The Other Brother (30 page)

Chapter 58

r itting in his jeep on the shoulder of the highway, Gabriel L learned how to turn off his psychic connection to Isaiah. It was too distracting and troubling to see Isaiah's crazed face every time he glanced in the rearview mirror. Closing his eyes, Gabriel counted to ten, telling himself that when he reached ten, he did not want to see Isaiah's face in the glass.

At the end of his count, he checked in the rearview. Isaiah had vanished.

He felt a sense of satisfaction. He was learning how to control his talents, or whatever you wanted to call them. It would be crucial for later.

He started driving again. The rain continued to fall, but it had slackened to a persistent drizzle, which meant that the Atlanta drivers once again felt safe barreling down the slick highway at the speed of sound. Gabriel stayed in a middle lane and drove at a moderate speed. He couldn't save his father if he died in a car wreck on the way there.

And what was he going to do when he arrived at the cabin? March to the front door and demand that Isaiah release Pops? Conduct surveillance from the forest and wait for a chance to make a move? Kick down the door and attack Isaiah?

He didn't have any training in this sort of thing. He had no idea what his next step would be.

He took 1-75 to 1-575, which became the Georgia Mountain Parkway. After an hour of driving on the highway, he reached the exit for the cabin.

He turned into the parking lot of a gas station and parked in the far corner.

Closing his eyes, he drew deep breaths. Then he opened his eyes and studied the rearview mirror, which, at present, gave him a view of a rain-smeared phone booth behind him.

Show me Isaiah, he thought. I want to see him now.

Fog curled and twisted across the mirror's surface as though it were a fortune-teller's misty crystal ball teeming with visions.

Slowly, Isaiah materialized in the murkiness.

Isaiah stood in a small bright room. A man sat in front of him; ropes bound the man to the chair. Shoulders slumped, the prisoner shook his head from side to side, as though in severe discomfort.

Gabriel recognized the man from the back of his head. It was Pops.

Isaiah was speaking, but Gabriel was unable to read his lips. Isaiah wore a snide expression.

I've seen enough, Gabriel thought. No more.

The vision faded.

He'd learned what he wanted to know. Pops was still alive.

But time was running out.

Chapter 5 9

[ I oped to a hard chair, a hot white light bulb above him [ .searing his eyeballs, Theo, pushed to the boundaries of his sanity, tried to talk sense to his son in hopes of convincing him to set him free. Theo had led countless sales meetings in his career, had employed his golden tongue to coax hundreds of millions of dollars out of the accounts of multinational corporations and into his own coffers, had used his gift of gab to catapult himself from poverty to prominence but all those experiences paled in importance to this one.

For the first time, he was talking to, quite literally, save his life.

Sweat poured from his face and armpits, ran cold down his back. He had perspired so much in the past couple of hours that he was certain he was dehydrated. His lip throbbed painfully; drool inched down his chin, too and-though it embarrassed him, made him feel like a demented old foolhe was helpless to stop it.

Indeed it was a struggle just to stay coherent. But he hadn't forgotten Isaiah's promise of torture, and averted his gaze from the red toolbox sitting in the corner. He didn't want to know what terrible instruments it might contain.

Listening to Theo's plea, Isaiah paced back and forth in front of him, his boots creaking across the floorboards. He had put away the gun. He held Theo's Rolex in his right hand and gently fingered the band. His actions perplexed Theo, but, then again, Isaiah was not exactly dealing with a full deck. His boy was crazy as a wood lizard, as Theo's mother liked to say.

Nevertheless, he had to talk him out of this.

"You're a smart young man," Theo was saying. "You've got your entire life ahead of you. You don't need to ruin it by doing something like this. I ... I can help you, son. Since you came to me, I've been trying to help you"

"Who said I want your help?" Isaiah said. "When Mama and I needed you, you weren't there. It's too late to be offering help now. We're past that shit."

"It's never too late to change course. Did I ever tell you about one of my VPs? Thomas Robinson. He didn't graduate from college until he was thirty-five, went and got his MBA, and didn't show up at our office until he was fortyone, and he has one of the sharpest business minds I've ever-"

"I don't want to hear one of your rags-to-riches stories, all right? None of that pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps bullshit! You ain't Booker T. Washington, man" He glared angrily at Theo.

"No, I'm not," Theo said softly. "But I know your potential. You can do great things, can accomplish something wonderful. When I look at you, I see a diamond in the rough. All you need is a little polish, a little time, and the world can be your oyster."

"My oyster?" Isaiah scowled. "I hate oysters. Damn things taste like snot"

"Bad analogy." Theo thought quickly. "The world can be like that Chevelle of yours. You can drive it wherever you want. All you need to learn are the rules of the road."

"Like my Chevelle?" Isaiah smirked, but something in his eyes seemed to stir. He looked away.

Theo's heart picked up speed. He dared to hope that he was touching a sympathetic nerve.

