The Virgin’s Baby

3. Ransom

3

RANSOM

Lubbock, Texas – May 11th

Weird noises met my ears as I entered my grandfather’s bedroom suite. The first room, much like a living room and filled with leather furnishings, was empty. The door on the far wall led to his bedroom. Behind that, I heard what sounded like Darth Vader-breathing.

Giving the door a knock, I asked, “Grandad, you in there?”

After some shuffling sounds, the door opened. And there stood a young woman wearing lilac scrubs. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later. Mr. Whitaker is doing his breathing treatment at the moment. Give us thirty minutes, please.” Then she just closed the damn door in my face.

I knocked again then twisted the doorknob to find it locked. “What the f**k?”

Spinning on my heel when I heard footsteps behind me, I found my grandfather’s assistant coming in the front room. His eyebrows went up when he saw me. “Good, you came.”

I rubbed my brow as frustration swelled inside of me. “Mr. Davenport, what in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?”

“Have you been able to see him?” he asked, instead of answering my question.

“No. That woman wouldn’t let me in. And she’s locked the door.” I threw my hands in the air. “What’s going on? Just tell me already.”

His light blue eyes looked pleadingly at me. “I wish I could. Unfortunately, I’ve been told not to say a thing to you.” He wrung his old, wrinkled hands as he looked down at the floor. “Please, don’t tell him that I called you. I’m afraid he’ll fire me if you do. He was adamant that no one tell you a thing.”

“Fine.” I sat on the sofa, wondering what was happening. “I know how he can be.” My heart felt so heavy I thought it might fall out of my chest. “He’s all I’ve got, you know. After Mom and Dad were killed on their yacht off the African coast, he came to my boarding school to give me the horrible news. I went home with him, and he became both my mother and my father to me. I don’t know what I would do without him.” I looked at the man who’d been in my grandfather’s employ ever since I could recall. “Is this life-threatening?”

“I’m not saying another thing, Ransom. I can’t. Soon, you can talk to him and let him tell you what he wants to.” Mr. Davenport turned and left me sitting there alone, wondering what I was about to hear.

Closing my eyes, I remembered when my grandfather showed up at my dorm at boarding school. I was fifteen and never imagined he was there to bring me terrible news at all. He would come by unexpectedly on occasion to take me out to dinner or to see a movie.

That day he looked different. Pale, shaky, weak—not like my grandfather at all, really.

“Ransom, I’ve got terrible news to tell you, boy.”

I’d taken a seat on the edge of my bed. “Yes, sir. What is it?”

“My son…” he stopped talking and put his fist tightly against his mouth. Then he cleared his throat before going on. “My son was murdered. Your father and mother have been killed. Their bodies were found full of bullet holes off the African Coast. Their yacht has been taken. Pirates are believed to have done the evil deed.”

It was hard to believe the news he’d delivered to me that day. The sun was shining outside my window; the birds were chirping merrily. Shouldn’t it be storming outside? Didn’t the entire planet know my parents had been killed?

As I sat there waiting to see the old man, lost in my memories, I knew my grandfather would deliver his news much the same way as he’d done back then, fifteen years earlier—straight and to the point.

Internally, I prepared myself to hear it. I had never allowed myself to think about a time that would eventually come—the time when I would find myself alone in the world.

I prayed like crazy that I wasn’t about to find out that the time had come much sooner than I’d ever thought it would. I wasn’t ready to be alone yet.

Sure, I stayed away from home more often than I stayed at home. But I called my grandfather all the time, and he called me too. When I was home, we would do things together. But since I graduated from college, our outings grew more infrequent. Until suddenly, they dried up entirely.

I’ve wasted so much time.

Putting my face in my hands, I fought the urge to cry. I wasn’t the kind of man who cried. I laughed. I joked. I played around. I didn’t cry.

But those tears were burning the backs of my eyes so badly, I thought they might burst free for the first time since I’d lost Mom and Dad.

About a year after their murders, the last of my tears were shed, and I never cried again. And now here I was, trying to hold them back, even though I had no idea what kind of news my grandfather was going to give me.

Pulling my head up, I shook off my feeling of impending doom. I had no clue what I was about to be told. Why start mourning the man now?

The door to his bedroom opened, and the lady in the lilac scrubs came out. “You must be Ransom. Your grandfather has told me so much about you.” She smiled at me as she extended her hand.

