I’m afraid so. Given who’s in these pictures, I’m very afraid.”
Kennedy continued to stare at the picture. “Is this the only one you . . .”
“There are more. That’s the only one I felt . . . I could put on my phone. It’ll be deleted before I leave.”
“I had no idea,” Kennedy said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was taking pictures of beautiful scenery, and a rainbow so bright that it almost looked fake.” She looked up, her eyes pleading. “How could I have known that a whole other world existed beyond those trees?”
“You didn’t. Just like I didn’t know what my program would enhance.” He reached into his pocket and slid a flash drive across the table. “I will be praying for you, Kennedy, but I have a family to think about and this is way above my pay grade. When it comes to anything to do with these pictures, I don’t know you. We’ve never met. I’m having my phone wiped to erase our messages.”
He picked up said phone and deleted the picture. Then he reached out his hand. Kennedy shook it. “Maybe we can reconnect once this blows over. But until further notice, please don’t contact me again.”
Toby walked out of the restaurant. Kennedy didn’t move. What Toby just showed her changed everything, could absolutely jeopardize her life. She was still reeling when minutes later Toby’s thoughtfulness even through this trial was apparent, as a waitress quietly set a plate before her, a favorite—two thighs and fries.
The food went untouched. Phone calls went to voicemail. Kennedy sat, as in a daze. She looked out the window and watched the events of the past month unfold on her mental video. With each moving picture, reality crystalized. Now, everything made sense. Meeting the mysterious Jack Sutton. Being drugged and robbed in the Bahamas. Being burglarized at home. The exorbitant offer from Anita. The feelings of being watched and followed. These incidents were all connected to what she’d accidentally snapped while chasing a rainbow. To what Toby’s amateur digital program had exposed. To what those after her didn’t want the world to see—the ultra-conservative media tycoon, lord of the evangelicals, in the unmistakable, naked embrace of another man.
10
The enormity of this new reality paralyzed Kennedy. Who could she talk to about this? What should she do? Toby had said it was above his pay grade. The revelation definitely pushed Kennedy out of her league and into snake-filled waters. She’d known about and disliked Van Dijk for years, ever since a friend and former college classmate of hers had faced blatant sexism and harassment at one of his radio stations. Tamara Weston was one of the smartest, most determined business majors she’d ever met—male or female. She’d graduated college with a 3.9, and in grad school maintained a 4.0 GPA. In the workplace, she was the first person in the office and the last to leave, offered innovative story ideas and cost-cutting strategies for reporting that were not only implemented, but improved the bottom line. Yet she was summarily passed over for promotion, never given the chance to go beyond weekend news. When she threatened to sue, they threatened to “make her go away.” The incident was so traumatic that Tamara left broadcasting altogether, left America and moved to Grand Cayman. The experiences she endured for three years were horrific. “In the morning, he’ll smile and say you�
��re the greatest,” she said to Kennedy shortly after resigning. “Then, by nightfall, he’ll squash you like a bug.”
During the thirty-plus years of building his empire, other salacious stories made the news. How he’d routinely discriminated against people of color. How he’d stolen, embezzled and laundered money through a series of shady, nefarious business deals. How if it meant adding to his inflated image or billionaire coffers, he’d have breakfast with Al Qaeda and dinner with the Ku Klux Klan. Amazingly, he was able to power through all of these allegations, turn the tables on his opponents and convince the masses that they were lying. He believed his own hype so convincingly that others believed it, too. Classic traits of a narcissist, honed skills of a master manipulator. Kennedy had no doubt that if anyone from his camp uncovered the true magnitude of what she possessed, Braum Van Dijk would have her hunted down and squashed . . . like a bug.
Maybe they do know.
Kennedy actually heard those words whispered. She looked around. No one was nearby. There were others in the restaurant, but she felt totally, completely alone. Her body began to tremble. She could feel her sanity slipping away, her body spiraling down a rabbit hole. She secured the flash drive in her purse and raced out of the building.
You’ve got to disappear.
While waiting to cross the street to her car, she heard this, as loudly as one could hear a voice in one’s mind. With each step she took it grew, increased like a mantra.
Disappear. Disappear. Disappear.
Kennedy reached her car, started it and turned the air on full blast. She’d never had a panic attack but felt one coming on. She gripped the steering wheel and forced herself to breathe. Even so, she still felt suffocated beneath a boulder of truth too heavy to lift off her. She needed help, to tell someone, but who? The only other person who’d seen the pictures, at least that she was aware of, had made it clear that he couldn’t help her shoulder the burden. What of her friends, Logan and Gwen? Could they help her bear the weight of the secret she carried? Did she have the right to even ask them to?
Slowly, the fog of fear faded enough for Kennedy to put the car in drive and leave the parking lot. She didn’t know where she was going, but it was definitely not to her house. With what she knew now, she wondered if she could ever go home again. There’d been strangers in her condo, rifling through her stuff, probably bugging the place. Because she had pictures of this man—this extremely well-connected, ultra-conservative, married with children, beyond reproach saint—cavorting with a man. A truth like this getting out could ruin Van Dijk and impact his business in a thousand ways. Given the enormity of what her pictures exposed, there was no probably to it. Her place was definitely bugged. And she definitely could not go back there.
Then where?
At the light, Kennedy glanced over and realized she was near her alma mater. The library. She could go there, ask a student to log her in, and see if the world wide web could help her catch a fat, hairy spider. She put on her blinker and eased into the turn lane. After a kind driver gave her the okay, she pulled in front of the car and turned. She continued around the campus to the entrance closest to the library. Something about the largess of the campus with students everywhere was soothing. Summer classes were in full swing. It felt good to be anonymous. Once inside, she went to where three rows of computers were there for the student’s convenience. Looking around, she spotted a young man with a mountain of books in front of him texting on his phone. She walked over and cleared her throat.
