Chapter 17: The Tree of Life
Chuck could not say she was happy to see her father. But she could not say she was unhappy to see him either. Charles Charles looked exactly as he did when he last left her- gloves, bandages and hat covering up his...skin condition. He had removed the sunglasses, though, and his sunken eyes were as warm as his body had once been cold.
"Dad, you cannot be here."
Charles Charles shrugged. "It's a free country."
"Not for you it isn't!"
"Aw, quit kvetching. I thought you'd be glad to see me."
The man seemed vaguely amused and completely unmoved by her agitation, which only served to aggravate his daughter more.
"I would be. In another life the thought of being here with you would've made so happy I could die all over again. But in this life you abandoned me. You stole my boyfriend's car and you abandoned me."
He heaved a sigh, his spirits apparently dampened. "I was always gonna come back, Button. And in my defense, I left his car in a junkyard. I figured the cops would find it eventually."
"Oh, don't pretend you don't know we couldn't report the car stolen. Not if it meant they might find you too."
"...good thinking," he remarked with infuriating calmness.
Chuck huffed and crossed her arms. She wanted to go back to the jazz club, to its warmth and light, to her family and friends. But she did not want to leave her father alone in a dark alley. She worried about him, despite herself. His appearance would attract the wrong kind of attention eventually, and his 'burn victim' explanation could only go so far…
"How did you even get here? Your passport expired about twenty years ago."
"We Blue Berets have our ways."
"What you have is a lot of explaining to do."
He nodded. "All in good time."
She believed him, but... "Now is definitely not a good time. I need to tell Lily and Vivian the truth. And no matter how hard I try to cover them in balm and bandages it's still going to hurt."
"Well, I'm sorry you're stuck in the middle of it, Charlotte. But I'm not sorry about where we are now. I get to be the undead dad of the only alive again girl on Earth."
Chuck would have found this rather sweet, were it not for his antagonism towards the person who had given them this chance. "It's all thanks to Ned."
"Yeah. Thanks to Deadly Nedly." He pressed on before she could protest the pesky nickname. "And now we get to have all the adventures we always imagined. Come on, Button, this was our dream! It's happening under some nightmarish circumstances but...we're living the dream."
For a moment, the girl named Chuck allowed her mind to travel back in time. To days when her father would distract her from some illness or heartbreak by regaling her with tales of world travel. Now, Charles Charles reached out to give her shoulders a gentle squeeze, pulling her back to the present.
Chuck felt her heart start to smile, and before she could suppress it her face followed suit.
XXX
"So you're not even a little bit interested in finding the undead guy who killed you."
"Oh, I am very interested. Dwight Dixon is the Moby Dick to my Captain Ahab." Treadwell got to his feet and strolled over to stand before the Pie Maker. He began to unbutton his shirt and it took Ned a rather uncomfortable moment to realize what he was about to see…
A gaping bullet hole, perfectly preserved in his chest. "Dixon gave me this to remember him by. I plan to thank him in kind. As soon as I'm done with you."
Feeling queasy, Ned looked down at his knees, glad only for the fact that the undead doctor did not seem to know the truth about Digby. Or the girl named Chuck…
"You look a little peaky, boy. Would you like a glass of water? Something to eat?"
Ned looked up incredulously and found that Treadwell seemed to be dead serious.
"Food and water before you…what, experiment on me?"
His abductor huffed scornfully. "I'm not going to experiment on you."
"…then what are you gonna do?"
"I'm going to sell you to people that will experiment on you."
The Pie Maker felt his chest tighten under the weight of what was happening. He once told Chuck about a dream that had plagued him all his life. A dream in which someone found out what he could do. It started with ice cream and balloons; it ended in a little white room…
If Treadwell's plan came to fruition there would be no deceptive treats. Just the little white room, and strangers standing over him with sterile tools…
"Chin up, soldier," said Treadwell. "You could end up with a cabal of billionaires that'll use you as their in-house Jesus."
"What…what are you talking about?"
"But I won't make any promises," the doctor went on, as if Ned had not spoken. "It all depends on how my little global bidding war turns out."
"Global…?" His own voice sounded far from him now, and hollow as an echo.
"Any buyer in this country would be too close for comfort. I'm under the radar, but I can't guarantee that Uncle Sam won't find and kill me to get to you. You are…quite the asset. Once you could only end one life by proxy. Now a dozen, maybe more. If they put you in the right place at the right time with the right body, perhaps that of an infant…it would be like pulling the pin on a human hand grenade. Only less messy."
Treadwell had remained quite calm throughout their conversation, while Ned alternated between horrified and nauseous, furious and afraid.
