The Rasner Effect (17 page)

Obenchain glanced left and right, obviously making sure they were alone. “What’s the matter, Rick? I know that worrisome look on your face. Are you experiencing those headaches again?”

“No, I’m not. It’s something else, something recent.”

“Please tell me.”

“It’s…” Rick looked back and forth, mimicking Obenchain’s glance, and pulled him by the sleeve into the therapy suite. He spoke fast and low, sure that when Miller realized they weren’t standing in the hallway, talking openly, she’d come running. “I’ve been feeling very paranoid recently. I can’t really explain why.”

“Can you describe the feeling in detail?” Obenchain pulled out a small notepad and a pen from his blue suit jacket pocket. The pad fit in the palm of his left hand. He poised the pen above it, ready to take notes.

“I know it’s going to sound crazy, but during the weekend, I kept feeling like I was being watched.”

“What do you mean by
watched
?”

“Like I was being followed.” He tipped his head as though that might make his sensation more easily described. “Crazy, I know. Why would anyone be following me, right?” He spread his hands and searched for words.

Rick saw concern etch Obenchain’s face. This worried him. “What? What’s going on?”

“It’s been months since your last physical. I think it would be best if we didn’t wait until the weekend.” His tone set Rick’s temple to throbbing. “I think we should take that trip to my office in Manhattan sooner than we originally intended,” the doctor continued. “We could set you up for a brain scan just to make sure there have been no relapses in your healing.”

“You think there’s a problem up here?” Rick asked, pushing away the hair over the scar on his forehead. How could that relate to feelings of being followed? Was it a form of paranoia?

“Relax, I’m sure you’re fine. Better safe than sorry.” Obenchain placed a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “We could drive to the city immediately. I’ll have you back by tomorrow evening.”

“You want to go now?” He really didn’t want to make the trip to the city and go through another grueling physical. He’d opened his mouth to say so when Obenchain spoke.

“I can inform Katherine you will need a few days off. I’m sure she’ll be okay with it.”

“Not a good idea.” She wasn’t okay with anything to do with Rick. Most especially, he thought, time alone with the doctor where he might tell things about this place. “Now really isn’t a good time. There is a lot I have to do here and…”

“Are you refusing my suggestion?”

“No, it’s just…I would prefer to go this weekend. I’m okay, Doctor Obenchain, I really am.”

Obenchain eyed Rick carefully. Rick awaited his mentor’s decision. The doctor nodded. “The weekend it is, then. We’ll leave Friday afternoon, but…” he pointed a thick index finger in Rick’s face, “any more headaches, any anxieties, you must tell me, and then we leave immediately. Are we in agreement?”

“Thank you. And I will tell you, I promise.”

“Have you considered what we discussed as far as placement elsewhere?”

Rick shook his head, no.

“I see. Very well, until our next session then.” Obenchain patted him across the back. “In the meantime, I have business I must discuss with Katherine before I leave.”

“What sort of…”

“Administrative business,” Obenchain answered with levity. “The money issues, they keep you and everyone else employed.”

Rick remained in the therapy suite. Obenchain’s soft-soled footsteps whooshed down the hallway and stopped at the main office. He heard the muffled greeting of the guard and the jangle of keys as the man unlocked the door. He released a sigh of relief and leaned against his door as he pushed it closed. He really did feel they needed him in the residence since he’d bonded with some of his charges. Well, perhaps the bond was just with a few of his charges, or maybe just one. He wasn’t entirely sure of the one either. Neither was he certain of the real reason he rejected the idea of a physical. Not even the idea that it might uncover the reason for his recent anxieties was enough to make him bend.

He had rather enjoyed seeing Miller on her toes. It pleased him to see her squirm at Obenchain’s sudden arrival to the facility, a situation where she did not have full control. She came face to face with a higher authority and Rick had the chance to see firsthand how she handled it. He just hoped she wouldn’t target him for blame—or revenge.

Chapter Twenty

The 2:30 p.m. dismissal bell at the Brookhill Elementary School sounded and the front yard filled with young students. Some made their way to the single yellow bus in the front of the building, while many of the older children walked due to the close proximity of their homes. For a few of the younger children who did not take the school bus, parental figures waited to pick them up. With the usual chaos taking place outside the school, the white cargo van sat unnoticed across the street.

