What Lies Beneath-Chapter Five

4300 Maplewood Dr.

Wednesday, September 4, 2002

3:00 PM

His cell phone rang a third time before Peter picked it up. He flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Hello, lover.”

“You better have a damn good reason for calling me, Elana—suppose my wife had been here?”

A throaty laugh. “Then I would’ve been a wrong number—remember, you’re not exactly speaking to a novice in these matters.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that fact.”

“Where is Mrs. Blakeney this afternoon?”

“She’s visiting her sister. Just tell me why you’ve called. What’s the emergency?”

“A federal agent phoned me today—A Mr. Stetson. He’s coming here tomorrow to ask me some questions.”

“Stetson? Well well,” Peter murmured. “That is a surprise.”

“You know him?”

“Let’s just say that we have mutual acquaintances. I still don’t see what the emergency is—unless you were planning on spilling the beans.”

“No of course not.” Elana’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke. “That would be foolish, wouldn’t it?”

“You have no idea how foolish, Elana.”

“But think about it—if they start checking into our background they’re bound to find out about my connection with you.
They probably already know of your connection to my late husband—Peter this could all unravel right before—”

“Don’t worry—I’ll deal with it.”

“How?”

“Mr. Stetson has what we call an—exploitable weakness.”

“What sort of weakness?”

Peter Blakeney picked up a picture from a nearby end table—Christy and Jenna in their softball uniforms, making faces for the camera. He smiled and stared at the photo—a delicious idea starting to take shape in his mind. “Leave it to me,” Peter said. “Once I’m through with Mr. Stetson I promise you—he’ll no longer be a threat to us. He’ll no longer be a threat to anyone.”

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4300 Maplewood Dr.

6:30 PM

Christy sighed. “Jenna I know what I said before about my dad—the truth is I still don’t know anything more than I did then.” Not strictly true, but with her dad in the house she really couldn’t risk saying anything more. Her head was starting to throb slightly. Christy rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, making small circles.

“Talking about your problems might help.”

“We don’t all need therapists.” Christy spoke more sharply than she’d intended. “I’m sorry, Jenna—I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know,” Jenna said.

“It’s just that things are kind of stressful right now—talking about it is hard.” Christy could hear the thud of feet coming up the stairs. “That’s my dad—better go—I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Later,” Jenna said. “Take care, Christy.”

“Yeah, you too.” Christy hung up her cordless when Dad entered the room.

“Busy?” he asked.

Christy pointed to the sheet of paper in her notebook. “Almost finished—this is the last thing.”

Dad picked up the notebook. “Hmmm…good work. Was that your friend Jenna on the phone just now?”

Christy nodded.

“You know, you really ought to invite her for dinner some night,” Dad told her. “I can’t believe how much you’ve both grown—last time I saw Jenna she was a skinny little blond thing.”

“Yeah, well Jenna’s still skinny—but she’s taller and her hair’s a little darker.”

“What does she need a therapist for?” Her dad’s question caused Christy to look up. . “Sorry.” he smiled sheepishly. “I guess I couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation.”

“Well it’s kind of a long story,” Christy said. “But over a year ago she was kidnapped—actually it’s been almost two years now.”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that.” Dad said. “What happened?”

“It was a councilman, Gary something—he killed his own daughter and kidnapped Jenna to replace her,” Christy said. “I don’t know what he did to her exactly, but after she was rescued she spent some time in the hospital and when she came home she had to stay in bed and rest.”

“And she sees a therapist?”

Christy nodded. “Jenna still has nightmares, flashbacks—freaks out if anyone grabs her —so she sees a therapist about every two weeks."

"What do you mean, she freaks out?" Dad asked. "You mean she screams?"

"Not exactly."

"What, then?"

"Well today someone grabbed her from behind she just froze and kind of went blank--I really don't know how else to describe--Dad, what is it?" Christy asked, noting the strange expression on his face.

“Nothing,” Dad told her. The expression was gone now—maybe Christy had imagined it. “Let’s go downstairs and eat—I’m not the cook your mother is, but I managed to whip something up for us.”

“Sounds good,” Christy said. “But Dad—mom will be home soon, won’t she?”

“Sure she will. She just needed to spend some time with your Aunt Marie.” He ruffled her hair. “No more worries, gumdrop. I promise you—everything will work out just fine for us.”

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4247 Maplewood Dr

10:30 PM

“You’re up awfully late.” Jenna looked up from her notebook to see her dad standing in the doorway.

“I’m sorry—I hope I didn’t disturb you or mom,” she said. Dad came into her room, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Your mom and I are fine,” he told her. “We were worried about you.”

“Dad, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Are you still doing homework?”

“Sort of but not really.” Jenna carefully tore the page from the notebook, folding it in half. “Dr. Pfaff wants me to have a list when I come to see him after school tomorrow.”

“What kind of list?”

Jenna shrugged, looking down at her bedspread. “It’s just a list of some things that still bother and scare me—Dr. Pfaff says that we can go through them and that he can help me deal with them.”

“Can I read it?”

