Shades of Eva (59 page)

“—
Who’s this, please?”

“Abigail Angstrom.”

“—
Abigail, I’m so glad you’re there?
Listen, we can work this out.”

“Listen to me, Ben. Mitchell was just a pawn
in this. He didn’t have any choice. I used him to help me find
Eva’s rapist and my aunt’s artwork. I needed someone Anna wouldn’t
recognize to do the dirty work. This wasn’t his idea. He’s
sick.”

I almost couldn’t believe what I was
hearing. I looked intently at Abby, who just put up a hand and
gestured me to hush. Abby continued. “I’m not very happy with you
guys at Coastal State. Where does Ully think he’s going?”

“—
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I’m alone right now.”

“Don’t play stupid with me! They can’t hold
him past tomorrow.”

“—
Abigail, Ully’s not going anywhere.
Anna had hospital maintenance pull the records for lost items back
in ’54. There’s a toolbox listed as missing, a red toolbox just
like Ully said. They even documented its serial number. None of
that was in the police record, or Eva’s file. She never saw a
toolbox—she only saw my brother carrying something she thought was
Elmer, so there’s only one way Ully would know about it.

“—
I know you know what I’m talking
about,”
Ben continued.
“—If you have found Elmer, and you
found that toolbox, then you need to bring them in and let’s put
this to rest. If you have Elmer’s remains, you have to do this.
It’s the only honorable thing to do.”

Abby appeared stunned. She seemed to have
lost control. Her eyes were closed and she was shaking her head as
if trying to decide what to do next. She put the phone down for a
moment. “He’s lying,” she whispered to me. “It’s a trap. There
isn’t any record for a fucking lost toolbox. I know he’s not
alone.”

She put the phone back to her ear. “I gave
Mitchell a role to play,” she responded. “That’s all it was.
Mitchell needs help. He didn’t hurt anyone. I’m willing to turn him
over, but there’s something of mine you guys are holding!”

I heard an audible sigh over the phone, and
then Ben replied.
“—You need to come in and make the right
choice. What can we do to work this out?”

“Anna has some things that I want, Ben. If
you want Mitchell back, then you better figure out a way to get me
my aunt’s artwork.”

“—
Please, please listen to me! We
understand what you did and we know the truth. Dr. Norris needs you
to come in. She has the things you want, and she wants to offer her
protection to the both of you.”

Abby grew silent again. She was becoming
quite annoyed.

Ben cleared his throat.
“—You wanted to
know where my brother is. Well, we know, now.  If you know
what happened to Elmer, you have to tell us. We have Emily’s
artwork, but you need to come in and talk to us…tell us what is
going on so we can help you resolve this.”

“Brad made a deal with me,” Abby said,
indignantly. “And so did Ully. This could have been over tonight.
They broke their promises to me and now someone is going to have to
pay.”

“—No one else has to get hurt. Anna wants to
help you both. The art is safe, but you have to trust us.”

“I can’t do that, Ben. The SMs are just
waiting for police to round me up so they know where to find me.
You can’t ask me to just lie down like that.”

Again, Ben paused as if he was looking to
someone else for an answer to that. If I thought Abby was going to
turn herself in—or should—I realized then that I was mistaken.
Jackson Greer’s people weren’t going to let her get away with what
she’d done to him. She wasn’t scared of imprisonment—she just
wasn’t suicidal. Going to prison in this area meant a death
sentence for her.

“—
Anna can help you, Abigail, but you
have to come in with Mitchell and hear us out. We know who Jackson
Greer was, what he was. We aren’t going to put anyone at risk,
here. But you have to trust us.”

Abby just turned her head to stare out the
window. We were nearing the Southwestern University campus. The
water tower, illuminated so beautifully that night at CSA in the
distance, seemed extra bright. It seemed to be shining like a
beacon, as if the city’s energy had been somehow concentrated
there.

Just when I thought she was going to hang up
on Ben, Abby said, “All right! Where do you and Anna want to
meet?”

“—
We can meet here at the hotel. It’s
secure. No tricks.”

