Sarah Armstrong: Blood Lines Part 22

For a moment, again only silence, as Ca.s.sidy held me and I waited, holding my gun, watching the doors. With no other ideas, I tried the door handles, again pulling up and pushing. No such luck. They were, of course, still locked. Then, I caught just the faintest hint of an unfamiliar smell, a faint but distinctly chemical odor.

"Whats that?" Ca.s.sidy whispered, her entire body shaking. "It smells bad in here."

I took another whiff. I hated to say it, but I had to. "Some kind of gas I think," I said. I looked over at her, but my eyes blurred. I couldnt see her clearly, and I didnt have the strength to hold her up when she swooned, her head sinking onto my lap.

This wasnt going so well. I had to admit that maybe I needed a plan B. Quickly. Pounding on the privacy window, I screamed, "Okay. Okay," but my fists felt too heavy to lift, and my voice was little more than a mumble. The gas burned my throat, and I would remember nothing more.

"You really should have just given me the gun," Peterson said, perched on the edge of a tan metal desk. He looked miffed, but his voice didnt give away any sign of irritation. "It would have made it so much more pleasant for all of us. It wasnt easy carrying you both here. Id only planned on the girl."

The room was floating, and everything had a yellowish hue. It felt like swimming through chicken broth. I took a look around. A metal door, gray like the walls, bolted from the inside. I could breathe but my lungs ached from the gas. As my vision cleared, I saw Ca.s.sidy across the room, on the floor. A few mops and buckets, dust rags and some spray cleaners on a shelf suggested we were in some kind of maintenance storage locker. When I looked back at Ca.s.sidy, I realized she was handcuffed and chained to a wall. I tried to move my arms and felt, instead of chains, plastic-covered electrical cord cinching my hands behind my back. I looked down and saw a length of cord anch.o.r.ed me to the small steel-framed chair I sat on. Only my legs were free.

Ca.s.sidy rolled over, moaning. She was waking, and Peterson, still wearing his black cowboy hat, couldnt have looked happier if hed just finished scoring the final measure of a new symphony.

"It was nice of you to come with her, Lieutenant," he said, with a smirk. "I hadnt hoped for quite this much success. If I had, I would have made sure I had two sets of chains and handcuffs. But I believe Ive adapted to the situation quite well."

"Justin, you really dont want to do this. Its all a misunderstanding," I said. "Let Ca.s.sidy tell you what weve discovered about the two of you. Itll explain why youve felt so drawn to her."

"The truth is, Lieutenant, Im not interested," he said.

"Where are we?" I asked, again looking about the room. "Were downtown, right? Somewhere in the tunnels?"

Its one of those oddities only the locals know about. On any even vaguely inclement day, at street level Houstons main business district appears deserted, while streams of office workers mingle in air-conditioned comfort in a web of underground pa.s.sageways, accessed through the citys soaring skysc.r.a.pers via a maze of stairwells, escalators, and elevators. Monday through Friday, nine to six, the tunnels are flooded with pedestrians frequenting underground shops and restaurants, dropping off dry cleaning or picking up prescriptions, all the while avoiding cold, rain, or Texa.s.s unrelenting summer heat. After working hours, the tunnels and the skysc.r.a.pers above were mostly dark and quiet. Since it had to be ten or later, if that was where Peterson had us, we could scream, but the likelihood was that no one would hear us.

"Ah, you are good, Lieutenant," Peterson said, with a grin. "Deductive reasoning, I suppose. Length of trip, etc. Very good."

"Great, well, how about freeing us and well talk?" I suggested. "Ca.s.sidy has something she wants to tell you, something thatll clear all this up."

"If thats what I wanted, I would," he said with a shrug. "Too bad for the two of you, its not."

Boy but I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. If my hands were free I would have done just that.

"But, you dont understand," Ca.s.sidy pleaded.

All afternoon, I knew she truly believed she just had to explain their connection, to let Justin know they were sister and brother, and shed have her happy ending. The way this guy was acting, it appeared my fears were right. Having a connection with Ca.s.sidy wasnt Petersons only motive. There was more going on, but what?

"Im your sister," she said. "Please listen to me. Its true. Im your sister."

"You are?" he said, with exaggerated surprise. "How can that be?"

"Sarah can tell you. We figured it out. There are even records."

"Youre sure about that?" he gasped, followed by an indulgent grin.

