Blood Brothers (19 page)

They both had resorted to distasteful deeds
in their lives, and both knew such heinous acts lay in their
immediate future. It didn’t take a monster to do evil. It just took
a human with evil thoughts. Evil thoughts lead to evil action. And
all humans, at some point, suffered evil thoughts. Some acted on
them, a few more than others. In the end, it wasn’t really all that
hard to commit the atrocious acts that seemingly boggled another
person’s imagination. But after close consideration of all the
contributing factors, was it really all that mind-boggling?

Jerry didn’t think so. He’d bet dollars to
donuts that Mother Theresa herself could have easily been a Lizzie
Borden given the right circumstances. The opposite was also true;
Hitler could have been a Mahatma Gandhi.

There were shadows in the mind, temptations
that you could choose to follow or deny. It all came down to simple
choice.

And Jerry Garrett could have been Michael
Cole, given half the chance. But since he couldn’t possibly trade
places with him, he’d do the next best thing.

Destroy Cole.

But he didn’t want to think about the things
he’d done or the things he was about to do. He would venture a
guess that Trista didn’t either, despite her hardened core. So, as
everyone did when the shadows became too much to bear, he chose to
ignore them the only way that ever truly worked for him.

He took Trista’s hand tenderly into his, just
like the gentleman he could never be and said, “Come.”

“Where?”

“To bed.”

Without another word, Trista stood and
followed him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Together they
fought away the temptation of evil, if only for a while, with the
feeling closest to love that either of them would ever embrace.

Now

Saturday afternoon had gone well. As had the
evening. They’d spent too much in the shops up and down Main Street
and out at the new strip mall. Christal had selected a few items at
the music store and Stephanie, in her natural element, had found a
wonderful dress for the upcoming banquet and purchased a beautiful
tennis bracelet that she’d been eyeing. For his part, Michael
picked up a few DVD’s that he’d been interested in and a new
charger for his cell phone.

The weather had been so nice that they’d
dined out on the covered portico at the Wooden Pier. Stephanie and
Christal both ordered the shrimp. Michael, not a real shrimp guy,
had the blackened catfish. There were smiles and laughter and for a
time it was possible to think that everything was right with the
world and they were nothing but the picture perfect family they
appeared to be.

Surprisingly, the good vibes lasted
throughout the night. Stephanie sat in on her husband’s reading to
Christal. As she slipped away to sweet slumber, there was no doubt
the smile that graced her angelic face was genuine and there’s much
to be said by that in itself.

Michael and Stephanie made love. It was not
rushed and not selfish. It was kind, considerate and passionate.
Just the way it should be between a husband and wife.

The next morning they awoke, readied
themselves, and attended services at the First Baptist Church of
Benedict, something they’d been neglecting as of late.

For Sunday lunch they’d eaten out, then
dropped by to see Mrs. Wylder. She’d worked yesterday but Stephanie
had noticed the sickness still lingered. She lived alone and for
some reason, visiting her seemed like a good idea. Mrs. Wylder
agreed, forcing them to allow her to prepare cookies for
them—baking being one of her specialties. Instead of letting the
ailing woman do all the work, they’d pitched in as if they were one
big happy family. Which, really, they were, from a certain point of
view.

The rest of the evening was just as blissful
and for a while, Michael thought that perhaps this newfound family
civility might last.

Again Sunday night, he read to Christal, one
of the new books they’d bought this weekend. Princesses, magical
horses, and handsome princes. It made Michael consider what he
would do when the day came that a kid—probably not a prince—came to
call on his little princess. It would be nothing noble, he knew
that.

All in all the weekend was a smashing
success.

And then Monday came.

When Michael made it to the office, Sally and
the rest of his staff had decked the place out in balloons,
streamers, big urns of wonderfully aromatic coffee, large platters
of still-warm, oh-so-tasty pastries, and a tall gift-wrapped box. A
large sign, hand-painted, declared: Congratulations Boss!

