Slideways

by Jeffrey Grode

  Mom fainted, but Jack held her in his arms. “She needs to lie down.”

  “This way,” Ben said.

  Jack followed Ben to his mother’s room and put her on the bed. He used pillows to elevate her legs.

  Ben used a wet washcloth as a cold compress for her head. He frowned. She was still out, but breathing.

  A medication bottle stood vigil on her bedside table. The label listed the family dentist’s name, number of tablets, and dosage - Use 1 by mouth for pain every four hours as needed. Ben counted the tablets in the bottle and relaxed.

  “Is she okay?” Jack’s face looked flushed.

  “My mom had dental surgery today. She’s on pain meds and needs to sleep.”

  “She looks like my mom, kinda.” Jack studied a framed photograph of Ben’s parents, arm in arm and smiling.

  “Similar, but different,” Ben said, as he listened to his mother breathe.

  “If she was my mom, the first thing she’d want after fainting would be a shot of whiskey and a ciggie. Should I set her up?”

  Ben scoffed. “No, she doesn’t drink whiskey or smoke. She might have a glass of white wine at Thanksgiving. Just let her rest for a while.”

  Ben bit his lip. Why wasn’t Dad here with her? He and Jack went downstairs to look around. They walked through the dining room into the kitchen.

  Kipper barked as she wheeled into the room.

  Jack jumped back and into the kitchen counter. “Dip me in gas! What happened to Ginger?”

  The dog nuzzled against Ben’s legs. He rubbed her between her ears. “Good girl,” Ben said. “Jack meet Kipper.”

  Jack knelt on the floor and let Kipper sniff his hand. She licked his finger and her front feet began to prance up and down.

  “Hello, girl, you look just like my dog. Maybe you two could meet someday.” He rubbed her head and neck then glanced at Ben with a grim smile. “When this is over, I need to find a way to take Ginger and Bootsie home.”

  “Bootsie?” Ben said.

  “Grandma’s cat went missing a few months back. We just saw her in your grandfather’s lab.”

  “Huh. We’ll find a way.” Ben fed Kipper and then hurried outside to look for his father in the garage. The truck was gone, but Dad might be running errands.

  Ben went back inside and made sandwiches from leftover chicken and homemade sourdough bread. They each grabbed a Granny Smith apple, went outside, and sat at the wooden picnic table.

  Jack chewed his sandwich slowly. “This tastes great.” As he ate, he looked around the yard. “Nice garden. Like the flowers.”

  “Mom has a green thumb on each hand.”

  “Good cook too.” Jack said. “Hey, I see you have a hammock. Can I try it?” Jack walked toward the cherry tree.

  “No, wait.” Ben glanced up at the tree. A turkey vulture perched upon the highest dead branch. “Let’s go back inside in case my Dad calls. It’ll be safer. Besides, I really need a shower.”

  “Yea.” Jack rubbed his nose. “Let’s hope the stink washes off. That vulture is eyeing you.”

  Ben snorted and stood up.

  Jack stretched his back. “I’ll try out your brother’s bed if that’s okay. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Ben hurried upstairs to check on Mom, but she was still sleeping. He moved to her bedroom window, looked outside, and saw a second vulture land on the same desiccated branch. The dead limb dipped and cracked. As the movement startled the vultures into flight, the heavy branch fell through the canopy and speared the empty hammock.

  Patrick, Johnnie, Loretta, and Patsy quietly descended the worn marble steps to the vault below. With each step, Patrick recounted his to-do-list: find a portal watch; find Ben; and go home. If he made it to Earth, he’d find his doppelganger and send him back to Terra.

  Albert had been a friend, collaborator, and even a coach. Albert’s expertise proved invaluable as Patrick realigned the beacon to interface more precisely with the crystalline matrix of Albert’s teleportation device. For Miss Betsy’s sake, he would make every effort to send Albert home, alive. After that, back to his beacon modifications. So I can find Miss Betty.

  Patrick waited at the bottom of the steps and watched the others descend. Johnnie and Patsy avoided each other. Johnnie’s eyes met his, followed by a reassuring nod. Patsy scowled at Johnnie’s back. When Johnnie turned her way, she frowned at her fingernail polish as if someone had painted them the wrong color. Loretta appeared hungover.

