CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Happy slammed on the brakes, bringing her truck to a whip-lashing inducing stop. Toby grabbed the back of his neck as he glanced through the dusty windshield, the headlights shining on yet another unmarked intersection.
"Give me the phone," she snapped as she thrust her hand into his chest.
"We lost a signal about twenty minutes ago," Sly stated, a slight tremble in his voice.
"So you have no idea where we are?" she asked, glancing over the seat to glare at the younger genius who shook his head.
"God dammit!" The mechanic slammed her fists on the steering wheel. "We've driven miles out into the middle of fucking nowhere." She turned to glower at Toby. "Why didn't you write down the fucking address?"
"I figured the Sly Dog would have it memorized," the shrink answered as he turned around to stare at the human calculator. "Why don't you have it memorized?" he asked accusingly.
"Because I never saw the actual address," replied Sly, his voice now an octave higher. "I can't recall what I didn't see."
"Fine time to let us know that pertinent piece of information," Toby snapped.
"Get off his ass," Happy snarled.
"You were the one who jumped on it first."
"Well, my foot is going to tap dance all over yours if you don't shut the hell up and let me think."
"Guys, stop fighting."
Toby and Happy both swivelled in their seats to see Sylvester with his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed tight. "Oh, great, now you've upset the kid," the behaviorist huffed.
"I upset him?" the mechanic said with an expression he'd learned meant someone was about to get punched. And that someone was usually him.
"Guys," Sly squeaked anxiously.
Toby leaned back in his seat and drew in a deep breath. "I know we're all worried about Paige and baby Waige, but this squabbling is getting us nowhere fast." He slowly extended his hand, letting it hover over Happy's thigh. When she didn't slap it away, he lowered it before giving her a pat. Not wanting to press his luck, he pulled his hand away and peeked at his watch. "Okay. It's eight forty-four. We should regroup and retrace our steps, so to speak."
"Good idea," Sylvester chimed in from the back. "If we could locate some cell service or better yet, a wi-fi signal. . ."
"Okay." Happy tromped on the accelerator and whipped the truck around in a perfectly executed u-turn.
"Oh, God, I think I'm going to throw up," announced Sly as the back end of the pickup fishtailed before the mechanic straightened it out.
"Just hang in there, Big Guy," Toby said encouragingly even though he was feeling slightly dizzy himself. "We'll be back on track in no time."
A statement he didn't know if he believed himself as they hurtled through the darkness.
ooooo
The smell of manure and moldy hay assaulted Walter's nose, dredging up memories of his childhood on the farm in Ireland. Neither the smell nor the memories were pleasant. Nausea roiled his stomach and he didn't know if it was from the barnyard odors or the foul taste lingering in his mouth.
A faint moan captured his attention. He opened his eyes, a mistake as dizziness swamped over him and his gut twisted once more. Tamping down the urge to vomit, he heard someone speak from what sounded like a great distance. A unfamiliar voice with an accent which was answered by a voice he'd recognize anywhere. Paige.
He couldn't make out her words but that fact became secondary as she gasped in pain. Another person spoke, another voice he instantly identified. Shaking off his disorientation, he ignored his own discomfort as he struggled to sit upright, only to realize his hands were bound behind his back and his ankles were tied together.
"Collins!" Walter flopped back down on the wooden floor as he lost what little balance he'd gained.
"Walter!" Paige's cry reignited his exertions. "Oh, God, is that you? Walter!"
"Paige!" he shouted. "Paige, are you okay?"
Her reply was drowned out as footsteps coming in his direction grew louder. Looking up, the blurry image of Mark Collins became clearer as he came nearer. The other man stopped about a foot away from Walter's head and he had to strain his neck to get a glimpse of his former friend's face.
"Why is she in pain?" he demanded. "What have you done to her?"
"Greetings to you, too, Walter." Listening to Collins' sing-song cadence made his skin crawl as he knew all too well how Mark used it to prey on his victims, allowing him into their minds to exploit their weaknesses.
"Why is she is pain?" he reiterated as the other man hadn't answered his questions. "If you've hurt her, I will. . ."
"You'll wallow there on the barn floor," Mark taunted, a smirk twisting his lips.
