Greco (Book 1.5) (The Omega Group) (2 page)

When Greco entered Myrine’s office,
all three women were waiting for him. Myrine sat behind her desk, while Mirissa
and Asteria were seated on the couch. Mirissa was fiddling with the key that
now hung around her neck. She’d found it in her mother’s Amazon chest, and,
according to her mother, it was passed down through the generations with the
sole purpose of ending up in her possession. The problem was no one knew what
it was for, just that she would know when the time came. For that reason,
Mirissa always wore it.

“I’ve brought the girls up to
speed on the situation with your mother, Greco,” Myrine said as he took a seat
across from Mirissa.

Although Greco knew she meant his
mother’s disappearance, a knot still formed in his gut at the thought of them
discussing his past. In an uncharacteristic moment of weakness at the safe
house before the Ortega Incident—even he called it that now—he’d told Mirissa a
little of his history with his mother. Right now he could see she was
uncomfortable because she was rubbing her key between her thumb and fingers.
Fiddling with her key was a nervous habit she’d formed, mostly when around him.

“I’ve also contacted your father
to let him know you’re coming,” Myrine continued, seemingly unaware of his
wandering thoughts.

“This is still something I’d like
to do alone.” Greco wasn’t ready to allow anyone access to his family,
especially Mirissa.

“I understand your reluctance,
but until we know more, I don’t want you alone in this.” Myrine’s tone of voice
told him her mind was made up, but Greco struggled with the decision. 
This was no one’s business but his and he didn’t like being forced to include
others.

“Grab your go-bags. You’ll head
out immediately,” Myrine said, ending any hope he had of changing her mind.

Little Greco played with his
Optimus Prime Transformer, sprawled across the living room floor.  He’d
been very careful to not move any of the books on the coffee table, wash and
put away his drink cup, and keep his shirt tucked in evenly all the way
around.  There was no way his mommy could be angry at him today. 
Maybe she would be so proud of his good behavior that she’d finally take him to
the park like she kept saying she would.  Maybe they’d even get ice cream.

When he heard the sound of a key
turning in the front door lock, Greco took one last glance around the room,
checked his clothes in the mirror, and put Optimus Prime neatly on the
couch.  The epic battle with the Decepticons would have to wait.

Greco ran down the hall to
welcome his mom home, like a good boy would, pushing a stray lock of wavy blond
hair out of his eyes. The smile plastered on his face faded as the door opened
and his mother stumbled inside. It disappeared completely as she headed off to
the kitchen without
so
much as a glance in his
direction.

A familiar smell filled his
nostrils, causing him to shiver. Grown-Up Drink. That’s what his dad called it.
Greco didn’t really know what it was, but he knew what it did. It made people
sad, then it made them angry. He didn’t know why his mommy wanted to feel those
things, but she drank Grown-Up Drink a lot so she must like it.

Greco decided it was best to not
ask about the park today. Maybe tomorrow. He grabbed a deck of his dad’s
playing cards from the hall table and walked upstairs to his room. It was still
too early to go to bed and he really didn’t want to take a bath, so he sat on
the floor and dealt out his first hand of Solitaire. Playing card games was
quiet and Mommy liked it when he was quiet.

Several hands later, Greco’s game
was interrupted by an all too familiar scream coming from downstairs.

“Greco! Get down here!”

Although he didn’t want to go, he
knew if he dragged his feet she would get even angrier. “Coming, Mommy,” he
said as he hurriedly tidied the playing cards. At the bottom of the stairs he
spied his mother in the living room. She had a Grown-Up Drink in one hand and
Optimus Prime in the other. Greco cringed as he remembered leaving his favorite
toy on the couch.

“What’s this doing here? I come
home to relax and I have to deal with your toys everywhere?”

His mother’s cheeks were red with
anger and Greco stammered, trying to find the right words to make her happy.
“I’m s-sorry, Mommy. I’ll put it away r-right now.” He took a tentative step
forward, in the hope that putting his toy away would keep things from getting
worse. But it wasn’t to be. His right foot caught on something sitting on the
floor, sending him tumbling.

The screech that came from the
living room caused his blood to run cold. When he looked to see what had tripped
him, he found his mother’s purse lying on its side with its contents strewn
across the floor. Desperate to clean up his mess, Greco grabbed everything
within reach and shoved it in the bag. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Tears
were streaming down his face but before he could wipe them away his mother
grabbed his arm and jerked him upright.