  Patrick studied the old vault from the hall. The sixteen-inch metal door yawned open, but the inner cell door barred entry. Rather than opening the inner door, Loretta showed them to a small private chamber opposite the vault. The room smelled musty and contained an old gray carpet, a square metal table, and four folding chairs. A yellowed poster on the wall urged the public to buy solar bonds. Patrick squinted to read the date, but the fine print was too small.

  Loretta held out her open palm. “I’ll need a key, please.”

  Patsy raised an eyebrow. “First, let’s get something straight—”

  “That can wait to later.” Patrick handed Johnnie’s key to Loretta.

  “I’ll be right back,” Loretta said as she left the room.

  Patsy stood with her arms crossed. Patrick looked at the overhead light and saw a small, almost translucent spider lower itself on a silken thread toward Patsy’s head. She followed his gaze, saw the spider, and moved right. When the spider landed on the table, she removed her right clog and bashed the spider into the next world.

  Loretta returned and placed a metal 6x12x18 inch deposit box on the table. She pointed to a red button on the wall. “Please buzz me when you’re finished.”

  Patrick thanked her, and she left.

  Patsy reached for the box, but he raised his hand to forestall her. “Let’s all have a seat. I’ll need a few minutes.” Johnnie sat on his right and Patsy across the table from Patrick. “Please hold any questions until I’m finished.”

  Though the deposit box wasn’t really his, he would handle the contents without interference. Patrick put his fingers on the cool metal surface, opened the box, and frowned.

  The box contained two brown accordion file folders. Despite Patsy’s penetrating gaze, he tried to keep the folder’s contents to himself. Inside the first, he found separate files marked Will, Bonds, and Miscellaneous and scanned their contents. The will stated: In the case of my death I bequeath . . . He perused the breakdown of stocks, bonds, property, money, and other assets and the intended recipients, if living.

  The bond file contained over a million dollars in negotiable bearer bonds. The miscellaneous file held wedding pictures of Betsy and Albert, an old passport, a birth certificate, patents, a marriage certificate, property titles, and a poem written in blue crayon on yellowed paper to Daddy.

  The second file folder appeared bulky. Patrick peered inside and his eyebrows rose. On top lay a stack of old letters from Miss Betsy Walker bound with a red ribbon. He detected a faint scent of lilac as he picked up the envelopes, felt the weight, and set them on the table. A tiny wave of jealousy touched his heart. Why had Albert received love letters, while he had not? Move on.

  Next he removed sealed envelopes addressed to Patsy, Johnnie, and Betsy and set them next to the letters. Deep within the folder he found a bundle of Commonwealth bills wrapped in a paper sleeve marked $5,000. As he removed the money, he spied a small black silk pouch with drawstrings at the bottom of the folder. From its shape, he could tell something waited within.

  Patrick set the money on the table, but didn’t reach back into the folder where the pouch lay hidden from the others. Johnnie watched Patsy, while her eyes had focused upon the cash.

  “Okay,” Patrick said. “Everythin’ looks in order here as I left it. Any questions?”

  “None from me,” Johnnie said.

  Patsy folded her arms. “I saw envelopes for Mom, Johnnie, and me. I want my letter now.”

  “No,” Patrick said. “Those le
tters are sealed until me death. Not before.”

  Patsy fumed. “Okay. Let me see the will.”

  “Also personal and private for now,” Patrick chided. From his brief peek at the will, Betsy was named executor unless she preceded Albert, then it fell to Albert’s attorney, rather than Patsy.

  “Don’t you worry,” Patrick said. “You and Jack will be well cared for in the event of me death.”

  “Well, Dad,” Patsy cooed, “that’s all very nice, but Jack has extra expenses for college, and we need money now.” She flicked a glance at Johnnie. “I’m a single working mother.”

  Johnnie grimaced. “Wait a minute.”

  Patsy opened her mouth, but became distracted when Patrick picked up the stack of bills.

  “Maybe this will help,” Patrick said, as he tossed the bills toward her, but high and to the right.