Isaiah slipped the Rolex on his wrist. He admired it as though imagining what it would be like if he'd purchased the luxury watch on his own with legitimately earned money.

"The world can be yours," Theo said.

"Give me a motherfucking break, Pops. It's too late for me "" Isaiah threw the watch across the room. Wiping his eyes, Isaiah went to one of the windows and peered through the blinds. His shoulders trembled.

I've gotten through to him, Theo thought. Now if I can talk him down, maybe I can convince him to let me out of here.

"All yours," Theo said, close to a whisper. "I can help you. It's my duty to you, as your father, to help you reach your fullest potential. I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to say this, but I'd like for you to accept my offer."

Isaiah didn't respond. He rubbed his chin.

"Son?" Theo asked, worry creeping into his voice. Isaiah's mood had changed.

Isaiah turned away from the window and strolled to the corner. He retrieved the watch from the floor. Dusting it off, he grasped it in one hand, running his fingers across the crystal face.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Isaiah said. "Why don't you talk to Mama?"

"Huh?" His son had truly gone off the deep end. Naomi, may she rest in peace, had been murdered months agoironically, in a gunfight that Isaiah had likely provoked.

Then a voice from the grave spoke from behind Theo.

"Hey, baby. Did you miss me?"

An icy wind seemed to blow through the room.

Shuddering, Theo looked over his shoulder.

Naomi Battle, resplendent in her youth and beauty, smiled at him.

Chapter 60

C ruising slowly on the curving mountain lane, Gabriel passed by the mouth of the driveway that led to the cabin.

He saw, through the dripping trees and shrubs, a white van parked in front of the house. Electric light, mostly masked by blinds, glimmered from one of the bedroom windows.

Isaiah and Pops were still in there.

Rolling past the driveway, he pulled to the muddy shoulder of the road. He parked far out of view of the house, under the wide arms of an elm. He hoped that he had the element of surprise on his side; he couldn't risk Isaiah checking out the window and seeing his jeep.

Gabriel turned off the engine. He looked at the shotgun on the floor beside him.

This was the point of no return. Once he climbed out of the Xterra, he couldn't turn back-not without forever seeing a coward when he looked in the mirror.

He took Dana's makeup compact out of his vest pocket. He passed it underneath his nose. Her sweet scent clung to it, making his pulse run faster.

He prayed that he would see Dana again.

He snapped open the case to reveal the small mirror. He had turned off his link with Isaiah, so he saw only his own face reflected in the glass. But he wondered if Isaiah had psychically tuned in to him, saw him sitting there in the jeep, and was prepared to tangle.

It was a risk he had to take.

As tongues of lightning tasted the fringes of the mountains, Gabriel slipped the compact into his pocket, grabbed the Mossberg by its sling, and opened the door.

The rain had subsided to a slow drizzle. But the sky, swollen with thunderclouds, kept a lid of premature darkness on the day. That might be to his advantage.

He quietly closed the door. The soft thunk still seemed loud to him.

No other vehicles or people were on the road. He might have been the only man alive.

He pulled an Atlanta Braves cap low on his head, went to the back of the jeep, and opened the trunk.

The cargo area contained a bag of brand-new golf balls and a set of clubs. He'd been keeping them in there in anticipation of playing golf with Pops sometime soon.

He loaded his pockets with several golf balls and then closed the cargo door.

Crouching, he crept into the woods on the same side of the road as the cabin. The forest was thick, damp, and fragrant. Armadas of bugs buzzed around him, bombarding his face, and he swatted them away from his eyes and slogged forward. He headed in a direction that would carry him toward the side of the cabin that housed the lit bedroom.

During the last leg of his drive Gabriel had hatched a plan of attack. His ultimate goal was to rescue Pops without risking his father's life. His best chance of accomplishing that objective was to draw Isaiah out of the cabin. It meant that he and Isaiah would have a showdown in the forest.

He couldn't think of anything else. If he attacked Isaiah while he was inside, Isaiah could hole up in a room and use Pops as a hostage. The crazy asshole already had demonstrated that he was willing to hurt Pops to make a point. He had to get Isaiah out of the cabin. Only then would he be able to deal with him.

He didn't want to kill Isaiah. He just wanted to slow him down, disable him, perhaps. If he could shoot Isaiah in the leg, or blast Dana's pepper spray in Isaiah's eyes, it would incapacitate Isaiah sufficiently for Gabriel to assume control of the situation.

Branches snapped beneath his shoes. He cursed under his breath. He didn't want to make any sounds that would alert Isaiah to his presence before he wanted to make himself known. He advanced more carefully, placing each footstep with maximum stealth.

Through the trees and shrubs, the cabin came into view. He glimpsed the twinkling light in the bedroom.

What was Isaiah doing in there, anyway? Was Pops okay? Alive?

Gabriel's anxiety prevailed. He slipped the makeup compact out of his pocket, snapped it open, and gazed into the mirror.

I want to see Isaiah....