I know it's been a while, I'm sorry for not updated sooner and I hope some of you are still interested in this one. I haven't given up on it, I just ran into a dry spell. I hope you like, and please let me know what you think :)
As always, I do not own and make no money :)
Chapter 30: The Theif
Nicholas Peters punched Harris' number into his cell phone again. He'd already left four messages, but the federal agent wasn't answering. He paced back and forth across his study. The house was dark and quiet. As soon as he had the package he'd started making the calls. Harris had been expecting the call, he'd known the plan, hell it was his plan. He listened as Harris' voice told him once again to leave a message. He flipped the phone closed, frustrated, and turned to look at the paper bag sitting on his desk. A small tuft of blue showed through a hole in the side of the bag.
His original instructions had been to leave the papers in the house. Harris had been specific about where to stash them. Peters wasn't proud about setting the Mercers up, but what choice did he have? While he was in the house he was also to look for a stuffed animal. Harris had promised him the house would be empty, and he'd described the toy to him in great detail. He'd planted the papers and then started his search, but then Jeremiah Mercer had come in. He'd managed to duck out the back door for a short time, but it was so cold and he'd tried to watch the man inside. He had been surprised to see the stuffed animal Harris had described to him on the counter. He only had to get his hands on it to make Harris happy. If Harris was happy he had a chance of getting out from under the trouble he was facing. He was trying to figure out how to get Jeremiah Mercer out of the house when the man seen him through the window. He had managed to get around the corner of the house when Jeremiah came out and then he'd moved inside while Mercer made his way through the yard, searching. Snatching the stuffed toy off of the counter and ducking into the basement door had been easy, though his heart had been drumming hard and fast in his chest. He wasn't used to adrenaline, and he found that he liked the rush, but it all seemed like a lot to go through for an old stuffed animal.
He didn't understand how a child's toy could be so important, but arranging to get his hands on it in exchange for his problems disappearing had seemed easy enough. It was only a stuffed animal; he wasn't hurting anyone by stealing it, right? Now he just had to get it to Harris without anyone else finding out about it. That was supposed to be easy too but the damn fool wasn't answering his phone.
He had met with Harris several times since their first meeting at Tri-Centennial Park. He'd met with him at his hotel once, but Harris didn't seem very comfortable having him there. If the man was sleeping soundly in his room while he was trying to hold up his end of the bargain he was going to be pissed.
Peters drew in a deep breath and slid his cell phone into his pocket. If he couldn't get a hold of Harris on the phone, he would just see if he could catch him at his hotel. He grabbed the paper bag off of his desk and walked out of the study while digging his car keys out of his pants pocket.
Twenty minutes later Nicholas Peters walked up to the front desk of the hotel. He wasn't sure why the government would shell out the money for an agent to stay in such an expensive hotel, but he knew Harris didn't follow all of the rules, hell, he doubted if he followed any of the rules. He'd only met up with Harris once in the lobby, and they'd gone to a restaurant for breakfast where Harris had passed on the falsified documents that Peters had stashed in the Mercer house earlier that night.
The clerk that came up to the desk to help him looked confused when Peters asked that he ring Agent Harris' suite. The young man punched some buttons on the keyboard before giving Peters his full attention. "Sir, we do not have a guest by that name." He shook his head. "However I do recognize the name, Harris. The gentleman has been here numerous times for meetings with Mr. Nicholas."
Peters was surprised to hear the name. "Mr. Nicholas?" He repeated. He had heard his given name referenced as a surname in the past, it was fairly common actually, but for some reason to hear it at that moment, under the circumstances just sent a chill down his back. It had to be Harris, or at least a connection to Harris, he could feel it in his gut. Not that he was used to relying on his gut. He wasn't used to a lot of things, like breaking into people's houses and stealing stuffed rabbits, but he had managed to do that. "Can you call up to Mr. Nicholas then? Tell him Nick Peters is here to see him?" He didn't see any other choice but to follow through with this Nicholas person.
