John Locke - Lethal Experiment

I wondered if Callie had done something to alter Eva’s weight or features. A half drop of arsenic taken once a week might keep the weight off and produce a complexion similar to Eva’s.

Callie, watching me like a hawk, caught me staring, probably understood what I was thinking. She shook her head at me, a subtle reminder that I was on her turf, and therefore my life was in her hands. I nodded back, hoping to send the signal: okay, none of my business, everything’s cool.

We were in Callie and Eva’s luxury high rise condo, overlooking the Vegas strip. These types of units start above two million dollars, and from the looks of the upgrades, the furniture and wall coverings, I’d say this one was somewhere north of three.

Eva turned out to be a gourmet cook. She prepared a wonderful four-course dinner, one that partnered different wines with each course. Whenever I complimented Eva, Callie beamed. It was clear that Eva was her treasure.

My cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID and excused myself to the foyer.

“What’s up, Sal?”

“You see the paper today?”

“Which one?”

“Cincinnati.”

“I’m in Vegas, Sal.”

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway, paper says someone—whatcha call—anonymously donated two hundred thousand dollars scholarship money for Myron Goldstein’s kids to go to Dartmouth.”

“So?”

“Goldstein was a guy got his throat slit at a rest stop here a few days ago, as if you didn’t know.”

“So?”

“So what do you think about that?”

“I think his kids would rather have their father alive.”

“My kids wouldn’t,” he said.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Sal. I’m sure your kids love you.”

“They love money, sex and drugs more.”

“But you’re still on the list, right?”

He thought about it a minute. “Yeah. I’m still on there somewhere.”

“Stay on the list, Sal. That’s what it’s all about.”

We hung up and I found the girls in the kitchen.

“Let me help you with the dishes,” I said.

“No, please,” Eva said. “You and Cal go in the den and visit. I’ll finish up and join you in a few minutes.”

Callie escorted me to the den.

“Well?” she said.

“She’s a doll.”

“I told you.”

“You did. And listen, Callie, if you girls want to make out in front of me, or play a little slap and tickle, I hope you know I’m cool with it.”

“Slap and tickle? Oh. My. God!”

I looked at her. Eva might be adorable, but Callie was peerless. She was wearing high-waist, navy pinstripe pants and a white V-neck Tee with cap sleeves. Her hair was wild tonight, almost electric. Slung over one side of the armchair beside her was a navy leather Dior handbag with a buckled strap. A substantial diamond tennis bracelet graced her wrist.

“Looks like you’ve managed all right without me these past three years,” I said.

“A girl’s gotta do,” she said. Then she fell silent. Something invisible came over her eyes and her expression changed the slightest bit.

I’d been out of commission for more than three years, and my reflexes were bound to be shot, and I’d probably lost a step or two since I was in peak shape. But my instincts were still sharp.

“There’s something on your mind, something you’re not telling me,” I said.

“Yes.”

She got up, took a few steps to the window and stood there a bit with her back to me. I gave her some time. From my vantage point I could only see the dark Vegas sky and a haze of casino color out the window, so I focused instead on Callie’s perfect backside, which I knew to be eminently more interesting than whatever she was staring at. Three years ago she’d been a perfect ten. But somehow she’d gotten prettier.

She turned and faced me.

“It’s Kathleen,” she said.

“What about her?”

“They’ve set a date.”

The news shouldn’t have had a major effect on me. I mean, I knew they were engaged. But Kimberly’s words suddenly started ringing in my ears. Kathleen did deserve to know. Maybe I’m not the best man she could have fallen in love with, but she chose me three years ago knowing there were better men in the world. Certainly Addie deserved a better father than me, but what if she didn’t want the world’s greatest father? Maybe Addie would rather have me in spite of my shortcomings. Bottom line: Kathleen had a right to choose.

The last thing Callie said to me before I left was this: “If you want Kathleen, you’d better hurry!”

“The last thing I said to Callie before I left was this: “You remember when you were a kid, after you were attacked, how you stared at that window for hours at a time?”

“Of course.”

“You were trying to figure out something about the way the wooden pieces intersected, the wooden slats that frame the window panes.”

She nodded.

“You said if you could figure that out, it would be something to hold on to, a place from which to reclaim your sanity.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m not a spiritual guy.”

“No shit.”

“Hard to believe, right? Anyway, I was just wondering if you ever figured it out.”

She frowned. “If I did I’m not conscious of it.” She thought some more, shook her head. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“You’re happy,” I said. “I’ve never seen you truly happy before.”

“I am happy. But what does this have to do with the wooden slats and the way they intersected on the window pane?”

“It’s like you were at a crossroad in your life. And you chose to move forward.”

“And that’s what you’re going to do?”

“It is.”

Chapter 62

I’ve always lived my life by the theory that we’re all just a phone call away from a life-changing event. It could be a phone call like the one Kathleen will get tomorrow morning, informing her that a man named Donovan Creed bequeathed an unusual gift to her adopted daughter. A financial gift that would make it possible for Addie to receive a new face and body, one that would be completely free of all scars caused by the fire that ravaged her.

We’re all just a call away from a life-changing event. But it doesn’t have to be a phone call.

It could be a guy like me, standing by an oak tree in the park, watching a little girl playing with the tiniest puppy, say, a Teacup Maltese. There might be something wrong with the little girl’s skin. She might be a burn victim. Behind her, a man and woman might be enjoying a long-overdue picnic. They might be sitting on a large blue checkerboard quilt, removing food from a wicker basket. The woman might handle the basket tenderly, almost lovingly, as if it had been a gift from someone she’d loved and lost. The quilt and basket might appear unused, as if they’d been waiting a long time to be placed into service.

I pretended to go for a long, circular walk while Kathleen and Tom ate and played with Addie and the puppy. It was clear the three of them had the chemistry to be a perfect little family, and for a minute I thought about walking away. I mean, just walk away and never turn back. Because I hated the thought of destroying Tom, hated destroying the foundation Kathleen had built these last three years.

But I hated to lose her and Addie even more.

I timed my loop to hit the ice cream stand at the same time they did, with the three of them in front of me. Addie held a tiny leash in her hand, tethered to her puppy. I wanted to wait before announcing myself, wanted to step into their world a minute, smell Kathleen’s hair, her perfume, hear her voice.

I stood motionless behind them. Addie turned and smiled at me, and my knees nearly gave out.