“Okay, Ben. Have Anna transfer my aunt’s
artwork to your room there, and have her sign the artifacts over to
me. I want a legal transfer. If she can do that, I’ll hear her out
and I’ll turn Mitchell over to you.”

“—
I understand. We can do that.”

“Ben, I didn’t mean for this to get so out
of control. I hope you know that. Mitchell will be there in thirty
minutes.”

We drove on toward East Ridge
. I was
looking for the Knight’s Inn marquise and thought I saw it in the
distance. “There it is!” I said. I moved into the left lane to
prepare to turn in, but Abby put a hand up to halt me, and said,
“Wait!”

I gave her a double take. “But I thought you
said—"

“Just keep driving. Head over toward
Sacramento Drive. There’s something I need to take care of before
you meet Ben.”

Sacramento Drive meant Coastal State.

I passed the Knight’s Inn and did as I was
told. I got out onto Park Drive and pointed the car north toward
the water tower. We were passing Vole Stadium when Abby said, “Pull
in here!”

She directed me to enter one of the
stadium’s overflow parking lots and to cut the lights. I pulled in
and pulled to a stop near the stadium’s concession stand. The stand
was a relatively small building directly behind the football field,
nestled just down the ravine from Asylum grounds. I threw the car
in park and killed the engine.

“What’s going on?” I asked Abby.

“I want you to go back to the hotel and turn
yourself in,” she said. “Tell them that I was behind this. It might
be a lie, but it might mean your freedom, Mitchell. We have to
stick to the plan. Just stick to that story and you’ll be
fine.”

“I can’t do that!” I told her. “I’m not
selling you out to save my own ass. I made the choice to go along
with you.”

“You might have, and I am thankful for that,
but you have to do this for me. This isn’t for you. I want you to
be happy. You have to know that. Go and hear what they have to say.
See if Anna and Ben will keep to their word and release my aunt’s
property. If they will, I want you to keep it for me.”

“Abby, I—"

“Mitchell, please. See what offer they have
for you.”

I never felt as desperate as I did at that
moment. I felt like everything I’d ever wanted was slipping away. I
was in love with Abigail and I wasn’t about to let her go like
this, but I didn’t dare cross her, and I didn’t know what to say
other than to regurgitate Ben’s promise.

“I don’t think Ben’s lying,” I said,
practically pleading his case. “I think they might be able to
protect you.”

“It’s not me I’m thinking about, Mitchell. I
can protect myself. It’s you I’m worried about, and Christian.”

Before I could respond to that, Abby put a
finger to my lips. “You once told me that you trusted me. If you
trust me—if you care about me—then do this for me. Go and see Ben.
Keep your phone on you. I’ll listen in on the conversation. If they
have an acceptable offer, then I’ll come in with you. But I can’t
come just yet.”

“What are you going to do? I thought you
wanted your aunt’s things.”

“I’m going to talk to Ully. I’m going to
bargain with him. He needs to come clean on what happened in the
Caymans.”

I remember a sudden feeling of terror as I
realized what Abby was about to do. She was going to do more than
bargain, because Ully wasn’t the bargaining type.

I had no choice but to trust Abby, once
again, and to meet Ben, to listen to what they had to say and see
if they were going to live up to their word. I had no choice that I
was going to have to place some trust in Abby’s persuasive
abilities again, and hope that Ully would do as she said, and come
clean.

Abby got out of the car and walked off
toward Cascadia Creek. I had one eye on her and the other on the
water tower in the distance beyond. I allowed Abigail to walk away.
I didn’t have a choice, really. She never turned back.

I started the Impala, sat there behind the
concession stand idling for a few minutes. When I was sure that
Abby was out of sight, I shut the engine off. She might have had
some unfinished business of her own to attend to at Coastal State,
but so did I.

I set my telephone to silence
. There
were two uniformed guards patrolling the rear of the Asylum
grounds. I was watching two of them pacing back and forth behind
the Sax halfway house, where my father was still staying as far as
I knew. I had a few things I wanted to get off my chest with him
before I turned myself in.

I watched the guards from the crest of the
ravine. These were actually police officers, not Asylum security.
Things had ramped up just a bit in the wake of Chester Imil’s
departure.

