Mona Lisa Awakening

Chapter Twenty Two

Pelham Manor was a quietly affluent residential neighborhood perched at the edge of Westchester County. Birds chirped cheerfully, welcoming the day as we disembarked from the limo several blocks away. Lawns were neatly manicured and the thick hedges planted long ago.

An odd mix of feelings assailed me at the thought of my brother, Thaddeus, growing up here—hope that he had been happy and loved, along with a twisting pain at the possibility that he may not need me or welcome my intrusion into his life. They might have moved, I had told myself repeatedly. But still I'd had to come and see for myself in case they hadn't.

The house I sought was a stately Tudor with a dark tiled roof and large windows set in a cul-de-sac in front of a large wooded lot. There didn't seem to be any danger in this quiet, peaceful neighborhood. No foreign scent or sign of intrusion.

We moved into the trees and I opened my senses. There were three heartbeats within the dwelling. Two beating human-fast, one slower. My heart gave a painful thump. The sounds from within the house came clearly to my ear.

A woman's voice calling upstairs, "Thaddeus, I made you a turkey-salad wrap."

A boy's answering groan. "Aw, Mom, can't I buy lunch at school?"

"No, dear. They use white bread and too much greasy meat. Plus, it's not organic."

Feet galloped down stairs. A muttered, "I hate organic stuff."

"It's good for you."

"Morning, Dad."

A man's lower voice. "Ready to go, son?"

"Yeah." The sound of a quick kiss planted.

His mother's "Good luck on your math test."

The cocky reply. "Piece of cake."

The garage door rose and a black Mercedes sedan pulled out onto the road, driven by an older, bespectacled man with gray, thinning hair. He looked kind and intellectual. A boy with the slighter, rangier build of youth sat in the passenger's seat beside him. His pure black hair glistened as the sunlight streaking through the trees fell upon it.

With no warning, the boy turned his head to where I stood back among the trees. His gaze seemed to look right upon me. I had one too-brief moment to sec his dark eyes, tilted up at the ends exotically like mine, before he disappeared around a corner and from my sight.

A long silence ensued.

"He seems happy," I whispered finally. I'd been so sure that he'd needed me. But he didn't. He had a home and a loving family. He was safe. There were no signs of intruders. My presence would only disrupt the tranquility of his life.

I swallowed the lumpy conclusion down my painfully tight throat. "Come on. Let's get back to the others," I whispered.

Maybe someday I would introduce myself to him, I told myself. Someday when he was older.

Aquila had gotten a suite with connecting rooms at the Plaza. It must have been the Presidential suite or something. The rooms were huge, bigger than my entire apartment. I turned on the television to the local news channel the next day as was my habit, half listening to the low volume, screening for any unusual events that might help pinpoint Sandoor's whereabouts while half listening to Chami instructing his raptly attentive three warrior novices—Jamie, Tersa, and Rosemary.

Charm was discoursing like a university professor on the proper way of holding a dagger when a newscaster's mention of a familiar name snagged my attention. A semi whose driver had fallen asleep had drifted across the road and struck an oncoming car, killing the two front passengers. A third passenger had miraculously survived and was listed in stable condition at Westchester County Medical Center. The driver escaped with minor injuries.

Just another motor vehicle accident tragedy on the Hutchinson River Parkway. Nothing unusual but for the names of the dead victims: Henry and Pauline Schiffer. Thaddeus's adopted parents. A brief commentary followed on the hazards of cross-country trunk driving and tight deadlines that frequently did not allow drivers adequate time for sleep. Accidents and death-rate statistics were listed.

I made no sound but the sudden pounding of my heart alerted the men to my distress.

"What is it?" Gryphon asked.

"Thaddeus's parents. I think they're dead." Numbly, I picked up the phone and dialed the Pelham Manor telephone number seared into my memory.

Five rings. And then ten. No answer.

I hung up, called Information, got the medical center's phone number, and listened to the usual hospital recording that said, "Thank you for calling Westchester County Medical Center. If this is a medical emergency, please press four now. If you are calling from a touch-tone phone…"

I pressed the appropriate numbers to reach Patient Room Information and waited impatiently for a live person to finally come on the line.

"I need to know the room number for Thaddeus Schiffer, please." I spelled out the last name.

A moment later I hung up the phone and looked at Gryphon with stricken eyes. "He's there," I whispered. "His parents are dead."