Jack was speechless.
"How did you know, Julia? Did Miri tell you?" he asked.
"Miri told me nothing," Julia said. "I've noticed it since we've been sharing a bed when I returned from Denver. I was just wondering when you'd say something to me about it. That kind of cough sounds like the kind smokers get when they have lung cancer."
"Julia, you know I smoked up until we met. I quit because you asked me to," Jack said; "I haven't had a cigarette in sixteen years."
"But it's going to kill you, isn't it? That old habit of yours is going to take you from me, isn't it?" asked Julia, near tears.
Jack hung his head. "Yes, Julia. It just might. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it sooner. Miri confronted me about it while you were in Denver."
"But, Jack..." Julia said, sounding like a lost child; "I can't lose you, too. I can't!"
"I'm getting treatment for it, Julia," Jack said; "Why do you think I'm going to Jackson three times a month? That's where the doctor I see is."
"You told me you're taking care of personal business," Julia said; "I never suspected this. Not until recently."
"I should have been up front with you when you and the children first got here in August," Jack said; "I thought I was sparing you from it, but I see that only made it worse on you."
Julia looked at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was the first time Jack had ever seen her look scared. You've caused her pain, you dope, Jack chided himself; He reached down to wipe Julia's tears away. "Oh, Julia," he said softly, "I'm so sorry I've caused you so much pain. I honestly thought I was protecting you from my frailties."
"This is something that I needed to know, Jack," she said; "I didn't get a say in the matter when Ryan died, because he didn't know about the thing that killed him. I do have a say this time. I want to take care of you. If you're going to die, I want my face to be the last one you see."
Jack brushed a lock of Julia's hair from her eyes. "Julia," he said, "your place is with your children; your family in Chicago; your friends. Not with me. As much as I'd like to have you here indefintely, you have children who need their mother's fully undivided attention. The last thing you should be worrying about is me."
"You still don't get it, do you Jack?" asked Julia in an exasperated tone. "I love you. I'll do anything to help you through this. Anything, that is, except leaving you up here to die alone. What if you can't take care of your animals? Who is going to do that for you? Strangers? Let us stay and help you the way you helped us."
"But your brothers; your nieces and nephews; the threats to your life that sent you up here to begin with," Jack said; "You can't fight those threats from here. All I have are you and your children; you have an entire extended family. One, I might add, that has no idea of our relationship; no idea that Miri is my daughter. You need to think about that. I'll be fine."
Julia knew that Jack was right. What would her family, especially her mother, think of her relationship with Jack? A man nearly four decades older than she is, older than her parents and their spouses. Her heart thought otherwise; she loved him with everything she had. He'd been kind and gentle to her when she was eighteen years old and his prisoner. He took her and her family in when they needed a place to hide. He gave her Miri to remember him by in the event they never saw each other again.
"Jack," she said; "If this is what you want, then I'll abide by your wishes. But I don't have to like it."
I want you to stay, Jack said to her in his thoughts; I can't get through this without you. I'm scared.
"Julia," he said; "It's not what I want. It's what has to happen."
Julia reached up and stroked Jack's stubbled cheek. It was that mere touch that always broke Jack down. He took her into his arms and held her for a long while.
He then led her back to their bedroom, where they made love. He was gentle and loving to her, and she didn't want to lose him forever, though she knew because of the age difference, she would outlive him.
She heard him cry out for her as he climaxed, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world to her, save for the laughter of her children.
When he lay back down next to her, he held her. No words needed to be said between them. His labored breathing spoke volumes, however.
There was an authoritative knock on his front door. When Jack opened the door, on the other side stood a young man in his late twenties. He was six-foot-three, muscular, and had copper colored hair.
"May I help you?" asked Jack.
"Are you the man once known as John Christopher Coltrane, IV?" the younger man asked.
Jack stiffened at the mention of his previous identity. Was the government looking for him after all these years?
"Who wants to know?" he asked.
"My name is Ryan Summers," the man said; "I found you in an advanced internet search of former New Army personnel. I'm not with the government. My reasons for seeking you out are personal."
Jack knew the name. It had been mentioned on nearly a daily basis for three months about nine years before. But, he thought, why is he here?
"How can I help you, Mr. Summers?"
