Rose of Betrayal (57 page)

CHAPTER 44

“JUNE
2011”

           
There
was no other choice but to contain Ralph, his safety upper most in Brad's
mind.
 
Uncertain as to the stability of
Ted’s mental health, he could not risk the life of another loved one.
 
Upon returning to New York, he would send
someone to release his friend.
 
Anger
whipped up, Brad entered his car and sped down the highway.

           
An
abrupt blinding blaze of headlights reflecting in the rear view mirror jerked
his attention to the digital numbers glowing from their circular chambers
registering ninety miles per hour.
 
Anticipating red lights and a siren, he released the pressure on the
pedal.
 
The pursuer prevailed behind
maintaining a distance sparking his curiosity.
 
Again, he applied pressure to the accelerator.
 
Again, the mysterious Black Maria
countered.
 

           
The
night was inky black with tiny stars spattered in the heavens.
 
A sickle moon was no help in determining the
imagined predator.
 
The charged
atmosphere causing apprehension's cold grasp to seize his heart halted the
melancholy, rambling thoughts haunting him.
   

Decreasing his speed
radically, he hoped to entice the prowling machine to pass.
  
Its' refusal to follow his lead elevated his
heart rate.
 
The pulse in his neck began
to throb.
 
Boosting his velocity, he strained
to keep his car on the road while the ghostly eye's behind continued to shadow
him.
  
 
Recalling a turn off ahead, he hoped his knowledge of the road would be
an advantage.
  
Abruptly pulling over to
stop, frantic fingers checked to be certain he had locked the doors before
reaching into the glove compartment to withdraw a revolver.
 
Releasing the safety, with the pistol resting
on his lap, like a cat stalking a mouse, he waited.
 
      

Chaos agitating inside
tightened the muscles in his neck and back.
 
Never did he feel more alone.
 
Encased in the glowing cubicle, gun in one hand, cell phone in the
other, he contemplated calling 911 just as the ominous black van crawled
past.
 
Unaware of what was prompting such
caution, he strained to memorize the license plate number suspiciously lacking
required illumination.
 
Concentrating on
breathing deeply somewhat eased tension as a headrest welcomed his throbbing
skull.
 
Relief rolled over him.
 
Sluggish from the residue of fighting off
nagging premonition, he returned the gun to the glove compartment and with
caution reentered the highway.
  

Pondering the van,
that's it, he reasoned, eye's broadening with revived wisdom.
 
The police said there were tire tracks
belonging to either a truck or van found on his property.
 

 
Glaring beacons from behind interrupted his
deliberations, instinctively; he increased his
speed, as if playing a
game of follow-the-leader the vehicle persisted. Enough, he fumed jerking the
steering wheel to the right.
 
Barely
missing the guardrail his car skidded to a stop along the shoulder.
 
Feeling microscopic in the vast darkness as
if any second he would explode the sinister looking van, lights turned off,
slowly crept alongside, stopped briefly, and then sped away disappearing in a
swirl of smoke.

           
Strangling
pressure around his throat threatened to lower the curtain of blackness.
 
This was nonsense he chided himself surely
what was happening was nothing more than an over active imagination.
 
With an index finger and thumb compressing
eyelids, as if to erase wild imaginings, he began raiding the deep recesses of
his memory for a black van possibly belonging to one of his neighbors.
 
Yes, he concluded, he had seen one
before.
 
As evidence flashed before him,
he tapped his wrinkled forehead with the palm of his hand.
 
”God no,” he jumped from the shrillness of
his own voice.

           
Reflections
scampering across his faculties reminded him of a van with a flat tire parked
near his property.
 
Several times, while
jogging he had passed another stopped alongside the road.
 
The stormy night before Thanksgiving, when he
was alone with Sam a jagged streak of lightening disclosed a van parked in the
woods he believed at the time were young lovers.
 
It could have been the same van, come to
think of it, they were all Black, the same make, and model.

 
          
Awareness
cleared his mind.
 
His hands placed a
strangle hold on the leather steering wheel.
 
Someone had been watching him, or, watching Sam?
 
Why?
 
No! There was no logical reason for any of this nonsense.
 
Suddenly his imagination conjured up
horrifying apocalypses on his windshield of Ted's crisis, following close behind,
Sommer’s face.
 
Fists assaulted the
steering wheel.
  
Stomping the chrome
pedal to the floor propelled red metal onto the asphalt squealing tires leaving
the odious smell of melted rubber and lasting evidence of trepidation.

           
Braking
to a screeching stop brought tires slamming against the curb in front of the
office building.
 
Charging the lobby
heading toward the elevator, he shouted a warning to stunned security guards to
use extreme caution.

           
Upon
entering the office, an introspective mood washed over him.
 
Inspecting the silent furnishings it seemed
an eternity since he had been within its' walls.
 
Then in a matter of seconds realized, he had
not missed it at all.

           
Trying
master keys quickly plucked from the guard's station, none allowed access into
Ted's office.
 
