Painless (24 page)

Chapter 52

Without a word, Bronson climbed up the exterior stairs of the duplex.

They followed.

As soon as the door to the apartment opened, Billy felt sick. Garbage was strewn everywhere. Food was littered over the floor, broken glass from a mirror on the ground, and it smelled like urine. It looked like hurricane footage. Bronson wandered away to the other side of the apartment, seemingly lost in his own world.

Carolyn put her hands over her nose. “Icky.”

“Welcome to the world of a heroin addict,” Angelique softly said.

Billy remembered what Dr. Carlson said about the emotional toll CIPA took on those afflicted, leading to fearless lives that were full of reckless sex and drug abuse. The apartment hadn’t been broken into—Bronson did this himself!

“Where did you meet him?” Billy asked Angelique.

“He was wandering around St. Joseph’s Boulevard a couple months back. He talked about getting out and escaping, which I assume meant jail. I’m not one to judge, so I tried to help him. But I’m worried about him.”

“Did he mention looking for a miracle, or anything about the anesthesia?”

“If he keeps doing that shit,” she pointed to the railroad tracks on his arm, visible from across the room, “then he’s going to need a miracle, and that needle is the only anesthesia he knows.”

“How did he get hooked on it?”

“It’s pretty readily available along St. Joseph’s,” she said, then thought for a second, troubled by something, “but there was also something different about Bronson.”

“How so?”

“He lives life with a fearlessness I’ve never seen before. Like a little child in an adult body who doesn’t understand consequences. He engulfs food, sex, and any drug he can get his hands on like a kid in the candy store.”

“How was he able to get an apartment without a job or money?”

“I rent both apartments in the duplex. I live next door, and I’m loaning him this one.”

“That must not be easy on a waitress salary.”

“It’s a business expense. Before Bronson, I used this apartment to entertain my clients.”

He didn’t need further explanation. Her “business” was the oldest profession.

“Do you believe these people are really after him? The trainers,” Billy asked.

“All I know is he overdosed three times in the last month. He refuses to go to the hospital and the only time we could get him there was because he slipped into a coma. He has Hepatitis-C and an infection in his heart. He is killing himself. I’m sure these people he believes are chasing him will do less damage than he’s doing to himself.”

Bronson sat at a modest kitchen table, looking like he might explode. Angelique moved to him and calmly took a seat beside him. She then applied the soothing needle into his arm. He had no idea he was destroying his body, and despite Angelique’s caring demeanor, she was an enabler. She added another train track to his arm.
Choo-choo.

Billy gave Carolyn a once-over. In the last twenty-four hours she’d been involved in a shootout, watched a man burn himself to death, and was separated from her parents. Now she was in an unsanitary apartment witnessing a prostitute inject a heroin addict with a dirty needle. Yet her biggest complaint was she didn’t get to attend the Montreal Canadiens hockey game, as promised. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

The heroin seemed him to momentarily focus Bronson enough to address Billy, “Calvin would never given you that information unless he was in trouble.”

Billy remained silent.

“What happened to him?” Bronson pushed.

Billy looked at the gun lying on the table and didn’t want to set him off. “He’s…umm…he’s…”

“He’s a firefly,” Carolyn chimed in.

Bronson immediately deciphered her kid-code. He understood that Calvin was dead. He mumbled that it was what Anesthesia soldiers were trained to do when there was no way out. Protocol. He looked like he wanted to cry, but was either too numb or didn’t know how.

He began rambling about how they arrived in New York via a cargo ship they stowed away on, and would spend most of their days watching television in department stores, learning about the outside world. Bronson mumbled how he wanted to bring Calvin with him to Montreal, but that André didn’t think it would be safe—they had to split up—so he left him in New York to fend for himself.

Another bad result from a family splitting up
, Billy sadly thought, feeling Bronson’s regret from across the room.

Angelique hugged Bronson, burying his head into her store-bought balloons. It gave Billy enough time to slide the gun safely away.

Billy knew he didn’t have much time if he was to get the answers he needed, insensitive or not. “Where is André?”

“He was going back to get our dam out of the camp.”

“Where is the camp?”

Bronson stood, and then sat. It was like he was on fire and could feel it. He was spastic. “I don’t know—I can’t think.”

