Authors: Melinda Snodgrass
The narrow staircase seemed claustrophobic. I trailed my hand along the wall beneath the ascending framed family photo gallery, and began marshaling my thoughts. I didn’t exactly know what I was going to say, but I had the shape of it. Perhaps I wasn’t as confident as I thought, because my knock was a breath of sound.
“Yes?”
He didn’t sound like he’d been asleep. Maybe he’d been up here all the time listening to us, but then I remembered that he had always awakened instantly. You could roll him out of bed at 4:00
A.M.
and he’d give you a perfect sound bite. It was the one trait I shared with him.
I didn’t answer him; I just walked into the guest bedroom. He sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. I noted that the ceramic base was painted with flowers, and the carved Chinese rug on the floor had a floral pattern. Amelia’s two china patterns were also floral, and the bedspreads and even the sheets in all the bedrooms. But she lived in a row house with no yard. It’s crazy how your mind will flit away when you’re faced with something you don’t want to do.
“What is this, sir?” My father’s voice was icy.
I wanted to match his cool, but I found anger blazing through my body, so intense it made me light-headed.
“You’re going to go downstairs and tell Amelia that she has to move her family to New Mexico,” I ordered. “Because she’ll do exactly what you tell her to.”
“I will not have you influencing my grandson.”
“And I won’t let
you
get him killed.” That shocked him, and for an instant his features sagged. “Don’t act like an ignorant cracker. You wrote the brief on gay adoption when Alabama tried to strip parental rights and remove the kids. Paul is in no danger from me, and you know that. We’re being torn apart, and Drew was behind it. He lured Brent into this disastrous deal, and … well, you know what he did to us. He’s working for the Old Ones. But since subtlety failed, they may try more direct measures. My family isn’t safe. They’ll use them against me, and like I told Amelia, I don’t think … no, I know I don’t have the strength to resist them if they threaten my family. So they’re coming back with me so I can keep an eye on them.”
The covers were thrown back so violently that they looked like a tsunami wave breaking across the footboard. Papa swung his legs out of bed and headed for the closet. “Very well, you’ve made your case.” He pulled his suitcase out of the closet. “But I’ll be watching—”
“Actually, sir, you might notice that I didn’t include you.”
He froze, and his back stiffened. Slowly, slowly he turned to face me. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m done with you,” I heard myself saying. It wasn’t what I’d expected, but it felt right. I could have left it at that, but all the years of pent-up anxiety and anger clamored to be expressed. “For years I’ve tried to figure out what you wanted from me. I did everything to please you, including giving up everything I wanted. But then I got hurt, and I realized I couldn’t live afraid anymore. You’re the last thing I’m afraid of, so it’s got to end. You never have loved me, so I’m not giving up all that much.”
“That’s not true. I’m not … demonstrative, I show my love in other ways, by trying to teach you your duty—”
“No, you tried to make me into you. You’re a complete narcissist. What you wanted was to look in my face and be looking in a mirror. All this crap about service and duty. Yeah, you meant it, but it was my duty to serve you by being a reflection of you.”
I couldn’t read anything in the spare planes of that face. I started for the door. I put my hand on the knob, hesitated, then turned back to face him one last time. “Oh, by the way, I didn’t quit the police force when you ordered me to. I told Weber to shit-can my letter of resignation.” I opened my coat and displayed the pistol. “See, I’m still me. Not you.”
Paul’s room was at the far end of the hall. A night-light cast a soft glow, and on the ceiling stick-on stars glowed in the faint light.
Star Wars
posters hung on the walls, and the floor was littered with toys. I caught my heel on a toy truck, and struggled to keep my balance. The little boy, sprawled in the bed, didn’t stir. One bare foot thrust from beneath the covers, and Paul was muttering. He was in the throes of a dream, and it looked to be fun because he was smiling.
I gently touched my nephew’s shoulder. “Paul, Paul, wake up.”
The gummed lashes pulled slowly apart. Sleep was congealed in the corners of his eyes. “Uncle Richard …” It was both a question and a statement.
“Paul, you have to get dressed now.”
The boy looked to the window and frowned. “Is it snowing? Is that why it’s so dark?”
“No, it’s still night, but we have to go.” I threw back the down comforter and helped the child to his feet.
