The Little Demons Inside

by Micah Thomas

  With his usual cheer, Del smiled big and said, "Hey, why don't we take a hike up the canyon tomorrow? It's supposed to be a bit cooler tomorrow."

  Standing on the little porch, Henry looked at the stars. He had a fuzzy memory of having been star gazing recently, but didn't feel like digging into it. Henry wanted to tell Del, tell them both, that he didn't know what the fuck he was doing, that he was lost, so very completely lost and alone, but he couldn't. He was tongue tied around their kindness and while they clearly sensed that he was troubled and were trying to help, Henry thought that the weight of the full burden of his troubles would cave the fucking roof in if he ever really opened his mouth and let his troubles out.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THOMAS GREETED MATTHEW in the Seattle Starbucks that was in line of sight of two more Starbucks.

  Thomas said, "Two project managers got in line to get coffee at a Starbucks."

  “Why get coffee here? There's a high risk that the beans will be burned and the coffee will taste like crap,” Matthew said.

  Thomas said, "I agree. The coffee will be bad, but there is only enough built-in buffer time to get this slurry, and getting back to the office on time on the critical path."

  They laughed, but anyone listening without a project management professional certification would know, that shit wasn't funny. The discourse, the jargon, worked its way into common speech, a specialized language, reinforced by a lingo dominated industry and workplace. Thomas was the more senior project manager and knew, like a cliché straight from Showgirls, that his understudy was ambitious and making moves to climb around him on the way up. He really didn't mind at all. These shenanigans were part of life in the tech industry as much as they were part of the competitive Vegas review scene. Hell, Matthew was just a project coordinator a short while ago, and now responsible for a major engagement. The worm turned fast. In fact, that was why Thomas was meeting with Matthew, to let him know he knew, and offer his help, if it would be accepted on his conditions.

  They took their coffee on their walk around the block. Both understood the strength of the nondisclosure agreements, and like lawyers discussing client cases in public, spoke in coded language.

  "Do they really send everyone on Bh project home?" Matt asked, brokering conversation to a somewhat neutral topic, something well outside both of their control.

  "Yeah. Onshore at least. Offshore, dunno. You heard them. They went rogue or something. No indication that it will ramp up again either. I heard that all projects were frozen, too, but alas, we're still here."

  "A paycheck is a paycheck."

  "I've never taken that view, but I understand how you might see it that way. No disrespect."

  "Did the team locate H. yet?"

  "No. In fact, QB informed us that we have to get Percy back." This was code, even within the team, for Cynthia, the Queen Bitch, sometimes referred to as Cunthia, but only by the especially bold.

  "Oh shit! I forgot about him. That was before my time, but, oh my god, the stories."

  "Yeah, it sucks. Erik Percy is a piece of shit."

  A sunburst came with a wave of warmly humid air, and oh how the sky scrapers sparkled in the light. The city was a gem and they stood under a pagoda, elevated above the lake front, giving them a stellar view. A homeless looking man shuffled near them, then away again. He'd likely be back in a few moments if he could gather up the coherence to state what he wanted, maybe add a little color to his story, or not.

  "Matthew, what do you think we do at Black Star?"

  "We run projects, and capitalize on the R&D outputs."

  "Again, I understand how you might see it that way, but that's not how I see it. No. We are gatekeepers to something very special. We curate and manage the flow of innovation, keeping the right pulse to what is appropriate, what the people can handle without losing their damned minds. Our charges, themselves, are holy men and women, at one time they may have been venerated as saints. Think about that. They aren't lab subjects despite what we call them. The mysteries we toy with, we hardly understand. The powers we leash, Matthew, we could not only change the world, but could destroy it as much as any nuclear war. That's what we do. We are high priests of man's fundamental mysteries."

  Matthew was stunned. Tom's abandonment of code words in his rant was unnerving. "But we do profit, right?"

