Chapter 10 by Fathiah Zarafi

It was a couple of hours after Chayton had left, with a pledge to not tell a soul of what I confessed, that James arrived at my room. I was freshly on morphine and nearly dozed off when he knocked on the door. Seeing his concerned face immediately woke me up as I struggled to sit straight. James came to my aid by pressing a certain button on a remote he reached next to my bed. My bed hummed to life and the mattress slowly raised itself.

"Comfortable?" James asked. I nodded as an answer and he placed the remote back where it belonged.

He then proceeded to settle on the plastic chair where Chayton previously sat. James opened his mouth, presumably to ask my well being but I cut him off quickly.

"What happened to—those men?" I lowered my voice even though nobody was near us. I didn’t want to take any chances. James's eyes narrowed, causing his face to look absolutely deadly.

"They have escaped as soon as I got there. Sneaky bastards," he hissed through gritted teeth, "don't worry; the CIA is locating them as we speak."

"Thank you though, for finding me and getting me here," I offered wearily. My thoughts were suddenly consumed by what if's; what if James didn't get there on time? What would've they done to me? A shudder ran down my spine at the image. My eyes averted downwards, only to find James' fists balled up on his lap.

"Don't thank me," his voice contorted painfully, "I barely got there in time. I swore to your father you wouldn't get harmed."

I was aghast momentarily when Father was mentioned. So he had contacted James before meeting his end to ensure our safety. It was a shame how my sisters became a victim of this horrendous mess. The name Ronald DeHeart suddenly revoked in my mind once more and I remembered that it was still unexplained.

"James, you still haven't told me about," I paused, gazing around me before continuing, "Ronald DeHeart."

James' lips tightened in a small line as he stared hard at me. "I can't."

I groaned loudly, throwing my head back in exasperation. My fists mimicked his actions earlier, clutching the white sheets in my fists.

"You have to, James, regardless of whatever your reasons are," I growled lowly, "Don't forget that I am the victim here, being chased around like a piece of meat!"

At first James looked as if he was going to retort against me but after a few deep breaths, he slunk back in his chair and appeared almost deflated. I felt a little smug at breaking down his resolves. I leaned forward and anticipated for his explanation.

"Not today, Adele. I will tell you when we're not somewhere public."

Once again, I grunted out my frustrations. "Now I know how Chayton must've felt," I mumbled under my breath. Unfortunately, James' highly trained ears caught snippets of my words.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Nothing," I lied quickly. James eyed me skeptically for a few seconds before slowly getting up to his feet. He stretched, causing a few pops and snaps to resound. It made me wonder about his age, although I knew he was younger than Father.

"I'll see you when you're out of the hospital, kid," he patted my head gently. I waved at him weakly as he shut the door behind him with a soft click. My hand hunted for the remote James had used to manipulate my bed so I could recline normally. Once I was finally comfortable and the pillow all fluffed up, sleep only took seconds to claim me.

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The faces of the men kept spiraling in my dream, taunting me with their evil smirks and foul breaths. I was grateful when I suddenly woke up, the nightmares chased away. However, I studied my surroundings briefly for the reason I woke up, disoriented from the sleep.

Once my brain was finally free of the cobwebs of sleep, I heard the persistent knocking on the door. The small ray of light that leaked from the curtains told me it was already morning, probably nearing noon. The knock grew louder and I quickly gathered myself.

"Come in," I croaked out hoarsely.

I was surprised to see Mary Anne at the doorway with Tristan trailing behind her. My eyes immediately caught sight of the colorful bouquet of flowers in his hand which rather shocked me.

"How are you feeling, dear?" Mary Anne spoke gently. I cleared my throat noisily, pushing my torso off the bed slightly.

"A little sore but otherwise, fine," I answered nonchalantly. Tristan placed the flowers on the side table, arranging it to the perfect spot. I didn't have the heart to tell him I was allergic to all kinds of flowers so I scooted away from it as inconspicuously as possible instead.

"That's good to hear because we're taking you home," Mary Anne smiled. My jaw dropped open in shock. Was she being serious? I was just ran over by a car; it would take me more than two days to be warded at the hospital.

"Um, but why?" I asked uncomfortably, "I thought I had to stay for another couple of days."