The clerk sighed and turned to the computer screen in front of him. He punched more buttons on the keyboard and studied the screen for a moment. "Mr. Nicholas left strict orders not to be disturbed any further this evening. His associates however, checked in just a short time ago. Perhaps you can relay any messages that way?" The man looked a bit frazzled, as if he'd had a rough night, or perhaps he was new. Maybe that was why he was breaking basic hotel protocol. The information he was giving out should never have been passed on. The young man could lose his job if it was discovered he'd even given out the name of a guest, or information about his business.
Peters' brain was still processing the information just as the man in front of him seemed to catch his own screw up. He had to act fast or he wouldn't get past the front desk. "I can do that, yes, what room are they in? I have a package I need to drop off." He spoke quickly and held the brown paper bag in his left hand up into view of the clerk, hoping the man wouldn't stop helping him.
"I can't give you a room number." The clerk shook his head quickly.
Peters drew in a deep breath and leaned forward across the counter. "Look, if you don't give me the room number, I'll raise all kinds of hell right here, and complain to your boss that you gave me the name and information about a guest. That wouldn't go over well, now would it?" He kept his voice quiet but imitated the threatening tone he'd heard Harris use. He looked into the young man's eyes and knew he was going to get the information with little resistance.
Craig stared at the television; he wasn't interested in the infomercial that was on, but he tried to watch it, it was better than letting himself think about where he was and what was happening. Some English guy was trying to tell him how his tiny appliance could slice, dice, chop and mix everything from fruit and nuts to meat and ice; and for some reason, filling the contraption with cement chunks was supposed to convince him that it was all true. Craig expected the thing to grow wings and fly around bombing the counter with cashews before it folded up and stored neatly away in a drawer somewhere. And it was pretty cheap really, only five easy payments of $29.95, but if you acted now, they would give a real deal and you would only have make four payments, and you would get a free set of kitchen knives, and a free travel bag. What he didn't understand was if the thing worked so well, why would you need knives, and what the hell did a travel bag have to do with the contraption they were trying to sell?
Every so often his mind tried to slip away into his memories of that day, that week, the last couple of months, the past few hours. He was trying to block it all out, but it was still there, screaming at him from the darkest crevices of his mind. It seemed the harder he struggled to concentrate on the images of the television, the less control he had over the heaviness that was settling in his chest.
The troubled feeling was creeping across his entire being. He tried not to identify the source that could stir the same emotions he'd felt when Evelyn Mercer had died; maybe not quite as strong, but still the same feeling of loss. It did no good to fight it. The crushing weight of the day's events seemed to crash down on him harder than ever and his brothers had left him to bear that weight alone.
He wanted to go home, and curl up in his bed with his blue bunny squeezed tightly to him. A childish yearning, one that he never could admit to anyone, but it was still there nonetheless; it would never happen though, the rabbit was gone. It was stolen. His brothers had told him they would have to cut the animal open, but he knew that they would show some care if they did. He trusted that they meant it when they said they would return his small toy to him with little signs of having been violated. Just a few short weeks earlier he never would have trusted their words so completely and that had to mean something, though at the moment he wasn't sure what.
Whoever had his toy now would show little respect to how it was returned to him; in fact he doubted he would ever see it again, and it was as if part of him had died with the loss. He didn't understand why it was so important to him, other than it had been the only thing from all those years with Adam Macks that he'd had control over.
He had been entrusted with the small plush toy by his mother. It had been his job to keep it safe, away from Adam Macks no matter what, and he'd managed to do that for a long time. He'd kept his little friend under his mattress, or wrapped up in his clothes, or any little secret hiding spot he could think of, including under loose floorboards or behind wall slats; whatever was most accessible to a small child under his father's watchful eye or with a foster family who didn't believe in letting small children be small children. He didn't know why, but it was important for him to hold onto it, no matter what, that's what his mother, his first mother had told him. If Adam Mack's had found his toy he would have taken it away. He would have been punished for keeping it a secret too, he'd known that, but he'd still done as his mother asked. He had known what kind of horrors his father could bring down on him, and still, he'd done what his mother had told him. Of course, to him, a small child, he'd only been protecting his toy, his only toy. He had no idea that all of that time his special rabbit had held a secret of its own.
