Sins of the Past
"Maybe all the schemes of the devil were nothing compared to what man could think up." -Joe Hill.
Chapter Seven – The Hard Way
Location: Unknown.
Date: May 3rd.
Time: Unknown.
Sleep was a cruel mistress.
Yesterday (at least she believed it to be yesterday, it wasn't as if she could tell anymore) she had the bittersweet comfort of passing out due to the pain, even if it was only momentarily. Today, however, the deep, intense throbbing kept her body in what felt like near-constant spasms and refused even the remote chance of solace. Her ribs were broken, as were the fingers on her right hand, and the pressure building up in her head, as well as the intense bouts of vomiting, lead her to believe she had a concussion as well, so she was in fighting trim as they say.
He hadn't bothered with feeding her since he last left her room, not that it really mattered to her. It was doubtful that she could even force herself to sit up, let alone attempt to sip cold soup in her condition. Mostly, she laid in the fetal position, her mind clinging to any bit of sanity she could find, but finding very little of it. She was going to die here, that much was certain.
No, she couldn't think like that.
Laney was out there somewhere, waiting for her to come home.
Somehow, she knew Laney had found her way to Race; she felt it in the pit of her bruised and empty stomach. She had always dreamt of the day they would meet; when she could tell Race that she was still alive, it just never went like this in her head. Instead, it is in the worst of ways and at the end of the day, she only had herself to blame.
She never should have trusted Fritz.
Fritz was always nothing more than a weasel, looking out for his own hide and nothing else. A wiry, grating fellow, he had just enough charisma to get in good with big players, much like the slimy kid that stands next to the school bully and laughs. He thought he was a bigger deal then he ever truly was and that was his downfall, and hers. When the truth about Neit came to light, he saw an opportunity to jump ship and swam all the way to Niall Riordan, who promised him a place at the table instead of hiding underneath and feasting on scraps. What neither brother knew, however, was that he had found a better table. Interpol gave up a lot bringing him in after already planting Charlie into the mix. While the later got in deep with the older brother, seducing her way into the business, Fritz handled the younger brother, becoming his hype man to turn the two even more against each other. Fritz answered right to Chisholm and his contributions only came to light after all was said and done. Even Charlie herself was in the dark about Fritz, just as he was about her until just before the end, as to not jeopardize either of them. It was almost perfect. But, Fritz had another skill that came in handy down the road.
Fritz, despite never truly being the sharpest tack, had a knack for counterfeiting.
It was Fritz that gave life to Kennedy Powell, the British mother-to-be from Cornwall, England without ever knowing whom would fill her shoes. For just over four years she lived the life of Kennedy; daughter of the late Victor and Gemma Powell and graduate of Middlesex University London with a degree in social work. It was Kennedy that gave birth to Delaney Kate Powell, not Charlie McCall. It was Kennedy that lost sleep as every new tooth came in and kissed away her boo boos, never once was it Charlie. Charlie was dead, dead and gone, leaving Kennedy to live the life she deserved.
Until she couldn't.
Ronan O'Connell was nothing more than a messenger boy for Neit with a wandering eye; a degenerate that used his connects to do as he pleased. He was barely allowed to know that Cillian Riordan existed, let alone get a good look at the dark-haired beauty that hung around his waist. Of course, that didn't stop him from taking all of the mental pictures he could, especially of the little tattoo of a harp above her right breast that was only halfway covered by her tank top. It was an image he never let go of, even after he learned of her death. So why did he see it four years later, on a badly dyed blonde woman in a laundromat on Crawford Street in London? And, more importantly, who was the pigtailed little girl running around her and hiding under skirt?
For just a moment, their eyes met and the look of fear in her eyes said everything. Maggie Sullivan was alive and living in London of all places, with a little freckled-faced lass. The legend of her being caught in the crossfire of Interpol hit the rounds a few times over, an innocent party falling at the hands of the enemy made for an excellent rallying cry, but it was all a lie. It was like seeing a ghost, a ghost that was soon pleading with him to keep her resurrection to himself.
But this information was worth more than anything Maggie was willing to give him.
She almost felt bad about calling in that favor to Chisholm. Ronan was nothing more than a two-bit thug, someone that embellished things to make him seem bigger and more in charge that he actually was. There was little chance that he would even be believed, but if there was even a minute chance, for the sake of her daughter, he had to be taken care of.
