Lady in White: Legacy

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Consequences

Thursday, March 28, 2019

"I said, 'No,' and that's that, dammit!"

Kristoff gripped the truck's steering wheel even tighter, his fingernails digging into its worn surface as he glanced at rearview mirror clinging tenuously to what was left of the windshield. He immediately regretted that decision as a pair of ice blue eyes glared back at him in barely-contained fury.

"I do not need your permission, Kristoff," Elsa retorted coolly. "I will get Samantha back myself if I have to—"

"Over my dead body!" Kristoff shot back. "I just got you out of that hellhole—"

"Ahem."

Kristoff rubbed his eyes as the sound of Maren's throat clearing rather loudly emanated from the bench seat behind him. "Like I said, we just got you out of that hellhole, and we all nearly died in the process. There's no way—no freaking way—you're going back there—"

"I am not leaving her there!" Elsa insisted. She leaned forward toward the passenger seat, taking hold of Ryder's hand. "Tell me you don't agree with Kristoff, Ryder."

The arms dealer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah . . . About that . . ." He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I agreed to get you out, Elsa, precisely because it was you. Not some random girl—"

Elsa pulled her hand away. "She is not just some 'random girl!'"

"Whatever." Ryder sighed heavily. "I don't want to argue about this, but I've done way more than I bargained for on this little adventure as it is. Bjorgman's right, Elsa. We're lucky we made it out alive, and that was with us having the element of surprise. If I go back there, with them actively looking for us, it's bye-bye Ryder, you understand?"

"I don't believe what I'm hearing!"

Elsa turned to see Andersen, fists clutched tightly with anger, his face scarlet beneath his beard. "How can you be such cowards?" the professor demanded. "If I recall correctly, the only reason any of us are here now is because of Miss Reinhart's bravery. And you two . . ." He jabbed his finger toward Kristoff and Ryder. "You two are going to just leave her in the grips of that . . . that madwoman, are you?"

"For Christ's sake, Jan," Isaacson muttered under his breath. "Let it go!"

Andersen's face turned an even darker shade of red. "Go to hell, George!" he snapped. "We wouldn't even be in this position if it weren't for you—"

It was Isaacson's turn to become indignant. "I was just bloody well following orders—"

"Yes, and there were plenty of 'good Germans' during the war who would have said the same!" Andersen shot back.

"Who the hell do you think you are—"

"Can I say something?" offered Maren, crossing her arms.

"No!" Andersen and Isaacson shouted at the nurse in unison.

"Shut up! All of you!"

The truck came to a sudden stop as Kristoff threw open the driver's door. Stepping out from the truck, he stormed away, fists balled in fury, until he found himself standing before a large tree. Without warning, he threw a punch, then another, and another, his fists bleeding as the rough bark tore into his skin. Roaring in rage, he delivered a sharp kick to the tree, immediately regretting that decision as a wave of pain tore through his foot. "Ow! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit—"

"Kristoff!"

The woodsman turned to see Elsa and Maren walking toward him. In the light of the rising sun, Maren's eyes immediately fell upon Kristoff's bleeding hands. "Jeez, Bjorgman," she said softly, withdrawing a roll of bandages from the pockets of her scrubs. "What are you trying to do, exactly? Go ten rounds with a tree?"

"Something like that," Kristoff muttered. To Maren's surprise, he did not fight her as she took hold of his hand; rather, he allowed her to wrap the bandage around his flesh without resistance. He turned his gaze to Elsa, his focus vacant, detached. "I lost her," he whispered at length. "I lost her, Elsa."

The Lady stepped toward him, taking hold of his other hand, the cool touch of her fingertips moving across his knuckles, congealing the blood dripping from his injuries. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was." Kristoff shook his head. "I should have forced her to stay behind. I never should have brought her with us. And now . . ." He closed his eyes. "I have no idea what to do. All I know is that I can't . . . I can't . . ." He opened his eyes once more, his visage the picture of sheer exhaustion, his now bandaged hand coming to rest on Elsa's cheek. "I can't let anything happen to you. I've already lost my mom, my dad, and now . . ." He cleared his throat. "You're all I've got left."

Maren raised an eyebrow. "I'm right here, Bjorgman."

Kristoff smiled a sad smile in spite of himself. "And you, Maren. How could I forget?"

The nurse brushed her hand against Kristoff's temple. "We'll figure something out. We'll get this Anna girl back, somehow." She paused. "Even if I have to beat some sense into that idiot brother of mine to get him to cooperate—"

"Bjorgman! Get over here!"

