Ryne Pearson - Capitol Punishment

“You want us to get the maps?” Mustafa asked.

“No. Brother Moises and I will take care of it. You two have a job to do.”

Mustafa nodded, then looked to the quiet young fighter seated on the bed. “You ain’t said much, Brother Moises.”

“I’ll do my talking Friday,” Moises said. After that he didn’t give a damn what happened. If he was alive he’d fight for the sake of fighting. Tanya wasn’t even the reason anymore. Moises had thought his family was as good as dead because of her murder, but now he realized that he was the one who’d stopped living. Reason didn’t matter now at all. He was on autopilot, and the only instruction his psyche recognized was kill. Kill every white face you see .

After Friday, that would be enough.

The sixth floor rooms, connected by a door, were comfortable, but far from lavish. Darren entered first, with suitcases in each hand. He laid these on the queen-size bed and walked to the window as Felicia and Anne followed him in. He was stiff, but not tired. His body was still convinced it was seven, not ten.

“This is nice,” Anne commented. She checked the connecting door. It was unlocked, and for a moment she disappeared through it to her room to unload the two pieces of luggage she had brought.

Felicia walked up behind her husband and slid her arms around his waist. She felt the rumble of his stomach on her palms. “You should have eaten something on the plane.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

She knew it wasn’t a case of appetite. Her chin rested on Darren’s shoulder as she looked out the window with him. Across the street the D.C. Courthouse was lit against the wintry night. Snow flurries had dusted the city all day, but nothing had stuck.

Darren was looking beyond the courthouse, though. Far beyond. “He’s out there, sweetheart.”

Felicia hugged her husband tighter. “I know.”

“Maybe he’s old enough to think for himself, but…” Darren’s breath clouded the window as he spoke. It cleared as he was momentarily silent. “I hate being this close and not being able to do anything.”

“What would you do if you could?”

“Find him,” Darren said, his hands coming up to caress Felicia’s on his stomach. “Just find him.”

Felicia would do the same…if she could. But she couldn’t. Their son had taken a road neither of them was familiar with. They could only hope that, at some point, it would lead him home.

Darren looked away from the nighttime D.C. skyline and kissed the side of his wife’s face. “I need to walk or something, sweetheart.” He felt Felicia’s chin move on his shoulder as she nodded. “Five hours on the plane…”

“I understand. There’s a restaurant downstairs. Why don’t you get a piece of pie.” She pinched his waist and giggled. “You’ve got a half-inch to spare.”

Darren turned, facing the only woman he’d ever loved. High school sweethearts they had been. Married right after graduation against everyone’s advice. He went to work for the post office, she for a bank. Then two children, a house that was never big enough but was always theirs . They’d had a lot of sun in their lives, and some rain. Some real rain of late. But they had come through that together… “I love you. You know that.”

“Really?” Felicia smiled and kissed him. “I love you, too.” He smiled back, but it wasn’t a whole expression. She knew what was missing. “Go get a bite and relax.”

“Okay.” Darren kissed her on the forehead and left the room, the hotel door clicking loudly as its twin latches closed.

Anne popped back in at the sound. “Where’s Darren?”

“He needed a minute to…” Felicia bit her lower lip to stop the tears from coming. It worked. “It’s Moises. Being here is hard for Darren because he knows Moises is just up the road a ways.”

“That was weeks ago, Felicia,” Anne reminded her.

“I know. Convince Superdad of that.”

You couldn’t talk the worry out of a parent. Not in therapy, and definitely not three thousand miles from the couch.

But maybe you could ease the parent’s fears. Maybe…

“I have an idea, Felicia. Maybe there’s some peace of mind for Darren.” Anne got the mischievous look on her face that only one person knew. “Did Darren bring that postcard from Moises?”

“I have it,” Felicia said. She retrieved it from her bag and gave it to Anne. Then she got that look, too. “You’re seeing him tonight?”

“For a late dinner.” She looked at her watch and added the three hours she’d forgotten to on the plane. “A late, late dinner.”

“Do you think he can find something? From that?”

“We’ll see.”

So it hadn’t been the most romantic of reunions. The restaurant, on the ground floor of the hotel Art had called home for several weeks, was hardly five-star, but it did have a very important redeeming quality: it was open. The late hour and the holiday had combined to limit their dining choices, but they were making the best of it, he with an almost decent eggplant parmesan, she with an average scampi. But together they were. That was what counted.

Anne rolled the last pinkish-orange shrimp in its buttery sauce and bit it off up to the tail. Across the small round table she watched Art lay his fork on the half-finished plate. “Not hungry?”

He leaned a bit closer, over the plate, and spoke softly, his eyes glancing at the food: “Not for this.”

Anne smiled and pushed her plate aside. The shrimp were gone, but the vegetable medley had only warranted a taste. She slid a hand across the table and laid it on his. “Tired?”

He nodded.

“I miss you,” Anne said as she rubbed the back of his hand. His eyes danced between hers and countless other things in sight. Something was on his mind. Something she was pretty certain of. “I wish we could have gotten together when you were back in California last week.”

“It was just a quick stop,” Art said, focusing on her now. He had to say it at some point, and there was no need to fear her reaction. The only thing he had to fear was what came after. Maybe fear wasn’t the right word. Wary. That was better. It was a road he’d taken before, a road he thought he’d never choose to travel down again. Until now.

“You want some dessert?” Anne asked and suggested. “What could they possibly do to ice cream?”

“Anne,” Art said, moving his hand atop hers, looking at her across the remnants of highly average Italian cuisine, “I’m going to take the Chicago job.” At another time in his life he might have waited for a reaction from her. Some validation before making his next declaration. Not anymore. “I want you to come with me.”

Well if that wasn’t direct… Leaving L.A. Leaving her practice. Leaving the teaching job at UCLA. She had already considered all those possibilities. Los Angeles was a place, a conglomeration of buildings and roads, a smattering of friends, but good friendships would survive some distance. Her practice was a bit harder to envision leaving, but the reality was that she had found it harder to think of healing others after so many of those she had known had lost their lives in the World Center. It was irrational, but that was the way of the human animal. Logic went only so far before emotion kicked in, and she was professional enough to know that she would need to heal before a full load of patients could count on her for the help they needed. Already she had trimmed her list by more than half. As for teaching…that was not an issue. The mention she’d made to Art about Chas Ohlmeyer had been a hint of sorts, but there was more to it than that — a job offer of her own, to be exact. A full professorship at the University of Chicago. Teaching all the time. She easily saw herself doing that. She easily saw herself doing that with Art as a part of her life.