Author's Note: Oh WOW I'm so grateful for the appreciation of the JR and Sue Ellen scenes in the last couple chapters! I'm very thrilled, touched and humbled by the compliments. Big thanks to everyone who's reading whether you review or not :) There will be more SE/JR scenes but please be patient with me as there is a plot to move here. I hope you continue reading. Your fellow Dallas fan, Corina
WARNING: This chapter contains infrequent strong language and some violence of a mature nature.
"What a nice way to spend an evening, watching the four fat fucks I'm going to have fired tomorrow," Harris Ryland says hidden inside his car in the stadium parking lot.
He writes down the license plate of the truck the four men in Local 23 Union hats and Dallas Cowboys football jerseys leave in, the same four who sat in JR Ewing's box for the game tonight.
The additional $37,000 in trucking violation fees Dallas Commercial Enforcement Police slapped his fleet with today doesn't bother him anymore. The look on Ewing's face when he hears his lackey has been canned will be priceless. Hopefully he will know about it before he's a pile of broken old bones at the bottom of a ditch tomorrow night. This really is a good week.
Harris gets on Highway 30 toward downtown Dallas for the most expensive dinner he can get at the The Omni Hotel. He met Annie so many times there, such fond memories in the expansive penthouse suites on the top floor. His loins tighten and flex at the thought of her. He rubs his face and beard, clearing his throat. Change of plans. This night calls for celebration and it takes two to party. Or three?
Harris dials the special number on his cell.
"Harris Ryland," he says into his earpiece.
"Good evening, Mr. Ryland. So pleased to hear from you. Whom may I send?"
Harris taps his fingers gingerly on the leather steering wheel.
"Tell you what," he says with a tight smile. "Gimme two. It's a special occasion."
"Very good, sir."
"Blonde, brunette, whatever. Just make sure one has green eyes. Big green eyes like Annie. Understand?"
"Ah, Ann, my, my. Yes. Understood, Mr. Ryland. Time and place please?"
"Two, no three hours from now. Omni Hotel. Have the desk ring me."
They don't get dinner. They're dessert.
Harris chuckles at his clever wordplay and sighs contently. Everything is falling right into place.
He enjoys the sunset view as he climbs the highway overpass. A few bouquets of flowers are placed against the guardrail. Some fool met his demise up here on the road, no doubt. Losers crash and burn, not Harris. Harris is a winner and in 24 hours he'll prove it in the grandest fashion.
He swings by home to gather his overnight bag and freshen up before dinner. Whistling happily, he pours himself a scotch in the study. The answering machine blinks with a message. Only one person still calls his landline.
"Harris!" Judith's voice says. "Nearly $40,000 more today. FORTY THOUSAND. Do you hear me? HARRIS?" she shouts.
He downs his scotch in one big gulp.
"Who is stealing my money, Harris?" Judith's voice coos as if she is speaking to a child. The sound of it stabs him in the ear like an ice pick.
"Darling, you've got until the end of the week to fix this. If you can't, I will. And Harris? Mother loves you."
Judith giggles softly before hanging up.
Harris stares at the answering machine before repeatedly pressing the 'delete' button.
"There are no new messages," the female auto voice keeps saying.
Harris yanks the power cord out of the socket.
"One day, Mother, I'm going to delete you," he says, pressing the button one more time.
Three loud knocks at the front door punctuate his sentence.
He opens the camera feed on his computer. Police? Harris stiffens, thinking of the Mercedes mechanic and the illegal master key in his safe. Impossible. He concealed his identity so well. How could they know?
Three more knocks and two door bell rings.
Harris wipes the moisture off his head and tightens the tie he'd just loosened.
"Officers?" he says, opening the door.
His jaw tenses as he recognizes the older officer from Aubrey's troubled days years ago.
"Mr. Harris Ryland?" the short one says.
"Well it is you, isn't it?" says the older one. "Long time no see, Mr. Ryland."
Harris strains a smile. "What a surprise, Officer Skeen, and Officer..?"
"Fisher."
"Ah. Well. How may I help you?"
"Mind if we come in," Skeen asks, taking a step forward.
Harris raises his eyebrows but motions them in.
Fisher looks around the extravagant interior and up at the imposing chandelier in the foyer.
"Whooo! You are livin' large, ain't you, cowboy? What exactly do you do for a living? Transportation, isn't it?"
Skeen shakes his head. Harris ignores the question.
"Mr. Ryland," Skeen says. "Do you know an Aubrey Holt?"
Harris' stomach drops but he doesn't show it. "Do I know…..who?" he says twisting his head to one side.
"Aubrey Holt," Skeen says louder. "Female Caucasian, 27 years old, black hair, green eyes. Your daughter Emma have a sister, by chance? Or maybe a cousin's turned up?"
Harris nearly coughs hearing Aubrey's real name after so many years.
"No. No sister. No relation," he says. "Emma's quite enough for any father to uh, handle. I'm sure you'd agree, Officer Skeen."
Skeen tips his hat. "Where is Emma nowadays, anyway? Been a long time since we had any trouble from her, hasn't it?"
