Brutal Honesty-Part Thirteen

"Just the truth," he repeated again to himself. "She deserves to know..." He opened the car door, and then looked back to see if Treali Storm was coming. She didn't move. "Coming?"

Storm shook her head slowly, her deep-set eyes piercing through his own, almost as if they could see into the depths of his heart. "This is your journey, Youngblood. Your path, not mine. As for I, I have many things to do, and many people to see before my journey is complete. What is of concern to you is not of concern to me. But carry truth with you always. Even in the midst of a raging storm, the truth is powerful, a radiant light and potent weapon. Do what you will. I must go."

"But go where?" The words were almost out of Dimitri's mouth before he realized he had said them. "You're on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List for God's sake. Where could you possibly be going?"

The dark cloud in Storm's eyes cleared and a warm, reassuring light appeared in the grey. "I go home," she answered, the hint of a smile on her aging face. "Home."

"What about...?"

"Shh," Storm whispered. "Hush. Take your path, complete your journey. Go." She gave him a gentle shove into the freezing rain. "Do not look back. The choice is made."

Dimitri walked towards the large house, imposing and distant, but close, almost too close for comfort. He had taken the back way, driven by on a backstreet. Another car had been parked on the street, but he had simply parked in front of it. The front door would be a bad choice. So the back door it was. Suddenly, Dimitri was glad he had been by this house before, even if it was years and years ago.

He stood at the door, his powerful hand trembling hesitantly over the doorknob. He turned back, but the car was gone and Storm with it. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he opened the door. Unlocked. A bad sign to be sure. He stepped through the house quietly, closing the beautiful wooden door behind him. Inside, he heard voices. Dimitri stopped to listen.

Casie Schwartz was facing the wrong end of the Colt .45. Throughout her career, she had had ample opportunity to use her own weapon, a Glock pistol. She had even come across criminals who had the nerve to pull their own firearms out when she was around, and a few who dared to shoot at her, too. But the perpetrator had never been her own mother. She never even knew that Marianne Schwartz had a gun. Or was willing to kidnap her own niece.

"Mom," Casie pleaded, "please don't do this. It's a bad idea."

"I can do whatever I want," Marianne snapped, and then she put a bullet in the far wall. Unfortunately for Casie, Marianne had thought to obtain a silencer for her gun, too. Crap, Casie thought to herself. Being shot at by my mother definitely wasn't in my job description.

"Please, Mom," Casie said, her voice almost a whisper. Only a moment later did she realize she was quietly crying. The last time she had cried she had been seven. She remembered going with her mother to a playground in Washington D.C. that day. Casie had always wanted to try the monkey bars even though her mom insisted she didn't. But Marianne wasn't looking that day, and Casie climbed on top of the monkey bars.

"Look, Mom!" she had cried gleefully. Marianne had rushed over, a look of horror spreading on her features that was magnified when Casie fell the eight feet to the ground. Casie had burst into tears upon contact, and needed to be carried to the emergency room. All the while, Marianne held Casie's hand and told her it would be all right.

"It's okay, Casie," Marianne had whispered. "You'll be fine. You're my precious little girl. You're strong, and smart, and so beautiful...Don't ever forget it. You'll be just fine. Don't worry. The doctors will take care of everything. I love you, Casie."

It turned out that Casie needed ten stitches to close the nasty gash she had received when her ankle slammed into a sharp rock below.

Remembering how her mother had protected her and said she loved her, Casie closed her eyes for a moment, and imagined it was someone else aiming a gun at her. Not her mother. Maybe one of the criminals she had chased after before. Maybe one of them escaped from prison and came after her with a grudge. Maybe a terrorist targeting a well-to-do white American woman who just happened to work for the FBI. Maybe a bum, demanding money. Maybe it was a kidnapping...Casie opened her eyes, and Marianne Schwartz was still standing there with that gun, the harsh, unforgiving look on her face nothing like the worried, loving mother holding her child in the emergency room.

"This is over Casie," Marianne said, her voice choked with fury and rage. "It should have been over a long time ago! You will die! Die!" Her finger was hovering over the trigger and Casie realized that it was shaking, a barely discernible tremble, but a hesitation nevertheless. She seemed to have completely forgotten Natalie Schultz was even still in the room, lying bound and gagged, helpless, on the pretty couch. "It's over!" Marianne's scream was hoarse and feral, and had no trace of humanity in it. "Over!"

"This isn't over yet," Dimitri Youngblood announced quietly as he walked into the living room. "I haven't had a chance to say my part."

Outside, thirty-five FBI agents waited for the Secret Service Special Agent in Charge to give his signal. Upon seeing the fourth character walk into the room, Eugene Kaufman said "Now." They had waited long enough.

They smashed through the windows and door and leveled their weapons at the shocked group of four standing in the center of the fancy living room, now coated in broken glass. Some family reunion, to be sure.

"Don't come any closer," Marianne said angrily. In the confusion, she had pulled Casie into her arms and now held her gun, a Colt .45, to the FBI agent's head. "Or I shoot."

<a href=http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.jsp?articleId=281474977217585>Part Fourteen</a>