  Patsy missed the toss as the bills hit the floor behind her. When she turned her back to pick up the money, Patrick reached inside the folder and grabbed the silk pouch.

  As Johnnie watched Patsy scramble for the money, Patrick slid the silk pouch inside his jacket pocket before Patsy regained her chair with the cash.

  “This will help for now,” Patsy said as she gave Johnnie a sour look.

  Johnnie pressed his lips together.

  “Okay, we’re done here,” Patrick declared, as put the folders back and closed the box. After pressing the red button on the wall, he carried the box into the hall and waited for Loretta. Johnnie joined him. Patsy zipped up the stairs without saying goodbye, and nodded to Loretta on her way down. Loretta returned the box to the vault.

  “Find what you were looking for?” Johnnie asked.

  “Not sure yet, but I’m hopeful.” He willed himself not to pat his pocket. Johnnie may be safer if he didn’t know about the watch.

  Johnnie nodded. “Hey. Thanks for keeping the will private. Betsy told me Suzie and I were mentioned. Patsy would have shit crackers.”

  “You’re welcome.” They grew silent as Loretta walked past and back up the stairs.

  Johnnie motioned him closer. “Just want you to know I try to be a good father.”

  “I believe you,” Patrick said. “I also believe Patsy tries to be a good mother. Just keep breathin’, be kind to each other, and do the best you can.”

  “Thanks.” Johnnie’s shoulders relaxed. “I could help you find Ben and Jack.”

  Patrick nodded. “Thanks, but we’ll have to be careful. The CSD has been following me all morning.”

  Johnnie frowned. “Patsy ran out of here kinda fast.”

  “Maybe too fast. Let’s get out of here.” Patrick followed Johnnie up the marble stairs.

  Chapter 33

  At the invitation of the FBI, John arrived at the Carmichael Volunteer Fire Department, the designated site for the Federal, State, and local law enforcement joint command. Agent Lovitsky ushered him into a windowless conference room where they sat at a large rectangular wooden table. A black wire ran from a laptop to a large flat screen monitor on the wall.

  Agents Miller and Gendrick joined them and thanked John for coming. Phylo Caliban arrived last, and Agent Lovitsky introduced him as the Area Director for Science and Technology within Homeland Security. Caliban’s white goatee quirked when he tried to smile.

  “Mr. Fuller,” Caliban said as he shook John’s hand. “It’s good to see you again. I hope we can find your son as soon as possible.”

  Miller sat on John’s right and Caliban on his left. The FBI SAC explained how they’d located the suspected intruders at a local warehouse, sent a swat team to neutralize the threat, and tried to rescue the hostages. Unfortunately, the combatants fought to the death rather than be captured.

  “What about the hostages?” John’s gut clenched like a vice. “Did you find Ben?”

  “Ben wasn’t there,” Miller said, “but we have reason to believe he’s unharmed.” He frowned and leaned toward John. “Mr. Fuller, we have some bad news. During the rescue attempt, the warehouse caught fire and burned to the ground. The remains of the combatants, and Patrick McDugan, were lost in the blaze. We’re very sorry.”

  John felt a sharp pain in his gut and winced. “My God. Poor Patrick. Patty will be devastated.”

  Dr. Caliban cleared his throat. “I’m sorry too. Patrick was a colleague and a friend. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

  John felt light headed and focused on Miller’s grim face. “You said my son was unharmed. Where is he?”

  Miller nodded to Lovitsky.

  “We need your help with that, Mr. Fuller,” Lovitsky said.

  John tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “How can I help?”

  “Please remember you’ve already been sworn to secrecy regarding the investigation, Dr. McDugan’s equipment, and the scientific nature of his work.”

  “Yes, of course,” John snapped. “But what does that have to do with Ben? And why is Dr. Caliban here?” Isn’t he a suspect?

  “Dr. Caliban is our lead scientific expert.” Miller said.

  Caliban’s smile seemed condescending. “I’m here to help determine the nature and scope of Patrick’s . . . project. He’s been a very busy man and—”

  “And how the project relates to your son’s disappearance,” Miller said squaring his shoulders. “Remember, your oath applies to what you are about to see. We want no mention of this to friends, family, or the press.”

