Don't Kill The Messenger (18 page)

“I remember things now—things from my childhood, from before the smog. I was very young, but I have so many positive memories. All this time, I never knew the town’s name. My birth certificate says I was born in Pittsburgh.”

“Well, maybe when you’re a big-time lawyer, you can make Wyandotte a pet project.”

“Yeah,” she replies, “maybe I can.”

“I hate to be indelicate at this tender moment, but after breakfast, we need to get out of this place. I didn’t want to look for an insurance card last night, so I told them I’d get it from you this morning.”

“Oh,” she says. “Yeah. An insurance card.”

“Shall I infer from your repetition of those words that you don’t have an insurance card?”

“Well, they kinda don’t give you one if you don’t have insurance.”

“Fair enough. Come on, let’s head to the business office.”

I pay for her treatment on my credit card. She protests but quickly realizes that without my generosity, she’s somewhat stuck, so she accepts.

“I’m going to find a way to pay you back,” she insists as we make our way to the hospital’s parking garage.

“Consider it worker’s comp. You were injured on the job.”

“I was
injured,
” she corrects, “by going back to my family home, someplace I had no business going.”

We get into the car and exit the garage, with the top down and me behind the wheel. The conversation continues. “I would’ve done the same thing,” I tell her. “If I knew I was that close to my childhood home, I would have wanted to see it. Even in the condition it was in.”

“Once I was inside, it didn’t feel like my home. And it wasn’t just the destruction. I just felt like I didn’t belong there.”

“I’m sorry, Rebecca. I brought you there, opened up all those old wounds. I would never have asked you to come along if I knew the connection.”

“Yeah,” she says, “the connection. Don’t you think we’re seeing a lot of those?”

“Yes, I do. At first, I thought it was coincidence, but there’s just too many of them. The only thing that’s missing for me is an explanation. You have to leave Key West, because you’re in some danger if you stay there. We end up in Marathon, in Casner’s room, so it’s possible that Casner was the danger, but we don’t know why. Then I get the assignment to go to Atlanta to save Casner.”

“But if he was the reason I was in danger,” she rightly points out, “why would we go to Atlanta to save him?”

“A fair question. One of many I can’t answer at this point. Then we head to Wyandotte, which just happens to be your childhood home. It seems to me that all these coincidences started when I picked you up.”

“So I’m the key to all of this?”

“I don’t know, but it sure feels like it. But for every connection, there’s a disconnect. A piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit with the rest. Your father, for instance.”

“Shit, that reminds me—I still haven’t called him to tell him I’m coming home.”

“Do you want me to pull over so you can have some privacy?”

“I don’t need privacy, but it’ll be easier with the top up. Can you pull over just long enough for me to make the call?”

I find a safe spot to pull to the side of the road and put the top up. Rebecca gets her cell phone out and stares at it for a few seconds, finding the courage to make the call.

“Not too late to change your mind,” I remind her.

“Thank you,” she replies. She dials the number from memory—hers, not the phone’s—and waits patiently as it rings. I can see the apprehension on her face. “Hi, Daddy. It’s Rebecca.” I can’t hear what he’s saying; all I can do is gauge it based on her words and her reactions. She looks very tense. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in so long. I’ve been busy.” I watch as she listens. “I’ve been working hard to save up some money.… I know, but it was important to me. I have something to tell you, and I’m sorry that it’s kind of short notice. I’ve decided to go back to school.” She appears to be bracing herself for his reaction. “Well, that’s why I’m calling you. I’m on my way home now. I’m less than three hours away.…” Is he pleased to hear this? I can’t tell by her face. I try hard not to stare, but it’s almost impossible. “I’d really appreciate it if I could stay with you for a few days until I can get living arrangements settled on campus.… Thank you, Daddy. Sorry it’s such short notice.” She looks at me and nods; apparently, Daddy approves. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be arriving by car.… A friend is taking me home.… It’s no one you know; it’s someone I met in Florida. That’s where I’ve been living, Florida.… Well, I should go so we can finish the drive. Thank you for letting me stay. I’ll give you all the news when I get there.… See you soon. Bye.”