"Good question," Harris says. "I haven't seen her since you have. She just…..faded away. Truth be told, I think she wanted to leave her troubles behind. Start over somewhere."
Skeen makes a note on his pad, not believing for a second that Harris doesn't know where his daughter is.
"So what's brought you here concerning this girl, this 'Aubrey', was it?" Harris asks, gaining confidence that the new name, face and hair successfully disguised Emma as planned.
"We're not at liberty to say," Skeen says, infusing Harris with alarm again.
"Excuse me?" he says.
"He means you don't get to know that," Fisher says. "Police business."
Both Harris and Skeen glare at him.
"Gentlemen, I'm sure you can understand my concern in a situation such as this. Being asked about a young lady who's obviously caught the law's attention and then denied explanation?"
Harris continues appealing to Skeen's morality.
"This woman surely has a father who'd want to know about her..…situation, just as you and I would, Officer Skeen. Perhaps I can be of help locating him if you tell me what this is about. I do have business contacts in 48 states," Harris says calmly. "Truckers see a lot of things on the highways across our country. I'd be glad to share a picture, or a bulletin of this girl, across my network."
"We're not at liberty to – "Fisher says before Skeen interrupts him.
"Just shut it," he says, sighing. "Look Ryland, this here's a mighty sad story. This young lady drove off the highway overpass today."
Fisher makes a gliding motion with his arm, "Whoosh!" he says. "Right off Highway 30, that steep interchange. Imagine! Bet she thought she could fly," he says tapping his head with his index finger.
Those bouquets?
"Someone's got to be missing this girl," Skeen says. "We tried to find next of kin for hours instead of just waiting on the coroner's DNA process. That takes weeks. I'd ruther her kin know she's gone right now. It's the right thing to do."
Harris looks at Skeen like he is speaking a foreign language.
"Drove off?" Harris says, wrinkling his face up in disbelief.
His voice sounds miles away to his ears. He leans one shoulder against the study's door frame.
"On purpose!" Fisher adds. "Ain't that something? Just flew her car over the railing like it was a damn jet plane."
Skeen holds his hand up again.
"Well you already told him the story," Fisher says, "and that there's the kicker."
"Is she dead?" Harris says robotically.
"Yeah, 'course she dead," Skeen replies as if that was a stupid question.
Harris Ryland stands silent, eyes squinted and mouth slightly open.
This is a set-up to expose Aubrey's identity. How obvious, and pathetic. A Ewing's behind this.
Harris switches off the emotion that was beginning to brew.
"Really?" he says, suppressing a smile. "How positively ghastly."
"Yes sir," Skeen says. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost my child that way. I can't even think about it."
"I can't get that damn song out of my head," Fisher says.
"Song? What song?" Harris asks.
"When we rolled up on the crash, "The Hustle" was blaring out the busted windows. You know, that seventies song, "The Hustle"? Do do do - do do do do - do dooooo?"
Harris slowly nods his head, memories of his brother's wedding flashing before him.
"Yeah," Fisher continues. "Girl's phone was blastin' that song and we couldn't shut it off. Screen was damn near cracked in half but that song just kept right on playing. Guess them iPhones are as durable as those damn batteries, or was it watches? Remember that commercial? Takes a licking and keeps on ticking?"
"Batteries don't tick," Harris says flatly.
"What's that?" Fisher says.
"We'll be on our way," Skeen says and motions to Fisher. "Someone's sent us on a goose chase with you, apparently," he says to Harris. "Apologies, Ryland."
"Wait," Harris says, clearing his throat. "Where is she, the girl? What will happen if you can't…..find anyone?" he asks with a mouth so dry his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.
"Oh she's chillin'…at the morgue! Get it?" Fisher says.
"SHOW SOME RESPECT!" Harris booms with all his might. He wants to twist Fisher's head off like a bottle cap.
Skeen stares at Harris, shocked.
"Fisher, wait in the car, goddammit!" Skeen shouts as Fisher hurries past, eager to escape Harris' sudden rage.
"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Ryland, I really am," Skeen says. "I don't know how that fool's still here, the things he says. In fact, you didn't hear this from me, but if you'd care to complain – "
"What will happen to the girl?" Harris repeats, leaning on the back of his chair. "At the…..morgue."
"Oh, she's been officially identified, if that's what you mean. She worked for Sue Ellen Ewing, the lady running – "
"I know who she is," Harris says above the deafening thuds of his pounding heart.
"Right, well, Mrs. Ewing ID'd her down at the morgue, poor lady. I felt right sorry for her having to see that girl all tore up like that."
Harris looks up to the ceiling and releases a soft groan.
"I know what you mean," Skeen says. "Look, Ryland, we've had our differences on either side of the law, but we're both poppas and we love our kids, don't we. I am glad it wasn't your Emma that drove off that cliff and died today, I truly am."
"How do you know she wasn't run off the road?" Harris says, barely able to stand.
He leans his elbows on the chair now, bending over its back.
"Oh, no foul play. We got eye witnesses drivers. Several. One lady said the girl even waved at her before she gunned it right off the edge. Weird huh? Guess she reached the limit today, or someone pushed her over it. Well, sorry for the trouble," he says holding out his hand for a shake.