He wasn't a small child anymore, and thinking back on it now, knowing what he knew, he wondered how his mother could have possibly put such a burden on him. He had only been four, maybe five years old. He'd been so small, and hadn't known what was being asked of him, not really. She had known what Adam would do to him if he'd found the stuffed animal. She had known what the man did to him on a daily basis. She had taken him with her every time she'd left his father, but they always ended up back with him. She had to know what her son was going through every night, no matter how hard she tried to hide from it in her drugs.
As his brain stirred the old memories around, the fears that had haunted him for most of his life seemed to rise inside. The infomercial was lost to him now that his brain had started toying with his fears. The sounds of the television were nothing but a low buzzing in the room, a background noise for every creak and groan from the floors and walls. Normal sounds that anyone could hear in any room in any building at any time of the day; sounds that usually went unnoticed, seemed to magnify in volume.
First it sounded like scratching at the window, but when he turned to look in that direction the noises seemed to shift and were then coming from the door, the very door that separated him from the hallway and any threat that might be on the other side. In the dim light from the lamp on the table, his eyes were able to join in on the game as well, and he was sure he could see the door handle moving, ever so slightly. He held his breath and tried to reason with the panic that was building up inside of him. He was tired, and he knew he was scared. He knew his imagination was trying to play tricks on him, but knowing it didn't make it any better. He knew the door used a keycard, not a normal key. He still saw the handle turn. He still heard a click of the latch. He still smelled the stale tobacco and whiskey that always hung around his father.
He squeezed his eyes closed and planted his hands over his ears. "He's dead." He muttered to himself but the actual words felt odd to him. There hadn't been time over the past few days for his mind to absorb the reality of everything that had happened. Adam Macks was always the fear that drove him and controlled what he thought and felt. The idea that the man was really dead didn't fit very well with what he was used to. How was he supposed to adapt to not looking over his shoulder, expecting his father to be there? He had never been able to imagine a world without Adam Macks, not even when the man was in jail and he was facing a new life in foster care. He always knew that Adam Macks would be back, he always came back somehow. There was a difference between his father being in jail and being dead, but it didn't feel different, it still seemed as if he could come walking though the door at any minute, and take complete control over everything. So even though he knew the man was dead, he still couldn't fathom the true meaning of it. All he knew for certain was how he felt in the moment, and at that moment his mind was screaming that Adam Macks was outside the door.
He repeated the words, "He's dead." But it didn't seem to help. He wanted to scream for Bobby, but he knew that wouldn't go over well. He'd only succeed in disturbing other people in the hotel and then Bobby would be pissed at him for drawing attention to them. He looked back at the television, but the picture on the screen was blurry. It was at that moment he realized he was fighting down tears.
He was sure he heard the handle on the door click again, and he flicked his eyes towards it. He swallowed hard. He drew in a deep breath and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sure that if he walked over to the door and pulled it open he would find the hall empty. He knew if he could see the empty hall that he would feel better. He had managed to stand up to Harris earlier that night, even though he'd been terrified of him, and if he could do that then something as simple as opening a door and checking the hall should be simple. He stood on the floor and stared at the door for a long moment, waiting to see if the handle moved, or if there was any more sounds that seemed threatening.
He didn't remember stepping across the carpet, but apparently he did because somehow he found himself standing directly in front of the door. He reached for the handle quickly before his nerve left him; he jerked the door open with such a force that it rocketed past him and smacked hard into the wall. He jumped backwards in the same moment, not sure what he was expecting to find outside the door.
