Hold On! - Tomorrow (A Sci-Fi Thriller) Page 15

  “The next exit ramp isn’t far,” he said.

  The SUV veered to the right and slowed down, creating a distance behind them again. Within seconds, it ran into the back of the van, sending it careening across the freeway. Cars swerved to avoid them.

  Heather could see Woody was panic-stricken and losing his grip on his critical faculties. “Stay in control, Woody. We will make it.”

  Blue lights flashed in the wing mirrors. “Oh, thank God,” Woody said. “The police.”

  Heather cringed with ambivalence. Considering the delicate situation she was in with the Senate, she didn’t want to engage with any authority figures. But what choice did she have?

  Two police cars came up on either side of the SUV. Then she caught sight of a police hover car above it. “The police have them boxed in.”

  Woody exhaled with relief.

  The SUV swerved into the police car on the right, knocking it in front of a tanker truck. The truck vertically jack-knifed over on top of the police car, crushing it. Four cars ploughed into the wreckage. The cargo of gasoline ignited, exploding on impact.

  Heather watched in horror as the section of the freeway behind them became a river of fire.

  The hover car flew parallel to the SUV. The remaining police car cleared the inferno and positioned itself between the van and the SUV.

  One of the cops lowered his window and pointed to an upcoming exit ramp. Woody nodded. The left lane was clear, affording him the chance to veer onto it.

  Heather saw the exit a few hundred yards ahead. Come on, come on.

  Woody drove forward and shot onto the ramp while the police continued along the freeway in pursuit of the SUV.

  Heather closed her eyes and sank back into the seat, shaking. She looked across at Woody. His brow was pouring with perspiration. “We made it, Woody.”

  He simply gazed ahead with a vacant look it his eyes.

  They continued in silence for another five miles, before coming to a stop in the front yard of a suburban house in a cul-de-sac. Woody turned off the engine.

  “Is this where you live?” Heather said.

  He nodded but didn’t speak. It was clear he was extremely shaken up.

  Heather gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  They stepped out and Woody opened his front door. His hand shook so badly he could barely grip the key.

  Heather walked around and checked the van. It was severely smashed and most likely a total loss, but Woody didn’t seem to notice.

  Finally, they stepped inside. Looking around, Heather immediately deduced the place was a basic suburban residence. Woody wasn’t wealthy, judging from the lack of décor. It served as a reminder of the poverty from which she, herself, had arisen.

  He gestured for her to follow him. Within moments she found herself in the most basic, unkempt kitchen. Posters and framed images of comic book superheroes and related motion picture regalia, plastered the un-painted walls. It was as though his kitchen was a poverty-laden shrine to the world of fantasy.

  “This is where you live?” she said.

  “I inherited the house.”

  “But who are you, Woody?”

  He smiled sheepishly and seemed to be about to reply when a tall, slender young man entered. The newcomer looked particularly disheveled and unshaven. He was followed by a young woman with an ash-white face, contrasted by black lipstick and raven black hair.

  The woman halted in her tracks. “Oh, wow. You brought her here? How did you do this?”

  The scruffy young man had the same sentiment of astonishment. “Jesus, Woody. How did you manage that?”

  “Ms. Addison, these are my friends, Phil and Sharon,” Woody said. “There’s another one of us, but he’s not here yet.”

  “Another one of you? What are you talking about? Who are you guys? And what do you want with me?”

  Woody said, “We thought that . . . you could help us with some information about The Interceptor.”

  Heather frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “I’m an artist, Ma’am,” Phil said nervously. “I’ve been trying to gain a position with the Cosmic Comics Group for three years, but they keep passing on me. The only way I stand a chance is if I can offer something no other artist can. You have to understand, we’re living on the breadline here.”