Mary Anne began picking at the flowers, rearranging the wild colors and plucking out the wilted ones while Tristan rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"I'm sorry, dear," she spoke silently, "but we just don't have that much money to keep you in this fancy place." I swore I saw her eyes darkened when she said that but I brushed it away. However, I was also confused. James, or at least the CIA, could pay for the hospital bill, couldn't they? My pondering was cut short when a nurse suddenly came in with a pair of crutches and a stack of papers. Tristan grabbed the crutches and hurried over to my side.

"You can get ready while I sign your release papers, okay?"

I wanted to argue against her instant decision but Mary Anne had scuttle over to the nurse. Huffing out my anger, I threw the blanket off of me and reached for the crutches in Tristan's hands. As I was getting up, I felt cool air brushing against my back, my bare back and I was instantly aware of my lack of clothing. My left hand pulled the hospital gown closed at the back while the other searched for my old clothing in the table drawer. Tristan coughed discreetly and I halted my movements.

"Here's uh, your clothes from home. Mom said your old ones were bloodied and torn from the accident," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Tristan helped me to the bathroom to change. It wasn't such an easy task when you only have one functioning leg. He was waiting for me at the outside and handed me my crutches when I exited the bathroom. Mary Anne was done signing the papers by now and we walked, hobbled on my part, to Tristan's truck.

As usual, I was squashed between Mary Anne and Tristan during the long drive home. I clutched the bag of my belongings, silently praying that we would arrive home early. My broken ankle was throbbing with every bump on the road and I needed the painkiller immediately.

My agony was mercifully ended as the familiar sound of crunching gravel reached my ears. Tristan helped me out of the truck as I tried balancing on the uneven ground. My worst nightmare appeared in the form of stairs. It took me ten whole minutes to reach the second floor and I was sweating like a pig by then. I didn't feel like showering with a cast on my leg so I opted to a fresh set of clothing before taking in the painkillers. While waiting for the drowsiness to set in, I made myself comfortable under the covers. Soon enough, my heavy eyelids began to drift close on their own accord.

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I sluggishly blinked the sleep away from my eyes as I slowly rose from the depth of slumber. My room was blanketed by darkness with only a sliver of light entering from underneath the small crack of the door. I searched blindly for my cell phone and was momentarily blinded by the harsh light it emitted. Its small digits flashed 11 p.m. I was startled at the amount of time I had slept; 12 whole hours. Perhaps being chased around in the forest and getting pummeled by a car were more exhausting than I knew. Shoving the phone into the pocket of my hoodie, I staggered downstairs when my stomach rumbled in hunger.

The house was dark except for the soft hallway light. Tristan's room was silent when I walked past it so I assumed everybody had gone to bed. It wasn't such a strange thing for the people here to hit the sacks early; it was a small town with minimal entertainment. I had just entered the kitchen when the contraption buzzed in my pocket. Upon checking it, James' name coruscated on the small screen. I flipped the phone open while walking towards the refrigerator for some food.

"Hello?" I answered, stuffing my face inside the refrigerator.

"Adele, are you in someplace alone right now?"

"Um, yeah I am," I answered distractedly while searching for the leftover casserole. My fingers gripped the wrapped dish and I cheered inwardly.

"Then listen to me carefully," James spoke evenly, "I am about to tell you what you have asked for."

I instantly froze and dropped whatever I was holding before slowly perching on the dining chair. The crutches were placed carefully on the seat next to me. "What is it?"

"Ronald DeHeart was Mary Anne's late husband. He worked with your father at the laboratory, researching for a deadlier explosive used during wars."

"My father made arms?" I questioned, utterly befuddled. All this time I thought he was a normal scientist, working for a hospital.

"Yes, and those arms are supplied to the government," James continued, "They were partners ever since your father graduated college. But one day, your father and Ronald got into a quarrel that ended his life. The new explosive they were working on was triggered and erupted."

"Did—did my father, you know, killed him" I asked in disbelief. My head was spinning with all these information regarding Father's true life. I felt like I was lied to.

"It was the other way around, actually. Ronald tried to—kill your father and in rage, grabbed the inchoate bomb. The bomb was unstable; with only little movements it can be triggered. Thus, it exploded in Ronald's hand, killing him instantly."

"But why would he do that to my father? I thought they were partners?"

James paused for a while before continuing. "We don't know his motives," he stated simply. I was too shocked to emit a reply. What had Father done to make that man so infuriated with him? I remembered the article stating that Mary Anne thought it was a conspiracy.

"Wait, then why was Mary Anne so upset about it?"