  “Understood.” John clenched and unclenched his fists under the table.

  Lovitsky tapped the laptop and the wall monitor came to life.

  A video opened inside Patrick’s laboratory. The cellar wall shimmered like TV snow. A dark hole yawned open at the center.

  Lovitsky froze the video. “Mr. Fuller, have you seen anything like this before?”

  John’s face scrunched. “No. What am I looking at?”

  Lovitsky resumed the video. The shimmering window opened to the size of a large truck tire. As the resolution sharpened, Ben’s face appeared as if he looked through the magic window from the other side.

  Lovitsky paused the video. “Mr. Fuller, can you identify this individual?”

  John jumped halfway out of his seat, but Dr. Caliban placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Yes, that’s my son, Ben,” John said, “but where is he? What’s happening?” John scowled as he leaned toward Miller. “If you have him, I want to see him. Now!”

  “Please bear with us,” Lovitsky said. “See how he’s pointing his watch at us. Do you know why?”

  “No.” John shook his head. “He doesn’t even own a watch.”

  Caliban squeezed John’s shoulder. “Has Ben worked with Patrick on . . . any of his projects?”

  “No.” John pushed Caliban’s hand aside. “He’s interested in science, but he hasn’t spent any real time with Patrick. We live in Carlston.”

  “His equipment is . . . almost too innovative,” Caliban licked his lips. “Do you know if Patrick collaborated with anyone else?”

  “No,” John said. “He’s never discussed any of this with me, or my family.”

  Caliban frowned and Lovitsky resumed the video. As the window grew, a boy wearing a red shirt appeared next to Ben. Lovitsky paused the video.

  “Oh my God. That’s impossible.” John’s chest tightened as like a vise around his heart.

  “What’s impossible, Mr. Fuller?” Lovitsky held his pen over his notepad.

  John pointed at the screen. “Jack.” He took a shallow breath and turned toward Miller, “My oldest son died in an accident two years ago.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s more,” Gendrick said, and the video continued.

  Jack called after Bootsie, and a dog jumped through the window into the Patrick’s lab. Ben looked frightened and then the window closed.

  "What just happened?” John asked.

  Lovitsky reversed the video to where both Ben and Jack were visible.

  “Mr.
Fuller, do you recognize that room?” Gendrick asked.

  John gripped the table as if it was the only real thing in the room. Thank God Ben is alive. But Jack? No . . . we buried him. A tear crawled down his cheek.

  Miller cleared his throat. “John. Do you recognize the room?”

  “No, should I?” How could he be alive?

  “Have you ever heard of ‘Moonlight Pies’?” Gendrick asked. “A restaurant, or maybe a pie shop?”

  “No.” John’s shoulders tensed. “What is this?” He wanted to walk over and touch the screen.

  “Did Jack have a twin brother?” Lovitsky narrowed his eyes.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” Gendrick frowned.

  “I was in the delivery room,” John stared at the screen. “Just Jack.”

  Lovitsky checked his notepad. “Is it possible Jack survived the accident?”

  “No. I identified him at the morgue, his neck was . . . broken.” John narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  Lovitsky scrolled several frames forward to where the dog jumped though. “Jack called her ‘Ginger’. Do you recognize the dog?”

  John studied the monitor. “It looks like my dog, but Kipper’s back legs are paralyzed. She can’t jump.” His mouth felt dry.

  Miller stood and opened the door to the hallway. “Bring her in.”

  Toenails scraped on the tiled floor as a K9 Officer brought in a familiar face. Ginger walked around the agents, sniffed John, jumped on his lap, and licked his face.

  “Hey, girl.” John whispered. “You could be Kipper’s twin.”

  Miller looked at Lovitsky, then Caliban. “Mr. Fuller, can you explain why Ginger seems to know you so well?”

  “I can’t. None of this makes sense to me.”

  “How does Jack know Bootsie?” Miller said.

  “My son is dead, and I only met Bootsie this morning.”

  Miller pursed his lips. “Has anyone called for a ransom?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone ask for classified information in exchange for Patrick or Ben?”