“Hi, sorry to bother you but do you have your student card? I need to get on the computer and left mine at home.”
“Sure.”
Two minutes later, Kennedy was online. Cool, now what? A place to stay, that’s the first thing she needed to secure. She wasn’t ready to put her house up for sale, but she could sublease it. Knowing she wanted to stay as anonymous as possible she did a search for leasing companies, jotted down a few, then went to their websites. The third site she visited felt like a fit. The company was small and relatively new. They’d be hungry to get business and more likely able to handle her request—complete confidentiality. That done, she thought of where she could go and remembered a sight that Gwen used on her last vacation. On Home2Home.com, you could rent a room or an entire house on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis. No photo ID or proof of identify was required. Kennedy signed on as Kim Wright, then scrolled through the listings and found a room for rent in downtown Chicago for less than five hundred dollars a month. The room was small but clean, had a private bath and the price was right. The old Kennedy would not for a moment have considered moving in with a stranger. But in this new world, she didn’t want to be alone.
Kennedy also didn’t want to be easy to find, even by someone as highly trained as Big Brother. After pondering several possible word combinations, she placed “how to disappear forever” in the search engine and was shocked to see several sites containing step-by-step instructions on how to leave your life. Amazing, but disconcerting. The web was a criminal’s dream and right now her salvation. After customizing a list combining tips from several websites, she spent the next three hours erasing her old life and planning a new normal. First stop after the library was the dealership where she bought her car. She walked in, sold it back to them for cash, and called an Uber for a ride to the nearest check cashing location. Once she had cash, she directed the driver to a second address, where a car owner was hoping to sell in a hurry. The home was in St. Charles, one of the city’s oldest neighborhoods. She arrived, paid the driver, and met the car’s owner, a middle-aged White lady, whose mother had recently died. The car was old but dependable, the woman assured, with very low mileage as her mother never drove far. One look at the spotless, white Honda Accord and Kennedy was sold. Hondas were indeed reliable and somewhere she’d read that white was the most popular car color in the country. On the highway, she’d blend right in. During the exchange, the woman proudly offered a bit of the neighborhood’s and her family’s history. St. Charles was home to many abolitionists and a stop on the Underground Railroad. Kennedy declined the gracious offer to see the home’s fake wall, behind which slaves were hidden, but driving away she couldn’t help but feel as though Harriet Tubman was riding alongside her trying to help her stay free, and alive.
Before leaving the city, Kennedy pulled over and sent Gwen a text:
Sorry I missed your call. Busy. Can you come over tonight around eight? It’s important.
She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, impatiently waiting for Gwen’s response. It came a few seconds later. Girl, what is up with you?
The answer to that question was too long to text, and Kennedy wasn’t ready for that conversation. A couple seconds later her phone rang, reminding her that she hadn’t set up Bluetooth in the new car.
Can’t talk now. Please, just meet me, okay?
Okay.
Kennedy turned off her phone and removed the battery so that whoever might be after her couldn’t use cell towers to trace her movements. She drove to Gary, Indiana, an hour away, to make the purchases that, according to the websites, she’d need to go further underground. She’d never been to Gary before. All she knew about the town was that it was the home to the Jackson Five. But one of the instructions on disappearing was to veer from your regular way of doing things, familiar haunts and habits. Gary was far enough from her normal hangouts but close enough to visit regularly if need be. Plus, this was temporary, she kept telling herself. And probably unnecessary. She thought that and tried to believe it.
Her first stop was a facility to store her personal items once removed from the condo. Next up was a beauty supply store where she bought wigs and hair dye. Then she went to a superstore for a tablet, a tote on wheels, temporary cellphones, floppy hats, sunglasses, a few toiletries and changes of clothes for the next few days until she figured out how to remove her personal items from the condo. Near the checkout was a clearance rack. She snatched a gaudy pink jacket for five dollars
and added it to her loot. Back in the car she programmed one of the phones and connected it to the car’s Bluetooth. Then she fired up the tablet and transferred the pictures from Toby’s flash drive. Seeing the extent of what she’d captured sent her pulse racing. The photo Toby showed her had been the tip of the iceberg. Oh. My. God.
It was almost seven thirty when Kennedy reentered Chicago’s city limits. She parked in a grocery store parking lot, placed all her purchases in the tote and caught an Uber to her house. When Gwen entered her building and saw her sitting in the lobby, Kennedy didn’t have to guess what she was thinking. Her friend’s facial expression said it all, and her first three words confirmed it.
“What the hell?” Gwen plopped down on the leather seat beside Kennedy.
Kennedy smiled, then pulled out her phone and pretended to text. “What I’m about to say is insane. It will make no sense to you at all. Please just believe me, or even if you don’t, just go along. I’m almost certain we’re being watched. My life could very well be in danger.”
“Ken!”
“Dammit, Gwen,” Kennedy hissed, “stop being dramatic!”
“I’m being dramatic?” The question was asked casually, as though inquiring about the weather.
Kennedy looked up and smiled. “Please,” she said, barely moving her mouth. “I will explain everything later, when we’re away from here. Trust me, when you hear everything that’s happened today, you will understand. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to make it look like you came for this tote. Please take it.”
As Gwen reached for the tote, Kennedy continued to talk, gesturing and laughing as though sharing a story. “I’m going to give you a hug, then we’ll go our separate ways. I’ll head to the elevator and you’ll go to your car. Only I’m not staying here. I’m really going with you.”