I gauged the delight he took in her pleas, saw how he savored having Ca.s.sidy, having both of us in his control, and I thought, hes toying with her.

"Listen to me, Justin," she pleaded. "Im telling you the truth. The reason youre so interested in me, I know you dont understand, but the reason you feel drawn to me is that were family. Were related."

"Why do I feel drawn to you, Ca.s.sidy?" he asked. "What is it about you that makes it impossible for me to think of anyone but you?"

"Its because Im your sister, dont you see?" she said, tears coursing from her eyes, frustrated at his seeming inability to understand. "Youre my brother, Justin. My brother."

Then, any doubt was gone. His smug expression left no room to be mistaken. "He knows," I said. "Hes known all along."

Ca.s.sidy shot me a puzzled glance, but Peterson laughed, a hard, rueful cackle that resonated off the blank walls.

"How did you figure it out?" he asked.

"I should have known from the beginning. Your e-mail, about her freckles," I said. "I thought maybe it was a good guess, based on her fair skin, but you knew. You remembered."

"There youre wrong. Actually, it was a guess. Ca.s.sie was too young for freckles when our paths diverged," he said. "But my mother had freckles as a little girl. Id seen them in her pictures. I a.s.sumed, since they look so much alike, that my sister would, too."

"You remember?" Ca.s.sidy asked. "But Justin . . ."

"Believe me when I tell you that a five-year-old never forgets a detail of the day his mother deserts him. The day she left him at an orphanage," he said, every ounce of his being focused on his sister.

"But that wasnt me. I didnt do it," she countered, her voice small, frightened.

"True. But you were the one she picked," he said. "I was the one she left behind."

The kid looked scared but at the same time angry. "Maybe she tried, Justin. Maybe Mom wanted to be with both of us. Maybe she couldnt take care of both of us. Whatever, I dont know. But we both know she didnt have an easy life. Our mom had a lot of bad stuff, especially from our dad," the girl said. I was proud of her for standing up for her mother, at least trying to understand. "Maybe Mom thought she was doing the best she could for us, like she couldnt think of a better option."

"I dont care about her problems," he said, spitting out the words. "As for our relationship, yours and mine, well, some things are more important than sharing the same bloodline."

"Like what?" she asked. "Whats more important than family?"

"To me? Revenge," he said with a surly grin. Looking at him made the acid in my stomach churn. "Ca.s.sidy, you and I have an old score to settle."

"Thats not fair. I was just a baby," Ca.s.sidy said, her eyes hard on her brother. Despite her hopes, the teenager was beginning to understand that this wouldnt be the happy family reunion shed hoped for.

Peterson gazed at the kid with utter contempt.

"How did you find me?" she asked, her voice hoa.r.s.e with sadness and fear.

"That was easy. I just waited until I was old enough, and then pulled some records, looked at old files. You see, I remembered our last name. I always remembered," he said. "I went looking for Mom a few years ago, and found out she was dead. Sadly for you, the alcohol took away any opportunity to punish her. With Mom gone, you were next up. You were, I must admit, a little harder to find, but not much. You look just like her, and your face was all over the television and magazine racks."

I tugged at the cord around my wrists. Tight, too tight. It wasnt budging. And the gun, where was my gun? Maybe behind him, on the desk? Or in a drawer? Or maybe he left it in the car? Where was the d.a.m.n gun? Where were the captain and David? There should have been some way to figure out where hed taken us. Someone must have seen something.

"Instead of making up that stuff about wanting to mentor my music, why didnt you write and tell me that you were my brother?" Ca.s.sidy charged, growing ever angrier. "If you had, I would have contacted you."

"You sure?" he asked, his voice level and calm, yet contemptuous. "Youre sure thats what you would have done?"

"I would have understood," she said, in a small, quiet voice. "I would have sent for you."

Peterson stood up, walked over, and peered down at Ca.s.sie, and I saw a bulge under his shirt, at the small of his back. My gun or his? It didnt matter.

"Really, you would have sent for me?" he scoffed. "And why would you have done that? Why would you have chosen me to believe? With all the c.r.a.p you get every day, the fan mail, the bizarre claims. Why would you have chosen to believe me? Why wouldnt you have disregarded my letters, exactly the way you did when I wrote you offering help and friendship? Tell me that."

"I would have answered," she said, her voice aching with pain. "I would have believed you. I would have known. We have the same parents."

"Wonderful parents," he said. "Two drunks."