“Think hard, Bronson. Is he in the United States? Here in Montreal? Where?”

He said nothing.

“This is really important, Bronson.”

“I don’t know,” he whimpered.

Billy moved on. “Who is after you?”

“The trainers.”

“Who do the trainers work for?”

“The doctors.”

He was getting nowhere. Bronson’s mind was mush.

Bronson began violently picking at his face with a nervous twitch, not feeling a thing. Angelique took his hand and mercifully led him to the bedroom, explaining to Billy, “He is usually better in the morning. He can answer your questions then.”

Angelique emerged from the bedroom about an hour later without Bronson. “He always talked about Calvin. He worried about him. Your news sent him over the edge. He’ll be better in the morning,” she tried to assure, but wasn’t very convincing.

Billy sat silently with Carolyn among the sea of garbage.

“Anything I can do for you?” Angelique asked.

He flashed her a disapproving look.

“Not that. I mean are you hungry, or thirsty?”

He had lost his appetite, maybe forever.

“I need a bath,” Carolyn blurted.

Angelique smiled. It was motherly. Billy could tell she had, or still has children.

“The bathroom in my apartment next door is clean. I wouldn’t give a rat a bath in this place.”

Billy couldn’t let her take Carolyn, but agreed that she really could use a bath. Especially since tomorrow could be just as long of a day. But he also had to keep an eye on Bronson—he couldn’t let him get away.

So with gun in hand, Billy moved out onto the exterior stairs in between Angelique and Bronson’s apartments like he was on guard-duty. He occasionally checked in on Bronson who had crashed into a deep sleep, his breathing shallow. Billy eventually became convinced he couldn’t go anywhere if he wanted to. He definitely wasn’t faking as part of an escape plan. So he felt safe to go next door, where Angelique was skillfully giving the little girl a bath. They were both giggling.
Beth is going to kill me
, he thought to himself.

Carolyn stood in all her nakedness, except for the bubbles in her wet hair, and waved at him. He waved back, before turning his attention to Angelique. He wondered what had gone wrong. Why, instead of giving comforting baths to children, was she giving more insidious comforts to her junkie neighbor? She fitted Carolyn with a towel and dried her hair. Billy had done his best the last twenty-four hours, but sometimes a little girl needs a female touch.

The thought of returning to Bronson’s apartment made Billy queasy. But he couldn’t risk him making a getaway when he was “better in the morning.” So he cleared off a crusty couch, hoping to avoid hypodermic needles, garbage, broken glass, or worse. Billy didn’t like sleeping on the sheets in hotel room, so sleeping on this thing would take some getting used to.

He had Carolyn sleep on top of him to avoid touching anything. It wasn’t very comfortable, but her damp, freshly shampooed hair was the first pleasant aroma he smelled since the fire at the cabin. Her little heart beat next to his—the soothing sound of life. To make sure it kept beating, he kept Bronson’s handgun nearby and one eye open.

Morning arrived, as did Angelique. She was a haggard sight, the morning sun had aged her by ten years. Billy decided to let Carolyn remain sleeping for the moment—she could use all she could get. He let her continue to snore away as he escaped the urine-smell of the apartment, seeking a whiff of fresh air. He stood on the exterior stairs of the duplex and looked out at the many bikers energetically maneuvering through the Plateau on Thursday morning. It was the first calm he’d felt in days.

It didn’t last long.

He heard Angelique scream.

As he turned, he felt her bump into him, causing him to lose his bearings. She shot down the stairs and dashed into an alleyway, screaming hysterically.

Billy’s first thought was,
Carolyn!
He ran back in and saw her standing in the middle of the garbage barge that was masquerading as an apartment, and felt relief. He also saw the door to Bronson’s bedroom door open. He ran into the bedroom, tripping over garbage.

Billy knew immediately. Bronson’s skin was gaunt and cold to the touch. He checked the pulse, then the breathing. When all hope faded away, he pounded on Bronson’s chest and shouted words Carolyn wasn’t allowed to say. Bronson was his last hope. He was supposed to be better in the morning.

Billy covered him with a sheet, hoping that wherever he ended up he could finally feel some pain. Billy then gathered Carolyn and headed back to the train station.