“Those are my things! How dare
you kick them across the room? What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Mommy. It was an
accident,” Greco sobbed.

“
You
were the accident.
You should never have been born. You’re an abomination.”

“No I’m not. I’m a good boy.
Please, Mommy. I’m a good boy.” Greco tried to reach out and wrap his arms
around his mother but she grabbed him by the shoulders and squeezed. Hard.

“You’re not a good boy. You’re
not,” she wailed, shaking him violently.

“Gayle!” Greco’s dad stormed
through the still-open front door and pulled him out of his mother’s painful
grasp. “What are you doing? He’s just a boy.”

His mother took a few gulps from
her drink then threw it against the wall, sending wet shards of glass flying.
“This is all your fault. He shouldn’t even be here. You want him? You can have
him.”

Greco buried his face in his
father’s shirt as his mother walked out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

“Are you OK?” Greco’s dad knelt
down in front of him and placed his hands gently on his face, wiping away the
tears with his thumbs. Greco just nodded his head, as words weren’t yet
possible for him. When his father pulled him into his arms, he hugged back with
every bit of strength he had. “I love you, son.”

Moments later, still locked in
their desperate embrace, Greco asked the question he always asked. “Why doesn’t
Mommy love me?”

His father answered with the same
lie he always did. “She does, son. She does.”

The drive to Savannah, where
Greco had been raised and his family still lived, took about two and a half
hours. In that time, he’d spoken only a few words. The tension his silence was
causing was palpable, but he couldn’t bring himself to alleviate it. This was
going to be a rough couple of days, whether his mother’s disappearance was
self-inflicted or not, and he didn’t see the use in pretending it wasn’t.

“Are we getting close?” Mirissa
asked.

He stole a quick glance at her.
“Just a couple more minutes.” They were winding their way through Skidaway
Island where his parent’s lived. It was a huge gated community with live oak
trees and paths running everywhere. As he looked around, he was struck by how
beautiful the neighborhood was, even though he’d never felt particularly happy
there as a child. Golf carts buzzed down the paths as the residents used their
preferred form of transportation to get from one place on the island to
another.

“It’s beautiful here.” Asteria,
lying in her usual horizontal position across the back seat, was staring out
the window at the luxurious homes they passed. “This must have been a great
place to grow up. You’re so lucky.”

Out of the corner of his eye he
saw Mirissa grimace at that last comment but, thankfully, she didn’t say
anything.

“My dad’s house is just up
there.” They turned off the main street onto a short cul-de-sac and pulled into
the driveway of a large home with a manicured garden. It was a mixture of light
brick and stone, two stories tall, with a front porch that ran its entire
length. The golf course was just visible out back through the trees.

Greco made his way to the front
door, with Mirissa and Asteria trailing behind. Before he rang the bell, the
door swung open and his father looked at him, eyes tired. “I’m so glad you’re
here. Please, come inside.” His accent was still as thick as it was the day
he’d emigrated from Greece. He was tall, maybe an inch shorter than Greco, with
shaggy blond hair that was now partially gray.

Greco made the appropriate
introductions. “Dad, these are my colleagues, Mirissa and Asteria.” His father
shook each of their hands and offered a weak smile. “And this is my father,
Demetri Costa.”

“You’re Myrine’s daughter, aren’t
you?” Demetri said as if just remembering something. “The resemblance is
remarkable.”

“You know my mom?” Mirissa asked.

“I met her several times, many
years ago. She would come by to see Gayle and me whenever your family
vacationed here. In fact, I met you once. Right here in this house, when you
were very small,” Demetri said.

Greco could almost see the wheels
turning in Mirissa’s head as she put this information together with what she
already knew about his childhood. He was relieved when she didn’t ask for more
details.

His father led them to the family
room where they each took a seat. It had been several years since Greco visited
his home, but nothing seemed to have changed. Then his eye caught something
new. The mantle above the fireplace, where floral arrangements and artwork was
always displayed, now held photographs. Without thinking, Greco pushed himself
out of his chair and walked over. The first photo was an eight by ten of him
that Myrine took when he joined the Omega Group. It was the headshot she’d used
for his I.D. The others were assorted family photos taken over the years,
featuring his parents and him in the midst of some activity or another. Greco
knew those pictures were chosen specifically because they all looked happy—even
his mother—in every one.

