Sealing Fate Page 9

  “Not yet, Lindsay. But soon.”

  “So you never answered my blunt question,” Janet said.

  “I know. Some people would get the message.”

  “Maybe. But not sisters.”

  Barbara shook her head in exasperation. “No, I don't want to wait until I stop ovulating. Yes, I want kids, all right?”

  “All right. When?”

  Barbara grimaced. “What? Are you scheduling the delivery room?”

  “No, I just think it's time my little sister made me an aunt too. Turn right at the next corner,” Janet said, pointing.

  “I know where Hometown Video is. We go there too.”

  “Really? The wife of a Congressman? Isn't there someone you can send?”

  “Oh, we're real funny today,” Barbara said, sarcastically.

  There was a brief silence while Barbara thought about her answer. Janet knew she would think it through and reply. Lindsay was bored.

  “Maybe after we get settled in Washington, you know.” There was no audible response, and Barbara didn't turn to look at Janet's expression. “Right now, our life is pretty nuts; meeting people everywhere for dinners and parties. The whole bit.”

  Janet nodded silently. It was the nod of someone who thought she knew something and a nod Barbara found annoying.

  “All right. What?” she finally said.

  “I didn't say anything.”

  “I know, that's the point. Whatever you didn't say is written all over your face. Like you know something the rest of us don't.”

  “My, aren't we in a mood?” Janet said haughtily.

  “We weren't, but we may be getting there. Just say it, Janet.”

  “I just think all this being busy shit is just an excuse.”

  “Mom!” Lindsay exclaimed.

  “Sorry, honey.”

  Barbara was momentarily caught off guard. She knew it showed in her expression. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning life is always busy. Kids just come along anyway.”

  Barbara nodded. That rang true, and it pushed her buttons. Janet always had a way of getting to the heart of a wound. The salt was never added intentionally. She was just so direct.

  Janet saw Barbara's pained expression and decided to lighten the conversation with a little humor. “Besides, Brian's a good-looking guy. Smart, witty, and connected. This overwhelming success is a good opportunity to see if he can resist all the women who want to throw themselves at him.” She chuckled, but the response wasn't what she expected. She could see Barbara tensing up.

  “Is that supposed to be funny?” Barbara asked through clenched teeth.

  The anger took Janet by surprise. “Yeah, it was.” There was a momentary silence. Then Janet asked, “Is there something going on with you and Brian that you want to share?”

  “No,” Barbara said coldly.

  “I'm sorry, Barb. I really didn't mean anything by it.”

  “I know,” she said, sighing. “I'm sorry I lost it. There's just a lot of pressure right now and …” Her voice trailed off. For a fleeting moment, she had almost said too much. She pulled into the plaza.

  With recognition of the video store, Lindsay let out a squeal of delight. “We're here!”

  Janet smiled at her daughter. “Yes, we are, sweetheart. Let's go choose a funny movie and some popcorn.”

  Her innocent little face lit up with excitement, and Barbara's heart hurt with a sense of loss.

  They climbed out of the car, and Lindsay ran on ahead. Janet put her arm around Barbara, and they followed Lindsay's exuberant footfalls toward the store. There were posters of movies available and those soon to come, covering the all-glass front of the store.

  Lindsay stood at the window, pointing toward a poster as they approached her. They were within ten feet of the store when a horrible blast from behind them broke the afternoon silence. Before they could turn to see, the concussion lifted them from their feet and thrust them at the building. The blast tore apart the store windows and hurled glass projectiles in all directions. The force of the blast thrust Barbara into what was left of the window, shards of glass tearing at her body. Pieces of wood and metal that used to be the building's trim flew through the air. There were remnants of movie posters, now nothing more than charred scraps of paper floating on the breeze.

  Barbara landed on the wooden floor of what used to be the store. She landed on her left shoulder, dazed. Some time passed, although she had no idea how long. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. She looked around her. The windows and pieces of the overhanging roof were gone. Flames and smoke were coming from the parking lot.

