RANSOM NOTE
"¿Goddamn, Dawn, tu no puede hacer algo acerca de esos mocosos que chillan?" [Goddamn, Dawn, can't you do something about those squalling brats?]
Raphael had an enormous headache that was only worsening as each hour passed. Since they had had the babies, nothing satisfied them. They cried almost constantly. Between the two twins, they might have gotten two hours sleep. Raphael had gotten less. He had allowed Mateo and his puta [whore] to stew long enough. It was time to set the game in motion. He sat down at the expensive mahogany desk in his equally expensive hotel suite. Should he be coy? Should he toy with Mateo and the federales? Why hide behind a mask? He could easily tell Mateo who he was and what he wanted. If Mateo were smart [and he was], he wouldn't allow his hotshot brother to interfere. Of course, the bastardo wouldn't truly know what Raphael wanted until the two men were face to face, and the way he was working it, it wouldn't be long now. Besides, he couldn't stand much more of their squalling. Smiling a little, he gazed down at the spiral bound notebook he had purchased the night before. As if he were composing a school paper about World War II, he wrote and rewrote what he wanted to say. He didn't want to give away his mission just yet. He wanted Mateo to sweat a little first. He stopped writing for a moment and looked up. Finally, those whiny ass babies had settled down. He knew it wouldn't be long before they were screaming again. Jesus. He hated babies. The little bastards even looked like their father. It was hard resisting the urge to harm them because of that very fact, but he didn't want to let go of the only leverage he had right now. He had seen Mateo with his children at the airport, and it didn't take much to realize that he loved them very much. Perhaps he should have had the woman taken as well? However, this was better. He needed captives that could not identify anyone. All those bastards did was cry, eat, shit, and piss. He went back to his notebook and began to scribble furiously once again. He read over the note and smiled again. Perfect. He turned his head toward the adjoining room of his suite and bawled out for Dawn. The moment he did this, the babies began to cry again. Couldn't someone put a bottle or something in their mouths?
* * *
Throughout most of the night, Farron tossed and turned, occasionally reaching for the wife who was not there. It was pitiful. He awoke in the middle of the night, hoping that it was all a horrid dream, but it wasn't. His babies were gone and his wife had kicked him out of their home. She hated him now, but he understood. From the moment of his birth, he was a screw up, and he had been so arrogant to assume he was above it all now. He had a home, a family, and a respectable job. He had been entirely consumed by a false sense of security. Who the hell do you think you are? You're not Farron Donovan at all. Farron ceased to exist the moment you allowed your brother to be gunned down before your eyes. You are and always will be Mateo Luis. You won't ever lose him. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. It was something he rarely did. Like his brother, he had difficulty showing emotion, especially outside the presence of those he loved. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life. He was close, so very close to conducting his own search. When his tears dried, he began to think about all the men he knew before. His last gang was with Ortiz. Was it someone from there? No. None of the other men could piss without guidance from Jesus, Pablo, or himself. None of them were sophisticated enough. Then he thought of Alca Huete. Fermo Torcido was dead and Huete wasn't exactly good at the revenge game. After all, the evidence was in the Ennui Principio disaster. Last he heard, Ennui had gone back to Colombia, probably to snort cocaine and prostitute her body. Her focus was his brother. It had never been on him. She would have gone after Rachel and Tristan. After thinking so much that his head began to ache, he once again lay down. He didn't think he would find sleep for the rest of the night, but he fell asleep before he knew it.
There was a persistent push at the back of Farron's head. He thought he was dreaming again, but the more he ignored it, the more persistent it became. Along with the pushing came a voice that chanted 'unka unka unka' in an unending litany. Slowly, he opened his eyes, noticing that his face was buried deeply in the fabric of a couch. He again felt the sinking sensation that he did earlier in the night. It was all real. None of it was a dream. He shifted his position and turned over. Rachel. Except for the color of her eyes, and her age, she could have been his Brittany. Is there a future? She had been doing everything in her power to wake him up. Successful in her endeavor for the day, Rachel didn't hesitate to crawl onto Farron's lap. He hugged her to him gently as she began to babble excitedly. He caressed her soft black hair and fought the tears away with everything he had in him. In the middle of all her babbling, Rachel stopped, as if confused. She focused her eyes on his face and looked at him a silent moment.
"Unka? Bitt and Bice?"
He hugged her gently again and bit his lip. She was asking him about Brittany and Bryce. Usually when Uncle Farron came to visit, he brought Aunt Kara and the twins. At first, he didn't think he could tell her anything without bursting into tears. After an agonizing moment, he said, "They'll be over later. Okay?"
