The Portal ~ Large Print (6 page)

V
ivian woke drenched
in sweat. Her throat felt raw. To the left, a heart monitor beeped incessantly. Glancing around, she found herself lying on a gurney, dressed in only a hospital gown. That thing had her baby!

She shot up in bed. A hollow clink pulled at her arm. One of her hands was cuffed to the guardrail. She yanked an IV from the top of her wrist and tried to squeeze through the restraint. It was too tight.

Jarod wouldn’t hurt Cody. But he wasn’t himself. Somehow, she had to get out of here.

The door next to her hospital bed opened. A white-haired man walked from the bathroom.

“Wonderful. You’re awake.” He dried his hands with a paper towel. Was he police? Maybe, but weren’t cops supposed to retire before sixty? And they didn’t wear expensive suits. “I trust that you’re comfortable,” he said.

His courteous, British accent seemed out of place with his icy stare.

“I’m fine.” Did they know who she was yet? She never carried identification. Still, they only needed her fingerprints, and it would be over. “Can you loosen this handcuff? My arm is numb.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said. “I’ve seen many things in my day, young lady, but I have never seen anything like the mess you left at the scrap yard.”

“Mess?” She paused to calm her voice. Those boys had given their lives to protect Cody, but to this jerk they were little more than a cleanup on aisle four. “You think I killed them?”

“I don’t suppose it was you, but you do know who is responsible.”

“I never got a look at him.” As far as she was concerned, everyone worked for Jarod. Especially the police. “Why am I handcuffed then? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“We can’t be sure of that until you answer some questions.”

He looked at her, then down at her scraped thigh. The hospital gown felt inadequate. She pulled it down with her free hand.

“Now.” He walked over to a chair, grabbed a folded blanket, and handed it to her. “You were telling me of last night’s events.”

She unfolded the blanket slowly to buy time. What could she possibly tell him? That one of the most powerful men in California was actually some kind of, thing…she didn’t even know what the hell he was. As usual, her best bet was to shut her mouth and handle the problem herself.

“I didn’t see him,” she said.

“Do you expect me to believe that those boys were murdered in front of you, and you saw nothing?”

“It was dark.”

“Protecting a murderer makes you an accomplice to his crimes. Not only that, but—”

“Protecting somebody who tried to kill me? Someone who left me to die? That makes a ton of sense.”

His jaw muscles clenched. “You should never interrupt somebody when they are speaking.”

“I’m sorry.” Her temper wasn’t going to help this situation. “I told you that I didn’t see him. There’s nothing more to say.” She rattled the cuff against the railing. “Now please, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Very well,” he said. “Silence is always the wisest choice.”

“What?”

“Vivian,” he said. Her stomach dropped. “Because you’re able to keep a secret, I’ll let you in on another one. I’m not really a detective. My name is Stromsky.”

Hairs stood on her neck. When they were married, Jarod had always seemed in control, confident. Except when he mentioned Kevin Stromsky’s name.

“You work for the Ronan-Carmichael Foundation,” she said.

“Your husband has spoken of me?” His eyes narrowed. “To you?”

She shouldn’t have said anything.

“I just know you,” she said. “Your name, I mean, from the website.”

“Ah.” He smiled, showing teeth that were far too white. “Since you know my name, perhaps it’s time you understood what I do for the foundation.”

He walked over to the blinds and closed them. She realized that she’d seen no doctors, nurses, nor any other patients for that matter.

“From time to time, even charitable organizations can suffer from certain political stains.” He wiped his hands on his suit coat, as if the mention of it had soiled them. “It is my job to keep such business from tarnishing the Carmichael family name. Do you know why I’m trusted for such an important task? Even at my age?”

“Just listen to me,” she said. “I don’t know anything.”

“I am preferred because no matter how filthy or unspeakable the mess, I always leave a spotless shine.”

“I only want my son. Your problems have nothing to do with me.”

“Now that’s where we disagree,” he said. “Let me paint two scenarios. The first involves you staying quiet. The family stays happy, and I don’t have to wet my hands.”

“I only want my son,” she repeated.

“I can see we’re not communicating.” He reached up and slid the privacy curtain around her bed.

