The Rasner Effect (19 page)

After a few long moments, he roused himself enough to saunter to the therapy suite where Officer James waited to unlock the door for him. In the office Rick searched high and low, even going so far as to climb on a chair and undo the air vent. How had Miller known what was discussed in his private office? He shoved the chair to the desk and flopped into it. He leaned forward on his elbows and covered his throbbing face with both hands.

It had been only a few days since Obenchain suggested Rick leave the facility. He’d told Obenchain he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. The reality of it was he felt a responsibility toward Clara more than any other patient. The decision was out of his hands. The irony was not lost on him.

There was movement in front of him. He peered between his fingers to see Janet pulling up a chair and sitting across the desk. He hadn’t realized anyone was in the room. Rick clutched the side of his head, somehow managing not to groan from the pain.

“You look like you need to talk,” Janet said. She lifted something from her lap and clutched it to her chest. It was her Bible.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You could talk about it, you know.”

“Another time.” He really did want to talk about the humiliating confrontation in the hallway. He wanted to hash out the entire situation moment by moment and really let loose on what he thought of Katherine Miller and her entire institution. He wanted to learn why Miller apparently had it in for certain people, particularly he and Clara Blue. But he couldn’t say a word.

She might be listening.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Doctor Obenchain followed his usual routine on entering his house. After going through the mail and placing it on the brown marble table in the vestibule, he hung his suit jacket on a coat rack near the door. He loosened his watered silk tie and draped it on top of his jacket. Then he walked into the den where he checked the answering machine for messages. The digital number on the machine read “00.” No messages.

He stepped back into the hallway and shouted, “Hey, Arnold, I’m home!” He heard a television playing upstairs. It seemed to be coming from the direction of his son’s bedroom.

“You hear me up there, Arnold?” Obenchain yelled again, this time louder. “Today’s your lucky day, I’m ordering pizza for dinner! Come down so we can pick a topping!”

Obenchain waited at the bottom of the steps for Arnold to run down and greet him, as he did every day. There was no answer. Maybe the boy had fallen asleep. He did sleep like a rock, never hearing a thing once he was out.

He listened again for the television that continued to play. It sounded like one of those kid shows. Arnold had to be up there, he knew better than to leave the house without permission. He was such a good boy. Obenchain couldn’t think of a single time he’d had to yell at the boy. Come to think if it, he’d been that way since his mother died.

“Arnold?” the doctor shouted again, louder and beginning to grow alarmed. Why wasn’t he answering?

What was that? Had he heard footsteps up there? If so, they were too heavy and too orderly to be Arnold’s. So, who the hell was up there?

Obenchain peeked around the stairwell. Yes, there was a shadow. Too big to be his son. The footsteps moved closer. The shadow elongated and morphed into a large dark-skinned Hispanic man wearing a camouflage military outfit and combat boots, holding a rifle aimed downward—at him.

Showing an agility that would later amaze him, Obenchain ducked around the corner. He ran through the house and past the den to the dining room. In a panic, he dashed toward the large antique breakfront against the wall. He yanked open the top drawer and shoved his hand in. Obenchain slid his hand around in the drawer until it became apparent that what he searched for was not there.

“See Jennie,” came a voice that made him spin around, “I told you that would be the first place he’d go.”

Derrick sat at the end of the ornate marble dining table. Jennifer Duke sat in a chair to his immediate right. She tilted her head and winked at him. Although both were years older, Obenchain recognized them well. And it meant their presence in his home justified the panic attack he was experiencing. A movement in Jen’s hands on the table brought his gaze downward. She was playing with the weapon that should have been tucked in the breakfront drawer.

“You were right, Derrick.” She stood up from her seat and walked toward Obenchain. She tossed the small black object in her hands a few inches in the air. Just high enough to taunt him. “It is a quaint little item. One of those new police-issued tasers I’ve heard of.” She threw it up again. Obenchain prepared to lunge for it if she dropped it, but the thing landed neatly back in her cupped palms. “Legal in only eleven states. Which makes a girl wonder where you got it.”