His folks were good that way. Besides the
point that each and every single one, including the secretarial
staff, would be cashing a healthy bonus check by the end of the
week, they always seemed pleased when he sealed a deal. It was a
point of pride for them too, perhaps. Michael prided himself on
being a good boss. Sally kept important dates penciled in on his
calendar and fed into his Outlook. It was mandatory that not a
birthday, anniversary, or special occasion for one of his employees
go by without kind words and something or another to let them know
that they were indeed valuable to this small firm. You could pay
people lot of money, but if they ever convinced themselves that
they were just another cog in the machine their work output, while
most likely satisfactory, wouldn’t be their best effort. That was a
fact that almost everyone who’d ever managed people knew, though
only few succeeded in doing it properly. In his humble opinion,
Michael thought himself proficient.

After a lot of pats on the back, a dozen or
so “atta boys” and more apple fritters downed than he could
justify, Michael escaped the party. With a tall cup of the
strongest java, he climbed behind his desk, fired up his computer
and settled in for a ten-hour day of wheeling and dealing.

He had a full day scheduled. First, he would
check with his attorney and ensure that the copy of the contract
from Friday was signed in correct places and that, indeed, it was
all over and done with, including the proper amount deposited to
his account. For such a large sum, there would be a waiting period;
there just wasn’t any way around that. Still, if he could verify
the deposit, he would feel much better.

Next, he had a meeting in his office with
Vaughn Meyers. He’d gotten a text last night that his flight had
landed and Vince was suffering a severe case of jet lag. Michael
discounted the jet lag as a horrible hangover from binging on the
company’s expense account. He, of course, didn’t say anything about
that. Vaughn did good work, and he knew a deal when he came across
it. The flight into Memphis had brought him from Oregon—Rockaway
Beach in particular, right off the Oregon Coast Highway. Vaughn had
been looking over an out-of-business hotel that boasted splendid
views of the Pacific and was set on a hundred acres of woodland.
Drunk or not, it was a long flight, so in his response Michael told
him to sleep in, no big hurry to get in, and set an appointment for
eleven. While the meeting should be a detailed discussion on the
pros and cons of readying the once-opulent seaside caravansary, he
planned to lunch with Dalton Crisp, Benedict’s mayor, to discuss
the upcoming benefit for Season’s Givings, a Christmas gift charity
for children of low-income families. He and several of the other
big shots in town had started the charity a few years back, with
the much-needed aid from Stephanie, who seemed to have a special
genius for such things.

So it came as a bit of surprise when
Stephanie came bursting into his office just as he was hanging the
phone up. He’d been speaking with Tanya Hooper, his attorney. It
took just one look at her face—not too mention the way the door
slammed into the wall as she passed through—for Michael to know
something was terribly and irrevocably wrong.

He stood and started to move towards her.
With a finger out in front of her jabbing at the air, she said, “Of
all the things, Michael Cole, of all the awful, hateful, hurtful
things you’ve done, why this?” She was demanding, the anger as
clear as a Montana afternoon, but there was something else there,
too.

“
Stephanie, what, what is
it?”

They met in the center of the office, her
face strained, her eyes reddened. There’d been crying, he
understood, and lots of it. Her mascara ran in ugly, jutting rivers
beneath her eyes. The vein across the bridge of her nose bulged—a
sure sign that her temper was flaring to an extremely dangerous
level, one from which harm could come.

“What is it?” She pulled her arm back to
swing, planning an open palm slap that would knock him into next
week if it connected. Fortunately, she telegraphed her moves like
Western Union, especially when she was so overwrought with emotion.
Stepping easily to the side, Michael waited for the swing to pass,
then stepped in and grabbed her in a bear hug.

“Stephanie, stop it. Stop it. What is
it?”

“You bastard!” She was actually screaming
now, her voice not only carrying through the walls of the office,
but the thickly insulated brick ones as well. “I’ve put up with a
lot, Michael. A whole lot.” She started crumpling then. He held her
tight, keeping her upright.

Sally stepped into the doorway. She was lost,
didn’t know how to react. Michael waved her away and she left,
closing the door behind her. He could imagine everyone outside the
office playing No-We-Really-Don’t-Hear-Anything, but moving closer
and closer all the while so they could, in fact, hear clearly and
well.

