The Reality Conspiracy (35 page)

Jeff whirled around. "Karen, you don't understand a thing. The more she knows, the more danger she'll be in. That's why spies don't even tell their families about the cases they're involved in. That's why—"

"Is that what you think you are, Jeff? A spy? Do you think we're all living in some James Bond movie? My job is reality, my friend, so let's keep real. Don't glamorize what you've done. Your decision to expose the Academy may be good and right—and I think it is, I think you're brave to have done it—but don't you dare start thinking of this as some kind of game. We're not pieces on a chessboard, Jeff. I'm your friend, and Casey's your daughter. That's the reality of it. And together, we have to decide what we're going to do about this. We've got to be clearheaded, and we've got to make a plan."

Jeff dropped into a chair and lowered his head into his hands. He rubbed his eyes vigorously, then stopped, keeping them closed for a few moments. He spoke slowly, "You're right, Karen, you're right. I'm not questioning whether I was wrong to come here. In some ways, it's probably the smartest thing I've ever done. But I'm sure having second thoughts about starting this whole mess to begin with."

Karen's impulse was to go to him, but for now she knew it was better to keep her distance. Let him think. Let him talk. Obviously, he was reconsidering, reevaluating. Karen waited patiently for Jeff to say something more.

After a while he buried his face behind his palms again. When he took his hands away and looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed and moist. "I guess . . ." He blew a long slow stream of air through pursed lips. "I guess I'm just scared, Karen. Okay. I admit it. And every time I think about it, or talk about it, I get more scared. I . . . I simply did not realize what I was getting into. What I was getting Casey into. Now I'm afraid that when I lay the whole thing out for her, both of us will see what a fool I was to set it in motion. There's no stopping it, you know; there's no turning back. It's going to keep getting worse and . . . God . . . I don't know that I'm up to it. Thank God the Academy doesn't know where I am. At least that gives us a little breathing room before—"

"But it doesn't give us any time to waste. If I were you—"

Jeff stood up. "Okay," he said, holding up his hand. "Maybe I'm a little slow, a little dense, but I finally got it." He walked over and kissed Karen on the forehead.

"Thanks," he whispered, and moved across the floor toward the guest room.

Hobston, Vermont

L
ight-headed and barely conscious, Daisy Dubois knew she had lost a lot of blood. Whenever she moved to get more comfortable, her shoes slipped on something thick and wet. The sensation sickened her.

For a long while she had been in terrific pain as the baling wire sliced into her wrists and ankles. With each movement, it sliced deeper. The only way to stop it was to sit quietly, like a statue.

At the moment, thank God, all the pain was gone. Probably that was because she was half asleep. Lately she couldn't tell for certain when she was asleep or when she was awake.

Some little while back, just as it was starting to get dark, she had seen her husband Stuart looking in the kitchen window at her. He looked young and fit, just as he had on the day of their wedding. He smiled at her as if to say,
Hold on, Daisy, pretty quick I'll be coming for you
.

She tried to smile to let him know she understood, but he was gone.

Yes, she remembered now, Stuart was . . . gone.

He wasn't hiding outside with a policeman, waiting for a chance to break into the house and rescue her. No, Stuart was gone. He'd been gone a long time.

And Daisy was alone.

She moved her eyes around. The redheaded man and the little girl stood motionless in the shadows. What a strange and frightening pair! In all her days, Daisy had never seen anyone like them.

Last night—or was it the night before? Daisy wasn't sure—after they'd tied her up, they filled her mouth with—oh my goodness, the thought was too humiliating—they had filled her mouth with cloth and secured it in place with masking tape. Then they'd laughed at her, pointing at whatever the man had written over her mouth.

Their laughter, loud ugly grunts, echoed in Daisy's memory, reminding her of how helpless she was.

Then the pair had become quiet, all at once, just like machinery shutting down. The man stood outside the closed bedroom, the girl took a place beside the screen door, looking out at the dooryard. Watching. Waiting. For what?

They'd been standing there ever since, saying nothing, hardly moving, not even shifting their weight.

All through the night they'd held their spots. Then all through the morning. . . Not talking. Not eating. Just standing there, hour after hour—the man grinning, the little girl rubbing the place between her legs.

What do they want?

What are they waiting for?

Were more visitors on the way?

Oh, heavens, what were they going to do with her?

Now, her mind clouding again, Daisy uttered a silent plea to the Good Lord. Her head nodded forward as her consciousness ebbed. Motion caught her eye!

The redheaded man was moving! He didn't yawn or stretch, he didn't even shake his head to clear it. He just walked toward the porch, looked out, then moved toward the bedroom.

Before he pulled the door open, he turned and looked at Daisy. She saw something in that glance, something fragile, something like a real human emotion.

It looked for all the world like fear.

Fear as raw and as shattering as her own.

She thought he might speak, maybe even help her.

But no.

Instead, he turned away. And the little girl followed him into the dark interior of the bedroom.

Burlington, Vermont

I
t was almost midnight.

Karen still hadn't fallen asleep when she heard the tapping on her bedroom door.

Jeff opened it a crack and looked in. Light from the hall spilled in around his head. "Can I come in a minute?" he whispered.

"Sure." She sat up a bit, two pillows beneath her shoulders.

"I hope you weren't asleep," he said as he tiptoed across the carpeted floor. "Look, I just want to apologize. I really flew off the handle and I'm feeling embarrassed about it."

"I know. It's okay. You're under a lot of pressure. I understand that." Jeff took a seat on her bed.

"Karen, I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here to . . . well, to . . . you know, to keep things in perspective for me. I behaved like a jerk and I'm really sorry."

She reached out and took his hand. It felt warm and good.

