Andrew's Tears

Chapter 10

Chapter 10}

            As soon as Anne had said these words, John Hatford beckoned them into an office. Anne sat in a plushy chair in front of a desk, and Andrew, Grandpa George and Grandma Helen all sat on the nice looking leather, but not-so-comfortable, couch. Andrew was still numb in his mind from crying, and didn’t really understand what was being said. He was aware that his mom and the man were talking about Thomas.

            The police in the US didn’t help, so why would anyone in another country care? The man was probably just worried about a death on his hands. He didn’t about the people behind this terror. He probably just wanted to get them off his hands, and then go back to his work.

            “Why did you think coming here would help you?” John said kindly.

            Grandpa George’s voice broke through Andrew’s stupor. “I have a friend that retired up near Druid Hills about five years ago. I visited his home two years ago, and it had high security measures. He has been updating it ever since. He has items in his home that he doesn’t want stolen.

            “He said that we could come and stay with him until Thomas was either taken into custody, or decided to stop his rampage.”

            John smiled and said, “Does this friend happen to be named Lionel Macready?”

            “Yes…?” Grandpa George said, confused.

            “You’ll be in good hands. I visited him a while back, because he made the papers. His house is top notch, if this Thomas fellow comes around, the police will be notified, and he will be persecuted.”

            When Andrew heard this, his heart calmed. He still had his doubts, though. How could he not? Everything had gone wrong at every turn so far. So he wasn’t too sure about how well this house would work.

            Thomas had watched with satisfaction as Andrew had fled the plane. It was like watching a bunny flee a predator. How the back paws of the small creature push off the ground propel it forward into the bushes, or into a cage, whichever way someone thinks of it.

            He had waited patiently as each and every passenger disembarked. He waited patiently, feeling so in power that he didn’t feel the need to rush. He knew Andrew would probably be hiding somewhere weeping his eyes out.

            When he finally de-boarded the plane, he walked at a leisurely pace through the terminal. He made himself look unlike most every person in the airport. He was polite, and smiled, he said, “Excuse me,” whenever he passed someone too closely.

            Thomas was being cocky. He was so sure of himself that he didn’t care how he looked. To most people he probably looked like a kind and thoughtful gentlemen and they paid him less attention than if he were being his usual jerky self.

            Inside, though, Thomas was fuming at the people who were rude. He wished he could act as they did. But, to do so would be certain suicide. Or so he thought.

            Thomas ate at some no-name restaurant with food that tasted like mush. Not that he had eaten mush before. He wasn’t uncivilized. He just assumed that mush tasted like whatever that food tasted like.

            When Thomas had finished eating, he went down to baggage claim and picked up his bag that had been swiveling on the conveyor belt for probably more than an hour. Oh well. At least no one took it. Thomas thought happily.