Until the Beginning (20 page)

NO ONE TALKS ON THE WAY TO THE MANSION
. The smell of rain is in the air, although the sky is clear and the stars burn brightly overhead. I sit in the backseat with Blackwell’s guards, and think about how much Miles looks like his dad. Will he grow up to be like him, I wonder? A businessman so driven by success that he would resort to abducting a teenage girl in order to get what he wants? No. I can’t imagine it.

Blackwell’s not as bad as Avery
, I think. The hunter’s use of force goes beyond a show of strength into the realm of threatened violence. I can’t imagine Blackwell actually killing someone to get what he wanted, although driving into the heart of a fortified ranch with his two burly security guards doesn’t seem the most peaceful of statements. But that’s what makes me doubt his intentions are violent. There’s no way he’ll try to strong-arm
Avery’s men into giving me and Whit up. He’s counting on talking his way into what he wants. Making Avery’s men an offer while their boss is out of the picture.

My wrists chafe from leaning back against the metal cuffs. I lean forward and flex my fingers to get my circulation going. The guard sitting next to me notices. He gets the keys from O’Donnell and unlocks me, and I massage my wrists with my thumbs.

We drive over a hill, and the house and barracks lie spread before us. In the mansion, the ground floor is lit up as before but two additional lights are on in the top floor. O’Donnell takes us down the drive and around the fountain, parking the car outside the front door. The men pile out, the guard sitting next to me positioning himself behind me as I walk in front of them.

Before we can even get to the door, Whit’s guard steps out, and stands, gun in hands before us, face twisted in anger as he berates O’Donnell. “What’s she doing out here? Where have you been?” He waves his gun toward Blackwell. “And who are they?”

O’Donnell gestures toward Miles’s dad. “This is Mr. Blackwell. Mr. Blackwell, Ben Nursall, Head of Security.”

“What the hell is going on?” Nursall says, taking a step forward. Blackwell’s men do the same, puffing themselves up to look more menacing.

Whit walks out the door behind Nursall. “Blackwell,” he says, his voice steeped in shock.

“You know him?” Nursall asks.

“Let me introduce myself properly and tell you why I’m here,” Blackwell says, raising his hands to show he knows he’s
on Nursall’s turf. “It is in my interest to take these two guests of yours with me. Since I hear that your employer is currently indisposed, I will take a rather unfair advantage of the situation to offer you double what Avery is currently paying you to come work for me in L.A., as well as a substantial finder’s fee for handing over Mr. Graves and Miss Newhaven—which is the same deal I have offered your colleague here.”

Nursall looks at O’Donnell, raising an eyebrow as if to ask, “Is this guy for real?” O’Donnell nods.

“I have air transport available for all of us, and am ready to leave immediately,” finishes Blackwell, clasping his hands together and awaiting the burly guard’s response.

Whit speaks up before his guard can respond. “I’m not sure we will be able to work with you, Mr. Blackwell, since we have a very specific deal arranged with Mr. Avery.”

Blackwell fixes Whit with a cynical stare. “Have you seen any of that money yet, Mr. Graves?”

Whit is still for a moment and then shakes his head.

“To be quite frank,” Mr. Blackwell says, “I think Mr. Avery has already gotten what he wants: virtual immortality. I very much doubt his interest was to reproduce and distribute the drug, no matter what he told you.”

I speak up, surprising everyone. “I don’t care about money. I’m not going anywhere while my people are being held prisoner.” As if I have a choice.

Blackwell raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he asks, emphasizing the plain-as-day state of my powerlessness.

“I’ll fight you every step of the way,” I promise, clenching my fists by my side. I know how ridiculous I look. Five foot five and unarmed, up against these giant men with guns. But I give it all I’ve got and exude every ounce of resistance inside me.

Blackwell rolls his eyes, and holds up his hand to Avery’s guards, asking them to excuse us for a moment. They shift uncomfortably. “As I said before, if you had cooperated back in L.A., I would have been happy to help your people escape. But as things are . . .”

He looks quickly from scowling me to cautious Whit and back, and I can tell from the change in his posture when he switches tactics.