He looked at his father with
confusion in his eyes. “You did this?”

“No, son. Your mother did.”
Demetri put his hand on Greco’s shoulder. “She’s changed. This time is
different, I promise.”

That last word brought Greco out
of his temporary reverie. “Sure, Dad.” He turned his back to the mantle and sat
in his chair, stealing one last glance at the life he’d never had. Clearing his
throat he said, “Where was the last place she was seen before she disappeared?”

The disappointment on his
father’s face was evident, but he didn’t push. For the next thirty minutes he
told them everything he knew about the days leading up to her disappearance.

“Have you checked all of her
usual places?” Greco meant all of the places where his mother ended up crashing
after binge drinking but he didn’t want to embarrass his father.

“Of course. Those were the first
places I checked. I know you think I’m naïve, but I’m not. She hadn’t been to
any of them in a long time. In fact, her old friends haven’t seen or heard from
her in a year. That’s why I called Myrine. I thought maybe she could help.”
Demetri looked at Greco, as though waiting for him to decide whether or not he
believed him.

Greco didn’t, but he loved his
Dad enough to keep that to himself.

Mirissa stared out the passenger
side window as Greco wound his way through the city. They’d left his father’s
house a few minutes ago and were heading to the hotel Demetri had reluctantly
recommended.

“So, why are we going to a
hotel?” Asteria asked, once again sprawled across the back seat. “Your dad’s
house is huge. We could have stayed there.”

Asteria didn’t know anything
about Greco’s past, so Mirissa couldn’t fault her for asking the obvious
question, but as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, she felt the
need to protect him.

“It’s complicated. Can we leave
it at that for now?” Mirissa sent what she hoped was a comforting look toward
Greco, then immediately changed the subject. “When we get to the hotel, we
should probably split up. Asteria, you should go to Tritonia and see if anyone
there has any new information. Greco and I will start retracing his mom’s path
over the last couple of days up to her disappearance.”

Although Greco had told Mirissa a
little bit about his past, she knew there was so much more to it. He’d spoken
to her about it once, and only for a few minutes, but the pain she saw in his
eyes during those uncharacteristic moments spoke volumes. She wanted—needed—to
help him.

The problem was that Greco didn’t
want her help. She was sure he regretted opening up to her that night. The tiny
crack he’d created in his carefully built armor, though, acted like a magnet to
Mirissa. At first, she’d wrongly assumed he’d continue to open up to her, maybe
even let her in completely. It didn’t take long for her to figure out that
wasn’t going to happen. For weeks she tried to talk to him, but with each
attempt he pulled further away from her. Eventually, she just got tired of
trying.
You want me? You know where to find me.

As they pulled up in front of the
Hyatt Hotel in the historic downtown district of Savannah, Mirissa began
formulating a new plan to open up that crack.

Within a few minutes they arrived
in their adjoining rooms—Greco in one and the girls in the other. Asteria
wasted no time. She chose the bed closest to the window overlooking the
Savannah River, lay down, and sent her consciousness to Tritonia.

That left Mirissa alone with
Greco.

“We should go,” Greco said
through the open door that separated the two rooms.

“Alright.” Mirissa placed the Do
Not Disturb sign on the door as they left. The last thing they needed was an
unsuspecting maid stumbling upon the unconscious Asteria. “Your dad said he
checked with all of your mom’s old friends already. So, where do you want to
start?”

“I know what my dad said, but
when it comes to my mother, he’s easily fooled.

The short ride down the elevator
was filled with the same uncomfortable silence as the drive in, and Mirissa was
getting frustrated. Always trying, and failing, to get information out of him
was getting really old.
If sweet doesn’t work, maybe bitchy will,
she
thought. “I tell you what, Greco,” she began. “When you think there’s something
that I need to know in order to actually help you find your mother, why don’t
you just let me
know.
”

The elevator doors opened onto
the lobby and Mirissa stormed out, leaving a stunned Greco behind. This was all
part of her plan. It had become painfully obvious that being an attentive,
caring friend to her Guardian wasn’t going to succeed in breaking down his
emotional barriers.

Their car was still parked right
outside the glass doors of the Hyatt, so Mirissa leaned against the passenger
side door, arms crossed, and waited for Greco to join her. She heard the
telltale click of the door locks being remotely disengaged, and slid into her
seat without even a glance in Greco’s direction.
Two can play the brooding
silent game.

