by Lin Larson
“You’d better not know the details just yet, my friend. Are you home for a while?” Sam said.
“Yes, but I’ll have to get cash at the bank since you probably don’t want a check, right?”
“Yes. Thanks,” Sam said. “I’m coming then. I can be there in about two hours. I’m not very close. I’m on a bus. Is anyone watching your house?” Sam said anxiously.
“Oh my goodness, I don’t think so. If it is that dangerous, be careful, Sam. I don’t want to lose my wonderful old friend and best client.” Now Ben sounded worried.
“I’ll be careful. Thanks, Ben, for your friendship. I’ll pay it back.”
“I know you will. See you soon.” Ben hung up.
Sam felt a little less anxious.
#
“Sam, I was very worried,” Benjamin Gallagher opened the door eagerly. “Rumor has it that you’re now dead.”
“Really?” Sam said tiredly. “Nope, I’m indestructible, so far anyway and hopefully in the future. Missed you, my good friend.”
“You look awful, and I missed you too. When did you decide to go the derelict route? The whiskers are a bit scruffy.”
Ben’s face crinkled into a grin. He sincerely liked Sam. They had maintained a long friendship, aside from the business. He knew that he was Sam’s dearest friend, except for his kid brother and Susie. They didn’t always associate with the same crowd, but there was honest affection, respect, and loyalty, which was bread over the years.
“Razor, clothes, and a bath await you. Fast man, before the neighbors begin to talk,” Ben teased.
Sam smiled. “I owe you,” and he clasped Ben’s hand.
“You owe me nothing. Your friendship and talent have been a gift to me, plus we crusaders need to stick together.” Ben spoke warmly with that old twinkle in his eye.
“Crusaders? For what?” replied Sam curiously.
“Justice, money and women.” Benjamin joked. He enjoyed surrounding himself in life’s finery, but he retained memories of his poor upbringing and class struggle. Despite his jovial front, he was about as down to earth and humble as a man could be. Sam had deep respect for his friend.
“Hey, speak for yourself, chauvinist!” Sam countered. He needed to laugh and was enjoying the banter. Ben must have known that. He pushed all the right buttons. Sam’s broad shoulders relaxed. He suddenly felt very tired. He turned back to Ben, who was just fixing a drink. “I’ve got to sleep for an hour. May I use your couch or bedroom. Throw a drink on me if I go longer, will you?” he said.
“Right, use any bedroom. There’s an alarm clock in each. But throwing the drink would be fun.” Ben’s smile faded as he suddenly turned serious. “Then, when you wake, we’ll talk, young man.”
“Yes, then we’ll talk.” Sam said sadly. He never quite made it to a shower first. He mounted the stairs, lay across the bed, and was out. Sleep was just what he needed.
#
Sam’s eyes sprang open. He stared at a disembodied head with a gaping mouth. His body tensed but couldn’t move. A bloody grey mass oozed from the head and spilled over his body. It was seeping into his orifices. He wanted to scream, but it was in his mouth and now choking the life from his body. Sam was flinging his arms about, but they were caught in its tendrils. Hideous gurgling sounds were coming from its mouth. Suddenly he was free, but something was shaking him. He would kill it, if he could see it. He squeezed his eyes shut and open them again. If he could just clear his vision, and then suddenly he could.
Ben was holding his arms or rather trying to. “My God, Sam. It’s just a dream. I’m here.”
“Here?” Sam tried to sit up but fell back. “Where?” He couldn’t quite understand. Why was Ben looking at him with such pity? “Hey, I’m fine now. I just had a nightmare. I’m bloody happy that it was a dream and not happening here and now though.” He smiled tightly. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead. Despite his rugged strength, Sam looked like a young boy in that moment.
Ben swallowed hard. “You need a drink. If what you’ve been through caused that nightmare, I’m very sorry, Sam. Can I help with more than money and a drink?”
“You are helping by just believing in me, and with the money. Thanks. The memories of the past week and the mess is getting to me. And I need a shower.” Sam was feeling better as he managed to stand. He took a towel and wiped the sweat from his face. Out now, while I clean up. Okay?”
“I’m going. I just feel like a worried father.” I’ll meet you downstairs.” Ben moved out and closed the door.