"Okay," she said agreeably enough. As she often did with her father, she moved a little so she could wrap her arms around Farron's neck. He'd heard his brother calling this 'The Crush' many, many times. She squeezed as tightly as her little arms would allow. "Lub yew, Unka."
Her thing now was telling everyone she loved them. However today, it was difficult to hear and even more difficult to take. Fighting his tears again, he swallowed hard, "I love you too, Rachel." He did love his niece, but he wished a thousand times over that he were hugging his babies instead.
"I wondered where she had run off to," Loralei said as she entered the den.
"She's okay," Farron said.
Loralei approached the couch and sat down. Rachel released her iron grip on Farron's neck and focused her attention on her mother. She immediately began bestowing 'The Crush' on Loralei. "I'm about to ask a really stupid question, Farron, but are you all right?"
He looked up at her. "As all right as I can be, I suppose."
"Maybe I can talk to Kara later," she said. "Come on, little girl, let's go see how Daddy's doing." Loralei stood with Rachel in her arms.
"Could you leave her," Farron asked.
She nodded, immediately understanding. Rachel was the closest thing he had to Brittany and Bryce. "Sure. If she starts bugging you, I can come get her."
She sat Rachel down on the couch and she immediately went to her uncle with the 'The Crush' again. Loralei left and tromped up the spiral staircase to check on her husband. When she left the room, he was still in the shower. She was worried about him. He might have gotten thirty minutes of sleep last night, spending most of his time in bed tossing and turning. When she entered the bedroom, he was buttoning his shirt. She approached him from behind and ran her hand along his shoulder blade. He stopped what he was doing for a moment and turned toward her, taking her into his embrace. He kissed her softly and then drew away. She placed her hand on his cheek.
"I love you," he told her. "I love you more for surprising me. You're unlike anyone I've ever known." Before she could respond, his work cell began to ring. He released her and went over to the dresser where he had left his phone. Impatiently, he flipped it open. "Donovan."
Loralei watched her husband carefully. He didn't say much of anything, but she was certain that something had gone down at Kara and Farron's. She wanted to ask him what was going on, but she said nothing. He would tell her eventually on his own. She watched as he said a hasty 'thanks' before he hung up. He didn't bother tucking in his shirt. He stuffed his feet into his shoes.
"We've got a note," he said simply. "I have to get Farron." As he tromped downstairs, Loralei was right behind him. Hearing the commotion, Farron came out of the den, still holding onto Rachel. "Cody called. Someone came by your house with a note," Donovan explained. Without thinking, Donovan took hold of his daughter and gave her to Loralei.
Farron remembered little about the run over to his house. Did his feet touch the ground at all? The moment the two brothers entered the home they immediately noticed Alex and Jake interrogating the hell out of a very scared looking kid. Farron looked all around for Kara, but didn't see her. Without hesitating, he approached the small group of people. "Where's the note," he demanded, "Give me the goddamned note." Silently, Alex handed it to him. Donovan approached his brother and read over his shoulder. Your children are quite lovely, Mateo, but they're spoiled. They cry entirely too much. You helped put my father in prison and I hate you for that. What I'm after is far less than you think. My father told me that you had millions of dollars holed away. I want it, Mateo; I want every dime. I'll be in touch. It was signed 'Raphael Ortiz.' He made the connection immediately, but he wasn't thinking about that right now. He threw the note to the floor and went after the messenger. He grabbed the kid up by his collar and glared down at him. "What have you done with my children," Farron roared. "Tell me or I'll snap your fucking neck."
Donovan took hold of his brother. "Back off, Farron. He brought the note. He had nothing to do with this," he said calmly. Slowly, Farron released the kid, but Donovan kept a strong hold on his brother. "What does he say about the person who hired him," Donovan asked Alex. Meanwhile, his brother continued to hiss and snarl.
"A woman named Dawn came in and asked for the messenger service. The kid described her as having blonde hair and green eyes."
Donovan sighed. This 'Dawn' fit the description of thousands of women, millions of them. "Nothing specific?" Alex shook her head. He sighed angrily. "Let the kid go when you're finished."
"Let him go," Farron snarled through gritted teeth. "What do you mean let him go? Frank, he knows where my babies are, he knows…"
"Nothing," Donovan said. "He delivered the note. Nothing else. You can't attack this kid."
Defeated for the time being, his body slumped. The only thing that drew his attention was the sight of his wife slowly creeping out of the kitchen.
