by L. C. Shaw
“Not what I expected, but here goes nothing.”
She unlatched her seat belt, but he put a hand over hers.
“Wait here until I assess the situation. I don’t know what we might be walking into. Get in the driver’s seat—that way you can take off if you have to.”
“Seriously? We’re in this together. I can take care of myself.”
“Okay . . . sorry.”
They approached the front door, which opened before they had a chance to knock. Standing before them was an older man with white hair and black-framed glasses. He smiled warmly.
“We’ve been expecting you. Certainly took your time getting here.” He chuckled at their shocked expressions.
Jack held out his hand. “I’m Jack—”
The man interrupted him. “I know who you are.” He turned his attention to Taylor. “You, child, must be Taylor. Come in, come in.”
Taylor gave Jack a bemused look as they walked into the foyer. Now that they were inside the house, she saw that it was actually quite large—she could see into a long, eat-in kitchen and beyond it another large rectangular room. Before the door was shut, Beau began to bark from the back seat.
“Well, well. Who is that?”
“My dog,” Taylor replied.
“Go get him. Poor thing must be going crazy all cooped up.”
Taylor smiled gratefully and went immediately to retrieve him.
Beau ran into the house whimpering and licked the man’s hand, his tail swishing in a frenzy.
“Are you all going to stand in the hallway all day or come in the kitchen and have something to eat?” a voice called from the other end of the house.
The man smiled. “That’s Gilly. Come on, she’s eager to meet you.”
They were greeted by a sweet-looking older woman who was bustling around the kitchen and setting out a variety of scrumptious-looking desserts. She held out her arms and insisted on giving each of them a warm hug.
They sat at the round, wooden kitchen table. Jack cleared his throat, ready to start asking questions, but the man spoke again.
“Guess you’ll be wanting some explanations. I’m Professor Carl Rittenhouse and this is my lovely wife, Gilly. I taught at Harvard for the past thirty years. Retired a few years ago, so I could devote myself full-time to my research and writing.” He leaned back in his chair.
“Jeremy was one of my students many years ago. One of the brightest but also the most troubled. He hated my class, didn’t think it applied to him, even sought to get it removed as a program requirement.”
Taylor looked at him with interest. “What do you teach?”
He smiled. “Glad you asked, my dear. I teach medical ethics. I have my PhD in bioethics, but I’m not your typical bioethicist. You see, most in the field are working to push the limits, see how far they can go to optimize care, allocate limited resources by building a hierarchy of who deserves what. I’m what they consider a fringe lunatic. Pro-life, anti-euthanasia, anti–embryonic stem cell research, and anti–assisted suicide.”
Beau ambled over after drinking from the bowl Gilly had set on the floor for him and sat at Carl’s feet. Carl stroked his head while he continued.
“Jeremy was not aligned with my views—many of my students weren’t—but he harbored a hatred I’d not come across very often. Only way I can put it—he had an evil aura about him.”
Jack couldn’t keep the skeptical expression from appearing. Carl seemed to notice.
“I don’t use that word lightly, Jack.”
Gilly set a plate of coffee cake on the table and joined them.
“I knew the only thing I could do was pray for the boy. Nothing I could say or do on my own was going to influence him, although I tried. An angrier atheist I have never met. When he graduated, I thought I had seen the last of him.”
Gilly patted her husband’s hand. “You’d have to know my husband to understand. He lives his faith more than anyone I know. Over the years, there have been some complaints about him professing his faith, but it’s never stopped him. Did you know that Harvard was named after a Christian minister?”
Jack and Taylor both shook their heads.
Carl continued. “It’s my belief that as long as we still have the power of free speech, no one should have the ability to stop us from sharing our convictions. My belief in God is so intricately wound up in my philosophy, my view of medicine, that to leave it behind would mean leaving all that behind as well. Of course, I didn’t preach to the class, but I would not skirt any questions on the issues of faith and how they affected my beliefs. It worked for everyone, except for the occasional rabble-rouser who felt the right to his or her own beliefs supplanted my own. But I digress. Jeremy. The Lord let me know that I needed to keep on praying for him. So I did. A few years ago, he showed up on campus. I took one look at him and knew something had happened to change him.”