Sam stepped into the shower. He shook his head to rid himself of his horrible memories. The water soothed his cuts and bruises. He wondered about Jensen. What was he doing now? Is more happening with his experiments or is it all over? Why were they after me? I can’t write about the hospital and the horror. No one would believe me. He wasn’t going to let it all blow over though. Maybe Jensen realized that. Sam just didn’t know what to do. How was he going to end this Jensen madness? He feared there was more to follow on Acceleration and that it wasn’t over. He always finished what he started. But it wasn’t over as long as Jensen lived, and he wasn’t about to stop finding out more information on Jensen and the drugs. He turned off the shower. He felt better.
#
When Sam joined Ben he was no longer the terrified little boy with the bad dream. He took the offered scotch and eased his lanky body into an old leather chair. He downed the drink with gusto.
“You’re a good bartender, my friend,” Sam said quietly.
Ben nodded his head proudly. “Thank you, and by the way, here’s some coffee also and a sandwich. And you probably won’t have to pay me back for the loan because your books just shot up on the bestseller list. The publicity has made lots of people want your books and that means, I’ll get lots of royalties also. I brought you $5000. Being poor is never fun.” Ben’s eyes twinkled and then he sobered. “Now give. I just listened to the news. One minute you are public enemy number one, and the next, you are declared dead. You are now dead? Why? Can you tell me? I won’t judge you, Sam.”
“All right.” Sam began at the beginning. After he’d finished, neither said a word, but rather they stared into their drinks, as the fire in the fireplace sparked and shadowed the room with the demons of Sam’s tale.
Finally, Ben cleared his throat and spoke. “Why did it kill Caroline and not you?”
“Maybe because I wasn’t on it very long. Perhaps you need it after a while in order to survive. I didn’t need it after my hallucinations and craziness in the wilderness area. I don’t know all the answers. I hope it doesn’t affect me later. I don’t think it will. It hasn’t so far.”
Sam buried his face in his hands. “Ben, I should have gone back sooner, I killed as sure as they did. I shouldn’t have left her.”
“You said she was too weak, and it was her choice too.” Ben rested his broad hand on Sam’s arm. You didn’t kill her.”
“I should have carried her the first time.” Sam’s eyes burned with the pain of the memory and choice.
“Then you’d probably both be dead or brains preserved in their anatomy boxes or jars. You did what was right at the time. Also, you caused a lot of destruction to their chemicals and hospital. In a way, you were a hero. Maybe you stopped the experiments.” Ben said.
“I wish I could feel that inside.” Sam stood and shook his head. “Look at me, I’m a bundle of self-pity. So what now? I think I have to investigate further. Knowledge isn’t worth destroying human lives in such a cruel way.” He sighed sadly. “Why did those subjects volunteer?”
Ben thought for a moment and then said, “Maybe they were too excited and greedy. Science can bring wonderful results, but not all experiments end well. The effects seemed worth it to them. They just didn’t expect death or Sean’s results which changed his personality. He was obsessed. You couldn’t have saved him or them. They all made their choices.”
Sam passed his fingers through his hair and thought. “Do y
ou think it’s over? I have a feeling that it’s not. And do you think it just involves Silas Jensen now or the whole FBI?”
“Damned if I know. Even speculating is frightening. All right. Enough knowledge here for my poor old brain. Do you think this is enough money?” Ben dug the money out of his wallet on the table and handed it to Sam. “What else can I do?’
“You did a lot. I owe you big time. You also made me feel sane again.” Sam stood up. “I guess I have to go and rejoin the world once more, sort of. I’ll have to see if I’m still wanted as a criminal or dead.”
“Oh, here.” Ben said as he handed Sam the morning paper. “You might want to read the fiction that Jensen created and is putting out. It’s fascinating but not as interesting as the bloody truth.”
Sam reached out for it just as Ben enveloped him in a bear hug. “Be careful, kid.”
“Kid,” Sam laughed. “You’ll be calling me that when I’m eighty.”
“Yep,” Ben said playfully and then froze. He turned to being serious. “I hope so. Now go before I get emotional. By the way, where are you headed?”
Sam smiled. “Washington, D.C.” He turned and walked out the door.