I shook it. “He’s told me nothing about you.”

With a light laugh, she said, “I’m sure he hasn’t. I’m Daphne, his attendant. I’ll let him tell you the rest.” She walked away to leave us alone. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes or so. Don’t leave him unattended, please.”

“And why is that?” I asked her.

She didn’t answer; she just closed the outer door behind her, leaving me alone with my grandfather. I turned to walk into his bedroom, worried about the state I would find him in.

He lay in his large, oak four-post bed. A white comforter billowed around him making him look small and slight in the bed.

“Ransom?” he croaked.

“Yes, sir. It’s me.” I came to the side of his bed as he didn’t sit up.

His blue eyes were sunken back into his skull. It had only been a little over a month since I’d seen him last, and he’d lost a fair amount of weight in that short time. And much of his white hair was gone too.

When he pulled his hand out from under the blanket, I could see multiple bruises on top of it. At some time or another, he’d must’ve had IVs stuck in it. And he’d never told me a thing.

“Ransom, sit down.” He patted the bed beside him.

I took a seat on the edge, looking at him and hating what I saw. “Grandad, what’s happened to you? Did you have a stroke or something?”

He nodded, and it made me feel like crying again. “Yes, I did.”

“Why didn’t you have someone call me?” I couldn’t understand why he would do this to me.

“Ransom, I wanted you to come see me, but I didn’t want it to be because I was ill.” He ran his thin fingers over the back of my hand. “You’re always going, going, going. You need to put down some roots, my boy.”

“I’m good, Grandad. I’m really good. I have lots of fun,” I told him, hoping he could understand that I didn’t want to live the way he did, tied down to this place.

“Fun,” he said then harrumphed. “Fun has its place and time. But fun isn’t a way of life, boy.” He shook his head. “No—not, boy. Man. You are a man. Thirty years old now. I thought you might call or come by on your birthday. But you didn’t bother. You didn’t want to spend that special day of yours with your blood. I suppose you were with your cronies—your posse or whatever you call them.”

“I was.” I had to get up and walk around a bit. Seeing him in that weakened state was getting to me. Making me feel things I didn’t want to feel. “And usually you call me on my birthday, not the other way around. I haven’t spent my birthday with you for years now.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he asked. The force of his reply started him coughing.

Turning to look at him, I waited for the coughing fit to subside before asking, “This is more than a stroke, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “This is lung cancer.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to feel.

The man wasn’t dead. Mourning him wouldn’t be the right thing to do. But every fiber of my being told me I should be doing just that.

“What are they doing to treat it?” I finally managed to ask before I staggered to take a seat in a chair, so I wouldn’t fall down.

I’m going to be all alone!

“Chemo.” His eyes went to stare at the ceiling. “Radiation. No surgery can be done. The mass is inoperable. It’s slowly closing off my trachea.”

Getting up, I rushed over to his side, taking his hand in mine as I could hear the fear in his voice. “The chemo and radiation will fix it, Grandad. You’ll see. You can beat this.”

The way his eyes clouded told me he didn’t share my desperate optimism.

“I hope so. My biggest fear is that the tumor will close off my windpipe and I’ll suffocate. I don’t want to go that way, Ransom. I don’t.”

I couldn’t take this. I was about to burst into tears. But my grandfather had always been strong for me, and now it was my turn to be that for him.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Grandad. Give the medicine time to heal you. You’ve got the money to get the best medical help in the whole world. If these medicines fail, then we’ll go alternative. I don’t want you to worry.”

“I don’t want you to be alone, Ransom.” He gripped my hand. “That’s why I’ve done what I’ve done. Not because I hate you. Not because I’m trying to ruin your life. It’s out of love I’ve done this.”

Confusion riddled me. “What are you talking about, Grandad?” I really had no clue at all what he was going on about. “What is it that you’ve done?”

“My will. I’ve made a change to it.” He had to take a second to catch his breath, and the sounds his throat and chest were making were scaring me.

“Grandad, are you okay? Should I get that lady?” I asked as I watched him carefully as he gasped.

Finally, he closed his eyes then his breathing became normal again. “Damn tumor.”

I had no idea what had just happened, but I knew it didn’t feel good to him at all. “So, what is it that you’ve done?”

“I’ve added a stipulation to the will. If you don’t produce an heir before I pass on, then my entire estate will go to charity instead of you,” he said with no qualms at all.

Fuck my life!