“Where are we going?” Paul mumbled around a yawn. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out underwear.
“You’re coming to New Mexico.”
“There are cowboys and Indians there, aren’t there?” I helped him tug a sweater over his head, flattening the tousled hair.
“Yes.”
“Will I get to see them?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, good.”
“Do you have a suitcase?” I asked.
“Uh-huh. On the shelf in the closet.”
I grabbed the chair from the desk, stood on it, and unearthed the case. “Let’s pack some of your toys. Just your favorites, ’cause we can’t take all of them right now.” The lower lip protruded and trembled. “Everything’s going to be sent to you, and if anything gets lost I’ll buy you new ones,” I promised.
“Really?”
“Honest,” and I crossed my heart.
“Okay.” Paul dumped the armful of toys into the open suitcase. A few switches were tripped by the rough handling, and lights blinked and there were halfhearted hiccups of sound from the abused toys. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go,” Paul said.
I zipped shut the case, hefted it, and followed Paul into the hall. There were sounds of drawers closing from the master bedroom. Obviously my father had done his job, but Brent’s mutters of complaint were like a piece of heavy equipment growling nearby. Paul and I went downstairs, and found Pamela in the dining room, loading an antique silver tea set into a suitcase.
“I don’t want movers packing or handling Great-Grandmother’s tea service,” she said. I nodded.
“Can I have some milk?” Paul asked.
Pamela gave him a hug. “Sure, kiddo, you need help?”
He gave her an offended look. “I’m eight.”
“Right, go ahead.” She waved him off, then looked at me. “Everything … okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah,” I said and then with greater force and more certainty added, “It is. There’s just one more thing to do.”
* * *
It was 3:00
A.M.
, and the steady drone of the engines had put most of my crew to sleep. I was too tense to sleep. Pamela and Eddie’s story about the creatures supporting the plane had me on edge, so I had the sword drawn and I kept pacing through the fuselage.
Paul was stretched out across two seats with a blanket tucked around him. Amelia and Brent sat directly behind him. Her head was on his shoulder, and his head was thrown back against the window. I don’t know how she could sleep, because he was snoring like a chain saw. When you added in Eddie’s snores it was a nasal symphony.
Dagmar, a seasoned traveler, had inserted earplugs. Rudi and Joseph had been soldiers and could sleep anywhere. Grenier was in the galley making a sandwich.
Estevan and Pamela were playing cards, but her face looked drawn, the muscles in her neck looked like corded steel, and she kept staring out the window at the blackness beyond. I reached out and yanked down the shade.
“You’ve been looking out that window for three solid hours. Stop it.”
“But what if they’re out there?”
“And you watching obsessively is going to help … exactly … how?” Her lips tightened into a thin line. “We’ve got a former navy pilot on the controls. I’m keeping the sword drawn. We’re going to be okay.”
Grenier came waddling back down the aisle, dropped into one of the commodious leather seats with a grunt, took a bite of his sandwich, and then brushed bread crumbs off the mound of his belly. “The sword does seem to confuse them,” he offered.
My iPhone rang. I checked the number and felt a smile curving my lips. I had a feeling it was a really ugly one. “I think you deserve to hear this,” I said to my sister, and I hit the speaker icon.
“What the hell have you done?” It was Drew, and he sounded furious and frightened.
“Hi, Drew, so good of you to call.”
“I’ve got an—”
“A call on your note. Yes, I know. I bought your building, and all the outstanding paper. All you have to do is pay off your loan … Oh, but wait, your company is experiencing some cash flow problems, isn’t it? I wonder why?”
“Why?” came Sandringham’s question. I knew what he meant, but I decided to draw out the torture. I was beginning to understand why cats played with mice.
“Why the financial problems, or why as a more general question to the universe? You blew it, Drew.” I couldn’t maintain the light, bantering tone. “You threw in with my enemies, and you overpromised on what you could deliver. They’re not going to be happy with you, and I’m
really
not happy with you. You should have taken into account that I control one of the great fortunes of the world before you decided to screw with me and mine. And just so you know, right now my only interest is in using that money to fuck you. I’ve wrecked your company and I’m throwing you out in the street. Sort of a nice symmetry, don’t you think? It’s what you did to me. At least I won’t put you in the hospital. Your new friends will take care of that. ’Bye, Drew, have fun being broke and hunted.”
