Vaughn's years of football training were not in vain. The blow caught Brady off-guard and sent him flying backwards. Vaughn was already to the bedroom door when his captor hit the floor.
He jerked it open and immediately collided with Crystal, who also went flying backwards. Vaughn managed to stay on his feet, but wasted precious seconds steadying himself and turning right towards the front door. He was so focused on his goal that he barely heard Brady's shouts of "stop him!"
Vaughn never saw Michael Jakes come at him from the side. He was not aware of his presence until the huge man was slamming into him, tackling him and pinning him to the ground, right side down. Vaughn's left arm was still free, and he jammed his elbow up squarely into Jakes's nose. He heard him curse and saw a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. Then Jakes's huge hand was around his throat.
Vaughn's eyes grew wide with panic. His breaths, which were coming in quick gasps, were now almost stopped completely. He made a feeble attempt to push the huge man off of him, but Jakes's only response was to grip his throat harder.
Pain shot through his neck. Only the tiniest sliver of air was getting through his trachea. His lungs ached and burned, protesting the lack of oxygen. Stars flashed in front of his eyes.
Play dead. Vaughn stopped struggling and lay still, hoping to give his attacker what he seemed to want. Jakes finally loosed his grip, and Vaughn felt delicious air rush back in his lungs. He coughed and sucked in another huge breath of air, vowing never again to take it for granted.
His vision slowly came back into focus. Brady and Jakes loomed over him, seeming absolutely huge from his perspective on the floor. Brady was panting and his eyes were wild.
"Tie him back up," he gasped. "And lock him in the closet. If he gives you any more trouble, go ahead and shoot him." He took a deep breath, as if to regain his composure, then grabbed up his keys and phone from the coffee table.
"Where are you going?" Jakes asked.
"To get your money," Brady replied as he walked quickly out the front door.
Victor jumped when his cell phone rang, shattering the evening silence of the house. He had spent the last two hours trying to put all the pieces together and figure out what to do. He still had the feeling that he was missing some important detail, but worry and fatigue made it hard to concentrate. It was as if a fog was surrounding his brain.
The cell phone rang again. Victor glanced at the caller ID and was surprised to see Ted's number appear. "Pearson."
"Hello, Victor."
Victor took a deep breath. "Hello, Jonathan."
"I knew it wouldn't take you long to figure it out."
"You gave yourself away, talking about the ball and Peradyne."
"Then why haven't you turned me in?"
"Because I know you, Jonathan. I know you're intelligent, and reasonable, and that we can work this out."
"You think you know me…" Brady replied. "But I'm not the same man I was."
"Where's Vaughn?" Victor asked.
"He's learning his lesson right now. He's been giving me some trouble."
"Jonathan," Victor said imploringly, "you don't have to do this. Whatever problems are between us, whatever injustices you perceive-"
"Perceive?! I see nothing's changed, Victor. You never could admit your own mistakes."
"Don't take it out on Vaughn," Victor begged. "Give me a place I can meet you. We can talk face to face."
"Oh, we'll be meeting, all right. Do you know where Centerville is?"
"Yes…that's almost an hour away."
"Get the money and the ball and drive there. I will call you in an hour with further instructions." Click. He was gone as abruptly as before.
Victor stared at the phone for a moment, then grabbed up the briefcase and his keys.
"Where are you going?" Miller asked. He had come into the room when he heard the phone ring.
"To meet with Brady," Victor answered curtly, never breaking his stride.
Miller waited until he heard the front door slam, then took out his own cell phone.
"It's me. Yeah, he's coming. No, he never called them; I talked him out of it.... He's bringing the money, but I don't think he took the ball. I never saw him get it.... I don't know, maybe....All right. I'll keep you updated."
Brady's directions led Victor on a winding drive to Centerville, then to the next town over, and finally to an old run-down factory on the outskirts of town. It was past nine o'clock when he finally arrived. The gray clouds that had covered the sky earlier in the day had burned off by sunset, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. There was no one around and no cars except the one non-descript black Lexus in the dimly lit parking lot. Victor parked a few spaces down and walked towards the car. It's driver exited and walked towards him.
