Behind His Eyes: Truth
Page 6
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Patricia hurried away as Tony looked toward Brent. “That’s bullshit!” He paused for a drink of coffee. “Did Roach tell you any more?”
“No, that’s all he had at last check. Do you want me to stay in contact with him, or would you prefer that he contacts you directly?”
“Give him my personal cell number and email. I want to know what he knows, when he knows it.”
Brent nodded. “I’ll get a hold of him so that he can contact you.” Brent stood.
Tony looked at his watch. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going to get anything done until I at least talk to Jane Allyson.”
“The woman was just doing—”
Tony’s glare stopped Brent’s words. “If you’re about to say that she was just doing her job, then I want to know who hired her.”
Brent feigned a smile. “I guess we wait.”
“Hell no, I don’t wait.” He stood and straightened his jacket. “Get your things. We’re headed to Des Moines.” Yelling toward the door, Tony called, “Patricia!”
“Yes, sir.” She peered around the frame.
“Call the hangar and have my plane ready in thirty minutes. Mr. Simmons and I are flying to Des Moines. Then clear Ms. Allyson’s schedule, and tell her we’ll be there by 10:00 AM.”
The tension within the cabin of the plane was palpable. Tony wanted to blame his stretched nerves on his excessive intake of caffeine, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. Wondering if he weren’t teetering on the edge of sanity, he tried to concentrate on his work and the documents before him. Instead of words, images filled his mind. They weren’t images of real life, not memories, but a dream—perhaps a nightmare.
After Catherine left his office the night before, Tony went to his suite and tried to sleep. He knew it would be fitful, yet he had to try—for his sanity. He needed a break from the tornado of emotion whirling within him. It was in those moments of unconsciousness that memories of her came back to him.
The pale green walls of the visitor’s room were exactly as Tony remembered from his visits to his grandfather. Tony stood helplessly under the fluorescent light and watched the only door. Momentarily, he believed he’d been transported to another time. Intellectually, he knew that wasn’t possible, but what if—what if maybe—he could see Nathaniel once again? He looked down at his hands. They weren’t the hands of a twenty-three-year-old; no, he wasn’t waiting for them to bring his grandfather. He was waiting to see her!
Even in the dream state, Tony’s knees wobbled. He reached for a chair and felt the cool metal beneath his forty-eight-year-old hand. How did he get there? He didn’t want to see Claire, not here. He couldn’t face her in a prison.
The hiss of the light magnified as he braced himself. Why hadn’t he thought about this? Why did he wait until he had only seconds to prepare? She was in prison. Had she survived? Did this place break her spirit—the spirit he loved to bend? Or had he wanted it broken? Hadn’t that once been his goal?
Tony’s stomach churned with the turning of the knob.
Before the door opened, Tony remembered that this—prison—was Claire’s doing. She accepted this consequence, not him. Maybe she didn’t poison him, but she left him, their home, and their marriage. If she were a broken shell, she had no one to blame but herself!
His shoulders squared as the door opened.
An unfamiliar man entered. “Mr. Rawlings, the woman you seek—is gone.”
Tony’s chest ached as the void grew, yet he stayed steady. “I’m not seeking anyone.”
It was as if he hadn’t spoken. The man continued speaking and handed Tony an envelope. “She left this for you.” Before Tony could reply, the man went on, “She knew you’d come for her.”
“I didn’t come for her. I don’t know why I’m here.” On the front of the envelope, in Claire’s handwriting, he read For Anthony Rawlings. It wasn’t prison-issued stationery. No, the thick linen envelope was lavish with an embossed “N.” Tony tried to reason, an “N”? Shouldn’t it be an “R”? “Where did she get such nice—” Tony looked up and the man was gone. He hadn’t heard the door, but he was definitely alone.
Sliding his finger under the flap, Tony opened his message and peered inside. There was nothing. As if to be proven wrong, Tony tore the expensive paper searching for something—still nothing.
He looked up and gasped.
“Boy, you got what you gave.” Nathaniel’s pallor was evident under the cheap lighting.
Tony’s neck straightened. “Sir, that’s not true. I di—”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Nathaniel bellowed.
“No, sir.” Instead of a confident, successful businessman, he was suddenly Anton, young and seeking approval. “I did what you expected, what would make you proud.”
“Then, my boy, you failed. They took my family and now you’ve allowed them to take yours. That empty envelope and your empty life are your consequences.”
“No! Sir, I didn’t fail. I don’t fail! I don’t…”
Tony woke to the sound of his own voice. With his body drenched in perspiration, he threw back the covers. “It wasn’t real. It was a dream,” he whispered.
There was no one to hear.