Maren sighed as Ryder's voice cut through the air. "Speaking of . . ."

Elsa's fingers grazed Kristoff's shoulder reassuringly as he climbed back behind the wheel of his truck, restarting the engine and shifting the vehicle back into gear. "What is it, Ry?" he hissed as Elsa and Maren climbed in after him. "What's so important that—"

Ryder nodded toward Anna's cell phone, resting at the cupholder at Kristoff's side, its ringtone reverberating throughout the truck. "Look at the number," he muttered. "It's her."

The phone was in Kristoff's hand in an instant. Depressing the "answer" key, he turned on the device's speakerphone. "What do you want, you bitch?" he hissed.

A mirthless laugh emanated from the phone. "Not a very polite way to say 'hello,' now, is it, Mr. Bjorgman?"

Maren felt her blood run cold at the sound of Remington's voice. Kristoff swallowed, fighting to maintain his composure as he tightened his grip on the wheel. "My mom always said I needed to work on my manners—"

Remington's voice cut him off abruptly. "And I'm sure Amelia would be most disappointed with your callous disregard for pleasantries, wouldn't she?"

Ryder let out a shout of panic, frantically grabbing the wheel as Kristoff nearly swerved into a nearby tree. Kristoff's face was now pale, his brow moist. "What did you say?" he managed to choke out. "How did you—"

"Please," Remington said dismissively. "Did you think I wouldn't find out everything about you once your nurse friend let your name slip?" She laughed. "The name 'Bjorgman' isn't exactly a common one, and it's amazing what information cellular phone carriers will provide—names, tracking data, et cetera—when given a little . . . persuasion."

Kristoff's voice was barely audible. "Don't you ever . . . ever say her name again, you hear me?" He floored the accelerator, nearly doubling the truck's pace.

"Or what?" Remington retorted. "What precisely is it you'll do to me, Mr. Bjorgman? Mr. Kristoff Bjorgman, son of the late Steven and Amelia Bjorgman—"

"Shut up!" Kristoff roared. He grabbed Anna's phone in his hand, holding it before his face. "You know nothing about me, you understand, you—"

Remington's voice was ice cold. "I know your father dropped dead of a heart attack two years ago, just like I know your mother died of a brain tumor while you were just a boy. Is that enough, Kristoff, or should I continue?"

Elsa watched from the bench seat, astonished to see that, somehow, Anna's phone was still in one piece in Kristoff's vicelike grasp. "Fine," he said at length. "You know who I am. Congratulations. Now what is it you want? If it's Elsa, you're never getting your hands on her again—"

"Elsa?" Remington laughed once again, her tone utterly dismissive. "No, I've accepted that loss, thank you very much, and moved on to plan B. I just wanted to call and let you know that your lady friend here has been quite forthcoming in sharing information. How unfortunate you chose to abandon her here—"

"Fuck. You," Kristoff growled.

Remington's frigid laugh sounded from the phone once again. "I'm afraid you're not my type, Kristoff. There are so many things more . . . stimulating than sex, after all."

Elsa opened her mouth, her fists clenched tightly with anger, but Kristoff shot her a glance in the rearview mirror. No! he mouthed. She doesn't need to know you're awake. "You can tell me all about it when we come back for her," he snarled as boisterously as possible, ignoring Ryder's silent protestations.

"Oh, I think you're bluffing, Kristoff," Remington responded. "Your little friend here has already shared so much with me. Not willingly, to be fair, so please, don't think less of her. She's held up much better than most I've had the pleasure of speaking with. For example, my opinion of you and your motely crew couldn't possibly be lower now that I know your rescue party consists of nothing more than an alcoholic woodsman, a black market arms dealer too terrified to step within ten miles of this facility again for fear of what we'll do to him if captured, and a coward of a university chancellor."

"Oh, hell," Isaacson muttered under his breath from the bench seat, his brow moistening.

"Great!" Ryder muttered, burying his face in his hands. "That's it! She gave me up! I'm a dead man! I'm gonna have to hide out in Switzerland for the rest of my life! Why the hell did I ever—Ow!"

"Grow up!" Maren hissed, withdrawing her hand from the back of her brother's head. "You're embarrassing me!"

"Did I mention," Remington continued, "that not only would be shot on sight should you be stupid enough to try to save her, but that apparently Elsa swore to never use her abilities to hurt anyone? So if you think you can intimidate me, Kristoff, you are wasting your time. None of you would have a snowball's chance in hell of getting in here alive. If you'll pardon the expression."

