“I came in as you were going all ‘Hulk smash’ on the room. LT and Croix filled me in. It’s fucked man.” I nod. The newspaper clipping was a picture of my mother at fifteen years old with her family, a prominent Judge and Society matron in Boston. Apparently, she was abducted one day on the way home from High School. What set me off was seeing the age progression photo, proving it was my mother. The beautiful light I knew for only four years before she died.
“Good. You're awake.” LT says, bringing me some water.
“Thanks.” he nods.
“I read the rest of the articles. Seems her parents found her Four years later. By then she had had you, married her capture and they surmised she had Stockholm syndrome. She refused to leave your father and go home with them. They had attempted over the years to reach out, but it seems your father wasn’t too keen on that.
“Jesus.” Shaking my head I can’t find any other words. It explains why she always had to have guards with her whenever she or I left the house. It explains his absolute obsession with her. I never saw him so much as raise his voice to her, but fuck, he ruled her like a dictator and she took it like it was normal. Christ. She was brainwashed. “Are they..” I clear my throat so I don’t sound like a whiny bitch. “Are her parents still alive?” I know the chance is slim, but I would like to know.
“According to the information he gave you, it seems they are both alive and living in Boston. He gave you their address.” I can’t digest any of this right now. “What do you want to do?” LT asks me. I know what he is asking. He is letting me know if I wanted to forget I found out any of this and spare my father, they would have my back.
“Exactly what we are tasked with doing.” I tell him in no uncertain words.
“He is your father, Maverick.” I flinch when I hear the last name. Even that is a lie.
“No. He is a monster. A kidnapper. More than likely a rapist. He is not a father. He goes down with the rest of them.”
We spend the rest of the time using the information he gave us to pinpoint who they were and where they are. My mind drifted, my childhood always in the forefront. Then something clicks. The warning my father gave me when he called me the other day. Why would he threaten me unless he knew what we were up to and we were getting close? Pulling out my phone, I call my friend in Florida.
“Loe. Long time.”
“Dario.” We are not exactly friends, if you will. We run the same circles but different…playing fields if you know what I mean.
“What can I do for you?”
“The Russians you sold your weapons to last year. Do you remember where their warehouse was?” he waits a beat, gauging how much he can trust I’m sure and I don’t blame him. But, I would never burn him. He maybe…a criminal, but he is also legit in his own way. I hear a muffled voice, he calls someone his treasure and then I hear crying. “My apologies for interrupting whatever you have going on over there.”
“No worries. That was my wife coming to get our daughter. She needs to feed.” he says cool and calm.
“You got married and had a baby?” When the hell did all of this happen?
“Indeed. A man is only as powerful as the Queen he has beside him. No?” philosophical, smug bastard. He has a point though.
“Congratulations. Listen, when you find that information, send it over the secured line.”
“Of course. Be prosperous my friend.” with that he hangs up. My next call is to my cousin. Pissed is not how I would describe his reaction. He is now on his way home. It is him I feel the most for. He and my uncle are close. My uncle, unlike my own father, wanted a family.
We call it a day at four and I find I am anxious to get home to my woman. I have texted her a couple of times, but no response. I don't want to be the overbearing boyfriend, but something doesn’t feel right. The minute I am in the house I call out her name and search the house. Nothing. On my second sweep, I notice some of her things are missing. That is when the oxygen is being ripped from my lungs. Pulling out my phone, I dial her number and it goes straight to VM. Oh God. NO. NO. There is a reasonable explanation for this.
Pulling up my in house cameras, I rewind to the morning and watch as she dresses, eats and talks on the phone. She seems to be searching for something. She eventually walks into my office. My heart begins to creak, the sounds of pieces splintering as I watch her open the screen. I see her face change as all I have been hiding is no longer hidden. “Nova.” I say into the nothingness that is my life without her. She pales and runs to the bathroom. My own gut is in agony. She left me. She found out that I am the boogeyman, stalking her day and night, watching her and her father. What must she be thinking?