“Can you tell which one is him?” Derrick asked from its driver’s seat.

Jen leaned forward and peered through the side window with a pair of black binoculars. “I think it’s that kid over there. Let me see that photo printout again.”

Derrick handed across a plain paper color photo. Jen glanced at it then through her binoculars once again. It was hard to tell if it was the right kid. The one in the photo had been posed, like for a school shot. His hair, though the same color as the kid exiting the school, was slicked back and neat, a contrast to the tousled kid. Both were about ten years of age. Name brand clothes. This kid had a green knapsack over his shoulders.

“Well?” Derrick’s voice was impatient. “If you don’t hurry up, he’ll get away.”

“Yes,” Jen finally said, “he’s our target.”

“Then what are we waiting for, an engraved invitation?” Derrick motioned toward the back of the van where Jorge crouched with his rifle in both hands. Jun Sanaga, with no firearms, but two very sharp blades in holsters on opposite sides of his belt, knelt beside him. He had one hand on the handle of the van’s right side door. He moved the handle slightly, but Jen’s “not yet,” stopped him.

“Let me try the easy way first. I’ll wow him with the motherly treatment.” She opened the passenger door and stepped out.

Where most Brookhill Elementary students were in groups, Arnold Obenchain walked home by himself. He lived in the only house up on the large hill in the middle of town. Derrick had already researched this thoroughly. Jen followed the boy for a moment, hearing the engine of the van start up. She knew Derrick was going to turn it around in case he had to follow—or run someone down. Arnold walked about twenty feet to the intersection. The crossing light said for him to wait, and he did. Just as it changed, Jen stepped in his path. She set her hands on her hips and gazed down at him.

“Excuse me,” Arnold said in a small voice, obviously annoyed she stood in his way.

“Are you Arnold?” Jen asked.

The boy seemed taken aback. It was clear from his expression he didn’t have any idea who she was. “Who wants to know?” he asked, pushing back his shoulders and inserting a tough tone into his voice.

Jen slowly dropped down, almost to one knee. She’d heard somewhere that if you dropped to a kids’ level they felt less intimidated. More likely to get ’em to talk. Not scamper away screaming at the top of his lungs and drawing cops from every corner of the globe.

“I’m a friend of your father’s.” Jen offered her friendliest smile. “He asked me to meet you after school and give you a ride home.”

Arnold’s pudgy face screwed up in confusion. He examined her, tilting his head one way and then another, contemplating the possible veracity of her statement.

“I asked what your name is,” Arnold said.

God, the slimy little brat didn’t believe her. Anger surged outward. To stifle it, she bit down on her bottom lip. “Jen. My name is Jen.” She wondered if the kid could separate the sick/sweet sound of her tone from something real.

“My dad never talked about you.”

“Your father was hoping we would meet today, it was supposed to be a surprise. In fact, he thought this would be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other.”

“My dad said that?” Arnold asked, more confused than ever.

Jen reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but the boy stepped backward, looking a little embarrassed. His eyes darted left and right. Was he looking to see if any friends were watching the pretty lady touching him? Or was he searching for someone to come rescue him?

“Do you see that white van over there?” Jen pointed over her shoulder. Derrick had indeed turned the van around. It faced them about a half block back.

Arnold’s gaze switched from the van back to her, coming about level with her waist. Could the little shit see the bulge from her gun? Wouldn’t he just assume it was a cell phone? Sure, everyone had cell phones these days.

“Have you ever seen a vehicle that large, Arnold?”

“Yes,” he answered rather smugly.

She wanted to slap the attitude off his face. But she managed to keep the sweet tone. “Why don’t you come with me, Arnold?” Jen held out her hand for him to take. “Let me give you a ride home.”

“Why would my father have you pick me up? This don’t make sense cuz I usually walk home by myself.”

“You are a clever little boy, aren’t you? But I would really like to give you a ride home. Come with me, why don’t you?”

“It’s all right, lady. Thanks anyway, I like to walk.”

“Call me Jen.”

“Uh…Jen, thanks, but I like to walk. Well, I gotta be going.”