Kristoff stared straight ahead, the trees thinning out as the truck approached his cabin. "Don't underestimate me, Remington," he whispered.

"And I would advise you not to underestimate me," Remington shot back. She paused for a moment, as if some unrelated thought had just occurred to her. "Out of curiosity, have you arrived home yet? I'd love to know what you think of the surprise I left for you."

Kristoff felt his blood run cold. "What surprise?"

"Holy . . ." Ryder's voice trailed off as he stared ahead. The truck had cleared the forest, arriving at the clearing where Kristoff's cabin stood—or used to stand. "What the hell is that?!"

Kristoff slammed on the brakes, bringing the truck to a jarring stop. Ignoring Isaacson's cursing, he opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, eyes locked upon the scene before him. "My God . . ."

Kristoff's home—what was left of it, rather—was ablaze in an inferno of orange, yellow, and reddish hell. The world seemed to swirl around Kristoff as a sudden explosion sent a wave of heat rushing toward him. As if watching from a distance, he could vaguely hear Elsa screaming at him to move, could feel the air around him suddenly cool as the Lady went to work extinguishing the flames with her magic. Ryder's voice sounded in his ear as well, roaring in fury over how his nearby helicopter had been reduced to a smoldering heap of twisted metal. Kristoff felt his body fall to the grass, his hand brushing against something soft, warm, blackened. Glancing downward, his heart skipped a beat as he realized just what it was he was holding: the burned, tattered remains of a small, stuffed reindeer.

"Do I have your attention now, Kristoff?"

His hand quivering, Kristoff brought Anna's phone to his ear. "What . . . How . . . Why?!"

"'Why?'" Remington repeated. "Because you had the audacity to fuck with me, Mr. Bjorgman. And someone in my position cannot simply stand by idly and allow that to happen—especially when I am used to always winning. Always." She cleared her throat. "Oh, and I wouldn't be looking to access your rather, ah, substantial financial assets anytime soon. I'm afraid someone has placed a hold on all your accounts—indefinitely."

Before Kristoff could respond, Remington whistled. "Well, well. It appears I have an incoming call. Just hang tight for a second, Kristoff. You and your friends are most certainly going to want to sit in on this conversation . . ."

Remington depressed a button on her phone and brought the device back to her ear. "You have him? Excellent. Just keep him there until I'm ready for him."

The woman turned back toward the Chair behind her, a dark smile on her lips. "You, my dear, have been most helpful indeed. I have learned so much from you already, and we've only just begun."

Anna grimaced as Remington cupped her chin. Her blouse was drenched with perspiration, her voice hoarse from crying out in pain for however long—Hours? Days? Who knows?—Remington had been dissecting her mind. She licked her lips, responding involuntarily as Remington pressed a cup of water against them, eagerly guzzling the liquid.

"Yes," Remington said as Anna drank. "You enjoy that. You're no good to me dehydrated and dead, after all." The older woman glanced at the monitors in front of her, studying the images before her. "Such a tragic life you've lived to this point, Miss 'Daniels,'" she said, shaking her head. "How in the world could a young university student like yourself get involved with such a sordid cast of characters?"

Anna heard a voice begin laughing hysterically, realizing only after several seconds had passed it was her own voice she was hearing. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she shook her head. "What . . . What can I say? It's . . . spring break!" She burst out laughing once again, her own joke hilarious beyond measure to her exhausted mind. "Who needs Florida, amiright?"

Remington did not react in the slightest. "Hilarious." Without warning, she took hold of Anna's cheeks, forcing the young woman's face forward. "You seem to still be laboring under the delusion this is all just some sort of game, Miss 'Daniels.' Oh, I'm sorry. I believe it's actually . . ." She glanced down at the notepad in her other hand. "Miss Reinhart." She released her hold on Anna's face, her gaze filled with cold fury. "Let me show you now, once and for all, that your actions have real life consequences."

Remington depressed another button on her phone. "Are you still with me, Kristoff?" She paused. "Oh, good. I'm going to put you on speaker now. And make sure all your little friends are there to hear this."

Anna's eyes widened as a cacophony of voices suddenly emanated from Remington's phone. One voice in particular, however, drew her attention. "Samantha? Anna? Can you hear me? Please! Say something!"

"Elsa . . ." Anna whispered. "You . . . You're all right—"

Remington noticed her reaction. "So, Elsa," she spoke into the phone. "So nice to hear that you are once again among the conscious. It may interest you to know, however, that your rescue has not come without cost."

