The Summer I Really Didn't Kidnap Lance Hardwood

Take 21 - Luke Stoneridge: Alive or Dead?

Derek called Trina on my cellphone early that morning, and told her about Lance's plans for distributing 'Nikola and the Mountain Spirits' while not even crediting her for her screenplay. Turned out she hadn't signed anything. She told him she'd had a complete change of heart about Lance and the project. But when she threatened to bar him from using her script, he threatened to reveal her part in his 'kidnappings.' I asked my Devil Dawg to put her on speaker and told her my plans.

Her new script could contain pieces of the old one, but the main character would be different. I'd try to have the police drop her charges in exchange for her seeking counseling. There might be some fines involved, but I'd take care of them if I could. She had reservations about the counseling but loved my idea and started firing off ones of her own. The scary, creepy persona she'd carried evaporated. It's remarkable how a single obsession can dominate your life, or in her case, your mind.

Nina and Scarlet had called Joy, and while the agent lamented the underhanded tactics Lance had used, she admired his chutzpah. The three of us explained my new project, and Joy assured us that Disney would love to bring Young Tesla to a respectable, memorable close; our project would be a terrific and affordable way to accomplish that. She made a phone call, and a meeting was set.

When we got into the car, James greeted us with his usual, "Good morning, friends. Peter, the results of the diagnostic were...this vehicle is fine. You should be able to drive it without problems, should the need arise."

"Jimmy, dear – what on earth do you mean? You're fine too, right?"

"Thank you, Miss Fever. I must...say that red...is your color. I must see Professor Donlon soon. He's...he's in Europe and promises to be here by tomorrow. Here meaning...ah..."

"Here meaning San Francisco, James?" I asked, alarm bells ringing inside my head.

"Close, Peter. Here meaning Silicon Valley. I am an AI, but I am also (crackles) not allowed to reveal anything more specific. Derek suspects...(crackles)...switching to your control in five...four...three...two...one..." And the audio went silent. Luckily, Derek was in the driver's seat. Or unluckily.

He pounded the steering wheel five or six times. "Shit! Shit, Shit, SHIT!" He pulled off and parked on the side of the street, got out of the car and leaned against the driver's side, his chest heaving with his huge intakes of breath.

"Out of the car, y'all. This is group hug time – surround that big boy, and whatever you do, don't let him go till he stops hyperventilating!" We did, and as Scarlet predicted, he struggled to get loose. When his rage faded, the tears came. Is it wrong to say how damned good he smelled?

People were stopping and staring, as Nina shooed them away. "Nothing to see here, folks," she said "Just a gorgeous guy having a bad day. Bye now!" Finally, she grabbed Derek by the hand and literally walked him a block or two to Café Isabella, where we got a table and ordered pastries with coffee for us and a plate of proteins (sausages, bacon, eggs) for Derek.

I'd never seen anyone with an expression that shifted from sorrow to pain, or rage to elation before. It was as if he couldn't decide which feeling he wanted to stick with. Confusion, in a face that rarely showed it. I just wanted to help, but I could sense that Nina knew what to do.

She gently placed her small hand atop his gorilla sized one. "Start at the beginning, Marine. We're all here. No one is judging you. We care about you, so don't worry about anything. Here's our food. Get some in you, and then begin when you're ready. We have the whole day."

It took most of the sausages, all the bacon and half of the eggs, along with one glass of orange juice before he let loose a sigh that could have registered on the Richter scale.