THE TWO SIDES OF SYBIL
Sybil's life since she called the FBI had been a blur. She often told herself she framed Aila to protect Thurman. However, as the days changed to nights, she realized that it was her own ass she was trying to save. She had written the checks, she had practiced creative accounting. Thurman had done nothing. Well, Thurman had done none of the bookkeeping. He had done plenty of his own stuff. Thing was, she didn't understand why the mayor hadn't fired the sheriff yet. When she first discussed it with him, he was intent on firing her the very next day. Yet, here it was, two or so days later, and she was still sheriff. It had everything to do with the people here in town. Why had she been so damn stupid as to believe she would come out of this unscathed? If Aila didn't peel her head, the FBI would. She needed to get her ass moving before the sheriff came back for visit number two. The longer she stayed, the more dangerous the environment became.
"What'cha doin,' Sugar," a smooth voice asked.
She had been listening to it long enough to recognize it immediately. She looked up and saw her lover. She had completely forgotten she gave the bastard a key to her house. "N-nothing," she stammered. "Nothing at all."
"Babe, you wouldn't be lying to me, now would you?"
* * *
Aila slapped the clock to end its deafening wake up call. It was morning once again, and she simply wasn't prepared for it. As each day passed, her apprehension grew. Although she would do anything to ensure her son's survival, she knew he would eventually be hurt by the accusations hurled at her. Would today be the day she would lose it all? Her mind played over and over again to last night when Frank was here with Ethan. It was almost like old times again, with just an added element. She had been so close to begging for his forgiveness and then telling him flat out what was inside her heart. However, he wasn't receptive to that. He would have accused her of being manipulative and that would have broken her heart. She would have never forgiven him for that. As if it matters anyway. What the hell was she doing thinking of Frank anyway? It was time to let it go and let it go forever. Sighing loudly, she climbed out of bed and grabbed her robe. It was time to get Ethan up for breakfast.
Quietly, she entered his room. As she expected, he was still asleep. She touched his forehead and noted that it was a little warm. After she roused him, she would check his temperature. For now, she would allow him to sleep as long he wanted. She felt guilty. That was the thing. She had denied her sweet little boy his father and she had made him pay. It was wrong. All of it. She placed a gentle kiss on his fevered brow and then left his room. She had intended to go to her bedroom to dress. She actually made in there, but she did nothing. Instead, she wound up sitting on the side of her bed. She wasn't sure of how long she did it, but her eyes stared blankly at the opposite wall. What in the world was on her mind now? Of course, it was obvious. She couldn't take her mind off Frank and Ethan. And then, her thoughts would center back on Sybil and her betrayal. Up until a few days ago, her life had been relatively simple. She did her job and took care of her boy. There was little trouble, but she always seemed to maintain it fine. Hardly anything had the ability to shake her up for long. However, she realized that it had all been a false sense of well-being. Basically, she had screwed it all up herself. There were so many 'ifs' involved here that they drove her insane. If she had opened her mouth three years ago, none of this would be happening. She had seen Frank with Ethan last night. If she had told him she was pregnant three years ago, he would have been thrilled. She knew this. If she had opened her mouth, none of this would be happening. None of it. Why hadn't she said something? It wasn't a fear that Frank would be pissed. It was her own damn hang-ups. She was the one who was afraid of everything. It had nothing to do with Frank. He never had trouble expressing his desires or wishes. He never had trouble with anything. She was the cowardly ass. Hands down. It was all her fault; both her son and Frank should hate her guts. She certainly wouldn't blame them if they never forgave her. God. What was she going to do? She had to shove it aside. If she didn't, she would lose her mind. She glanced at the clock, noticing that more than fifteen minutes had passed. Cursing under her breath, she went back to Ethan's bedroom.
