Donovan Creed 11 - Because We Can! (21 page)
Read Donovan Creed 11 - Because We Can! Online
Authors: John Locke
4.
THE DOOR OPENS. We hug, and I hold her a few extra seconds.
We walk to the den, I pour her a drink. She says, “How have you been, Daddy?”
I smile.
“Good. How’s work?”
“Boring as hell.”
I laugh. “You say that every week.”
She shows me a pouty expression. “It’s not fair. You and Callie go on missions all the time. You said it yourself, I’m one of the best you ever worked with.”
I say what I always say: “We’ve been through this before. You beat the odds. You’re one of only three people in the history of modern medicine who came back after being pronounced brain dead. I can’t bear to lose you again.”
“But I need a
life
!”
“That’s exactly right. And you’ve got one. And when you meet the right guy….”
She rolls her eyes. “Daddy?”
I look at her.
“You know I love you,” she says.
“But?”
“There’s something we need to talk about.”
I frown. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Positive. But do me a favor and wait till after dinner, okay?”
She sighs. “Fine. But we’re having this discussion.”
“Okay.”
“Tonight.”
“We will. I promise.”
5.
I HAVE TWO sets of cooks and housekeepers, but they don’t live in the main house.
They work alternating weeks and while working, they live in subterranean wings of my house. While I’m a great boss, I require my employees to adhere to a strict set of rules. They’re forbidden to speak about me, or the house, or any person who visits me, or anything that takes place inside the home, or on the grounds. During the weeks they’re here, they’re forbidden to leave their rooms for any reason unless I summon them.
Any reason.
If you come to visit me you’ll not see any servants milling around the house, or listening outside the door like they do on
Downton Abbey
. My employees have a chip imbedded in their necks that burns like hell if they’re not where they’re supposed to be. It’s easy to tell if someone isn’t following the rules. They’ll be grabbing their necks, shrieking in pain. My employees put up with these inconveniences because they each earn a quarter-million dollars a year and get every other week off.
And because I treat them with complete respect.
Apart from the neck thing, and a few strict rules.
Tonight my evening crew serves us a fine dinner, and Kimberly’s cheeks have grown rosy from the wine. She’s having a good time despite the fact her topic hasn’t been discussed.
“Recognize the dish?” I say.
She stares at her food a minute. “It looks beautiful,” she says, “and smells heavenly.”
“It’s the recipe you had in your pocket the night of the accident.”
She looks at her pasta and smiles. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“Enjoy.”
When the conversation lags a bit, I ask, “How’s your mom?”
“Have you talked to her?”
I laugh. “Are you kidding?”
She grins. “Mom’s got a boyfriend.”
“Omigod!”
“You’re too old to say Omigod!”
“I was imitating you.”
“Then say it right.
Omigod
!”
“
Omigod
!”
She laughs. “Not even close.”
I try it a couple more times.
“Stop!” she says. “You’re embarrassing me in front of the help.”
“The help?”
She laughs. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”
After dessert I dismiss the staff and Kimberly and I go back to the den. She says, “Can we talk now?”
“Can I pour you a brandy first?”
“No thanks. The two glasses of wine made me giggle like a thirteen-year-old all through dinner.”
I look at her. “You were quite a handful at thirteen. I remember the time you—”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop avoiding the subject.”
I take a moment, then sigh. “Okay. Go ahead. Say it.”
“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending I’m your daughter. You have to face the fact she’s dead. It’s not healthy to have me come here every week, pretending I’m Kimberly. I didn’t sign on for this. Yes, you hired me to be her body double. But you also trained me to do bigger and better things. More important things.”
“Kimberly, I—”
“
Layla
, Mr. Creed! My name is Layla Hart. Say it.
Please
.”
“Is it a matter of money? I can pay you more.”
She shakes her head. “Of course not. You’re generous to a fault. You’re paying me a king’s ransom for a nice dinner every Thursday and a couple of phone calls during the week. I’d be crazy to give it up.”
“Then why—”
She holds up her hand. “I’m worried about you, Mr. Creed. I’m worried about…your
sanity
.”
“You’re afraid I’ll snap?”
She nods.
To be honest, I’m impressed with her integrity. Most people would gladly take the money and never say a word. They’d justify posing as Kimberly by saying they’re helping me through a tough time. They’d call it therapy, and so would I.
We look at each other a moment.
I knew this was coming. It’s been building up inside her for weeks.
I say, “Layla?”
Her face does a complete change. “Thank God!”
“You’ve been very therapeutic for me. Is that the right word?”
“I think so. At least, I know what you mean.”
“What is it you’d like to do?”
“I’d like to work with you and Callie in some capacity other than the actual killing. I could work out travel arrangements, help you with research, provide support in a hundred different ways.”
“But no dinners?”
“I’d be honored to have dinner with you anytime you wish. But not as Kimberly.”
“Can you give me two weeks’ notice? Just to get used to the idea?”