Kara had watched the scene with unfeeling eyes. She had read the note the moment the young boy had entered the door; had even gone so far as to claw it out of the hands the agents who held it. They had scolded her, explaining there could be fingerprint evidence. When she read the note she had released a cold and brutal laugh. The culprit was bold and wanted them to know who he was. Fingerprint evidence, my ass.
She studied her husband as his eyes settled on her, seeing her for the first time. He looked haggard and grief-stricken; much as she did, she was sure. There were many times during their separation that she had longed to call out to him, go to him, but she was still hurting too much from his betrayal. It wasn't fair; the time she needed him the most, was the time she was forced to push him away.
"Kara," Farron said, as he neared her and she stepped quietly back into the kitchen. He knew the pain she was feeling; it mirrored his own. If only she would let him hold her, they could be a comfort to each other. He needed her love so badly; it was as though her love was the one thing that held him together. Her love was the only thing that made him believe he was the man he had longed to be. Without it, he was nothing.
She smiled wryly and shook her head. "So, Mateo…what is it that you want more? To hold onto that money, or hold your children?"
He moved forward and grasped her upper arm. He nearly screamed from the sound of her using his alias. She had spat it with all the venom her beautiful soul possessed, and it harbored more of an impact than a hundred of the slaps she had delivered previously. "How can you ask me that?! Nothing matters more than Brittany and Bryce."
She looked down at his hand that gripped her roughly and then her gaze locked with his. She fought the urge to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything would be okay as long as they loved each other, but her mind stopped the orders her heart was sending. "Then tell me your plans, Mateo. How will you bring our babies back?"
"Do not use that name," he ordered through clenched teeth. "I am no longer that man," he insisted.
"No?" Kara shrugged. "Someone believes you are, and that someone has our children. Get them back," she demanded and wrenched out of his grasp.
Farron moved behind her when she turned her back on him. It was a sight that sickened him; she was shutting him out and he needed so desperately for her to let him back in. He placed gentle hands on her shoulders and pressed his cheek to hers. "No matter what happens, you and the twins are all that matters to me. I will do whatever it takes to get them back."
"Just go. You read the note. Now, go." Kara stood stiffly and felt his hands drop as he moved away from her. Seconds later, she heard the door close quietly and knew instinctively that the Donovan brothers had left together. She glanced down at the table and saw the small meal that Monica had prepared for her. Picking up the plates, she opened the cabinet below the sink and threw the food in the trash, plates and all.
She made her way to the second floor by way of the back staircase. She passed the master bedroom; she could not sleep there, she missed Farron's arms around her when she slept. She moved on to the nursery. It was so dark and empty. She could smell the twins' wonderful baby smell all through the room. It probably wasn't the best idea for her to hole herself up in their room, but she felt oddly comforted there. She lifted the baby quilt from the rocker and curled up on the large window seat.
The nursery faced Frank and Loralei's house. Her hand pressed against the glass as she watched the two sullen figures cross the grounds between the two houses. Her shattered heart broke further knowing she was the cause of much of Farron's pain. She rested her forehead against the glass and wondered silently if they would ever be what they once were.
* * *
Donovan brought his brother back to his house that evening. Kara had gotten upset enough to demand they leave again, and Farron had nowhere else to go. It was difficult doing his job when his sister in-law wouldn't let him. He couldn't blame her. He had withheld just as much information as Farron did. His brother was morose and quiet, still shaken from the ransom note and the bitter words exchanged between him and his wife. He didn't have enough in him to tell the team what the note meant. Sooner or later, his ability to think would come back. However for now, it was buried within his grief. Not only had he lost his babies, but it appeared as if he had lost his wife as well.
Donovan left Farron on the couch in the den, but he didn't stay there long. Once he noticed that his twin had gone upstairs, Farron went into the kitchen and reached up to one of the top cabinets. If he knew his brother as well as he thought, he should find what he needed instantly. Of course, he did. He took the full bottle of bourbon and had begun reaching for a glass, but changed his mind. Fuck it. He took the bottle out to the back deck and opened it. He didn't want to get shitfaced inside his brother's home, where his children could easily see him. He drank deeply from the bottle without a thought. He grimaced at its bitter taste. It had been a while since he had drunk. When Kara went cold turkey at her pregnancy, he did as well. Kara. Dear sweet God, Kara. He turned the bottle up again.
Donovan came outside a bit later, looking for Farron. At first, he had thought his twin had gone back home. Instead, he found him sitting on the back deck drinking himself silly. Half the bourbon was gone. Considering the way he was drinking it, the other half would be gone in minutes. "Farron, I really need you to be clear headed and sane right now. You're no good to your wife and children like this."
