John Gilstrap - At all costs

“Not bad for forty-two,” she told herself. Then, to remember what she looked like at twenty-two, she sucked in her stomach until she couldn’t breathe. “It sucks to grow old,” she grumbled. Hearing the vernacular, she reminded herself how much she was beginning to sound like her kids.

I’ve got to call them, she thought. First thing tomorrow. It’s been two days. And two days alone with their father was more than anyone should be asked to endure.

By the time she finished brushing her teeth, the water level had reached the danger line, and she had to take care as she lowered herself into the steaming bath not to slosh anything over the sides. It was wonderful; better, even, than she’d hoped. In the oversize tub, the water came past her breasts, just high enough to tickle the underside of her chin. The tension and the worry drained away as she leaned her head back against the tile and closed her eyes. This was heaven. If only she’d thought to turn out the lights, she could’ve fallen asleep right there.

In fact, she’d nearly nodded off when she heard the bathroom door open.

“Don’t scream,” Jake warned as he took aim at Irene’s left eye. “In fact, don’t say anything. If you try to call for help, I’ll kill you.”

Irene didn’t move, other than to begin trembling in the scalding water.

“Do you believe I’ll kill you?” Jake asked.

The fugitive’s face was blank, yet his eyes remained warm. The contrast petrified her. She nodded. Yes, she believed him.

He nodded along with her. “Good.” He pulled a towel off the metal rack next to the sink and handed it to her. “Here,” he said. “Cover yourself up.”

She reached for the towel too quickly and caused a wave of water to arch over the porcelain edge and slap down onto the black and white tile floor. As she tucked the towel around her body, she realized with a shudder that she was staring down the barrel of her own gun. A humiliating end to a humiliating day.

“What do you want?” she demanded. The strength she heard in her voice surprised her.

“How’s my son?”

She glared at him, her fear dissolving quickly into anger. “Who do you think you are, charging into my hotel room-”

“You know who I am,” Jake interrupted. “And if you truly believe all the bullshit they say I’ve done, then you should be scared shitless right now. If you don’t believe it, then you should know just how angry and unstable I have a right to be.” He helped himself to a spot on the vanity and drew one knee up to help support the weight of the pistol. “Either way, it seems that you should think twice before pissing me off.”

She continued to glare. There was fear in his eyes now, and combined with the complex assortment of other emotions he projected, she didn’t know what to make of his stability. Perhaps it was, indeed, time to be careful.

He took a deep, shaky breath and tried again. “I’m not asking you for state secrets, Rivers. I’m a father whose son is sick. Now, please answer my question. How is he?”

The way she broke eye contact said more than her words ever could. His shoulders sagged.

“They say he’ll live,” she said softly. “But it’s too early to tell the full extent of the damage to his lungs.”

Jake felt the sadness return and closed his eyes. At least he’s alive, he told himself. This was a time to focus on the positive.

He heard movement in the water and his eyes snapped open, freezing Irene in midlunge. If her foot hadn’t slipped, she might have made it.

“Don’t!” he yelled, more loudly than was prudent this late at night. His finger was half a pull away from killing her, and she seemed to know it, her full attention focused on the barrel of the pistol. “Sit down!” he commanded sharply. “Dammit, Rivers, don’t do that to me!”

She did, indeed, sit back down, and she watched as Jake struggled with his emotions. Sure as hell he’d have killed her, and from all appearances, that fact scared him nearly as much as it scared her.

A full minute passed before anyone said anything. Then he asked, “Have you seen him? Travis, I mean?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen him. He seems to be resting comfortably. They’ve got him in pediatric ICU, and he’s on a respirator, but he doesn’t seem to be in any distress.”

He considered that, then nodded to himself. “That’s good,” he said. “It’s good he’s comfortable. We can handle anything as long as he’s alive.” Another long pause followed. “Do you have children, Rivers?”

The question made her uneasy, but there seemed to be no threat in it. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Two daughters.”

He nodded again, though she wasn’t at all sure he’d heard her answer. “Kids are a hoot, aren’t they? Nothing makes you laugh as hard or cry as hard as a kid.” Again, he seemed to disappear into a distant room in his mind.

“Why are you here, Donovan?” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “No offense, but for an intelligent guy like yourself, this is a stupid place to be.”

He looked up again and chuckled. “So I’ve heard. Well, I’ll admit it seemed a much better idea when I was planning it than it did once I got here. But sooner or later, I figured I had to trust someone. You’re it. What does that tell you about my available options?”

“How did you get in?” Get him talking about himself, she thought, remembering her hostage negotiation training. As long as he felt like he had a friend, he’d be less likely to harm the hostage. She must have skipped the lesson on what to do when the negotiator and the hostage were the same person.

“You’d be surprised how many master keys they’ve got lying around the Housekeeping Department at this hour,” he said.

“That’s smart,” she said. “I’m not sure I would have thought of that.”

The comment brought a smirk to Jake’s face, and then the smirk turned to a smile and the smile to a laugh.

“What?” Clearly, she didn’t like being laughed at.

“Why, Agent Rivers, I believe you’re trying to suck up to me. Is that one of the lessons in Hostage 101?” He laughed again.

She scowled. “I don’t know-”

“Please,” he interrupted with a wave. “Spare me. If it sets your mind at ease, I don’t want anything from you except conversation, okay? If you just stay put and do what I tell you, I’ll be on my way in a little while. As you might imagine, I feel a little exposed here.” He eyed her towel and chuckled again. “Well, okay, maybe not as exposed as you, but still…”

She smiled in spite of herself and pulled the towel a little closer.

“So, tell me, Rivers, do you really believe that we killed all of those people back in 1983?”

Her eyes narrowed as she searched for the right answer.

He sighed. “Relax, okay? This isn’t a quiz. It’s a fact-finding mission.”

She shrugged. “Well… yes.”

He considered the answer. Certainly, it was no surprise. “That all makes perfect sense to you, does it? That my wife and I-neither of us with the slightest hint of a violent past-would shoot our friends, blow up half the state, and then leave a note?”

She shrugged. “With all due respect, Donovan, crooks have been known to do some pretty stupid things. Zealots, in particular, have a long history of stupidity.”

“Zealots.” He said the word softly, as if testing its flavor. “So that’s what we were, huh? Zealots? I suppose the record is full of documented examples of our zealous causes? Or was this environmental thing our first?”

“Look Jake…”

“No, you look, Irene,” he pressed. “Have you found any evidence at all to substantiate this zealot crap? Registration cards for the American Nazi Party, maybe? How about-oh, damn, who was it that burned all the campuses in the sixties? — SDS, that’s it. Students for a Democratic Society. Have you found that? How about the NRA? Have you been able to dig up a single example of Carolyn or me being zealous about anything?”