Ethan was awake already and smiling lazily up at his mother. It was apparent in his eyes and demeanor that he wasn't feeling well, but at least his fever seemed to be abating for now. Aila considered staying home with him. However, who was she doing it for? Her son or herself? Staying away from work was simply too easy and convenient. Hiding wouldn't get her anywhere. Look what it had done thus far. She turned away from Ethan for a moment to dig out some clothes for his day. Perhaps today, she wouldn't argue with her son and feed him his beloved Kappie. When she turned back around, he was sitting up as if awaiting her, which he probably was. She helped him get dressed, all the while his little hands pushed stubbornly at hers. He wanted to do it by himself, but he just didn't know how just yet. She thought he was so smart and independent for a boy his age.
Once he was dressed, he allowed her to pick him up and she hugged him gently against her. "You are my beautiful little man," she told him before kissing his cheek.
"Ethan boot full," he asked.
She smiled. "Yes, baby. Ethan's boot full."
* * *
Frank rolled over once and glanced at the clock. It had yet to go off, but it was about to. As much as Aila before him, he smacked it so it wouldn't begin its screaming. Normally, he was out of bed before now, but today, he was down. If he wanted to get technical about it, he had been shot down. Again. He couldn't understand why he was so angry about it. He again thought of her betrayal…her lies. Goddamn it. Didn't he hate her? He didn't. He hated to admit it, but it was the truth. He couldn't hate her. Not now or ever. Although he hadn't been privy to the information in advance, she had had his son. Didn't that mean something? Didn't that tell him something about her feelings? Yet, if that were the case, why did she shoot him down? Stop this. Stop this right now. It's not getting you anywhere. And it wasn't. Besides, he couldn't allow this to sidetrack him. There was too much going on, including the fact that he had a son to get to know. What would happen with Ethan once this case was settled? Where would that go? Since discovering him, he didn't want to go on as if the boy didn't exist. Screw that. He wouldn't go on like that. It was one more thing that irked him. It was one more thing that made him want to hate Aila, even if he couldn't right now.
Frank sighed and threw the covers off his body. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Outside, it looked dreary and cloudy. Perfect. It was exactly what he needed to produce another bang up day. He left the bed, not bothering to try to straighten it up, and lunged for the bathroom. If he didn't get into the shower, he thought he might die. Maybe afterward, he would feel somewhat normal. However, he wasn't sure he would feel normal again. Not after this. Not after meeting his three-year-old son.
* * *
Aila gave Ethan's warm forehead a brief kiss. Considering what would transpire later, Aila should have stayed home, but she didn't. She didn't think Ethan's fever would rise. In fact, he looked pretty good. She turned and left without a thought. She drove to work without a thought. She went into her office without a thought. However, the moment she sat down at her desk, her mind went elsewhere. She couldn't think of anything but what was happening. Her paranoia was growing. She swore that when she walked in, she could hear the FBI agent whispering to the junior deputy. She was almost certain that they were communicating with the mayor. It was time. It was finally time for them to fire her. It was time for her to lose everything she had, including her son. Yet, she realized how crazy it all sounded. Frank had promised he would help her and he would. He wasn't a liar. He was very true to his word. So what the hell was eating at her? As much as she had done earlier, she began to stare straight ahead and the time dragged away from her. When she looked at the clock, two hours had passed. It was time to visit Sybil again. Perhaps she could get to the woman.
She drove out to Sybil's house and had an imperceptible lurch in her stomach. She wasn't sure why she felt this way, but knew she should have turned around and left. However, she didn't. There was something going on and she needed to figure out what the hell it was. Shaking all that away, she left the comfort and safety of her Bronco and approached the house. She was still armed. She felt stupid. Sybil wouldn't attack her. What was she expecting to happen for God's sake? Shaking it off [but keeping the gun within her reach], she approached the house. She noticed that the front window was open. It struck her odd, but she didn't push it. When the curtain blew out, she thought she saw Sybil sitting up in her favorite chair. She called out the woman's name a couple of times, but didn't receive an answer. Carefully, she reached out and grasped the doorknob. It turned easily in her hand. Okay, Aila. Get a grip. Nothing is wrong here. All is well. You're just paranoid. Move into the house, confront Sybil again, and have done with it. She entered the house carefully, watching every step. Sure enough, Sybil was sitting in her chair with the back of her head facing the door. Was she asleep? That's just wishful thinking, Sheriff. You know what's wrong with that woman just as well as you know your middle name. Stealthily, she slid further into the room. She again didn't know what she was doing. She was out in the open, a moving target. She called out to Sybil again, but received no answer. She slowly unclipped her side arm from her belt and brought it up. Since coming home, she could count the number of times she had to draw down on one hand. This made the fourth or fifth time. She wasn't sure. As she continued coming around ever so slowly, she lowered her weapon.