Jack and Taylor were enthralled as Carl continued his story.
“Jeremy had discovered the truth about his father, Damon Crosse, who he really was and the extent to which he had sunk to attain his goals. The only affirmation he ever received from Crosse was for his academic achievement. Friendships were discouraged. He was groomed for one purpose. To one day take over the Institute.”
“What’s the Institute?” Jack asked.
“A training facility. And so much more.”
Taylor shook her head. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with Malcolm and his vote? With the people trying to kill us?”
Jack put his hand on her arm. “I’m fairly sure Damon Crosse is who Malcolm worked for.” He looked back at Carl. “What truth?”
“It’s a very long story, and it’s Jeremy’s to tell. He came to me after this happened. Instead of Crosse’s revelations bonding him to his son, they alienated him.”
“Where is Jeremy now?”
“I don’t know exactly. All of us have limited information, just what we need to help you reach the next waypoint.”
Jack stood up, pacing. “Hold on. Doesn’t Jeremy trust you?”
“Of course, but if Damon found us . . . well, he would stop at nothing to get his hands on Jeremy.” He arched a brow. “No one is immune to torture.”
Taylor’s eyes widened. “The more I learn, the more incredible this all is.”
“It’s true. Once you get to Jeremy, you’ll get the answers you seek.” He stood. “I’ll go and get your instructions.”
Gilly got up and cleared the table. She looked at Taylor with warm eyes. “How are you feeling, my dear?”
“I’m doing okay.”
“How about a quick cup of tea before you get going?”
“No thanks, I’m fine.” Taylor felt strangely grateful for these small kindnesses and swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to sit in this kitchen all day and pretend that this sweet woman was someone who loved her, an aunt or a grandmother. Why was she being so silly? She had just met her.
“Gilly, do you and Carl know anything about my husband? About his role in all this?”
The older woman stared at her for a long moment. “I think it’s best if you wait to ask Jeremy.”
Taylor looked up as Carl came back into the kitchen.
Jack cleared his throat. “It’s time to get moving. We’ve still got a couple hours to go.”
She nodded and pushed back in the chair. “All right.” She looked at Gilly. “Will I see you again?” She was reluctant to leave her.
Gilly smiled warmly. “You bet. Our home is always open to you. We’ll talk again after you’ve seen Jeremy. We’re here to help.”
Carl looked at Taylor. “I think it would be best if you left Beau here while you visit with Jeremy.”
Taylor began to object, but Carl put a hand on her shoulder. “I promise we’ll treat him like he’s our own, and he’ll be here waiting for you when you return.”
Taylor nodded reluctantly. It would be better for him here. Safer. “If anything happens to me, you will tak
e care of him?” Her voice caught.
Carl’s eyes were kind. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” He put his hand on Beau’s back. “We’ll take good care of him no matter what.”
“Thank you.” Taylor bent down and embraced her beloved dog. Tears spilled from her eyes as she stroked him and whispered, “I love you, boy. I’ll be back for you—don’t worry.” She laid her head on his and then turned away. It was unbearable.
“Here’s your next set of instructions,” Carl said as he handed the paper to Jack. “Godspeed, son.” He gave Jack’s shoulder a squeeze.
Outside, they walked to the car. Taylor glanced back for one more look at Beau. He was watching her from the door, a somber expression in his wise eyes. She blinked back tears and tried to push away the feeling that she would never see him again.