He was found in the Thames, seemingly the victim of mouthing off to the wrong bloke.
She took this as a sign to get out of dodge, moving them down to a small suburb of Jacksonville, Florida and just like that, Maggie Sullivan was dead again. From then on, it was just her and Laney, moving up the coast, opting for bigger places and a different boarding school, places where she could easily blend in and her daughter was secure, a new identity every time, a new set of lies to remember. At first, it was easy for Laney, she believed it was one big game of pretend, but after awhile, she felt the sting of rejection from already established friend groups and the loss of the few friends she was actually able to make.
Galen Hall Private Academy was almost paradise for Delaney Gillian, despite the hell she chose to raise there. For almost two years she felt at home, forging actual relationships instead of forgotten faces; memories that weren't just passing fancies. That was, until the ripples started to come from across the pond.
Sightings of Neit started small; a flash in a crowd, gossip from less than trusted sources. Some as close as Eastern Europe, others from the streets of Moscow, but never in the States. Then, as frequently as the whispers came, silence fell…
...until it was too late.
He didn't come himself, of course. Not at first. A death here, a disappearance there. It wasn't long before Charlie caught wind of what was going on and by that point, Chisholm wasn't answering her calls. Without a second thought, she turned to the only person she thought she could trust with her life and the life of her daughter – and it backfired in the worst way.
She trusted Fritz.
At least his death had been quick, which is more than he deserved. Rats like him should be drowned, not left out on display like a trophy. Instead, he was made a martyr; a reminder of the reach Neit had, a prop. He sold his story to the wrong person, or more like her story, once he realized the hand he had in it and sealed his fate. A bullet tore through his head as he wished he was back home in Oregon, living the anonymous life.
The door slammed open, almost coming off its hinges and jarring her back to the present. Once again, the light blinded her as the two large men that brought her to her prison entered once again, carrying another person with them. Without a word they threw them into the opposite corner where they crumbled like a discarded doll, still as death.
"Our daughter is with Bannon."
His voice hit her before his fist did, catching her off guard as the pain radiated through her jaw. Her eyes adjusted just in time for him to grab her by her hair and pull her just an inch or two from his mouth, the pain continuing as he bit into her lip. Her screams escaped, only to be swallowed up by him.
"You thought she would be safe with him, didn't you?" he asked, already knowing the answer to his inquiry. "Think he could do the job when he couldn't even save you from me? You think his little Quest Team can keep her away from me?" She cried out as he gripped her up by her collar and dragged her over to the body that was tossed so roughly aside, before slamming her into it. "Peter Donovan thought he could help and we took him out without breaking a sweat."
Tears peppered her eyes as what she could only assume was blood smeared against her left arm. Peter Donovan, a man that was known for his love of liquor that rivaled only his love for his family, was supposedly dead at her feet, another casualty in a war she thought she had won all those years ago. How many more needed to die before he was through with her?
"What...what do you want, huh?" she somehow managed to choke out, between the tears and pain. "You want me again, you can have me. I won't leave this time...just leave Delaney alone. She's innocent-"
Another punch, this time to her gut. "She's my daughter! My blood, Charlie! I want her, I want the years you took from me in that hellhole in Russia!"
"Never...I never…"
He stopped hitting her long enough for her to spit it out.
"Never said she was yours."
Jessie was jealous.
Envy wasn't something she was used to, sans the times she found Jonny leering at the prettier girls in school, the same girls that looked down on her more muscular body as they changed after gym class. Still, she let their sneers and hard stares roll right off of her back because she knows her worth. But seeing this girl, the same one that brought an end to the calm she fought so hard to have currently in her life, wrapping her arms around her father was more than she could handle. It was hard enough watching her dad fawn all over Jonny, knowing that he was the son Race always wished he had, but this stung just a little more for some reason. The logical part of her brain knew it wasn't the girl's fault anymore than it was any other time Team Quest found themselves in danger, but this time it just felt too personal.
Charlie McCall was close to her father, that much was certain, but it seemed to be a bit more than that. Their friendship blossomed as her parents marriage dissolved and her mind flooded with the bitter words and smashed plates that she thought she buried deep inside her. While what she remembered of that time of her life was limited, it was mostly moments of extreme resentment and harsh statements; things she never wanted to feel or experience again. And yet, she now found herself drowning in it.