  “Can we do this later, Phil?” Woody said. “We almost didn’t make it back here alive.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  As Woody proceeded to tell his harrowing tale, Heather glanced around at the posters and paintings of The Interceptor and other comic book characters. These people were social outcasts, but she couldn’t help getting swept up with the sincerity they exuded. The bizarre irony struck her in a way she couldn’t assimilate. She was still alive only because some struggling kid wanted to draw a goddamn comic book. If Woody hadn’t shown up in that side street at that very moment, those psychos would surely have caught and killed her.

  However, that didn’t change her predicament. She’d just exposed a US senator on TV, without the approval of EDID. Both of her advisors had been murdered, she and Woody had almost lost their lives, and at least seven motorists and two police officers had been killed in an explosion. Now, she was standing in a strange house in a strange town with three comic book geeks.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Woody said.

  “I could really use one,” she replied. “But it’ll have to wait. Right now, I’ve got to figure this out.”

  Twenty-Five

  The Truth

  B.J. answered a knock on the cabin’s door. His mother and Uncle Tyler stood on the porch. “Hey, guys. Thanks for coming.”

  Belinda stepped inside and gave him a hug. “How are you, sweetheart?”

  “Fine. Aunt Emily and I have been cleaning the place up. It’s really peaceful here.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Emily came out of the kitchen and greeted them. “Hi, you two.”

  “Hi, Sis.” Tyler walked over and gave Emily a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thank you for staying with him, Em,” Belinda said.

  “Oh, believe me, it was no trouble.”

  Tyler looked around the living room and smiled. “Well, you’ve sure been busy. The place looks spotless.”

  “With the two of us working on it, it didn’t take long,” B.J. said. “It needed doing. We even found an old vacuum cleaner in the closet that still works.”

  Tyler came closer to him with a serious demeanor. “I’m gonna have to take Emily back with me. For now, we’ll have to do this in shifts.”

  B.J was taken aback. “Why?”

  “The FBI came to the ranch, as I expected. We said we hadn’t seen you and that Emily was at a heavy metal concert in Austin.” He took a ticket out of his pocket and handed it to Emily. “It’s for that concert. It’s backdated, so keep it on you.”

  Emily took the ticket and dropped it into the purse she’d left on the liquor cabinet. “Actually, B.J. got me into AOR, but I’ll play along.”

  “Dave went to a golf tournament in Florida as a cover,” Tyler said. “Your mom went with him and made an appearance. I then picked her up and brought her here.”

  B.J. walked over to the recliner, sank into it, and lowered his head into his palms. “I can’t believe this. What the hell is happening?”

  “Even this place is a risk,” Tyler said. “The FBI knows about it, so don’t get too comfortable.”

  “Tyler!” Emily snapped in an uncharacteristic display of anger.

  B.J. looked up. “What? How could the FBI know about the cabin?”

  Tyler and Emily glanced at one another with mutual concern, but no answer came.

  B.J. stood angrily. “Oh, I get it. It’s another ‘Dad’ story you don’t want to tell me about, isn’t it? Well, I’ve had enough. Once and for all, you are gonna goddamn well tell me what this is about.”

  Belinda, Tyler, and Emily held themselves still, each
of them speechless.

  Finally, Belinda said, “What is it you want to know, honey?”

  “The truth! Who was my father? What is it about him that you don’t want me to know?”

  Tyler reached out in a pacifying manner. “Buddy—”

  “No, Tyler,” Belinda said. “He’s right. This has gone on for far too long. He’s old enough to know. This is my responsibility. Go help Emily collect her things. B.J. and I have a long talk ahead of us.”

  Tyler followed Emily into the bedroom, clearly eager to get out of the way.

  B.J. sat back down in the recliner.

  Belinda took the leather sofa opposite. “Where did you sleep?” she said.

  “On that sofa. It’s comfortable. Aunt Emily took the bed, but I can’t imagine it being better than the sofa.”

  “Have you been getting along together in here?”

  “Of course . . . Except for the fact that she didn’t want to tell me anything about my father when I asked her. She just kept saying it wasn’t her place to say anything.”

  “She was right. It’s mine.” Belinda tilted her head to one side and studied him with a sympathetic eye. “Are you really sure you want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  Tyler and Emily crept out of the bedroom with Emily’s suitcase, and sheepishly headed for the door.