Peterson laughed, a derisive, searing, mocking laugh. There was no longer any question about what to do. It was obvious that Ca.s.sidy and I were part of some strange game. We wouldnt be leaving this room alive. My guess was Peterson figured he wouldnt either, but, unlike us, he didnt care.

"Youre wrong about whats important. Family is family," I said to him. I didnt harbor even a glimmer of hope I could change his mind, but I needed to keep the conversation going, to buy time. "Youve got a sister now, someone bound to you by the most basic human element, blood."

Peterson said nothing, only glared at Ca.s.sidy, as I went on. "Could anything be stronger? Look how much you have in common, especially music," I said. "Why not make up for lost time? Why not get to know your only living family?"

"Shut up, Lieutenant," he ordered. "The teenage superstar and I share nothing, and were certainly not family. My father was a drunk who beat my mother. Beat me. Instead of taking me with her when she fled, my mother threw me away."

"Is that why were here?" I asked. "So you can punish your sister for the sins of your parents?"

"Yes," he said, grinning at Ca.s.sidy. "Thats precisely why were here."

"There has to be more. There just has to. What else? You owe us an explanation," I said, but then, I knew that, too. I remembered that day at the university, as he sat at his piano, when he mentioned my name in the headlines. "Youre doing this to make sure youre as famous as your sister, arent you? Its all some kind of perverted game, a sick compet.i.tion to get your name in the press. You kill her and you become famous, an instant celebrity."

"No!" Ca.s.sidy screamed. "No, Justin, please. Im your sister."

The laugh again, that same vicious laugh.

"Hes hopeless, Ca.s.sidy," I said. "Dont bother."

"But he cant mean that. He just cant," she cried.

"Yes, I can. For the first time in my life, in my entire existence, Im in charge, with the power to make sure that the world hears my story. I planted that family photo so youd find it," he said, turning to me. "I wanted everyone to know. Imagine what theyll a.s.sume, that I killed the superstar without knowing shes my sister. Ca.s.sidy and I will become tragic figures. Theyll say things like, 'It all could have ended differently. If that poor boy had only known who she really was. "

"And all three of us will be dead?" I said. "If you dont die here, you will of a lethal injection. You wont be around to enjoy your fame. Makes the whole exercise pointless, in my opinion."

"Too bad for you, not in mine," he said. "The way I see it, fame, at any cost, is a win. And this level of fame, that of murdering my very own superstar sister, thatll buy me a level of notoriety I could never achieve with my music."

Id been working to free my hands, but the electrical cord wouldnt budge. If I could just get him to watch Ca.s.sidy for a while, talk to her. The final battle against Santa Anna for Texas independence only lasted eighteen minutes. I didnt need much time.

"Ca.s.sidy, tell Justin about what happened during your session with Dr. Dorin today," I said. "Tell him what you remembered about your mother. She wasnt a bad woman. Remember what the doctor said, that it was an illness."

"I dont care that she was sick," he blurted out, his eyes dark wells of anger.

"But, Sarahs right, Justin," Ca.s.sie said. "You have to listen to me. Mom didnt want our lives to be bad. Maybe she thought she was doing the best thing for us."

No matter how hard I tried, the bindings on my wrists werent giving, so I started tugging at the knot that tied me to the chair. If I kept working, I might . . .

"Sure, and the Easter Bunny delivers colored eggs," Peterson said. "Mom was a drunk, just like Dad. That and the two of us were the only things those two had in common. When he wasnt beating one of us, he was threatening to. When Mom ran, I thought maybe wed be all right. What does she do but give me away? At least she wanted you. At least she cared about what happened to you. Me, she threw away, like an empty booze bottle."

"Okay, maybe youre right," Ca.s.sidy shouted back. Despite everything, she wasnt sitting back taking it. "But like I said, what did I do? What did Sarah do? Why do you want to kill us?"

"The rangers here because she ended up here. It was her fate," he said, each word laced with hate. "You? Youre here because I was the one she gave away, and because killing you is the best way to make sure I dont die in obscurity."

"But your music," Ca.s.sidy argued. "Justin, you have your music. Youre brilliant. Sarah told me youre some kind of a genius. You could have an amazing career."

"'Could have being the operative words here," he said. "Could have but probably wont have. You know how many cla.s.sical musicians really make it? Hardly any. Im not dying that way, unknown. Im not. It wont happen."

