Daniel RothbergMidsummer - 11 years ago
“Marisa. Hurry Up!” I barked. My wife has done nothing but slow down this process. I was here for one reason, and one reason only, and the fact that she had to stop and stare at every fucking teenager in a ‘Camp Agonde’ t-shirt set my teeth on edge. Those youthful twits didn’t matter.
We traveled all this way –a cross-country flight and eight-hour drive –for a deal.
An important one, or needless to say, I wouldn’t have bothered.
I needed to speak with Franklin Barrett today and make whatever deal I had to in the name of preventing a certain family of sadists from sending their personal hit-squad after me.
Those Russian bastards had me over a barrel.
Franklin Barrett was the only man I knew of that was capable of changing that.
I valued my head, and my cock, too much to let Evgeny Sidorov have either.
“Marisa! Now!” I snapped a second time. I left most of the girls at the house with all the doors locked from the outside.
If the house burned down while we were gone, well, at least there’d be little evidence.
Not that I thought my current crop would do anything so foolish as try to escape. They were all too broken for that.
I’d had no choice but to bring Marisa. After all, she’d recently taken to dropping idle threats and couldn’t be left unsupervised.
She had a deranged sense of pride in having produced our two offspring and it had given her an inflated sense of her own worth.
She was like a broken colt who’d suddenly gone wild once more.
She took far too long to scurry into her place behind me.
When we returned to the West Coast, I had every intention of breaking her again.
At least she had the good sense to compose herself now.
If she knew what was good for her, I wouldn’t hear another peep from her today.
If I did, I’d be drugging her on the way home and she would wake-up hog-tied in Bedroom Three.
My very favourite for training and breaking.
She trailed behind me, head bowed, as we got closer to our eldest child.
In the distance, I spotted Franklin. He was easy to pick out amongst the other parents, in his pressed trousers and dress shirt.
By comparison, the man beside him looked like he would have been more at home on a construction site rather than an office.
The distinction between them came down to more than clothes, though.
Franklin, as usual, stood straight-backed.
I didn’t even need to see his face to know every word out of his mouth was dripping in condescension as he spoke to the other man.
While I was keen to get our conversation over with, I had manners.
Besides, the opportunity to observe Franklin Barrett when he was not completely on guard was rare.
Rather than approaching him, I skimmed the edges of the road.
I didn’t bother greeting my son. He was laughing with his little friends, and their peels of laughter grated on my frayed nerves.
Beside his friends he appeared shorter and frailer.
The two boys he played with were both easily a whole head taller than him.
A failing I also blamed on Marisa. Not only was the boy a physical disappointment, he was obstinate, rebellious, and refused to show any gratitude for the privileges my work afforded him.
His sister, however, had never disappointed.
Almost from birth, Rachel had been perfect.
Docile, obedient, and quiet. She rarely spoke and always snapped to attention at any given command.
She was my crowning glory. I was going to go find her first, and hope that a month in this forested backwater hadn’t ruined her.
After roaming around the dining hall, the Creative Cluster and the Centre Circle, I made my way down to the Point Campfire with Marisa at my heels.
Once, long ago, Agonde was a religious camp, before Jack Walker took over.
A space where like-minded families could allow their young to meet, interact and eventually make appropriate plans for their children’s future pairings.
Marisa and I were just one such couple. But that was a long time ago.
I finally ordered her to sit on one of the benches and wait for me while I continued to search.
Eventually, I wound my way to the Girls’ cabin line.
A place I’d never been allowed to enter as a camper here myself.
After being directed by several teenagers wearing the recognizable Camp Agonde branding that signified their position as staff members, I stepped up to my daughter’s cabin.
While the other girls screamed and ran in never-ending circles around the building, Rachel sat inside on her own bed.
I recognized the covers Marisa had packed for her.
“Daughter.”
She looked up from what she was doing. Something with beads.
“Father,” was all she said back. No more was needed, and this was in line with my expected response.
“Come,” I ordered, “We are going to see your mother.”
No further prompting needed with this child, unlike the other one.
She simply set aside her pointless crafting and got up to join me at the cabin’s threshold.
Together, we walked in silence back to the campfire.
Rachel, like her mother, walking just paces behind me, as was proper.
The difference being that Rachel never needed to be reminded.
However, when we returned to the campfire, Marisa was no longer alone amongst the pines and benches.