“I’ll scream.”

Instantly, he leapt forward. With one hand, he clamped her throat and slammed her head back into her pillow. She tried to punch him, but he grabbed her wrist and bent it forward. Pain crippled her. He leaned in close and stared into her eyes.

“The only reason that you’re alive,” he said. “Is because a boy should not grow up without his mother.” He released his grip. Gasping for air, she leaned over the edge of the bed. “I trust we won’t need to discuss these matters again.”

He pulled a packet from his side pocket, opened it, and began scrubbing his fingernails with a handy wipe.

“What do you want from me?” She coughed violently.

“If I may be honest, the family never approved of your marriage. Given your background, you can understand why. Now, however, it seems now that young Cody represents the best hope to carry on the Carmichael legacy.”

“What are you talking about?” The thought of Cody growing up to be one of those people sickened her. “There are others. Frederick. Casey.”

“A bastard and an autistic. No, they simply won’t do. For now, the burden rests on your shoulders. You will raise Cody. Focus on his studies and athletics.”

“Jarod will kill me.”

“Ah, yes.” He reached into his jacket pocket with the wet napkin, pulled out a hooked bone claw, and set it on the tray next to her. “I think the situation has changed, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You saw what happened last night?”

“I don’t know what I witnessed.” From the look on his face, she could tell he didn’t want to know either. “That man behaves like a filthy street thug. You can imagine the predicament this puts the family in.”

Could Jarod’s twisted family be on her side in all of this? Still, she couldn’t help her apprehension. Bargains with the devil were easy. It was the payment that presented the problem.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

“You’re going to help us put him down quietly.”

“What? Me? I don’t know how to do that.”

“Believe me when I say that this is not a request.” He leaned over and unlocked her handcuff. “You’re to go to the estate tonight and get your son. Do as we ask Vivian, and Cody will be back in your arms soon.”

“Wait,” she said.

“You’ll find some new clothes in the rest room. A cell phone, too.” He walked across the room to the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

Then he left her alone. Immediately, she raced to the bathroom to dress. Screw that bastard. She’d get Cody back tonight. And this time, they’d disappear into a rainforest so thick that the mosquitoes would have trouble breathing.

She opened the bathroom door and gasped. On the closed toilet lid, a burly police officer sat in full uniform. He stared at the wall in front of him with lifeless eyes. A wire-thin bruise line stretched across his neck. He’d probably been the actual officer assigned to watch her.

Stromsky had just strangled this man while she slept in the next room.

J
arod dragged Cody
by his hand, down the driveway to the minivan parked on the curb. Thunderclouds darkened the sky. Palm trees swayed in the humid wind, but he couldn’t find any street signs or recognizable landmarks.

Whatever city this was didn’t matter. He needed to get out of here. Vivian had turned him into a freak show attraction that could be picked from any lineup. Once he found his way home, Rankin would dispose of the car. Then he would deal with her.

“Mister Vincent,” Cody shouted.

“You’d better quit.” Jarod snatched his collar. “He can’t help you.”

Vincent, whatever the hell he was, had been absent ever since Jarod had changed out of the bloody clothes.

“What’s going on out there?” A neighbor opened her screen door. She hobbled down her walkway, wearing only a nightgown. Wisps of her silver hair blew every direction in the windstorm.

“Help,” Cody shouted.

“Go back inside,” Jarod said to the woman. Then he opened the van’s sliding rear door. “Everything’s fine.”

“He doesn’t sound fine,” she said. Raindrops began dotting the sidewalk. The old woman opened her front gate and walked toward them.

With his good arm, he picked up Cody, who latched onto the van as he tried to put him into the backseat. They didn’t have time for this. Any moment the gas could ignite, and this woman looked like she had nothing better to do than dial nine-one-one.

“Where are you going with the Winston’s van?” She looked around, probably to see if other neighbors were nearby. None were.

Jarod shoved Cody inside the car, closed the door, and turned around. “Mind your own business.”

“Help me.” Cody slapped the window.

Suddenly, glass shattered. Fire erupted from the windows of the Winston’s house. The unlit oven burners had ignited too soon.

“Oh my God,” the woman said.

