The Enlightened (9 page)

Good. I’ll take any advantage I can get, no matter how subtle.

Without much ado, Paul walks to his body and touches his frozen self on the neck.

I’m in the car again. With my robe gone, the cold hits me. It’s been so long that I forgot about this cursed air conditioning.

“Caleb,” Paul says imperiously, “untie him.”

 
“So you finally went for it?” Caleb says, winking at me as he unties the rope around my wrists. If he was at all surprised to be back in the real world, he recovered annoyingly quickly.

“I talked to her,” I say, giving him an ambiguous lift of my eyebrows. “That was good advice.”

“I would’ve loved to see Julia’s reaction,” he mutters as he unlocks the car. “She must’ve freaked,” he adds as he opens the door and exits.

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty,” I mumble in case he’s listening.

When he’s completely out of the car, my whole body tenses.

This is my moment. This is when I make my move.

I turn as though to exit and hope I’m blocking Caleb’s view with my back. Then, as fast as humanly possible, I reach into the glove compartment.

The gun is, of course, still there, just as it was in the Quiet when I did my clandestine snooping.

I grab the weapon and hold it tightly against my right hip as I open the car door and exit. I then proceed to shut the door in as casual a gesture as I can manage under the circumstances.

“There really ought to be a road leading to the Temple,” I hear Caleb saying across the car to Grandpa, who’s on my side, just a couple of feet away.

Paul replies with something along the lines of ‘stop bitching.’ I don’t register the exact details of the conversation because of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

As though in slow motion, I step toward Paul, who’s looking at Caleb and not paying me any attention. At that moment, Caleb turns to look at something on the road, and I make my move, jamming the gun into Paul’s back.

“Don’t you dare move,” I whisper in his ear.

“Darren,” he says, clearly shocked.

“Shut up,” I whisper. “Or I’ll fucking shoot you.”

His body sags against my gun, shoulders drooping. He doesn’t say anything else, so I take it as a sign of capitulation and whisper, “Now tell Caleb to go lie on the ground where I can see him.”

“Caleb,” Paul says, his voice quivering more than I would’ve expected. “Go lie on the road. Now
.
”

“What?” Caleb turns, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s got a gun to my back,” Paul says, and I jam the gun in harder, causing him to stop explaining.

Caleb’s arm moves toward his vest. Shit. He’s reaching for his gun.

“Drop it, Caleb,” I order, moving my gun down to press against Paul’s leg. “Or I’ll show you how serious I am.”

“Do as he says, and lie on the ground behind the car,” Paul barks. He clearly doesn’t think I’m bluffing, even though, to be honest, I might be. “Do it, Caleb. This is not a request.”

Caleb’s features darken. I see him fighting the urge to do something heroic.
Please don’t
, I will him. Suddenly, Caleb reaches a decision and gingerly walks over to the middle of the road. I assume Paul phased into the Quiet and convinced him to play ball. I guess Grandpa doesn’t doubt my determination.

When Caleb gets far enough away, he slowly, almost lazily, lies down on the ground a few feet away from the back of the car.

 
“Get that rope,” I tell Paul, pointing to the back of the car where there’s a bundle of rope. I think it’s the very rope Caleb used to tie me with. Payback’s a bitch.

As Paul gets the rope, I press the gun more firmly into his back and keep Caleb in my peripheral vision. The big guy isn’t moving.

“Now tie his hands,” I order Paul as we approach Caleb.

As Paul bends down, I see a blur of movement and realize my mistake.

I underestimated Caleb’s reach.

As Caleb’s fingers close around my ankle, I shift my balance in a desperate maneuver and push Paul at Caleb. The old man falls on the big guy with an undignified shriek.

He’ll be okay
, I tell my conscience to alleviate the pang of guilt. It’s not like he fell from a height.

As Caleb deals with a sudden armful of wriggling Grandpa, I stomp on Caleb’s right wrist to free myself. This part is completely guilt-free. I even savor it. When Caleb still doesn’t let go, I stomp on his arm harder, like I would try to squash a huge spider.

His fingers finally release my leg.