"We couldn't tell her, the public, the whole truth. The project your father and Ronald were working on was a confidential secret. Not to mention that if the public knew about the new bombs, a large protest would outbreak."

James words barely registered my mind when my eyes caught a figure moving at the backyard. Frowning, I crept to the window above the sink, careful to hide a good portion of my body away from view. As I got closer, I saw a second figure standing in front, his face directly facing the window but it was too dark to figure out who.

"Hello? Adele? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, engrossed with the scene in front of me, "James, I'll call you back." Without waiting for a reply, I hung up the phone and craned my neck to view the duo further. I could hardly hear pieces of their conversation but judging from the body language, they were having an argument. My curiosity got the best of me as I slowly unlatched the window so the voices would seep through the small crack.

"You have screwed up our plan so many times. How could I ever hire such an idiot?"

My hand automatically flew to my mouth to stifle the gasp of shock when I registered the voice. It was Mary Anne. I leaned further over the sink but was cautious not to make my presence obvious. The lights in the kitchen were still off when I wandered in so I remained hidden in the shadows.

"I told you, the CIA chap caught us before I could kill her!" the man retaliated. His voice sounded familiar but I couldn't remember; it was just at the tip of my tongue. I searched my brain for any memories of him but I was still clueless.

"That's because you and your moronic friend couldn't do it quick enough! I am losing my chances to get rid of Alyson Fischer as time grows. She is getting closer and closer to her uncle. Don't make me kill you too!"

I collapsed to the kitchen floor on my bottom upon hearing it. Mary Anne, she was trying to kill me? But why? Now I recalled how I knew the man; he was the one who chased me in the forest. I felt dizzy, almost lightheaded from the impact of the information. For a second, everything felt surreal. It was as if I was in a disturbing nightmare and soon, I will wake up back in San Diego with my family still alive and this woman nowhere near me. But reality was too harsh to ignore.

My situation worsened when I was suddenly blinded by a bright light. Looking up, I saw none other than Tristan peering down at me in confusion. "Adele, what are you doing in the dark?" he inquired, his voice hoarse from sleep.

I couldn't answer him; Mary Anne had noticed the sudden light and was now rushing back inside. I was frozen in spot with no idea what to do. I knew I should probably be running from her but my brain and legs were as if disconnected. As the sound of the backdoor opening, I was finally snapped out of my stupor. I shot to my feet in haste, masking the expression on my face. Inconspicuously, I pulled the window shut behind me. Grabbing my crutches, I braced for her appearance. Mary Anne's flushed face appeared soon, scrambling to the kitchen. She bore a hardened expression but it quickly faded at the sight of Tristan.

"Tristan, dear, why are you up so late?" she questioned, not yet noticing me. Her stance visibly stiffened when she finally caught sight of me but she masked it with a tight smile.

"Oh Adele, I didn't see you there. I thought you were asleep?"

I feigned a smile while gripping the handles of the crutches tightly in my hand to suppress my anger.

"I was thirsty so I went down for a drink. I'll be off to bed now," I lied quickly. With the crutches settled under my arms, I made my way out of the kitchen with the intention to bolt as soon as Mary Anne went to sleep. Fate however had plans on its own. I was nearly to the stairs when I felt a sharp pain on my head, stars bursting into my vision. I buckled to the hard floor with a grunt of pain. Before I drifted off to unconsciousness by the pain, my ears could make out voices fuzzily.

"Mom, what the hell did you do?!"

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A splash of cold water on my face woke me up instantly. My brain was still murky as I studied the surroundings, wondering what had happened. The faint smell of moss and detergent filled my senses. I tried moving my hands but found it was constricted by a tight rope bounded around my wrists behind my back. My ankles were also restrained in a similar manner. I was wriggling around, trying to get the ropes to loosen when a figure stepped in front of me.

"Don't bother, dear. Those ropes won't come off unless you chop off your hand and feet."

I narrowed my eyes at Mary Anne. She had a small smile on her lips, her blonde hair in a wild mane, resembling a metal patient. I froze when I saw the black gun clutched in her right hand. Her smile widened when she saw where my gaze had wandered to.

"Don't be scared, Alyson. I won't do anything. That is, until my lawyer gives me the legal papers," she smirked. My frowned deepened when my real name slipped past her lips.