Chapter Forty-Five
THE INSTITUTE, MARCH 1976
THE BABY IS COMING. I WAKE UP IN A COLD SWEAT, AND with a jolt, I feel another contraction. A moan escapes my lips, and I roll to my side and grip the edge of the bed. It hurts, it hurts. I didn’t know it would hurt so much. I scream and try to bring my knees to my chest, but my belly is too big. I remember what I learned about the Lamaze method in medical school, and I rock and breathe, rock and breathe. It helps a little. The contraction passes, and I push my sweat-drenched hair back from my forehead. I look at the clock on the table to time my contractions. I sit up, trying to work out the dull ache in my back. In ten minutes, another one starts. The pain snakes its way from my toes, up my legs, and to my belly until it feels like there’s a vise inside me smashing all my organs. I push on my stomach. It is rock hard. I feel like my bowels are going to explode. I need to bear down, push, but I know it’s too soon. Breathe. It will be over in a minute. I clutch the sheets and bite my cheek. It stops again. Eight minutes this time. A spasm in my back makes me jerk forward, and another scream flies from my mouth. Sweat stings my eyes, and I swipe at my face with my sleeve. I start to shake and the whole bed seems to move with me. Why am I so cold now? Another contraction and I’m racked again. Only four minutes. No. You’re coming too fast.
I cry out as another wave of pain overtakes me and fall back on the bed. My knuckles are white as I squeeze the pillow. The contractions are faster now, each one leaving me more breathless than before. Something is wrong. A searing pain rips through me and a wetness spreads down my legs. Blood, there is too much blood. Someone needs to come.
“Help. Something’s wrong.” I push the call button over and over.
The door bursts open, and I’m thrown onto a gurney. He is there, panic written all over his face.
Time is running out. Once you are born, I will die. He’ll kill me as swiftly and as easily as he did his own father—as he did my parents. But I don’t fear death—not anymore. I know my Savior awaits me and that he will shepherd me from this hellish existence into paradise. But leaving you? This is a pain so deep, an anguish so terrible it slices through me like a knife. I love you, my child. There is nothing more to say.
They rush me to the elevator and down to the first level. I’m wheeled into a cold room with shiny steel tables and counters and bright lights. He has his own operating room. The pain is excruciating now. I can’t stop the screams. My eyes are clouding, and all I can hear is the clang of instruments and the voices shouting all around me. From the corner of my eye, I see Dunst. He is sitting, directing them.
A nurse hooks an IV up to my arm, and I beg for some relief. I know it’s too late for an epidural and I don’t want to be knocked out—I want to see my baby if only for a second—but I need something for the pain.
“Please, give me something for the pain,” I gasp.
She looks in the direction of Dunst.
“Dr. Dunst?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “No. She can get through it. Medicine is not good for the baby. Give her nothing.”
The doctor is yelling. “There’s no time. The placenta is abrupting. We have to deliver now!”
My God! They can’t really be going to cut into me with no anesthesia. They don’t even bother to put up a drape, so I see everything unfold. Betadine is thrown on my stomach; the scalpel is out, and the pain is white-hot the second the knife touches my skin. I howl, and the nurse clamps her hand down hard over my mouth. I feel my organs being jostled and almost pass out from the pain. I’m trying to hold on for a glimpse of my baby—just one look. I am being torn in two. The agony is indescribable, and I yearn for the release of death. Everything begins to fade, and I know I’m bleeding out. It won’t be long now. A cry pierces the air, and I see him lifted from me. I try to raise my arms, but they don’t move. I long to hold him—to kiss him.
“Please, let . . . see.” I can hardly speak.
The doctor hands my child to Damon. He is walking away, then stops, turns around, and holds him in front of me, close enough to touch if I had the strength. He is beautiful. So beautiful. I love you, I want to say, but nothing comes out.
And then it doesn’t hurt anymore. The pain is gone and a warmth washes over me. Arms of love embrace me, and there is no more fear. I’m lifted, beckoned from this dim and fading room to another place that shines so bright, like going from darkest night to brightest morning. I’m free! I turn back for one last look, and the last thing I see before I leave is my son’s beautiful, beautiful face.
