Second Chance

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The elevator doors opened. The man took Micah by the collar and arms and escorted him to the office door that read, “Kiliaen Van Rossum.”

“Get ready to answer some questions,” the man said. He opened the door to the outer office. It was empty: any change for help non-existent.

“I’m being honest when I tell you I don’t know where the painting is.”

“Van Rossum won’t like that. He believes you know where it is.”

The inner door opened, a man seated behind a large oak desk. He smiled and waved the two in. Micah tried to resist, tried to stand, but the older man was strong. He pushed the teenager in.

“I told you man there, I haven’t a clue to where the painting is,” Micah said. He pushed himself up and stood.

“Please, Mr. Vaughn, have a seat.” Another of Van Rossum’s men pushed a chair behind Micah’s legs. “I said sit.”

Micah lowered himself into the overstuffed chair.

“Now, doesn’t that feel better?” Van Rossum asked. He stood and looked out the window, out to the foothills. Without turning, he asked, “Where is my painting?”

The older Micah spoke, “Whatever you do, don’t tell him, at least not yet.”

Are you suggesting that I stall? What for? If I tell him now, the quicker I can get out of here.

“It doesn’t work like that. You have to trust, things have changed. The longer you can hold off, the better it gets.”

Micah sighed heavily and sounded defeated. “Mr. Van Rossum, sir, I don’t know where the painting is.”

He shook his head and turned. “Micah, can I call you Micah? Of course, I can. Micah, you wrote a story, a very good one I might add.”

The teenager whispered, “Thank you.”

Van Rossum continued. “It described me perfectly. It described a few of the men in here as well. It told of me looking for a stolen painting, one that could lead to a vast treasure somewhere in upstate New York.”

He walked around his desk and lean against it. “You know too much about it for it to be a mere coincidence. I’ll ask you again, politely, as where the painting is.”

Micah shook his head. He spoke rapidly. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I dreamed of the story Saturday, wrote it down before I went to the prom Saturday night. I typed it up Sunday. I handed it to my teacher yesterday. Today, I’m here, dragged here by a man with a gun, asked repeatedly where the painting is by him and now you. Why can’t you believe me when I tell you I don’t know where it is?”

“That’s a nice speech,” Van Rossum said. The sarcastic tone wasn’t lost on Micah. “I bet you had that all rehearsed before you came in here. Well, I don’t believe you.” He motioned with his head. A man slipped to Micah’s right and opened a door. Another man fell to the ground, pushed into the middle of the room.

“See this man, Micah. This man is a private investigator I hired to find out information pertaining to the painting. Do you know what he did? He tried to withhold information from me. Look at his face, Micah. Look at it.” Two men grabbed him and pulled his face up, allowing the teen to see the face.

It was bruised, black and purple marks covered the face. The eyes were red and swollen. The man’s lips were three times the size and covered with blood. Micah looked away, horrified that this could be his fate if he didn’t tell Van Rossum what he wanted to know.

“Just a little longer,” the older Micah whispered. “You’re doing great. We’re doing great.”

That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one that’s going to get beat if I don’t tell him what he wants. By the way, do you know where the painting is? Just in case, I do have to tell him. The older Micah fell silent.

“Sir, I’ve told you. I’ve told your man. I don’t know anything. All I did was write a story, a piece of fiction, based on a dream I had. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you, like I didn’t believe this man when he, too, told me he didn’t know where the painting is.” Van Rossum nodded and two men stepped forward. Each kicked the man in the ribs. The sound of air leaving the man’s lungs made Micah wince in sympathy for the pain the man must have felt.

“Do you want this to happen to you, Micah?” Van Rossum asked. The men looked at their boss. He nodded. One man held the private investigator while the other punched him in the mouth. The sickening sound of teeth and bone crunching made Micah’s stomach turn.

“Do you this, Micah?” The man dropped back to the floor. Micah could hear his breath: he was wheezing like an asthmatic. “Tell me where the painting is and nothing will happen to you.”

