The Perfect Weapon Ending 1 Chapter 1003: Part 3
Ending 1 Chapter 1003 Part 3
The barred door clanged shut with a loud, final metallic bang. She thought, as she turned swiftly around to face the man opposite her, that in the endless loop of the resulting reverberations all she could hear, would hear, was the sound of that soft voice saying over and over and over
Gotcha
Gotcha
Gotcha
As she had walked outside in Kashmir with the two local police officers with her maid who was no maid, left her safe haven, her home, she squinted as the dust swirled around them, making a miniature vortex around her feet. Scanning the immediate area, she frowned. What was that distant noise? She looked up into the cloudless sky. Was that the sound of a helicopter? Was Jack on his way in via helicopter?
Then as they came to a stop, she cocked her head, wondering why that beer nut and pretzel truck was here at her delivery entrance? Wait....what was that on the side? A palm tree? A palm tree....That looked familiar. She peered into the open cargo area of the truck and gasped when she saw the cases of rum piled there. Wait, it was the same palm tree design that had been on the rum they had drunk in that train car. When they had told the toaster story, so long ago. When she had finally seen ‘her’ Jack. When she had known she could have him again.
She sighed and smiled. Jack could take that mania for symmetry too far sometimes. He must be nearby. Hmm. She saw a bearded, turbaned man sitting in the front of vehicle. Hmm. Was that him in that ridiculous beard again? Perhaps, they would sit in the back of that truck...She nodded, seeing the blankets in a corner. Once he got rid of that damn beard, anyway. But, still, if that were so, then why was he just sitting there? “Where is Jack?” she asked. Turning around to look back at the house, thinking it would be just like him to have been hiding inside the entire time, she ignored everything around her, she knew.....Knew he would make this all right again.
She heard a footfall coming around the side of the truck and looked up eagerly. Felt her face fall as she registered that it was not Jack, it was.....Wait, the beard, the turban, the clothing were all those of a native, but those eyes. They were not the eyes of a native, they were...green. “Agent Vaughn?” she gasped. Then hearing more footfalls from the other side, she turned swiftly to see Dixon and Weiss approaching her. Pivoting once again, she held onto her box tightly as she demanded to know, “Why are you here? Where is Jack?” Before anyone could answer, she pointed at the captain, “Where is my husband?”
“You’ll see him. Eventually,” Dixon began. Nodding at the two local police officers, he said, “It is good to see you again, Captain. The prefect was wise to recommend you and the corporal here and we will be sure to inform him of the quality of your work. As you know, Sahib Bristow sent us as his representatives.” He handed documents over to the police officer. “I trust you’ll find these all in order.”
“More paperwork?” the captain began groaning. “Where is that attorney so that I may-“ and then bit his words off as he stared at the papers in his hand.
Vaughn and Weiss both rolled their eyes as Jack said in the com units to them all, “Keep her talking or else the shock is going to set in and---”
Irina looked on with disinterest, more legal documentation. She sighed. Jack had her sewn up so tightly, what could be left, anyway? Knowing that she was in some form of shock, knowing, but unable to find he way out of it, she asked of no one in particular, “This truck? This truck has been around the village for a week, delivering...this rum....?”
“Yes? But no. No rum in this region,” Zamir’s brother said with a deep sigh. He turned to smile through the access window in the panel between the cargo area of the truck and the front seat. “You have had my rum? I have been making it for decades. Cornered---”
“Let me guess. You finally cornered the market on Indian rum, shipped all over via train?” Irina smiled slightly, thinking the man looked vaguely familiar. But not really caring one way or the other as she chose instead to remember that rum on other occasions, like that train car or even better, the night of the toaster.
“Yes, except sometimes we use this truck, too. More useful for these remote areas, where, sadly they do not appreciate my rum, which is incomprehensible, is it not?” the jovial man asked.
“I’ll tell you what’s incomprehensible,” Vaughn said, “That anyone drinks that stuff and lives to tell the tale.”
Irina said softly to them, “Ah you have had that rum.”
Weiss muttered to Vaughn, “I believe it had us.”
“Very good, is it not?” The man asked, as Amina rolled her eyes. “So, here we sell beer nuts. Doing this favor for my brother’s friend allowed me to venture into new markets this week and--”
“You are Zamir’s brother?” Irina asked dully, feeling a lassitude settle onto her. Idly noted that the captain had finished reading the first page and nodded at the three American agents in turn.