“All right. Although I’ve been described as a snake, I am not a monster. Since my move leaves you without negotiating power to get your people out, once you are safely within the care and employ of Blackwell Pharmaceutical, I am willing to make a deal with Avery—let’s call it an act of goodwill—which should soften the blow of losing the two of you, and ensure that your people are free to leave his hospitality. Now how does that sound to you all—Messieurs Nursall and Graves, Miss Newhaven?”

The situation has been defused. Whit’s guard’s posture has relaxed, and he seems to be considering Blackwell’s offer. Whit too has lost some of his defensiveness and the guards standing behind Blackwell have deflated slightly, when, in the open door, Avery’s doctor appears, his face as white as his lab coat. “He’s awake! Avery’s awake!” he says, and everyone is once again on alert.

“That’s not possible!” exclaims Whit. “It’s barely been four hours.”

“But he
is
awake, and he’s ripped all of his monitors off. He insists on getting up. And the way he’s talking . . . it seems to me like he’s having a psychotic break.”

Avery’s huge form appears behind the doctor, hair wild and eyes wide. Something is tucked beneath his arm, and for a moment I can’t tell what it is. And then I taste bile as I realize it’s the dog head, defrosted and dripping a thick, glutinous fluid.

Avery slams his fist against a button inside the front door, setting off a high-pitched alarm. Lights shoot on around the property, illuminating the yard in an artificial yellow glow. Shouts can be heard coming from the barracks, and an armed guard comes barreling down from upstairs.

“They’re coming,” Avery gasps, and pushes past the doctor to stand outside. Clasping the dog head by its soggy fur, he yells, “They’re after me!” His cheeks are hollow, his look haunted. He lets go of the dog head, throwing his arms up to shield himself, as if to fend off a flock of attacking birds. The head rolls around at his feet, trailing dark liquid across the porch floor.

Everyone looks at one another in astonishment, no one knowing what to say. I take a step toward him. “Who’s after you?” I ask. Avery’s crazy eyes fix on me, and he stretches an arm forward tentatively, as if afraid to touch me.

“The animals,” he says. “They want their revenge, and they’re coming for it. I heard them. They spoke to me.”

Whit reaches up to put a hand on Avery’s shoulder. “Mr. Avery, you are hallucinating. You’re not supposed to be up yet. You need to get back to the lab, lie down, and let the drug run its course.”

The alarm sounds again—a loud wailing noise piercing the velvety silence of the dark night.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Avery roars. “They’re coming! Nature herself is rising up against me. They say I’ve exploited her—stolen lives that aren’t mine to take.” He shakes off Whit’s hand and pushes past Blackwell without even seeing him.

Blundering down the front steps, he plants himself firmly in the middle of the drive and bends over, grasping his head in his hands. “It’s over,” he moans, as his paper shirt flaps in the strengthening wind.

Responding to the alarm, guards pour in from around both sides of the house, outfitted in combat gear with guns at the ready. Others sprint across the yard and disappear through the trees. The siren wails again, and Nursall ducks into the house and shuts it off, and then jogs down the steps to confront his colleagues. A dozen guards group around Avery, watching him with worried expressions. Nursall pushes through them and speaks.

“Mr. Avery isn’t well. His doctor is here. The alarm was set off by accident. You can return to barracks.”

“It’s no accident,” yells Avery, and shuddering violently, he slumps to his knees.

Nursall takes him by the arm. “O’Donnell,” he calls, “help me
take Mr. Avery back inside.” O’Donnell leaves my side and runs to help.

“Get off me, you bumbling dipshits,” Avery growls, trying to shake them off.

Just then a shout comes from the trees to the south. A pair of guards with guns drawn walk toward us, herding before them three people with their hands raised in the air.

One is a woman—and as they near I recognize her. It’s Holly, one of the clan elders. Badger’s mother. And with her are two people I recognize even before they come into full view. My heart beats wildly as they grow nearer and I see defeat written on their faces. It’s my father, and beside him walks Miles. I feel like pinching myself. The two of them together? I must be dreaming.

“The inner fence was turned off!” one of the guards yells when they get closer. “These three got across and were headed this way.”

The wind whips against us, sending a cloud of dust into the air. A second later, the heavens open and rain dumps down, drenching everyone instantly. “Everybody inside!” yells Nursall. He and O’Donnell make their way up the steps supporting a weeping Avery between the two of them. Whit disappears inside the house with the doctor, and Blackwell and his men take shelter on the porch, in spite of the fact that the wind blows the rain almost horizontally.