“Are you sure you want to?” Jenna asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I just don’t want anything to—”

“To what?” Dad asked. “To worry me? Is that it?”

Jenna bit her lower lip. “Basically.”

“Jenna look at me—I care about you— and if anything frightens or bothers you I need to know so I can help. You don’t have to face your fears all alone.”

“I know that,” Jenna said. “It—it just feels like this has been going on forever. “

“Oh believe me—I know how you feel. But recovery takes time. I wish it could happen overnight, but it doesn’t.”

“I know.”

“So can I read the list?”

Jenna placed the folded paper in his palm. “Here.”

Dad unfolded the paper. For a few moments he just looked at it, saying nothing. Then he carefully folded it back up, handing it back to Jenna.

“So? What do you think?” Jenna asked anxiously.

“It’s a good list,” Dad said. “But up until now I didn’t know how much of that stuff was still bothering you.”

“It’s not all that much. I mean, most of the time I’m really okay, it’s just sometimes when things get bad…” her voice trailed off—she wasn’t sure what else she could say. Tears pricked her eyes.

Dad took her hands in his. “You’ll be just fine,” he told her. “Just remember—we’re in this together—you, me, your mom, your grandma, your brothers—everyone. You’re never alone, Jenna Stetson. You hear me?”

“I hear you.,” Jenna said.

Dad pulled her into a quick hug. “Good,” he said. “Get some rest now, okay? It’s late. Night munchkin.” He paused. “I love you.”

Jenna smiled. “Love you too, Dad. Goodnight.”

Thursday, September 5, 2002

10:00 AM

The attic felt hot and close; the air was almost suffocating. Dark too—the bucket of paint he’d found in the garage had come in handy—from outside no one would be able to see a thing. Thick insulation had rendered the room nearly soundproof. A person could scream until their voice was hoarse, he thought—and no one would hear a thing. It was perfect. Sweat ran down Peter’s face as he secured the manacles to the wall with metal plates, singing snatches of the tune that kept running through his head. “I’ve got a beautiful feeling, everything’s going my way-ay…”

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Q-Bureau

2:30 PM

“Elana Maskhadov was a dead end,” Lee said. “She told me that she knew Ramzan was involved in helping the Chechen Rebels but that he never gave her details—apparently he figured it was safer that way.”

“You believe her?” Amanda asked.

Lee sat on the edge of his desk. “I’m not sure—she seemed calm but there was something—I just couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t telling me the whole truth.”

“But what would be her motive for lying?” Amanda’s eyes widened. “Unless she’s working with Gambit to sell her husband’s secrets.”

“Exactly. It certainly fits his style,” Lee said. “Run a background on her, Amanda—I’d be willing to bet there’s a connection to Peter Blakeney in there somewhere.”

“That reminds me—Jenna phoned earlier.” Amanda’s fingers tapped the keys as she spoke. “Christy invited her over to her house for dinner.”

“Amanda you didn’t—”

“Relax—I told her no. I just felt bad that I couldn’t give her a real reason, that’s all. ‘ Just because’ doesn’t exactly satisfy a curious teenager, does it?”

Lee shook his head. “Not our teenager, that’s for sure.” His fist clenched and he hit his knee with sudden vehemence. “How does she do it, Amanda? How does she manage to find trouble wherever she goes?”

“It’s not exactly her fault.”

“I’m not saying it is—I just—” Lee’s voice trailed off.

“What is it?” Amanda asked.

“I just worry that Jenna will get into a situation where we can’t protect her,” Lee said. “And she won’t be able to protect herself either—not if she freezes up like she did on Monday.”

“Lee—”

“I’ve tried teaching her some very basic self-defense, but if she panics and zones-out it’s no good.”

“Well you’ve talked about teaching her more.” Amanda said. “We both have."

"Yeah."

"So, maybe it’s about time we stopped talking and started teaching."

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Yorktown High School

3:30 PM

“It doesn’t make any sense to me,” Christy slammed her locker shut and shouldered her backpack. “Your mom’s always let you come over before—it’s not like anything’s changed. My dad was really hurt when I told him you weren’t coming.”

“Christy I don’t know what else to tell you,” Jenna said. “It’s not like I made the decision myself.”

“Didn’t you at least ask why? And don’t say it’s your doctor’s appointment because you could always come over after. I can’t believe you didn’t ask.”

Jenna was not a short girl by any means, but she had to practically run to keep up with her friend’s long strides. “Of course I asked why. But all mom said was ‘just because’.”

“Just because? That doesn’t sound like your mom at all. Are you sure there’s not some other reason?”

“Don’t be silly. What other reason would there be?”

Christy pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, handing it to Jenna. “Maybe this? I got it in art class.”

“What is—” Jenna unfolded the paper, looking at the drawing of a man in a black and white prison garb, standing next to a blond girl in matching garb, a girl who was obviously supposed to be Christy. Underneath the drawing someone had written the word ‘Jailbird’s Daughter’ in bubble letters. “Christy I didn’t draw this,” Jenna said. “I can’t even believe that you’d think I would.”

