The Dystopian Gene

by S. E. Meyer

  “What? No way, this is bullshit, Cap,” Anna roared in protest. “You're going along with the Jims here? You're letting these assholes get away with this?” she continued, standing up and aiming a pointed finger towards Wood's pointed nose.

  Anna turned back towards the Captain. “How the hell am I supposed to pay my share of the expenses at home, Jack?” she asked while slapping the flat of her hand on his desk. “How am I going to survive without this job?” she demanded.

  And how the hell will I ever get my own place?

  Anna's hands trembled. She touched her chin and swallowed hard before looking back into his eyes. “I need this job, Jack. Shit, you have no idea how much I need this job!”

  “I'm sorry, Anna, this is the way it has to be. It's much better than the alternative, believe me.” He beckoned with his hand. “Come on, let's go, I need your badge and the gun on my desk, right now.” Both agents stood up and Woods placed the folders back into his briefcase. Anna offered a weak smile towards both agents as she placed her weapon on the table in front of Jack.

  Eat shit and smile, she thought.

  Not a pleasant aftertaste.

  Anna placed her badge and ID card next to her gun. She grimaced at the taste of the aforementioned excrement.

  “Thank you, Miss Wool,” Agent Woods said, then both men headed towards the door. Woods turned before leaving. “And don‘t leave Miss Wool. You must stay in the city until this is over.” Woods turned away and as both men left the Captain's office, Woods made one more comment over his shoulder. “I'm sure we'll be seeing you again real soon.”

  Jack got up and closed the door behind the two men before speaking to Anna. “Clean out your desk, for now. I hope this is temporary, but you didn't leave me any choice here. Tampering with a crime scene?” Jack winced. “You're better than that. I mean hell, you're the best detective I have here, and that's saying a lot. Some other detectives in this department have twenty years of experience on you. Not to mention, everyone here loves working with you.”

  Anna attempted a feeble smile. “Now I know you're lying.”

  “You're personable enough. It's just that, you're like a blender without a lid. Your thoughts spray around the room and it leaves no one in your presence without splatter dripping from their face. But you are dependable and damn good at what you do. You're a good person, and I hate it when bad things happen to good people. Take Jeff, for example, I can't stand that guy, annoying as shit, but do you know why he's still here after all these years?”

  Anna shook her head. “No sir, I have no idea. He's an asshole. Honestly, I marvel at how he keeps his job.”

  “He's still here, not just because he's good at what he does, but because he doesn't break the rules.” Jack sat back in his chair and paused a moment, shaking his head. “But, if what you're telling me is true, then you should have nothing to worry about,” he explained, then added, “this should all get sorted out.” Jack forced another weak smile.

  “Oh, I already deactivated your ID and sent out a notification to all the staff, per police procedure. I'm so sorry,” Jack finished.

  Anna gave Jack a nod as she left the room in silence. She made her way to her office and sat behind her desk for several minutes before her gaze drifted to a framed picture of herself and her mother. Anna let out a long sigh. “I guess I did it this time, Mom,” she said to the glass frame that sat on the small table in the corner of her office. A silent sentry keeping watchful eyes on her daughter by day and praying in the dark corner at night.

  Anna stood up and walked to the corner where her mother's picture sat. She picked up the heavy glass frame and wiped the dust from its top ledge before pulling the portrait to her chest.

  Clean out my desk?

  Anna sighed.

  No, this is all I need. It's the only picture I have of the two of us, she thought as she left her office, pulling the door closed behind her.

  She headed for the nearest exit at a brisk pace; the picture tucked under one arm and hoping to avoid eye contact with anyone. She didn't want to see the pity in their eyes, or have to hear the obligatory 'I'm sorry Anna.' from everyone she might pass by. The sting of restrained tears climbed the bridge of her nose as she neared the exit door, where she overheard two detectives.

  “I told you she wouldn't make it two years. Come on man, you owe me a hundred, so pay up.” The two men rounded the corner, and Jeff, the one on the left, almost ran into Anna. She skirted around the two men and then turned as they passed by.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jeff,” Anna spat, then turned again, reaching for the exit door.

