Mr. Levinger drove us to a real fancy hotel uptown. The concierge did not even curl his lip when he saw me in my hospital issued scrubs and Matt in his paper jumpsuit. Jake was dressed in ratty jeans and t-shirt, with a heavy coat held in his arms.
We got a suite on the top floor, a penthouse. It was like a small version of the beach mansion. I went through every room, gasping at the sheer opulence but Matt headed straight for the bathroom. To take a shower.
He came out twenty minutes later in a cloud of steam and wearing only a fancy robe that was embroidered with the hotel’s name. He sighed in relief as he plopped on the couch.
“Did you bring me a suit, Jase?” he asked, and Mr. Levinger took a plastic bag out of the closet. One of those suit bags. Also, a package of underwear, t-shirts, socks and shoes. He had clean clothes for Jake and me. Mine were jeans and long-sleeved polo, underwear, socks and Sketchers. All in the right sizes, too.
Once we were clean and dressed, he ordered room service. I could get anything I wanted. Of course, the fancy menu was in French, but I could read French. Still, the menu wasn’t exactly hamburgers, fries and cokes. Not my cup of tea. I ordered crepes. Too bad I fell asleep before the meal cart made it to the room.
In the morning, I woke in a panic. Unsure of where I was and plagued by bad dreams. My soft cries of terror brought Matt into my room and it took him some time to convince me that I was safe. That we all were safe, and I was not a prisoner in some expensive loony bin under the control of Mr. Hooper, Elmira, Tempe or my grandfather. I'd also had nightmares about him – my mother’s dad. That he had conspired with Tempe to kidnap me and hold me for ransom.
“Where are we?” I asked in a frightened whisper, clutching at Matt’s shirt.
“The hotel, Cris. Sometimes, I forget that you’re only 12 years-old. Not 30. You’re safe here, no one knows we’re in this hotel. Jason booked us in under assumed names and his firm is paying under a blind account. No one followed us, and Jason had each of us checked for bugs.”
“Bugs?”
“Tracking devices. So, the FBI can keep track of us. Our cell phones are burners, so they can’t pinpoint our location off of cell towers. Jason had a cousin drive us to a secondary location where we switched vehicles and took an Uber to this hotel. They could track us if they spent enough time and resources but by the time that they do, we’ll be long gone from here.”
“Matt, where is ‘home’?” I asked slowly. “I don’t know anymore.”
“Jake and I have some ideas about that, too. Wait until we leave the city and I'll explain it to you,” he promised. “Now, go wash up, get dressed and we’ll leave after we eat breakfast.”
“Okay.” I slid out of bed and padded into the bathroom which already bore the signs of two mens presence. Razors, soap scum in the bowl, the seat left up and general disorder that my mom had never let me do.
By the time I was finished, they had ordered room service and it had already arrived. Scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon and big waffles dripping with butter. More butter was on the side, carved into pretty rose shapes. Real maple syrup. Orange juice, tea and coffee. Mounds of food.
We tucked in and there wasn’t a scrap left when we were done. I burped. Said excuse me and Jake let loose a gut-buster that echoed off the ceiling. I burst out laughing as he grinned. Couldn’t stop laughing and both men joined in until we were nearly crying at the relief from the stress of the last weeks.
I looked around the rooms. No lawyer. “Where’s Mr. Levinger?”
“Courthouse. Filing papers so he and I can have access to your accounts. You’ll need money to live on. I have savings, but they can track us by my credit cards and bank activity.”
“You can’t go back to your detective job, Matt?” I asked sadly. “They should drop the kidnapping charges against you.”
“There are other breach of conduct charges,” he shrugged. “I’m suspended with pay and I have enough time in for a partial pension. I could have taken a full disability after the accident. I won’t suffer financially.”
“And Jake?” I looked at him.
“I’ve always wanted my own business,” he said. “Somewhere out west growing Christmas trees. Or I could become a deputy sheriff in Colorado. I was looking into that before all this started.”
“I ruined your lives,” I said in despair.
“You haven’t done anything, Crispin,” he returned angrily. “Tempe Neige owns all this.”
I stood up and looked out the big windows that ran the length of one wall. Saw the vast expanse of a great park and the impressive skyline of the city. Huge skyscrapers looming over most of the city, yet there were beautiful green-spaces dotted here and there. Trees were swaying in brisk wind and the sky looked like snow.
There were a lot of people on the sidewalks, but they were so tiny from where I stood. Anyone of them could be my enemy.
“Do you think he’s dead?” I whispered, laying my hand on the cold glass. It made me shiver, not the thought of Tempe still being out there. Matt heard me.
“Do you, Cris?” he returned.
“There were six men in the video feeds. Five bodies in the house, counting Tempe. He should still have been in the hallway. So, where was the sixth man?” I turned around to face them. “I felt the knife quiver in his heart. He bled a lot on the floor.”