For the first time in a long time he felt true fear take hold of him. It was a choking, blinding feeling…like drowning, he imagined. Or like having a smiley face plastic bag pulled over your head. But he would not die. He would be poked, prodded, possibly dismembered…used to kill but never allowed to die…
And he would never see Chuck again. Or Olive or Emerson or Digby. Would they know what happened to him? Would he want them to know?
"I won't do it." His mind raced ahead of him now, scrambling for a way out. A way that went beyond the door…
They could not make him do it. If they took him anywhere he would yell that he had a bomb. He would run at anyone who had a gun.
"You will." Treadwell sounded so certain that it made Ned's mind skid to a halt. "You will cooperate, or else everyone you love will die. Your friends, your family, and your little dog too. And just so you know, my people can dispose of yours so thoroughly that you will never be able to bring them back."
The Pie Maker did not realize he had been holding his breath until the lightheadedness kicked in. He exhaled, slumping as if his bones were disintegrating. The facts, so far, were these: he had run out of options.
"What happened to 'do no harm'?" Ned muttered after a long stretch of silence.
Treadwell checked his watch and remarked: "I had my fingers crossed when I got to that part of the oath."
Dimly, from the depths of his despondency, there came the realization that Ned had not yet asked who was responsible for bringing this man back to life…
Treadwell spoke before he could: "You might want to reconsider that food and water offer. It'll be a long wait while my colleagues and I put a deal together. Which will only happen after I convince them to come out here. They might be a little reluctant…I've been wrong before…"
He picked up the phone, eyes never leaving the Pie Maker as he put the receiver to his ear and-
And then his head burst open.
Ned lurched back with a startled cry and began to fall, still tightly bound to the chair.
He hit the ground hard, winded but relatively unharmed, and tried to get a glimpse of the former doctor. Treadwell lay face down on the ground, with blood spreading out from him like cherry syrup. Someone else was moving around the room now, steady footsteps approaching the body, then the Pie Maker…
"Emerson?!"
"Not quite."
Ned could only stare up at the ceiling, struggling desperately against his restraints.
"Stop squirming," the man muttered as he flicked open a pocket knife.
Ned yelled, squirming harder than ever.
But within seconds the cable ties had been cut from his ankles. The Pie Maker froze for a moment and before he knew it his hands were free as well.
"Get up, kid."
Ned stumbled to his feet, limbs stiff and mind numb with shock. He knew that voice…
And that face. It was older, with hawk-like features less handsome than he remembered. A little craggy, but still unmistakably…
"Dad?"
XXX
Emerson Cod would never understand the 24 hours requirement. You could snuff out a dozen missing persons in that time, and still have a few hours left over to bury the bodies. Not that the Pie Maker was dead. Not that he was even missing. No. He just disappeared in the middle of the night while taking his dog for a walk. No cause for alarm…
At least, that was what Emerson kept telling himself…
"So we've checked every bar, video store and gas station open at this hour. No Doughboy in sight."
"Can we finally admit something bad might have happened to him?" Olive mumbled.
"I was gettin' to that. If this is a kidnapping case, then our primary suspects are a couple of undead military men."
Olive reached for Digby, who lay at her feet with Pigby. "Even when we narrow it down to those two, we still have no idea where they are or what they want with him."
"Well, I'm guessin' they're interested in his uh…unique skill set."
"…so…he could be getting shipped off to some military base for all we know." Olive slumped as she looked around the Pie Hole, eyes welling with tears. "What are we gonna tell Chuck?"
"Nothin'. Not until we know somethin' for sure."
At that moment Digby sat up, ears twitching. Then, with an abrupt burst of movement, he tore off towards the door, Pigby at his heels. Emerson had barely allowed himself to hope before Ned shuffled in, looking even worse than when he first found out about the Poppy Temple People.
His hair was coated in dirt, and dark shadows had formed under his eyes. His t-shirt was stained with what the PI recognized as dried blood…
But Olive either didn't notice or didn't care as she barreled forward to embrace him, holding on with the fierceness of a boa constrictor.
"What happened to you?!"
The Pie Maker's arms hung limply as he stared down at her, then up at Cod.
"I was helping my dad dump a body. You know. Typical father-son bonding stuff."
Olive released him and looked to Emerson, who could only think of one thing to say…
"I'll get the scotch."
A/N: I know the show cast George Hamilton to play present Ned's dad, but as I write I just imagine him as an aging Jon Eric Price (flashback Ned's dad). Or maybe an older, grayer John Cusack. Or like a William Fichtner…
Your mileage may vary