Preston Bailey paused outside the door to his hotel room, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As if the gods had given Atlas a respite, taking away the burden of holding up the world.
Since the beginning of the horrid ordeal, from the moment he'd first seen the ransom video, he'd tried to stay positive, telling himself everything would be all right and daring anyone to say otherwise. But a small part of his brain, one he'd incessantly told to shut up, had had the audacity to pitch hard truth at him in his weaker He's dead already' it had whispered, 'You'll never see him again'. And in a few of those weak moments, late at night as he fitfully tossed in bed, he'd nearly believed it, finding himself honestly asking "What if?"
What if they couldn't find his brother? What if the Viper had killed him? The ransom note had warned about bringing anyone else into the picture... What if one day Nigel really was shipped home in separate boxes as the villain threatened?
Preston had stubbornly pushed those thoughts away when they reared their ugly heads, but unfortunately "what ifs" traveled in packs and preyed on weakened misgivings. What if he never got to tell Nigel how sorry he was for the way he'd behaved? *What if I never get to tell him how much I really care?* *What if he dies all alone, thinking I failed him when he needed me most?*
And that struck at the heart of the matter because, for the first time in ages, he did care about what his little brother thought about him. All through their youth he'd seen Nigel as his rival, as an opponent to be bested. He hadn't generally cared what his brother thought about him… winning was more important, being the best was more important. As long as things went his way and he got what he wanted, the world was perfect in his eyes.
Preston had wanted to be perfect... the perfect son, the perfect pianist, the perfect student, even the perfect Boy Scout. But there was one thing he hadn't tried being perfect at, and that was being a big brother. He'd failed Nigel so many times he couldn't even begin to guess the number. As a brother he'd been a pathetic flop, and while he felt he'd made some positive inroads over the past year, he still wondered if he was truly making things right or merely smoothing them over in his mind's eye.
Being faced with The Viper's gun, all the `what ifs' had returned, slamming against him with more force than the assassin's bullet. Thoughts of his personal safety had all but vanished, leaving behind only the overwhelming urge to protect his little brother from the ultimate bully. In that split second, he knew the progress in their relationship had been real, not just a figment of his guilty imagination, and he'd been overjoyed.
But then there was an explosion and the world faded to black.
For all intents and purposes, he should have been killed. The odds of the watch being just where the bullet struck were nearly boggling. The pack of ravenous `what ifs' sensed fresh meat and once more began circling like vultures. `What if?... what if?' they chanted over and over in his mind. Preston didn't know how to answer them, but did know he'd been spared, call it fate or divine intervention, but he'd been given a second chance. And this time he was doing things right.
As he debated whether to knock on the door of the hotel room he shared with Claudia, or use his key, he sensed motion and glanced up in time to see a robed blur moving down the adjoining hallway. He frowned, moving towards the corner where the two corridors intersected. There'd been something familiar about that blur. Poking his head around the corner, he realized what it was... Nigel. And he was in a hurry.
What the bloody hell? "Nigel!" he called, stepping into the connecting hall. He'd expected his brother to stop, but he showed no signs of slowing down. *Where does he think he's going?* Making a decision, Preston hurried after his brother, following him out of the hotel and into the sun-baked street. After a few moments, he'd caught up enough to attract his brother's attention without drawing anyone else's. "Nigel?" he tried again. "What are you doing?"
Nigel stopped and slowly turned around at his brother's voice. "What does it look like?" he asked defensively.
Preston was surprised by his brother's tone, but not only that, dismayed to see how upset he seemed to be. "Nigel," he said, putting a gentle hand his sibling's shoulder. "What's wrong? Did Sydney say something to you?" He couldn't imagine the relic hunter saying anything that would send Nigel running into the street, but it was possible. Another thought occurred to him. "Wasn't she in the room?"
"Oh no, she was in the room," Nigel spoke with a certain amount of bitterness in his tone. "Right along with Derek... they were kissing." He shook his head slightly and looked up to meet his brother's eyes. "Didn't she even care Preston? Doesn't she know the sort of hell I've been though? I could have been killed, you too for that matter, and what does she do?" He made a frustrated gesture with his hand. "Use the whole situation to carve another notch in her bedpost!"
Preston tightened his grip on his brother's shoulder and steered him off to stand beside a merchant's canopy, the proprietor of which was happily selling a variety of earthen pots. "I don't think it's been that way at all. She's been worried like mad, as much as I've been. I'll admit I don't know what's going on between her and that Lloyd fellow, but I haven't really seen any romantic sparks. I can't think of why they'd be kissing... are you sure that was what they were doing?"
"I know what I saw."
Preston remained silent for a moment as he mulled over the situation. "I know this may not be the best time, but what exactly is your relationship with her? Do you love her?"
Nigel slowly shook his head, pondering the best way to explain feelings he'd never put into words. "There's different kinds of love." He finally answered after staring at the ground a moment. "I do feel a love for Sydney... there's no reason to lie about it, but it's not the sort of love you might think it is." He tilted his head to the side slightly. "It's like she's opened my eyes to the world." A note of wonder crept into his tone, "I'm not even sure how to describe it, but she's taught me so much... working with her has shown me more than I ever thought I'd see. She's given me so many wonderful experiences and opportunities that I never would have had. I think she's probably the best friend I've ever had, and I'll always love her for that."
A light smile drifted across the elder Bailey's face in comprehension. "So you think that after seeing her kissing Lloyd while you were running for your life she might not value your friendship as much as you do?"
"Yes!" Nigel blurted in near surprise. "That's it exactly!"
Preston nodded. "Believe or not Nigel, I do understand." And for the second time in the same day he felt as though he'd tapped into his big brother instincts. "We all have our favored friends in life... And I think you're very lucky to have found one." He chuckled shortly. "Most of us poor sots are still scrounging around looking for ours. You can't just run off and leave her now. I've watched her the last few days... I know how much this situation has hurt her. Trust me Podge, don't give up on her."
Nigel hung his head a moment, finally looking up with a chagrined expression. "You really are worth more than a watch aren't you?"
For the first time in what seemed like days, Preston laughed in genuine amusement. "I certainly hope so. Now come on," he tugged at the front of his brother's robe like a fashion critic. "Straighten up. We're going back to that hotel and trust me, when you see her, you'll know how much she missed you." He finished his straightening and placed both hands on Nigel's shoulders. "All right?"
Nigel smiled and nodded, feeling considerably better. "All right."
At that moment, the purveyor of earthen pots noticed them near his business and thrust a sample of his wares under their noses. "Nice pot!" The old man pitched in a heavy accent. "Handmade!" He flashed a toothy grin and gestured to his merchandise. "Good price, yes? You like to buy?"
Preston arched an eyebrow, eyeing the pottery with professional scrutiny. "La shukran," he replied in a polite `no thank you'. "Come on Nigel. I think that's our cue to leave. Assalamu alaikum," he bowed to the shopkeeper.
The old man, now realizing he wouldn't be making a sale, merely shrugged as though it were a common phenomenon. "Walaikum assalam," he answered, already scanning the street for any new likely customers.
Preston guided his brother away from the shop, lowering his voice and inserting a note of bemusement. "Authentic handmade pots... straight from Mexico."
And Nigel couldn't help but smile as they made their way back to the hotel.
End of Part Twenty Nine
Go to Part Thirty.
Note: 'Assalamu alaikum' is Arabic for "Peace be upon you." and 'Walaikum assalam' is the traditional response to it, it's basically like saying "the same to you". I apologize if it's wrong, I looked it up at a website.