  “Have a safe trip, you guys,” B.J. said.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Tyler said, and stepped outside.

  “Bye, sweetheart,” Emily said.

  B.J. waved. “Yeah, bye, Aunt Em.”

  Belinda gazed around the room after Emily closed the door behind her. “So many memories.”

  “I’m sure there are, Mom. And now I want you to share them with me. OK?”

  She turned back to him and looked him in the eye. “All right. I first met your father when he saved my life. He brought me back here.”

  “The Carringby attack. I know all about that.”

  “He was the kindest, sweetest guy I’d ever met. He’d been so lonely living in here for weeks. He only had Snooky to keep him from going crazy.”

  “Who’s Snooky?”

  “A little lost bear cub that used to come to him.”

  B.J. felt a lump in his throat and swallowed hard. “Damn, that’s so sad.”

  “Anyway, we soon decided we wanted to make a life for ourselves. When we left the cabin, we discovered we’d been targeted by the government conspiracy responsible for what happened at Carringby. The police, the army, and rogue intelligence agents pursued us everywhere we went. Your dad saved me from them, over and over again. He was extraordinary. The comic books were definitely accurate about that part of him.”

  “That part of him? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Belinda lowered her head, showing her reluctance to continue. “When we were in danger, something came over him.” She pointed between her eyes. “He had a scar on his forehead, and it would become pronounced. His eyes would fill with hatred. He would display incredible martial arts skills and lay waste to whoever was trying to harm us. Afterward, he didn’t remember a thing.”

  B.J. leaned forward in the grip of intrigue. “What was it?”

  “At first, we didn’t know. And then, one night after a harrowing trip to L.A., we came back here to discover we had a visitor.”

  “Who?”

  “Have you ever heard of Senator Garrison Treadwell?”

  “Yes. The founder of Operation: Nemesis.”

  “Well, he was the one we found in here. We couldn’t explain it. We believed the cabin had belonged to Brandon’s grandfather, and that nobody else knew of its existence.”

  “So, how did Treadwell find it?”

  Belinda sighed, clearly uneasy. “Oh, sweetheart. Are you sure you want to know all this?”

  “Yes, dammit.”

  She nodded sadly. “The cabin was Treadwell’s all along. Treadwell told us your father wasn’t who he thought he was. Everything he believed and everything he remembered never really happened. His family, as he remembered them, never existed. It practically destroyed him.”

  B.J.’s jaw dropped and he looked away, stunned and unable to imagine what that must have done to his father. “Treadwell told you this?”

  “Treadwell was the one responsible for brainwashing him. He’d completely rewired your dad’s mind so that he could use him for his own ends. He blew his own brains out right in that chair you’re sitting in.”

  B.J. lurched forward, repulsed. “So, if the Brandon Drake you knew wasn’t who he really was . . . who the hell was he?”

  “The Scorpion.”

  “The Scorpion? What’s that?”

  “A merciless killer. B.J., your father had been an abused child. His real father stabbed his mother to death and then hanged himself. Afterward, Brandon, Tyler, and Emily were split up. Emily was taken in by a convent, and your Uncle Ty was adopted by Charlton Faraday. But your dad was brutalized throughout his childhood in a foster home. It turned him into a monster. After Treadwell told him, he needed to learn the truth, so we set off for North Carolina. It was the first time I ever met David. He told us everything else.”

  B.J. gritted his teeth trying to remain strong, but he suspected there was more to come. “What happened then?”

  “More horrors, but in the end, your dad was finally captured by the FBI and court-martialed at Fort Bragg. They sent him to Fort Leavenworth for refusing to disclose the location of the cabin. He’d stolen the Turbo Swan, and they wanted it back, but it was parked outside the front door here.”

  “That makes no sense. Why would he get himself sent down to one of the most terrible prisons on earth on account of this old shack?”