"Oh, Sybil," she whispered.
She had been murdered, her throat slit from ear to ear. Apparently, the killer had carried her in here afterward, because there wasn't a spot of blood on the floor. Dear Jesus. Why would anyone murder Sybil? Easy tears came to her eyes. Yes, Sybil had betrayed her, but goddamn it, the woman had been her friend. Outside her mother, she was the first person in town who was nice to her when her pregnancy became obvious. She was one of a few who didn't treat her as if she had some incurable disease.
"Goddamn it," she bit out. She was just about ready to call for back up when the phone rang. Although she knew she should ignore it and call for back up, she couldn't. Carefully, she picked up the phone. "Sh-Sheriff Blane." She cursed herself inwardly for stuttering. Goddamn it.
"Why, hello there, Sh-Sheriff Blane," a jovial voice said.
"Who is this," she demanded.
"Why, your good buddy, Thurman. I'm sure you found my sue…prise?"
"You bastard," she growled.
"Well, honey bun, you know all about bastards, don't you? Since you got one and all. What would you say if I told you I had your bastard?"
Aila's heart stopped. Ethan? He had Ethan? What the hell? It couldn't be true. Just two hours ago, she left him. "Bullshit. I don't believe you."
"Believe me or don't, darlin,' that's up to you. Take a chance and lose your boy. Meet me in an hour at the old Phillip's farm. I'll kill your kid if you don't. Goodbye and sweet dreams, lovin' girl."
Click. "No!"
Forgetting Sybil for the time being, she bolted for her Bronco. She couldn't think. Couldn't do anything. Her boy was in the hands of the devil.
* * *
Frank found himself at the sheriff's office searching for Aila. He was about to bark an order toward Monica, but his cell phone rang. "Donovan," he answered brusquely.
An incredible burst of static was followed by Aila's voice. "He's got him, Frank. He's got our son," she cried.
"Aila? Is that you? Where are you?"
"Fuck where I am," she cried. "Didn't you hear me? He's got our son."
"Who, Aila? Who has our son?"
"Thurman Herren," she wailed. "He killed Sybil and now he has our son. I'm going to meet him now at the old Phillip's farm."
For a very long moment, Frank's world froze. His son. A son he had only known a few precious hours was in the hands of a bloodthirsty criminal. One of his worst nightmares had come true. "Are you sure," he asked once he found his voice.
"Goddamn it," she bit out. "Of course I'm sure," she cried.
"Jesus Christ, Aila, tell me how to find you. You can't do this alone," he told her.
"Watch me," she spat before hanging up on him.
Without thinking, without caring that everyone now knew about his son, he took his phone and dialed Aila's home number. Surely, she was mistaken? How in the hell would Herren have access to Ethan? His fingers flew over the keypad. The whole time, he was praying that Ethan's sitter would be there. Please, please, don't take him from me now. The phone rang twice, five times, ten. No answer. No. God no. Not my child.
* * *
Aila drove past the main farm. She knew there was several dilapidated out buildings surrounding the property, but figured Herren would choose the house. It was the only structure out here worth a shit. The only one that wouldn't fall beneath his feet. If he had touched one precious hair on her boy's head, she would make his life a living hell. She carefully exited her vehicle, ensuring that her revolver was at her hip. She would make the son-of-a-bitch pay. Oh yes she would.
* * *
While Aila was swiftly moving toward Thurman Herren, the UC team was slowly closing in on the Phillips farm. Elsewhere, a sick little boy awaited his mother.