I step back a few feet, aiming my gun at Paul’s leg, and tell him in a ragged breath, “I’ll count to ten. If Caleb’s hands aren’t firmly tied behind his back, I
will
put a bullet in your kneecap. One
...
”

Paul rolls away from Caleb, stands up on shaking legs, and fumbles to pick up the rope he dropped when I pushed him.

“If I hear you say anything, I will also shoot,” I say to reestablish my authority. They could phase out at any moment and have long conversations without me knowing, but I doubt it would help them.

“Two,” I say as the old man gets the rope. “Three
... 
four
...
” I stretch out every second, trying to time it so I won’t actually have to shoot anyone. “Ten,” I finish when I’m convinced Caleb’s hands have been thoroughly tied. “Good. Now give me his phone.”

When Paul brings me the phone, I motion with the gun toward the car and tell him, “Get behind the wheel.”

“Why do you need to take me?” Paul protests, giving me a disgruntled look. “Just tie me up and leave.”

“Nice try, Grandpa,” I say. “You might’ve already Split to alert the Temple. They could be on their way to stop me as we speak. No, thanks. If you’re with me, any surprises we might come across will have consequences for us both.”

I see a tiny glint in his eyes. Was it disappointment or something else? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was pride. Was he impressed by me acting like a conniving bastard? Does the knowledge that he passed on one of his personality traits give him a warm, fuzzy feeling?

“Get in through the passenger side so I can keep the gun on you,” I instruct him, and without complaining, the old man complies.

Climbing over the seats looks difficult for him, and I feel another slight pang of guilt. But I quickly squash the feeling. Paul got himself into this mess. I would’ve been happy to continue my vacation and not be dragged into all this. My abduction, carried out under his orders, created the chain of events that culminated in his current discomfort.

“You’ll regret this,” Caleb tells me as I climb into the car.

Instead of responding, I slam the passenger door with such force that some of the paint chips off the Honda. Paul cringes, having been startled by it.

“Drive,” I tell him, planting the gun firmly in his side.

And he does. He drives in silence, which I don’t mind. With my free hand, I put my Miami hotel address into the GPS app in Caleb’s phone. It looks like we’re about five hours away and moving in the right direction.

We ride in tense silence for about an hour before the forest gives way to a suburb.

When we pass by a blue sign, I tell him, “Stop the car and get out.”

“You’re just going to leave me here?” Paul asks once he’s out of the car.

“Would you rather I shoot you?”

“No, but how will I—”

“Stop. Don’t even try to play the feeble old man card on me. We just passed a sign that says there’s a rest stop less than a mile away. You can walk it.”

His face is unreadable for a moment, but then he says, “Caleb was right. You
will
regret this.”

“I highly doubt it,” I say and scoot over into the driver’s seat. Then I close the door, missing Paul’s nose by a hair, and slam my foot on the gas pedal, hoping the exhaust fumes hit that asshole in the face.

Chapter 10

W
hen I get on the highway, I crack open the window to let the warm Florida air in and draw in a deep breath, reflecting on how lucky I was that my desperate ‘grab a gun and kidnap Grandpa’ plan actually worked.

Now I need to make sure my mom, Lucy, is all right. Pulling out Caleb’s phone, I put in her number from memory. Her current cell number is what used to be our household’s landline, back when my moms lived in the city. That’s a number I’ll never forget, and I’m grateful to her for keeping it. I’m terrible at remembering phone numbers these days.

The call goes straight to voicemail. I’m guessing that means she’s on the phone and doesn’t want to interrupt her conversation for an unknown caller. Or at least I’m hoping that’s the case. I refuse to think of other possibilities. I’ll have to try calling her again in a bit.

As I drive, I alternate between going the speed limit and doubling it. I decide against speeding on the fourth fluctuation. The last thing I want is for the police to stop me. The idea of being taken in, almost naked, for grand theft auto is not at all appealing. Though, on second thought, I could probably Guide my way out of it.

Pulling into a large rest stop, I waste a few minutes buying myself some clothes and flip-flops. Thankfully, I’m in Florida, so no one seems to think I’m crazy for driving around in my swimwear—else there'd be more people that I’d need to Guide. As is, they probably assume I’m a tourist. While I’m at it, I take a bathroom break and grab a bag of chips—something I would not normally consider food. Since I don’t have any money, I have to Guide the cashier to put his own money into the register and allow me to pay him back via PayPal through Caleb’s phone.