Jen pointed the barrel up. There were two probes at one end. She made a display of examining them. She flicked her gaze back to the doctor, that familiar and unmistakable smirk running across her lips. He hadn’t seen her in quite some time, but she hadn’t changed much; if anything she’d grown prettier. Too bad such a cold person was trapped inside such a warm looking body.

“It figures this guy would keep the manual right next to the weapon.” Derrick laughed and held up the thin pamphlet with his left hand.

“Where’s my son?”

“Did you know these things can shoot up to fifteen feet at two hundred feet per second? That’s really fast,” Jen said to Obenchain. Then she lifted the taser and pointed the prongs at him. She sat only three feet away. No doubt the damage she could do if she wanted. Sure he’d bought the thing, but never used it. Who was there to try it on, Arnold? He had read the booklet, though, and Jen was absolutely right, the thing shot fast and far. He realized she was still speaking. “…single shot could last up to five seconds, giving the body a shock that disrupts nerves…muscular response…and other…body elements.” She drew out the last part like a suspenseful movie. “Wow, I wonder what it would feel like.”

He tried again. “Where’s my son? What do you want?”

Her reply was to pull the trigger. The pair of probes shot out and attached like suction cups, one to his chest, one to his stomach. Both were against his shirt. Although the current was not visible as it traveled through the two wires that attached the barrel of the taser to the probes, Obenchain felt the jolt of electricity. His knees buckled. He’d tried to put his hands up, to tear off the probes, but his arms had turned useless. He dropped to the floor, jerking and twitching like a spastic cat. Through a glazed vision of pain and trembling, he saw Jorge Alvino. Shit, he’d thought the bastard was dead. A rifle barrel appeared and poked his forehead directly between his eyes.

Obenchain thought he heard Jen say, “Hmm, I wonder what a higher setting would have done.” Then her voice changed tone. “Get him up and onto a chair.”

They lifted him by the arms. The toes of his new Florsheims dragged across the carpet. They hefted him up and dumped him into a chair. The momentum nearly toppled him to the floor. Unable to catch himself, someone propped him upright. The pain was excruciating, but his brain focused on one thing—these people had his son.

He struggled to shake off the effects of the electric shock. “M-my s-son. Where’s my s-son?”

“Oh, he’s with his babysitter right now,” Jen said giving a nasty smile. “The young lad is just fine. At least for right now. I can’t assure your safety, but I can say your son’s future is entirely dependent on how helpful you are, Doctor. I have questions and I want answers. Now, if I do not like your…”

The phone rang. Nobody in the room moved. It then rang a second time. Obenchain looked toward the hallway. The nearest phone sat on the coffee table in the den, a room away. He started to move from his seat, but Jorge’s bulky hand clamped down on his shoulder and kept him in place. The phone rang a third time. His captors remained silent, as if any movement would be heard by whomever was calling. On the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up. The message, in his tenor voice, echoed throughout the house: “You have reached the home of Doctor Harold T. Obenchain. I am unavailable to take your phone call at this time. Please leave your name, telephone number, and a brief message. I will return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.”

“That the best message you could think of?” Derrick sneered.

The machine beeped. There was a long pause before the caller spoke. For a moment, Obenchain thought he’d hung up. “Um, hello, Doctor Obenchain? It’s Rick.” At the sound of his voice, Jen rose and strode to the other room.

Rick Rasner continued speaking, “I was hoping you would be home by now. I really need to speak to you. I-I…am getting those headaches again. I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. I have other issues I need to speak to you about. Um…if you have time, could you please call me back tonight? That is, if you have time. If not, that’s okay, I’ll speak to you later in the week. Sorry for bothering you. Bye.”

The voice stopped. After a few seconds delay, the machine clicked off. Another click and a smooth whirring then Rick’s tentative voice came again.

When the message finished playing the second time, Jen stormed back into the dining room and stopped beside him. She stared down at him, anger shooting from her violet-colored eyes.

“Please, what do you want? Whatever it is, my son had nothing to do with it. Let him go, I’ll do anything you say.” All his life he’d wondered if he’d lay down his life for someone. It was at that moment, Obenchain knew he would. He’d walk through fire to ensure his son’s safety.

