She regarded me from dark brown eyes and something in my desperation got through. She handed me a cell phone. With trembling fingers, I dialed. Heard the call go through and my Dad’s infinitely weary, sad voice say, “hello? Who is this? I don’t know anyone from Mexico City.”
“Dad? It’s me,” I shouted. There was dead silence. “Dad, don’t hang up. Listen, when I was five years old, you and mom brought me a bow and arrow set. I still have it. My Nook has five hundred and sixty-seven books in it. One of them was Unbroken. Dad, I’m me. I’m broken. Come get me, please.” I was crying again and dropped the phone.
The lady caught it. Spoke. “Yes, Sir. About late teens. One blue and one brown eye. In a wheelchair. Very thin, unhealthy. Gray and sunburned. Said his social is 639 – 52 – 8291. Danny De Rosier. He wants to know your name.”
“Dantan Townsley De Rosier. Felice calls me Downtown,” I cried. I couldn’t stop crying.
“Mexico City, Senator. Yes, Sir. I will call the Embassy and have them send a car and Marines, arrange for medical attention. Yes, Sir. At once, Sir.” She pushed END and dialed another number. Twenty minutes later, four big Marines in BDUs and a senior Attaché from the American Embassy were lifting me gently and carefully into a big black Denali. I didn’t relax until we were behind the gated compound inside the Embassy walls.
I collapsed in complete exhaustion and slept through the medical exam, dinner and didn’t wake up until the next morning. When I opened my eyes, my Dad stood there next to the doctor with the rest of my loved ones. Felice, Ms. Penny and Mitch.
I poked myself. Made sure I was awake. Said, “I want to go home.” Burst into tears and didn’t care. Was hugged so hard I thought I would break. On the way to the airport, told them everything I could remember. Told them I thought my one captor had killed the Colonel and let me go.
Told Dad when we reach Dulles to bring me home. To my bedroom, to our house and not back to my self-imposed prison at the White House.
He put me to bed and Felice came with me. In fact, every one of them stayed with me, so that every time I opened my eyes, they were there. I knew that they would always be there for me, that I was never alone.
Tentatively, I opened my mind to Felice and she drew me in without fear, fire, or contact from him. When I searched for his traces, I found none. Curled up inside my love and my family and was finally free.
The End
Dominion 2: Courage
Copyright 2014 by Barbara Bretana
Chapter One
I wasn’t bored, just very tired. I’d been up nearly the entire night on the computer with Felice. Long distance relationships sucked but we’d promised both of our parents we wouldn’t jump into marriage immediately; both sets wanted a long engagement to make sure we were sure. Felice rolled her eyes this time, we were positive in a way that no one else in the world could be surer of than we were. Still, I could see their point, she was the daughter of the outgoing President and I was the paraplegic Senator’s son.
My bodyguard poked me and I jerked up, grumbling that I was awake even though the droning voice of the lecturer was enough to put most of the class into a coma. Then again, economics wasn’t a thrilling class by any means.
Howard asked quietly, “late night with Ms. Rickover again, Danny?”
I yawned, nearly cracked my jaws and tried to stretch myself awake. I made it through the endless two-hour lecture and let Howard push me to the cafeteria where he bought two extra-large coffees. He made mine light and sweet, drinking his black. “You didn’t take any notes, Danny?” he questioned as I stared about the large room filled with tables, chairs and the supper line. Vending machines took up one wall; the other was a row of windows.
“You going to eat anything, Danny?” the Secret Service agent asked. I laid my head
down on the table and sighed.
“Just let me sleep for a half hour, Howard,” I begged.
“What’s your next class?”
“Study period,” I lied when I knew he knew I had PT and had already blown off the last two weeks of it.
“Danny---” he started and I raised my head to stare at him. What he saw made him swallow his remonstrations and stand up. He grabbed my wheelchair handles and rolled me out of the Dining Hall down to Campus Security. He knocked on the glass, we were admitted and wheeled me into a back room with a cot.
“Okay, Dantan,” he said quietly. “You can catch up on two hours. After that, we’re going to blow off your next two classes for the Nurse’s office.”
I didn’t protest but lifted myself onto the cot, hauling my legs up by the loose slacks, and turned on my side facing the wall. I was asleep in minutes knowing he was guarding me and I was safe.
I slept for three hours, waking only when Howard shook me. Groggy and disoriented, I panicked when I didn’t recognize the strange faces leaning over me. Dark hair, dark eyes in a police uniform with the words ‘Security’ and ‘Campus Police’ on the breast pocket.
“Take it easy, Dantan,” Howard soothed. “Here’s your cell phone. Your father has called twice.”
He handed me my backpack and I sat up, rubbing my eyes and pushing my hair out of my face. My mouth was dry and tasted awful, my heart hammered away in my chest and I rubbed on my breastbone where the ten-inch scar from major heart surgery reminded me occasionally I had nearly died from an overzealous NSA agent’s bullets.
“You okay?”
I nodded. “Give me a minute.” I sat there while I fumbled for my wheelchair. “I need to use the restroom, Howard.”
The other man in the Security uniform pointed to the door and the hallway behind him. “Restroom is down this hall. You’re welcome to use it.”
“Is it Wheelchair accessible?” I asked with a touch of humor and he flushed.
“Well, no.”
“Where’s the nearest campus toilet?”
“Can you wait?” Howard asked.
