Realm of Shadows

by Eldon Farrell

  Shaking her head, Ling Tran asks, “What does all that mean?”

  Giving her a weak smile Adam elaborates, “The bowel perforation was treated with an exploratory laparotomy that closed it with peritoneal wash. He’s also on IV fluids and antibiotics to stave off infections. That said; we still need to keep him under observation to be certain no further perforations develop.

  “The blast also caused hemothorax, the blunt force of the injury resulted in a rupture of the serous membrane lining his thorax and lungs. This rupture allowed blood to spill into the pleural space that equalized the pressures between it and his lungs.

  “We’ve removed the source of bleeding and have drained the blood from his thoracic cavity. We did this with a procedure called a tube thoracostomy. The hope is that his lung will expand and the bleeding will stop now that the tube is in place.

  “He is also showing signs of renal injury. This is damage to his kidneys. We’ve detected elevated levels of potassium in his blood which can lead to irregularities in heartbeat and become life-threatening.

  “We’ve inserted a CVC—that’s a central venous catheter—into his internal jugular vein to administer intravenous fluids, obtain blood tests, and directly obtain cardiovascular measurements. It’s still too early to tell but it is possible that he will never recover full renal function, though we’re hoping that won’t be the case.”

  Seeing tears running down her cheeks, Adam continues “Those are his most serious injuries. He also has two broken ribs on the left side, a fractured left cheekbone and indications of a concussion. We’ll know more about any possible brain injury once he regains consciousness.”

  “Will he…” she trails off asking, “Will he regain consciousness?”

  Choosing his words carefully Adam replies, “We’re cautiously optimistic right now but there are no guarantees. He does have in his favor though that the blast was caused by low-order explosives as opposed to high-order explosives.”

  “The scene is still being processed,” Ling Tran sniffles, “How do you know that?”

  “His injuries tell me that,” Adam answers, “He has no pulmonary barotrauma, or blast lung, and that indicates that there was no over-pressurization wave associated with the blast. Hence, it must’ve been low-order.”

  “And what about Hal?”

  Biting his bottom lip Adam shakes his head saying, “Agent Jerome is in worse condition than Agent Fine. The globe on his left eye has been perforated adding to his intracranial pressure. He has a worrisome pulmonary contusion and extensive third degree burns over much of his upper body.

  “He was,” Adam pauses before saying, “Far closer to the explosion then was Agent Fine. We’re doing everything we can for him but…”

  The wail of an incessant alarm immediately grabs his attention and without pause he quickly hurries back through the doors of the ICU.

  Standing frozen in the hallway, Ling Tran watches as the doors slowly swing shut. Before they do she sees Dr. Levi whip a curtain back and step up to the bed behind it. From her vantage point she can only see the legs of the bed’s occupant but somehow knows that the alarm is for Caleb.

  As the doors click shut she releases a sob and sinks slowly to her knees in the middle of the corridor. She can still hear the alarm wailing and the sound of hurried footsteps on the other side of the wall.

  The sounds reach into her heart and squeeze.

  With her chest heaving and tears running freely down her cheeks she howls; an instinctual response filled with grief and sorrow.

  Before she knows what is happening arms are around her and lifting her back to her feet. Looking up into the concerned face of her husband she wastes no time in wondering where he came from, but just allows him to hold her, burying her face against his warm chest.

  “Ling,” he whispers after a time like this, “What happened?”

  She trembles in his strong embrace. She hasn’t shaken like this since she was a little girl and was told that her beloved grandmother was gone.

  She wants to say something to him; she wants to tell him what’s wrong. The words are on the tip of her tongue, burning like acid in her mouth but she cannot speak them.

  She cannot admit to the loss that yawns before her. She cannot give it voice or room to grow in her heart. She cannot accept what is beyond her ability to change.

  So she remains silent—clinging to the man she loves for strength and support while in the next room she knows another she loves is losing his fight.

  Chapter 22

  Swanquarter, North Carolina

  Have you ever had one of those days? You know the kind of day where you’re left wondering if you’re the one who’s crazy or if it’s just everyone else? Cole Hewitt is having one of those days.