  Jeff kept walking, not bothering to turn around. “Hey, sorry Anna, but you know what they say about homicide; newbies with the boobies never make it two years.

  Dick.

  The two men laughed, but Jeff glanced over his shoulder in time to see Anna stretch out her left arm behind her back. She held her fist aloft, except for one extended middle finger as she walked out the door.

  A fierce wind blasted Anna the moment she left the building. The howling gusts were lying in wait, amusing themselves with pawing pant legs and nipping hem lines until her return. As she descended the steps, the gusts encircled her, eager to gnaw at bare flesh. She shook it off, imagining her efforts might send the winds back to where they came from.

  “No such luck on a day like today,” Anna supposed through a whisper.

  Arriving at the street, she remembered she had no car.

  The thunder above Anna's head plagiarized her groans of frustration as the rolling clouds that had been threatening to soak the earth all day made good on their promises. The smell of dampened asphalt and rotting leaves overwhelmed her senses as she stood on the curb.

  Third worst day of my life. Now what the hell am I going to do?

  A gust of wind ambushed Anna from below the leafless bushes lining the sidewalk, clawing its way inside her coat. The coat ballooned out under her right side, throwing her off balance, and the picture of her mother slipped from her arm. The glass frame hit the concrete, shattering into fragments and releasing the picture it held.

  Anna winced, taking in a sharp breath.

  The wind clutched the photo with unseen fingers, threatening to stow it away in a trash-littered corner of the city, or tuck it neatly down a storm drain.

  Anna's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Fear of losing the photo had crawled up the back of her throat, making it impossible to muster a sound.

  Anna's pulse throbbed in her neck as she stretched to retrieve the picture from the concrete, but wasn't quick enough. With a flutter, it left the ground. As the photograph rose, she attempted to snatch it from above her head, but missed.

  Anna clenched her fists.

  “Shit! Damn it!” she roared, cursing the sky.

  She watched the picture disappear over the top of a row of maple trees that lined the opposite side of the street. Her heart sank along with any hopes of retrieving it. Anna lowered her head and let out a sigh. Dropping her shoulders in defeat, she gave in to the overwhelming emotion that welled inside her. She sat down on the wet concrete curb, bursting into a flood of tears. Anna gave up. Shivering, she embraced her only companion, Mother Nature, as they wept together beneath dark skies.

  CHAPTER 4

  8 YEARS EARLIER

  “Steven, what the hell did you do?” Margaret asked, walking in the back door.

  Her husband was standing at the far end of the living room and staring out the picture window. “Come here quick, before you miss it,”

  “I don't care what you're up to. Why is there a brand new pickup truck in our driveway?” Margaret demanded with such exuberance she dropped her purse onto the floor, spilling its wares at her feet.

  “Shit!” Margaret shouted.

  Her blood pressure rose as she dropped to her knees and collected her purse and its contents.

  “Here he comes! Bob is driving down the street,” Steven replied, ignoring Margaret's question. “
Wait until you see the look on his face.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes. “Do you see the look on my face?” she asked venomously as she stood up with a bulging handbag under her arm, still annoyed with herself for dropping it. “This isn't funny. How do you suppose we‘ll pay for that?”

  Steven looked away from the window and into his wife's eyes. “It's okay Margaret, I got a raise today at the plant and they gave me more hours on my night shift. Don't worry.” Steven turned his gaze back to the street. “He's slowing down.”

  An older blue pickup had slowed to a crawl in front of the Morton's driveway. The man driving it had wide eyes, and a slacked jaw as he entered the driveway opposite the Morton's.

  Steven slapped his leg and then jumped off the ground, laughing out loud. “Did you see that? That was worth every penny.”

  Margaret snarled under her breath. She shook her head while watching Steven dance around the room like a circus monkey. “Just missing the bellhop uniform and fancy shoes.”