Flames started consuming the house, but her eyes never strayed from him. He raced to the driver’s side, got in, and sped away. What the hell was he thinking leaving witnesses behind? Especially on the advice of a hallucination. He should’ve killed the old woman. The owner of the house too, instead of tying her up in the backyard. Now, he was in a stolen vehicle with the police on their way. Could this get any worse?

Ahead, he saw the Devonshire onramp to I-405 north. Finally, a break. They were still in California. By the time the police caught any scent, he’d already be safe at the estate. Safe. What a joke. He studied the twisted scar mesh on his forearm.

“Tell me what you know about Mister Vincent.” He tipped down the rear view mirror. Cody looked away. “You will answer me.”

“You hurt Mommy,” he said quietly.

Could that be true? God he hoped so. He’d given her everything. Made her somebody. Worked his ass off for her. Only to have that bitch cut off his arm.

“Your mother stole you from your family.” The rain picked up. He turned on the wipers, which smeared dirty rainwater across the windshield. “What she did was wrong.”

“You’d better not hurt her again. Mister Vincent will be mad.”

Was that a threat? No. He was only four. He didn’t understand what was going on.

“I’ll take my chances,” Jarod said.

“He’ll chop off your leg.”

“What did you say?” In the mirror, Cody’s blue eyes stood out against his pale skin. His own son looked back with anger. “Come up here.”

Cody jumped to the very back seat. Jarod clinched the steering wheel. Vivian would pay for brainwashing his son.

“We’ll be home soon,” Jarod said. “And Mister Vincent won’t be able to save you then. Or your mother.”

“You better be good.”

His gut clenched. Wait. He wanted to know about Vincent. Outsmarting a four-year-old shouldn’t be that hard.

“I don’t think Mister Vincent is coming back.”

“He always does.”

“Where is he then?”

“Cody Town.”

“Bring him here,” Jarod said. “I want to talk to him.” Cody didn’t seem to know how to respond. “Do it now or else I’ll find your mother and hurt her.”

“Bad Daddy.”

The car stereo screeched to life, dialing through the stations. He pushed the buttons to no effect. “You’d better not hurt her again.”

“Quit it,” Jarod shouted over the radio, which blared so loudly that his ears hurt.

Something dripped on his shirt. He pulled down the rear view mirror and saw a stream of blood pouring from his nose. Sores and pustules began sprouting on his face. He grabbed a dirty rag from the passenger seat and tried to stop the flow of blood.

“Bad Daddy.”

“Dammit,” he shouted. “Quit it.”

Was Cody really doing this? It had to be him.

“Bad,” Cody said.

Jarod swerved to the side of the road. An old Ford Taurus directly behind him fishtailed. He pulled to a stop and undid his seatbelt.

“Stop this,” Jarod shouted. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

A migraine nearly crippled him as he staggered to the back.

“Listen to me.” He took hold of Cody. His teeth began popping in his mouth and falling out.

“You’re bad,” Cody said. A bitter chill turned the cab into a meat locker. Ice crystals formed at the base of the windows and began growing up the sides.

“I’ll find your mother and help her. I swear it.”

“He’s sorry.” Cody’s shallow breaths fogged on contact with the freezing air. “He promised he won’t hurt her.”

“I promise,” he shouted.

“He really means it this time. Stop it.”

Instantly, everything returned to normal. No blood on his shirt. He felt his face. No sores either. What had just happened? More fucking mind games. No, that had been the most intense headache he’d ever felt. Worse than that, ice crystals still covered the windows.

“What was that?” he demanded.

“Mister Vincent said he’s watching you. You’d better be good, Daddy.”

“Tell him I will.” Jarod leaned back against the sliding door and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. “I will.”

Mister Vincent had done that as a warning. For what? To protect Vivian? He stared at his severed forearm. There’s no way he’d let her live. Not after all she’d taken from him.

For now though, he needed to stay calm. When he figured out what was going on, then he would strike. And if Mister Vincent stood in his way, Mister Vincent would die, too. It didn’t matter what he was. Everything could be killed if you knew where to stab.

He moved back to the driver’s seat and then pulled onto the freeway. Vivian would come for Cody soon. He had to be ready.