“A dead man doesn’t bleed. Once the heart stops, no more blood can pump out.” Matt looked at me funny. “Cris, you’re right-handed?”
“I was. I'm left-handed now,” I said confused. I looked at my left hand and tried to do something with my right. My left hand went out automatically to grab at a glass but when I tried the other hand, it felt...awkward.
“Show me how you stabbed Neige.”
“Matt -” I hesitated, not wanting to go there but he insisted. I faced Matt and with my stronger hand reached for my chest where I had hidden the knife I'd taken from the man in the garage. I pretended to lunge at Matt’s chest, hitting him over the heart. He grabbed my hand and held it there.
“Right here? You’re sure? You see this, Jake?” he asked urgently. Jake nodded, looking thoughtful. Scared.
I nodded slowly. “Right in the heart.”
“You know that the heart is in the center of your chest but tilted to the left, Cris?”
“Yeah, I know that,” I returned.
“Cris, this is my right side,” he pointed out gently. “I’m facing you, that makes me a mirror image, putting my right to your left. You hit him in the lungs. If someone got him out of there to medical aid fast enough, he could still be alive.”
“No,” I whispered in horror. “NO! He has to be dead!” I screamed in denial. “He has to! I can’t take anymore!”
I swung at the table and knocked everything off, kicked at the chairs and they fell over. I was bent on destruction, anything to ease the fear and hatred I was feeling. Jake bear-hugged me, lifted me off my feet and held me until I went limp. Only then did I hear Matt calling my name.
“Cris! Relax. He can’t find you. Jake, call for our ride so we can leave,” he told him. “We need to get out of the city, now.”
Less than ten minutes later, we had taken the freight elevator to the back of the hotel where we exited through a laundry holding area and out onto an alley. There were no cameras working and we were able to walk directly down the short alley onto another street that accessed a huge parking garage. It covered acres and rose ten stories high. It wasn’t associated with the hotel, either.
Matt hustled us up to the east corner on the first level looking for a vehicle only he knew the make of. He held out a key fob, pressing the button until one of the cars flashed its lights. An older model Excursion with NY plates. Just like a million other SUVs on the road. It was gray, the most common color, the interior had been black but was now a dusty gray. The seats were leather with wear in the seams and it smelled of cigarette smoke.
The back seat held a booster seat and I turned my lip up. I was still small for my age, but I didn’t need a kid’s seat. The cargo area was filled with camping gear; tent, sleeping bags, Coleman stove and coolers.
I climbed in the rear on the driver’s side and buckled in as Matt took the driver’s seat and Jake sat next to him. Matt backed out and drove without undue haste; he did not use the GPS to weave his way out of the city.
The further away we were, the worse I felt. My hands which had been silent began to itch, driving me nuts and my legs ached deep in my bones. I couldn’t sit still, I was twitchy and uncomfortable. Moving made me hit the back of Matt’s seat and he asked if I had ants in my pants. I told him that it felt as if I had bugs biting me all over, just under the skin.
“Jake?” I leaned forward. “Do you have my pills?”
He looked at Matt. “Are you hurting?”
“My burns are itchy, but my legs really hurt. And I feel weird. I hurt all over. Maybe I spent too much time on them walking all over the FBI building. I just came out of the hospital and people are dragging me all over the place,” I complained. “I haven’t slept in the same bed twice.”
“Jake, look in the center console and the glove box. Jason said he put Cris’ stuff in the car,” he said. Jake did and pulled out a zip-lock bag with four pill bottles, a container of cream and typed instructions.
“Antibiotics, Silverdene and hydrocodone,” he read. “That’s the good stuff. One amocycillin two times a day, hydrocodone every 4-6 hours as needed, not to exceed 6 in one day. The cream is to be applied twice a day and his hands covered with gloves.” He shook the bottle of pain meds. “There are only 4 left out of 45, Matt. Who’s been feeding you the pills?”
“I dunno. The nurses at the hospital and the FBI dudes gave me a few when I asked. Why? Am I addicted?”
He laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“Jake, I’ve been sedated for months. Maybe a whole year. However long Hooper kept me at Reacher Hall. Besides, I heard that some people have been hooked on just one or two pills.”
“If you are, we’ll deal with that when we need to, okay? Here. Take this, there are drinks in the red cooler. If you’re in pain, you need the meds.”
I took the white pill and swallowed it without liquid, a skill that I had mastered at an early age. Fifteen minutes later, my head felt light and I was dizzy. Nothing hurt anymore. I laid my head back and fell asleep.
I woke briefly when fresh, cold air slapped me in the face. Someone was carrying me across a paved parking lot underneath dim overhead lights. I made a sleepy protest but lacked the energy for anything more.
A door opened with whoosh. Mumbled voices talked about rooms and money. Then, we were walking down a quiet, dim hallway towards an EXIT sign. He opened a door near that, turned on a small light and laid me on the top of the bed. Pulling the covers up from the foot, he covered me with the comforter. I snuggled into the pillows and was asleep again in seconds.
