Sins of the Father (18 page)

“You could pull over and let me go on the
side of the road.”

“So you can run off again? No, I don’t think
so. You’re just gonna have to hold it until we stop for gas next
time.”

I bit back the hateful words. And shifted in
the seat again. And again.

“For God’s sake, Helen. You can’t possibly
have to go that badly.”

“I have two babies putting pressure on my
bladder, Einstein. I most certainly can.”

Johnny cleared his throat and stared at the
highway. “There’s a rest stop up ahead. I’ll pull over.”

“I should just pee my pants,” I muttered.
“That’d serve you right. You could smell it for a couple of hours
until we reach our destination.”

“I said I’d stop. You know, a normal person
might actually say thank you.”

“A normal person might hate you too much to
show gratitude for anything you offer.”

“Ah, the truth at last.”

“Thank you for conceding that I’m
normal.”

His laughter was cold. “Whatever you say,
Doc
.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Would you prefer Mrs. Orion? Oh wait. That
was probably a lie too. How about if I just call you what you
really are? Liar.”

Johnny stomped on the gas and sped onto the
exit for the rest area.

“Will you be offending the women in the
ladies room by following me inside?”

“No,” clipped words from a man barely
controlling his temper. “You’ve got five minutes. Don’t do anything
stupid, Helen. You’re walking a fine, thin line here.”

I hurried inside the rest stop, mostly
because despite Johnny’s belief that I was nothing more than a
liar, I really did have to go. Urgently. I caught a glimpse of my
reflection in the mirror. Straw in my wig. Dirt smudges on my face.
A river of mascara to complete the utter wreck of an ensemble. I
stopped to wash my hands and repaired the damage to my face and the
wig, which to my amazement, held up remarkably well. A few of the
hairpins I used to hold it to my new short style beneath were
dislodged.

My running days were apparently over. I
pulled all of them out and tossed them in the trash. If I threw the
wig away and had a change of clothes handy, I could stroll out of
the bathroom and Johnny would never recognize me.

If, if, if. I had nothing, and my luck, he’d
be standing at the door waiting for me. Since there was no one else
in the bathroom, the finality of my situation sank into my bones a
little deeper. I was trapped, and from Johnny’s point of view,
every bit as owned as Andy Gillette claimed. The only dim saving
grace was that I knew deep in my heart that no matter how angry
Johnny was, how much his love had eroded into hate, he would never
abuse me the way my intended owner planned. There would be no
forced service of any kind.

I stepped out of the bathroom into an empty
vestibule. So much for my instincts. Johnny was waiting in the car.
In the seat between us was the bounty from the vending machines
inside the rest stop. My eyes welled with tears again.

“I figured if I didn’t start thinking in
advance, that would be your next gripe. I’m trying to starve you to
death. C’mon, Helen. Get in. It’s time to go.”

Yanking the kindness out of his gesture
worked wonders at drying the moisture that threatened to spill. I
slid into the seat and fastened my seatbelt. Johnny’s hand reached
for something in the cup holder. He unscrewed a cap and poked the
bottle under my nose.

“No shakes. Strawberry Yoo-hoo was the best
I could do.”

Scratch that. The tears leapt from my eyes,
practically squirted out onto the dashboard. This must be what it
feels like to develop Stockholm Syndrome. The fear from nothing but
hate and threats was eroded by one minuscule act of kindness.

I took the plastic bottle in hand and kept
my chin tucked low. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me
crying again.
Never again. Never again.
My heart pounded out
the new mantra.

Rustling sounds came from my left. A moment
later, Johnny’s handkerchief dropped into my lap. I surreptitiously
dried my eyes and wiped my nose, and then started digging through
the pile of junk food. Twinkie-like cakes, potato chips, oatmeal
cookies, greasy chocolate coated mini-donuts, little bags of
peanuts, some trail mix. Good grief, he must’ve cleaned them out. I
ate, drank both bottles of Yoo-hoo, held my tongue until the lines
on the highway hypnotized eyelids into closing.

The car jerked to a halt.

“Get in the back seat and lay down. I’m sick
of hearing your head smack against the window. God knows, if you
show up at home looking damaged, it’ll kill our cover story.”

