The REASON Series - the Complete Collection (15 page)

"Why the hell would she think that?"
 

"Because she told Vivienne that she was there to warn her about Riley."
Zing.

Shit. I really don’t like the sound of this. I have a sudden urge to drive over there and knock on her door.
 

But when the detectives leave a few moments later, the urge to drive to Vivienne’s apartment subsides. I don’t want another run-in with Stevens; plus, if she is safe in her apartment, then I do not want to scare her further by showing up in the middle of the night.

Three

I turn to Red. "Did she make it into her apartment tonight?"

"She did," he says back.
 

"Good." I'd only been home for all of five seconds when the cops showed up. I had a business meeting that ran over, so Red had gone to Vivienne’s tonight in my place. "Anything unusual?"
 

"Not a thing, except the light over her front door was out. She didn't seem too bothered by it, and the bus driver hung around just a little longer than normal. I almost missed the drive-by timing." He smiles. "She was smirking at the car as I drove past."

"Even better. Maybe now she will be ready to talk to me."
 

He raises his eyebrows in a you've-lost-your-damn-mind kind of way. He's probably right.
 

There’s something undeniably special about Vivienne, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Not yet. But eventually I will. I will find a way to do just that.
 

"I'll be in my office for a bit if you need me."

"Certainly, sir. Anything else?"

"No, not tonight. Thanks, Red."

"Anytime, sir."
 

I turn and head toward my office.

The police showing up here because of my car makes me question their motives altogether. What on earth is the connection between Vivienne, Riley and myself that they’re seeing and I’m not?
 

Sitting down at my desk, I flick the mouse on my iMac, and the screen comes to life. The background comes up and I smile. It is a scanned copy of Baby Callahan's ultrasound image.
 

That baby is so unbelievably special, and Vivienne hasn't even begun to grasp that yet. Well, maybe she does a little now that she’s had her ultrasound.

I can only imagine the emotional strain she’s under, knowing that she’s doing this alone. I’d really hoped to help her, maybe even be with her, if she'd have me. Be everything she needed me to be.
 

Until I met Vivienne I had no idea what love at first sight meant, but now I do. In more ways than one. I’d known when I was standing across the street from the diner with all those images flashing through my mind that there was something different about her, but I wasn’t able to put my finger on it. When she was shaking from hunger and I told her that it wasn’t just her I was worried about, I didn’t realize what had come out of my mouth until after it had left. I had the fleeting thought that maybe she was pregnant, but it came and went so quickly that her telling me she was pregnant surprised me.

 
It was not what I’d expected to hear out of her mouth -- I was initially concerned that it was drug- or disease-related, and a pregnancy was the furthest thing from my mind -- but when she told me, it felt somehow familiar, like I’d already known.
 

I fell in love a second time when Dr. Alston raised her hospital gown, and there on her right hip was a heart-shaped birthmark. A mark that had become a legend in my family.
 

When I was a boy in our small town outside of Dublin, there was a crazy old lady who would walk past our house at the same time every day, muttering nonsense. My father said that she was just talking to herself, but each thing she said had something to do with one of us. It wasn't until we moved to Boston and my brother Shane was born that my parents started to believe there was something more to the old woman’s mutterings.
 

“Light and darkness all at once,” she used to say. Shane was born on the same day that my great-grandfather died.
 

Then my little brother, Ronin, came along. He was born with bright red hair and a pattern of freckles that formed a star under his right eye. This, too, the old woman had foretold.

Victoria’s prophecy was the spookiest. The old woman had told my mother that they would have “a daughter of four,” meaning fourth, and that she would be “frail and sickly, too”, or something like that. When Victoria was born, she didn't leave the hospital until she was nearly six months old. I suppose some part of me expected that she’d die young, but of my whole family, Victoria and I are the only ones still living.

Though in Victoria’s case,
alive
might be a better term. She resides in a state hospital in upstate New York -- one of the best. I wouldn't have it any other way. But I’m not sure she’s really living in the sense of having a life of her own.

My prophecy went something like: "Alone he'll be, a wealth of three, a wife she'll be." There was a poem, too, but that’s all that I really remember.
 

The prophecy, if it can be called that, alluded to a heart shape on her. It wasn’t until we were in the hospital and Dr. Alston was getting ready to do the ultrasound that I saw it. There, over her right hip is that heart-shaped mark.

I only wish there was someone that I could talk to about all of this as it seems to slowly becoming reality.

Four

Thoughts of Vivienne bring me back to the reason I came in here in the first place.

Shaking my head of those thoughts, I turn to the computer; pull up Safari and type in
Rebecca Black
. There are a lot of women with that name, but none of the entries are recent.
 

I search instead for local crime reports from the last two days and find a
Star Tribune Online
article about a girl who was brutally murdered in South Minneapolis. Victim still unidentified.
 

My stomach turns, and the shivering sensations on my back intensify briefly. I peruse the rest of the article. The information it contains is weak and provides me with no real concrete proof that it has to do with the Rebecca Black the cops asked about. Though the location suggests it could be.
 

I go back to Google and search for Riley Bennett. These results seem more promising, and within a matter of minutes I discover a connection I no longer like -- a business relationship that will soon be severed. Riley Bennett is the son of Elton Bennett, CEO of Bennett and Lisbon Enterprises, a company that I do business with on a regular basis.
 

No longer. I will not stand side by side with a man that bails his kid out of jail after that kid viciously beats a girl for being pregnant with his child.
 

I grab my BlackBerry, pull up a contact and press send.
 