I wait until Miles and my father are closer and, ignoring their guards’ protests, throw myself on both of them. “Miles! You’re here!” I yell, the noise of the storm snatching my words away. My father gives me a grim smile and kisses my forehead before
continuing on with Holly toward the house, their guard steering them ahead with the barrel of his gun. Miles drops his defeated look and stands there looking supremely proud of himself. With a conspiratorial grin, he winks at me and then, prodded by the second guard’s gun, makes his way toward the house.

I TAKE THREE STEPS ONTO THE PORCH AND
freeze. My dad is standing there under the porch roof, sheltering from the rain. We’re both surprised, but I’m staring at him like he’s a ghost, and his expression is more one of startled inconvenience.
What is he doing here?

And then, it all falls into place. The phone call I heard O’Donnell make—he was talking to my dad. Of course, I should have realized it sooner! Who else had a vested interest in Amrit? Whit told us last night that he had only offered it to two people. This O’Donnell guy must have been playing both sides from the beginning. He’s probably the one who my dad called his “source,” feeding him information from Alaska, and alerting him that Juneau must be found.

Dad has known where we were heading this whole time.

I think of how I must look to him now: I haven’t showered, besides rinsing off in the river, for a week, and my arms and neck are still caked in mud. I’ve got to look pretty rough.

He marches over and, grabbing me by the arm, pulls me toward the front door. The guy guarding me yells and swings his gun toward us. My father’s men step forward, like they’re ready to tackle the guy, but Dad doesn’t budge—only stares him in the eye. “Follow us if you like. I’m not taking him anywhere.” My guard looks confused but lowers his gun and pushes us through the door into the entranceway.

The storm inside the house is wilder than the one raging outdoors. Avery’s fighting the doctor and Whit, who are both trying to subdue him. The guy who was guarding Whit is now in the office berating O’Donnell, as O’Donnell fumbles with the computer, trying to reset the electrical fences. Without orders, the two guards who brought us in seem confused about where they’re supposed to take us. And before they can do anything about it, Holly heads up the stairs on her own.

“Stop right there,” one of our guards says.

“Fat chance,” Holly replies, and continues climbing the stairs.

“I mean it, come back here—now,” he insists.

“Go ahead and shoot me,” she responds as she arrives at the top. She glances at me, questioning. I point to the right, and she disappears down the hallway. Stage One of our plan is complete: reunite Holly with Badger. Now to get both of them out of here and find a way out ourselves.

I glance over at Juneau. She saw the exchange between Holly
and me and is staring like she doesn’t recognize me. I grin and she narrows her eyes. She can’t figure out what’s going on, and I know how much she hates not having complete control over her situation.

One of the guards leaves to follow Holly upstairs. The other gestures with his gun for the rest of us to move into the bookless library. My father keeps his grip on my arm and stands his ground. “My son and I need some privacy,” he tells the guard. The guy looks like he’s about to blow a fuse, but O’Donnell’s boss sticks his head out of the office and says, “Do what the man asks.” Dad’s already got the guards in his pocket. How unsurprising.

The guy gestures to the door next to the office and says, “You can use the bedroom. But don’t go anywhere else in the house.”

My father jerks me toward the bedroom. I turn to see Juneau’s guard wave her and her father into the library with his gun.

My father’s men are standing guard next to the bedroom. “Wait outside,” Dad orders, and they take position on either side of the door as he closes it behind us. And before I even see it coming, his hand shoots out and he slaps me. Hard.

I want to touch the stinging skin—I can’t believe that Dad actually laid a hand on me. But I keep my hands by my side and let the anger inside me bubble and boil and rise up from my stomach, through my chest, to sizzle and spit inside my head. I am a volcano of pain. Thousands of atoms of repressed hurt have been scattered throughout my body for years. I’ve kept them buried and spread out so they wouldn’t join up and trigger a cataclysmic explosion. But in one second, Dad’s slap pulls all those particles
together and molds them into a fiery core of lava. I stand there, steam rising from every pore of my body.

“What the hell have you been doing?” my father hisses.

