Everything faded. He was a breath away from becoming a husk of himself; a mindless tool to once again reach into the abducted and twist the very fabric of their being to reignite their weapons.
His hand, however, had already reached behind him and pulled out the gun.
There should be five bullets. All he needed was one.
“You’re free, Jane,” he whispered.
He raised the gun to his own head, and fired.
SEVEN DAYS LATER
TWENTY-THREE
The two vans pulled up to the small house deep in the palmetto trees.
“Are you sure this is it?” Stella asked, stepping out.
“It’s the address,” Kate responded. “Mom, are you sure—”
Lynn was already out of the van, walking towards the house.
“Is this it?” Anne called out. Chris had hurried around to open her door.
“My God, it’s hot here,” Brian commented, stepping out and shading his eyes.
“Son, your seventy-nine-year-old grandmother seems to be doing quite fine in this heat. Greg, help her,” Chris motioned.
“Hold up, Nanna!” Greg said, the last to step out of the van.
Lynn was already at the stairs, climbing.
The door opened, and a man with a shaved head walked out. He extended his hand to Lynn. “Hello, Mrs. Roseworth. My name is SJ Rudd. But everybody calls me Rudd.”
“It is nice to meet you,” Lynn said. “Please tell me…”
“I think it’s probably best that the rest of you wait outside. She really only needs one visitor at a time,” Rudd said.
“Mom?” Kate asked, her two sisters coming to stand beside her. “Are you OK?”
Lynn nodded quickly.
“We’ll be right outside,” Stella said.
Rudd opened the door. The house was a typical bungalow, hidden, just as described, in the Florida Everglades. A bachelor pad, mostly. Except for the quilts thrown on the recliner and several other chairs.
“She gets cold,” Rudd said. “Even in Florida.”
Lynn stopped. “Does she still… remember?”
“Oh, she remembers all right. And even if she didn’t, all she’d had to do is look at you. You’ll see, the resemblance is pretty uncanny.”
“Where is she?” Lynn’s voice was thin.
“Right through here.” Rudd walked down the hall to a pair of French doors. He knocked softly on the glass. “Miss Blue?”
He opened the door, and the woman inside turned her wheelchair.
Lynn raised her hands to cover her mouth.
“My girl,” Blue said softly.
Lynn walked across the tile floor, her eyes swimming. She then rushed over, leaning down to embrace the old woman gently.
“I won’t break. I’ve waited my whole life for this,” Blue said. “Did you know it rained last night? A bad storm, my girl. Lightning. Lightning took you from me. And you see? It brought you back.”
Lynn sobbed. Rudd scrambled to bring over a chair, but Lynn was already on her knees.
“Mama. You’re really here.”
“I always have been,” Blue said, petting her hair. “He did it, in the end. Steven. That sweet man. He brought you to me.”
Lynn uncurled her hand, a flash drive in her palm.
“Did you bring them, Lynn? Your daughters? Your grandsons? My family?”
Lynn nodded, wiping her eyes. “They can’t believe it. I can hardly believe it.”
“I just… I just wish William was here,” Blue said, her voice cracking, her hand caressing Lynn’s cheek.
“Yes,” Lynn said, kissing her hand. “I wish he were here too.”
“We’re free, you know. It’s over. He did that for you. For all of us.”
Lynn stood, holding tight to her mother’s hand. The window was without wooden grilles, allowing the morning sun to shine through, absent of shadow.
EPILOGUE
The palm trees towered overhead against a sky bleached with thinning clouds, shifting islands in blue. A whiff of the ocean snuck through the haze of the smog, blowing across Wilshire Boulevard, prompting Quincy to open the sunroof and inhale.
“Nice day to begin your global empire, girls,” he said, looking in the rearview mirror.
They were such exact images of each other, nearly impossible to tell them apart. He insisted every day that Lily wear red hair ties, and Ava blue. He suspected, occasionally, they switched them and went the entire day just giggling as they responded to each other’s names.
But the school insisted that there be no variation for any of the students, so they both wore the plaid headbands, their hair pulled back tight. Have to make sure everyone is on the same playing field, the admissions director had said.
So you won’t know which kid’s dad owns Google and which kid’s mom is the CEO of Warner Brothers? Quincy had asked.
He knew they had concerns about his girls. There were no official transcripts, just the test results from the tutors. The best in LA, he mentioned more than once. Yes, there was no medical history, no recommendations from anyone other than their therapists and doctors, and of course the tutors, who said they were brilliant despite their years of no education.
They were small, too. About the height of third graders, even though they were entering fifth. The admissions director had even inquired if they would feel out of place.
“Do you want the twenty million dollar new technology center or what?” he’d responded.
Yes, Mr. Martin. Thank you. Here’s your admission letters. Is there anything else we should know? What their life was like before the adoption?
Oh, there’s plenty to know, Quincy had thought. It’s been one heck of a three years.
The private investigator he’d hired had finally tracked down that the girls’ mother was a crack addict and their father was in prison. They’d lived for a time with their aunt, who slept during the day and operated a fairly successful cocaine operation at night. They lived in a trailer on the outskirts of Medora, North Dakota. The girls had never gone to school and resided in the drug community where others kids watched TV all day and scrounged for food. When the girls had just disappeared one night while playing outside, the aunt hadn’t even contacted police.
No. Nothing much to say about it, Quincy had answered.
“I know! ‘Immigrant Song’!” he said, scrolling through his phone. “It’s our fight song!”
Just as Led Zeppelin began to howl the Viking anthem, Lily turned from the window. “I don’t want to do this, Quincy. We want to stay at home.”
Ava had just nodded.
“It’s time, you Goddesses of the Air. Mrs. Ratchett and Mr. Temple say you need to be more socialized. As much as I enjoy our little compound, the world awaits. Plus, who’s going to take over my companies if you don’t get that PhD from Harvard?”
“It’s fifth grade, Quincy,” Lily mumbled.
“We all start somewhere. And there, my sweets, is where you begin.”
The tops of the whitewashed buildings of Lankard Academy could be seen above the palm trees. A sweeping fence circled the vast campus, rising from perfectly manicured grass. Mercedes, Teslas, and Range Rovers formed a two-lane parade, jockeying to pull in to the entrance.
In the Lexus convertible beside them, a blond woman in a tennis visor shouted, despite the Bluetooth in her ear. In the back seat, three blond girls, all wearing the same uniform as Ava and Lily, stared into their iPhones.
“I swear to God, Debbie, I’m going to be late,” the woman yelled. “This school is going to have to hire traffic control. Just reserve court six. And listen, I’m just going to say, for the record, I don’t buy it. Not for a single second.”