"Good evening, Mr. Blake. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
 

"Hi, Jack. I need you to put your research skills to work. Are you ready?"
 

"Absolutely. Fire away."
 

Not only will I sever my ties to Bennett and Lisbon, but I will bring Elton down in a fiery inferno. I'm not generally this vindictive, but damn it, this is Viv we’re talking about.

When I’m done talking to Jack, I head for the bedroom and a shower. My back is starting to itch. That's odd. I try to scratch it, but its right in the middle of my back where I can't reach.
 

As my feet hit the bedroom carpet, I start shedding clothes, first unbuttoning the shirt and letting it slip from my shoulders onto the floor. Then off come the belt, pants and socks. Finally my boxer briefs hit the bathroom floor.
 

As I reach into the shower to turn the knob, something catches the corner of my eye.
 

I turn quickly but see nothing. It must be the stress. Maybe I’m even a little freaked out by the fact that Riley has been freed, and he’s wormed his way into my unconscious mind.
 

I turn again and it's back. This time I turn slowly, hoping to catch sight of whatever it is. For a moment I see it in the mirror, faint before it disappears again. I turn my body so that my back is facing the mirror. I'm looking over my shoulder, and in an instant the old lady's words come flooding back to me.
 

An angel is he
 

Alone in this world
 

With the wealth of three
 

He'll meet his true love
 

Answering her song
 

His wings he will grow
 

His heart will respond
 

Him she will follow
 

His wife she will be
 

Two joined making three.
 

Jesus, I’m losing it, I swear to God. I’m seeing things, and now, all of sudden after twenty years that old lady’s words come back to me.
 

Is it even possible that I am an angel? I thought angels were born of those that die and earn their right as angels. How is it that I’m walking this earth and can be an angel? ‘Cause that makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?

Vivienne. How on earth does she fit into all of this? The heart on her hip, the birthmark. The need I feel of being around her.
 

What if all this is really coming true?

Five

My body is burning. The hum I’ve been experiencing of late has begun to burn across my entire body.
 

Opening my eyes, I look at the clock. Eight. I get up quickly, hoping that moving around will soothe the burning feeling, but it doesn’t.
 

Last night’s realization that something is changing in my body comes flooding back to me.
 

I’d never taken my family’s story as anything more than gibberish until now. The story tells, in some mixed-up way, that I’m supposed to become an angel.

An angel is he...

I shake my head. Jesus, I’m losing it.
 

“I’m hardly pure enough to be an angel,” I mutter as I shed the t-shirt I slept in and exchange it for a light gray undershirt and a gray button up dress shirt. I pull on my favorite pair of faded Wrangler jeans and slip on black socks and my black boots.
 

Every time I’ve seen Vivienne so far, I’ve been dressed in a suit. Not my usual attire unless I’m at the office, and I’m hoping that my normal, everyday clothes will be a little more appealing and less intimidating to her.
 

In case I make it to the office, I grab the hanger with a black dress shirt, black slacks and my silver tie.
 

As I leave my walk-in closet I sigh. “If only I had some answers,” I say out loud to no one, and my skin vibrates, hard and hot. I stumble. “Ow.” But just as quickly as it came on, it’s gone. “This is getting ridiculous.”
 

I march out of my room, irritated that I don’t understand what is going on with me. I doubt it’s something a doctor could help me with; I’m left to my own resources to try and figure this out.
 

I step into the kitchen to find Celeste, my housekeeper, is there. I hired Celeste about a year ago. She’s a plump little thing, standing at about five feet tall. She has stark blonde hair – no doubt from a box – and baby blue eyes and is not at all unattractive. She’s in her mid to late thirties and insists she loves her job. Despite my offer to let her live in one of my condos in this building, she doesn’t. She’d rather live at her boyfriend’s place.
 

“Good morning, Celeste.”

“Good morning, sir. Breakfast?”

“Please. The usual.”

“Coming right up,” she says as she gets to work.
 

“I’ll be in my office.”
 

She nods and goes about my breakfast.

As I walk toward my office, I take a look around my condo, wondering idly if it is something Vivienne would enjoy or feel comfortable in.
 

The shades are open, and light is flooding into the dining and living rooms. The floor is a beautiful walnut hardwood with a dark, glossy finish. My walls are painted a neutral tan, and the furniture is an eclectic mix of modern sofas and high-backed chairs. It’s quite stuffy and formal, if you want the truth of it. But I don’t spend mountains of time in the living and dining rooms.
 

When I’m home, I’m usually in my office, working, my bedroom, sleeping, or my entertainment room, which from here is behind the kitchen.

I reach my office door at the far end of the long, rectangular living room, I turn back towards the kitchen again and there is a sudden image shift of a little girl making a figure eight on a big wheel. I smile at the thought and open the door.
 

The flooring changes from wood to black slate, an after-market modification to accompany the bleached white walls. My desk, to the right of the door, is contemporary: black with silver accents and white drawers. The drawers are out to the sides and the top of the desk only sits on the corner of the cabinets. The front is held up by a single leg, and the overall appearance is that it’s floating.
 

When I wake up the computer, I find two emails from Jack. The first one lets me know they’ve tapped into some information and that he wants to meet with me later today once they have something a little more concrete. The next contains a single image. A photo taken by one of the Capella Towers security cameras last night at about two in the morning. In the image I can see Elton and a younger gentleman. “Hello, Riley.”
 

I pick up the card Detective Stevens left when he was here last night and forward the image to his email address with the note,
Taken Friday morning around 2 a.m. outside of Capella Towers
.