Standing on the stage at the bottom of what was essentially an aisle, was Franklin Barrett.
With Lake Ganawen at his back, his face was shrouded, but I could sense his watchful gaze as Rachel and I walked down the gently sloping dirt path toward him.
When we got closer, I extended my palm, “Franklin.”
“Daniel” he responded in kind, shaking my hand. But not for long, as his focus drifted down to my side, and with a voice like an oil slick he asked, “And who are you?”
My daughter, too well trained to respond to his goading, simply looked at me in turn.
“This is my daughter.”
The hungry way Franklin eyed her was equal parts angering and telling.
If the rumours in my network were true, it was the same way he looked at his own daughter behind closed doors.
Covetous. I may consider my daughter to be my most elegant creation, and I may have, well…
preferences, of my own, but I don’t share Franklin’s particular perversions.
And Rachel is far too valuable to become ensnared in Barrett’s sick trading game.
One day, thanks to my training, I would arrange a marriage for her that would cement my family’s position in the circles in which Franklin and I operate.
To spare her his continued attention, I tapped her lightly on the shoulder, leaning down to whisper in her ear,
“To your mother. Go.”
Her large brown eyes looked up to me, seeking to confirm the order. I dipped my chin once to confirm, and as obedient as ever, away she ran to join her mother, already seated in silence on one of the benches behind us.
Franklin watched her run before turning back to me. I took a deep breath and swallowed my desire to crush him into rubble.
“Well, Rothberg, what a lovely wife and daughter you have.” His eyes skirted to Marisa and Rachel again. Both were silent, side by side, heads bowed neatly in submission, “How ever did you get them to behave so well?”
I may have hated the man for many reasons, but I was quite proud of my methods, so I gave him the courtesy of a response.
“Don’t you know, Franklin? Broken birds fly the highest.”
“Hmm, so it would seem. So, it would seem.”
I cleared my throat, anxious to draw him back to the topic at hand. With a smirk that I couldn’t help but resent, he focused on our conversation, uttering the name I dreaded, “So, Evgeny?”
I ground my teeth, “That bastard doesn’t deserve a dime of my money.”
He shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe not. But he’s still coming for it. And I don’t think either of us really wants him on North American soil.”
I bit down on my tongue until my mouth twinged with the taste of iron, “No, I don’t think we do.”
“It could be prevented.”
“How?” I asked, nearly rabid with my desire to be out from under the Russian’s thumb.
“The man has interests.”
“Interests?”
“Ones that aren’t so distinct from my own.”
Then, I understood what I was being asked. So, I made the best offer I could. “One of the girls, Angeline, a niece, you understand, she is petite, meek, well-trained. She would suit him perfectly. I would offer her for nothing, a gift, if it meant he would be satisfied.”
“No, no, no, I don’t think that would do.” His mouth moved incessantly, as if it was impossible to restrain his glee, “I think we would need something much more precious.”
For the second time, his eyes drifted towards the benches. Not to Marisa, but to Rachel. There, his attention stayed, while his words were directed my way, “I think, Daniel, that girl would satisfy Evgeny.”
“Never,” I bit back.
“Never?” he asked cheerfully, “Never is an awfully long time.”
My perfect girl. I watched her hand link with her mother’s.
“I couldn’t.”
“Well then, Daniel, be prepared to watch your family’s empire go down in flames.
” His smile was electric. He was so pleased by the thought of my downfall, all I could do was square my jaw and hope that the bastard would drop dead before me.
Instead, he just stared, watching every tick in my jaw with a grimace of pleasure.
What felt like hours went by in silence as the two of us surveyed one another. I hated the position he’d forced me into. My daughter was a precious property that I was loath to give up, but doing so would secure not only my survival, but my plans for the future.
“Fine.” I ground out, “The girl in exchange for Sidorov’s kindness.”
Then Franklin did the most despicable thing I’d seen from him to date. He laughed. Long and loud. For more than a minute before he shook my hand again.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Daniel.” Then, he walked away from the Point, back towards the Dining Hall and Centre Circle. But just before he crested the hill, he looked back at me, still grinning, “I’m sure we’ll speak soon.”
Many might think me a demon, and to some, including my own wife and children, I might be, but that day, I watched a true devil vanish into the afternoon’s sunset.