Jen pulled one of the dining room chairs away from the table and positioned it opposite him. She put a sandaled foot on it and leaned in forward, accentuating that look of rage, suggesting she mustered all her willpower to refrain from murdering him. What the hell did she want? She was obviously the leader of this group. Derrick watched her like a hawk, waiting, for the next command. The sudden clap of Jen’s hands made him jump. She folded them and set them on the knee still up on the chair. “Okay Doctor, here’s the deal. One signal on my cell and Arnold will find out why we call our ally ‘The Kobayashi.’ You do remember him?”

She was using a calm and rational voice, but this lady was anything but calm and rational. She wanted something and she wanted it bad. Probably enough to kill to get it. “I recall the moniker,” he said. “It belonged to Jun Sanaga.” He let his eyes rove to Derrick, trying to gauge his mood. Alert and restive but not, so far, murderous.

“Yes,” Jen said, “and he hasn’t killed anyone in a long time. I’m sure he looks forward to the taste of fresh blood.”

“Please, I will tell you what you want to know. Just assure my son’s safety.”

“I assure you nothing,” Jen answered with a smirk, “But we’ll see how cooperative you are. Now start talking!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was hours past closing time at the Dollar Store on this quiet campus town street corner. This meant Jake was only a few hours into his night shift, which he spent alone. He was so alone that if he decided to strip naked and dance throughout the store the entire night, no one would be any wiser. Jake found himself staring through the double glass doors, both of which were locked and had a “Closed” sign across them. Outside the street was deserted. Not a sign of life, except a mangy calico cat and an occasional group of drunken college students stumbling back to the campus a couple of miles away.

Jake knew full-well he was procrastinating. Two hundred cans of lima beans sat in a stack of opened boxes next to an empty display case marked “Today’s Special.” He had until morning to stock all the shelves on the display rack before the store opened for the day.

“The toughest part of any job
,
”
Jake said out loud in an attempt to both motivate himself and feel less alone, “is getting started.”

Jake reached down and picked up one can of the generic no-name brand of lima beans and placed it on the display. “Only a few hundred more to go.” He laughed. His voice echoed in the huge empty store.

A knock sounded on the glass window. Jake nearly jumped out of his shoes. Wiping instantly sweaty palms on his apron, he turned and saw a middle-aged man wearing dirty jeans, a light brown jacket, and a baseball cap turned backward on his head. Jake waved him off, but the man knocked again. His knuckles were black with crusted dirt.

“We’re closed!” Jake shouted, walking close enough so the man could hear through the tempered glass.

“My car broke down about a block up. I just need to use a phone. Nothing in this town is open.”

“We’re not open either.”

“Please, I just need to use your phone to call my wife to come and pick me up.”

Jake let out a sigh and then allowed the man to come into the store. “The phone is behind the counter on the far wall. Try to hurry up, okay?” Jake turned his attention back to his mission for the night.

“Thanks a lot, sir, and while you’re at it, you can also open your cash register for me.”

The man pulled a gun from under his jacket and aimed it at Jake. Jake dropped the can. It thunked back into the box on top of the others. The would-be thief flinched. Jake planted a heel in the tile floor and turned slowly on it.

“Hurry up!” The man moved the barrel of the gun to the right, pointing it at the register, as though Jake might have forgotten where it was.

Based on the guy’s stiff posture and the twitching finger on the trigger, Jake was pretty sure the guy had never fired a weapon before. Maybe Jake could keep the guy off-balance, give himself a chance to get away. “If you’re going to use the phone, it’s on the wall. Just please be quick about it, okay? I have a ton of work to do.”

He took a breath and did the unheard of—he turned his back on the gunman and went back to filling the canned bean display.

“Hey, I’m serious!” the crook shouted.

Jake didn’t respond, just kept stacking the stupid-ass cans. The crook walked up to Jake—he saw the shabby sneakers approaching on the black and white checked floor. The gun stabbed into the back of his head. Maybe jerking the guy around wasn’t the best decision he’d made all day.
Maybe this would be
.