* * *
Frank's eyes caught sight of Aila's Bronco. She had parked it out in the open, as if she didn't care whether she lived or died. And she probably didn't. He couldn't exactly blame her either. Ethan was his son as well, and the first thing he wanted to consider was breaking through the fucking walls of every building out here until he found them. Like Aila, he swore severe bodily damage to any person who hurt Ethan. There were five or six out buildings strewn about the barren farm. Without a word [he didn't need them], he commanded Alex and Jake to spread out. If they could take the out buildings on the outside of the house, he could focus his energies on it. Herren would have taken a hostage there. It made perfect sense to him. Herren didn't like discomfort, even when he was risking the life of someone else. Just when the group had split up to reach the out buildings, Frank noticed activity coming from the house.
"I know you're out there," Herren called in a horrid singsong voice. It grated the nerves.
Frank immediately stopped what he was doing. "Back down," he barked into his earpiece. There was no way in hell he would risk the life of his son. "Release the boy," he half roared, half growled.
Herren came out on the front porch, his feet bending the rotten wood. It wasn't Ethan he held hostage. It was Aila. "I don't call this a boy. Do you?"
Jesus fucking Christ. They had been duped. If Herren didn't have Ethan, then who the fuck did? He couldn't discern the features of Aila's face, but she was holding onto Herren's arm tightly. The gun he had was likely digging into her temple. He swallowed a huge lump that had formed in his throat. Aila. Dear God, she couldn't die now. "Come on, Herren. You don't want to do this," he called back steadily. His heart was larruping in his chest. He could almost feel Aila wanting to speak. Please, baby, don't. This will be over soon. Just let me do my job.
"Take me and let my son go," Aila said through clenched teeth. "Give him to his father."
"Oh now," Herren said. "Is that right, Sugar? The big FBI man is the daddy to your bastard son?"
"Frank," Aila yelled. "You promised to take care of Ethan. Keep your promise."
Aila did the only thing she could think of. She sank her teeth into Thurman Herren's arm and held on while he howled. She thought she could hear Frank roaring at her to stop. Well, fuck him. Someone had to be there for Ethan, goddamn it, and she would accomplish the task any way possible. If it meant dying, so be it. How long did it take Herren to wrench her away? Minutes? Hours? He succeeded and shoved her body ruthlessly down to the porch. An immediate odor of musty wood and dry rot assaulted her senses at once. She thought she might vomit. As if moving in slow motion, she watched as Thurman Herren trained his gun on her. She turned away from him and wrapped her body into a tight fetal position. As if that would help anyway? She heard the gun exploding, heard another roar from Frank, and then she felt a huge, searing pain. It was pain she knew well. She'd been shot. What was even more amazing was that she was watching Thurman Herren falling to his knees beside her. What the hell? She knew what it meant. Either Frank or one of his team members shot him. He was dying. She could see that. No! She still didn't know where Ethan was.
Frank flew to the porch to Aila while Jake and Alex quickly tended to the dying man. He was almost certain she was mortally wounded, but tears of relief stung his eyes when he noticed a purely treatable graze wound. Thurman Herren was one lousy ass shot. "Aila," he said. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"
Forgetting the pain in her shoulder, she rose up and began beating at him. "Goddamn you, you bastard. You killed him before he could tell me where he took Ethan. You fucking bastard! Why did you do that?"
Although it would hurt her, he took swift control of the situation and held onto her swinging arms. "He didn't take Ethan," Frank said calmly. "It was a ploy. A cheap ploy to get you out here."
Aila wasn't having it. She jerked her arms out of his hands and bolted toward her Bronco. Frank was on her heels the entire way. She ripped open the door and grabbed her cell phone. There were nine messages for her. Three from Lila and the rest from her mother. Oh dear God. What had happened? Blindly, she dialed her voice mail number and listened to each and every one of them.
Ignoring her bleeding shoulder for now, she focused her eyes on Frank's face. "He's in the hospital," she whispered. "Donovan, they took our son to the hospital."
_____________________
To be continued…