There were no miracles in Montreal.

Chapter 53

The tapping of Dana’s heeled leather boot on the floor of the cab didn’t make it go any faster. New Canaan cabs were definitely cleaner than New York City cabs, but in New York when you say step on it, the accelerator hits the floor and a red light is disregarded. In New Canaan, the driver looks to step on a bug and save their power shopping clientele. She nervously tapped some more. She had to get to Chuck and Beth to tell them what she learned about Billy. Carolyn’s life could hang in the balance.

Dana took out her cell phone and dialed Beth again—nothing. She hung up and pinballed to her voice mail. A new one from Sam Spiegel, who predictably wanted something in return for the information he provided last night. She decided to avoid the rear-view mirror, erasing the message.

Yesterday an FBI agent named Hasenfus came to her office and accused Billy of working with Operation Anesthesia to kidnap Carolyn. He declared that Calvin was working undercover for the FBI to bring down Billy and Operation Anesthesia, and that the attack was a setup meant to trap Billy. But Calvin turned his coat back around, and helped Billy to flee with Carolyn before committing suicide.

To make his point that Billy was a “bad guy,” Hasenfus provided pictures of a bloody and beaten Kelly Klein. While the pictures were horrifying, Dana didn’t believe Hasenfus. Her record with men wasn’t great, but she knew Billy was different.

She would readily admit her initial callback wasn’t because the plot synopsis of
Ain’
t No Senator’s Daughter
was so brilliant or his generic query letter stood out. It was good, but so were hundreds of others she received that month, despite never actually selling a book. And it’s not like she enjoyed reading political thrillers. She was more of a chick lit kinda girl.

What made her call was the photo he paper-clipped to his very brief writing bio. Rugged handsome, the dimple on the chin, and eyes that said this man had an interesting story. But when he arrived in her office, everything changed. He still possessed the exterior that made her pick up the phone, but was different from the picture. He was like a beautiful painting that had been lost in the basement and was covered in dust. She wanted to take him home and take care of him like a lost puppy. It was a family trait.

And as they began to work together, she found that he was different from any man she’s ever come across—different because he represented hope. Hope that she could end her painless existence. She knew it would take a long time for Billy to give away his heart again, but he would, she was sure of it. And just the thought of it gave her courage to think that one day she would be able to open her own heart. That’s why she never told Beth about what she’d heard on the radio. A decision she was living to regret.

The bulldozing through magazine-cover-attractive boyfriends, the trying-too-hard to prove she’s happy smile, and living her life with the freedom of a butterfly were just defense mechanisms to ensure she never would have her heart broken. No pain ever again. But what she found was that painless meant lifeless. Pain was part of life—it made you know you were alive.

She knew when she first started to numb the pain. The exact day. The exact moment. She was nine years old and in third grade. They had recently moved from Albany to Greenwich. Her mother had given up her professorship at Siena, but she still remained active in politics, and was speaking at a seminar that day. Her father was supposed to pick her up at school. He never showed—not a shock. So her teacher, Mrs. Carney, brought her home. Dana used her latchkey to enter the large mansion. That’s when she saw her father with that woman. She just stared at them for what seemed like hours. She tried to scream but nothing came out. She was paralyzed.

He was always so attentive to her after that.
Daddy’s little girl. His favorite. Daddy could never say no to Dana.
She would always keep their “little secret” and in exchange she would get anything she wanted, including adopting Beth. But she didn’t get everything she wanted—what she really wanted was to open the heart he closed. She still went to visit him each year on his birthday at the convalescent home. Everybody believed it was out of devotion to her stroke-stricken father, but her real motivation was to see if his mush-mind would be lucid for just a brief moment, so he could see what he did to her. She hoped Billy would be the one to convince her to stop making those trips.

That’s why what Agent Hasenfus said couldn’t be true.

But then she got a call from a mistake from her past named Sam Spiegel, who worked for the
Washington Post.
She had asked him to look into the “incident” after she heard the report about Billy on the radio. From Sam’s initial research, she deduced that LaRoche wanted the incident covered up—prosecuting Billy would have connected him to an extra-marital affair with the victim, harming his political ambitions. But it didn’t answer all of her questions about Billy. She understood that a cheating wife could make a man do crazy things, but she still had trouble picturing the lost puppy turning into a dangerous rottweiler.