  "Do you have any sense of why we don't have any competition? Do you think that our network of operatives would allow anyone else to play in this sandbox? Even our illusion of control falters. You want to rise up and take the reins on Wiseman, fine. I'll even help, however I can, not because I believe your destiny is to ever run this place, but because it's important. Things are slipping out of control, and we may be too late to stop it."

  "I have a plan," Matthew stammered.

  "I know, and I think it might work. That's why I agreed to be on your team."

  The bum wandered back to them at last. "Can I get a dollar?"

  Matthew sneered and looked away, while Thomas took a $20 out of his wallet and gave it to the man, who without an iota of gratitude, accepted it and walked on.

  "You're going to help me too though, and what I'm going to have you do could get us both in considerable trouble, and I don't mean fired."

  Matthew wanted this conversation to end more than anything else. His coffee, already bitter, was sour in his stomach. The sky darkened as the low and heavy clouds congealed once again and a light mist fell. From their vantage point, they could see heavier rain south of the downtown area, the dark cloud burst like gods playing with toy dump trucks.

  "We should head back. I think we're missing a meeting."

  "It can wait."

  Thomas's face was as dark and ash grey as the clouds themselves.

  "It's about accountability," Tom said after a heavy pause. "We opened the box and let the monsters out. I want your help in closing it. There's no money in this, but something greater."

  "What's that?"

  "Salvation."

  A rare crack of lightening lit up the sky, and the rain fell on the downtown area now. Tourists with their umbrellas scattered as the strong winds broke the arms and spun the shape inside out. Locals merely cinched their hoodies and wiped their glasses.

  "Why? Why should I help you? Cynthia trusts me. She called me to her office, not you, and put me in charge of retaking Wiseman."

  "Simply put, because if you don't, I'll destroy you. Information is power, Matthew. At my level, I have access to all of the informational might of the Institute. I personally saw potential in you before you even had an interview, but I also did my homework. I know everything about your collegiate experience, extracurricular activities included. Before you deny anything, yes, I know about the girls you raped and the university effort, aided in no small part by your parent's wealth and influence, to scrub your records, but nonetheless, I know. I also know what happened before that, long before, to a particular special needs child in your neighborhood. Some people know where bodies are buried. Think about it. It might not be litigation, but in the public eye, I can make you utterly unemployable."

  Matthew was stunned, but made no denials. "What do you want me to do?"

  "It's easy. Stay out of my way. Officially, I'll report to you and even recommend that you take on additional resources and compensation matching those responsibilities. In return, you will fail to report anything I do to Cynthia. Do we have an understanding?"

  "Sure. Whatever you say. I'm in, but why? And don't give me this spiritual crap."

  "Don't you know? Ah. You wouldn't. I'm the one that let Wiseman out, both he and the project Ifrit. Clearly, on record, I was under Wiseman's influence, but that changes nothing. It just completes the circle of my complicity."

  Matthew suit was getting soaked as the wind changed direction and whipped rain horizontally beneath the pagoda where they stood, awkwardly. "Why weren't you fired?"

  "I don't know."

  "How do you know you're not still under his influence?"r />
  Thomas laughed at this. "Because it wouldn't make any sense. Why would he ask me to let him out, only to ask me to kill him later?"

  The rain picked back up, a hard and angry rain, and Tom said, "Go back. Start the meeting. Make an excuse for my absence."

  "You're not coming back?"

  "No. Not today," he said and turned to look out over the choppy water.

  ***

  Cynthia hated visiting the drop out lodge, a series of linked apartments where the Institute paid for the upkeep of program burnouts. The place stank of failure, but some things were better done in person and by oneself. Not that there had been any volunteers to talk Erik into coming back. It wasn't unheard for program washouts to get called back in for more tests; after all, they were all, at one point, strong candidates in their own way. They made it past the public face and into the labs, but for one reason or another, their minds either broke or they ultimately failed to make contact. Black Star didn't take responsibility for them out of altruism, but rather to keep them safe and quiet, medicated and housed, out of the way. Honestly, they were somewhat damaged to begin with, something about them clicked with the program, that quotient of madness that enabled the magic to work. Erik's problem was never about the practical engagement model. No, he was just a shitty person and unstable. Combined with the destructive potential of the entity he could contact, the results were far too dangerous, making this a costly loss to the Institute.

