The Rasner Effect (12 page)

“Well, Clara Blue has told me she’s always wanted to be an actress. This could be the perfect motivation for her in class…”

“Are you out of your mind?” Miller screamed now. “Do you even understand why these children are here?”

“Of course, but this is why…”

“Do you know why Clara Blue is here? She is a violent child! Her father is a convicted murderer! She has an attempted murder charge of her own. It’s by sheer luck that her victim survived the attack. We need to find a way to contain these impulses, for the sake of society, and you want to put her in a play?”

“I’m aware of the story.” As much as he tried, Rick could not bring his gaze up to look Miller in the face. “This is why I think she would benefit from doing something positive. I really feel this would offer her some hope. She’ll be able to see a future once she is able to leave the Residence. This could be therapeutic for many of the children…”

“Clara Blue only knows violence and rebellious defiant behavior! It is in her genetic make-up. That girl is a mutinous sociopath and will not find herself out there being a danger to society. Not while I am signing the release papers.”

“It sounds like you consider the girl completely untrainable. Miss Miller, with all due respect…”

Rick stopped his argument short when he realized she no longer paid attention. Instead, she rifled through the papers attached to her clipboard. Miller finally stopped at a page. She tore the page from the metal clip and thrust it at Rick. “This was given to me this morning by Mister Royal. It is the science test he collected from her yesterday afternoon.”

Rick reached out with his left hand to take the test paper, but Miller yanked it back. She turned the page so she could see it, then cleared her throat. “Question one was ‘what are the three kinds of blood vessels in your circulatory system?’ Clara’s answer is ‘Vanilla, Chocolate and Strawberry’.”

Rick remained silent, unsure. He felt as if it was
his
test and she was chastising him for the answers.

“Question two, ‘what is the septum?’ Clara’s answer, ‘the septum is what they use to make pizza sauce.’ To answer question three ‘what is blood made of?’, she wrote ‘soda.’ Need I go on, or have you heard enough?”

“It is clever.” Rick grinned, but his superior did not.

“It is this oppositional defiance that leads to her violent tendencies! And I am ashamed you, as a therapist on
my
staff, cannot see that!”

Miller glared at Rick, waiting for his response. Rick knew what he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

“Clara Blue will remain here in this facility until she is eighteen. At that point, she will be transferred to an adult institution, so she need not worry about an
acting
career, Mr. Rasner.” Miller slammed her key into the lock of the door, fiercely twisting it, like a fighter who had just won yet another battle. “Now, if you are finished wasting my time, I have a residential facility to run.”

With the clipboard stuck under her left arm, Miller marched into the office and slammed the door in his face. He stood there, stunned. Humiliation was the least of the emotions running through his head. He also felt anger, and suddenly, clutched his forehead with his left palm. His eyes shut as dizziness and pain replaced his negative emotions. A squeezing sensation spread across his brain, a feeling he had experienced before but not with such great intensity, at least not in more than six years. He almost had forgotten what it felt like. He leaned one elbow against the wall and waited for the pain to pass.

“Mr. Rasner,” Hefner placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Rick shook his head and stood straight up. He tried to hide the pain, but knew he was not doing a very good job. “Yes, I’m fine, Ms. Hefner. It’s just a slight headache.”

“My bad for pushing you out of the way like that, it’s just…” Hefner wrung her hands around one another as trying to find the exact words she was looking for. “You see, we know how we’re going to write the incident up, so we like to keep it between us, you know?”

Rick was hardly listening. The pounding in his forehead made it difficult for him to concentrate.

“Mr. Rasner, you look flushed. It could be the flu. It’s been going around lately.”

“I should probably get some rest. I think it would be best if I were to take off the rest of the day.”

“You go do that.” Hefner patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Miss Miller you left sick. Have a good weekend.”

Rick thanked her and walked away.

Obenchain left the city early on Fridays and would be back at his house on the hill by 4 p.m. Rick vowed to meet the doctor at that time.

