Reprisal

February 12,1974

"You've been neglecting my money," Jimmy said at breakfast one day.

"Your money?" Carol said. "I didn't know you had any."

She and Jimmy had reached a sort of equilibrium. She had grown used to his almost unearthly precocity and adapted to it. Adapted as well as one could to a forty-inch child whose brain seemed to hold the accumulated wisdom of the ages. Five years of daily life with him had closed off areas of feeling; and questions she'd asked had gone unanswered so long her mind had stopped asking them. He was imperious, intolerant, inconsiderate, insufferable at times, but he could be charming when he wished. There were times when she almost liked him.

"The inheritance. The eight million dollars' worth of assets my father inherited from Dr. Hanley."

"So Jim's 'my father' now, is he? I thought he was 'merely the vessel.'"

"Whatever. The fact remains that my birthright has been lying around, moldering, static, when it could have been growing all these five years. I want you to rectify that immediately."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

He was in his insufferable mode but Carol found him amusing nonetheless. Despite everything, he was still her son. And Jim's.

"I want you to go back to New York and start converting every-thing—the mansion, everything—to cash. I will then advise you on how it shall be invested."

Carol smiled. "How good of you. The Bernard Baruch of Sesame Street."

His dark eyes blazed. "Don't make fun of me. I know what I'm doing."

Carol realized her remark had been gratuitous. But understandable in light of their ongoing battle of wills.

"I'm sure you do."

"One thing, though," he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "When you get to New York—"

"I didn't say I was going."

"But you will. It's your money too."

"I know. But we can't spend the interest we get on the bonds and C.D.s we already have. Why fool with it?"

He favored her with one of his rare smiles. "Because it will amuse me to see how fast I can multiply it." Then the smile faded. "But when you get to New York… be careful."

"Of course I'll—"

"No. I mean, be wary. Beware of anyone who asks about your child. Tell them you miscarried. No one must know I exist, especially…"

There was something in Jimmy's eyes. Something Carol had never seen before.

"Especially who?"

Jimmy's tone was grave. "Be alert for a man in his mid-thirties with red hair."

"I'm sure there'll be a fair number of those in Manhattan."

"Not like this one. His skin will have an olive cast and his eyes will be blue. There is only one like him. He will be looking for me. If such a man approaches you, or tries to speak to you, or even if you merely see someone like him, call me immediately."

Carol realized that Jimmy was afraid.

"Call you? Why? What will you do?"

He turned and stared out the window.

"Hide."