"Jessie, are you ok?" her voice was tiny, much like the girl was. "You seem sad…"
"I'm fine," she lied, sighing as she did. God, now she was invading her feelings, too. "Let me see what I have that will fit you."
She pulled out a box of clothes she once set aside for donation and promptly forgot about, only to find her old pink romper on top. She found herself chucking to herself as she quickly tossed it aside, confusing poor Laney in the process. Whomever told her that was a good look once seriously had zero taste.
"Sorry, I can't subject you to that crime against fashion," she chortled. "I'm sure I have something better down here."
In silence, the two continued their way through the box, ignoring the growing mess around them. Together, they found a few leggings and some oversized sweaters to at least tide her over until something better could be found while Bandit ran circles around them, seeming to bark his thoughts at the different clothes. For a brief moment, they had forgotten the heaviness built up around them.
Until a lopsided smile stared up at them from the bottom of the box.
Her Charlie doll...
"I have almost the same doll!" Laney exclaimed, bolting out of the door with Bandit nipping at her heels. Jessie pulled the long-forgotten gift from her father all those years ago out from the bottom of the box just as the younger girl burst back into the room, brandishing her own version of the doll, complete with the same dress, only in orange and with dark brown hair. "Like twins! That's kinda creepy!"
A flip switched in Jessie as the pieces that she tried so hard to keep at bay came together. "Your mother got it for me...didn't she?"
The silence between them became heavy and tangible, swirling between them as if waiting to see which one would crack first. Laney, already feeling line an intruder on their lives, felt like even more of an outsider as Jessie stormed off, leaving her alone amongst a pile of old clothes and a just as confused dog. All she could do was sigh to herself and bring the doll to her chest.
"You messed up again, Laney," she muttered to no one in particular, yet right on cue, Bandit looked up at her and yipped, as if he understood her.
Before Jessie had a chance to confront her father, she found that they were no longer alone in the house. Standing in the living room speaking in harsh, but hushed tones was one man she recognized and one she didn't. James Baxter had barely aged since the last time she saw him almost ten years ago; same dark brown, almost black buzz cut, same emotionless dark eyes, the only thing that was new was the thick beard that covered the large scar that graced his right cheek down to his pointed chin. A slight smile formed as he nodded at her, acknowledging her presence.
"—they took his body already, Bannon!" the smaller, unknown man exclaimed, his voice betraying his sober exterior. "He is collecting debts and Donovan wasn't even a big player in this like you were. He has to know about the kid and it won't be long before he figures out she's here. We can hide her while you find Chisholm and get to the bottom of this. Donovan was convinced he was the center of all of this."
"You're not taking her," Race was cold and short, much to the surprise of everyone in the room, especially his daughter.
"You don't understand-"
Race cut him off, his voice never wavering. "No, you don't understand. Baxter I know, we go back to my Navy SEAL days, but you...all I know is that you are as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Donovan might have trusted you, but you aren't there with me just yet. We will protect that little girl until we can get her back in Charlie's arms. Now, unless you are going to help with that, I'd advise you to go back the way you came."
Baxter, rather amused at the whole situation, finally spoke up. "Now that we've established that the girl is now an unofficial member of Team Quest, can we get into the business of saving the life of one of our own?" He opened the briefcase that seemed dwarfed in his large hands. "John Chisholm was behind the cover up of what really went down at Neit's County Clare compound."
He handed a large stack of papers to Race before taking a seat on the couch before continuing. "Charlie went to him after discovering she was pregnant with we are assuming is the child of Riordan, wanting out before something happened to the both of them. A small team, all loyal to Chisholm, was tasked with taking him down, while making it seem that Charlie, posing as Maggie Sullivan, was killed in the ambush. Instead, she was taken from the ambulance she was loaded into straight to a small ferry with a new identity provided by Jackie Boy 'Fritz' Fitzgerald. Soon after, Chisholm went missing, assumed dead at the hands of Niall Riordan. Now, at some point, word got to Neit himself that not only was 'Maggie' still alive, but that she was actually part of the team that brought him down. We still have no idea when and how Niall switched places with his brother, but now we can only speculate that Chisholm, or someone close to him, helped him along the way."