“You really don’t need to walk.” He flinched and she warned herself to back off a little. Wouldn’t pay for an alert stranger to come running. She could feel Derrick’s eyes boring into her spine. Hurry up, he was saying.

“It’s okay, I’m cool.”

Jen let the boy pass. He crossed the street, even though the light was red. There were no cars passing by on the road.

“Impudent little shit.”

Jen removed the real cell phone from her belt and flipped it open. “All right, we tried this the easy way and it didn’t work. Let’s go with the hard way.”

Immediately, the van’s motor roared to life. It sped from the curb and, instead of pulling up beside her and letting her in, it raced toward the retreating ten-year-old. It stopped next to him.

Realizing something serious was abreast, Arnold ran. The van followed, keeping pace. Jen wondered what that dumb-ass Derrick would do if the kid rabbited between the apartment buildings. Suddenly, the side door flew open. Sanaga leaped out. He dove on Arnold, slamming him face-first to the sidewalk.

As the van came to a complete stop, Arnold managed to squeeze from under Sanaga and leap to his feet. He started running. Jen did too. Damn if Sanaga was going to let the kid get away. Why the hell wasn’t Jorge getting out?

Before the boy’s sneakers made two running steps, Sanaga swept his right leg sideways, knocking the boy’s feet from under him. Arnold went back down hard. Jen could practically hear his nose splat on the concrete sidewalk. In one motion, Sanaga was back on his feet. He took hold of Arnold’s jacket and lifted the kid off the ground. He wrapped one hand around the back of Arnold’s collar; the other clutched the waistband of the boy’s pants. Like a sack of trash, Sanaga tossed Arnold into the open door of the van and climbed in himself.

By this time, Jen had reached the van. She heaved herself into the passenger door and shouted, “Let’s go!”

Derrick gunned the engine. The van lurched away from the sidewalk, tires squealing.

“So what happened to the motherly approach?” Derrick asked.

“What can I tell you, I guess I’m just not the motherly type.”

Arnold struggled into a sitting position. He trembled; his eyes as wide as saucers. The blue eyes widened even further when he spotted Jorge’s rifle pointing at him from across the floor. Sanaga crouched on his haunches and removed a shiny knife from a holster attached to the right side of his belt.

“Are you holding me for ransom?” Arnold asked.

How astute of him to figure this out so quickly. Jen almost remarked on the kid’s intelligence. Then again, in this day and age, you heard of kidnappings just about every day.

“In a manner of speaking,” Jen said, looking at him over her shoulder.

“For your sake, kid,” Derrick warned, “I sure hope your father loves you more than he loves his work.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Jen added.

Jen got out of her seat and stepped over Arnold’s outstretched legs. At the back of the van, she retrieved a large brown sack, the kind groceries used to come in, before they decided to start loading the landfills with the plastic jobs. From the bag, she drew out a rope. A nice cotton job, a half-inch thick. It was hard to find cotton these days. All the hardware stores sold the nylon shit, but it was too hard to tie in a knot. Too hard to keep tied. She handed the twelve-foot length to Sanaga.

“Wrap him up.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Mid-afternoon—Doctor Obenchain’s visit was long over. Rick stepped into Mr. Royal’s class. The teacher sat in his chair, peering across the class at his students with disdain. He turned the same disdainful expression on Rick, as though asking why he was interrupting such a productive class. Productive? Some students copied from the board. Others gazed at them with complete disinterest. One male student sat in back wearing a blank stare, one of the children Rick had come to silently refer to as “the zombies.” An adult aide sat next to “the zombie.” She placed a pencil in the boy’s hand and held his fingers closed around it.

“Who are you here for?” Royal stood up from his desk.

The children all looked at Rick as if hoping to be the one taken out of class. That respite, however short, was welcome. “Clara, please,” Rick said.

Clara let off a sigh of relief. She stood up, closed the notebook on her desk, and hurried toward where Rick held open the door.

“Clara!” Mister Royal’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “I have not dismissed you!”

Clara stood frozen, eyes wide, instantly angry. Her top lip began to quiver. She didn’t look at him, only at Rick, silently pleading for help. He watched Royal, unsure what power game the teacher was playing.