Chapter Forty-Six
MELANCHOLY ENVELOPED TAYLOR. SHE STARED OUT THE window and took in the bleak surroundings as they drove down what seemed to be a never-ending road. She felt like the trees—stripped of their leaves, bare and vulnerable, their insides exposed for the world to see. When she thought of her baby, she was overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. A week ago everything made sense. Now, her very survival depended on her partnership with the one man who had broken her heart—the man she swore she would never trust again.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“Did the two of you discuss me?”
He exhaled slowly. “No, Taylor. Never.”
“I met her once. Did you know that?”
“What? When?”
She exhaled. “When I found out you’d gotten married, I drove up from Maryland. She answered the door. You were in the shower. She knew my name, mocked me.”
“She never told me. She knew who you were, but I didn’t talk about you. I swear.”
She didn’t know whether she believed him or not, but plunged in anyway. “Why did you let her take you from me?”
He looked at her. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“No. But I can’t stand having it between us anymore. We can’t keep pretending everything is okay. You broke my heart, Jack.” Her voice caught, and she turned away.
“I know.”
A heavy silence filled the car for a long while. And, then, finally, he spoke.
“You can’t imagine how often I’ve gone over it in my mind—back to when I first met her—changed the scenario. Walked away. Never gone to her show. I wish to God I could go back in time and undo it.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I don’t know how! God knows I’ve spent years regretting it. She took me by surprise, knew exactly what to say and how to get under my skin. She was an addiction. One that nearly destroyed me.”
“I know what she did to you. But you were supposed to be committed to me. How could you turn your back on us so easily? How could you sleep with her in the first place?” Now she was sorry she had started the conversation. Far from breaking down any walls, she felt new resentments and hurts arise.
He shook his head. “It wasn’t about the sex. There was something else—”
“Stop.” Of course it was about the sex. How many times had she imagined the two of them together? “I don’t want to hear any more. I guess I’m not ready to discuss it after all.”
He tried again. “I really wish I could make you understand—”
“So do I,” she responded sharply. She looked dow
n at the map then at the handheld directions.
“Turn up there.” She pointed to the left.
Jack slammed on the brakes and made the sharp left-hand turn down the narrow dirt road.
“Wait. Take note of the odometer. We have to go exactly one point seven miles and then take another left. There’s no road.”
A few minutes later, Jack parked in a small, round dirt enclosure. He took the paper from Taylor.
“We have to follow this trail and there will be a four-by-four waiting,” she said.
“Here, put these on.” He handed her the hat and gloves Carl had given him before they’d left.
Taylor slipped them on, and they got out of the car.
Jack reached out to take her arm. “It’s a little slippery here. Hold on to me.”
They walked arm in arm into the woods.
“Feels a little like Hansel and Gretel,” he joked.
She smiled in spite of herself. “Let’s hope our story has a happy ending, too.” Taylor pointed. “According to Carl’s map, the truck should be up ahead about a hundred feet.”
The trees seemed to close in upon them, the brush growing denser with every step they took. It was impossible to see anything but the branches around them.
“I have an idea. Give me the keys,” Taylor said. “You think it matters if we make a little noise?”
He shook his head. “The only people around here are Jeremy’s folks. I think we’re fine.”
She depressed the panic button and immediately a loud blaring filled the air.
They followed the noise, got in the vehicle, and began the descent down the mountain toward Jeremy’s hideout. Taylor held tightly to the handle hanging above her door as they bounced down the hill.
Jack looked at her apologetically. “Going as slow as I can.”
She grimaced. “I know.”
They finally reached the bottom of the steep hill and got out of the truck.
“This is getting a bit tedious,” Jack mumbled as Taylor read Carl’s instructions aloud.
They counted to the prescribed number of steps and came to a hill. They reached a tall tree with a birdhouse hanging from a low branch.
