The Unwilling(102)

With Warmest Regards to Your ENTIRE Family, R



Ripley met the warden’s eyes, but there was little point in commiseration. They turned to the videocassette. The label on front had two words, in black ink.

Byrd Song

Ripley frowned. “X has been asking about Byrd all morning. You think it’s related?”

“It has to be.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Lock that door, and let’s get on with it.”

Ripley locked the door, and they met at the television in the corner of the office. The warden pushed the tape into the player.

“No way this is good,” Ripley said.

He was right about that.



* * *



The warden had no choice but to show it to X. He entered the subbasement carrying the tape as if it could still hurt him, largely because it could. He had no idea what X would do. Because of that, he stopped at the bottom of the steps. “Um, hello?”

Murmured conversation ceased, and X emerged from one of the cells. “Yes? Speak.”

“Ummm…”

“I said speak.”

“It’s about Byrd…” His arm rose with the tape. “This arrived with instructions I show it to you.”

X took the tape, and examined it. “Instructions from whom?”

“The tape is, ah, self-explanatory.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

As he spoke, four guards appeared with a television, video player, and extension cord. While they worked, X summoned his lawyers from the cell. Legitimate attorneys, the warden knew, all of them from a top firm in New York. That would be about X’s estate, his dying wishes. “Get started on what we discussed,” X said. “But stay close. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

They took the stairs up, burdened with briefcases full of God-alone-knew-what. When the machines were plugged in, the warden dismissed the guards, too. X watched them go, then turned with a stare so bottomless and black the warden felt a wet flutter where his heart would normally beat.

“Play it.”

The cassette rattled against the player as the warden tried twice to insert it. “I’m sorry. Sorry.” The machine welcomed the tape, at last, and the warden tried to walk away, eager to be anywhere else.

“Stay.”

X caught his arm, and turned him like a child. As the first images appeared, the warden covered his mouth. He’d never cared for Byrd, but no man should die as he had, and no one else should be forced to watch it, let alone be forced to watch it twice. Byrd’s torture did not faze X, of course, but he was affected. That was clear. But the warden had no idea how or why.

“It’s Reece,” X said. “You can’t see his face, of course—that would be foolish of him, even knowing what he knows—but it’s definitely Reece.”

“What does he know?”

“That I would never allow the police to see this tape. That what exists between us is personal.” X squatted in front of the television, his face only inches away from the screen. “How long does this last?”

“This part, umm, seven or eight minutes.”

“This part?”

“Killing Byrd, I mean. Something else comes after.”

“Show me.”

The warden almost fell in his rush to clear the screen of Byrd’s murder. He ran the tape forward, overshot the mark, and had to back up. “Here. Just here.” He stepped back as the scene changed to show a young man bound to a chair, a blade at his throat as he struggled. “That’s Jason French’s little brother.”

But X knew the boy; the warden could tell. It showed in the sudden, lock-jawed stillness, and in the flush of blood that made his face swell. It was pure rage, fury like nothing the warden had ever seen. Even his eyes looked hot enough to burn.

“Play it again.”

But the warden didn’t move. “There’s more,” he said.

The more was a blank wall, and an off-camera voice.



* * *



You shouldn’t have sent Byrd to my home. All our time together, and it ends because of what? A girl. Because you couldn’t allow me that one indulgence.

A soft exhalation could be heard on the tape.

Problem is, I know you too well. If you want me dead now, you’ll want me dead until the day it happens. That won’t change once they kill you. More like Byrd will come, an unbroken chain, and all because I belittled your precious trust. Do you see how much I hate for it to end like this?

Another sigh, as good as a lament.

You know, I’ve never understood your feelings for Jason French, but I was around when they first appeared, so I know how strong they are. I could tell you it’s pitiful, but I won’t. And I can’t pretend I’m not a little jealous. You did, at times, fill that fatherly place in my heart. But this is where we are, and here is what will happen. You will make assurances that our disagreement is behind us. In exchange, I will release Jason’s brother unharmed. If things go the other way, the boy stars in his own production of How to Die on Videotape, and I make sure Jason knows it’s entirely your fault. I’m sure he would never forgive you.

I don’t want it to be like this, but I know the kind of man you are. If you say we have a deal, I’ll believe you. Otherwise, I’ll burn it all down, the kid and his friend, and Jason, too, but only after he learns the truth of why his little brother died. So that’s it. That’s the deal, the boy’s life for mine. Think about it, and give me a call. The warden has the number.