Jonathan Brady. The florescent orange lights cast strange shadows on his old colleague's face. Still, Victor could see worry lines and a cold expression that had not been present 15 years before. He could also see a handgun tucked into the waistband of his pants.
"Jonathan."
"Victor...what happened to your hair?"
Victor ignored the remark. "Where's Vaughn?"
"Patience, Victor."
"I brought what you wanted," Victor growled, holding up the briefcase. "Now give me back my son."
"I'll have to take a look at that first," said Brady, taking the briefcase. He set it on his car and popped it open, studying the contents.
"So far, so good. Money was never a problem for you, though." He snapped the case shut and faced Victor again. "Now, where's the ball?"
Victor slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver metal ball. He held it up between his thumb and middle finger, then ceremoniously let go.
It fell to the ground.
Brady looked up, confused. "What the hell are you trying to pull, Victor?!"
"I'm not trying to pull anything," Victor answered sincerely. "The ball lost power four years ago. There is no more power source."
"You're lying," Brady spat.
"No power source," Victor repeated. "No Peradyne Two."
"You had had that ball for ten years when I last saw it, and it never lost power."
"We were experimenting with it. Something went wrong. The ball is now affected by gravity just like everything else in the world."
Brady stared hard, looking Victor directly in the eyes, studying him. Victor just stared back, his cool expression never wavering.
Suddenly, Brady began to chuckle. His chuckle soon turned to a full-blown, almost maniacal laugh. The sound was unnerving to Victor, who nevertheless tried to maintain his icy expression.
"I knew it," Brady gasped. "I knew you hadn't changed. I knew you would trade your own son's life for your 'research.' Just like you did Charlie's, and Sarah's, and all those other people killed in the explosion."
His words stung. "Jonathan," Victor begged, "be reasonable. I would never put anything above Vaughn's life. I would give you the ball if I could. I AM giving you the ball, but you have to believe me. It does not have power anymore."
"Well, I don't believe you. You've always been a liar and a manipulator. It may work on your employees but it's not going to work on me." In an instant, Brady's expression had become deadly serious. He leaned in close to Victor. "Your son will pay for your lies. I'll put a bullet in his brain, just like I did your stupid chauffer."
Victor was momentarily taken aback. "What?"
Brady grinned. "That's right. Didn't you wonder what had happened to him? I guess he wasn't important enough for you to waste time worrying about."
Victor frowned. He had figured Ted was in on the kidnapping somehow, but he hadn't stopped to wonder about his fate. "I figured he was in Tahiti by now, with whatever money you gave him."
Brady laughed again. "That's what he thought, too. But I took care of him right after he delivered your son to us."
Victor stared hard, not really believing what he had just heard. "Jonathan...you killed Ted...I don't believe you're capable of that."
"You have no idea what I'm capable of."
Victor took a step back, thoroughly shaken. "Jonathan...you need...help. You're not well..."
"I'm helping myself now," Brady explained. "And you can help yourself, too. Hand over the ball, or Vaughn dies. It's that simple. I'll give you four hours to make your decision. I would suggest you use that time to get back to your home instead of wasting it following me." He grabbed the briefcase, climbed back into his car, and peeled out of the parking lot.
Victor leaned against the Porche, shaking slightly. He had just gambled his son's life on an assumption, one that was wrong. Deep down, he hadn't really been convinced that Jonathan Brady would hurt Vaughn, or that he was really capable of committing such a heinous crime. But their meeting tonight was more than enough to show him his error. Brady was not the same person he had known fifteen years ago. Victor could see it in his eyes; they were cold and dead, except when they momentarily came alive when he mentioned using and then killing Ted Clarke. Something inside him had changed, snapped even, turning him into a completely different person.
Victor hastily opened the door and started up the Porche. He floored the gas pedal, flying down the unfamiliar roads back to the mansion. He knew what he had to do. He only hoped he wasn't already too late.