WhiteSpace: Season One (Episodes 1-6 of the sci-fi horror serial) (29 page)

Heller looked up and down the length of Milo for several seconds, despite having no actual eyes, then sighed deeply, turned toward the corner of the room, retrieved a briefcase sitting on a chair, then brought it over and laid it on Milo’s lap.
 

“I’ve very sorry,” he said, his words not at all inhibited by the lack of a functioning mouth. “But it seems that in all the madness, I almost forgot to kill you.” Heller opened the briefcase, pulled out a gun, and casually aimed it at Milo.

Milo pressed the button again and again, desperately.

Heller pulled the trigger.

Milo screamed into a symphony of static and roaring engine as Beatrice’s BMW crashed through the front of the grocery store.

Milo’s world went black.

Milo woke up, his entire frame furiously thrashing against the bed, his fingers yanking wires and tubes from his body as the steady beeping from the machines beside him rose in pitch and raced in frequency.
 

Milo reached down and tried pulling the catheter from his penis, but it felt like he was pouring fire inside an open wound. He wanted to scream but couldn’t.
 

“You’re okay,” a nurse said three-seconds later, rushing into Milo’s room. She placed a calming hand on top of Milo while her other hand fiddled with the monitors and machinery.
 

She continued to pat him until she was finished tweaking the machine, checking him over, and said, “You’re safe, Mr. Anderson. You’re in the hospital.”
 

No one called ‘Milo Mr. Anderson,’ except Mr. Heller.
 

“How did I get here?” he asked, wondering if the crash was a dream, but knowing it wasn’t.

The nurse was young and pretty, with short red hair. Milo had never seen her before. That wasn’t unheard of on the island, but it was slightly unusual. Even if you didn’t know everyone, on an island the size of Hamilton, it was reasonably easy to spot the locals. The nurse’s name tag said, “Betty,” and her voice was almost as pretty as she was.
 

“What happened?” Milo said.

“You were in an accident,” Betty frowned. “It was bad.”

Hardly an accident when you’re foot’s bricking the accelerator.
 

“How did I get here?”
 

“An ambulance, of course.”

“How about Beatrice,” Milo asked, hating himself for the seven or so seconds he wished his stepmother dead.
 

Betty said nothing.
 

Milo repeated, “Beatrice, my stepmother. Is she okay?”
 

Betty smiled, then said, “The doctor will want to speak to you,” and left the room without another word.
 

* * * *

CHAPTER 5 — Jon Conway Part 1

“How did they find me?” Emma asked the same question in a new way, for the third time in less than five minutes from her spot on the hospital bed.

“Well,” Jon said, “when we
couldn’t
find you at first, Cass suggested we follow the trail of cookies.”

“What cookies?” Emma asked suspiciously.
 

“The cookies you stashed in your purse at the dessert table the other day.”

Emma looked at her blanket, then back up at Cassidy, laughing.
 

Jon continued, “When all the cookies were gone, we found you, standing all alone, with crumbs covering your face. It was terribly messy, awful really.” Jon shook his head. “We had to scrub you down. You were still asleep, but you kept flapping around like a fish. We think that’s what finally woke you.”
 

Emma was in hysterics, Cassidy smiling beside her. Jon wasn’t sure if she was laughing at the words themselves, or the animation behind them, but was thrilled when she burst through the laughter with the compliment he’d been fishing for.
 

“You’re funny,” Emma cackled. “You should do funny stuff instead of all the grown-up movies.”

“Just because they’re grown-up movies doesn’t mean they’re not funny,” he leaned into Emma with a giant smile. “How do you know I’m not HI-larious?”

“Because my mom used to cry when she watched them. She only cries at sad movies, except for the time she cried at
Snoopy Come Home
.”

Jon pulled his head back, almost in recoil, a rock in his throat before he managed to find his line. “How did you know they were my movies?”

“Because your face is always all over the movie covers on Netflix. I could hear my mom crying at night. In the morning, I could always see why when I turned on the TV. Your picture was usually the first picture under ‘recently played.'”
 

Jon cleared his throat, then mopped his brow and exchanged awkward glances with Cassidy.

Jon
had
loved, but it had been a long time since anyone had seen the real side of it. Nine years or so. Emma smiling from the far side of his gaze made Jon realize that there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for her.
 

Except maybe be her dad. Because he couldn’t do that.
 

Jon wasn’t a father. He was a Hollywood asshole — a nice guy sure, but a selfish one. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and had since the forever ago when he first learned he could. While fans had often applauded his “humanitarian” efforts and his donations to various organizations, those were things he could sign a check and do some good with. They weren’t long-term commitments requiring he actually sacrifice the thing most precious to him — his time. Headline some freedom rallies or concerts, yeah. But raise a child? Every single day?

That had never been something within the realm of a life he imagined for himself. Not since Emma’s mother had left him, anyway.

But as he stared at the girl’s sweet smile, and into eyes that reminded him so much of Sarah, he wondered if perhaps he could be a good father, after all.

While he was self-centered, he wasn’t without thought for others. He did lots of kind things. He often went out of his way to help new actors on the set, to help them feel comfortable. And it wasn’t just the hot up-and-coming actresses he extended the kindness to.

And he’d never been one to shirk responsibility.
 

Emma is my responsibility.

Jon pictured Emma wearing a pretty pink dress, escorting him down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

He caught Cassidy looking at him, and the smile slipped from her face, as if she were reading his mind, seeing his plans to take Emma as they took shape. Jon looked down, and then back at Emma as she and Cassidy started talking about milkshakes and how Emma couldn’t wait to have one.