I shrugged. “Probably.” Since the bullet that had severed my spine, I couldn’t feel the sensation of full bladder or bowel; I had trained myself to go at certain times and rarely had an accident. I refused to use a catheter or wear adult diapers preferring a few accidents to independence. “Did Dad say what he wanted?” I asked as I locked my brakes and planted myself back into the chair, lifting my legs onto the pedals. They backed out of the room so I had space to maneuver. The security dude’s name was Millis, Andre Millis and he showed us a quicker way to the restrooms, cutting through the delivery halls to the front lobby and the bathrooms. He stayed out front with Howard, bullshitting while I went through the process of lifting my dead bottom half onto the toilet in the wheelchair stall.
There were other bodies in there, I heard the mutter of voices, the spurt of piss hitting the urinals, water in the sink as I sat and waited patiently for my own body to void. Heard the sound of urine hitting the bowl, reached down and grabbed my dick so I could feel it when I’d drained my bladder. Shook the last few drops off and flushed. Pulling my pants up was the only part of the job that was a pain, I needed both arms to hoist myself off the commode and a third hand to pull up my clothes. Most of the time, I struggled to do it myself unless I was really exhausted or late for something. The entire procedure took nearly 30 minutes and Howard was beginning to get agitated, calling out my name through the door. I came out, washing my hands at the sink and staring into the mirror. My face was thin, my eyes shadowed under dark eyebrows and my normally blonde hair had darkened to a light brown. I looked tired and my mouth drooped. Howard stood behind me, a tall, young man with broad shoulders, black hair and blue eyes. Handsome in the way that all of the Secret Service agents resembled each other save for the fleeting grin hovering always at the corner of his mouth and the twinkle in his eye.
“You call the Senator yet?” he asked and I fished in my pockets for my cell phone, finding it tucked into my backpack. I’d missed several calls but only one had left me a voice message. Dad. I didn’t bother to listen but dialed his home phone.
It rang only twice before he picked it up.
“Danny. How are you?” he asked and he sounded worried.
“Hi, Dad. What’s up?” I let Howard push my chair down the hallway not paying much attention to our destination.
“I need your help with something, Danny. Can you take time off and visit me?”
“Spring break’s coming up, Dad. Can it wait until then? I was coming home, anyway. To see Felice and you.”
“That’s in two weeks? I really need you sooner, Danny. I can get you a special dispensation from the Dean; it won’t affect your grades or attendance.”
“Can you tell me what?” I asked cautiously.
“Not over an open line,” he returned so I knew it was important and secret.
“You want me to fly?” It was a 5-hour flight from UT to Washington, D.C. even if I could find a flight.
“Yes, fly. Bring Coakes and Terence with you.” He named both of my bodyguards. “Flight 7229 on Wednesday. Delta to Chicago with a connecting flight to Dulles. Mitchell will meet you at the American counter. Let me talk to Howard.”
“Howard,” I handed him the cell and all I heard was ‘yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, Senator. See you then.” grim lipped; he pushed me the rest of the way to the nurses’ infirmary in spite of my protestations to be examined thoroughly and scolded for my evident tiredness. “Take him to his dorm and make sure he takes his pills and the sleeping pill,” she ordered. “He needs to have eight hours uninterrupted sleep. Your blood pressure sucks, Dantan.”
“Is that a professional diagnosis?” I retorted.
“You look like crap,” she returned. “Your pulse is erratic, your temp borderline and blood pressure is high for someone your age. Go to bed, sleep or I’ll have you admitted to Cardinal Glennon for an overnight. You have a bowel movement today?” She was always on me about that, lack of could result in a stroke, a common problem in paraplegics.
“I take my laxatives,” I snarled.
Wisely, neither of them said anything to me so I couldn’t fight them. I pushed myself out of her office, down the hallway and out to the Commons heading for the huge, and expressly ugly dorm buildings on the UT campus. Modernized in the 90’s, I had a small wheelchair accessible unit with no roommate, just room for my live in bodyguard, one of two--Howard Coakes and Patrick Terence. They were the Secret Service agents who alternated between my weeklong assignments. Usually, they took turns, one doing 3 days on, and then four, which gave them two weekends off a month. I didn’t usually go anywhere on the weekends, I wasn’t a drinker and I didn’t care for the party scene. Didn’t do any sports any longer and certainly didn’t swim. Mostly, I spent my weekends in the library reading or on line with Felice. She was out of college and working at her new job as a veterinary assistant doing credit for her Vet medicine residency. She was planning to finish her DVM at Cornell.
I threw myself on my bed in a petulant huff while Howard took it on himself to pull out my pajamas, my pills, sandwich and soup. Bullied me into eating, changing and swallowing my medicine. Watched as I fought the sleeping pill with heavy eyelids.
“Stubborn kid,” he muttered. “Just like your old man.”
“Howie,” I mumbled. “You’re a tight puckered a-hole.”
“Danny, I told you not to call me Howie,” he said patiently. “Now, go to sleep. I’ll wake you early so we can pack for your trip.”
I fell under the pull of the sleeping pill without too much struggle. I was tired and needed it; the drugs let me sleep without dreams or nightmares. I especially didn’t want the nightmares of losing my mind inside someone else’s, hadn’t gone delving anywhere in the last few months. Every time I’d even thought about it, paranoia kicked in and I’d had a panic attack that kept me from merging in anyone or thing’s mind.
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