"First of all," the younger man said, "call me Ryan. Second of all, I wanted to ask if the name Julia Terranova sounded familiar to you."
"Won't you come in, Ryan," Jack said. Once Summers was in the house, Jack continued, "The name you mentioned is familiar to me. It's nice to finally meet you, Ryan. I trust Julia is well."
"She is," Summers said; "She doesn't know I'm here. I'm supposed to be at a software convention in Billings, Montana, but it doesn't start until the weekend. I came to ask you questions about your health history."
"I know I'm Mirielle's father, Ryan, if that's what you're getting at," Jack said; "I accidently ran into her and her mother at the New Army cemetery in North Chicago around Christmas last year. My wife is buried there. Mirielle was also my wife's name."
"I know, Jack," Summers said; "Julia told me everything. She thinks you're dead. Her pregnancy with Miri was not easy on her. She read your obit in a two week old copy of the Times-Tribune that her brother Nik printed out and freaked. She ended up being hospitalized because she had gone into shock. She later was on bed rest because she had gestational high blood pressure."
"What prompted you to come all this way to get information about my health records?" asked Jack.
"Mirielle has the right to know about it," Summers said. "But I also wanted to ask you a favor."
"A favor?" asked Jack; "We've only just met!"
"When I ask you, you'll understand," Summers said.
"Okay," Jack replied, "what is it?"
Jack saw Summers take a deep breath, then said,
"I have a family history of heart disease, and I recently came into possession of some information that my life is at risk. I was diagnosed with an aortic anenurysm about eighteen months ago. I've had several surgeries to attempt to repair it, and it keeps reforming. Each time it reforms, the walls of the aorta become weaker. There is nothing more my doctors can do short of replacing it, and for that, I need a compatible donor. I have a rare blood type and not many people with that same blood type have indicated they want to be organ donors. Without a donor, this will kill me. The favor I want to ask is this: if something should happen to me, and Julia wants to find out if you're still alive, would you take care of her and our family?"
"How would you propose I do that if she thinks I'm dead?" asked Jack.
"I design software, hardware, and computer systems for a living," Summers said; "I have a program that I've written especially for the Department of Homeland Security to find individuals who were relocated in the Hit-n-Run program during the Occupation. Julia uses this program on a daily basis because she's been an investigator for DHS for about eight months. I could make it easy for her to find you. She uses a special copy of the software that isn't available to the government. She could find Jimmy Hoffa if she wanted to."
Jack had to laugh. Teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa disappeared when Jack was a teenager and Hoffa's body had never been found. He was surprised that Ryan Summers even knew who Jimmy Hoffa was.
"Ryan, I'm not going to lie to you about the nature of my relationship with Julia," Jack said; "I fell in love with her. I chose the way of my supposed demise because I didn't want her to follow me or find me. I thought a clean break was best. I now regret that, because that also kept me from my surviving children and grandchildren. She had a life with you and I had no right to take her away from that. I would love an opportunity to see her again, even if it's only to explain why I did what I did. As for your request, Ryan; if Julia finds me on her own, I'd be more than happy to take care of her and your children."
"I thought you might," Summers said; "She still speaks of you with fondness. We've told Mirielle about how she came to be, and she's amazingly intelligent for one only eight years old. She asks questions of her mother about you, which is why I've asked for your medical history. That's the one unknown in her young life. And she knows not to speak about you in the presence of her younger siblings. We also have a five year old daughter, a three year old son, and another daughter who's not quite a year old.
"What I need now is to make a video recording of this. It's going to be part of my will. I'm updating it to include our youngest daughter."
"Must you video me?" asked Jack. "What if she doesn't find me should you die? Seeing me alive is going to be quite a shock."
"I'll tell her about this meeting before that," Summers said.
Jack agreed to the video, with Summers' promise that he would tell his wife about their meeting.
As suddenly as he appeared at Jack's door, Ryan Summers was gone. The next time Jack saw the name "Ryan Summers", it was in the obituary column.
Jack awoke in a cold sweat. Julia slept peacefully next to him.
Why in the hell am I dreaming about that? he asked himself. He settled back in bed and drifted off to sleep. Just as he surrendered to slumber he heard a very familiar voice:
Jack, my love my heart. It won't be much longer. The pain will end and everything will be clearer. I'll be waiting for you.