  “Hey, lady, you okay?” She could barely hear the unfamiliar male voice.

  The sounds came to her slowly, and it took some time for Barbara to comprehend the words. She realized she was nodding to the stranger. She looked around for Lindsay and Janet, but could see neither of them. She tried to make it to her feet.

  “Take it easy, lady. You shouldn't get up yet.” It was the same voice.

  “Help me up. I have to find my sister and my niece. Where's Lindsay? She's just seven. Please find her.” Barbara felt weak, like her legs might not hold her upright. The stranger put his arms around her and helped her to a chair. “What about my sister and my niece?” Barbara cried.

  “Your sister looks okay. I'm not sure about the little girl, but she's being helped, and an ambulance is on the way.”

  “Where are they?” Barbara knew she was yelling.

  The man pointed across what was left of the room. She could see them. Janet was kneeling on the floor, looking down. Something was in Barbara's eye. She raised a hand to clear it away, and her hand came back red. She looked at the blood and wondered where it had come from. She couldn't feel anything. Running her hand over her face, she found the cut on her forehead. She called out to Lindsay and Janet and then began to move toward them. Lindsay's small figure was motionless. Barbara kneeled down next to Janet and looked at her sister's face.

  “You okay?” she asked Janet.

  Janet's arms and face were cut and bleeding, but she didn't seem to notice. She was crying and squeezing Lindsay's hand.

  “She's not moving,” Janet said hysterically. “My baby's not moving.”

  Barbara looked down at Lindsay's still figure. A stranger held a blood-soaked towel against her neck. Blood seeped from under the towel. An open wound was on Lindsay's forehead. A piece of glass protruded from her forearm. Barbara leaned toward Lindsay and could tell her breathing was shallow. The parts of her face that weren't bloody had turned ghostly white.

  There were sirens outside, and police officers began to arrive.

  Two officers ran over to them. “It's okay, ma'am,” one of them said as he put his arm around Barbara and helped her to a chair. “Let's give the paramedics some working room. They'll help her.”

  She could only nod. She could see Janet being helped by the other officer, and she could hear her sister's voice calling out in pain, “My baby. Please help my baby. Don't let her die.”

  Barbara felt the room spinning. Outside, she could see what was left of her car, consumed by flames. She sat helplessly amongst the rubble of the shop, saying a prayer for Lindsay.

  Chapter 12

  Brian sat in the conference room with Congressmen Shaw and Epstein. Shaw and Epstein sat at opposing ends of the eight-foot conference table. Epstein took long sips from his black coffee. Brian sat near the middle of the table, the mediator between warring nations.

  One wall of the conference room was all glass that looked out onto a triangular atrium. One of the walls was taken up by bookshelves, filled to capacity and the other two walls were decorated with historical shots of the capital building.

  “This is not the right time for rhetoric based on spending,” the congressional representative said, lighting a cigar the size of a small umbrella. Shaw's thick, white hair pushed backward like it was fleeing his face was a feature that many thought gave him a look of dignity and sophis
tication. He wore a blue jacket over white slacks that worked hard to contain the stomach that spilled over his belt.

  Rather than political worldliness, Brian envisioned a picture of Shaw over a caption that asked whether you would buy a used car from this man. To Brian, the answer would be a resounding “no.”

  Shaw looked around the room, allowing his words of wisdom to settle on his audience. He leaned back in the chair as he blew out a ring of smoke. Brian looked at his watch for the third time in as many minutes, wishing it were later than two thirty and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “We have an abundance of rhetoric about saving taxpayer dollars in the party policy already,” Epstein said. “Somewhere along the way, John Q. Public is going to want to know what we're spending his money on. Let's tell him something to convince him he's getting some return. I don't care what: defense, cops on the street, or unwed mothers of elderly AIDS patients with homeless cousins. You pick it. Only we have to have something to tell the voters other than we're not going to spend.”