He was exasperated; he didn’t know what to do. His older self was telling him to wait, but he didn’t know why. He wanted to tell Van Rossum that he might know where it could be, but if he did tell him, what would happen to him. He decided to hold off just a little longer. “I don’t know where it is.”

That wasn’t a lie, not an entire one. Older Micah had hinted that it was located, or he found it, somewhere the younger teen knew well, a farm where he spend most weekends growing up. He didn’t want to give that information, just yet, to Van Rossum.

“Before you lie to me again, Micah, let me show you something.” Van Rossum nodded. One of the men on the floor stood and walked back to the door. He reached in and pulled out a familiar face: Antoinette.

“Micah dear,” she called. She went to reach for him: the man prevented it from happening. She was placed in front of the boss.

“Toni,” Micah screamed. He stood up but a hand from behind forced him back down onto the chair.

“See, Mr. Vaughn, I know your weakness. It’s this lovely girl, Antoinette De Fiore.” The man reached out to touch her face, but she slapped the hand away.

“She’s feisty; I can see what you see in here.”

“You’re a disgusting man,” Antoinette spat. She raised her hand, ready to slap Van Rossum. One of his hired men stopped it.

“Thank you my dear.” He returned his attention to Micah. “You don’t want my men to do to Miss De Fiore that they did to this man, do you?”

He was seething. He wanted to jump up and rip out the man’s throat. The hand on his shoulders prevented him from going past the thought. Micah shook his head.

“I didn’t think so.” Van Rossum had another thought, but he left it unsaid. From the door, there was a pounding; someone was trying to get out.

“Get her in here,” he told the man guarding the door. The man disappeared, returning quickly hold a woman who was struggling for release.

“Kiliaen, stop this,” the familiar voice said. Micah looked in horror as the face of his teacher Emily Clearly came into view. “I told you that you didn’t need to do this. I could have gotten him to talk, if you had given me time.”

Micah sat stunned with his mouth ajar. He couldn’t believe it. One of his teachers was behind Antoinette’s kidnapping, his own as well. “What did you do?” he staggered out.

She looked at him through apologetic eyes. She knew what she did was wrong. Her coming here, wrong as that was, was an attempt to rectify the situation. She failed miserably. She couldn’t get her cousin to change his mind.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “When I saw your story yesterday, my thoughts were immediately about the family, my family. I’m a Van Rossum; my mother was a Van Rossum before she married.

“I grew up listening to the stories, the legends and gossip, about the painting. I know the painting was real: I saw the newspaper clippings about the theft. I didn’t think it was a map, though. I thought those legends were just made up to keep us children interested in the family history and the painting itself. Some of the cousins have taken it to heart, to the extreme. Kiliaen is one of them.”

She looked down for a moment, composing herself. She looked up and spoke, “I really am sorry, Micah. I didn’t know he would do this. If I had, I would have never given him a copy of your story.” She searched his eyes, looking for some compassion, so forgiveness.

All Micah could do was look away.

She turned to Antoinette. “I really am sorry.”

Antoinette did as her boyfriend. She looked away.

Van Rossum laughed. “You’re pathetic. You give up the kid and show me the story. Then you come here and try to stop me from finding out where the painting is. You had to know I’d stop at nothing, nothing, to get it.”

Clearly shook her head. “What have you done, Kiliaen?”

“What have I done? I’ve done what I deem necessary for me to reclaim what’s rightfully ours, what’s rightfully mine.” He grabbed his cousin and brought her to his face. “I’m the only Van Rossum that’s taken the painting seriously, the only one that believes it’s a map. I want to find that treasure for the Van Rossum family.”

“You want it for yourself,” she hissed. “You’ve never done anything for the family. It’s always been about just you, just Kiliaen. You were a spoiled brat of a kid. You’re no better now.”

Van Rossum raised his hand. It landed with a swift and loud slap across her face. “I will not be talked to this way.”

The force of the slap forced her down. Cleary looked at her cousin with glassy eyes, more from shocked tears than from fear. She shook her head and crawled away.

Van Rossum turned to the teenager and spoke with anger, “See what I do to family, imagine what I’ll do to you.” He turned and sat behind his desk. He motioned to one of the hired men. He grabbed Antoinette roughly, grabbed her by the shoulder and hair, and brought her to his boss. He held her up.