The roads were finally cleared and Krysta could leave to return to Buffalo. Thing was, she really didn't want to; but she had promised Kathryn she would, so she got ready to make the drive home.
Eric was in the kitchen, packing part of their Thanksgiving dinner so Krysta could take it home with her. He didn't want her to go, but he knew if he did, that she would return to him. And, maybe, have Kathryn with her.
"I'm ready, Eric," he heard Krysta say from the living room.
He closed the picnic hamper and brought it to her. "Share this with Kathryn if you want to, Krysta," he said. "There should be enough for several days worth of meals."
"I can't properly thank you for everything you've done for me, Eric," said Krysta as she took the hamper from him.
"You already have, Krysta," Eric said. "You brought me news of my daughter and her struggles. More importantly, you have brought me peace. As much as I don't want you to leave, knowing the dangers you face, I know I must. Please return to me soon, sweet angel."
"I will, Eric," Krysta said; "You've brought me peace as well. For the first time in my life, I feel safe."
"I'm glad I am able to do that for you," Eric said. "We'll fight these A.R.M. bastards together and rescue Kathryn from Chastity once and for all."
They embraced and Eric walked Krysta out to her car. All the ice and snow had melted from it because of the above freezing temperatures. It would need to be washed when she returned to Buffalo.
"Drive safe, my angel," Eric said to her. "Call me when you get in."
She looked at him, saying, "I will, Eric." She then got into the car and started the engine. After it had sufficiently warmed up, Krysta backed out of the drive and headed out to the highway.
Just as she was about to turn onto the main road, she looked back to see Eric still standing in the drive. "I love you, Eric Hope," she whispered.
She then turned and drove down the highway, Eric watching as she disappeared around the curve.
He turned and went back into the house. He closed the door, leaning against it.
Eric then felt himself slide down the door until he was sitting on the floor. Once seated, he put his head in his hands.
"Krysta..." he said aloud; "I think you may have saved me, sweet girl. Please be safe until we meet again...because, I think...no, I know...that I've fallen hard for you..."
Eric then let out all the emotions he'd denied himself his entire life.
II
The woods covered the stranger's presence until they wanted to make it known.
His mission: to kill David Draiman, his wife, their sons, and anyone else who got in his way.
The instructions were clear. Nothing less than success was accepted. Fail, and he knew he could expect his life to end.
His life would end, and not because he failed at his mission. It would end because he severly underestimated his targets. Specifically, the two young men he was sent to kill along with their parents.
The stranger hated the cold weather that invaded Texas every year. That's why as soon as he was able, he left his home state and moved somewhere warm. But for the Movement, he would gladly brave the cold to get the main architect of the original Resistance movement and his family out of the way. That would send a message to The Triad to not mess around with them.
He watched at two young men emerged from the house to play basketball in the huge courtyard that fronted the Draiman property. Soon, another man, slightly older than the other two, joined them. The younger men were pretty good at shooting hoops, while the other man wasn't good at all. The stranger knew the two younger men were Sam and John Draiman, the twin sons of David and Jordan Draiman. He didn't know the third man, who was considerably taller than the Draiman boys, though he had his suspicions that he was the boyfriend of the boys' older sister. His intel indicated that only one sister lived in Austin. There was another sister, but there was no information on her.
It doesn't matter, the stranger thought, they'll all be dead soon anyway.
As usual, the operative of the American Republic Movement was dead wrong.
"Dude, you know you suck at this, right?" Sam asked Drake.
"I didn't learn to play basketball growing up in Sydney," Drake said in his defense; "I'm a rugby and football guy."
"It's not too late to learn," John said, "just don't hope to make the NBA anytime soon."
"The what?" asked Drake.
Sam just shook his head as he passed the ball to Drake. "Now throw it up into the basket, Drake!" he said. Drake missed the basket by a mile.
"Remind me to teach you two about rugby," Drake said as he wiped the sweat from his brow despite the cold temperatures. "It's bloody more interesting and easier to play than basketball is."
"Isn't that like football?" John asked; "But without pads like we play it here."
"You guys would like it," Drake said; "It's hard, and rough, and you get knocked about a lot. But, shit, it's fun!"