Chapter Thirteen

Jennifer Duke entered Derrick’s living room with an excitement and invigoration she hadn’t felt since she, at twenty years of age, took over the Duke Organization after her father’s execution. She became the leader of an elite mercenary force that was in high demand and made all its members rather wealthy. They were very good and they were feared—until the heart and soul of their organization was cut out that fateful afternoon on the bridge where a simple assignment had gone terribly wrong. She’d convinced herself that ending it all was the logical decision. Jen always knew, however, that her own emotional attachments caused her to put an end to her father’s lifetime of work by telling the members of the Duke Organization to go their separate ways.

Breaking up the group was truly the only time Jen could remember being unsure of a decision. She was brought up in the sort of environment where her trust could only extend toward the people she trained and worked alongside. Every member had been brought in by her father. She’d grown up around them. For Jen, it was more than an organization doing the jobs they were hired for. They were also her family, a family she split up. But she felt it was the best move. Continuing on after the loss of one of their primary members didn’t feel right, especially
that
member.

Now, after seven long years of roaming aimlessly, she gathered her family back together. Derrick had the foresight to remain a liaison for most of them in assigning them to small jobs. Though, none of those small individual jobs added up to what they had done together.

She genuinely looked forward to seeing her people again, but she also knew her true emotions could not show, not when she needed the respect of the group as their cold-hearted but trustworthy leader.

Jen entered, still rubbing the pistol handle. The gun rested comfortably, as if it had always been part of her outfit. She walked to the center of the living room and looked back and forth anxious to see which of their former members Derrick had collected.

Standing at the window was Jorge Alvino, trained by the Colonel himself, to be the team’s main sniper. His aim was close to flawless, a fact the elder Duke realized early in his training. The only thing weaker than his English was his loyalty. Jorge left the group first, right when things fell into disarray seven years ago. When Jen passed the word the Duke Organization was disbanding, Jorge never received the message. He was already gone.

Sitting in an easy chair to the far right was Jun Sanaga, whom the Colonel nicknamed “Kobayashi,” which translated to “The Butcher.” As Bill Duke trained his young soldiers in a multitude of assassination styles, his racist views were apparent in that he chose to train the one Japanese member in the Asian combat arts. Sanaga was, in his own way, a rebel among the rebels as he rarely spoke and refused to use firearms of any kind. His assassinations involved an up close and personal use of sharp blades. His usage of the blades gained him his nickname. He kept his hair long and thick which also described his arrogance. Sanaga had been the first to challenge the Colonel’s authority.

Jen continued her examination making sure she wasn’t missing anybody. “This is it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Derrick said. “Over the last few years, everyone else was incarcerated, killed or incarcerated and then killed.”

“Donnie?”

“Picked up on a drug run and jailed.”

“Crystal?”

“Currently committed to an insane asylum. Remember the incident in that national bank a few years ago? That was Crystal.”

“Huh. What about Frankie?”

“They tracked him down after that bridge mess of ours. The bomb we used was one of his specialties, after all,” Derrick explained. “He ended up in jail and got shot trying to escape. Almost everyone else is pretty much dead also.”

“Okay, this will have to do.” Jen marched to the center of the room with a smug grin on her face. “Gentlemen, we’re about to undertake our first group mission in seven years. It’s been too long, but now I am looking to reestablish the Duke Organization.”

“Why now?” The question came from Sanaga. His voice was, as usual, very low, yet its power was unmistakable. He smoothed his jeans and multi-pocketed bush shirt then used the back of a muscular hand to push the long black hair back from his shoulders.

“¿A quién matamos?” Jorge asked, looking tired.

Jen wondered if he’d be a worthwhile addition to the team after all. Seven years had added a map of lines and wrinkles to his face. There was a touch of gray at the dark temples. She shot him an angry look that made him take a step back. Deep down, she enjoyed the realization that, even after so much time apart, she still commanded the fear and respect of her “troops,” sparse as they might be.

“This is not an assassination, it’s a search and rescue mission. And when you hear exactly who it is we are rescuing, I’m sure you’ll understand the urgency behind our summons.”

“Who?” Sanaga asked.