He fixed his eyes on his twin coldly. He took another drink for good measure. "I'm no good to them now, Frank. I was no good before. Why should anything change?" Farron's words were only slightly slurred.
"You have changed, that's the thing. Don't you see?"
Farron laugh was dark and ugly. "How would you know what or who I am? How do you understand? Your children are safe and snuggled in their beds; your wife still loves you. There never was a Farron, my brother. There was and always will be Mateo. It's who I am; it's who anyone will ever see. When Bryce and Brittany are old enough to understand, they'll be ashamed of me." He drank deeply from the bottle. "I'm ashamed of me."
"Your self pity must stop, Farron. It's the only vestige of your former self that still creeps in once in a while. It's not helping your children. It's not helping my team. The note, Farron, tell me about the note."
"Fuck the note," he roared. "It doesn't matter what it means, I know. That's enough." He took another drink and focused his increasingly foggy eyes on his left hand. He gazed at the bright gold band encircling his finger. Tonight, it seemed to burn him. "I hated you today, Frank," he said softly. "Your daughter came to me this morning and she has all the Donovan traits, she just doesn't have our eyes. My Brittany will look like her some day, I'm sure. I saw her this morning, heard the cries of your son tonight, and I hated you. I hated you for having a family safe and sound while mine has been torn apart."
Donovan approached his brother and took the bottle of bourbon out of his hand. He tossed it into a nearby garbage bin. "So hate me, Farron, hate what I have. If that will make you help me, do it. We'll get your babies back, but you have to get off your ass, and stop thinking you can do this alone."
Farron tried to focus his eyes on Donovan's face, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. He had half a mind to punch him out, but he had no energy. "It's yet one more thing I hid from my wife, Frank. Actually, it was one thing I had forgotten. Before Ortiz was sent away, I had five million dollars in my possession from the last job I did. I hid it in several different locations to keep the federales from finding it. Ortiz's son apparently found out about the hidden money and will want me to tell him where it is. He can have it, Frank, he can have all I have, including my life. I just want my family back."
"You'll get them back," Donovan said. "This isn't the time to pull away from me now."
"I can't seem to stop using you, Frank," Farron said, his voice lowering an octave. "I thought I had that out of my system. I guess not."
"No, you're doing nothing of the sort. We're family, remember? I owe you one anyway," he said.
Confused, Farron said, "What? You owe me?"
Donovan nodded. "Yeah. I recall about a year ago when you kept me from leaving my wife and children. Do you remember? If I hadn't listened to you, I would have divorced Loralei and rotted away in bed. I never returned the favor. In a way, you gave my wife and children back to me, and I'll give yours back to you." He took hold of Farron's arm. "Come on. You need to get some rest. We'll work nonstop until your babies are back in your arms."
Farron rose to his feet a bit unsteadily. He allowed Donovan to guide him inside until he was embraced by the comfort the couch gave him. Donovan left Farron and went upstairs. After checking on the kids, he went into the bedroom, finding Loralei already in bed and knocked out. The moment he sat down on his side of the bed, she awoke. "Go back to sleep," he whispered. "I didn't want to wake you."
She yawned behind her hand. "No. I fell asleep waiting for you. I want to be there for Kara tomorrow. Are you going to be okay with that?"
He nodded. "I don't know how she'll react to you." He gave up trying to undress and he stretched out on the bed.
Loralei reached out and took gentle hold of his shirt just below the collar. She began rubbing the material between her fingers as if it were fine silk. Almost child-like, she looked up into his eyes. "Are you okay? I've been truly worried."
"It's not me you should worry about," he said quietly.
She moved her hand and slid it into the slight opening he'd made after undoing a couple of buttons. She placed her hand against the side of his neck. "But I do. I don't like how much you take into yourself. All the guilt and pain."
He smiled a little. "I don't know which of us worries more," he commented lightly. His hand came up and he allowed his fingers to trip lightly over her arm. "You're here and you keep me grounded and sane. Go back to sleep, I'm going to be up for a while."
Donovan tried to pull away, but she took hold of his arm. "No," she said. "You didn't get any sleep last night and I think you should try."
"I don't think I can," he admitted. "There's too much going on inside my head."
She pushed him down to the bed and leaned over him. "It might only be a temporary fix," she told him, her lips a breath away from his. "I can try to chase it out if you'll let me."
His hand came up to stroke her cheek and he was about to tell her he didn't think anything would help, including making love with her, but the words never made it to the surface. As soon as her mouth covered his, he was willing to give it a shot.
--To be continued…