“Terri drew it.” Christy’s voice shook. “I know that much—but that’s the only thing that’s changed. Don’t you see? That has to be the reason that you can’t come to dinner.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh don’t I? That’s okay, Jenna.” Tears glistened in Christy’s eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to come anyway—my family’s apparently not good enough for your family. The only reason you’re hanging out with me today is that Lisa’s sick. She’s your real best friend, right?”

“Christy, I—” Jenna started to tell Christy how unreasonable she was being but her friend had already whirled around and marched down the hall. “Wait!” Jenna yelled out. Other students stared but she didn’t care. Jenna followed Christy out through the front doors, narrowly avoiding being smacked in the face as they swung sharply backwards. “Christy would you just listen?” Jenna asked. “Come on—Please? Pretty please?”

“Don’t bug me when I’m mad, Jenna,” Christy said. “Just—just don’t.”

“But if I don’t bug you, how are we supposed to work it out?” Christy stopped, her back to Jenna. “We have to talk.”

“Hey, there, gumdrop.” A man’s voice said.

Jenna looked at the graying man who walked towards them. It had been a while but she recognized Christy’s father almost immediately.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Christy asked.

“Your mom came back home—she asked me to pick you up.” Mr. Blakeney said. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Christy said.

Mr. Blakeney looked at Jenna—for some reason his gaze made her feel very small—like she was a specimen under a microscope. “This must be Jenna Stetson.” Mr. Blakeney grinned and shook his head. “Wow. Last time I saw you, you were just an itty-bitty thing. How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Jenna said.

“And your family?” Mr. Blakeney asked.

“They’re fine too, dad,” Christy said. “Can we get going?”

“Hold on, Christy—I’m here for Jenna too. Your mom called Christy’s mom –she asked us to pick you up and keep you at our house for a while.”

“Did they say why?” Jenna asked him.

Mr. Blakeney shrugged. “Only that they’d be held up at work today and that your doctor’s appointment was cancelled.”

“That doesn’t—” Jenna’s mind raced. Someone would’ve called her, she thought. Someone always called before to let her know if there was going to be a change in plans. Especially after the kidnapping. And why would they want her to stay at Christy’s instead of Grandma’s house like she always had before?

It didn’t make sense.

“Jenna?” Christy’s tone was pleading. “I would really like it if you came over.”

‘This is Christy,’ a little voice inside Jenna’s head told her. ‘You’ve known Christy since she was little—her family is nice. What is there to worry about?’

“Okay, I’ll come.” Jenna took her cell phone out of her pocket. “Just let me make a quick call.”

Without any warning Mr. Blakeney’s hand shot out and grabbed Jenna’s right arm. She tried to pull away but the grip was like iron. He squeezed hard, pressing his thumb against the bony part of her wrist. Jenna felt a sharp pain and her hand opened, the phone clattering to the pavement.

“You don’t need to do that,” Mr. Blakeney told her. Something in his voice made Jenna’s blood run cold. Her legs shook, her heart beating wildly.

“Dad?” Christy was asking. “What are you doing?”

Jenna wanted to speak or move but all she could do was stare. Mr. Blakeney’s eyes were an icy blue color—just like--

“Your name is Marcie Ann Johnston. Say it!”

Gary’s voice echoed in Jenna’s ears, his hand gripping the back of her neck. He was going to hurt her, hurt her all over again and she couldn’t stop—

"Now," Mr. Blakeney's voice was soft, his lips barely moving as he spoke. "You're going to get in the car and we're going to leave. You understand?"

“Is there a problem here?”

Dad’s voice. Mr. Blakeney let go of Jenna’s wrist like it was on fire and stepped back.

“Dad,” Jenna turned to face him. “You’re—you’re here.” The relief she felt was almost palatable—and for one brief moment Jenna considered throwing her arms around her father and burying her face in his chest like she had done was she was little. But she was almost fourteen and in high school now—you didn’t do that sort of thing in public.

“Where else would I be?” Dad spoke to her but he kept his gaze fastened on Mr. Blakeney.

“But Christy’s dad said that you’d—” Jenna started to say when Mr. Blakeney interrupted.

“I’m sorry—we must’ve gotten crossed wires—I could’ve sworn my wife told me to pick up Jenna too.” He extended his hand. “I’m Christy’s father, by the way.”

“Oh, believe me— I remember you.” Dad ignored the outstretched hand, putting his arm around Jenna’s shoulders and pulling her close. “And after this afternoon I won’t forget you either—count on that. Let’s go, Jenna.”

“Dad—my cell phone—it’s—” Jenna pointed to the ground.

“Well since Mr. Blakeney here made you drop it,” Dad said, “I think that he should have the courtesy to pick it up. Don’t you?”

“Here you go,” Mr. Blakeney bent down and grabbed the cell phone. Dad snatched it from the other man’s hand, not even waiting for him to straighten up.

“Thanks,” he said. “Come on Jenna—we’re running late as it is.”

Jenna looked at her friend. “I’ll talk to you later—okay?” But Christy wouldn’t even look at her now.

TBC