  “What?” Steven asked.

  “I said, I'm sure we could have put the money to better use.”

  “Yes, but damn it. Bob has a bigger house, a bigger lot, a better job. The least I can do is drive a nicer truck. I mean hell, I work hard. I deserve it! Besides, what would everyone think if I kept driving that old hunk of junk.”

  Margaret placed her hand on Steven's back and stroked his shoulder blades. “Yes dear, no one is saying you don't deserve it.”

  The outside porch light turned off and then back on again.

  “What was that?” Margaret asked, moving towards the window that faced the Morton's front step.

  The light turned off and then back on again.

  Steven winced.

  Margaret tossed a scathing glance toward her husband. “Delores?” she questioned, her voice rising in pitch, along with her eyebrows.

  “Don't look at me like that,” Steven whined. “We knew she would lose the house, it was just a matter of time. I told you she would be coming.”

  “You didn't say she was coming today. And how are we going to take care of her? Just another mouth to feed.”

  Margaret looked out the window in time to see a woman teetering on top of two suitcases. Delores' magenta dress flowed out in all directions, stopping short of her high heels. Her second chin swayed out over a balcony of bosom as she stretched up to reach the light above her head. She unscrewed the bulb and then screwed it back in for the third time.

  Margaret shook her head.

  “She's working part time. Don't worry, I told her she would have to pay her share of all the expenses,” Steven coaxed.

  “Have you told the girls yet? I'm not sure they'll be excited about Auntie Dee coming to live with us.” Margaret rolled her eyes again.

  “Oh, they'll be fine. It's a fair lesson for them. This is the way things are now. Not very many people can afford to live on their own these days. Hell, neighbor Bob has both his kids and their spouses, along with the grandkids over there. Rick told me at work today that his brother is moving in with him and bringing six kids in tow. We've been lucky. Most of the people I work with have a house full.”

  “Well, we're getting there, Steven,” Margaret replied. “And I wasn't talking about life lessons for the girls I was talking about your aunt's antics.”

  “It's not her fault. It's a disease, she can't help it. What else can we do?” Steven pleaded, raising his hands in the air.

  The light blinked again, and Margaret let out a grumble. “Well, you can start by letting her in before she falls and breaks a hip.”

  “I suppose, but she won't come in until she does it five times.”

  As Steven left for the kitchen, Anna came running into the living room followed by Sara. “How many times do I have to tell you girls, stop running in the house!” Margaret yelled. Anna stopped short, causing Sara to crash into her from behind, and both girls fell to the floor.

  “You see? That's why I keep saying it,” Margaret scolded. “Now go get cleaned up. Atticus is coming for dinner.”

  “Yay!” Both girls cheered at once, running out of the room. “Uncle Attie!”

  “Stop running in the-” Margaret stopped herself “My goodness, why do I bother?”

  Steven walked back in the room. He was carrying two large purple suitcases and grunting from the effort. “Is your partner coming over for work or dinner?” Steven asked.

  “For dinner, but then work, yes. We'll be out investigating a case.”

  Seeing the disappointment on her husband's face she added, “I'm sorry, but yes, the girls will have to fend for themselves again tonight. Like you said, it's the way things are now. We both have to work around the clock to make ends meet.”

  The kitchen light turned off and then back on again.

  “And we don't need this added stress,” Margaret said, pointing towards the kitchen.

  “She can't help it,” Steven replied. “Honey, I don't blame you for working extra hours. It's just too bad we both have to go so much.” Steven moved closer and attempted to hug his wife. Margaret moved in the opposite direction. “I'm about as cuddly as a cactus right now, Steven, so leave me in peace.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Margaret left the living room and headed for the entryway. “That'll be Atticus.” She maneuvered around Delores, who was still fiddling with the light switch in the kitchen while counting to herself.

  “Come on in!” Margaret said with a smile as she opened the door to reveal a tall man with dark chocolate hair that spread in waves around his collar. He was wearing a green trench coat that matched the color of his eyes, the only feature that gave away his otherwise full-blooded Native American decent.