I crawled into the back seat, curled up into
a ball and promptly fell sound asleep again.

Johnny woke me twice at gas stations before
we reached our final destination. He apparently left Joe’s jet
parked in Newark. Had he ever planned to take me to Washington to
talk to the FBI? I started wondering if he hurled lies at me in
some twisted version of revenge.

His fingers manacled my bicep. Johnny
crowded my back all the way up the stairs into the jet.

“Good to see you, Dr. Eriksson,” the copilot
gave me a weak smile.

I probably had muddy rivers on my face
again.

“Thank him,” Johnny hissed in my ear.

“Thank you. It’s nice to see you too.”

“Go lay down,” Johnny said tersely. “You
obviously need more sleep.”

I made a pit stop in the bathroom and peed,
washed my face again. When I came into the cabin, Johnny was
sitting as far away as possible from the bench where he directed me
to sleep. Oddly, it seemed like a good sign. He didn’t want to be
in close proximity to me any more than I wanted him hovering over
me.

After we were in the air, I unbuckled my
seatbelt and curled up in a ball, face toward the bench and tried
to go back to sleep. A feeling of deep unease rippled through me in
waves. This was bad, very horrifically bad.

Sure, I wanted to buy more time for Dad when
I walked away from him, but the truth of the matter is, I wasn’t
sure I could step over the threshold of that plane, whether Johnny
was chasing me or not. It made sense to do it. Obviously, turning
around and going home to my husband was fraught with peril of a
different kind. Emotional warfare.

Dad’s words wormed their way through my
head.
I had to be sure. Go to him now.
Had to be sure of
what? He acted like Johnny’s presence came as no real surprise.

My forehead furrowed in deep concentration.
Settle down, Helen. Think. Maybe he didn’t look surprised
because he knew Johnny would never stop looking for me. But had to
be sure? What the hell had he meant? Sure that I love my husband?
Sure that I really planned to help him escape? Shooting a vial full
of succinylcholine into his vein was a pretty big leap of faith if
he had doubts about my commitment to the plan.

“Go to sleep, Helen.”

It shouldn’t have surprised me that he knew
I was wide awake, mind racing. But it did. It never stopped
surprising me.

I didn’t respond. Laid perfectly still and
pretended sleep. Soon enough, it was reality.

It felt like mere minutes when he nudged my
shoulder. “Wake up. We’re going to land in about half an hour. Are
you hungry?”

Always. I pulled myself up and rubbed my
eyes. My joints ached. Some how, I managed to sleep several times
without moving a single muscle. My hand flew to the unsecured wig.
Speaking of miraculous, it wasn’t on sideways.

Johnny returned with croissants full of
creamy chicken salad, crunchy walnuts, onions and celery, with
sides of apple slices and carrot sticks. The junk food binge was
apparently over.

He tossed the tray onto the table. “Get over
here and eat.”

I tucked my chin to my chest and did as I
was told, not because I had magically woke imbued with a deep vein
of obedience. I was simply hungry.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“What do you have?”

“Ginger ale.”

Why that made me feel like crying, I don’t
know. Denial maybe. I nodded. “That’s fine, or bottled water if you
have it.”

Johnny cursed under his breath. A moment
later, he dropped two bottles of water on the table. “Are you
dehydrated?”

“No.”

“Doc –”

I impaled him with a glare.

“Fine.
Helen
, we’re landing in a few
minutes. People will be there to meet us.”

“And you’re suddenly concerned that they’re
going to pick up on this uncommitted vibe between us, the abject
disgust, the death of your love –”

“I never said anything of the –”

“Relax. I’m pretty good at reading between
the lines. You want my cooperation, want me to polish off those
skills as such a great liar and put on the face of the loving wife
who’s thrilled to be back in the arms of her darling husband.
There’s only one problem with that. I’m not thrilled. This is the
last place I wanted to be. And I’m not half the liar you think I
am.”

Johnny’s bristled posture expanded like a
physical presence that crushed me where I sat. “Perhaps you should
focus on thinking about all of this differently. Your freedom
depends on those stellar acting skills I know you can summon at
will. I should relax? I don’t think so, Helen. You’re walking back
into the role you’ve been playing all along. Should be easy as
pie.”