  “Because he was convinced he would escape. As it happens, he did, but it took him two years. Your Uncle Ty found him and helped him. When I saw him again, he wasn’t the same.”

  “In what way?”

  “He couldn’t come to terms with his whole life being a lie, and he became an alcoholic. Your Aunt Emily had been taken by human traffickers. When we needed your father the most, he was intoxicated. Fortunately, he managed to pull himself together in time.”

  B.J. recognized that part of the story, but the build up to it was completely different to anything he’d ever known. “And he and Uncle Jed saved Aunt Emily, and that’s when he was killed in the Turbo Swan crash, right?”

  Belinda’s eyes began to well up. “No. He didn’t die in the crash.”

  His head snapped up. “What?”

  “His death was faked by Operation: Nemesis. Their new leader secreted him away and brainwashed him again. They destroyed the good man I fell in love with and brought The Scorpion back. This is what I’ve been trying to protect you from your whole life, sweetheart.”

  “Please . . . go on,” he said, reservedly.

  “You must understand, by this time, your father’s memories of me had been erased. But he’d learned about me, and he went on a rampage trying to track me down. He slaughtered anybody who got in his way. He massacred a team of security guys at the ranch, and finally tracked Emily and I to Boston. He killed my mother right before my eyes with a samurai sword.”

  B.J. stood out of the recliner and moved over to comfort her. “I-I’m so sorry, Mom.”

  Belinda wiped her eyes and continued. “He was finally captured by the army, and the FBI collected him. He was taken to CIA headquarters, but he escaped during the battle with Operation: Nemesis. He then threatened to kill us all unless I met with him, so I stole Tyler’s car and met him here.”

  “Oh, God, Mom. You must’ve been terrified.”

  “You have no idea. But it worked.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I talked to him about everything we’d done together and finally, my Brandon came back.”

  “Came back?”

  “He was in terrible pain, but he ran out the door to keep me safe. He didn’t think he could hold The Scorpion off indefinitely. I caught up with him a
t the top of the mountain over the back there. I tried to help him, but he was determined to ensure The Scorpion wouldn’t harm anyone else.”

  B.J. shot her an almost-knowing look. “Mom? What are you trying to tell me?”

  “Your father . . . hurled himself to his death. That’s how he really died. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” She threw her arms around him, but he didn’t reciprocate.

  “No. It can’t be,” he said. “I know him. This isn’t him at all.”

  Belinda pulled back and gazed at him. “What do you mean, you know him?”

  He looked away vacantly. “He comes to me in my dreams. He tells me things. I hear his voice when I’m on a mission. He guides me. When I took off for Des Moines, he told me I would face something devastating, and I did. I had to hand a little girl who’d just lost her mother over to the police. In Dallas, he told me how to save a baby after it fell into a fissure. He was right again.”

  “Oh, B.J.,” she said. “That wasn’t your father’s voice.”

  “So, whose was it?”

  “It was yours.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve always known. Just before your father threw himself off of that precipice, he reached out and gestured to my stomach. I was carrying you. His last words were, ‘I’m not gonna die’. Since you were born, I have watched you grow from a boy into a man. I’ve seen the uncanny coincidences. Your talent for martial arts. Your penchant for AOR music, and the fact that you look exactly like him.”

  He shuddered as he looked at her. “Mom, what are you saying?”

  “You’re not just his son, B.J. You’re his second chance at life. I’m convinced of it. You are Brandon Drake reborn, but as he was always meant to have been. No child abuse. No false memories. You are who was always locked away at his very core.”

  B.J. sat frozen for an extended moment. How could he possibly respond to that?

  Slowly, he stood and walked over to the window. His gaze lingered on his father’s grave. “Is it really him buried there?”

  “Yes. We retrieved his body from the bottom of the mountain and held a private burial. The world was none the wiser.”

  Shock, devastation, and bewilderment tore away at him. He’d wanted the truth, but it was more painful than he could have ever imagined. His mother’s ‘reincarnation’ conclusion seemed utterly insane. But at the same time, something about it felt so right.