Invidious Betrayal (32 page)

Chapter One, The Wrong Door,
he began.
This is a story about something
…

Victor waved his eldest son inside his office as he listened to the assistant he’d recently hired through his speaker phone. He lifted up the phone receiver and continued to listen as Richard took a seat in one of the chairs that faced his desk.

“I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon, so see if he’ll allow a dinner meeting tomorrow evening. If he agrees, then reserve a table at his favorite restaurant.” He waited for Elaina to ask the name of the restaurant, but she didn’t. She knew, and that impressed him. “Enjoy your evening, Elaina. Goodbye.” Victor stood. Walking around his desk, He shook Richard’s hand. “When did you get in?” He patted his son on his shoulders.

“A few hours ago.” Richard frowned. “Why does everyone keep asking that? I came in town once and decided to hang out with a few friends for a week before I came home, and now everyone seems to assume that it’s my usual behavior.”

Victor raised his brow, but didn’t comment. He was sure that wasn’t the first time his son had come to the tri-state area without dropping by Casa Two.

“Did you get what we talked about?” Victor asked. Richard looked away and shook his head. “You didn’t get it?”

“No, I got it, Dad. It’s just that I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. If you want Ian to have something, just get it. Don’t you think it’s juvenile to pretend you don’t like giving him fun things?”

Richard didn’t understand. No one would understand how Victor could love someone so much, but at the same time feel that he must keep his distance. Whenever he looked at Ian, Victor saw his wife, his Noemi. In so many ways, Ian was her. He had her beautiful gray eyes that darkened or lightened depending on his mood. His naturally tanned skin, dark hair, and perfect features were so like Noemi’s. Even some of his mannerisms were that of his late wife. Aside from his external beauty, Ian’s inner beauty was all Noemi as well.

Victor only saw black and white, right or wrong, good or bad. Not only had Noemi seen the gray in every situation, she seen a rainbow of choices. Ian saw life in Technicolor, too. That was probably what initially attracted Victor to the quiet beauty he’d met his sophomore year in college, but the things he’d found alluring and attractive in Noemi, he now found distracting and annoying in their son.

Of course Victor knew the reason he’d failed or made a conscious decision to not bond with his younger son. It was the most basic reason of all—self-preservation. He couldn’t lose Noemi again. And in so many ways, Noemi lived in Ian, so he kept the boy at arm’s length to keep his sanity.

“I don’t know about all that gaming mumbo jumbo. Besides,” Victor said, sitting in the chair next to Richard, “that’s what big brothers are for. I have one night here before going home to Casa One.” Victor said, changing the subject, “So what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

Richard’s eyes dropped as he shifted in the chair. Victor’s eldest son was nervous. “We could have a birthday party…for Ian.”

Victor got to his feet. They’d been through this so many times. He went to the chair behind his desk and began typing. “We are not having this discussion again. I cannot celebrate the day my wife died. We haven’t made a fuss over anyone’s birthday since…so there’s no need to start. If there’s something else Ian wants for his birthday, he can earn it.”

“Like he earned that game,” Richard said sarcastically.

Victor looked up and pinned his son with the ‘you’re about to cross over into the no-return zone’ look.

Richard conceded. “All right, no birthday party. Technically it’s not his birthday anyway, and we both know how literal Ian can be. I did want to talk to you about something concerning him, though.” Richard sat back in the chair, absently flicking his thumb nail with his index finger nail. “He wants to go to school.”

Victor gave Richard a droll stare.

Richard ignored the stare and retorted, “What? It’s not like he hasn’t earned it.”

Victor’s face softened. “All right, but I have a requirement.”

A month later

Richard didn’t know which was scarier; the ominous-looking building that his driver just parked in front of, or the large-muscled man that resembled a character from Ian’s
Street Fighter
arcade game. The man was large with cropped hair, tanned skin, and was even dressed in camouflage—a tight-fitting tank and cargo pants. He had to be
the
guy and this must be
the
place, because it was his uncle Vincent who had just stepped out of the brick two-story building the commando was standing in front of.

“That building looks abandoned, or it should be,” Richard mumbled. He surveyed the dilapidated building with a frown.

“Come on,” Ian said enthusiastically. With more vigor than a kid stepping into the darker side of the District should have, his little brother sprung from the car.

“Hold on, Ian,” Richard called. He told the driver to stay close, then got out of the car and caught up to his brother. As always, Vincent put his hand out for Ian to shake before Ian was able to give him a hug. His brother stopped, then held his hand out to shake their uncle’s.

When they released each other’s hands, Vincent gave Ian a halfhearted smile before turning. “Hello, Richard. It’s nice to see you.” Vincent shook his hand. “Will you be joining Ian in learning self-defense?” They walked toward the man who looked like a very capable body guard.

“No, just here to watch,” Richard said.

“Jasper, these are my nephews, Richard and Ian,” Vincent introduced. “This is my very good friend, Jasper.” Jasper shook Richard’s hand, but gave a slight bow to Ian. “Jasper is very good at what he does. He’ll have Ian straight in no time.”