CHAPTER 19
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain in your seats until we have come to a full stop. Enjoy your stay in our nation’s capital, Washington D.C. Sam woke with a start at the giggle of his five-year-old seatmate.
“Wake up, Mister. My name is Sarah. I’m going to see my daddy. I was visiting my grandma.” She certainly was a cute little urchin, but too cheerful. She did let him sleep, however, which was wonderful. He needed the rest.
Sam stifled a yawn. “Are you? That’s nice, Sarah.” She hadn’t made a sound all through the trip. He usually hated sitting next to kids, but he was amazed at how good she was. It sent a pang through Sam. He and his ex-wife, Mandy, had lost their little girl, Annie, years ago. On reflecting, he knew that the loss caused their break-up. It was when he sold his first book. They lost their baby through meningitis. Mandy had gone into heavy depression for months afterwards. She just couldn’t look at Sam after that. Their happiness together was over. It couldn’t survive losing Annie. Mandy never remarried, at least so far, he thought. Sam secretly hoped someday they could go back to what they were, but that was a long time ago. He hadn’t seen her since the
divorce, though they wrote ever Christmas. Annie died at the age of one. He missed her.
He closed his eyes for a minute. He could still see her in his mind and remember her giggle. He smiled and opened his eyes again.
Sam looked around. The plane had stopped. Little Sarah was gone. He was alone except for the two tired stewardesses that were staring at him. He apologized and shrugged. He cheerfully walked off the plane and through the airport crowds. He felt renewed energy. Suddenly he froze.
Next to the street exit stood little Sarah with Silas Jensen. She was hugging him and calling him “Daddy.” Sam felt shocked, as he quickly turned away. He was shaking inside. He hated Jensen, but seeing the child changed the whole scenario. Jensen suddenly had become a human being. But no, a human couldn’t be so twisted and still have this innocent kid. But then Hitler was gentle with kids too, as long as they weren’t Jewish and other minority groups. No, this wasn’t going to make him quit investigating the man. He was hiding the evil inside him.
Jensen didn’t notice Sam as he walked out of the terminal with his child and boarded a taxi.
Sam quickly grabbed the next taxi in the line and delighted the driver with the famous words, “Follow that car.” Sam then turned on his charm as he spoke to the driver. “It’s just a game,” he said, “a game with a dear friend. Try not to let them see us, however.”
“Sure, if you say so,” the guy grinned, as his metallic front tooth glinted in the headlights of the oncoming cars.
For twenty minutes they wove through the traffic. They suddenly came to a colonial estate where Jensen stopped in his taxi. Jensen pulled through the front gate. Sam’s driver pulled over on the next block.
“You want me to turn around and park in front,” he said.
“No, this is fine. Thanks. I can’t wait to surprise him.” Sam winked and handed the driver the fare and a big tip. “Is that enough?”
“Sure is. Have fun, Mister.” The driver winked back and dissolved into guffaws. “I wish I could see the guy’s face. Thanks, Mister.” Sam laughed too and got out, as his still grinning driver drove off.
He had made Sam felt good. The driver was so genuine and one of many colorful and happy people that delight our world but do not change the grand scheme of history. Was Sam one of those people or part of the Sean and Jensen master plan? He wished he could just be one of the ordinary ones living their lives, but he felt like he was obligated to affect the present and stop what he feared might be a threat to people. Feeling this way, he couldn’t just crawl back and be a little satellite of his own. He didn’t need power or immortality, but he felt he had to do something. He was part of the hurricane that was coming whether he liked it or not.
The people Jensen hurt didn’t even realize the cruelty of their fates. They were being lied to, used, murdered, and then thrown into the trash. They were walking to their deaths and possibly wouldn’t comprehend it until it was too late. Sam had to do something but what?
He stood alone on the dark street as the cold winds stung his face.
#
Sam finally began to move. He crept through the dark grounds at Jensen’s home. He touched the study window and crouched in the shadows as he listened.
“Sarah, go to bed now. I need to talk to these gentlemen.” Silas Jensen bent down and patted her head.
“Daddy, I drew you a picture.”
“Yes, it’s very pretty, now go to bed.” He spoke without looking closely. Suddenly he turned back, stared at the picture and drew back. “Sarah, what is this?”