And there it is. No sentimentality, no real emotion at all from either side. Just
see you soon.
“Are you all right?” I ask her.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Put the top down again, would you? I could use the air.”

She seems fine, maybe too fine. But I don’t want to pry, so I lower the top and merge back onto the highway. After a minute or two of silence, she turns to me and says, “Tell me about the first time you got an assignment to help somebody.”

“Well, it started with the message, like it always does. I thought it was strange, but I didn’t think too much of it. But then the pain started, and it didn’t go away for hours. I even went to a doctor. He asked me all kinds of questions, then did test after test, and couldn’t find anything wrong with me physically. Not even a morphine shot took the pain away. I was just about ready to talk to a psychiatrist, but then I decided I would pass the message on to the person who needed to hear it, and see what happened.”

“So who was this person?” she asks.

“It was a friend of mine; why?”

“I’m looking for connections. With everything that’s gone on, I want to see if your first assignment has some connection to me. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Esteban Padgett.”

“Esteban Padgett?” she repeats, her voice full of disbelief.

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“No, never heard of him, but that’s a really weird name, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Persephone Traeger, you tell me.”

“Touché, Tristan Shays. Now that we’re all done making fun of each other’s name, let’s see if we can find a connection. Where was Esteban?”

“Maryland,” I reply.

“Maryland,” she says. “I’ve never been there. Oh my gosh, is that where you live?”

“Yes.”

“It just occurred to me that in the past four days that we’ve known each other, I’ve never asked you where you live or really anything about yourself. So you live in Maryland. Where?”

“Ocean City.”

“I love the name. It sounds like a great place.”

“It is. I wish I could spend more time there than I do.”

“Do you have a big house overlooking the Atlantic?”

I smile a bit at her accuracy. “Yes, I actually do.”

“I’m picturing gray wooden siding and white shutters, and a long ramp that leads down to a little stretch of beach all your own,” she says playfully.

“Go on,” I say, now gently uneasy.

“In the living room, there’s a brick fireplace with a big mantel. Across the room is a stairway leading to the second floor.” By this point, she’s no longer asking me, she’s telling me. “Upstairs, your bedroom has french doors that lead to a wraparound balcony that circles the entire second floor. Tristan, how is this possible? How can I know this?”

“Because I’m picturing each part of the house just before you describe it.”

“What?”

“Twenty questions,” I say suddenly.

“What?”

“Twenty questions. Right now.”

“This is no time for games.”

“On the contrary, I think it’s a very good time for games. You guess first. It’s a person.”

“This is scaring me, Tristan.”

“Put the fear aside and focus. It’s a person.”

“Is it a man?” she asks, nowhere near in the spirit of the game.

“Yes.”

“Is he over fifty?”

“Yes.”

“Is it Sean Connery?”

“Yes, Rebecca, it is.”

She is almost in tears, not from happiness over her easy win, but with the uncertainty of what it means.

“Keep going,” I say to her. “A place this time.”

“Is it a city?”

“Yes.”

“Is it Rio de Janeiro?”

“Yes. I’m thinking of an ordinary playing card from a deck. What is it?”

“Ten of hearts?”

“Yes. Another one.”

“Four of clubs?”

“Right again. One more.”

“Ace of clubs.”

I look at her with renewed wonder. “A-plus.”

She doesn’t share my fascination. “Why is this happening?”

“It seems, my lovely Rebecca, that you
are
with me for a reason. You have a gift as well, one that’s getting stronger now.”

“What if I don’t want that gift?”

My wonder turns to sympathy; she is genuinely overwhelmed at this revelation, and she needs a friend right now. “I’m not sure,” I answer, holding her hand in mine. “Sometimes it’s something you can bury down deep in your thoughts, and sometimes it just needs to be heard. It’s clear that you have a very strong connection to me, but that might not be the case with everyone. After all, you and I have gotten quite close in the past four days. What about with other people? Were you able to hear the Harbisons’ thoughts, or the staff at the hospital?”

“No, I don’t think I was.”