"Football is fun," Sam said; "At least I think so. John has other ideas."
"I like football, I just don't want to make a career out of it," John said; "I do want to do other things with my life."
"Like what?" asked Drake. "Music like your dad? Media research like your mum?"
"Leaning more towards Mom's original occupation of Public Relations," John said; "The media research stuff came later, and I might take on something like that as well. I like to research things."
"Why don't you go into journalism like Kimber did?" asked Sam.
"That's always an option, too," John said; "I did work on the school paper for a while, but it's kinda tough living up to Kimber's high standards."
"She set the bar high for you?" asked Drake.
"Maybe a little too high," said John.
Sam stiffened for a few seconds, then suggested that the three of them go back into the house.
"What's up, Sam?" asked John.
"I think there's someone on the property that doesn't belong here," his brother replied.
"What makes you think that, Sam?" Drake asked.
"It's the training that we got as kids from Julia," Sam said; "It's kind of like a sixth sense. Niki's probably mentioned it."
"She has," Drake said; "and the scary thing is, is that she's usually right."
Once in the house, Jordan ordered all three of them to hit the showers. "I don't want sweaty bodies on my furniture. Drake, that means you too."
"Where's Dad?" asked John.
"In his office," Jordan said; "He's pretty busy, so don't bother him unless the sky is falling. And maybe not even then."
Drake just laughed softly. He loved the way Jordan put things. He knew that's who Niki got her sense of humor from.
Niki was napping in her old bedroom, and he went by to check on her before he took his shower. He absolutely loved to watch her sleep. It was the one time her worries were at bay.
Drake worried about other things, like Sam's declaration that there was someone on the property that shouldn't be there. Maybe I should take Niki home after I shower, he thought. She doesn't need to be worrying about this right now.
As he climbed into the shower that was adjacent to Niki's bedroom, he thought, I'm going to propose to her tonight, so that if any troubles happened that would threaten our future, I could whisk her off to Sydney at a moment's notice. But he remembered her parents' concern that if Niki left the country, they might never see her again.
He knew he had to take that into consideration before making any rash moves. Niki was very close to her family. He was envious of that closeness. He'd been on his own for so long, that he had forgotten what being in a family was like. That Niki's family welcomed him into theirs dulled the ache he had in losing his own family. Whatever I decide will affect all of them, he thought standing under the hot spray, and I cannot deprive Niki of her family. She'd hate me forever. And I love her too much to do that to her.
"Whatever you do, make sure everyone in that house dies," the stalker was told when he checked in with his superior. "I don't care if there are young children present. Draiman and his family all die."
"Yes, boss," the stalker said; "Even the one with cancer? She dies, too?"
"Yes," the superior told him; "There should not be a living soul left in that house. Including pets."
The stalker responded and hung up the phone. He knew what he had to do.
Someone knocked on the front door.
David though that was odd, because there was no signal that someone had come to the gates to request to be allowed on the property. He braced for a confrontation, because everyone was in the house who either lived there or had come to visit.
"Sam, John... backup," David instructed his sons. "Drake, go out front by way of the garage and get behind the person at the door. Take a weapon."
"Yes, David," Drake said as John handed him a gun.
"Jordan, you and Niki go to the panic room and do not come out until one of us comes for you," said David; "I hope this is just a false alarm."
When Jordan and Niki were gone, David answered the door. Sam and John hid on either side of their father out of sight of whomever was on the other side of the door.
David opened a door to a man in his thirties he'd never seen before.
"May I help you?"
"Are you David Draiman?" the man asked.
"I am, indeed," David said pleasantly; "What can I do to assist you today?"
"I'm afraid I have bad news about your daughter," the man said.
David looked at him oddly, then said, "Which one? I have two daughters and a stepdaughter."
"The one that lives in Chicago."
David knew the man was lying. Neither Kimber nor Julia lived in the city of Chicago. Kimber lived in Evanston where Northwestern University was located; and Julia, when she wasn't in hiding, lived in the unincorporated area just outside the Chicago city limits where the Compound stood. Locals still called it "Chicagoland".
"Neither of my daughters live in Chicago, fool," David said as he pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans; "Shall we try that again?"
The man pulled his weapon as well, saying, "I have orders to kill you and everyone in your family, Draiman."