“It’s Grandpa in his room.” Her clear blue eyes noted her Daddy’s frown. “Daddy, don’t get mad at me.” Her lips began to quiver.
“I’m not mad. Your picture is well done, but don’t draw him next time.”
“Okay. I like orange. Or..an..ge.” She played with the word.
“I like orange too. Now go to bed.” Silas said sharply.
“Yes, Daddy.” Sarah said, as she sadly walked out.
Sam’s face was motionless. He didn’t care if Jensen had twenty Shirley Temples. This was the same man from Mekka’s conspiracy.
A tall man with a sandwich rose from a nearby chair. “Jensen, what’s in the kid’s picture?” He said, as he chewed his bite of the food and threw the remains of his sandwich on the table. “Kaupman, watch the table. It’s eighteenth century French.”
“Who cares? It’s just a stinkin’ table.” He slid the sandwich along the table and licked his sticky fingers.
“Kaupman,” Sam’s mouth fell open. He was also “tall man.”
“Kaupman, you’re disgusting,” Jensen sneered. “You can be replaced.”
“Ignore him, Jensen,” a second man said in a deep voice as he stood up and chewed a fat cigar. Sam froze. “Here was cruel Cigar Man, from the hospital. Cigar Man started talking again. “So, what’s in your kid’s picture? You even got me curious.”
“It’s her grandpa’s room, Mr. Krieder,” Jensen spoke angrily.
Cigar Man was Krieder. So Jensen’s hanging out with the hospital’s executioner now. Not very classy.
Sam listened again.
“What was she doing in his room?” Keep your damn kid out of there?” Kaupman said as he spit, aiming for the basket but landed it on the floor.
“Watch your mouth and don’t spit on my floor, you pig. She won’t be doing it again. Now forget about my kid. Understand? And Mister Kaupman, clean up your disgusting saliva.” Jensen snapped.
Kaupman pursed his lips in distain. “Hell, it’s only spit. So, how do we start over? It’s all destroyed.” He bent down with a crumpled tissue from his pocket; wiped the spit; and d
ropped the tissue on the antique table.
“No, it isn’t. We still have Grandpa and Sean Stone’s notes. We’ll begin again.”
“We don’t have Stone’s notes yet.”
“We’ll find them, but then again, we may not need them.” Jensen said curtly.
“And what about money? We’ve lost millions.” Krieder added, as he coughed noisily and inserted his cigar back into his mouth.
“The organization will be reinstated. The President is still our ace in the hole. He will do anything I ask. He wants the power, and I can give it to him. He knows this. He’s just waiting for the media dust to settle. You see- he’s tired of being told that he got the presidency based on his looks and charisma. He wants the intellect, so he can gain power and adoration, and then he can hold onto his job. He also wants all the problems worked out with the serum.” Jensen preened as he sat, enjoying his kingpin status. We have many people waiting on our serum.”
“But Mekka’s kid and Sean Stone are dead. What was the kid’s name? Was it Caroline? She was a fox. They found her body outside the hospital. Doesn’t that mean that the serum’s not ready yet?” Krieder was sharp despite his smelly cigars. “Anyway, we need more research. Does the President know that? Some people come out of the hibernation, some don’t. What if we give it to the President and he dies?”
Jensen walked to his bar and fixed himself a shot of whiskey. “That’s his choice,” Jensen said smoothly. Don’t worry, Mr. Krieder. Mekka will fix it.”
“Mekka? We’re going to rely on him? Frankly he scares me, Mr. Jensen.”
“It’s under control. I have a bigger vision, and we have all the time we need.”’
“No, you don’t,” Sam thought. “I’ll see to that. He crept around the outside of the house. He had to find Mekka. He must still be alive, one of those who came out of hibernation. With Sean gone, they needed Mekka, and Sam needed to convince him of the right thing to do. He might be able to handle Mekka if he could only just talk to him again.
Sam heard a car pull up and burrowed further into the bushes near the house. Suddenly shocked, he saw the face of the man exiting the limo, despite the shielding of the multiple muscular bodies. It was the President. “Shit! It’s the President of the United States! He’s involved. He just lost my vote,” thought Sam. “Here he’s so pretty and friendly too.”