It was the question she waited for. “Gentlemen, we have reason to believe, despite all the evidence to the contrary…” Jen paused for effect. “Rick Rasner is not dead!”

Both Jorge Alvino and Jun Sanaga sported confused looks. Sanaga stood up from his seat, staring at Jen as though she might be suffering a modicum of insanity.

“Yes, we were lied to,” Jen continued. “He is alive. He is out there, and we need to get him.”

“¿Dónde?” Jorge asked the same time as Sanaga asked, “How do you know?”

“Derrick, present them with the proof.” Jen pointed to the picture in Derrick’s hands.

He held the photo up with both index fingers and thumbs. It was the picture from the landlady’s house party. He stabbed a fingertip at the third person on the bottom right.

“¿Estás seguro?” Jorge asked.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s him,” Derrick responded.

“So am I,” Jen added.

Sanaga seized the picture and put it close to his face. He closed his left eye and used the right to scrutinize the person in the photo. He nodded, then looked at the others, and nodded again.

“Before you ask, he has made no attempt to contact us. We don’t know why.” Jen placed her fists on her hips and positioned herself in front of the men. “We have tracked him to a small town in Pennsylvania. We’re going to get him, by force
if
necessary, and find out what the hell’s going on.”

“When?” Sanaga asked.

“As soon as possible,” Derrick responded. “We can leave right away and be there in a couple of hours.”

Jorge walked up to Jen and looked her square in the eye. “No estuve de acuerdo.”

A smirk popped onto Jen’s lips. She eyed Derrick. “I hope that doesn’t translate to what I think it does.”

“Oh, it definitely does,” Derrick answered. “In typical Jorge fashion, he’s saying he hasn’t agreed to do anything for us.”

“The man saved your life more than once, Jorge,” Jen reminded him. “If that’s not reason enough, then what is?”

Jen’s stare was intense, but Jorge remained unflustered. “Money,” he answered, this time in English.

“Derrick, take care of this! Open your wallet if you have to.” Jen turned her back on them and stomped to the steps leading to Derrick’s basement. All at once, she stopped and faced Sanaga. “What about you, Kobayashi?”

“I am a man of my bonds,” he responded with no noticeable emotion. “I am in.”

“Then come with me and let’s load the van,” Jen said and continued down the steps. “I have a hunch we’ll need supplies and artillery on this. One way or another, Rick Rasner will be joining us on the ride back.”

Chapter Fourteen

With his eyes closed, Rick remained in a relaxed state. He felt no movement in his arms or legs and all he heard was the sound of Doctor Obenchain’s voice. “I will now count backward from five. You will open your eyes and remember all we spoke about. Five… Four… Three… Two… One… You may now open your eyes.”

At first, his vision was blurry, but then he was able to make out the brown oak ceiling of Obenchain’s office. He could feel the black leather couch underneath his body, as well as the comfortable pillow his head rested against. Rick struggled to sit up and slid his feet to the floor. There was stiffness in his back, a feeling he usually had after one of the sessions.

“So, what do you remember?” Obenchain asked.

His memories were always fuzzy at this point. “I saw something, but I’m not sure what.”

“Try.”

What thoughts had passed through his head while he was under Dr. Obenchain’s hypnosis? As he had done many times in the past, he scoured the back of his mind. It never got easier. “I remember a schoolyard. I’m not entirely sure what it looked like, but I am sure it was a schoolyard.” Rick closed his eyes and attempted to extract the images from his memory. “There were a lot of other kids.”

“How old were you?”

“I’m not sure, but I was young.”

“What happened?”

Rick placed his head in his cupped hands, his elbows rested on his knees. It was difficult to concentrate, but he wanted to remember. “I can’t picture their faces, but there were four boys. And they were chasing me.”

“What for?”

“They wanted to beat me up. I couldn’t defend myself. I don’t know how to…I mean, I didn’t know how to.”

Rick brought his head up. He blinked rapidly, as though that might help clear the disorder in his brain.

“What did you do?”

“I ran. Out of the schoolyard and into the arms of…” Rick looked up at the doctor, confused. “I think it was that woman again.”