they found the secret drawer, a gift would be waiting inside.
As Jack stared at his arm, he realized that he was within one of his own puzzles, trying to find his way out. While he remembered images of the man on the riverbank the night before, nothing else was forthcoming. He still had no idea how he was stitched up, how he got home.
And his senses… he felt as if he was in a hyperreality. Everything he looked at seemed brighter, richer; all of the sounds, no matter how far away, were clearer, the birds outside, Fruck panting as he ran around the yard. But with every hour, Jack felt as if his mind was failing him more and more.
He heard a noise at the side door. He quickly rolled down his sleeve and grabbed his gun off the counter.
As he spun around, he was faced with the last person he thought he would see.
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” Jack said.
His father stood there in the doorway. A moment passed as father and son looked at each other.
Jack and his father had never really gotten along, sometimes going almost a year without speaking. And it was something everyone was well aware of. Their friends and family had grown used to their constant fighting and intermittent estrangements and had tried to mediate between the two on too many occasions, finally leaving them to their own arguments, devices, and silence.
But this moment was different, his father’s eyes holding a hint of uncharacteristic warmth.
“I think I’m losing my mind,” Jack said.
David Keeler stared at him, the moment hanging there like a death knell, before he finally shook his head. “No, you’re not.”
Jack’s father walked into the kitchen and stood across the counter from him.
As much as his father denied it, Jack could feel his mind unhinging. “I’ve always had the best memory. I can remember back to the womb, for Christ’s sake.” Jack paused, pulling up his sleeve. “Look at this. I can’t remember getting it; I can’t remember what happened after the accident. What is happening to me?”
David reached across the table and gently took his son’s arm, turning it over, studying the tattoo before shaking his head. “I don’t know. But I can tell you there is so much in this world that doesn’t make sense and probably never will.”
The two looked at each other. His father still held his arm. Jack could feel the warmth from him, something he hadn’t felt since he was a child.
“So, any word on Mia?” David asked as he finally released Jack’s arm.
“No.” Jack looked at the file on the counter. “And I can’t help thinking this is my fault.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Stop feeling guilty and sorry for yourself.”
“Sorry for myself?” Jack snapped.
“Yeah, the more time you sit wallowing in self-pity, the less time you have to save your wife.” David paused. “How are you feeling?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m your father; I see it in your eyes.”
“I’m worried for my wife.”
“How sick are you?” David asked, in a tone of concern that Jack didn’t remember ever hearing in his father’s voice. “Your mother noticed it this morning, but she’s always been one to avoid difficult conversations.”
“Unlike you, who can’t allow a thought not to pass your lips?”
“You know I don’t dance around tough topics.”
“The more time we sit around talking about that, the less time I’ll have to save Mia.”
David stared at his son.
“With this hole in my memory… I think I’m losing my grip on reality-”
“Reality is all a matter of perspective, Jack. There’s the reality of history books, which both you and I know is always fine-tuned. There is the individual reality that we each experience when observing an incident. Think of how often you get a reliable witness on the stand who tells an entirely different story from your star witness, even though both individuals were standing in the same room and both are sure of what they’ve seen.”
Jack absorbed his father’s words, looking closer at the man he hadn’t seen in six months. “Why did you come back?”
“It was shouted to the world this morning that you and Mia were dead. Turns out she’s missing, you’re sick- though you don’t want to admit it-and we both know that if someone killed you once and failed, they’ll be trying again. You need me,” his father said simply.
“Why?”
“Who else tells you when you’re screwing up, tells you when you’re wrong? I’m here to set your head straight, tell you that you can do this, and watch over your girls.”
“Yeah, and if you came back to watch over them, why are you here talking to me?”
“Your mother is capable, and the man at the end of our driveway, the guy Frank sent, has an eye on them. And with respect to why I’m here-because you’re my son, and as I’ve heard it, some fathers and sons talk.”
“Look.” Jack felt his guilt building. “I said some things…”
“Yeah, you sure did,” David said. Jack waited for him to admit some culpability, but that wasn’t forthcoming. “We’re not going to waste time on those issues. Let’s stay focused on getting Mia. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, the fear, the worry and anxiety, but remember, this is where you thrive. No one thinks clearer under stress than you. When you were a kid, you were so good under pressure; it’s what made you such a strong goalie. With games riding on your shoulders, no one was better at protecting the net, no matter how many shots were fired at you. You carried that talent into every aspect of your life.
“And this is hard to admit: you never listened to me about sports, school, your career. And you know what? You were right. You were right every time. You always listened to your heart, to that voice inside you. Listen to it now. Embrace the pressure as you’ve always done. It makes you think clearer, it allows you to see solutions where others don’t.” David paused. “You’ll find Mia. Trust in yourself. I do.”
Jack looked as his father, his words filling him with confidence.
“Jack,” his father said, “let’s keep this conversation between us. We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea, especially your mother.”
David patted Jack’s shoulder, and it might as well have been a hug.
Jack smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be watching over the girls,” David said as he headed out the door. “You go find your wife.”
Jack’s cell phone rang, startling him. He didn’t dare answer it unless it was Frank or Joy. He glanced at the caller ID, and his heart leaped. He couldn’t answer Mia’s call fast enough.
“Hello, Jack,” the voice said.
“Who is this?”
“I see we’ve both risen from the dead.”
Jack knew the voice instantly, the deep, haunting tone, the polished accent.
“You sent me to die, Jack. Not sure how you survived, but I guess you’re wondering the same about me. You can stop wondering where Mia is. I’ve got her. She is so beautiful. Her hair dark like the night, her eyes filled with emotion, all kinds of emotion. And her smell, do you remember her smell?”
“You lay one hand on her-”
“Who says I haven’t already? And there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“I don’t know how you’re alive-”
“I guess it’s fate that we’re both alive, because I sure wouldn’t call it coincidence. Cute trick keeping an empty evidence case in the car. Was that your idea or your wife’s?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I got your note, Jack.”
“What note?” Jack said in total confusion.
“I know you like puzzles and playing games, but I can assure you, this is no game.”
Jack was silent, perplexed at the man’s words. He hadn’t written any note, let alone had any clue this man could possibly be alive.
“You know what I want, Jack, and you’re going to get it for me.”
“Not a chance.”
