No Fault of Mine

Chapter Forty-Two

I was beyond stunned. Any hope I had I would be rescued evaporated.

"You look disappointed," Ducain said.

"You're not a businessman," I said with as much disdain as I could. "You're a sadist, gaining pleasure from the misery you inflict on others."

"True," he said, "at least in this case. I don't derive much pleasure from your pain, but I do from Thad." He lifted his phone and pointed the screen in my direction. Thad's face was on the screen.

"You're videoing him!" I exclaimed.

"It's simply technology. I don't have the background, but we have engaged the help of someone who does."

"Eddie?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "but let's focus on your brother. He's carrying a handgun, perhaps thinking he'll protect himself or try to shoot me. Oh, and by the way, he put a bag on the passenger seat. Perhaps he's going to save his sister."

"Or hopes to kill you," I said.

"Mia, I've already told you that your son and uncle are not here. That frees you to make your next decision."

"What decision?" I asked. I thought I was done once I made the call.

"Yes, but the fall of each domino impacts the decisions of others. Knowing what you now know, what do you want to do?"

"I don't want to be told what to do. All you've done is manipulate me for weeks. I'm done with that," I said belligerently.

"All I've done is presented you with signs on posts on your road of life. Once you saw them, you've made your own choices."

"If I do nothing, that too is a decision, isn't it?" I said more to myself than to him.

I stood, glanced toward the stairs, and back at Cucain. He shrugged, and his lips entertained a smirk. At the head of the stairs, I looked down into an abyss, black and dank.

"I've told you the truth," Ducain said, smiling.

I swear I'd see a similar expression on the face of the devil in some horror movie I'd seen. Do I believe him or not? My heart ached, and my soul seemed to cry out. A deep wave of regret swept through my body, leaving a knot in my stomach and tears in my eyes.

I scrambled down the stairs. The shaft of light from the top of the stairs illuminated only a few feet of the wall. I turned on my cell light and searched the room. It was about the size of the living and dining room combined. The room was sparsely decorated. A large screen hung on the wall, and a substantial sofa sectional sat in the middle of the room. A slider exited to a cement deck with a stainless barbeque and matching counter. The moon reflected off the lake, and if it weren't for the stress I was under, I would have enjoyed sitting on the deck with a glass of wine.

A hallway led to the last half of the house. It smelled of something old or seldom used. It also smelled of tobacco, not the smell of a freshly lit cigarette, but the stale smell of tobacco smoke that had penetrated the walls and floor only to be slowly emitted back into the room over years of time.

I opened the first door. A laptop sat on a small table, and a chair catawampus to the desk sat unoccupied in front of the screen. I touched the keyboard, and the screen brightened, revealing four windows, each of a different location. Two were from different angles of the living room. I saw Ducain sitting on his chair with a glass of wine. He looked into the camera and smiled. I shuttered.

Behind the second door were additional computers, a printer, and paper stacked about the room on the floor.

The third was a bedroom, but it looked as if it hadn't been touched. I walked in and looked around. There were two doors off the bedroom. I suspected one was a bathroom and the other a closet.

I'd about decided there was nothing to see but wanted to complete the search. The closet was empty. I headed toward the bathroom. My cell's light illuminated stains on the white porcine sink and quartz counter. A closer inspection revealed the stains were dark red drops and smudges on the sink and faucet. Blood! The sight sickened me. Someone had cleaned blood from their body in the sink. There was also blood on the floor and in the shower. And next to the toilet, there was a bloody article of clothing. I immediately recognized it. It belonged to my son. My stomach retched, and I vomited into the sink.

I sank to the floor, and tears flowed. I was an emotional wreck. I didn't trust my legs to hold my weight, and my brain had locked onto the worst-case scenario. What injury of my son would account for such blood loss? Even the thought of my son here among strangers, injured, with no medical attention, resulted in more nausea.

I had his shirt on my lap. The blood had dried, and the garment was stiff. The distasteful smell of blood nearly overwhelmed me. Finally, when able, I stood and stumbled my way to the stairs. Before ascending, I dried my eyes with my blouse, balanced myself, and took a step upward.

"What did you find, Mia," Ducain asked.

"You know what I found, you bastard," I said and held out my son's bloodstained t-shirt. 

"Where's my son!" I cried out the anguish of a wife and mother, now having to live the remainder of her life with the agony of such loss.

"I suppose that's part of the mystery, Ms. Stoddard," he said without emotion. "Now, you're faced with another decision.

"I'm tired of your games. You've manipulated me from the day my husband was murdered. I need this to end."

"I only motivated you," he whined. "You have always been free to make your own decisions."

"I'm not going to argue semantics with you." I felt close to tears again. How can a body tear up so easily? I raised my head, locked eyes on his, and said, "I'm leaving now. Don't stop me."

"You're free to make your own decisions, Ms. Stoddard. You always have been free to make your own decisions."

"Not without consequences," I said.

"There are always consequences," he said. I started for the door.

"Ms. Stoddard, I'm not without sympathy," he said. "Arm yourself with this: your son is alive."

I walked out into the night. My watch read that my hour was up.