  "This is rich. You're making house calls now?" Erik said as he opened the door.

  "It's good to see you Erik. May I come in?" That was a lie. It was certainly not good for Cynthia to see Erik. He was 45 years old, short and softly lumpy in his clothes, living in an apartment that smelled like cat shit. She was almost certain that he'd been recently jerking off or eating microwaved meals while playing video games. She'd asked for a summary of his activity monitors for the last month, but couldn't stomach actually watching this disgusting life. There was nothing good about seeing him, but it was necessary.

  "Oh, your majesty, why don't you. I'm dying to know what you want with your humble reject of the great and mighty Black Star."

  "Thank you."

  "I presume you have some goon out there watching us?"

  "I have the usual precautions."

  "You like the place? It's the first time you've deigned to visit. I would have brought out the fine china and silver. Wait, you don't pay me enough for anything nice."

  Cynthia dressed smartly. Always prim, she daintily removed a cat her from the leg of her cream pantsuit as she sat on the loveseat across from Erik in his gaming chair. He spun back and forth with nervous energy while his cat hid in some dark corner of the room.

  "We want you to come back to the project on a trial basis."

  "That's rich."

  "I'm serious. We will lift your meds immediately and get you back today."

  "What's the catch?"

  "Your reactivation is contingent on success. If it doesn't work, you can come back to your happy home, no change."

  "Let me get this straight. My appeals, for what - the first five years, were ignored. I've stayed quiet, taking your dope and living a half-life in this prison for almost a decade and now you want me back?"

  "More or less accurate."

  "What if I say no?"

  "I thought you'd leap at this opportunity."

  "Does that cunt still run the project?"

  "The team dynamic has changed considerably. Fresh start all around."

  "Not you though, right?"

  "Right."

  "Why now?"

  "You know how things go. Sometimes candidates just burn out."

  "Some other crazy flunked your program? I don't buy it. What'd he do? Grow a pair and bite the hand that feeds him?"

  "It's more complicated than that. Now that you've agreed, pack some clothes and we can go."

  "What about my cat?"

  "Bring it with you."

  Cynthia left the apartment complex, owned and operated by the company. She felt sick just being around Erik. It wasn't just that he was uncouth, foul-mouthed with a shitty attitude, there was something wrong about him. In her psychiatric training, she would have thought of it as something triggering her spider sense. If there were any other option, she'd take it. Had already taken it. Retrieval, termination, replacement? Ifrit had always been fickle. They'd learned of its existence from Wiseman early on. He'd warned of its awakened state, its unpredictability. There was less risk though. It wasn't nearly as sentient in the same way as Wiseman. What had he called it? A capricious but powerful flame. There was an emotional component to Ifrit's matches. Rage and excitement as a response to certain kinds of hurt and vulnerability. Erik could reliably find it out there. He loved that damned thing like he loved his cat now, but there was some missing layer of morality to temper the fire, the will to pull it back. That fact had made tests with Erik excessively dangerous. Together, they were a sadistic bully with a major inferiority complex with the means to get even. Poor Alicia. The test manager had survived the encounter but was terribly burned. She was a trooper to stay on the project after Erik was sedated and retired. The data was very good. The data would later lead them to Henry and Henry had been very, very good. On the verge of being a monetized, weaponized deliverable. Naturally, the mechanism of the combustion was still unknown. After all this time, certain black boxes resisted analysis. If Erik can steal back the fire, they might have something to use against Hakim, should the situation continue to escalate. As for his defective personality, they'd just have to manage. What choice did they have?