"Why Chisholm?" Race asked as he skimmed through the documents. "He wanted Neit as badly as we did AND he got Charlie out of fire, so to speak. Just because he disappeared doesn't mean he was fraternizing with the enemy."
"That's what we thought at first too," the smaller man pipped up, handing Race a file of his own. "It was easy for him to suddenly turn up missing, as he was the face of the whole operation. But he was the only one, outside of Fritz, that knew Charlie made it to the United States. She had no reason to leave Europe, especially the United Kingdom. Chisholm had better contacts here, keeping her dependent on him until the timing was perfect."
"Something just ain't adding up," Race countered, shaking his head. "There isn't a shadow of a doubt that Fritz sold Charlie out the moment he realized she was still alive and he thought it would save his life, but this just seems too easy to pin the rest of it on Chisholm."
"If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck," the smaller man scoffed, showing a set of balls he didn't have a chance in hell of backing up. "Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one."
Now it was Race's turn to get snippy. "And sometimes that duck is framed for being crow. Like I said, Schmidt, until we can find actual evidence that he's behind this, we need to treat him as if he's in the same boat as Charlie."
Jonny could feel the air in the house grow thicker with each voice raised. This was the rush he usually lived for; to him, there was nothing like flying by the seat of his pants and laughing in the face of danger. It was the closest thing he got to being a real-life superhero, fighting crime, saving the day and getting the girl in the end; it was all he ever wanted out of life. But this time, it was different. While he noticed more and more that Jessie was shrinking back from that side of her, he wasn't blind, he found himself wanting it more, like he was nothing more than an addict. Sitting still, waiting for the fight to come to them was never his style. He needed some action, he needed the wind in his hair…
...he needed a partner in crime.
"Hey Ace, I-"
A muffled cry catches his ear, stopping him in his tracks. Instead of the usually tidy abode of one Jessica Bannon, he found piles of clothes he hadn't seen in ages and the tears-stained face of a girl he barely knew. She quickly wiped them away, hiding the shame of being caught in such an emotion state as she got to her feet and stammered out something barely audible, before grabbing a doll off the floor in front of her and attempting to push past Jonny. For a moment he froze, taking in the peculiar scene he had just witnessed, before gently grabbing her arm and stopping her in her tracks.
"Laney, what's-" he barely had a chance to croak out the question, before she pulled away from him. "Hey!"
"I never should have came," she snapped, continuing down the hall. "All I'm doing is ruining your lives and getting people killed. For all I know, my mom is gone and this Riordan guy is coming for me next, I might as well make it easier for him. I'm outta here."
He quickly found his voice again as he stormed ahead of her, putting an end to her attempts to flee. "And let Donovan's death be in vain?"
"So you think it's my fault, too?" her voice wavered as her eyes threatened to fill once again. "I never asked for this, for any of this! I haven't spent more than a year or two in one place, having to learn a new name for my mom, a new backstory, getting thrown into yet another boarding school because it will supposedly keep me safe...it's exhausting. Constantly running, constantly looking over my shoulder, all because my mom did some questionable things while undercover. She made him fall in love with her, Jonny! And now he wants to make her suffer and I'm next and you're all in danger as long as I stay."
"You think we don't know danger?" Jonny couldn't help but grin. "Kid, you have no idea who you've got on your side. Race, my dad, Jessie, and me...we're magnets for danger and if anyone is going to find your mom, it will be us, trust me. Your mom trusted Race with your life, she wouldn't have sent you this way if she felt differently. Let us protect you."
He let himself breathe as he watched her finally calm down, loosening up for the first time since she showed up at their front gate.
"Now, do you want to have a little fun while on house arrest?" his blue eyes sparkled with mischief, barely waiting for her to respond. "How good are you on that skateboard of yours?"
Now it was her time to smile. "More than good, what about it?"
"Let me show you our hoverboards."
A/N: Wow...I never thought I would get through this chapter. So much has happened in the few months since I last updated SotP and yet, it feels like I've lived a whole lifetime of crap. Originally, I wanted to just make it through the holidays before I went back at this chapter, but I wrote and rewrote it so many times I lost count. Then, my amazing mother lost her fight with cancer and, well, I didn't expect to come back to this. Now, I'm kinda using that pain to fuel myself to finish this. I've been working on this story for years, longer than it has been posted, and I am not leaving it go again. Even if it takes me a lifetime, I WILL get this finished.
For mom.