“Open yourself up right now to anyone nearby. See if you can hear any of the other people around us.”

She closes her eyes tightly and squints in concentration. After several seconds, she reports, “All I can hear is you, and I couldn’t hear everything. It’s like I could hear what you wanted me to hear.”

“That’s good. It means you’re very focused. You won’t spend your life shutting out the thoughts of others.”

“Tristan, this is all so sudden …”

“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. I think this might be something you’ve been able to do for years, a latent ability that got stronger the more time you spent with me. Think back to the night we met. What motivated you to ask me to drive you home?”

“Convenience, I guess.”

“I was a stranger to you. Or was I? In your mind, did you see me as a threat or as something else?”

She thinks back. “You represented safety. How is it that I’m realizing this now, but I didn’t at the time when I made the decision to go with you?”

“At the time, you realized it subconsciously. Now, that thought and a lot more are in your consciousness.”

“So why do I have these numbers going through my head?”

“Numbers? When did this start?”

“When I woke up this morning, they were in there. Now they’re starting to repeat themselves.”

“What are the numbers?”

“Twenty-eight, ten, sixteen, N. Eighty-three, five, eleven, W. Hey, do you think they’re lottery numbers? Do you think somebody wants me to win the lottery?”

“I’d love to say you’re right, but those letters in there make me think otherwise. Do you have a pen and paper in your purse?”

“Yeah.”

“Write the numbers down and read them to me again.”

She gets the pen and paper and writes down what she had told me. “Twenty-eight, ten, sixteen, N. Eighty-three, five, eleven, W. What does it mean?”

“Unless this is some kind of cryptic code, N means north.”

“And W means west,” she deduces. “Latitude and longitude?”

“Might very well be. I don’t have an atlas in the car, so I can’t say where those points meet.”

“Wait a second,” she interrupts. “My cell phone has a GPS application on it. I can enter those coordinates and see where it takes us.” She types in the numbers and we wait, all the while making our way westward into Ohio. After many seconds of waiting, she tells me, “It has an answer. It’s in the Gulf of Mexico.”

“
In
the gulf?”

“Yeah, that’s what it says.”

“Can you tell where specifically?”

“Western coast of Florida … about ten miles off the coast of—”

“What? What is it?”

“Tarpon Springs,” she says.

A prolonged moment of silence passes between us as we both try to understand the significance of what this means. Tarpon Springs, one piece that didn’t fit into the puzzle before, now tries to squeeze into place. But ten miles offshore? What could be out there?

“It’s important to know where these numbers are coming from,” I tell her. “Does it feel like they’re coming from me?”

“No. Your thoughts sound like you, like your voice. These aren’t like that. It doesn’t feel like I’m hearing them, like someone’s speaking them or thinking them. I’m just …
aware
of them. They’re a presence, and I don’t know why.”

“I wonder if your father might be the key to any of this. When we get there, do you think you could try to read his thoughts?”

“I don’t know. I guess I could. You think he’s sending me these numbers?”

“You said it’s getting stronger the closer we get to his house. That would suggest that someone in that area is sending them to you, and he’s the logical candidate.”

She looks very uncomfortable with that possibility, and I don’t blame her. Though her relationship with her father has been strained for some time, the more she learns about him, the unhappier she becomes.

Crossing the border into Ohio, I exit the interstate and turn onto a state highway that will take us the remaining ninety miles to her father’s house. Traffic is much lighter here, making it easier for us to talk and to think.

“Do you want me to drive for a while?” she asks.

“No, I’m fine. You’re still recuperating. I’ll take us the rest of the way.”

“I feel fine, really. A hundred percent better than I did last night.”

“Good. Then it’s a lovely day to be a passenger. Sit back and relax. I’ve got this covered.”

“Relax, right. Easy for you to say. I find out I’m a mind reader who’s getting coordinates in my head for no apparent reason.”

“Gotta keep a positive attitude. Find ways to use this to your advantage. Won’t it be nice to know what your professors are thinking? Or to know if a first date has something unsavory on his mind?”

She looks at me for many seconds. “You really want me to go, don’t you?”