They let me sleep until I woke on my own. The smell of French fries and coffee dragged me from my deep dreams. I woke with a headache and lead in my body. Dragging, tired and grumpy even though it felt like I had slept for days. I was still in my clothes, minus my shoes and coat.
“Where are we?” I grumbled. The small table near the window held backpacks and bags from MacDonalds. Matt was eating a Big Breakfast and Jake had pancakes and sausage. They had picked me up a plate of eggs, sausage, biscuit and hash browns. The table also held four breakfast burritos, orange juice, carton of milk and two large coffees.
“Hungry?” Matt asked, smiling. He looked rested. Less gray and was dressed in expensive designer jeans, flannel shirt and vest. Jake wore jeans and a long-sleeved T.
“I have a headache,” I complained. “I feel kinda shitty. Sick to my stomach, too.”
Matt said mildly, “language, Cris. Codeine does that to you. Especially on an empty stomach. Eat this.” He handed me a burrito. “We drove all night, we’re in Pennsylvania near the Ohio border. Did over 400 miles. You slept right through all of it.”
I ate a bite. It tasted okay and didn’t seem to bother my belly. Nor did the rest of it so I ate two more. Finished off the eggs and the biscuit. Matt ate my sausage and hash browns.
“Where are we going?” I asked drinking the OJ and left the milk. Milk tasted awful after OJ. I licked jelly off my fingers.
“Colorado. Jason bought a small cabin on some acreage in the mountains under a shell corporation. He did it seven years ago for a client who was sent to jail for 25 years. He died in prison and didn’t have any heirs. Rather than turn the property over to the state, he gave it to Jason. No one knows about the property but Jason. He put it into a blind trust for you along with several million dollars that we can access. It’s not registered to you, me or Jason so it can’t be traced back to you.”
“Where in Colorado?” I asked.
“A small town near Dolores. It’s large enough that no one will notice three newcomers, especially during ski season. It’s in the San Juan Mountains, remote enough we can see anyone approach but still accessible year-round. The cabin is three rooms, runs off propane, wood heat, solar panels and a generator if all else fails. There is no electricity to the cabin, no TV, telephone or cell coverage. There is a radio that will reach the Ranger station and Jason gave me a satellite phone for emergencies. He’s had a caretaker keep the place up for the last seven years and stocked it last month. There’s a four-wheeler in the shed, along with a skimobile and a small tractor with a plow in case we get snowed in.”
“What are we gonna do for fun?” I asked. “I need to keep busy.” I could picture days, weeks, months of utter boredom stuck in a cabin 24 hours-a-day without any chores, toys or books. I could hunt, explore and search for gold but somehow, I didn’t think Matt would let me that far out of sight.
“Most kids would be overjoyed with nothing to do on their own,” Jake commented.
“Most kids didn’t have to scrounge to survive,” I snapped. “I’ve been too busy trying to make it that too much idle time scares me. Too much time to think. Brood. Worry.”
“Don’t worry, Cris,” Matt said carefully. “I had Jason send along three years’ worth of school curriculum for us to work on. Along with that, there are Kindles loaded with reading material and he’ll send more when you’ve gone through them.”
I grunted. As long as I had books, I could handle it.
“There are clean clothes for you in the bathroom. I thought you might like to take a bath. Or a shower.”
I sniffed my armpits. I did smell kinda raunchy. My eyes lit up. I hadn’t had a good soak in…forever. The last I could recall was a shower. The trailer didn’t have room for a tub and the hospital only had showers, but they wouldn’t let me soak because of my burns. All I really had in that time was a bed bath.
I took off my clothes in the room and folded them neatly on the bed. They watched me with awed expressions as if what I did was strange. “What?” I asked on the defensive. “Didn’t your mom teach you to be neat and pick up your things? Clothes are expensive, and I had to really scrounge to get the money for new ones. Even when they came from the thrift store.”
I stood there and the looks on their faces made me retreat to the bathroom. What I saw was pity. My face felt tight and tears threatened to make me blind. That made me mad, my mom had done the best she could for me, and I hadn’t lacked in anything but money. She’d done it without state help, my father or selling herself as a whore. I had nothing to be ashamed of, nor did she. And I wouldn’t let anyone talk bad about her or how she had raised me.
I turned the water on and slid into the tub, letting it fill until I could sink up to my chin. It was hot, too. Almost hot enough to make me yell but it felt great on my achy body. I even had a little bottle of shampoo and washed my hair three times, careful to be easy on my hands. I sat there until Matt knocked on the door. Until my tears were from the cold and not from my memories.
I stood up, dried off and dressed in the clothes laid out on the counter. Jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt, underwear in shorts and tee. New sneakers waited under the sink counter along with tube socks. A new toothbrush and plastic comb. I wouldn’t have to use my fingers on my hair.