"And you think I'm just going to let you murder me and my family?" David asked; "You've got another thing coming."
Sam and John made themselves known, pointing their weapons at the man. "You're going to have to get through us to get to our father," Sam growled.
"I don't have a problem with that," the stalker said.
"Maybe you don't, but I do," said Drake from behind the man. He was so close to the unwelcome visitor that when Drake cocked the gun, the man was startled. From that point, Drake tackled the man, dislodging the gun from his hand as he made contact with the floor in the foyer. The gun skittered across the floor away from the group.
The next thing any of them knew, Niki had seemingly appeared from nowhere and pointed the stranger's gun at him.
"I might be a cancer patient, but I still know my way around a gun."
III
Drake looked up and said only one thing, "Niki?"
The police had arrived to take the man away, and to ask the group questions about what had happened.
"You don't listen to instructions well, do you, girl?" David said, more than a little angry that Niki emerged from the panic room before the incident was over.
"Well, excuse me, Dad," Niki said to him, "I suppose I should just be a good little sick girl and wait until my father, brothers, and boyfriend had been murdered before I came up here. Mom sent me up here to get the phone so she could call the police."
"Nicole!" David said, shocked that she'd say such a thing. "That's not what I meant and you know it!"
"Dad, I might be sick, weak and can't stand for long periods of time, but I still know how to fire a gun. I didn't get stupid when I was diagnosed with leukemia, you know!" Niki said angrily.
"Besides, David, the girl just saved your ass," Jordan said as she came over to where her husband, sons, daughter and Drake stood. "You should be thanking her for her quick thinking instead of lambasting her for not following directions."
"Jordan!" said David; "I was just thinking of your safety!"
"Oh, are we helpless females now, David?" Jordan asked sarcastically. "I didn't get stupid when the war ended. I can and have fired a gun since then!"
"Jordan, what about your blood pressure?" asked David, wondering what he'd have to do to calm his wife and daughter down.
"Fuck my blood pressure, David!" said Jordan hotly; "You were in danger, for God's sake! Were we just supposed to let the man kill you?"
"No, of course not, Jordan, but..." David began. Jordan cut him off.
"I ought to kick your butt for trying to get all macho and shit on me!"
That last remark made John and Sam laugh. Dad did tend to overdo the hero stuff as far as their mother was concerned.
Meanwhile, Niki went to sit on the couch, where Drake joined her. "Baby you think I was wrong?" she asked him.
"No, Niki, I don't," Drake said; "I was just surprised to see you. I don't think I've ever seen you like that before. I think you're going to be just fine."
"Then why is Dad all up in my face about it?"
"He's just trying to protect his little girl," Drake said; "It's what Dads do. I'd do it too if we had a little girl."
"You would?" asked Niki.
"I would indeed," Drake said; "And I'd do it to protect you, even though you've proved to me that you can take care of yourself if the need arises."
"That's nice to know," Niki said. "I'll keep that in mind."
Drake decided to just ask Niki to marry him now, instead of waiting for the "perfect" moment.
"Well, keep this in mind," Drake said as he slipped off the couch and onto one knee before her; "You mean everything to me, and I would be honored if you'd consent to be my wife. Nicole Elizabeth Draiman, will you marry me?"
Everyone within earshot, including the police officers who came to take a report from the family, all turned towards the living room awaiting Niki's answer.
Krysta decided that she had to get away from people like Clayton Pollard and those who insisted that their cause was just, and that murdering three people was justified. She wanted to take Kathryn away from these people. They brought out Chastity and her nastiness. Krysta wanted to reunite Kathryn with her father.
Krysta's first stop was not the offices of the American Republic Movement, but the mental hospital that Kathryn herself asked to be placed in to learn to make her and Chastity one person.
Knocking on the door to Kathryn's room, Krysta asked, "Anyone home?"
"Krysta!" Kathryn exclaimed; "You're back!"
"I am," Krysta said; "It was an interesting Thanksgiving, to say the least. Your father sends his regards."
"His what?" asked Kathryn.
"He asked me to say hello and that he thinks of you often," Krysta said. "He wants to visit when Cameron says it's okay."
"Really?" asked Kathryn; "After everything that Chastity did to hurt him and Mom, he wants to see me?"
