35. Ava
35
AVA
The news of Willem’s death sent shockwaves not only through the tech community but also throughout a significant portion of the corporate network in the country and internationally.
Following his demise, several arrests took place, revealing the extent of Willem’s illicit activities. Many conspiracy theories arose, claiming that the man behind W-Bot was alive, but most investors knew their chances of getting retribution were non-existent.
The bearded man, as it turned out, was Willem’s childhood friend. His true identity had remained a mystery until authorities discovered a connection to a deportation case. According to reports, when they were both seventeen, Willem rescued him during a climbing accident. This incident could have been the reason for the bearded man’s loyalty, or maybe Willem had made promises to aid him with his deportation case. There is good in everyone, but unfortunately, Willem crossed the point of no return.
As with any headline, Willem eventually became old news after a few weeks.
Meanwhile, Jack and I have recovered from our injuries. His stab wound and torn tendons have healed fully, although he’s still undergoing physiotherapy to regain full strength in his left arm.
As for me, I have been equipped with a 3D-printed prosthetic. It’s made from custom resin specifically designed to construct artificial bones. The bearded man sliced it just below the bottom knuckle, allowing the prosthetic to attach to my real finger, functioning as an extension. The bionic mechanism takes some getting used to. Sometimes, it reduces me to tears. But Jack never fails to uplift and motivate me. Now, I’m getting the hang of it.
It’s the first day of winter, and we’ve decided to return to the safe house until we figure out our next move. I’m busy in the kitchen while Jack watches Quinton play. Elmo circles around me and eventually settles at my feet. Thanks to the expert team of vets, his broken leg only caused him a slight limp. These days, the pup hardly leaves my side, even if it means being away from Quinton. Maybe he senses that Jack is taking care of the baby, or maybe he’s still affected by my abduction.
I crouch down to pat him. “It’s okay, Elm. You can go play.” But he doesn’t move. “All right, you can stay there.”
I place a tray of freshly baked vanilla cookies on the counter. Elmo’s ears perk up, and his eyes beg for a taste.
“Here.” I give him half of a cookie.
While Elmo enjoys his snack, I make coffee and test my grip in the process. I’ve been practicing for weeks, and I can’t help but squeal in excitement when I finally get it right on my first try.
“You okay back there?” Jack asks from the living room.
I bring the mugs to him, with Elmo following closely behind. “Jack, look!” I show off my elegant grip.
Jack comes over, showering me with kisses. “Well done, sweetheart.” His dark blue eyes turn brilliant as if passing me a star. He doesn’t have to say much. I know he’s proud of me.
I pass him a mug. “Yours.”
He takes it and smells my hair. “Vanilla, huh? Where are those delicious goodies?” He slips into the kitchen and returns with a plate full of cookies.
“Do you like them?” I ask as he munches away.
“They’re absolutely delicious,” he replies, sitting on the couch, alternating between devouring the cookies and sipping his coffee.
I smile, then play with Quinton for a while. I can’t believe he’s still crazy about his giraffe. “You’ll have a full set of teeth soon, Quinnie-Bear.” I gently fix his hair. “What will you do then?”
Quinton simply laughs.
“Hey, come sit here,” Jack invites me to join him on the couch.
Elmo looks at us, appearing content that I’m in good company, and then he turns around and sits with Quinton.
“He’s the most amazing dog,” Jack remarks.
“He is. When I brought him home from the shelter, he was this little puppy with droopy eyes and ears that looked bigger than his face.” I cackle. “People had given up on him, but not me. Just look at him now.”
“That’s the power of love. It can make any living being thrive,” Jack says. “Hey, check this out.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder, showing me a photo app on his phone. “I made this for you. A snapshot of what I remember about myself.”
I move closer to him, leaning against his side. The first photos are from his childhood.
“This was us at our house in upstate New York,” he says, swiping through the pictures .
“You really look like your mother,” I comment.
“Everyone says that, and I never dispute it,” he says. “Sam said she was a nurse at a military hospital. That was how she met my father.”
“Your father was in the military, too?”
“Air Force,” he replies, studying the photo. “It’s a shame I never knew her. Or that my memory of her has never returned.”
“I know it’s painful. And it might be something you’ll never resolve until the end of your days.”
He brushes his fingers against my forehead, fixing a few curls on my fringe. “I’ve survived with that thought all these years, so I think I’ll be okay.”
I continue swiping through the album. “Oh, look at you and Sam.” The image of them with their arms around each other warms my heart. Jack must have been only three or four years old.
He laughs. “Look how small I was compared to him back then. I bet he never thought I’d surpass him.”
My man is tall, the whole six-foot-six of him!
The following photo in the queue takes me back. It’s a blurry, black-and-white image of a boy squatting on a sidewalk in front of a butcher shop. He’s thin, his eyes barely open. I hesitate, “Was this… you?”
