Heartless: a Derek Cole Mystery Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 1) (26 page)

“No,” he told her, “that is not the way we are going to handle this. Running off with emotions messing up your thoughts will accomplish nothing. For God’s sake, imagine what the doctors would do to Alexander if they knew we were on to them?”

Controlling her emotions had grown too easy. A simple smile now and then. Sending a cheap bouquet of flowers. A trip to wherever. A night staying at home. Simple.
 

He had no concern that she would break the agreement with him. She would keep quiet and let him figure it all out.

“I feel so heartbroken for him,” she said. “My son, our son, locked away like some lab rat. We need to bring him home soon. Please tell me that you will bring him home?”

“Just stick to the talking points and timeframe I gave you. You’ll have your son home with you before long.”

He knew she’d follow the plan. The few times in the past that she thought an idea of hers was better than his had always turned out poorly for her. She had too much to lose, and he knew it. She loved the life his plans had given her, and she wasn’t about to risk losing everything. She knew her place, and while she didn’t agree with the many of the methods her husband employed to get things done, she was comfortable in her place.

He couldn’t say that he still loved her, nor would he say that he despised her. She served a purpose, and he felt she served it quite well. What she couldn’t do well, or wasn’t willing to try to improve on, he had others do for him. All were paid handsomely for discretion.

Hiring Derek Cole was a stretch for him. He hadn’t the time to properly and thoroughly research Cole’s background, but the urgency of the events at the lodge in Piseco Lake demanded that he make a fast decision. The little that he did find out about his newest contractor suggested that Cole had the skills and abilities he needed to complete the job. He also uncovered what he would feel to be a tremendous weakness, one that may have to be further explored if Cole decided to live up to his “freelance” title.

Cole had abilities, that he knew for certain, but he sensed a streak of morality in Derek that could prove disruptive. Keeping Cole on task probably only demanded frequent payments and promises of additional income generating opportunities. But still, he needed him focused to one objective.

It was focus that he appreciated the most. While so many around him shifted their focus from one intention to another, achieving so little while advancing but inches in thousands of different directions, he remained on point. A single mission. One desired outcome. His flexibility allowed for course alterations, but nothing would be tolerated that pulled him off point.

The team members he assembled were all chosen for specific talents they possessed. Derek was chosen for his faithfulness and honesty. His brother had hired Derek to complete a sensitive job and raved about how well Derek completed the task.

“Cole is your guy,” his brother told him after being asked about resources able to maintain confidentiality while following specific instructions. “He’s on his own, meaning that he understands how important it is to keep his clients happy. He probably knows that if he pisses off the wrong client, his career is done.”

“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t piss me off or more than his career will be over.”

It was the idea of freedom he liked the most, being able to look out his window without reminded concerns of being seen. The doors were all his to command. His promise to keep inside was not a lock, a collar, or an iron barred window. It was just a promise, an understanding that the plan needed his cooperation in order to continue.

Multiple plans needed multiple understandings. The coordination of each plan, itself in need of a plan. He fully knew that his partners would be calling on him, one in person and the other through emissaries. Each would be expecting that their plans were being followed to the letter. Though his brother’s plan lacked direction, it was the easiest to follow. All that was needed was for him to be free, then to follow his brother’s lead. The events at the lodge and the murders in Chicago had now rendered that plan obsolete. He knew his brother was scrambling to formulate another plan, but he had no further interest in learning of it.
 

His father’s plan, focused solely on gain, was being dismantled piece by piece. His father had shown a surprising level of patience, which gave him pause. He wondered if he had misinterpreted the emotions driving his father’s plan and wondered, if only for a moment, if the prescribed and detailed steps contained an emotion beyond simple greed.
 

The plan he devised was of singular focus. One governing principle. One driving objective. There were times, multiple times, that he felt pulled to believe that his father and his brother were right and that their motives included a better life for him. He dreamed of what his life could become, with a family by his side to buffet the harsh winds of ridicule, of accusations, of fear. His dreams were consistently interrupted by the memories of Straus telling him that “no one would, no one could ever accept him.”
 

He was too different. Critically unique. “A subject to be studied. To be understood. To be feared.” His brief time in the world had slammed that truth home. He would never be seen as “one of us,” no matter how determined a family might be. And he grew to understand that, despite their assurances, that he would never find comfort in a non-judgmental embrace. There would be no comfort for him. No chance for shared laughter, the recollecting of made memories, or wishful longing that future plans award.
 

He largely ignored the looks and glances of others, though he questioned his ability to make his appearance less conspicuous. Blending in, it seemed, would be much harder than he had anticipated. Perhaps impossible. The color of his skin and the deep, foreboding color that surrounded his eyes both were too much to conceal.

Though insignificant to him, their remarks struck him hard. Callous insults, not intended to advise, but only to remind him that becoming a part of the critical mass was impossible.

“Take a bath, dude!”

“First time seeing the sun?”

“Ever hear of dentures?”

“Freak.”

He had been warned by Straus and by his team. Repeatedly, told that the best place for him, the safest place, was behind the walls they provided. He had listened but had not believed that in a world of billions that he would be noticed. Singled out. Laughed at. He never thought that he would cause others to alter their walking paths to steer clear of him. To be the person that caused others to stare in bewildered shock.

