Discovering Normal (12 page)

“Understandable, Omish-Ogden. Mr. Stoddard fancies himself a good father, though he must and will pay for forcing himself upon Farley-Fauna the Divine. In time though. In time.” Holden snatched the wallet from the floor and leafed to a photo of Beth on their wedding day. He studied it from several angles before he flipped the wallet closed and tucked it into a silky fold of his shirt. “I have it on good authority that Farley-Fauna is as radiant as ever.”

Chris recognized a bait--a taunt--when he witnessed it. He stayed quiet and still.

Holden joined his hands in front of him. “Pity that things progressed so far, Stoddard. Pity that you never realized your limitations. Farley-Fauna can never truly be your wife, which is exactly why your marriage is dead and gone. One as divine as she cannot live with someone such as yourself or your offspring.”

Chris steadied his eyes, but couldn’t beat back the fury. “Beat me senseless, I don’t give a fuck, just leave my family alone. Kill me if you want--everyone I care about thinks I’m already dead--but I’m warning you, leave my family alone.”

The Hulk grabbed him then, squeezed Chris’ already pulverized side and pounded.

“I warned you not to speak,” Chris heard as the guy continued the beating. “Stop now, Omish-Ogden,” he said then. “I want Mr. Stoddard to hear, to understand.”

The guy pulled a cease-fire and hoisted Chris by his arms so he’d be sure to see Holden’s smiling, leering feminine face.

“I don’t want you dead, Mr. Stoddard. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. I am curious though as to what you believe you can accomplish while in these walls of my sanctuary? What power you believe you have means nothing to us. Aside from being the most hated man alive, you mean nothing to us. What retribution can you offer if I do decide to approach your family? None at all.” He stepped so close; Chris could feel his mint-smelling breath against his bloody cheek. “Farley-Fauna belongs here. Flora-Sky cannot thrive without her.” He stepped back and waved his hand. “Release him to his own sorrow, Omish-Ogden.”

The guy let Chris fall, kicked him for good measure and Holden
emitted
a sinister laugh. “Until next time, Mr. Stoddard.”

And they left him alone with blood, sweat and tears.

Chapter
13

Six Weeks Later

Beth pulled her thick cardigan close to her chin and shivered at the driving rain. Even beneath the portico, the autumn rain bounced off of the shore rocks below and sprayed her face and hands. She was somewhere near Amsterdam and she was growing impatient.

They’d been held up here for weeks, she and Deej and George along with a few other mysterious trainers who’d drifted in and out with frequency. In four weeks she’d received a crash course in everything from Tai Kwon Do to marksmanship.

Now the refresher
studies were complete, her kick-
spins were ferocious once again and her aim had been de-rusted, resulting in perfect crack shots. She’d been briefed, debriefed and subjected to psychological testing and lessons in the stilted dialogue favored by the cult Flora-Sky.

And there was nothing left to do but wait.

She turned when the sliding glass door slid open and George stepped outside. He looked as casual as he could manage with his placard collar shirt unbuttoned at the very top. “Chilly night.” He moved to her side and glanced down to the crashing surf.

“It is.”

George slid an arm around Beth’s shoulders and tipped her head to lean against his. “Are you holding up?”

Beth nodded and tugged her sweater tighter to her chin. “I miss my kids. I’m--” her voice trailed off into the wet evening.

“Worried about Chris?”

Beth nodded against George’s shoulder. “I was married to him for a long time.”

George ran his hand over her arm in quick succession to ward off her chill. “If anyone can hold his own, it’s Chris.”

“Do you think he’s alive?”

“I do.”

Beth lifted her head and looked at him. He’d been so patient, so understanding though she knew he really didn’t want to be at all. It had to be hard for him to live here in this house with her--their rooms were just doors apart--but Beth locked hers every night because she couldn’t deal with it right now, couldn’t deal with what he might want and she was unable to offer at this crazy and confusing time. But still, George remained here even when Deej had told him it wasn’t necessary for him to be present for Beth’s training. He’d call if and when they discovered Chris’ location and whether or not he was even alive. But George stubbornly stayed. He watched Beth train, offered suggestions and then did it all again the following day.

Beth positioned his jaw with her fingers and covered his mouth with a kiss. It wasn’t their first, but it was the first she’d initiated and he seemed surprised.

George’s grip tightened on Beth’s arm as his jaw worked to spread hers. Their tongues danced and stopped only when the door slid open and Deej cleared his throat. Beth pulled away, but it wasn’t an effort. It wasn’t hard at all to stop kissing George when up to the very last time
it’d always been a Herculean effort
to stop kissing Chris.

“Excuse me,” Deej said as Beth moved from George and gathered her sweater once again. “I apologize, but we may have something.”

Beth felt the first ray of hope in weeks flutter by. “What?”

“We’ve been in contact with a unit housed in Sweden.”

“Sweden?” Beth asked, though she knew if she were just patient he’d explain all that he could.

“Yeah, Sweden. There’s a possibility that there’s some activity in an area near Lithuania.”

Beth grabbed Deej’s thick arm. “I thought you had reason to believe that Flora-Sky was setting up shop in the Netherlands?”

Deej patted her hand. “Bethie, try and let the facts override the emotions. Holden wants to throw us just enough to keep us guessing. He ensured that the trail would lead here--close, but not too close--to throw us off, slow us down. We’re not certain, but this looks to be the most promising lead we’ve found. We’re checking it out.”

“Profilers?” Beth asked, wishing she were one of the ones that’d been asked, wishing she could do something more than train and wonder; something to move this along instead of being a victim to the waiting.