Walter knew he was playing right into the other man's hands. But he didn't care. Paige needed his help. "Dammit, let . .let me up."
"All in due time, Walter." Collins took a step closer. "All in due time. You didn't follow the instructions, Walter. You weren't supposed to find us. At least not until it no longer mattered."
"Stop talking in riddles." Walter's tiny sliver of patience was dissipating rapidly, annoyance overriding his wariness of upsetting his former friend, "and let me help Paige."
"I didn't want to do this," Mark declared as if Walter hadn't spoken. "But you gave me no choice. This is all your own fault, Walter."
"And how is this my fault?"
"You didn't come to my competency hearing,"
"What?" Incredulity swept Walter from head to toe. "This is about a competency hearing?"
"You said you'd be there," Mark said petulantly.
Walter searched his memory and recalled the dates involved. "I couldn't have been there even if I had remembered. I was in the hospital. I'd been shot."
"Oh." Collins seemed taken aback for a moment. "You could have arranged something. A written statement, a conference call. . . You promised to testify on my behalf," he challenged, his displeasure Walter's life-threatening injuries had upset his plans plain in his tone. "I held up my end of the bargain we made."
Walter let out a bitter laugh as he thought about the futile visit he and Paige had made months earlier. "No you didn't."
"Yes, I did. I told you what I knew about the pictures, which was nothing. It's not my fault you asked the wrong questions." Collins shrugged as Paige groaned again.
"You should be glad I missed the hearing, Mark," he declared, his frustration mounting. "You wouldn't have liked what I would have told them." He would have told the panel Collins was unhealthily obsessed with him and a threat not only to him, but to everyone he loved and that the former team member needed to stay locked up for the rest of his life.
Mark glared down at him. "What does that mean?"
"I think you know." Walter stared back with a defiance belied by the terror churning in his gut.
"I thought I could count on you, Walter. I thought you were my friend."
"You haven't been my friend for a long time. . .if you ever were." Friends didn't try to manipulate you into doing things you didn't want to do. Friends didn't try to control your every move, or act as though you were their possession, or try to keep you from your friends and family. Friends didn't threaten to kill you.
"See, comments like that are why I'm doing this."
"Doing what exactly, Mark?" he asked angrily as Paige let out another loud moan. "I know whatever it is it's to hurt me. So hurt me and let her go. She's done nothing to you."
"Yes, she has," Collins replied. "She took my place on the team. In your life. So I'm going to hurt you both by taking your son. I'm going to mold him into my ideal of the perfect genius, into someone who isn't afraid to use his intellect to achieve his full potential."
Oh, shit. Horror shuddered through him, his gut heaving at the thought of Collins turning their child into a heartless psychopathic monster.
Mark continued to talk, the words breaking through Walter's disbelief. "My plan was to have a Caesarean section performed on her. . ."
Walter wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"
". . .a misnomer as there is no evidence the procedure was used for any of the Caesars. . . But I digress. Your little slut was obliging enough to go into labor on her own," Collins said as he glanced over his shoulder toward the other end of the barn.
"Dammit, she's not due for another three weeks." Odds were the baby would be fine but there was still a risk he'd be physiologically immature and need medical intervention to survive. Being born in such a filthy environment would undoubtedly increase that risk, not to mention being detrimental to Paige's health as well.
Collins shook his head. "I couldn't wait that long. It's your fault this is happening now."
"So you were listening in on us," Walter stated matter-of-factly.
"Of course, I was." Mark moved nearer to where Walter was still lying on the floor, the toes of his shoes less than a centimeter away from Walter's torso.
"And that's why you kidnapped the nurse's aide, isn't it? To perform the operation?"
Collins' eyes flared for a fraction of second, long enough to tell Walter his statement had surprised the other man. "Yes, the nurse's aide from the institution where you so unceremoniously dumped me. She was a midwife in Guatemala, but I suspect you already know that."
Walter nodded. "And you threatened to turn in her family members into Immigration unless she helped you, right?"
"That's right." Mark chuckled before adding, "I heard you've had your own problems with the INS. Too bad you didn't get deported. It would have made my plan so much easier."
"There's a flaw in your plan," Walter said as an idea struck his still reeling brain.
"And what would that be?" Collins sneered.
