23. Jack
23
JACK
Craving a change of scenery, today we take advantage of the sunny weather and bring Quinton to a picnic at a downtown park. Little Quinton has become quite the chatterbox. His joyful babbling fills the air as he crawls eagerly across the picnic blanket. Meanwhile, Elmo relaxes at the edge, his contented gaze fixed on Quinton as if guarding his every move.
Willem has disappeared without a trace, while the ticking clock reminds me of our impending move to Hawaii—a decision that has been burdening me.
“We can stop by the store on the way home. I think we might need an extra suitcase, don’t you think?” I say to Ava.
“Good idea. We might even need two.” With a drink in her hand, she stretches to stop Quinton from climbing into the picnic basket. “Oh shoot!” she suddenly exclaims. She has spilled cranberry juice on herself, causing a large stain on her shirt. “Stay here. I’m just going to quickly wash this off.”
As she sprints toward the park’s restrooms, my phone vibrates with an incoming call. It’s been so long since I relied on my phone like a lifeline .
“Jack Kelleher,” the voice says.
A mix of anger, surprise, and hate churns in the pit of my stomach. “Willem Botha. The missing man,” I respond. “Are you trying to make friends with me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You’re in a lot of trouble.”
“I’m never fazed by trouble. You should know that by now.”
While still engaged in conversation with the man, I quickly scoop up Quinton and rush toward the restroom. Elmo automatically tags along.
I warn the cockbag, “I’m sure you remember what I said the last time we spoke. If you try to threaten us, I’ll chop off your fingers and torture you until you learn how to stay away. So, Willem, hang up and run far.”
He dismisses me with a scoff. “I’m calling you because I have a proposal. A peaceful one.”
“A man who would try to kidnap his own son is never capable of promoting anything peaceful.”
My heightened state of alertness amplifies. It might be unfounded fear, but I have the sense that he’s nearby.
“Yet you’re still talking to me,” Willem mocks.
I am. I want to feed his ego, figure out his next move, and buy some time because if he’s here, I need to know where.
He continues, “I’m a businessman, Mr. Kelleher. When two people have wants, there’s always a deal to be made.”
“I have reservations about entering into a deal with a man whose days are numbered.”
“Your wants and my wants are not time-bound. It doesn’t matter when or under what circumstances. The two of us will always be on a quest for it.” He pauses as if giving me time to ponder over it. “I’m aware of your past. You know I have access to the DOJ database. Well, not for long, though. In that context, you were right. My days are numbered.”
“I have no interest in joining your criminal activity,” I state, clutching onto the phone like I could squeeze answers out of it without involving the villain who hurt the woman I love.
“How far would you go to find the truth, Mr. Kelleher?”
My mouth clamps shut, contending intentions spinning in my throat like a tornado gathering speed.
He responds on my behalf, “You’d go as far as you need to. Am I right?”
My attention diverges as I hear a toilet flushing behind the wall.
“I have your truth, Jack,” Willem’s voice sneers through the phone. “And I’m willing to trade it for something in your possession.”
My head bows, contemplating the tantalizing prospect of finally unraveling the mystery that has haunted me my whole life. However, I respond resolutely, “Go to hell, Willem!”
His response is surprisingly calm, “Okay, I can’t coerce you into doing something you’re unwilling to do. This is a peaceful negotiation, after all.” I pick up on a faint sound of breathing just before he mentions, “By the way, don’t bother searching for me. I’m currently in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.”
He lets out a sinister laugh before ending the call. I immediately raise my voice and call into the restroom, “Ava, are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just give me a minute. I’ll be right out,” she replies, followed by the sound of running water from the tap.
Suddenly, I feel a tug on my jacket. I pivot, preparing myself to defend against an attacker. To my surprise, it’s a young boy holding out an envelope. He looks no older than seven or eight, and there is no sign of any adults who could be his parents nearby .
“Who gave this to you?” I ask the boy.
But he turns around and sprints away.
Caution fills me as I gingerly peel open the envelope, revealing a photo inside. The image shows a room, its dimness making it hard to distinguish any details. However, what catches my attention is the crumbling ventilation on one of the walls, causing my heart to beat faster. Leaning against the restroom’s plastered surface, I shut my eyes. Trembling fingers remind me of the scratching sensation from my nightmares, now vivid in the harsh daylight. The basement’s damp smell attacks my senses as the image of Scalpel looms in my mind.
I pack the envelope away and hide it in my pocket. Just then, Ava appears.
“Everything okay?” She throws a glance at the abandoned picnic blanket and our belongings. Perhaps trying to find a reason herself, she perplexedly asks, “Was it raining?”
“No. Quinton wanted you,” I say.
“What is it, Quinnie-Bear?” Ava takes over carrying him, and Quinton smiles as if assuring his mother everything is as wonderful as the cloudless blue sky despite her picking up some odd behavior from me.
I glance down at Elmo. The dog looks back, seemingly acknowledging that my secret’s safe with him.