“Stephanie, tell me what this is about. Tell
me right now.”

“You lied to me, Michael. You lied to me,”
the last word groaned out.

“Lied? About what? Calm down. Calm down and
tell me what’s happened.”

She sniffled—screaming wasn’t all she’d been
doing. She’d started crying again. That was no reason for Michael
to let his guard down. He knew this woman well, and her anger was a
fickle thing.

Stephanie pushed away from him. With her head
held high once again, her eyes drilled into him. “A baby,” she said
simply.

Michael didn’t know what she was talking
about…for about a half a second. Then, of course, he did. He opened
his mouth to ask her how she found out, but Stephanie wasn’t
through, not yet.

“You know,” she began. “There was a time when
you at least acted like you loved me, like you weren’t cheating on
me. It was a long time ago, but I remember it. But when you got so
bold as to not even come home some nights, I made my mind up to
leave. But I didn’t. I had my bags packed, Christal’s bags packed,
but I didn’t.” She paused. “I’m sure you think it’s because of the
money. But you’d be wrong. I’m sure you think that’s why I put up
with you and the things you do. But again, you’d be wrong. Oh yes,
I like being rich. There’s nothing quite like it. But I don’t need
you. What I didn’t get in a divorce settlement, I could get from my
father. And you know that, deep down. I don’t need you, Mike Cole.
Not at all.” The use of his abbreviated name irritated him, but he
was right in thinking this wasn’t the time to bring that up.

“I’ll tell you why I did it,” she was
stepping away from him. He hadn’t moved a muscle, but she was
back-stepping as if he’d pulled a knife on her. “I did it for
love.”

“Stephanie,” he said. He inched closer and
closer to her. If he could reach her, he could calm her, soothe
her. “We can work this out.”

“No love for you, you arrogant son of a
bitch. God! Everything’s about you, isn’t it? The world revolves
around Michael Cole. Michael Cole, the king of Benedict.” She let
her sarcasm sink in. He didn’t like to be spoken to in that manner.
Couldn’t stand it, really. And she knew that. Knew it well. “I did
it for Christal. I did it for my baby girl.

“She was three, barely that. I had her pack
some clothes, a few toys and her baby doll. The one I bought her in
Manhattan. She thought it was fun, at first. Thought we were going
on a trip. It was my own fault. I tried to explain what we were
going to do. That we were leaving, and I didn’t know when…or even
if…we were coming back. Stupid move. But unlike you, I can’t bear
lying to my daughter. She just went ballistic. I dropped my
suitcase, tossed hers, and tried to pull her out. She was only
three, so little, so tiny. But she had the strength of ten men. She
kept calling for you, crying out. Said she couldn’t leave her
daddy. Made me want to puke.

“This was when you’d went on your ‘business
trip’ to San Diego. Except when I called your room, it wasn’t you
that answered. You remember that don’t you, Mike?”

“Yes,” was all he could say. And he did
remember that weekend. Remembered it with amazing clarity.

“Vanessa, wasn’t it? Vanessa…Peters?”

“Yeah.”

“She was nineteen, Michael. Nineteen, and as
bright as a burned out light bulb.” Why he felt an urge to defend
Vanessa’s honor, he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she had any honor
to defend. “You were holed up in a snazzy suite, your pecker in
Peters, and your daughter having a fit because she was leaving her
daddy. Her daddy, who she loves so much! How does that make you
feel? Or does it even matter?”

Something like hatred started to darken his
thoughts. “I think we should talk about this another time, Steph.
Somewhere else.”

“No,” the fire was burning bright again.
“After all that, and every time since, I stay home and take care of
your child. Hang on your arm, like a decoration. But then this. You
get a woman pregnant. Pregnant, Michael Cole. That’s day-time TV
kind of shit. You couldn’t afford a seventy-five cent condom? How
many times, Mike? How many times have you been out screwing like a
jack rabbit, without even the consideration of a rubber, and then
come home and stick that nasty piece of meat in me?”