The knot around my waist fell away and the cord went slack on my lap. I had one chance, only one. I needed him distracted. Ca.s.sidy looked at me, as if she knew, and his eyes followed hers. Peterson stared at my face, and then his eyes trailed down.

Just then, from outside the door, a voice blared on a bullhorn.

"Mr. Peterson, we have this area surrounded," David ordered. "You have thirty seconds to open up, and then were coming in."

Startled, Peterson turned toward the door.

If Id had more time, I might have thought of something brilliant, or at least something with a whiff of a chance of working. But I didnt, so I did the only thing that occurred to me. His back turned to me, I jumped up, dragging the chair with me, and bore down on him, knocking Peterson from behind, aiming for his kidneys. He faltered and fell, sprawled out on the floor. In the scuffle, my gun dislodged from his belt, clanking hard against the floor and skittering across the speckled beige linoleum toward Ca.s.sidy. She grabbed for it, but her chains jerked tight. Groaning, Peterson lunged for the gun.

"Justin, no," Ca.s.sidy shouted, kicking the .45 across the room. Peterson changed direction, crawling toward it, but I yanked my arms up behind me, the chair clattered to the floor, and I pulled my lizard-skin boot back and let loose a kick that caught him hard on the side. He doubled up in pain.

"s.h.i.t," he cried out, as I pushed past him. He staggered to get up, to come after me, just as I threw myself down onto the floor, aiming for the gun.

"David," I shouted. "Hurry!"

Diving nearly on top of me, Peterson strained to roll me to the side. My wrists still tied, I couldnt hold him off long. Underneath me, the gun barrel lodged against my back. I pushed up far enough to clutch the grip and held tight, then screamed, "d.a.m.n it, David. Get the h.e.l.l in here. Now!"

The sounds of Ca.s.sidys cries and the battering ram pummeling the door echoed off the cement walls. I jerked my leg up and caught a lucky break, aiming where it hurt.

With a guttural cry, Peterson rolled on his side, holding his groin. I tried to get up, but he instantly came back at me, grabbing my neck and squeezing. I dug my heels against the floor. Straining, I held my ground, my throat closing up as I struggled for air. Another booming a.s.sault on the door from the outside, as Peterson squeezed tighter. I tried to knee him again, but this time he dodged my blow, and I felt my consciousness waning. Behind me, wrists throbbing, I grasped the gun. I felt the trigger.

"Stop!" Ca.s.sidy shrieked, pleading. "Justin, stop! Dont hurt Sarah. Please, dont hurt her."

I kicked harder, and then, as the battering ram toppled the door, sending it cratering to the floor, I heard David shout my name. Peterson let go of my throat and delivered a sharp blow to my chest. Gasping for air, I rolled to the side and heard a single gunshot. A searing pain sliced through my back and left arm, and high-velocity blood spatter covered the floor beside me. Davids face peered down at me, when everything went blank.

Epilogue.

Mom, wait until I show you what Ca.s.sidy did to Warrior," Maggie said, with a giggle as I sat in my favorite rocker on the porch at the ranch. "Ill get him!"

Two weeks after that night in the Houston tunnels, the bruises had faded and the st.i.tches were gone, but the scars were still healing. In the scuffle, my gun had discharged, skimming through my back muscles but hitting my left arm full on, midway between my shoulder and elbow. In addition to the rod and screws that held together what was left of the bone, I now had a card in my wallet Id carry into airports for the rest of my life, explaining why I set off metal detectors.

As Maggie promised, she emerged from the stable moments later with Ca.s.sidy leading the foal. Mom and I had kind of adopted the kid. She slept in Maggies trundle bed, now that everyone was home, and theyd become fast friends. Even Strings liked her. Hed taken to bringing over his guitar to accompany the superstar while she and Maggie sang. Most of their numbers were Ca.s.sidys compositions. I discovered I liked them without the full percussion section and a stadium full of shrieking kids.

Despite his risky beginnings, Warrior, too, was faring well, steadily gaining weight and inching taller. The sunlight glistened on his back. Solid black and growing stronger every day, he was beautiful.

"Look," Maggie said. "Doesnt he look too cute?"

Ca.s.sidy made an exaggerated bow, showing the foal off. The girls had braided Ca.s.sidys sparkly hairpins into his spa.r.s.e mane, making him look more like the filly Maggie had antic.i.p.ated than a colt.

"You better not take a picture of him that way," I said, with a laugh. "When hes a full-grown stallion, he may not find this amusing."