“Better yet, imagine what I can do to this lovely girl.” Van Rossum put his hand on her face. She struggled to get away from it. He rubbed his hand over her lips. She went to bite his fingers. He slapped her.

“See what I can do to the beautiful Toni. Did you see what I just did now? Come on, Micah, tell me.”

The teenager shook his head. “I don’t know where it is.”

“I’ve had enough of your bullshit and lying.” He opened a desk drawer and removed a gun, the same type Micah saw in his dream on Saturday.

“Want me to splatter your girlfriend’s brains all over the room?”

“Whoa boss,” the man that brought Micah said. He had his gun out, pointed at Van Rossum. “You didn’t say anything about killing kids.”

Van Rossum pulled Antoinette closer. He pointed the gun at his man. “What’s the matter, Timmons, getting cold feet now? You’ve killed for me before. What’s the difference now?”

The former cop moved forward slowly, never lowering the gun, never removing his gaze at his boss. “I never killed a child. I never allowed anyone with me to do it. It’s wrong.” He inched closer.

Micah’s heart raced at of fear, fear not for his own life, but that for his love. He slowly rose, testing the man’s hold on him. It wasn’t there.

“Slowly, kid, slowly move to where Van Rossum is walking. Cut off his escape route.” Without question, Micah crept silently to the side of the desk as Van Rossum approached.

“Stop it Kiliaen,” Cleary screamed. “This won’t accomplish anything.”

“How do you know?” Van Rossum pointed the gun at his cousin. “What do you know?”

“Leave her out of this,” Timmons commanded. His police training took over. He needed to defuse the situation, needed to get the teenage girl away from the angry, gun-holding man. “This is between you and me. Let’s talk this out. Let the girl go and we can talk.”

“Slowly, kid,” Older Micah said as the distance between him and Van Rossum. “I want you to tackle Toni when the time’s right.”

How will I know?

“Oh trust me, you’ll know.”

Van Rossum backed his way closer, the gun returned to Antoinette’s head. “You don’t understand, Timmons. It’s mine. The treasure, it’s mine. Nothing’s going to stop me.”

Micah stopped. He heard something knock against the door from where Antoinette entered. He glanced over and noticed shadows moving underneath.

Is this it?

“Not yet.”

“Kiliaen, don’t do this,” Cleary screamed. She stood and leaned against the desk, placing herself between her cousin and the ex-cop. “Stop it, please, before someone gets hurt.”

“Listen to her, man,” Timmons calmly said. “She’s speaking the truth. You don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“If that fucking kid would just tell me where the paint is, none of this would be happening.” Van Rossum dropped the end of the gun away from Antoinette.

Micah noticed the shadows had stopped moving; saw that they became one. He heard muffled voices behind them. No one else in the room noticed: all eyes were still on either Van Rossum or his man.

“Now,” Micah heard. To him, time had slowed. He took two steps and lunged forward. He grabbed his love and twisted away. He landed on his side, his love safe in his arms. He pulled her closer, wrapped his body around hers. He was going to protect her with his life.

Antoinette knew who tackled her, took her away from the point of the gun. She buried herself into his body allowing him to wrap himself around her. She felt safe. She knew she no harm was coming to her.

There was a mini-explosion; pieces of the door entered the room. Van Rossum fell backwards; the gun went into the air. Several men entered, screaming, semi-automatic rifles loaded and pointed.

The other door splintered. More men poured in, screaming orders for people to get on the ground, to drop weapons.

“Okay, okay,” Micah heard someone say.

“Emily,” a man said as he stepped into the office. Unlike the others, he wasn’t dressed in a black SWAT uniform. Rather, he was dressed in a dark gray suit: he appeared to look more like one of Van Rossum’s men than from law enforcement. Micah tried to see his teacher’s face, see her reaction. The desk was in the way.

She didn’t wait for someone to tell her she was safe, Antoinette already knew it. Micah risked his life for her. She looked into his eyes, “Oh God, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he answered before he reached for her lips.