That meant only one thing,
without anyone’s knowledge Ted changed the lock,
 
why?
 
Placing a call to the head of security, he instructed him to turn off
the alarms and send a guard to his aid.

           
Suspense
building to an explosive level provided the adrenaline necessary to kick open
Ted's door.
 
Flipping on the light only
worsened frustration when everything appeared normal.
 
Stupefied, he moved to Ted's desk.
 
As suspected, he had locked the drawers.
 
Anxiously awaiting the guard, the second he
appeared, Brad demanded, “Get me something to pry open these drawers.”

Struck deaf, the guard remained
inert.

“You heard me, now move, dammit.”

“Yes sir.”
      

Handing his employer a
small crow bar from his belt pouch, the bewildered guard watched as Brad pried
open each drawer.
 

           
Frustrated
hands withdrew inconsequential papers flung into the air.
 
Documents he knew were nothing more than a
ruse.
 
Running his hand along the bottom
of the center drawer turned Brad’s face red with fear.
 
Ted's gun was missing.
 
A stabbing bolt of pain entering his chest
made him slump into Ted’s chair.
 
“Christ!”
  
Convinced Ted intended
the gun for him, he began mourning the shocking and sudden loss of a lifelong
friendship.

           
Needing
an excuse to escape the tense scene, the guard asked, “Sir would you like some
coffee?”
 
Receiving a slight approving
nod, he gladly retreated.

           
An
eerie sense of Ted's presence motivated Brad’s black eyes to sweep the
room.
  
Bookcases' duplicating those in
his office held the same memorabilia from their past.
 
Looking suspiciously sterile, the desk was
void of its usual strewn files except for a newly framed wedding photo.
  
Listlessly retrieving it, his thumb caressed
Sam's face possessing a sweetness and sensual womanly intricacy making her
irresistible.
 
The need shaking him like
an earth quake as though she was the center of the universe exerting a magnetic
attraction infinitely more powerful than his will.
 
A smile of nervous admiration played over his
lips while contemplating her indescribable beauty, grief nudging the numbness
from his brain made him wonder, considering all that had happened, if she would
ever look the same, or be the same again.
 
A tear slipping from the corner of his eye etched a deep wrinkle down
his cheek.

           
Adjacent
to the photo another taken of Ted and himself during college graduation their
caps lifted high, their arms around each other’s shoulders, legs poking through
the slit of their gowns crossed over one another.
  
Film had eternally captured their optimistic
innocence, their bright-eyes full of enthusiastic vigor, and their conviction
to conquer the world. They had transcended the barrier separating friendship
from brother hood, uniting two opposing forces into one in thought, in deed, in
vision.
 
Remorse shook him.
 
Those were the days, he reflected.

           
More
desperate than ever for answers he scouted every crevice of the room, his eyes
dropping to the cabinet beneath the shelves housing Ted's safe.
 
Curious whether Ted changed the combination
he began twisting the dial only to find the handle in an unlocked
position.
 
Opening the safe, he gawked
into murky vacancy.
 
Ted never left his
safe unlocked, nor was it ever empty.
 
He
lost all reasoning processes, each new discovery became a piece to a monstrous
puzzle.

           
Through
the maze inflicted upon his mind, a memory sparked, Ralph would be furious by
now.
 
The guard returning with a steaming
cup of coffee once again received the blunt of his anxiety.
  
“Call Maggie, tell her Ralph's at my place
in Southampton locked in the closet off the living room.”

Instructions that convinced the young
guard Brad was crazy.
 
“Sir, its three A.
M.”

“I don't give a shit.
 
Do it.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.”

           
The
altered lock on the office door, the missing gun, the unlocked vacant safe, the
mysterious black van, evidence hitting him square in the face.
 
When they were youngsters, they spent hour’s
playing mystery games each taking turns on leaving the other bits and pieces of
clues to resolve the riddle.
 
Was Ted
purposely leading him to something, apprising him of the complexity of the
situation?
 
All at once, he loathed his
friend for putting him through such madness.

           
Could
it be Ted did not trust the security office with the new key?
 
“Dear God,” he cursed under his breath.
 
Only the head of security knew about the
secret stairway leading to the Penthouse.
 
Was Phil still in charge or had he been replaced by someone he did not
personally interview, someone that purposely infiltrated the company on a
mission?
 
Thunderously, his heart leaped
to his throat.
  

           
More
despondent than ever, he continued to scour the office for additional clues
that might mean absolutely nothing to anyone but himself.
  
Examining the cluttered bookcase he tried to
recall everything Ted displayed, just maybe, he contemplated.

           
 
Frustrated by his lack of memory, he turned
his back on the shelves to skim the room again.
 
Within seconds, he spun around.
 
Only one picture laid face down as if it had been a deliberate
move.
  
Just as he reached to retrieve
the clue, the guard returned.

“Miss Maggie said not to worry she
would take care of Ralph.”