“The right thing,” I respond, not daring to move a muscle.
Keep it inside
, I think, and stare at a vein pulsing in Dad’s neck.

“‘The right thing,’” my father repeats. Crossing his arms he stalks past me to sit on the edge of a dresser. “And the right thing in this case is going against your own father, undermining one of the biggest deals of his career. No, make that
the
biggest deal of his career.

“I asked you to help me. And what did you do? You stole my contact right from under my nose and delivered her to my competitor.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” I ask, incredulous. “That is the most ludicrous spin on what actually happened. You kidnapped a teenage girl and kept her hostage in your home!”

My father shakes his head. “It’s all a matter of perception. Yes, I was applying pressure, but she was always free to leave . . .
if
she chose to. And without your intervention, I am sure she and I could have come to an arrangement. In fact, I’m still hoping to do so.”

“You are deluded, Dad. Juneau will never willingly help you. You’ll have to force her. Which makes you as bad as this Avery freak,” I say, gesturing at the door. From somewhere in the house, Avery’s still yelling.

“Force is always vital in negotiating, whether subtle or more”—my father weighs his words—“overt.”

I just stare at him, wondering when dishonesty became so ingrained in him that he began to believe his own lies. Dad is waiting for a response, but I don’t give him the pleasure. Finally he shakes his head.

“Miles, you don’t understand how dangerous this situation is that you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in.”

“Really?” I ask, and pull up my T-shirt.

My father gasps as he sees my bullet wound. “My God. What happened to you?” For the first time today he looks genuinely shocked.

“I got shot,” I say.

“By whom?” My dad’s voice is faint.

“One of Avery’s guards. They were chasing us in L.A. when we left your house.”

“What?” My dad leaps up and throws open the door. “O’Donnell!” he yells. A second passes and O’Donnell appears in the doorway. “Were you aware that my son was shot?”

“I didn’t do it,” the guard says, eyes wide.

“It wasn’t him,” I confirm.

“Your partner shot him?” Dad asks, sounding dangerous.

“He shot
at
him. But I didn’t know the boy was hit,” O’Donnell says. “And just after, our Jeep flipped, so I was too busy saving my own life to think about his.”

“That will be enough,” my father says, and shuts the door in the guard’s face.

“I almost died,” I say. “Juneau saved my life.”

I see a flash of pain cross my father’s face. A split second of concern. It’s the closest thing to love that I’ve felt from him for years, and my volcano cools a few degrees. Just enough for me to let my mask down. Like the shark he is, my dad spots my weakness and darts at it.

“You have feelings for the girl, don’t you?” he asks. “You think you love her.”

I hesitate, then nod.

“You’re young,” he says in a quiet voice. “You don’t know what love is.”

“Well, I know what it isn’t,” I say. “It isn’t deserting someone when they’re sick. When they’re desperate.”

“So that’s what this is all about,” Dad says with a cold glint in his eye. “You’re angry at me because your mother left.
She
left
us
, Miles. I didn’t force her to go.”

“How hard did you try to stop her?” I ask.

My father sighs. “It’s very hard to live with a person who is depressed. You can’t understand how difficult things can be.”

“Try me,” I say. “Explain. For once.”

Dad shakes his head, mournfully. “I bought your mother the best care possible while she was with us. But I have a multibillion dollar company to run. It’s not like I could sit around and take care of her myself.”

“It all comes down to you” I say. “Your business. Your success. Your money.”

“That money pays for everything you have.” Dad puts his
hands up to slow things down, and sighs.

“Listen, Miles. Help me convince Juneau, and we can all go back home.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I think the question you should be asking is why wouldn’t you do that. Like I said, everything you have comes from me. Your future is in my hands. Who else is going to pay for college, support you until you get a degree, find you a decent first job?”

I cross my arms and stare at him, struggling to keep my voice steady. Fighting the volcano. “No, Dad. My future’s in my own hands now. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your help. And I’m not going to help you. Now, are you going to keep me prisoner, or am I free to go?”

“You realize what you’re saying? If you walk now, that’s the end of you and me.”

“‘You and me’ have been over for a long time.” I open the door and am immediately blocked by my father’s men.

“Let him go,” Dad says. They step aside to let me pass.

I touch my fingers to the burning slap mark on my cheek and, without looking back, I leave my father to go to Juneau.