  Atticus's hair swayed along his high cheekbones with each step as he crossed the threshold and walked inside. “Good to see you again, Margaret,” he said and then followed up his greeting with a brief hug. “Hello Steven,” Atticus called out towards the living room.

  “Have a seat at the table, we're about ready to eat,” Margaret said as Anna came running into the kitchen.

  Atticus sat down in a chair at the table, and Anna jumped into his lap. “Uncle Attie!” she screeched and hugged him with both arms. Even though Atticus was unrelated, she loved calling him Uncle Attie and had been doing so since she could speak. They spent many hours together, going for long walks or playing games. He held a special place in Anna's heart.

  “How's my Anna angel today?”

  Anna smiled, gazing into his green eyes. “Good! Are you staying for a while?”

  Atticus returned the smile. “For dinner anyway.”

  Anna pouted. “Can‘t you stay longer?”

  “Not tonight, but next time I'll stay longer and we can go for one of our walks. How does that sound?” Atticus asked and then rubbed the top of her head as Sara walked into the kitchen, led by Steven.

  Anna’s smile blossomed into a broad grin. “I love our walks.”

  “Me too.”

  The kitchen light turned back on for the fifth time. “Twenty-two,” Delores muttered under her breath.

  Margaret’s left eye twitched. “Steven!” she yelled into the living room. “Can you please show our guest to her room?”

  Finished with the light switch, Delores turned around. She greeted Margaret with a sparkle in her eyes and a wide smile stretched between her pink cheeks. “Oh, hello deary.”

  “Hello Aunt Delores,” Margaret managed with a polite smile. “This is my partner, Atticus.” Margaret gestured with her hand. “Atticus, this is Steven's Aunt, Delores. She’s staying with us for a little while.”

  Delores took a step towards Atticus and grasped his outstretched hand. She shook his hand up and down in jerks as she counted. “Two, six, ten, fourteen, twenty-two,” she whispered with each motion and then dropped her hand to her side.

  “Pleased to meet you, Delores,” Atticus said, ignoring the unusual handshake.

  “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I'm sure,” Delor
es replied, taking in a sip of the tall drink of water before her.

  Margaret turned to Delores. “Steven will show you to your room. Get settled, dinner will be ready shortly.”

  Steven was absent a few minutes when Anna came running back into the room, followed by Sara. Anna stopped short again, making Sara introduce her nose to the back of Anna's head. Sara cried.

  “See. What did I tell you about running in the house?” Margaret said while turning to check on Sara. “Let me look at you, I'm sure you're fine.”

  The blood drained from Margaret's face. “Oh, my! Steven!” she yelled over her shoulder, then turned back to Sara. Margaret snatched a napkin from the table and pressed it to Sara's bleeding nose.

  “Steven!” Margaret hollered. “Something's wrong!”

  “What is it?” Steven asked, trotting back into the dining room.

  Margaret squatted down to have a closer look at her youngest daughter. While touching Sara's forehead, Sara coughed a spray of blood onto Margaret's cheek. The warm splatter landing on her face made her swoon. She grabbed Steven's arm for support and stood up. “We have to get her to the hospital.” Margaret swept Sara up off the floor and carried her towards the door. “Atticus and I can take care of this, you head to work and I'll give you an update once we find something out.”

  Steven tried to hide the fear in his eyes. “I can't let you go alone.”

  Margaret spun around, still cradling Sara. “What are we going to do about dinner? It's still in the oven.”

  Delores stepped into the room. “You take care of the girl, deary. I'll take care of dinner and Anna,” she said before turning around and reaching for the light switch.

  Margaret headed straight for the door, clutching Sara's limp body. “Thank you Delores,” she said over her shoulder while she, Atticus and Steven all left the house through the front door.

  Delores stood in the doorway with her finger still on the light switch. She observed a moment of silence before flipping the light on and off five times while counting out loud. “two, six, ten, fourteen, twenty-two.”