"Yes, Kathryn. Why is that so odd to you?" asked Krysta.
"Because Chastity did some terrible things, and they thought that I did them," Kathryn said sadly.
"Your father knows now that it wasn't you who did those things, that it was Chastity," said Krysta. "He regrets everyday that he sent you away, and that he and your mother didn't realize you were sick. They would have gotten you help if they knew."
"Was Dad nice to you, Krysta?" asked Kathryn.
"Yes, he was," Krysta said, thinking about Eric alone in that house by the lake. "Kelly wasn't able to come home from college for Thanksgiving because of the snowstorm, so I didn't get to meet her. She sounds like a very intelligent young lady though. You'd be proud of her."
"Dad talked about her a lot?" Kathryn asked.
"A bit, yes," Krysta said; "He's proud of her accomplishments."
"I hope I can meet Kelly one day and tell her how sorry I am that I wasn't around to be a real mother to her," Kathryn said.
"I'm sure you'll get that chance," Krysta said. "One day when Cameron says you're well enough."
Kathryn fell silent, and Krysta was worried that Chastity would emerge, but she didn't.
"I'm tired, Krysta," she said; "I'm going to take a nap. Will you come back later?"
"I can if you'd like," Krysta said; "But I do have work to do, so if it's not today, then I'll come in the morning and see you. Would that be okay?"
"Sure," Kathryn said; "I know you have stuff you have to do. I'll see you in the morning, then?"
"Count on it, Kathryn," said Krysta.
Krysta then left and walked down the hall to the elevator. Once inside, she checked her phone messages on her work phone.
Most were from various deputies, looking for Pollard. Krysta figured that Pollard was out getting laid somewhere. Some leader he is, she thought disgustedly.
The one that piqued her interest was one from a journalist from Chicago who wanted information about her group for a story he was writing about their presence in the Chicago area.
Maybe he can help me and Kathryn escape, Krysta thought. Who better to trust that one of The Triad?
She decided to return Jeremiah Donovan's call... as soon as she stopped shaking.
Eric found that he missed Krysta terribly. Something in his life had changed because she had come to see him. He felt he was too old for her and that he didn't deserve a beautiful angel like her, but Fate had other plans.
He wasn't expecting the guilt, however. Eric felt bad because he thought he was disrespecting Helene's memory by starting another relationship.
It's been nearly three years, Eric thought; Helene would have wanted me to move on and not mourn her forever. What would she think of me if I did that? What would she think about Krysta?
All he knew is that his arms ached to hold his precious beauty again. To love her all night long. To hold her in his arms as they slept.
He wanted Kathryn to know that whatever Chastity did, he knew it wasn't Kathryn who did them. That he now knew that she had no control over what happened all those years ago.
His mind kept going back to Krysta and his promise to her to help her get away from the evil that surrounded her. To thwart the plans that the American Republic Movement had for the country and the three people who were the group's enemies. He owed his daughter another chance at life, a life denied her by forces beyond her control.
Eric Hope made up his mind. He was still a lawyer licensed by the State of New York, and he would use every legal (and maybe a few illegal ones) trick he'd ever learned to assure that the American Republic Movement would no longer be a threat to the United States, its laws, government or citizens. If that meant killing a few key people to get his point across, then he'd do it. They were everything that his mother's government was and thensome. He was opposed to it then, and even more so now. He had reasons to fight. Their names were Krysta, Kathryn and Kelly Clare.
And though he did not yet know it, he'd get a little help along the way.
"Jere Donovan."
"Mr. Donovan, this is Krysta Banks. I'm returning your call. I'm sorry it took me so long to respond," Krysta said, hoping the reporter didn't pick up on her nervousness.
"Yes, Ms. Banks," Jeremiah said; "You're the press liaison for the American Republic Movement. I'm doing a series of stories on the group's presence in the Chicago area, and I was hoping to have an interview with you about what your group's intentions were."
"I realize that you probably have several questions about the Movement, Mr. Donovan," Krysta said; "but that isn't why I'm returning your call."
That took Jeremiah aback for a moment. He then asked,
"Then why are you returning my call, Ms. Banks?"
"Because," Krysta said; "I want out and I need your help."
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