“Wait, Ri—”
I cut the connection and put the phone back in my pocket. Pamela was staring at me in shock.
“Richard, who are you?” she asked.
“The man he was destined to be,” Grenier said.
Hateful?
I thought. I excused myself and retreated to the aft of the plane, where Kenntnis had a private office. Closing the door behind me, I sat down behind the desk and tried to analyze what I was feeling. Proud. Nervous that I was feeling proud. Guilty because maybe I shouldn’t feel proud.
I stared at the empty chair across the desk. In November Kenntnis had sat where I was now sitting and I had occupied the other chair. Kenntnis had discovered that Rhiana was not completely human, and I’d been called into the discussion of what to do with her. It had become a debate between Kenntnis and me about our roles. I had told him I had to be in charge. Little had I known how prophetic that would be. I had decreed that Rhiana wouldn’t be harmed. Because of that decision on my part, Kenntnis was gone, and I was well and truly in charge.
And proud.
R
ICHARD
V
ertebrae popped as I stretched my arms up over my head, and I realized I felt at peace, like I had come home. That surprised me. My first year in New Mexico I had found it brown, dusty, and ugly. I thought the Hispanics were making fun of me with their lilting accents, just putting it on for the gringo. The mañana attitude drove me crazy with my uptight, rush, rush, rush East Coast style. My intention was to work a few years with APD and then look for a job someplace civilized. But years had gone by and I hadn’t sent out the résumés, and that afternoon in Washington, as I had tried to figure out where to go and what to do, I imagined I smelled the sharp pungent bite of roasting Hatch green chilies, and the spice and evergreen aroma of burning piñon crackling in kiva fireplaces.
I turned my back to the window and sat on the windowsill and critically examined the office. There was room in the far corner for my piano. I’d have Jeannette arrange for movers. Actually, I’d have her clear everything out of my apartment; I was never going back there.
I was just settling into the chair behind the desk when Cross slouched in. He was stuffing the final enormous bite of a cheese Danish into his mouth. “Well, you finally look like you belong here. You should have dumped Daddy a long time ago,” he mumbled around the wad of dough.
“First, I was the dumpee, not the dumper, and secondly, we don’t talk about this. Ever. Got it?”
He gave me a mock salute. I leaned over and depressed the intercom. “Jeannette, a couple of things. Figure out what time and day it is in Tokyo. I need to talk to Fujasaki, and please close up my apartment. Bring the books, music, and piano here, and you can store everything else.”
“Yes, sir. Ms. Reitlingen is here. Should I send her in?”
“Yes, please.”
I pointed at the opening door. “See how Dagmar asks if she can be admitted. Why don’t you do that? Why do you just walk in?”
Cross shrugged. “I’m a god. And Kenntnis let me.”
“You can use the second reason to keep doing it,” I said.
“
Was ist loss?
” Dagmar said. Then shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve been talking with Peter. What’s—”
“I’ve got a question.”
“Let’s see if I’ve got an answer,” my COO said. “I’m bright, my dear, but amazing as it might be, I don’t know everything.
Nearly
—”
“Cut the burble.” She gave me an impish smile and subsided. “Why did a building this size only house eighty-four people?”
“Give the boy a gold star,” Cross said. “I’ve been wondering when you’d notice. Kenntnis left it up to me to decide if and when you were ready for the real tour. When you didn’t fall for the daddy trick, I figured you just might be bright enough to see past the obvious, and tough, smart, and brave enough to survive, at least for a little while. So now you get all the secret schnaba.”
“Does that include a decoder ring and a secret handshake?” I asked.
“You got a fucking sword, what more do you want?”
So with Cross in the lead we began a tour of the Lumina building. On the fifth floor someone was typing on a computer keyboard, a sound like rain pattering on plastic. The heater kicked on, the rush of air overrunning the sound of the typing.
“This building is a fortress,” Cross said. “A place for us to ride out bad times. It wouldn’t be comfortable, and you can forget about privacy, but we can house three thousand people in this building.” The heater shut off, and the sound of the lone typist returned.