Adam Macks was not there. No one was there except for a man and woman walking down the hall. The woman turned and looked him oddly, as if a kid jerking a door opened in the middle of the night was an abnormal thing to see. He felt a sigh release from deep inside of him and it was at that moment that he realized he'd been holding his breath. He reached for the door, to push it closed, but stopped.
What if someone had been there and they hid because they heard the couple walking towards them in the hall? Craig quickly hugged his arms to his stomach and watched the backs of the couple disappear at the other end of the hall before he stepped slowly though the threshold of the door. He looked towards the left and then the right. He stepped the few feet that separated him from the corner in the hall and peeked around it. There was no one else in sight. Another sigh escaped him, long and shaky. He turned to go back to the room and found himself staring at a man who blocked his way. His insides froze and he tried to find his voice; he wasn't sure what he would have said if he'd found it, but he tried to find it anyway, with no success.
His feet started moving backwards, away from the room. The man was staring at him in a way that Craig had seen before, a look of recognition and surprise. Craig didn't know him, but it was obvious the man knew him somehow. Craig took another step backwards, unsure of what he should do. Run or confront? He was used to running; it was something he did well. It was a survival reaction and it had been ingrained into his soul at some point.
He was about to turn and put all he had into an effort to escape when his eyes flicked towards the paper sack in the man's hand, and the blue clump of fur that was sticking through a hole in the brown paper. He felt his legs moving, but now they were propelling him forward, towards the familiar companion wrapped in his wrinkled brown paper. He didn't think about what he was doing. His arms moved on their own, with no guidance from his brain, his hands shot forward, snatching for the prize in front of him. There was no resistance from the man, no struggle to keep his hold on paper bag holding the stuffed animal.
"You son of a bitch," Craig pulled his rabbit free of the brown paper and hugged it to him. He felt tears stinging at his eyes and wasn't sure why.
"Craig Mercer?" The man's voice trembled.
Craig blinked quickly to clear his vision of the tears trying to well up there. He looked at the man. "Who know me?" He muttered.
The man was wearing a suit, tie and dress shoes. He wasn't anyone that Craig could remember meeting. He could have been a lawyer, or an accountant. He didn't have the mean look that usually told Craig a person was dangerous. He knew the mean look well, his father had always had it; He imagined Sweet had it, Jordan had it and Harris had it. It was the look that usually bit at Craig's gut, telling him to be afraid.
This stranger in front of him didn't have that look, but he looked scared. Craig wished his brothers would come around the corner at that moment.
The man drew in a deep breath. The fear that had been written across his face was changing now. Worry was replacing it. "Where are your brothers?" He asked quickly.
"Who are you?" Craig wasn't about to answer the man's question.
There was no answer to his question. The man reached out, aiming for the stuffed animal Craig hugged tight to him. "I'm sorry, but I have to have that back."
Craig jumped back a few steps. He wasn't about to let go of the only physical connection he had to the few happy memories of his life before Evelyn Mercer. He'd been sure after Jeremiah's experience at the house that he'd never see his little friend again. The material had been worn down to threads from so many nights of being hugged close to him. The stuffing was flattened in some spots from years of being squeezed so hard.
"I'm sorry, but it's important. I need that toy." The man moved to reach for him again.
Craig turned and ran. He didn't care for the moment how it looked for him to be running through the halls with a stuffed animal hugged tightly to him. He wasn't about to give it up to a stranger, a thief for certain. He ran around a corner in the hall and reached the elevator. He pushed on the 'down' button numerous times, though he knew repeatedly hitting it wouldn't speed up the car. He could hear the heavy beats of shoes on carpet behind him and instantly forgot the elevator. He wasn't going to have time to wait for it.
He started running again, reached the next corner and spied a metal door with a push bar running across its center. He used his body to shove his way through it and headed down the steps as quickly as he could. He heard the door click closed after him and glanced back up the steps to see if opened. The fact that the door had no handle or any way to open it from his side didn't register at that moment, but it didn't burst open under the stranger's weight either. Craig stopped on the landing below the door and held his breath. No movement, no sound. He could almost hear his breathing echoing off the cement walls.