  With Cynthia gone, Erik spun in his gaming chair and tried to resume playing, but he'd lost interest. He hatched a plan then and there, that given the opportunity, Cunthia would be the first to burn. After that, he'd go after the fucker that took his place. Probably some dumb jock that had life handed to him. Well, he fucked up. You can't take what's mine and think there's no price to pay. After that, who knows, maybe he'd set the whole world on fire. Wouldn't that be fun? Erik giggled to himself, lost in the fantasy of world destruction.

  ***

  Sanders read Dan's note and admired the immaculate handwriting, 'I'm going to the market. See you back at the hotel. I made dinner reservations. Don't be late.' Got it. Sanders knew Dan would be fine on his own for a few hours, taking in antique shops and tourist stuff.

  While not interested in local commerce, Sanders had his own moments of wonderment. The city was so absolutely green, wet, and fresh. Another world entirely from Arizona's hot, brown, and grey. Even breathing felt easier here, he thought as he started out on his walk from the hotel.

  The sun was just coming up and the streets were lined with homeless. Disorganized sleeping bags, the smell of damp rot clashed with the clean breeze from the lake. So many homeless. Sanders had noticed the makeshift camps along the highway overpasses, littering the green hillsides during their taxi ride into the city. How long had Henry lived in one of these camps?

  Sanders got a cup of coffee at the over-priced café, and waited for his contact to show up. Cops know cops. Even states away. In this case, Sanders had met David at a conference in Phoenix on the merits of the tent city incarceration program. They'd exchanged business cards, had little conversation, but two things stuck out in his memory: one was that he was from Seattle and the other, that he loved mysteries. They'd talked about the Phoenix lights incident for thirty minutes, before Sanders indicated he really knew nothing about it. Sanders called to set up this meeting before even booking the flight.

  "So you want to know about Black Star?" David asked with a smirk.

  "Ever had any problems? Emergency calls?"

  "Not a peep. They file their taxes on time and appear completely legit, on paper. With Microsoft and so many other big tech firms, Black Star blends in. Why are you interested?"

  "I'd like a tour of the campus. Can something be arranged? An inspection? Something regulatory?" Sanders said, holding some cards back. Davi
d was a friend, but loose lips sink ships.

  "I don't know about that. They are deep in bed with local government. They have cash like you wouldn't believe."

  "Alright. What about the other things I asked you about?"

  "How about you enjoy your damned coffee for a minute. It's better than anything you get down there, right? Dunkin' Donuts or Dutch Brothers have nothing on us!" David beamed with local pride.

  "I suppose."

  "That's right. Ok. This was almost fun even if you didn't give me much to go on. You want to the good news or the bad news?"

  "Bad," Sanders decided.

  "I ran the description of the kid you're looking for and found more than a hundred matching profiles. Hope you don't mind paper cuts. I must have killed a few trees printing these out for you."

  Sanders accepted the binder of homeless youth profiles.

  "I rather take this as good news. What else?" Sanders asked.

  "Ah, 'have we had any unusual fires?'" David said miming Sanders' way of speaking.

  "Well, have you?"

  "In this blessed rain-soaked city, any fire is a bit unusual. Can you narrow it down a bit?"

  "First of all, I asked within the last six months."

  "Ok, sure. Hold your cards close. There was a nightclub fire. Hate crime. Caught him on video with a gallon of gasoline. Anti-gay stuff. Caused a stir in a city that fancies itself progressive."

  "Hmph."

  "Not unusual enough? A gas line ruptured in Phinney Ridge. Took out a few buildings. No fatalities, but plenty of smoke damage to the properties."

  "Certain of the cause?" Sanders asked.

  "Yup. Bad contractor, naughty contractor! Cut corners to save some costs." David said.

  Sanders contemplated this briefly. "I see."

  "Yeah, but you don't care. I can tell."

  Sanders was getting impatient. "Anything else? It may be early, but I have a lot to do today before dinner reservations."