Before Kristoff or Elsa could interject, Remington pressed a button on the screen of her phone, connecting the two phone calls together. "I'm ready for him," she spoke to her subordinate. "Let him talk."

The sound of a throat clearing nervously rang forth from the phone. Anna's face paled even whiter than it already was as she recognized the voice. "Hey . . . Kristoff, bro."

Oh, no!

Kristoff's voice crackled forth from Remington's phone in an instant. "Stephenson?! What . . . What's going on?"

Stephenson's nervous laughter filled the line. "Yeah, bro. Listen, I, um . . . I'm kind of in a bad spot here."

Anna looked at Remington, eyes wide with horror. "What . . . What are you going to do to him—"

"Remington!"

Kristoff was yelling in the phone now, his voice filled with desperation. "Let him go, Remington," he demanded. "I got him involved in this. It's on me. Let him go—"

"The man," Remington interrupted, "managed to maneuver his way into my facility's security system. His hands are hardly clean is this affair, wouldn't you say? Unfortunately," she continued, looking Anna straight in the eye, "he's not as clever as he thinks he is. Perhaps it's the herbal, ah, "supplements" he so clearly loves affecting his thinking. We were able to trace his location in spite of his rather elaborate evasive maneuvers." She sighed. "Pity. Had he been a hair more clever, perhaps I'd be trying to hire him rather than having a gun pointed at his head."

What?!

"No!" Anna protested, fighting uselessly against her restraints. "You . . . You can't do that—"

"Remington, listen to her!" Kristoff was practically screaming in desperation now. "Let him go! You want to kill someone? Come after me—"

"Oh, I think not." Remington's voice was like a hot knife slicing through butter, every syllable crystal-clear. "Like I told Miss . . . Reinhart here: You need to understand that your actions have consequences. And since your friend had the audacity to commit what is tantamount to an act of war against the United States, his punishment must fit the crime."

"Remington, stop!" Kristoff shouted.

The woman paid Kristoff no heed. Bringing her phone to her lips, she spoke two words: "Do it."

Anna's pulse quickened as, from the speaker of Remington's phone, she heard Stephenson's frantic protests. "Wait! Just . . . Just wait—"

A loud bang sounded, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Anna breathed quickly, hysterically, as she could hear what sounded like Maren's voice sobbing over the phone. No! No, no, no, no, no, no!

"Did you hear that, Kristoff?" Remington asked nonchalantly.

After a long pause, Kristoff finally responded, his voice weary. "Why? Just . . . Just why?!"

"I already told you," Remington said. "Because I always win. Always." She glanced at her watch. "My, my. Look at the time. So much to do still. If you know what's best for you, Kristoff, you and your merry band of miscreants will get as far away from me as possible. Because if I ever see any of you again, you are going to pray I settle for doing to you what I just did to your friend. Goodbye."

Remington depressed her thumb against her phone's screen, terminating the call. She walked back to Anna, her face devoid of emotion. "Just to be clear," she said, staring at the monitors, frowning as she analyzed them. "All of that could have been avoided had you cooperated with me."

Anna shook her head, eyes closed in shock and exhaustion. "You . . . You just had someone killed. Just like that. And you . . . you don't feel anything, do you?" She opened her eyes, staring at Remington blearily. "What sort of person does that?!"

Remington leaned forward, arms pressing against the Chair above Anna's shoulders. Ignoring Anna's question, she looked into the young woman's face. "I have the suspicion you are hiding something from me, Miss Reinhart."

Anna blinked. "What?! You're . . . seriously going to talk about that after you just—"

"Don't lie to me again, my dear!" Remington snapped. She gestured toward the monitors. "Something isn't right about your readouts. There's something . . . odd about them I've never seen before. Something . . . unnatural. Artificial."

Anna felt her stomach twist itself in knots as Remington picked up her tablet from the desk. "Maybe . . . Maybe your Chair isn't as infallible as you think it is." She laughed nervously. "Did you try calling maintenance—"

Her voice cut off, replaced with a scream of agony as Remington activated the Chair. "Make no mistake, Miss Reinhart," Remington hissed as a fresh wave of images filled the monitors. "I am going to find out whatever it is you are hiding from me. Even if it kills you."

Anna barely heard anything Remington said as a jumble of incoherent images raced through her mind. Please! she begged, not even sure any longer if she were saying the words or only thinking them. Make it stop! Make it stop . . .

AN: More to come!