“For years, he was known as ‘the sidewalk boy.’ Sam discovered it, and it led him to St. Leo. Here’s another picture.”
“Oh, my…” I sigh, perusing the photo of a nun hugging Jack. She had a tender smile, and Jack looked a lot brighter here. I recall Morgan mentioning her name. “Sister Laura?”
“Yes. I’m glad Sam had a chance to meet the woman who raised me,” he replies with fondness in his eyes. “You know, she told Sam my birthmark looked like a rabbit. ”
I chuckle, remembering the brown spot on his shoulder that we all agreed looks like Elmo with his ears up.
Chuckling too, Jack adds, “After all the questions that my brother asked her, the bunny was the final proof that I’m Jack Kelleher.”
“We should stick with rabbit, then?”
He shakes his head lightly, taking a glimpse at our dog, who seems content watching Quinton. “Elmo is better.”
“Where were you when Sam met with Sister Laura?”
“I was in Kabul, frantically arranging outbound flights for my men. While everyone was fleeing that doomed place, Sam was running in. Just to find me.”
Awe fills me. That wasn’t ordinary courage, not the kind you casually throw around, like a risky business move or stepping out of your comfort zone. I have never witnessed a stronger bond between two men than the one between the Kelleher brothers, and I consider myself fortunate to be a part of their family.
The end of the album comprises photos from their reunion. The two forces of nature—Sam and Jack—pose with their dad, along with Sam’s family: Cass, Grace, and their three-legged German Shepherd, Maximus.
“I presume Sam’s son hadn’t been born yet in this photo.”
“No, only Grace,” he replies, smiling. “Last one.” He swipes.
“Holy smokes!” I exclaim. It’s a picture of us in Bozeman, sitting on the front porch, laughing at each other. Morgan must have taken it while we were unaware. Even then, I could see our gazes were filled with affection.
“So that was my story in a nutshell, Ava Belle,” Jack concludes.
I lean in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’ll make sure we keep adding to it with ones like this.” I point at our photo .
Jack nods, inhaling deeply, the sound of his breath filling the space between us as he steers the conversation to the topic we’ve been postponing. “About the information from Willem’s computer. What do you think?” His words hang in the air.
The USB drive has been locked inside a drawer since Sam handed it to us, its presence a constant reminder of the secrets it holds.
“What if we destroyed it?” I pose a question instead of answering.
“I guess I’d always be wondering about it, I can’t lie.” His words betray his inner conflict. “But I trust in what we decide. I’m okay with letting it go.”
“And if we opened it?”
He bites his lip, then says, “I’d meet that man face-to-face. You know, I had plans to kill him.” He pauses, his hand rubbing the top of mine, an ambivalent gesture amid the darkness of our conversation. “Maybe it was to stop him from hurting other children. But the truth is, Ava, I wanted to do it for revenge. For myself.”
This revelation, though unsettling, is not entirely unexpected.
“But,” he adds. “I’ve grown since then. I’ve been blessed with so many things that I never saw coming.” This time, his words resonate with a sense of gratitude and determination. “In my nightmares, I could only speculate what he looked like, how his voice sounded. He scared me to death, but perhaps by seeing him in the flesh, I can erase my fear of him. Because I hope, in reality, he’s merely a monster without teeth.”
I nod with an approving smile. “In that case, open it, Jack. I’m right here with you.”
“What if I end up wanting more than that?”
“I’ll stop you,” I reassure him. “Love has the power to keep things alive, but it can also kill. ”
Jack’s eyes flare in confusion.
I explain, “We’ll use our love to kill your demons. Let’s open the files, Jack.”
He remains hesitant. “I can’t drag you into this.”
“No. I’m dragging myself into it.”
He pulls me close, breathing out a relief moan.
We plug in the USB drive and start with the README file prepared by Cora-Lee—another gem of a person from the Red Mark family. It reveals that just before W-Bot went out of business, Willem had managed to copy parts of the US Department of Justice database. They included a master list of law enforcement personnel, which was consolidated to establish a national standard and centralized accountability.
The copy that Cora-Lee downloaded is unformatted. Most of the content is without line breaks, with some missing spaces. But it’s clear there is a convicted child kidnapper who lived in the Tampa Bay area.
“Goddamn. This is why…” Jack sighs.
The kidnapper made the list in the database because he was a police detective!
Jack was kidnapped more than two decades ago, but the case that brought the perpetrator to justice concluded only a year ago. He was clearly a prolific criminal with a long history.
“49 Amethyst Avenue…” he mutters cautiously while opening a folder. “Fuck!” He releases the mouse, drawing a deep breath as photos of the property appear on the screen.
“You recognize this place?”
“I don’t remember the house, but this...” He points at the third photo, his finger trembling. It depicts a dark space, surrounded by crudely painted walls, with only one ventilation. “Ava… that’s my nightmare,” he says with a heavy sigh. “That’s my nightmare. ”
I feel his cold, sweaty hand quivering in mine. “Jack, maybe we should take a break,” I suggest.