“Profilers, yes. A Special Response team is on it as well. We’re doing all we can, Bethie. Hopefully we’ll know soon. Here.” Deej extended a pack of unfi
ltered Camels. “Contra
ban.”

Beth took one and leaned in for the light. She coughed-- a far cry from her menthol Kools--but she had to remember that she was now just one of the guys and not the long suffering wife of the alleged victim.

***

Chris arched his back and did his damnedest to pull the heavy shackle that weighted his wrist from the iron pole where it was attached.

No luck.

He’d lost track of time, of days, of space. When he managed to concentrate, he believed it’d been less than months, but definitely more than days. His ribs had healed, but new and fresh beatings occurred with frequency. They were his only spatial reminder--300 drips of the rusty sink later, his putrid broth and stale bread arrived.

There were no showers, no shaves--he now had what was close to a full beard and the same pair of jeans he’d arrived in, though they’d grown loose at his waist. His shirt had been long stripped away and it was so much colder now in this dungeon room. A wicked cough had set in a few days ago, leaving him to try and steady his side as he heaved.

It was hell, torture, the worst of the worst.

And those were the good days.

The bad days were the ones when sleep evaded him and he remembered. He remembered his kids, his wife, his house, his farm…his life. Tears started to form a few times, but he thwarted them. He’d be damned if he’d let the psychotic ass have the satisfaction.

They were fucking with his mind and Chris damn well knew it. So far he’d managed to fuck right back.

They told him that Beth knew where he was and just didn’t care. He said,
‘So what?’
and steeled himself to the blow.

They tried to make him think
he’d killed children and old people and puppies and kittens of the children and old people. He said, ‘
Screw you
,’ and they pounded more.

They said his capture had triggered cataclysmic horrors because he controlled those things being the most evil of all. He spit, they smacked and disappeared until the next time.

Chris gave a mighty tug and yelled out into the quiet of the room--no more than a cell really. Somewhere deep inside he still possessed a flash of pride. He wouldn’t yell
H
elp
, only
H
ello
as if someone out there wanted to chat.

He wished to hell they’d just kill him and get it over with.

The door pushed open and Holden snuck through. Chris had seen him only twice before--that day after he’d arrived and then maybe weeks later when he looked down at him from a cutout somewhere above--an opening Chris hadn’t been able to locate since--and smirked while he was beaten as close to senseless as he’d gotten.

“You’re looking a bit under the weather.” Holden slid onto a stool that a pregnant girl had carried in and set beneath his regal ass. He crossed his hands in front of him and grinned. “It’s a very good look for you, Stoddard.”

“You want me to say
Uncle
you son-of-a bitch? Is that what you want?”

A laugh--far more baritone and male than Chris would’ve guessed--boomed out into the room; echoing bouncing, reverberating. Holden laughed so hard tears came to his eyes. He wiped them, and laughed more until finally he snapped his fingers and the pregnant girl and another chick even younger jumped to attention.

“Tend to him,” Holden said and disappeared through the door.

Chris ran his hand down the smoothness of his newly shaven cheeks. The two women hadn’t left his side as if they were guarding a prize. They’d bathed him--not batting an eye--shaved his cheeks and massaged his ribs
which had
healed into a calcified knot with flower-scented oil and salve. It burned, but then it felt pretty good. They released his hands, allowed him to shake out the kinks and make a fist that opened, closed and opened again. They pulled the length of his now shoulder-length hair into a ponytail and fastened it with a leather tie, wrapped him in a silky shirt and pants similar to the outfit Holden wore--minus the leather and suede.

The women still hadn’t uttered a word when Chris was finally dressed and clean. They pulled open the heavy door and stepped back to let him pass on wobbly legs that hadn’t walked in all this time. Chris grabbed the corridor wall for balance and made his way down it with a girl in front of him and one behind.

They reached another door, lighter in both color and girth. The pregnant girl pushed it open and the other chick nudged him into a room where everything was fashioned from marble that looked like pearl. Chris glanced around and breathed in the air that was moist from eucalyptus and citrus. They tugged him to a lounge and fed him
r
oasted chicken, broccoli dripping with creamy cheese, fat potatoes filled with sour cream, frosted glasses of cider and huge slabs of cakes and pies and fluffy pudding.

There were no spoons or forks or sensibilities. What had to be hours later the room was cleared of dishes and the people who served them, leaving only Chris and his two ladies-in-waiting. It was then he heard it, the voice from somewhere above.

“Lie down, Christopher. Enjoy your moment of greatness.”

Chris glanced around, but saw no one. The two chicks didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t blink.

“Lie down!” the voice bellowed and Chris threw his legs to the lounge. He’d
lain
on the crude mat for so long, this softness felt heavenly. He was probably dying tonight anyway, so he might as well enjoy it. 

“Relax and listen.”

Lights dimmed and soft music wafted in. “You are
Manish-Mannen
. You come to us with an unrighteous heart from a place far from here. You have much to prove, Manish-Mannen.”

This guy was truly unbalanced.

“You are
Mannish-Mannen
;
he Repentant
. You live to serve
;
you shall die to serve. You have taken much from the Flora-Sky. You will return it tenfold to the flock. You will pay and you will be ours.”

Though the touch was light as morning, Chris’ heart beat a crazy rhythm when the pregnant chick pulled open his wrap and stroked his chest.
             
“Repeat,” the voice said from somewhere above. “
I am Mannish-Mannen
.”

Chris swatted the hand away. “Fuck you.”

And he should’ve known
that in two seconds flat
his hands would be gathered and tied above his head to the headboard of the plush bed. She moved fast for a pregnant chick. The other girl just stood beside him, holding her arms and swaying to the eerie rhythm of the music heavy with harp.