  Except he’s not really wondering about who’s crazy in the equation—he’s fairly certain that it’s not him.

  Along with his photographer Jeremy Creed, he’s sitting in a booth at a local greasy spoon diner across from Craig Harper. Harper lives in the area and works odd jobs as a carpenter/painter/whatever you need him to do. He’s fifty-three years old, bald as a cue ball, wears corrective lenses that sit cockeyed on his pointed nose, and is clearly ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag.

  Cole decided that it would be a good idea before trying to sneak onto Hope to get the lay of the land, such as it were, by speaking to some of the locals. He thought it was possible that some of them might know something that could be of help in either finding Nick or discovering what happened in Hope. You can never have too much information going into a story like this, he had told Jeremy.

  He was wrong.

  “Yup,” Harper drawls, “I surely know what happened to all them out in Hope.”

  “What happened to them?” Cole asks, not sure he’ll want the answer.

  With his index finger, Harper slowly points to the ceiling. With a knowing nod he drops his voice an octave saying, “It was them aliens that got ‘em.”

  Cole and Jeremy exchange a brief sidelong glance before Harper continues, “I saw it. All these…lights flashing over the island and then…they was gone.

  “The lights and the people. They’s been abducted—taken aboard the mothership for…experimentation.”

  Leaning across the table he signals for Cole to move in closer. Reluctantly he does and listens to Harper whisper, “I know cause they’s experimented on me before.”

  “You’ve been to the mothership?” Jeremy asks deadpan.

  Harper either misses the sarcasm or ignores it completely as he continues, “I have and…it ain’t pleasant. They’s short you know, like kid size. All grey with big heads and creepy fingers. And the eyes…too large for the head that’s for sure. I pray for them that’s taken now.”

  After a moment of silence, Cole gradually leans back in his seat, flipping his tablet notepad shut as he does.

  “You believe me right?” Harper asks as he looks from one of them to the other. “I mean,” he offers as proof, “Why else you think they ain’t found any bodies? Them grey’s got ‘em all.”

  “Thank you for your time Mr. Harper,” Cole says with a smile as he nudges Jeremy to get up, “We’ll certainly keep what you’ve said in mind.”

  This seems to satisfy him and with a nod Harper says, “If youse heading over there, remember…keep your eyes on the sky.”

  Thirty minutes later and they’re standing in what passes for the local library ready to try again, this time with Rachel Treleaven. She’s the village librarian and was Jeremy’s suggestion to interview. She’s thirty-five years old with raven black hair that frames a long face and narrow neck around which hangs an ornamental feather and peace sign.

  Removing a picture from his pocket, Cole shows her Nick’s staff ID shot. “Do you remember seeing this guy around here?”

  She squints for a time revealing her vanity before she finally reaches down and picks up a pair of cats-eye glasses off the desk. Slipping them on she appraises the photo before answering, “N
o; I’ve never seen him before. Did he…” she falters, “Did he disappear with the others?”

  “After them, actually,” Cole replies.

  “Well lucky for him then.”

  Confused by the comment Cole asks, “How do you mean?”

  Flicking her hair away from her face she answers, “If he had disappeared with the others there’d be no hope for him. Least this way, there is.”

  “Why would there be no hope?” Cole presses, “Do you know something about what happened? Did you…see or hear something?”

  “Lights perhaps?” Jeremy adds.

  “Lights?” She scrutinizes him before saying, “I never saw any lights but you two must’ve talked to Craig right?”

  “Fraid so,” Jeremy admits with a sigh.

  “Well,” she says, “In case you didn’t figure it out Craig is a little…out there.”

  “We got that,” Cole says, “What do you think happened in Hope?”

  “It’s not what I think,” she says with a light in her eyes, “It’s what I know. There was an outbreak over there that wiped them all out. That’s why the military is here now—to enforce the quarantine.”

  “But,” Jeremy splutters, “But…there are no bodies.”

  She stares at him for a long moment. The look conveys the sense that this fact is just an unimportant detail that in no way should detract from the validity of her claim.