“I’ll cooperate, but it’ll cost you.”

“I don’t negotiate, not with you, never
again. Did you forget the rules already? My game. You’ll damn well
do as I say.”

“And if you don’t want me kicking and
screaming when you have to physically drag me off this plane,
you’ll grant one concession. Don’t worry Johnny. It’s not illegal.
If you’ll recall, I’ve never asked you to break the law for
me.”

He folded his arms over his chest and peered
at me with deep suspicion. “All right, let’s hear it. What’s this
single
concession you’d like me to make?”

“You don’t tell anyone the truth.”

“I think that was sort of the plan all
along, Helen,” he sneered. “Hence the ruse of a happy
marriage.”

“I meant the truth about who Crevan really
is… in relation to me.”

“You want me to lie to my best friend, to
conceal the fact that you’re his long lost sister?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Don’t tell me it’s because you have
such a deep aversion to his parents that you don’t want them
pushing their way into your life. You’ve never given a damn about
them. As far as I can tell, the only person who really does matter
to you is…” his voice died briefly. “Wendell. Oh that’s rich,
Helen. This is about Wendell. You’re afraid that if Crevan learns
the truth, he’ll suspect that
Wendell
abducted you, that he
was part of this human trafficking thing.”

I chewed, determined that Johnny’s vitriolic
accusations wouldn’t destroy my appetite. “He wasn’t part of it. My
father had no idea that I’m not
biologically
his until I
told him.”

Johnny snorted. “And I’m supposed to believe
you?”

“Marie,” I said softly. “I knew it from the
very beginning, the second that Maya confirmed the DNA results. She
was the evil one. She stole me, or set it into motion. I don’t know
why. Frankly I don’t care. I believe my father.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“And I don’t give a damn
what
you
think. I told you this once already. Prison doesn’t sound like such
a bad option to me. At least it would get me away from you. Give me
this one thing, Orion. I’ll cooperate then. You can do whatever you
want to me at the end of what, another 29 weeks?”

His face grew inscrutable. “Tell me the
truth. You really believed he had nothing to do with this, that it
was your mother acting alone?”

“I know it was. I realize you think I’m
incapable of objectivity where my father is concerned, but there’s
a reason I believe in him.
He’s
the one who raised me. He
loved me and nurtured me and was everything a perfect father should
be.”

“Until he became Jersey Third Eye.”

I gritted my teeth.

“Go on. I’ll try to rein in the sarcasm just
this once.”

“Marie was cold, always. She had no maternal
instinct. Why do you think I was so worried about…?”

“About being a terrible mother too?”

Liquid got trapped in my eyelashes. “Well, I
suppose when you put it that way, I’m still screwed. My biological
mother isn’t such a shining example of love and acceptance either
is she? Turned her back on her only son.”

Johnny’s lips formed a thin, tight line.
Before I killed what he felt for me, this would’ve been the moment
that he reassured me I wouldn’t be like either one of my so-called
mothers. This time, he remained silent.

“He doesn’t need to know. None of them need
to know. I’m not that baby. I am Helen Eriksson, not Cailín Conall.
I will never be her. I want no part of anything that tries to force
me to be someone I’m not.”

Johnny fell silent, stared at the table for
a long time. So long that I finished my meal and the co-pilot
appeared to ask us to buckle up for landing.

Finally, his answer came. “I understand what
you’re saying, Helen.”

“Yet you disagree.”

“I won’t tell Crevan the truth. I won’t deny
it if in the course of this Sanderfield investigation it’s
exposed.”

I snorted. “Sanderfield’s not going to
volunteer the information. Why help build a stronger case against
him and his cronies? The only way anyone would know the truth is by
doing exactly what I already did. There is no reason that anyone
who isn’t personally affected by what happened to do so, and
absolutely no reason that anyone would expect that I am the child
that was stolen that night.”

“Helen, Maya knows the truth too.”

“Don’t worry about her,” I said grimly.
“I’ll take care of Maya Winslow personally. You may count on
that.”