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The team members he assembled were all chosen for specific talents they possessed. Derek was chosen for his faithfulness and honesty. His brother had hired Derek to complete a sensitive job and raved about how well Derek completed the task.

“Cole is your guy,” his brother told him after being asked about resources able to maintain confidentiality while following specific instructions. “He’s on his own, meaning that he understands how important it is to keep his clients happy. He probably knows that if he pisses off the wrong client, his career is done.”

“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t piss me off or more than his career will be over.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

It was the idea of freedom he liked the most, being able to look out his window without reminded concerns of being seen. The doors were all his to command. His promise to keep inside was not a lock, a collar, or an iron barred window. It was just a promise, an understanding that the plan needed his cooperation in order to continue.

Multiple plans needed multiple understandings. The coordination of each plan, itself in need of a plan. He fully knew that his partners would be calling on him, one in person and the other through emissaries. Each would be expecting that their plans were being followed to the letter. Though his brother’s plan lacked direction, it was the easiest to follow. All that was needed was for him to be free, then to follow his brother’s lead. The events at the lodge and the murders in Chicago had now rendered that plan obsolete. He knew his brother was scrambling to formulate another plan, but he had no further interest in learning of it.

His father’s plan, focused solely on gain, was being dismantled piece by piece. His father had shown a surprising level of patience, which gave him pause. He wondered if he had misinterpreted the emotions driving his father’s plan and wondered, if only for a moment, if the prescribed and detailed steps contained an emotion beyond simple greed.

The plan he devised was of singular focus. One governing principle. One driving objective. There were times, multiple times, that he felt pulled to believe that his father and his brother were right and that their motives included a better life for him. He dreamed of what his life could become, with a family by his side to buffet the harsh winds of ridicule, of accusations, of fear. His dreams were consistently interrupted by the memories of Straus telling him that “no one would, no one could ever accept him.”

He was too different. Critically unique. “A subject to be studied. To be understood. To be feared.” His brief time in the world had slammed that truth home. He would never be seen as “one of us,” no matter how determined a family might be. And he grew to understand that, despite their assurances, that he would never find comfort in a non-judgmental embrace. There would be no comfort for him. No chance for shared laughter, the recollecting of made memories, or wishful longing that future plans award.

He largely ignored the looks and glances of others, though he questioned his ability to make his appearance less conspicuous. Blending in, it seemed, would be much harder than he had anticipated. Perhaps impossible. The color of his skin and the deep, foreboding color that surrounded his eyes both were too much to conceal.

Though insignificant to him, their remarks struck him hard. Callous insults, not intended to advise, but only to remind him that becoming a part of the critical mass was impossible.

“Take a bath, dude!”

“First time seeing the sun?”

“Ever hear of dentures?”

“Freak.”

He had been warned by Straus and by his team. Repeatedly, told that the best place for him, the safest place, was behind the walls they provided. He had listened but had not believed that in a world of billions that he would be noticed. Singled out. Laughed at. He never thought that he would cause others to alter their walking paths to steer clear of him. To be the person that caused others to stare in bewildered shock.

As he retreated back to the apartment that his father had rented to serve as a safe house, and after closing the door behind him, he wished, if only for a moment, that it was his door back at the lodge. He wondered how it would feel to cry. To feel the release of a deep sigh followed by a release of emotions. He could not draw a breath, and he could only imagine releasing stress and anxiety by paying attention to his breaths.

He had read about the importance of deep, conscious breathing in some of the books he was allowed to read and had often tried to mimic the descriptive formula. But he found no release, no benefits.

He stood, leaning his back against his motel room’s door, knowing that he was utterly alone. There was no one who would ever accept him for what he was. And he knew that his decisions to exact his revenge would prevent anyone from ever accepting him for who we was.

He felt more trapped now than ever before. It used to be steel reinforced doors, barred windows, and captors holding Tasers that kept him from freedom. Now he realized that it was his own being that was his captor. He didn’t choose to enter this world in the manner that he did, yet he would always be punished for his arrival. When his father first made contact, he thought that maybe he would have the chance at a normal life. He knew that he would need to be very flexible with his defining of normal, but it was his father. He had taken the time and expense needed to find his son. Soon after, his brother accepted his offer to meet. Perhaps to form a relationship the way long-lost brothers often do.

When he learned of his father’s plan, he knew his dreams were in vain. His father wanted only him to be the pawn in his plan. The vehicle that would bring in revenue. His brother’s plan, so quickly determined to be one made without thought, was more focused on exposing truths than becoming a family.

Alexander’s plan, however, included no financial considerations. It did not include a news conference, during which reporters, hungry for scandal, ripped the medical profession apart and launched exposes on the treatment of those in psychiatric institutions. He hated his plan, but following it had quickly proved to be his only choice.

As he leaned against his door, wishing for abilities he had only read about, his phone rang. He had only two phone numbers to memorize. Two people in the world who knew that he could be spoken to. Two souls among billions that wanted to hear his voice.