“Yes. And the prefect in this benighted region that does not appreciate my rum is another brother of ours. “
“Another brother? And this is your niece and....this is Sydney’s boyfriend and....” Irina said tiredly, beginning to tremble, as the shock settled into her bones and a sense of danger deeply, fatally-buried under so many layers, so many years of self-delusion, began fighting its way to the surface. Too late, she concluded, not knowing yet the truth of which she spoke, “Life is just one big circle.”
“Ah, yes. Karma is a tricky thing, is it not?” This Zamir commented, smiling.
“One might say that. Very tricky,” Vaughn said softly. “What comes around, goes around. Or... sometimes, it’s just symmetry.”
“Why are we having this philosophical discussion?” she asked, clenching the box in her hands, “When we should be-“
“You are absolutely correct, Ms. Derevko,” Vaughn said. “We should move this along.” She looked at him curiously as he reached into a pocket. Withdrawing handcuffs, he began speaking. “Irina Derevko, I hereby take you into custody in the name of the people of the United States for the original counts, for which you have admitted your guilt, of....” He continued speaking, but she could only stare at him, hearing every few words, as he snapped the cuffs around her wrists. “Espionage... first degree intentional homicide... fraud.... theft....plus I am arresting you for the additional charges after your escape in Panama of....”
He continued, but she stopped paying attention, finally interrupting him to ask, “But where is Jack?”
“Jack is not here,” Vaughn said slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes on her face. “I am the one making the arrest. His gift to me.”
“What? Why?” Then she stared in shock as the truth finally hit her. They were arresting her. Truly arresting her. But...No. Sydney... She would play that card. Yes, she nodded as she argued, “Sydney would not...She must not know.”
“Sydney knows the entire plan. She...agreed to it,” Dixon said quietly.
“She would not have. No. She’s my daughter.”
“I believe you forfeited that claim the day you abandoned her the first time. Or was it the second time, when you deliberately sought her trust in order to betray her later? First betrayal or second? Take your pick. Your choice,” Vaughn said quietly.
She ignored him, ignored his words, as she forced herself to stillness, trying to find a way to evade, to avoid, to escape those words, those truths. But this was not the time to escape. After all, she thought, looking around wildly, there was no river to dive into or building to dive off of. Then bit her lip, thinking Jack would take her to task for dangling prepositions like that. But... later, later, she could find a way.
Vaughn gently took the box from her damp hands and handed it to one of the open-mouthed local police officers. “Don’t drop it,” he said softly. Vaughn pulled out of another pocket a long chain. She stared at it open-mouthed as he circled her middle with it and snapped the wrist cuffs onto it. He stood back and opened his mouth. But before he could speak, she spoke, trying to understand what was happening. Her brain knew, but her heart refused to believe it. “Just handcuffs? No leg shackles?”
“No,” Dixon said softly. “He did not want you to suffer that indignity.”
Ha, she thought. He wanted to earn points in this game with Sydney, who would not have wanted her to suffer that indignity. Yes, just another play in the game.
Dixon paused, clearly listening to his ear com unit, she realized. But where was Jack, she wanted to scream as Dixon continued, “He says, he knows how very important your pride is to you. And as long as you cooperate, you may retain that privilege.”
“Positive reinforcement,” she muttered under her breath. Because, this could not be the end- He had promised her- “Damn him. What is he doing? What kind of game is this?”
Vaughn’s phone rang. Without looking at the display, he flipped it open and held it up to Irina’s ear.
“Irina,” Jack’s voice came over the phone, stopping her words, her thoughts for a moment.
She sighed, relaxed. Good, now he would tell her what was really going on. She reached her hand out for the box, stopped by the abrupt tug of her wrists by the chains. Vaughn nodded and Amina took the box from the guard and handed it to her. She began stroking the top of it, compulsively tracing circles into the top.