They followed Jasper into the building, and to Richard’s surprise it didn’t look too bad inside. It was some kind of warehouse with high ceilings and visible beams. A nice gym with large mats and lots of equipment was to their left, and to the right was a fairly nice garage with two motorcycles and two tricked-out cars. A third car that was obviously being worked on sat off to the side with its hood raised and doors opened. Richard found himself wondering what the second floor looked like.

He and Vincent took a seat on one of two benches near the floor mats while Jasper began Ian’s first lesson. Richard looked at his little, frail, calm brother and wondered how he would fair with the mammoth of a man called Jasper. But this was their father’s requirements for Ian’s possible placement in a school. Ian had to learn to protect himself if he would be going to school with kids older and bigger than him.

“Let’s see if this kind of training is for you,” Jasper said to Ian.

What does that mean
?

Richard rose from the bench in a panic, but Vincent took his arm and held him in place as Jasper’s palm connected with Ian’s face, whipping his brother’s head to one side. The hit was loud enough to echo to the rafters and hard enough for Richard to wonder if his brother’s jaw was broken.

“What the fuck?” Richard yelled, as he struggled to get free of his uncle’s strong grasp. “Are you insane?” His focus was on Jasper, who didn’t even acknowledge his comments.

“Relax, Richard,” Vincent instructed. “Jasper needs to know if Ian is right for this kind of training.”

Richard looked over his shoulder at his uncle. “And he does that by beating him to death? Ian is a sensitive kid with medical issues!”

“Our government invested a lot of money in making Jasper into the lethal weapon he is and as a favor to me he has agreed to teach Ian to defend himself. He’s the best. But he can’t teach Ian if Ian doesn’t have that certain something—”

“What is he looking for in a student?” Richard asked angrily, “The desire to drink his food through a straw?”

In spite of Richard’s anger, his uncle laughed. “Look at your brother, Richard. Look at him.”

Richard turned but didn’t find Ian on the floor bawling where any kid and most grown men would be if they’d been struck like that by a man as big as Jasper. Ian was crying, but there was really no way to tell other than seeing the tears stream down his inflamed cheek. His brother’s breathing was normal, or maybe it was too calm. His gray eyes were fixed on Jasper, his fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and his shoulders were squared off. For a kid that had never been hit in his entire life before today, Ian took it like…a fighter.

“Well?” Vincent shouted.

“I’d say Ian was made for this.” Jasper shrugged. Then the brute smiled at Vincent as if it was a punch line to an inside joke only they shared.

Spring of 2002

The sounds of distant voices and beeping were inside Ian’s head. Was that
Family Guy
he heard? Ian slowly lifted his eyelids because he didn’t have the strength to open them any faster.
Why did his eyelids hurt
? His pain definitely overshadowed his weakness. On the television that was anchored to the wall he saw his favorite television show playing.

With squinted eyes, Ian looked around the room. The overhead light was on with a low glow, but even that little bit of light was hell on his eyes. He swallowed, or tried to, but his throat was dry. He turned his head toward the rolling tray table that was usually kept beside his bed. It was there and so was the sweating purple pitcher of ice water and a small Styrofoam cup with a straw. He reached his hand out over the bed railing, but his fingertips only grazed the condensation around the bottom of the cup.

Something was preventing him from the drink he so desperately needed.

Frustrated, he raised his arm and peered at the IV in it. Without a thought, he ripped the plastic tubing out of his arm and dropped it on the bed. Ignoring the thin stream of blood, Ian reached for the cup again. When the water reached his mouth, he sighed with delight, but it was gone too fast. Leaning forward, he grabbed the pitcher, removed the lid and gulped down the contents, spilling water all over himself.

It took him a little while to catch his breath after downing the water, but his thirst still wasn’t sated. Ian pulled the blood pressure cuff off his arm and lowered the bedrail. He swung his feet off the bed and sat on the edge.

He was here in the hospital because he was ill. He was very ill and no one knew what had made him so, not even his uncle, Vincent,
who knows everything
. He had heard his uncle and father talking to his pediatrician. The doctors didn’t think he would survive.

Only he had, because of
…

It was because of Dr. Marroe that he was alive.

Was it a dream
? It could have been. He could have been hallucinating, but it felt so real. It was one day ago—maybe two, he wasn’t sure—but Dr. Marroe came into this very room, touched his arm, and woke him. The doctor told him that everything would be fine and that he would never again need the injections he’d been taking since birth for his severe and deadly allergies. Then the doctor had injected him with a clear fluid that had a yellowish glow.

When did that happen, if it happened at all
?

Ian frantically looked around the room for something that would tell him what day it was. On a black and white erase board under the television he saw the date scribbled along with the name of a nurse. He gasped as he realized he’d been here for over three weeks. He went over his personal information in his mind. His name: Ian Howl, age ten, senator’s son, and loved games. So far he felt sane, but what was disturbing was that Dr. Marroe could not have come to him.