  Characteristically, Epstein was perturbed. He was a behind-the-scenes career man who saw politicians come and go over his twenty-five years in the arena and didn't like most of them, Shaw even more so than most. Epstein brushed a hand over his hairless head and down to the bearded chin that seemed to hide his small mouth. He was a man who kept himself in good shape with regular workouts and a good diet, two more reasons not to like Shaw. His unwelcome cigar smoke perpetually filled every room he occupied without regard for anyone of equal or lower rank, and he was out-of-control fat.

  “Mr. Epstein, the voters elected myself and Congressman Madsen here,” Shaw said as he waved a hand at Brian, “to protect them from the excess of government, not to find new ways to spend their money. Am I right, Brian?”

  Both men looked at Brian. He felt like a referee in a cockfight. Brian looked at each of the men, resisting the urge to tell them to drop their pants so he could measure and declare a winner. His thoughts were torn between these adolescents and what was about to happen to his life. The significance of the former was hard to find under the circumstances.

  He looked first at Shaw. “I think Bryan's right, Congressman. I think we have to tell people what our programs are and not just what they aren't.”

  Then he looked at Epstein. “And I think you should stop being such a hard ass. If the congressional representative wants to toss in some more bullshit about how frugal the party is, what the fuck? There's no downside, is there?” Brian's no-more-bullshit pronouncement visibly shocked Epstein.

  When Brian looked back at the smoky visage of Congressman Shaw, he was smiling, obviously delighted with Brian's comments. Brian had no idea why he should delight in the characterization of his rhetoric as bullshit.

  Brian frowned. “And you know what, Congressman. I don't remember inviting you to poison us all with that exhaust pipe you're sucking on.”

  Shaw's expression immediately changed to anger, and for a moment, it appeared he would walk out. Epstein, never the poker player, sat there with his mouth open. Brian sat back and waited, not caring what happened. Weightier thoughts consumed him.

  Shaw stared at him for several moments and then broke into loud laughter. He put out the cigar and slapped Brian on the shoulder. “Goddamn, boy. You are one ballsy son of a bitch, you know? I knew we got us a good one here.”

  Epstein began to grin.

  “Okay, Brian,” Shaw said grudgingly, “so we tell them where some money's going. Only shit that everybody wants though. You know, tough laws and cops. No minority programs. Nothing that's going to piss off half of my constituents even before we do it.”

  Brian gave him a hard look. “Okay, Congressman, so partial disclosure of what we're spending and how much we're saving by not disclosing where the other money goes, is that it?” There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Brian said, not sorry for the interruption.

  Trudy Miller, his newly hired staff assistant, stood in the doorway looking nervously at Brian. “I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Madsen, but you have an emergency call on line three. It's the police.”

  Brian nodded. He wasn't surprised. It had only been a matter of time. He stood and looked at Epstein and Shaw. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Please continue.” He turned toward his nervous assistant. “Thanks, Trudy. I'll take it in my office.”

  As Brian walked to the phone, he mused over how resigned he was to the situation, the emergency that he accepted so matter-of-factly. He was only surprised that they weren't at the office to arrest him. Brian walked into his office and sat behind the desk. He watched the blinking light for a few seconds, a short reprieve before all hell broke loose.

  He picked up the receiver and pushed the flashing button. “Brian Madsen here.”

  “Mr. Madsen, this is Officer Jackson.” The voice was young and serious. “There's been an accident, and your family was involved.”

  Brian's heart raced as he thought of Barbara. “What happened?” he asked in a choked voice.

  “There was an explosion outside a video store. I think you better come on over here.”

  “Where?”

  “Hometown Video. Carlson and Santa Barbara. You know it?”

  “Yes. I'll be there in ten minutes.” Brian hung up and ran for the door. “I've got an emergency. I've got to go,” he shouted.

  He spoke to everyone and no one, not waiting for a response. He thought of the threatening voice on the telephone and what the man must have done. Brian prayed that they were all right. He had to do something to make this madness stop.