She half heard Weiss comment to Dixon that Jack must have disengaged their com units. Then paid no more attention, concentrating on her own conversation as Dixon turned to the head officer. Pulling another sheaf of papers out of a case from the back of the rum truck, he handed them to the captain with a slight bow. “The United States of America thanks you formally for your assistance in acquiring the internationally-wanted terrorist, Irina Derevko, unnamed in the paperwork given to you earlier in the week and today. We apologize for failing to fully disclose the nature of this operation but I am sure you will understand---”
“What?” the captain said in surprise. “Irina Derevko, she has been on the list of ---”
The junior officer interrupted, “Sahib Bristow, friend to our prefect’s---” Dixon struggled not to roll his eyes as the man translated the circuitous tangle of relationships, which was in fact, really quite simple, ironically simple, “Is married to an internationally-wanted terrorist---”
“Yes. It is all perfectly legal. As you know by the paperwork and legal opinions filed both here and in the United States,” Dixon began.
The captain held up his hand, “Please, sir. We do not need to revisit the paperwork.”
Dixon nodded, “No, let’s not. I myself have never seen such reams of paper in my life as that produced by her husband and lawyer. But Sahib Bristow, an intelligence operative for the United States of America, is in fact married to Irina Derevko.” Dixon paused, waited for the men’s mouths to close. “Yes, the irony is...deadly, is it not? In any case, these papers name you and your associates, the prefect of the region, the records-keeper at the deed office, etcetera, etcetera, everyone who assisted in any way is given appropriate credit. And...as a personal note of gratitude, Sahib Bristow has had cases of snacks and several pounds of chocolate, packed in dry ice, delivered to your homes for your wives and children to enjoy.”
The two men smiled. The captain said, “Ah. Chocolate. Sahib Bristow knows women.”
“You might say that,” Dixon muttered. “In any case, at 0800 hours, EST, US time, tomorrow morning, the Washington DC office of the Central Intelligence Agency will issue a statement confirming Derevko’s capture and giving all credit to your office, your region and your country. The Senate Intelligence Committee and the State Department will also issue a formal note of gratitude for your country’s assistance in the war on terror. Sahib Bristow and our office look forward to working with you again, should the need arise. Thank you, gentleman.”
“But...” the corporal said, still slightly confused, “We thought it was just a simple domestic problem that Sahib Bristow needed resolved.”
“You will learn that nothing is ever simple with Sahib Bristow,” Dixon commented dryly, as he glanced over at Irina and watched the shock settle into her face, hoped Vaughn was prepared to catch her if she collapsed.
“Jack, what are you doing? Why aren’t you here?” she asked, grasping the box with all her strength.
“Why am I not there? Hmm. Let’s see. Were you present when I was arrested?” his soft voice asked, sending a shiver down her spine as the words, the tone, penetrated the self-protective shell she had encased herself within.
“Was I.... What?” she asked in confusion, feeling a shaking begin inside, deep inside.
“Were you present when I was arrested? In my home? Taken away from my home by strangers, then handed over to agents who had reason to hate me?”
“I...No. Of course not,” she said slowly.
“No, of course, you were not. So, therefore, I am not there when you were taken from your home, your safe haven by strangers, and handed over to agents who have reason to hate you.”
“Symmetry?” she asked, very slowly, feeling that coldness begin to invade her once again.
“Ah, but not complete symmetry,” Jack said softly.
“No?” she asked dully.
“No. Because don’t worry, Vaughn, Weiss and Dixon won’t harm you. Vaughn, although he has reason to hate you the way my colleagues who greeted me upon my arrival at the CIA interrogation room hated me for the death of fellow agents, will not harm you. Vaughn is too professional. He won’t beat you within an inch of your life in ways that show no visible bruises so that when your daughter gets to see you on infrequent visiting days she won’t be shocked by the sight of her parent’s pain. So kind of them, wasn’t it? But you don’t have to worry about that. I know and understand limits.”
And the very lack of emotion in his voice was more worrisome, she decided, as her legs began to shake slightly, than if he had been yelling at the top of his lungs. That coldness in his voice....matched, she decided, the coldness in the pit of her belly that seemed to be sending out cold, frosted fingers into every muscle, every organ, every bit of her skin. She looked down at her hands, wondering why the box seemed to be jiggling around uncontrollably. She could not feel her fingers. Was surprised that her skin seemed its normal, lightly-tanned color, when by all rights it should appear blue with frostbite.
“That was not my fault!” she spluttered. And besides, he had survived it and in their line of work---
“No, you didn’t beat me yourself. You merely framed me to look as guilty as you were and then left me to face the consequences alone and without warning. That small little detail. No wonder you could forget it so easily. A cost you did not have to bear.”