Then last night, Sam filled in the blanks. He had continued his investigation beyond her initial inquiry, and using an ex-member of LaRoche’s security force as his source, he uncovered what really went down that night, including that the incident took place in LaRoche’s house in D.C. When Sam finished, she understood why Billy didn’t want to talk about it, including the real source of his pain that night, and actually felt sorry for him. But then a horrifying thought filled her mind.

She dropped the phone and ran to his manuscript. She had memorized the ending, but re-read it twice to be sure. When the dark hero stole the child to fill the hollow hole in his heart. She was convinced Hasenfus was wrong about Billy working with Operation Anesthesia to deliver Carolyn. But that was because Billy wanted Carolyn for himself! It all made sense now.

The cab arrived in front of the barn. All cars were accounted for: her BMW, Chuck’s pickup truck, and Beth’s minivan, but nobody answered the door. She used her key to enter, calling out their names. She checked every room, running awkwardly in her heeled, knee-high boots, which she wore with a fashionable beige fall sweater and pencil skirt, hanging just above the boots. She tied her hair into a ponytail, which was the Dana equivalent of rolling up the sleeves, and ran back to the kitchen area. They had vanished.

Sitting on the kitchen table was a yellow mailing envelope addressed to Beth. On it was a note from Evelyn, explaining that she came by last night before returning to Florida for the winter, but nobody was home. So she left the package containing items Beverly wanted Beth to have following her death.
Only a year late
, Dana thought. But it did help her to construct a timeline. If something happened to Beth and Chuck, which was looking pretty likely, it must’ve happened prior to Evelyn coming by last night. Beth and Chuck rarely went out on nights their daughter wasn’t “missing.” Dana slipped the package into her oversized handbag.

She then moved into Beth’s office, surprised to see her BlackBerry lying on the desk between piles of political science textbooks. She even took it camping! Something was very wrong.

Dana pulled out her cell phone. They had made a pact at the cabin to only contact each other in the most extreme of emergencies. This would qualify. She doubted Billy would answer, but to her surprise he picked up on the second ring.

“Dana—is everything okay?” Billy sounded alarmed.

Be calm. One mission: get Carolyn to safety.

“Chuck and Beth are missing.”

“What? Missing?” He sounded surprised.

“Is Carolyn with you?”

He hesitated. “Of course, where else would she be?”

“I think we need to meet up.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m not asking, Billy.”

He sounded surprised by her tone. “We’re about to board a train.”

She knew the schedule by heart. Her last semi-serious boyfriend owned a ski lodge in Vermont and she used to make the trip every weekend by train. She was also familiar with the Albany area, from both her childhood and visiting Beth at college. There were two train stations in the area. One in Schenectady, and one in Albany. That would be key to her plan.

“I’ll meet you in Schenectady. Be sure you get off there.”

“Maybe it’s a good idea to put our heads together. We’re out of leads,” he said, dejection in his voice.

“You didn’t find Bronson?”

“We did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Bronson is dead.”

She filled with fear, unable to shake Hasenfus’ words:
Billy Harper is eliminating all threats.
“I want to speak to Carolyn,” she demanded.

“We better hang up—you don’t know who is listening.”

“Put her on the phone!”

He finally relented, and Carolyn’s voice bolted into her ear with Red Bullish energy. She went on a tangent about Les Princesses, le shopping, and some nice woman named Angelique who gave her a bath.

Dana felt momentary relief.

Billy’s behavior was peculiar for someone on the run.
Why give anyone a chance to trace their whereabouts?
But then it hit her—this might be a trap to eliminate her. Did Billy do the same to Chuck and Beth? Is that why they were missing? By getting rid of them, Carolyn would be all his. She didn’t know, or care, at this point. She just knew she had to get Carolyn away from Billy.

She bolted into Chuck’s office, heading directly for his collection of hunting rifles. She didn’t even need to break the glass partition. A loaded handgun already rested on a table beside the case. Dana realized she wasn’t the only one who was being paranoid. She dropped the gun into her handbag, along with Beth’s BlackBerry.

Moments later, Dana’s BMW was speeding toward Schenectady.