“What is your problem?” Greco
asked as he dropped into the driver’s seat.

“Just drive. You’ve made it
abundantly clear that you have no interest in talking to me.” Mirissa kept her
voice low and even and her eyes focused straight ahead. A moment later they
were pulling away from the hotel.

Mirissa was amazed at the almost
immediate change in their surroundings. One minute they were enveloped by incredible
architecture from the eighteenth century housing bars, restaurants, and trendy
boutique-style stores, and the next they were winding through a seedy
industrial area where less-than-subtle prostitutes offered themselves to every
vehicle passing by. They’d traveled less than a mile but it felt like a
different world. Although she desperately wanted to ask Greco where they were
going, she stayed quiet.

It occurred to her that Greco was
navigating this maze of warehouses, truck yards, and abandoned buildings with
an ease gained only from experience. She chanced a quick glance toward him and
to her dismay, found him watching her. He immediately moved his gaze back to
the road ahead, but she’d clearly seen the hurt in his eyes. If only he would
open up to her. She was sure she could help him.

Although she hated to admit it,
Mirissa actually understood Greco’s need to push people away. When she was
seven years old her mother abandoned her, and even though her father was
amazing, she never got over it. She spent years keeping everyone at a safe
distance in hopes of sparing herself the pain of another loss. In Mirissa’s
case, though, her mother came back to her. Greco’s never had.

As they approached yet another
warehouse, virtually identical to the rest, Greco slowed to a stop. Mirissa
could see the tension pouring from him as he turned the ignition off and they
exited the car. His stride was stiff, his shoulders pulled up to his ears, as
he led her to the warehouse door.

Although she knew when they left
the hotel that they were going to see the seedier side of life caused by
addiction, Mirissa still wasn’t prepared for the scene they walked into. The
huge room, dark despite the sunlight peeking through the broken windows, was
filled with people in various stages of inebriation stumbling through an
obstacle course of filthy mattresses and broken lawn chairs.

Greco wandered through the
masses, not getting too close, looking for his mother. Mirissa couldn’t decide
if she thought finding her here would be a good thing or a bad thing.

“Little Greco. That you?” The
scraggly voice, coming from a dark corner to their left, stopped Greco in his
tracks. “Boy, I ain’t seen you around here in a long time. How’s your mama
doin’ these days?”

“Hi, Miss Maggie,” Greco said with
a kind smile. “I was actually looking for her. You haven’t seen her?”

“No, baby. Not in a long time. I
heard she got straight. She ain’t with your daddy?” Maggie shuffled herself
over to where Greco stood.

“No, ma’am. It was nice to see
you again.” Greco turned to leave, but Maggie grabbed his arm. For an instant
Mirissa saw his eyes flare, but before she could decipher the look, it was
gone. 
Was that fear?

“Can you spare a little something
for an old friend?” Maggie held her hand out expectantly.

Greco reached into his pocket,
pulled out some crumpled bills, and gently placed them in her outstretched
hand. “Buy yourself a good dinner with this. No booze.”

She nodded her consent and let
loose a smile that was missing several teeth. Mirissa knew where that money was
really going, as she suspected Greco did, but her heart warmed at his kindness.

Once again outside in the
sunlight, Greco stopped dead in his tracks. His features, usually unreadable,
betrayed the pain he was feeling and Mirissa couldn’t stop herself from
wrapping her arms around him.

At first, Greco left his arms
hanging limply by his side, but as Mirissa refused to let go, he slowly
returned the hug. He pulled her tightly to his chest and buried his face in her
neck. Mirissa felt, for the first time since she’d known him, the crack in his
armor opening.

A moment later, it was over.
Greco extricated himself from her embrace and, without a word, they returned to
the car.

As they drove along the tattered
stretch of road that ran through the area, Mirissa tried to end the
uncomfortable silence that enveloped them. “I’m sorry you had to go through
that. I know how hard it must have been.” She waited for a reply, but none
came.

Slowly, Greco turned his face
toward her. Mirissa thought he was going to say something, but his eyes opened
wide, shocked at whatever he was looking at. “What the…?”

The impact crushed Mirissa’s
door, violently hurling both of them against their restraints. Her head hit
what looked to be the bumper of a large pick-up truck, now protruding through
the broken window. In her last moments of consciousness, Mirissa turned to
Greco, finding only a bloodied mass hunched over the steering wheel.