She looked up, squinted as she heard the thwap, thwap, thwap of helicopter wings. “What is going on? Are you on that helicopter?”
“Who? Me? No. Nor is Sydney-“ Jack said, then bit off the rest of the sentence that had wanted to erupt from his mouth, ‘Nor is Sydney, in case you’re interested.” Sydney did not need that, although it would have felt so good. Oh well, he could say something similar when he saw her again, face to face. There was so much to say, after all, this conversation was just the tip of the iceberg. Wondered if she felt as cold as he had the day he was arrested. Turning on the com unit for a moment, he told Weiss to get the blankets out.
She shook her head in confusion. “So, what is this helicopter-“
“Oh. That. Those would be the investigative teams coming in to acquire all available intel and evidence. By any means necessary.”
“Jack. No. That is my home,” she gasped. “Quer-“
“Ah, yes. As that house of ours was my home. Sydney’s. Until the day I was arrested. Or even before, when the team investigating you, me, tore it apart to find evidence proving my collusion with my wife,” he pointed out. “But don’t worry. They won’t vandalize the building. They won’t punch unnecessary holes in walls, tear down the tile in every bathroom, slice open our daughter’s stuffed animals or her mattress, pull up floorboards, dig up the garden. That would be wasteful. And I hate waste, destruction. When, as in this case, it would be so pointless. Other times, however....”
“Jack. What are you doing? Why did you break the chain?” She asked, watching the helicopter set down and the team spill out in orderly fashion.
“I? You broke the chain decades ago. Or rather, it appeared that you bent the clasp, I noted when I began working on it. Let me guess, you twisted it the day you took a dive into the river. Am I right?”
“Yes, I didn’t want to take it off.”
“But you did. You chose to take it off. Just as you broke that chain when you chose to betray me, Sydney, in Panama. I merely provided...tangible evidence of what you had done.”
“But...That was not a good play in the game. Between us... the game....”
“Irina...The game is over.”
“No, it will never be over. You prom-“
He knew it, he thought, the depths of her self-deception were astonishing. He was going to have to meet with her face to face, he knew, snapping a pencil in half and ignoring Sydney’s look of concern as he tossed both pieces into the wastebasket. He sighed as he told her, “Have Vaughn lift up the inside bottom of the box.”
Irina told Vaughn what Jack had said and held the box in her one hand. Vaughn pulled out a knife, opened the lid and pushed the tangle of twisted gold to the side. Then inserting the slender knife into the bottom, he pried it up. Pulling it out, he flipped it over and she gasped. A tiny transmitter.
“A new kind of transmitter,” Jack murmured in her ear. “Developed just for you. Marshall is calling it the mirror bug. It begins transmitting after a scanner passes over it.”
“Brilliant,” she commented, knowing that this could not be it. There must be more. There was always more with Jack.
Vaughn put his knife away and pulled out a small slip of paper. He unfolded it and held it up for her to read.
It took her a moment. First to decode it, then to believe it.
“Gotcha,” she said incredulously, reading the word that had been their little joke. But now, now, she feared, it was no joke. That he had turned one of their sweet memories into something bitter...How could he do this, she wondered, as she asked in shock, “Gotcha?”
“Gotcha,” Jack said equally softly. Then all she heard was dial tone.
And in the silence, broken only by the wind and the harsh sound of..what was that, she wondered, was that her soul sobbing? Could it be? Or was it too late?
In that silence, that seemed endless, what registered more than anything else was the tone of his voice. Using a word they had used in their games together should have been comforting, but hearing that tone, that tone she had heard over her bugs, the deadliest tone of all, she felt her heart stop. That tone, that soft, cutting quality she had never thought to hear directed at herself, that tone that was not anger, but something far more dangerous. Cold determination. The cold was much more dangerous than the heat. She shivered.
She stared at the box in her hands now, unable to feel the smoothness of the wood, now slightly gritty with the dust, licked her lips, unable to feel any moisture, blinked her eyes, unable to see what she wanted. She had to....No, no, she could not....She had to.... She was, she thought, finding no answers as she stared at nothing, saw nothing, wishing, hoping she could feel nothing. But...that was a lie, she did not have to wish, did not have to hope, for she could not feel anything. Her freezing-cold suddenly-lifeless hands could no longer grip anything as her mind tried to grasp reality.