With sleep an impossible goal, he made his way through the dark corridors, past the indoor pool, to his gym. If he were going to sweat like a damn pig in his own bed, he might as well get a workout in the process.
“No, that’s all he had at last check. Do you want me to stay in contact with him, or would you prefer that he contacts you directly?”
“Give him my personal cell number and email. I want to know what he knows, when he knows it.”
Brent nodded. “I’ll get a hold of him so that he can contact you.” Brent stood.
Tony looked at his watch. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going to get anything done until I at least talk to Jane Allyson.”
“The woman was just doing—”
Tony’s glare stopped Brent’s words. “If you’re about to say that she was just doing her job, then I want to know who hired her.”
Brent feigned a smile. “I guess we wait.”
“Hell no, I don’t wait.” He stood and straightened his jacket. “Get your things. We’re headed to Des Moines.” Yelling toward the door, Tony called, “Patricia!”
“Yes, sir.” She peered around the frame.
“Call the hangar and have my plane ready in thirty minutes. Mr. Simmons and I are flying to Des Moines. Then clear Ms. Allyson’s schedule, and tell her we’ll be there by 10:00 AM.”
The tension within the cabin of the plane was palpable. Tony wanted to blame his stretched nerves on his excessive intake of caffeine, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. Wondering if he weren’t teetering on the edge of sanity, he tried to concentrate on his work and the documents before him. Instead of words, images filled his mind. They weren’t images of real life, not memories, but a dream—perhaps a nightmare.
After Catherine left his office the night before, Tony went to his suite and tried to sleep. He knew it would be fitful, yet he had to try—for his sanity. He needed a break from the tornado of emotion whirling within him. It was in those moments of unconsciousness that memories of her came back to him.
The pale green walls of the visitor’s room were exactly as Tony remembered from his visits to his grandfather. Tony stood helplessly under the fluorescent light and watched the only door. Momentarily, he believed he’d been transported to another time. Intellectually, he knew that wasn’t possible, but what if—what if maybe—he could see Nathaniel once again? He looked down at his hands. They weren’t the hands of a twenty-three-year-old; no, he wasn’t waiting for them to bring his grandfather. He was waiting to see her!
Even in the dream state, Tony’s knees wobbled. He reached for a chair and felt the cool metal beneath his forty-eight-year-old hand. How did he get there? He didn’t want to see Claire, not here. He couldn’t face her in a prison.
The hiss of the light magnified as he braced himself. Why hadn’t he thought about this? Why did he wait until he had only seconds to prepare? She was in prison. Had she survived? Did this place break her spirit—the spirit he loved to bend? Or had he wanted it broken? Hadn’t that once been his goal?
Tony’s stomach churned with the turning of the knob.
Before the door opened, Tony remembered that this—prison—was Claire’s doing. She accepted this consequence, not him. Maybe she didn’t poison him, but she left him, their home, and their marriage. If she were a broken shell, she had no one to blame but herself!
His shoulders squared as the door opened.
An unfamiliar man entered. “Mr. Rawlings, the woman you seek—is gone.”
Tony’s chest ached as the void grew, yet he stayed steady. “I’m not seeking anyone.”
It was as if he hadn’t spoken. The man continued speaking and handed Tony an envelope. “She left this for you.” Before Tony could reply, the man went on, “She knew you’d come for her.”
“I didn’t come for her. I don’t know why I’m here.” On the front of the envelope, in Claire’s handwriting, he read For Anthony Rawlings. It wasn’t prison-issued stationery. No, the thick linen envelope was lavish with an embossed “N.” Tony tried to reason, an “N”? Shouldn’t it be an “R”? “Where did she get such nice—” Tony looked up and the man was gone. He hadn’t heard the door, but he was definitely alone.
Sliding his finger under the flap, Tony opened his message and peered inside. There was nothing. As if to be proven wrong, Tony tore the expensive paper searching for something—still nothing.
He looked up and gasped.
“Boy, you got what you gave.” Nathaniel’s pallor was evident under the cheap lighting.
Tony’s neck straightened. “Sir, that’s not true. I di—”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Nathaniel bellowed.
“No, sir.” Instead of a confident, successful businessman, he was suddenly Anton, young and seeking approval. “I did what you expected, what would make you proud.”
“Then, my boy, you failed. They took my family and now you’ve allowed them to take yours. That empty envelope and your empty life are your consequences.”
“No! Sir, I didn’t fail. I don’t fail! I don’t…”
Tony woke to the sound of his own voice. With his body drenched in perspiration, he threw back the covers. “It wasn’t real. It was a dream,” he whispered.
There was no one to hear.
With sleep an impossible goal, he made his way through the dark corridors, past the indoor pool, to his gym. If he were going to sweat like a damn pig in his own bed, he might as well get a workout in the process.