Craig considered going back up the steps, but that was the moment he realized the door couldn't be opened from inside the stairwell. He drew in a deep breath and turned his attention down the steps. He would have to follow them down, probably to the first floor. He wondered if the door would empty out into the lobby or outside. It didn't matter, as long as the thief had lost track of him and apparently he had because he wasn't following him anymore. He could go to the front desk and tell them he locked himself out of his room. He couldn't remember what room he'd been in but surely the hotel clerk would recognize him from earlier; wouldn't he remember that he'd been with his brothers? No one could forget Bobby, that was a given.
His mind was rambling on at him as he made his way down the stairs. Every door he passed was like the one before, no hardware and no way to open up into the hallway on the other side. His feet were on automatic, not stopping until he reached the bottom landing. Once his feet stopped moving his mind stopped thinking. He stood in front of the last door and stared at the handle. Bright red letters had been painted on the door marking it as an emergency exit. The boy looked down at the toy in his hands and thought twice about stumbling out the door with the bunny hugged to him. He hadn't cared a minute earlier if anyone seen him with the stuffed animal, but now he had to consider the whole situation, He had to consider Winston, Harris, and the stranger who had showed up at the hotel door expecting to see someone else. He'd been too surprised to find Craig Mercer for him to have known he'd be there, and yet he did know him. No one could see the rabbit, no one could know he had it; there was no telling who was a friend and who was working for Winston.
His brain was in danger of taking off on a long thought process, and he had to give his head a quick shake to stop it. He lifted the shirt Jeremiah had given him to wear, and tucked the rabbit safely out of view before sucking in a deep breath, stepping up to the door and giving it a tug.
The alarm wasn't quite as loud as what had been filling the stairwell at St. Vincent's earlier that evening, but it still echoed off the cement walls. Craig felt panic hit his gut as he rushed out of the stairwell, pulling the door shut hard behind him. The alarm died almost instantly. He realized the alarm was on the door only. He looked around the lobby he'd been in a couple of hours earlier. He was surprised there was no one at the front desk, no people at all, anywhere. Of course, it was in the middle of the night, most people were sleeping. Most people, but not everyone, he was awake, though he should have been tired. His brothers were still going strong; they just weren't anywhere that he could get to them. There had been a couple outside their room too, but they were probably ending their night, heading to their own room for whatever couples did after hours. And of course he couldn't forget the stranger-thief that had surprised him outside the door. Still, there was no one in the lobby; no employees standing around, no guests walking by, no movement, no sound. There should have been employees at least.
The boy walked over to the counter. "Hello?" He called out. No answer. He looked around the lobby once more. He noticed a door on the back wall, behind the counter. He stepped around the counter, planning on opening what he assumed was a door to an office, to yell again and try to get the attention of someone on the other side. The computer screen at the front desk was flashing the logo of the hotel. Craig glanced at the door, reached for the mouse next to the monitor and gave it a slight twitch; just enough to erase the screensaver and reveal the program it had been hiding. A list of room numbers and names filled the screen, and to his surprise, there was one line that was highlighted in blue. The name jumped out at him, Jesse Nicholas. The room was on the tenth floor. Directly under the highlighted line the man's name appeared again, with another room number, and then a third line with another number that was listed as a suite. Well, at least now he knew what room number he needed to get back to.
Craig moved back around the counter and headed towards the elevator. He held his breath when the door to the elevator slid open. He was half expecting the man who had been running after him to be standing in front of him, but the car was empty. He hit the button for the tenth floor and watched as the door slide closed. He felt his heart start to race as the numbers above the door lit up marking the progress of the elevator. He prayed the hall would be empty when the door opened. What if the stranger was there, waiting for him? What if his brothers weren't back yet? What if he was going to step out of the elevator and be stuck, alone in the hallway, with that man still looking for him?
The number ten lit up, the elevator stopped and the door opened.