"I'm sorry, too," she told him. "It's just that I'm tired, I guess. Maybe I'm not being patient enough. Maybe I'm not handling things well. I guess I didn't get much sleep last night, you know? Too much talking, too much thinking. Way too much happening. We'll both be more clearheaded in the morning."

As she spoke he took her hand in both of his. She could see his face indistinctly in the subdued light. His features had softened, he seemed more relaxed. His wiry hair looked wild, silhouetted in the hall light.

"Casey and I had a good talk. I told her what I was up to, why I had come here. The whole thing."

"And how did she take it?"

"Just the way you thought she would: like an adult."

"She is an adult, Jeff. She's a very special young lady. You should be very proud."

He chuckled dryly, mirthlessly. "I am. I just wish I could be as proud of myself. You're both very special young ladies. Maybe some of it will rub off."

Karen smiled at him. She reached up and touched his face. "I'm proud of you," she whispered. "You're very brave."

Without speaking, he lowered his face and kissed her. Their second kiss lasted longer. Karen's lips flexed, sealing the bond between them. Their tongues met warily.

Karen slipped her hand from his grip. Without thinking, her arms were around his neck, pulling him closer. She felt the solid mass of his chest as it pressed against hers, flattening her breasts. She felt his hands in her hair.

His head was beside hers now. His mouth breathed warm air against her ear. "I have so much to thank you for," he whispered. "I don't know where I'd be without you. You're the only sanity in this whole crazy mess. I hope you know that."

She closed her eyes. Sometimes you have to be a little brave, she reminded herself. Sometimes you have to be a little adventurous.

Jeff kissed her again and stretched his body on the bed beside her. The box spring squeaked from the added weight. Only the thin sheet separated them.

It had been a long time since Karen had been kissed affectionately, passionately. Her body seemed to need it, feast on it as dry earth feasts on rain. She felt his hand running up and down her side, felt a pleasurable rush as her nipples hardened against the silky fabric of her nightgown. Her hips moved, pressing against his thigh.

But before she could release herself to the passion, dark thoughts intruded. Karen's mind fought her body, contrary forces experiencing the same event. This was the first time a man, any man, had been in the bedroom of her new home. But they weren't alone. In her mind's eye she saw her father, a wrinkled, hollow-eyed skeleton in a hospital bed.

Jeff's hand found the fullness of her breast, kneaded it gently. The silky nightgown felt delightful against her skin. A muted sigh escaped her throat.

Like a movie projected on the back of her eyelids, Karen saw her mother's tear-swollen eyes at Dad's funeral. Saw her limp, paralyzed form in the wheelchair.

She almost didn't hear Jeff whispering, "Sometimes I think we were thrown together by some benevolent power. I feel as if you were there for me when I needed you the most. Does that sound crazy?"

Again their lips locked together. Her hand was on his cheek and she could feel the warm blood there. In her mind she saw Mike Tucker spinning at the end of a rope after his wife drove away forever.

Karen slid her lips away from Jeff's. "Jeff, please, I can't do this."

"I . . . what's wrong?" He lifted his head, tried to look her in the face, but she wouldn't let him.

"Am I hurting you?"

"Oh no. Not that. It doesn't hurt. It feels . . . well, it feels good. But, oh, I can't, Jeff. I just can't. Not now. I'm just not . . . prepared, not ready."

He was sitting now. Still, he had one of her hands in his.

"Jeff, I've just never . . ."

"And I haven't either. Not since my wife died. I never thought I could be with a woman again. But, Karen, I can't tell you how much you mean to me. It's almost like magic."

She felt herself pulling away. Still she could not give up his hand; she liked the feel of his strong fingers around hers.

"We can't . . . we shouldn't let this get started . . . ."

"Why, Karen? Why not?" His voice was quietly insistent. "What's there to be afraid of? There's not someone else, is there?"

Karen squeezed his hand. "Oh no, it's not like that. It's just. . . well, if we let it get started, then—"

Abruptly she pulled her hand free of his and turned away. Her bed tossed with the sudden movement. She covered her face, feeling tears push toward the surface. His warm hand rested on her shoulder.

"What is it, Karen? Can you tell me?"

"Oh, it's like you and your wife, Jeff. Don't you see?" She turned her head farther away, buried her face in her pillow. "These things . . . they always end . . . they always end in . . ."

"What? Tell me, Karen. Talk to me."

"They end in tragedy. Always. They always end in tragedy." Crying now, muscles tense, she tried to hold on, tried to keep the sobs away. "Go, Jeff. Please."

He didn't. He tightened his grip on her shoulder. "It's okay, Karen. It's okay, I understand."

He tugged at her shoulder, gently but insistently, trying to get her to face him. She allowed herself to be moved. Rolling onto her back, she looked up at him again. She smiled weakly, embarrassed by the tears, embarrassed by her timidity. "M-maybe it's that I'm just tired. Maybe it's that too much Is happening . . . so many changes . . ."

For a long while she just stared up at him. He didn't look away.

"Why don't you lie with me, Jeff. Just until I fall asleep. Would you do that?"

He nodded once, perhaps a bit sadly, and stretched out beside her, taking her in his arms.

Burlington, Vermont

Thursday, June 30

B
ored with magazines and morning television, Casey Chandler decided to go outside for a while. Who would give her any trouble in broad daylight? Besides, Dad said nobody knew they were here, so what was he so worried about?

All she wanted to do was sit in the sun for an hour before Dad came back from Hobston. It would be nice to pass some time in the fresh air looking at the lake.

Casey wheeled to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. It was so wide she had no trouble getting her wheelchair over the threshold and onto the walk. With one hand steadying the rubber tire, she pulled the door closed. Then she began to move.