Harris limply grasps it. Skeen looks at him curiously and walks out.
"My daughter's dead," Harris tells Judith in her silent living room all in white tones.
She stands in front of her mantel below a huge oil painting of her and Harris, unsmiling. Judith rolls her eyes at him.
"What is this, Harris? Dramatics to distract from my company hemorrhaging money?"
She tilts the corner of the painting just an inch, making it perfectly straight.
"Aubrey - Emma - is dead," he says stepping around the white leather couch and turning her around by the shoulder.
Judith laughs softly but stops when she sees his eyes. She stares at him for a moment. She feels his flushed face, his clammy forehead. He closes his eyes at the touch of his mother's hand, seeking comfort.
"What do you mean?" she finally says.
"I mean she's dead, Mother!"
Harris plops down on the couch, head in his hands.
"She drove off the 30 Interchange this afternoon. She…..killed herself."
Those two words suck all the air out of his lungs. He wants to cut his tongue out for even speaking them.
Judith looks more curious than shocked. She slowly creeps around the glass coffee table and cautiously sits next to Harris as if approaching an easily spooked animal. She glides close to him until they sit on the same cushion. His face still in his hands, Judith puts her hands over his and brings his head to her chest.
"There, there now my prince," she says softly, rubbing his back, rocking back and forth.
She kisses his head. Harris does not make a sound and but for his shoulders shaking in silent sobs, sits perfectly still in his mother's arms.
"Oh Harris," Judith says with a sigh. "It was bound to happen, as troubled as she was, as she's always been. You helped her last this long, darling, you really did. My god, all the things you did for her, all the attention, all the fuss," Judith says.
Harris sits up and pulls away from her. She wipes his tears but he pushes her hands into her lap.
"So needy," Judith continues, "so demanding, so ungrateful. She was eating you alive, Harris. This is for the best. We both know it. She should have never been."
"Never been what?" he says looking at his mother's perfectly dry eyes.
Judith gives Harris an exasperated look. "Born," she says. "She was a mistake, just like you and that Ann. A dangerous, sloppy mistake. Tell me I'm right," she says coming within inches of his face. She brushes her nose against his.
Harris stands up and so does Judith. Suddenly he grabs her throat and she gasps, eyes growing wide.
"You don't want me to have anyone!" he shouts.
"Harrissss," she whispers in a raspy voice from her choked throat.
"YOU DON'T WANT ANYONE TO LOVE ME!" Harris yells, squeezing tighter.
He can feel the blood pulsing in his mother's arteries. He squeezes until it stops. Now she paws at him but he holds her at arm's length. He laughs at the sight of her, flailing about like this, terrified. A tear runs down her cheek and over Harris' clenched fingers. Another rolls down his other hand. Just as her eyes start closing, Harris releases her and she falls to the floor gasping for breath.
Judith is a crumpled mess of gasps and sobs on the white marble floor. She cannot even lift her head to look at Harris. He watches her writhe around in misery, her heavy gold Chanel bangle bracelets clinking against each other. She rolls onto her back, gripping her reddening throat. One of her designer shoes falls off and Harris kicks it across the room with a clatter.
Shaking her head back and forth, tears streaming down her now pale face, Judith says, "But I love you," in a voice straining against her nearly strangled throat.
Harris squints and scratches at his ears, trying to unhear what she said. She flinches and curls up in a ball as Harris lunges for the oil painting of the two of them. He smashes the canvass over a big crystal table lamp, the pointed finial puncturing right through the portrait of Judith's face.
Harris lets the two women into his suite at the Omni Hotel. They are both tall stunning beauties, the blonde and the redhead with deep green eyes. He smiles at her first. The blonde tosses her mink over a chair and the redhead mixes them martinis. Harris exchanges pleasantries and endures the fake flattery they lavish upon him. It's part of the game.
The redhead turns around and hands him a drink.
"Thank you, beautiful," he says.
When she smiles, her green eyes sparkle at him. He nearly drops his drink.
"Are you alright, Mr. Ryland?" she asks as he walks to the couch in unsteady steps. "Mr. Ryland?"
The blonde looks at her coworker with alarm.
"Are you having a heart attack or something?" she asks Harris.
He shakes his head.
"No," he manages to say, crashing the martini onto the side table. The stem breaks and the liquor spills onto the carpet.
The blonde backs away from him.
"My daughter died today," Harris says. "She killed herself. And she had lovely green eyes just like you," he says to the redhead as a loud sob bends him in half.
The redhead gasps. The blonde heads for the door, snatching her mink on the way.
"Oh no, uh uh. I don't do this, this role playing shit. That's not part of my deal, I don't care who you are," she says walking out and slamming the door.
The redhead bites her lip, watching Harris cry on the couch.
"You're serious, aren't you?" she says, going to him.
He nods, trying to compose himself.
"I don't want sex tonight," he says, "just some company….…please."
The girl is almost moved to tears herself. She picks up the broken martini glass and places it quietly into the ice bucket.
"Careful," Harris says, collecting himself.
She brings a box of tissue from the bathroom and sits down beside him.
"I'm sorry," she simply says.
Harris lays his head on her lap and cries.