"What if. . . What if baby's not a genius?" Walter said, hoping to point out the impracticality of expecting an infant to show signs of brilliance at birth.
"Oh, don't worry, I have fully considered that possibility. I'm going to tell him that his real parents didn't want him either as I drop him off at the nearest Children's Services office. Let him bounce around from foster home to foster home. It worked out so well for Happy."
The edges of his vision began to dim and it became hard to breath. The thought of their son, lost to them forever. . . "Does. . . Did you. . ." Tamping down his nausea, he gulped, "Does Paige know? What you're plan. . .planning to do?"
"Not yet," Collins said as an evil grin spread over his face and he chuckled.
"What's so funny?" Whatever it was, he doubted he would find it amusing.
"That the waitress and her dumb jock boyfriend whose combined IQ's are less than Toby's, made a genius child, but you with your 197 IQ, fourth highest ever recorded, smarter than Einstein. . ." What sounded like a giggle escaped the other man's lips. "Your child could be a drooling idiot, with an IQ barely above room temperature. That would just kill you, wouldn't it?"
"No," Walter replied, hating he had worried about that exact same thing. "He's still my child and I would love him."
"Love," scoffed Collins. "It's ruined you. Love has made you weak."
Walter unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smile as he recalled when he had been as contemptuous. "I used to be like you, used to believe love was the weakest of human emotions. But I-I was wrong. It's the most powerful emotion of all. Love is what binds everything together. It's made me a better human being. And I'm sorry you've never experienced it the way I have."
"So because no one ever loved poor Mark, you think I'm an object to be pitied?" One of Collins' feet moved backward and Walter braced himself for a kick in the ribs which thankfully never came. "I don't want or need your sanctimonious sympathy." He looked over his shoulder again. "You think what you experienced with her was love? It was nothing more than carnal lust." He bit out a short laugh. "Your lapse is my gain."
This couldn't be happening. He couldn't let it happen. Paige would be devastated and she would never forgive him. . .and rightly so. "At least. . . At least let me be with her. . . Let me see him. . ." Walter pleaded. Her contractions were barely two minutes apart. He'd been mentally counting the seconds from the first moment he'd heard her cry out after he'd come to.
Collins gazed down on him contemplatively. "Oh, that would make your agony even more delicious, wouldn't it?" he drawled. "Fine. You can go be with your slut. Maybe you can get her to shut up."
"She's having a baby," Walter said indignantly.
"She doesn't have to make such a fuss about it," Mark sneered. "Just keep her quiet."
"Yes, okay, I'll do whatever you need me to do," he promised, a promise he had no intention of keeping. A plan was forming in his head, one which hinged on him being by Paige's side.
"No heroics," the other man cautioned, "or I drop the brat into the nearest dumpster."
"Of course not." Walter closed his eyes as Mark knelt down, a box cutter in his hand. The rope around his ankles slackened first, then his wrists. His hands and feet tingled as the blood rushed back into them. He maneuvered himself into a sitting position, rotating the stiffness out of his shoulders. How long had he been unconscious? Glancing down his arm, he noted his watch was missing and when he checked his pockets, so were his phone and keys. He spotted the watch and cell a few feet away, both smashed beyond repair.
"What time is it?" he asked as he unsteadily got to his feet. Pins and needles shot up his legs and he wobbled for a second.
Mark flicked his eyes to his own watch. "Eight forty-four."
So he'd been out for an hour and ten minutes. With a nod, Walter stumbled his way to the other end of the barn. "Paige," he said before tripping and colliding with a stall door. Getting up, he kept going until he reached the last stall. His legs gave out then and he fell onto his hands and knees.
She was lying on her back on an old dirty blanket which covered a layer of moldy hay. The midwife crouched beside her, her eyes wide with fear.
"Paige." He crawled toward her, reaching out and taking her hand. Her face was dripping with sweat, her features contorted with pain. Gently, he brushed her hair from her damp forehead. " I'm here now, love. Everything's going to be okay," he lied.
"Oh, God, Walter. . .Oh. . ." Her teeth clenched together as another contraction hit her. He winced as she tightly squeezed his hand but he didn't let go.
He was never going to let go. Mark Collins was not going to raise their son. Not if he had anything to say about it.