She thinks about it a minute, but says, “No. I’m sorry. It’s just not healthy. For either of us.”
“I understand.”
“Mr. Creed, I’d be great at providing support for you and Callie. Or if there’s something else I can do to help you—apart from the Kimberly thing.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.”
I stand and offer to walk her to the door.
She stands, gives me a hug, and I use the opportunity to push a syringe in her butt and inject the sedative. Her body tightens instantly, then convulses, and I hold her till she loses consciousness. When she’s completely out, I hoist her over my shoulder and carry her to her new chambers. I place her on the bed and remove her shoes to make her comfortable. She’ll be difficult to deal with the first few days, but in the end she’ll go back to playing the part of Kimberly.
Please don’t worry about Layla.
I think the world of her, and won’t keep her here a moment longer than absolutely necessary.
I’m just not sure how long that will be.
I
do
feel I’m making progress.
I’ll keep you posted.
6.
YOU WANTED TO know about Milo and Faith.
When Kimberly arrived, and Dr. Box convinced me she was truly brain dead, I flew Milo and Faith to Sensory Resources. They didn’t want to come, of course, but Callie was flying up from New Orleans anyway, so I asked her to stop in Louisville and talk them into making the trip. You know Callie. It didn’t take her long to persuade them.
When they arrived at Sensory I placed Milo and Faith under house arrest while Callie and I spent some time hugging and commiserating, and standing beside Kimberly’s bed. Although Kimberly never regained consciousness, her body managed to survive the trip, which, according to Dr. Box, was something of a miracle.
After Callie said her goodbyes to Kimberly, we summoned Milo and Faith, and I’ll let you imagine the look on Faith’s face when she saw me!
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m Movie Man, the guy you fucked in the men’s room in Cincinnati a couple months ago. I’m also Maybe Taylor’s father. Since you hired me to kill her, I’ll let you watch while I pull the plug.”
I did so, then asked Callie to take them to the car to wait for me.
After saying my final goodbyes to Kimberly, I drove Callie, Milo, and Faith to my new home.
I didn’t show them around.
I told Callie to make herself at home in the den while I escorted Milo and Faith to my torture chamber.
I chained Milo to the wall. Then I handed Faith a knife and said she could either take her own life or his, but only one of them could leave the room alive. She tried to bribe me. Said she won the lottery and will soon collect more than a hundred million dollars. Said she’d pay me $10 million if I let her go. I told her if I ever get to the point where I need another ten million dollars I’ll buy my own lottery ticket. She and Milo went through the whole spectrum of emotions you’d expect, but in the end, Faith carved him up pretty well, and I told her to drop the knife. She was reluctant to surrender her weapon, but I was in no mood to haggle.
We left Milo to bleed out, and I escorted Faith to her new chambers.
In case you’re keeping score, I have six underground chambers on one end of my house for the household staff, and six additional chambers on the other end. There are also tunnels and passageways and various other subterranean rooms, and as you’ve heard, a torture chamber.
There’s also a crematory for burning the bodies.
If Milo were alive he’d tell you all about it.
Faith’s room, like Layla’s, is equipped with a toilet, shower, bed, closet filled with clothes, TV, electronic tablets loaded with books, magazines, music, movies—everything a person could possibly require for an extended stay.
Apart from sharp objects, and the ability to communicate outside the house.
I waited a full six weeks before dating Faith…
7.
WHY SO LONG?
Lots of reasons. Shall I number them for you?
1. I wanted Faith to have time to adapt to her new surroundings.
2. I was still working for Sensory Resources, still trying to catch Decker.
3. I had to tell my ex-wife, Janet, what happened to her daughter.
4. I had to arrange Kimberly’s funeral.
5. I had to get over losing Callie.
6. I had to approve Callie’s detailed plan for Addie’s future.
7. I had to talk Layla Hart into helping me cope with Kimberly’s death. Although she’d been studying Kimberly’s mannerisms for months, I spent countless hours coaching her in preparation for our dinners together. I gave her a wide range of scripts to learn, and encouraged her to improvise, so our Thursdays would always be unique and interesting.
8. And, of course, it took that long for the construction crew to turn one of my vacant subterranean chambers into an exact replica of the men’s room of the hotel in Cincinnati where Faith and I had our first date.
Now, whenever it suits her—which is less often than you might think—I go to Faith’s room, escort her to the men’s room, bend her over the sink, and recreate that magical moment.
Am I happy?
I do my best.
Callie called a few minutes ago. Said she needs to tell me something about my former lover, Miranda.
“If you’ve killed her, you and I are done,” I said.
“Relax. She’s alive and well. My news is good…I think.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“Why not now?”
“I want to see the look on your face.”
“The news is that good?”
“I honestly don’t know how you’ll take it. That’s why I want to be there to see the look on your face.”
“Whatever you’ve got to say, my face will show no emotion.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said.
THE END
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John Locke
New York Times
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Because We Can!
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