He shakes his head, frowning. “How did Willem know this?” he murmurs. “What tied this detective to me that he knew?”
“Maybe we should see what’s in the next folder.”
Jack follows my suggestion and opens it. “Detective John Cooper. He started his career in New York City, then moved to Syracuse. He left the Syracuse PD to take up employment in Georgia,” he reads aloud, paying attention to the dates. “Hmm… that was around the time I was abducted.”
“Did he handle your case in Syracuse?” I ask.
“No, he didn’t. Never heard of his name before. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t have meddled with it.”
I read on, summarizing the last few lines, “He eventually moved to Florida, worked with the Tampa Police, and left the force twenty-one years ago.”
“The same year Sister Laura found me. And not long after, the Syracuse PD found my bloodied clothes,” Jack explains. “So Cooper went back to Syracuse and staged it all, making sure everyone thought the case was local.”
I mentally draw the chain of events in my head. “So Willem deduced all of this based on the timeline and locations that could have aligned with yours?”
He ponders, and his breath passes through his steepled hands. “It wouldn’t have been hard for Willem to piece everything together. Red Mark has been involved in a few high-profile cases; it’s public knowledge that Sam founded the company partly because of my abduction. He’s determined to spare other families from experiencing the same ordeal. When Sam finally found me, a magazine featured our story—Syracuse, St. Leo, it was all there.”
Willem must have meticulously compiled this data, undoubtedly with the intention of manipulating Jack into giving up on me. However, considering the substantial nature of the information, I can’t help but wonder if he felt some sympathy toward Jack for being an orphan. I will never know for sure, and ultimately, it doesn’t matter. But something worries me, and I caution Jack, “There is still a chance that this detective may not be your kidnapper.”
“You’re right. But I’m ready to roll the dice on it,” he states, his finger hovering over the mouse. Finally, he clicks open the folder labeled ‘IMG.’
Mug shots begin to load on the screen, and he fidgets in his seat, leaning forward and reaching toward the spot between his shoulder blades. Suddenly, he stands up, gasping for air as if his lungs have failed him. He keeps mumbling a name, something like Scalp.
“Jack, baby,” I say, rushing to his side and holding him. Sweat forms on his face. It hurts to see the strong man reduced to such a state of terror. But I know he needs this. He needs this pain to combat the greater pain within him. “So he’s the one?” I murmur.
Jack closes his eyes, nodding as if he’s being slowly sliced apart. “Scalpel. So, his real name is John Cooper. I hate to say it, but I’m a trembling mess when I think about him.”
After a full minute of huffing and cursing, Jack moves back toward the laptop, indicating that he’s all right now. He stares at the front-on photo of the man he’s been hunting for years.
He scoffs. “He was a plain-clothes detective. I guess he was allowed to keep long hair, although I’m curious why. It was more than just his style. He was concealing something on his neck.”
“I suppose being part of the police force helped him cover his tracks,” I remark .
“His operation never had a fixed base, always moving around to avoid getting caught. And he was damn good at it.”
“But I guess everybody has a weakness.”
Jack’s eyes narrow as if mocking Cooper. “He just couldn’t resist. Maybe Amethyst Avenue held some significance to him. For whatever reason, he returned. That son of a bitch returned.” His voice trembles with anger.
“You need a break?” I check in, hoping to give Jack a moment to collect himself.
“No. Let’s finish this. There’s got to be more to it.” He sits back down, determined.
He clicks on another document that summarizes the income Cooper received from selling his kidnap victims to various underworld mobs, spanning from New York to Mexico. If Cooper kidnapped his victims to sell them, I can’t imagine the chances that Jack escaped, thrived, and ended up with me.
Nothing on the page seems to catch Jack’s interest, so he moves on to another document, which appears slightly different. Although it still lacks proper formatting, there are headings. It provides information about Cooper’s arrest and trial.
Jack smiles victoriously.
This time, a nine-year-old boy had bested the crooked cop. The boy was from Cuba, abducted at a shopping mall in Orlando. The boy fled from Amethyst Avenue and positively identified his kidnapper in a lineup. That was the end of Cooper and his reign of terror.
“Take that, you despicable slime!” Jack exclaims.
Then both our eyes land on the same section of the document, stating that Cooper is currently serving time in Florida State Prison.
His face pleads with me, but he lacks the courage to say it.
“Tell me what you want, Jack. ”
He takes my hand in his. “Ava. Sweetheart. If I’m honest, I don’t want to face him alone. But asking you to come with me to a prison and confront a criminal you should never meet would be too much.”
His honesty validates that we have come to a point in our relationship where we can communicate without any reservations.
“Nothing is above me, Jack. I’ll go with you to Florida.”
A smile spreads across his lips. Nothing and no one can prevent me from supporting the man I love.