She dropped the box with the broken chain. Watched it fall, tumble end over end, to fall into the dust and dirt at their feet. Watched the broken links spill out slowly. The keening wind, the endless shriek of the wind which matched the noise in her mind, sent the sand shifting around them, covering, quickly, so quickly, she could barely believe it even as she watched, covering those golden links in dust and dirt. And then, in the blink of an eye, the links were gone as if they had never been.
Until the only visible sign of their existence and then their passing was the empty box sitting there, haphazardly sticking into the dirt as the hot, whining wind swirled aimlessly around it, over and over and over, the dust swiftly covering the fine, smooth surface until it grew gritty and irreparably scratched with abrasions and then it too would disappear, she knew, all together.
Except she thought, in her memories. She would remember....yes, that was it.... And then she would find a way to escape this mess. She did not like the mess. She had to find a way to clean this all up, she thought as Weiss draped a blanket around her shoulders. She grabbed onto it, shivering in the heat, as they began escorting her toward the now-emptied helicopter. The dust, she thought, staring at it, the damn dust. The heat, the dust swirling around them, even as she shivered inside, feeling as if her very center had become ice. Ice that was beginning to break apart, to fall apart, as if her center could no longer hold together. But no, she decided, she could keep herself together. She just had to find a way... She shivered, then forced herself to stop. She just had to keep herself together until she saw Jack again.
“Where is Jack?” she asked as Vaughn handed her into the helicopter, hearing in the sound of the blades, "Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha" over and over and over.
Back in LA, turning to Sydney, Jack said, “I did promise it would be bloodless. And it was.” She nodded. Searching her face carefully, he finally nodded himself and turning on the com units once again, he said, “Vaughn, Amina, please settle the prisoner into the copter. Weiss, Dixon, get moving, please, on the ground work. Thank you all. Good work. I’ll owe you each a beer. Oh, except for Weiss, who no doubt wants some eclairs. And Amina, I did promise you the doll of your choice in the Barbie department at Toys R Us when you arrive here.”
“Oh, good. I hear there is an addition to the Happy Family set. Grandparents now.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Great. Even in Barbie’s world the adults have grandchildren. Great. Whatever. Get moving, please.”
“Gee,” Weiss said, “I think we’ve heard more pleases today than in my previous two years of working with Jack.”
“Mark it on the calendar with a red pen, why don’t you? Just move it. I’d like to have her locked up as soon as possible. So get in the air.”
Vaughn and Amina sat across from Derevko, who said not a word, merely looked out the window of the aircraft at nothing in particular. Amina whispered to Vaughn, “You do realize that she is trying to plan her escape?”
He shook his head. “Not until she sees Jack. I guarantee it. Her self-delusion is as wide and deep as...” He looked around, looked out the window himself, “As the extent of nothingness out here.”
She had never been caught for long, had never been in a trap from which she could not escape. And...Jack, once he got over this fit of temper, he would.... She thought frantically, trying to imagine what to say to him, how to cajole him, convince him. Yes, manipulate him, if need be. Or...maybe that little game with the three.... “When will I see Jack?” she asked of Vaughn. He stared at her, she thought, as if she were Medusa or the three-headed gorgon, when it was a perfectly-reasonable, logical, rational question. What other question, in fact, would be more obvious? Then wondered why her body seemed to have a mind of its own, as she watched her hands tremble and her legs jerk as she asked, “Where is Jack?”
“What?” he asked incredulously. Then watching her carefully, he handed her two more blankets. “Put them on yourself or if you wish, Amina can assist you?”
“The blankets? Why would you have blankets ready in this heat?” She asked, even as she shrugged them around her with her shackled hands, the process made more difficult by the additional shackle around her waist, there, she knew to keep her from raising her hands and using them as a weapon.
“Jack insisted we have them for you. Said you would be cold. If his experience was any indication.”
“His experience?” She asked then nodded. “When he was arrested. He had always worried about being cold and then that would have....”
“Yes,” Vaughn said quietly.
“When will I see Jack?” she asked. Those would be the only words she asked on the entire trip back to the United States. Well, that and “Where is Jack, anyway?”