While Cassidy wasn’t Emma’s mother, she was still the closest thing the girl had to a mother. She’d gotten by fine without a father forever. Why inject himself into her life now? Was it to help her? Or fill some hole in his own life?

Who the hell was he to come in and take that away now?

No, he couldn’t do that. Not to her, nor to Cassidy. Looking at Emma, Jon knew it was wrong.

It was easy enough for Jon to imagine the two of them together, just a week before; Cassidy sneaking candy to Emma, with a finger on her lips and a twinkle in her eye.
 

“Hello!”

“What?” Jon blinked his eyes to a staring Emma.
 

“I said, have you ever made a kid’s movie?”

“No,” Jon shook his head. “I haven’t.”

“How come?”

He shrugged, “I guess I never got a script that interested me.”

“What’s a script?”

“The lines in a movie. They’re written by writers. And as an actor, I get a lot of bad scripts for really bad movies. So I try and do only good ones, or don’t do any at all.”

“And nobody’s given you a good script for a kid’s movie?”

“Not yet. Maybe Hollywood thinks I’ll scare kids.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy said with a smile, “I can see that. He
is
pretty scary.”

“I think he’s nice!” Emma said, smiling a big smile at Jon.

“Well, my audience has spoken,” Jon said to Cassidy, and then stuck his tongue out playfully at her, “so, there!”

Jon laughed. “Tell you what, Emma. I promise I’ll make a kid’s movie someday if you promise to make Cassidy watch it.” He winked at Cassidy.

Cassidy rolled her eyes, “Sheesh, thanks.”

Jon looked at Emma, “What kind of movie do
you
think I should make?”

Emma said, “Something in the future, definitely.”

“Like with robots?”

“No, there doesn’t have to be robots. It doesn’t even have to be that far in the future. Just not now. And it can’t be stupid. No flying cars or anything like that.”

“Can’t be stupid. Cars don’t fly. Got it,” Jon said.
 

As Emma’s voice grew louder, Jon’s heart had to grow larger to fit more of her inside. She must have been as dehydrated as the doctor had said, because she talked herself right into exhaustion, practically falling asleep mid-sentence.
 

“Not often someone can do that,” Cassidy said.
 

Jon looked at Cassidy. “Do what?”

“Verbally beat the girl into sleep.”

Jon smiled. Cassidy grabbed the TV remote from the bedside table with her left hand, while her right twitched like it was missing a cigarette. She clicked on the TV, then flipped past Dr. Phil’s son to Chief Brady, holding a press conference outside of the police station.

“We’d like to thank private investigator Brock Houser for his help on this case. Mr. Houser, of Houser Investigations in California, was instrumental in this happy ending. Thank you also to Mr. Jon Conway for bringing Mr. Houser here and footing the bill. And I would like to thank Paladin Security for working in conjunction with the Hamilton Island Police Department to locate the missing child.”
 

A shout from the crowd: “Since Jon Conway hired the detective, what is Mr. Conway’s connection to this case?”
 

Brady said, “I don’t know of any prior connection between Mr. Conway and Mr. Houser, but Jon once called Hamilton home, and he’s a good man. A child went missing, and he wanted to use his means to help, however he could.”

Another shout: “Is it true that the suspect you had in custody killed himself?”

Brady nodded, “That appears to be the case.”

Cassidy looked at Jon, her eyes wide, “Whistler killed himself?”

Jon stared at the TV in disbelief. “Wow.”

“He must’ve been guilty!” Cassidy said, balling her fists, as her face turned red. “What the hell did he do to her?”

She looked at Emma, eyes starting to well up again. She reached out and caressed the girl’s hair. Lip trembling, Cassidy said, “I’m so sorry.”

Jon wondered why Cassidy had felt so guilty. Did she feel like she’d let her sister down? Or had she really been out that night, partying, and using drugs. He hoped she wasn’t using. While he didn’t want to break up Emma’s family if things were working, he’d change his mind if he discovered that Cassidy was still using.

He made a note to have Houser look into the matter, and hoped not to find anything damning.

“We don’t know that Whistler did anything,” Jon said. “The doc said there were no signs of trauma, right? Maybe he was just disgraced by whatever all the police found in his home. The man worked at a church and he was recording little girls on the church playground! Even if he never touched a one, even if he had nothing to do with Emma’s disappearance, there’s no way his life isn’t over. I’m not surprised at all he did this. And if he
did
do anything to anyone, let’s just say it’s best that he went out like this rather than force the victims and their families to live through a trial, right?”

Cassidy nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes, hands shakier than before. “I guess so. But if he’s guilty, he ought to suffer, not take the easy way out.”

Jon found himself looking at the scars on Cassidy’s wrists again, and wanting for the millionth time to ask her how they got there. But he couldn’t bring it up now. One more thing for Houser to look into, perhaps.

After Brady talked a bit more about the suicide, parsing out as few details as possible, the reporters were again asking about Jon and his connection — digging for any dirt they could find.

As cameras flashed, Cassidy killed the image. “Fucking vultures,” she said.
 

“You have no idea,” Jon looked from the black screen to Cassidy. “That was nothing.”
 

* * * *

CHAPTER 6 — Liz Heller

Hamilton Island, Washington

1:25 p.m.

The morning had been hell.

Liz tiptoed away from Aubrey’s room, thanking God she had finally fallen to sleep for her nap. Hopefully she’d stay down for the next couple of hours.

Aubrey had cried for nearly 30 minutes straight, refusing to sleep. She wanted her daddy, and it broke Liz’s heart to see her little girl’s head turn every time someone came into a room, eyes in search of her daddy.