"What legal papers? And why are you doing this?" I questioned, desperate to fit the puzzle pieces. Mary Anne slid a chair forward and took a seat, twirling the gun absentmindedly.

"Ah ah, one question at a time," she paused briefly before shrugging, "Oh, what the heck. We'll start from the beginning when your daddy dearest ruined my life."

My nails dug into the skin of my palm when I clenched my hands into fists. I started wondering if she was the one behind the murders of my family. If she was, I would never forgive her till the day she dies a slow, painful death.

"My late husband, Ronnie and I, had a great relationship with your father and mother. We met at college and clicked instantly. They were the best friends we ever had," she smiled distantly.

"You were the one who murdered my family, didn't you," I spat, disgusted at her actions. Mary Anne laughed lightly at me, softly tracing the trigger of the gun. Cold sweat ran down my forehead when I realized she could pull it at any second and my life would be over.

"Oh pish posh, my men did it for me. I would hate to get my hands dirty with a Fischer blood," she sneered, "Anyways; your father hired Ronnie to be his assistant for this new project he was working on. After all the sleepless nights Ronnie spent researching, your bastard of a father killed my husband."

"He didn't!" I yelled, "Ronald tried to kill my father but he accidentally detonated a bomb himself! My father did nothing wrong and it's not fair you to kill me!"

Mary Anne linked her fingers together and leaned her chin on them. Her gun was settled at her foot, just within an arm's reach. "Oh dearie, it is much more complicated than that. You see, I am after your father's money now."

"Are you dense, woman? His money is inheritance only," I laughed but instantly regretted it when her palm smacked my cheek, snapping my head to the left. It was her turn to laugh.

"Oh, honey, sweetie, haven't you figured it out yet?"

I glared at her, spitting the blood in my mouth on to the floor. She leaned forward so our faces were mere inches apart. I wanted to bite her face off.

"Tristan is your half brother," she whispered. My whole body halted in abash at her words. They couldn't possibly?

"My father—you—couldn't possibly," I sputtered out in shock. I was unable to even form a complete sentence. Mary Anne smiled, leaning back on her chair.

"Your father and I went out for a drink. He had a horrible fight with that wench mother of yours. We took shots and one thing lead to another. It was just a one time fling though but mistakes happened."

Tears started crawling down my face shamelessly. I couldn't believe Father had cheated on Mother and with her best friend, nonetheless. My mind started wondering if I really knew my own Father. Everything was just a lie. He shouldn't have done what he did but that doesn't mean Father deserved to be punished by having his life stolen away.

"You didn't have to kill him," I whispered brokenly, "it wasn't his fault alone!" Mary Anne's smile dropped as a sinister look descended upon her features.

"He told my husband about us when I gave birth to his bastard child. Poor Ronnie, he didn't deserve to be betrayed like that. He got into a fight with your father, at the lab of all places and was killed!"

"It was an accident!" I yelled hoarsely, "Get that through your thick head!" Before I knew it, Mary Anne crouched in front of me and grabbed my jaw with her hand. Her nails dug into my cheeks painfully, drawing a whimper from me.

"Ronnie was the only person keeping me standing," she hissed, "I gave up my work at the Central Intelligence Agency to build a family with him."

"You—you worked at the CIA," I gasped in disbelief.
"Of course I do, dear. How do you think I got away with cutting your father up?" she grinned but it vanished as quickly as it came. Her grip on my jaw tightened and I could feel blood trickling down my neck.

"They wouldn't take me back since I have a child now. I was jobless and homeless. Poor Tristan had to endure the cold nights sleeping by the streets, all because of your father's big mouth."

"Well maybe you should get off your lazy ass and find a job!" I spat. From the corner of my eye, I saw her fist racing towards me. It connected against the side of my face grievously. The momentum of her punch caused me to fall haphazardly on my side while my cheekbone throbbed painfully.

"Do not cross me," she rebuked venomously. My teeth grinded against each other in effort of holding in the pain from her assault. Mary Anne knelt in front of my body, clicking her tongue in dismay.

"Don't die just yet, dear. I still need the transfer papers from my lawyer."

"Rot in hell," I eked out with much effort. Mary Anne offered a smile instead before patting my head lightly. She got to her feet and headed out to the door. It was when my eyes followed her movements that I realized she was holding me hostage inside her basement. The moldy stairs creaked with each step she took. Mary Anne paused at the top of the stairs, beaming down at me.

"Well goodnight, dear."

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