As he retreated back to the apartment that his father had rented to serve as a safe house, and after closing the door behind him, he wished, if only for a moment, that it was his door back at the lodge. He wondered how it would feel to cry. To feel the release of a deep sigh followed by a release of emotions. He could not draw a breath, and he could only imagine releasing stress and anxiety by paying attention to his breaths.

He had read about the importance of deep, conscious breathing in some of the books he was allowed to read and had often tried to mimic the descriptive formula. But he found no release, no benefits.

He stood, leaning his back against his motel room’s door, knowing that he was utterly alone. There was no one who would ever accept him for what he was. And he knew that his decisions to exact his revenge would prevent anyone from ever accepting him for who we was.

He felt more trapped now than ever before. It used to be steel reinforced doors, barred windows, and captors holding Tasers that kept him from freedom. Now he realized that it was his own being that was his captor. He didn’t choose to enter this world in the manner that he did, yet he would always be punished for his arrival. When his father first made contact, he thought that maybe he would have the chance at a normal life. He knew that he would need to be very flexible with his defining of normal, but it was
his
father. He had taken the time and expense needed to find his son. Soon after, his brother accepted his offer to meet. Perhaps to form a relationship the way long-lost brothers often do.

When he learned of his father’s plan, he knew his dreams were in vain. His father wanted only him to be the pawn in his plan. The vehicle that would bring in revenue. His brother’s plan, so quickly determined to be one made without thought, was more focused on exposing truths than becoming a family.

Alexander’s plan, however, included no financial considerations. It did not include a news conference, during which reporters, hungry for scandal, ripped the medical profession apart and launched exposes on the treatment of those in psychiatric institutions. He hated his plan, but following it had quickly proved to be his only choice.

As he leaned against his door, wishing for abilities he had only read about, his phone rang. He had only two phone numbers to memorize. Two people in the world who knew that he could be spoken to. Two souls among billions that wanted to hear his voice.
   

“Hello father,” he whispered. “I’m not surprised you’re calling me.”

************

It was after his normal dinnertime before Derek reached the small town of Alexandria Bay, New York. Finding the resort was easy, though the summer tourists made navigating the small Alexandria Bay streets a challenge.

He checked into the resort and was told how fortunate he was that they had a cancellation and that he would be getting a river-view room with a balcony.

“The views of the seaway are spectacular,” the desk clerk insisted.

“Awesome,” Derek said. “And can you tell me how close my room is to the McClury’s? They’re good friends.”

“Let me check,” the clerk said as she fumbled her fingers across the computer’s keyboard. “We just installed a new server, and I am not super familiar with it yet.”

Minutes passed.

“You are on the fourth floor, and your friends are on the third. You’ll probably be able to see each other from your balconies.”

“Great, and thanks again for the upgrade,” Derek said.

Derek quickly made his way up to his fourth floor balcony room, dropped his overnight bag onto the king-sized bed, and walked out onto the balcony. It took Derek only a few seconds before he spotted Doctor Stanley Mix and his wife, Michelle. The couple was sitting on their balcony, and though Derek’s balcony was a hundred feet away, he could clearly see that Stanley didn’t look well.

He could see that Stanley was completely bald by the afternoon sun reflecting harshly off his head. His shirt was baggy and revealed his bony shoulders beneath its cover. Michelle was leaning towards her husband, elbows on her thighs and a smile filling her face. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever the topic of their conversation was, Derek was certain it had nothing to do with Alexander Black or any of the O’Connells.
 

Derek made his 8:00 call to Ken, but received only Ken O’Connell’s voicemail. He was glad that Ken hadn’t answered as he was unsure what he was planning on telling his client.
 

The next morning, Derek sat on his balcony and watched Michelle Mix sitting alone on her balcony, crying. Derek made sure that Michelle wouldn’t notice him as he sat in quiet confusion, watching. As he sat observing them, wondering what he would tell his client if Ken answered the scheduled 8:00 a.m. call, he saw Michelle stand quickly and move into their room. It was several minutes before he saw motion. Slowly, even more slowly than Derek expected, he watched Michelle help her ailing husband out on to the deck and into one of the lounge chairs. After Stanley was seated, Derek watched as Michelle caressed his face and kissed him on the forehead. She held his hand as she spoke to him, with a smile flooding her face. She then turned towards the room, help up five fingers, smiled again, and disappeared into the room.

Derek quickly moved into his room, put on his sneakers, and headed down to the lobby of the resort. He felt he needed to see Michelle and hopefully speak to her before checking in with Ken O’Connell. Though he had no idea what he would say if given the chance to speak with her, he felt she deserved to know who he was, who we worked for, and what his charge was.

Once in the lobby, Michelle was easy to mark. Though in her fifties, she possessed a comfortable elegance. Her shiny, dark hair and well-conditioned body made her look much younger from a distance. But as Derek drew close and could see the effects of her husband’s illness etched on her face, he knew that cancer affects loved ones as hard as it affects those stricken with the disease.