As soon as I’m back on the road, I call Lucy again.

To my relief, she picks up on the third ring.

“Hello, who is this?” she asks.

“Hi Mom, it’s me, Darren. I had to borrow someone’s phone. Can we talk?”

“Oh, Darren, hi. How’s your vacation going?”

“Great, Mom. But this isn’t just a ‘how are you’ call. I have something strange I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Had this been Sara, my worrywart mom, her voice would’ve sounded concerned by this point, but not Lucy. Ever the detective, she just sounds curious.

“What are you working on?” I ask. “And I know how random it sounds, but please just tell me.”

“Hmm... not much, to be honest. Not work-wise, anyway. We just closed this high-profile embezzlement case...”

“What about any cases dealing with dangerous people?” I ask, two steps away from sounding crazy. “Or could this embezzlement case get someone who’s dangerous in trouble?”

“What’s this about, sweetie?” Now her voice sounds a tiny bit concerned. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, but I need to know if you’re working on a dangerous case,” I insist. “Can you please tell me?”

“This makes no sense,” she says. “Is this some kind of game, like when you were a kid?”

“Do you need me to beg you to answer?”

“Fine,” she says, blowing out a breath. “But I have to say, you sound like your mother when she’s had one of those bad dreams. And the answer is no. I don’t have any cases that even Sara would consider dangerous, which should tell you a lot. Nor do I have many cases, period
,
even the boring kind. But I have been busy looking into the case file on your friend Mira’s parents’ murder. A case that was shelved long ago—”

“That,” I say, my heartbeat picking up. “
That
sounds like it could involve dangerous people.”

“True, but I’m not really working in the field. Just reviewing some old paperwork. It’s a bit odd what happened with this case.”

“What’s odd about it?” I can’t help being intrigued.

“It was dismissed as a mob hit. The file states that Mira’s father worked for the mob, which is why no one looked into his death too closely. They don’t bother when mobsters kill each other.”

“But Mira’s dad—”

“Wasn’t with the mob,” she cuts in. “I realize that. He was a scientist.”

“Okay. This is what I was talking about. The people who killed Mira’s family are obviously dangerous—”

 
“Actually, no,” she says. “I mean, yes they
were
dangerous, but not anymore. Not given what I just found out. Once I started digging, I cracked the case. Most of the players involved turned up dead a few weeks ago. The only reason this is still on my mind is because of that misinformation about Mira’s father...”

Shit. When I
do
tell her everything, it’ll have to include the truth about what happened to those now-dead players and how I was involved in their deaths.

“You there?” she asks when I don’t say anything for a couple of seconds.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say. “So who’s dead?”

“The Russian assassin who most likely planted the bomb in Mira’s father’s car,” she says. “If it wasn’t for the error about Mira’s father being in the mob, I suspect even my less talented former colleagues in Organized Crime would’ve figured out who’d planted it. That tidbit about this being a mob hit ruined every chance for her parents to get justice. And I can’t help but wonder about that. This misinformation makes it seem as though these people, this Russian crew, had someone on the inside, looking out for their best interests—”

“Mom,” I interrupt, “as crazy as it sounds, I want you to stop working on this case and do nothing until I speak with you in person.”

“Darren.” She lets out a sigh. “Are you on drugs again?”

Damn it. She catches me smelling like weed one time, and for the rest of my life, she’s worried about me being ‘on drugs.’ “Mom, I am not on drugs,” I say patiently. “Have I ever asked you for something like this?”

“Well, no—”

“So now I’m asking you to do this, no matter how strange it sounds. I’m taking a red-eye to New York, and I’ll tell you everything as soon as I get there. Everything will make sense, I promise. I need like six hours or so, if I get lucky with the tickets.”

“This is nuts,” she says, but her voice sounds uncertain. “Then again, it’s not like I could’ve made much progress—”

“Watch the
Godfather
again,” I suggest. “The whole trilogy.”

I know how much she likes mafia movies, especially the ones set during the early history of the mob, long before Lucy’s career began. They’re more fun for her because she can’t complain as much about how they got all the facts wrong about the ‘real’ underworld.