  Brian raced into the plaza that housed Hometown Video, narrowly missing several people who stood transfixed. The plaza was in chaos. The façade of the video store had been blown apart. Glass, brick, and debris covered the parking lot. Smoke filled the air, and firemen hosed the remnants of Barbara's car to put out the last of the flames. Four police cars were stopped randomly in front of the scene, along with two fire engine companies.

  “Oh my God. Please let them be okay. Don't let him have gotten to them,” Brian moaned.

  He leaped from the car in time to see one of the police cars moving away. An ambulance followed behind it. Through its window, he saw Barbara. She sat upright, wearing a bandage around her head and looking down. Brian glanced around as he moved toward the building.

  “I'm sorry, sir. No closer,” a uniformed officer told Brian, raising his arms to serve as a barrier.

  “I'm Brian Madsen. My family's in there.”

  “Yes, sir,” the officer said, lowering his arms. “See Officer Jackson near the front door.” He pointed to Jackson, who turned and began walking toward Brian.

  Jackson was a young black man with a rounded face and a solemn expression. “Mr. Madsen?”

  “Yes. Where are they?” Brian asked.

  “They were just taken to Inter-Community Medical Center.”

  Brian was shaking. “Are they okay?”

  “I don't know, sir. They were all taken by ambulance a short time ago. The little girl was unconscious when they left.”

  Brian nodded and opened his mouth to speak. The shock had hit, and nothing would come out. He turned and ran for the car.

  Brian arrived at the hospital to see Barbara standing in the emergency room. A sling immobilized her left arm and shoulder. Blood smeared her torn blouse.

  “Brian,” she called out to him across the large room. Then she waited for him to reach her. She threw her good arm around his neck and held on tightly.

  “Barbara, are you all right?” he asked, nearly crying himself.

  She nodded. “Just cuts and bruises and a fractured shoulder.” She pointed to the sling. “Janet's cut up pretty badly, but she'll be okay. It's Lindsay that no one's sure about. She won't wake up, and her blood pressure is way down. She has some internal injuries and is in severe shock.” She burst into tears. “They don't know if she'll make it, Brian. She's just a little girl. She hasn't even lived yet.”

  She leaned into Brian's should
er and sobbed. He held her as closely as her injuries would permit and told her everything would be okay. Brian's stomach knotted. It didn't feel like everything would be okay, but he would do anything he could to buy Barbara some comfort.

  * * *

  Brian and Barbara sat in the hospital visitor's lounge, waiting for word on Janet and Lindsay. Brian looked at his watch. Two hours had passed. It was hard waiting, not knowing. Brian's thoughts moved between Lindsay's condition and the explosion to the voice on the telephone and his own protracted silence. He felt like a prisoner. He looked at Barbara. He smiled at her in an attempt to provide comfort to the pained expression on her face. She squeezed his hand.

  The room was softly lit. Whatever the desired effect, it didn't work. It only served to add to the feeling of gloom that pervaded the hospital. Three others sat in this subdued light, waiting impatiently for some word on their personal pending disasters. As Brian looked around the room, the door burst open, and two police officers came in, one in street clothes and the other in uniform. A sudden discomfort accompanied recognition of the two. They walked directly over to Brian.

  “Brian Madsen?” The deep voice came from the older man in slacks and a plaid shirt.

  “Yes,” Brian said uneasily.

  “You remember me? I'm Sergeant Merrick. This is Officer Palmer.”

  The young, uniformed officer nodded abruptly, maintaining his trademark silence.

  “I remember both of you. A police visit to my house is not a frequent occurrence.” As Brian said it, he thought about how that might soon change.

  Merrick nodded. “I need to ask you a couple questions. Please excuse the timing, but the sooner we put the pieces together, the better our chances are of finding who we're after.”

  “Okay, but me first. None of my questions have been answered either.”

  Merrick looked at him for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “What happened out there? What have you learned about all this?” Brian asked, barely controlling his voice.

  “Your family was walking from the car to the video store. Near as we can figure, they had almost made it to the front door when it all happened.”