I had taken up a spot in the root crater of
the fallen oak tree in the ravine. Abby had crested the rim of the
canyon and had moved off, unbeknownst that I had been trailing her.
I lost track of where she went. Within minutes, the field between
me and the back of the halfway house cleared. Both police officers
had taken up a seat on a picnic table just inside the driveway
entrance where the wrought iron gate was, mostly out of view from
the lawn between me and my father’s room.

I snaked my way slowly across fifty feet or
so of lawn until I reached a cluster of bushes at the back of the
facility. There I sat for what seemed like an eternity, listening
to two medical staff, an attendant and a nurse, whose voices I
didn’t recognize, chatting away over a smoke. Once they finished
and I was content they were back inside, I took one last look
around for the two police officers. I could not see them. I’d have
to move and move quickly and hope for the best.

I made my move. I wormed my way to Dad’s
window without incident and tapped lightly so as not to alarm
anyone, hoping Dad was still awake and wouldn’t panic when he saw
me.

I tapped one more time and then heard the
window slide open just a bit.

Twenty-five years ago, my father was a young
man. Time had not cut him any slack. He had aged and not so
gracefully. I imagine the drinking had something to do with his
appearance, which seemed far in excess of his sixty years. He
looked to be mid-seventies maybe, and his face was fuller and
almost ashen as if he were jaundiced or sick. His eyes were darker
than I remembered, but maybe it was the darkness from outside that
seemed no doubt to be pooling in them. Maybe it was the booze.

Regardless, I recognized him and he
recognized me.

Without saying anything, Dad pulled the
screen from the window and slid the glass further open and reached
out a hand to me. This time it held no bullet, only nothingness and
nothing but an offer of assistance to heft me inside.

I took his hand and climbed into the halfway
house—Mom’s old seclusion, and sat down on the bed to catch my
breath.

Dad replaced the screen and slid the window
shut before anyone outside ever saw me.

I was trying to gather my thoughts
. I
almost couldn’t believe where I was. I’m sure Dad was surprised to
see me. He probably thought he might never see me again based on my
behavior in the last few years. Now we were together in the
madhouse of all places, in another of Mom’s old rooms. So in true
Dad fashion, not a hello, not a welcome to the day, not a Hi son!
He had only one question, and an emotionless one at that: “What’s
your name?”

I thought for a moment he must be joking,
but in hindsight it was a fair question. I was the son who’d given
up his name in exchange for random aliases. He had a right to ask,
but I wasn’t sure he had a right to an answer. I owed the
reclamation of my surname to Abigail Angstrom, and her appreciation
for true names.

I remembered something she’d said: she had
told me that I deserved a proper seat at the Rennix family
table—perhaps a prominent seat at that. So I took pride in my name.
Rennix was my name, too—not just Dad’s.

“Mitchell Rennix,” I declared, staring with
unapologetic pride into Dad’s baby blues. Whatever it was: be it
the recognition of our common ancestry, or be it the dignity that I
was now demonstrating, I saw Dad smile. Somewhere deep inside of me
that smile made me happy. It always had.

Dad nodded and sat down.

“You and Abby had an agreement,” I
began.

“Abby?” Dad said.

“Yes, Abby. You probably knew her as
Amelia.”

“You kids and your aliases! Must be the new
in thing! Yes, Abby and I had an agreement, and we still do.”

“I’m not so sure she would agree with that.
She feels a little betrayed by you. And so do I. The deal was to
give the art to us, not to Ben. What happened here tonight?”

“Listen, I talked to Anna and she thought
she might know what had happened to Fred Levantle. She knew I
gathered some of Abby’s things and she put two and two
together.”

“What do you mean Anna might have known
about Fred?”

“She thought Fred Elms might have been Fred
Levantle by Mom’s reaction to him that night—or her
overreaction.”

I felt a bit angry at the casual way Dad
seemed to be talking about the shooting and my rape. There couldn’t
be an overreaction, in my mind, to the things that monster did to
me.

But Dad was referring to Anna’s clinical
judgment of Mom’s behavior after the shooting, when she fileted
Fred Elms—Fred Levantle, rather. When she mutilated him, save his
face. Maybe there was something clinical to be gained from such a
reaction.