Over and over and over. Until Amina and Vaughn were both ready to scream. Finally, over the Pacific Ocean, Amina had enough. Motioning Vaughn away from Derevko, she hissed, “I know she’s in shock. I know she’s trying to deny the truth. But she’s exhausting herself and driving me quite mad.” He nodded. Opening her own pack, she showed Vaughn a vial. “A sleeping draught. Let’s put it in a beverage and-“
Vaughn thought, then said, “Let me ask Jack, I don’t want to-“
Amina rolled her eyes. “Can’t you make a decision on your own? Pretty Boy?”
“Listen. Dolly. You go out with that man’s daughter and see if you don’t have nervous moments.”
“Vaughn,” Jack sighed impatiently a few minutes later, “Can’t you make the decision on your own?”
Vaughn gritted his teeth. Amina bit her lip and whispered, “Told you so.”
“Hold on,” Jack said and speaking into his headset apparently, he said, “Weiss, what is it? The password for her computer? Let me think....” He sighed. Then sighed again, remembering her soft words that one day when she thought he was asleep, how she had used that endearment, had clearly wanted to use that endearment but would not allow herself. She had no doubt been indoctrinated into the belief that to display love would mean losing yourself in love. And therefore, had used that word, that desire for that word, that word she would not utter, for her password. “Try... " Sweetie. Or wait, it could be idiot. "Hmm. Let me encrypt it for you... Here, try this....I’ll wait... Yes." It was sweetie. he sighed. "Good. I’ve got to get back to Vaughn’s huge problem, now. Vaughn - give her the sleep. She needs to sleep or she’ll just make herself sick.”
Vaughn nodded. In a moment, he stood next to Irina and asked, “Would you like a soda?”
“What is it?” Amina asked, as they watched Derevko finally sleep and could breathe a sigh of relief.
“How do you know it’s anything?”
“You have approximately ten wrinkles in your forehead, which Jack told me is a sign of deep thought on your part,” Amina retorted.
“Damn, you are such a smartass. You and Sydney are going to get along so well,” Vaughn said, rubbing his face. And Susan, too, would love her. If the three of them ever got together.... “And I will not be around for that. I’ll go to a game or something. Why did you agree to serve as the female escorting agent anyway?”
“Jack promised me-“
“Let me guess. A doll. A blonde Hot Look Ken, no doubt.”
“Ooooh. They make a blonde?”
“For the love of....Just answer the question.”
“Which one?”
“Did Jack train you in misdirection?”
“Did he train you? You still haven’t answered my question about what you were contemplating so furiously.”
“Oh. I guess I’m just confused. About feelings-“
“Of course, you are. You are just a man.”
“Listen, Dolly. And I still can’t believe that when you tossed off that damn burka you had on a Barbie tshirt underneath.”
“We all have our little obsessions, do we not? I hear yours is offering soda to those you are interrogating.”
“How did you... Jack.”
“Vaughn, just say it.”
“Okay. Don’t you think it’s a little odd, how he was so concerned about her not falling into complete shock, about making sure we had the blankets for her, about not completely confronting her until she was in more stable surroundings, about wanting her to sleep... I’m worried.”
“Worried that what? He still has feelings?” Amina asked. Vaughn nodded. “I don’t think so. I think he was just showing basic human decency, empathizing as well as he could even while he was planning her downfall.”
“That’s so twisted, though. Oh what the hell am I saying? That makes perfect sense, then.”
“Yes. And besides, underneath it all, Jack is a nice man. He is!” Amina insisted, when Vaughn sent her a skeptical look. “He goes out of his way to find dolls for my girls. Of course, that could be because he wants grandchildren to spoil.” She slanted a look at him. “And then too, didn’t he send you to my father for, among other reasons, so that my father could tell you stories about your father? That was nice. But...Jack is also ruthless, cold, driven, determined, definitely someone I would not want as an enemy....Hmm. I begin to see why your hand was shaking when you called him about the sleeping draught.”
“It was not!” Vaughn protested. Then groaned. She and Sydney were going to be quite a pair....And then he groaned again. A doubleplay. Jack had asked Amina to be the escorting female agent and stay for a few more days to meet Sydney. He was trying to give Sydney a friend, so she wouldn’t feel so alone.
As the door to her cell closed behind her, Irina turned to face Vaughn again, trying to squelch the sound of Jack's voice in her head, the letters on that piece of paper, that mocked her, saying endlessly, ‘Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha.’ by saying loudly, “When will I see Jack?”
TBC at