  “I’m not crazy,” she responds icily, “I know it happened.”

  “No one said you were crazy ma’am,” Cole mediates while again closing his notepad. “Thank you for your time.”

  As they walk away Cole whispers to Jeremy, “I pick the next person we talk to.”

  “Hey,” he replies, “Who knew she was batshit crazy?”

  “Let’s go.”

  In a bookstore down the street from the library, they find the owner willing to talk to them.

  Andy Charlton is sixty-one years old and nearing retirement in more ways than just his age. He moves carefully with a wooden cane that looks like he might’ve whittled it out of a tree branch himself, his blue eyes barely seem to register the world around him from behind thick lenses, and his smile reveals more gaps than teeth.

  It takes Jeremy no time at all to register his opinion that they will get nothing useful out of him, but Cole presses ahead anyway.

  “Mr. Charlton,” Cole asks, “Have you noticed anything strange taking place around here lately?”

  “Hrmph,” he grumbles, “Whole place is built on strange you ask me.”

  “We’re starting to get that impression too,” Jeremy comments before Cole silences him with a glare.

  “You boys must be interested in those disappearances though, huh?” After a lengthy coughing spell Charlton wheezes, “I can tell you about them.”

  “What can you tell us sir?” Cole asks before Jeremy can make another smartass comment.

  “Either of you know any history of this area?”

  “Some,” Cole answers, “But not as much as you I’m sure.”

  “Hrmph,” he grunts in reply before offering his take on things. “History’s reaching forward to cause untold misery. Them people out there, just the tip of the iceberg.”

  He lets that hang in the still air between them before muttering, “Disappearance is nothing new round these parts.”

  “You’re talking about Roanoke,” Cole says, “And the Lost Colony.”

  “I am.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Jeremy glibly asks.

  “Everything.” Charlton growls, “What is it you think happened out there? Those people felt the wrath of the lost colonists. They rose up and snatched them into the ether and if we’re not careful, the rest of us will be next.

  “You boys ought to bear that in mind ‘fore you go sticking your noses in where they don’t belong. This whole place is cursed.”

  “Are…” Jeremy asks despite Cole raising a palm to stop him, “Are you suggesting that…400 year old ghosts caused this disappearance?”

  Leveling a withering stare at him, Charlton answers through thin lips, “Ain’t suggesting nothing. And I don’t care for your tone boy. Maybe you both best leave now.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Cole offers while standing up and grabbing Jeremy by the collar, hauling him to his feet.

  When they are outside the shop he censures him, “You’re proving to have a real way with people.”

  “Oh come on,” Jeremy whines, “What were you going to learn from Egon in there? And where the hell is the Kool-Aid that everyone around here seems to have drunk anyway? I haven’t seen this many nuts outside of a Planters factory.”

  “Let’s go wiseass,” Cole leads him away, “See if you can keep quiet for lunch.”

  After lunch they follow a tip from their waitress to the home of Zeke Gregory. A bearded man of forty, with wild eyes, unkempt brown hair, disheveled clothing, and a seemingly perpetual nervous energy that shakes his limbs as he stands in his doorway in front of them.

  “What?” he barks, “What do you want?”

  Putting on his best smile Cole makes the introductions, “My name is Cole Hewitt and this is Jeremy Creed; we work for the New York Times.”

  His bushy eyebrows rise at this and he asks, “Really? What’s the camera for?”

  “Taking pictures,” Jeremy answers bluntly with just a touch of sarcasm that goes unnoticed by Gregory but not by Cole.

  “We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about Hope and whether or not you remember seeing this man around here before.” He holds out Nick’s ID photo for him to look at.

  Rubbing at his beard he scrunches up his features before saying in a huff, “Don’t know him.” Fidgeting with energy he asks, “He have something to do with the vanishing?”

  “No,” Cole answers, “He worked for the Times; he was investigating the disappearances. You’re sure you never saw him around here?”

  “Never,” Gregory replies while his leg incessantly raps against the doorjamb, “Why do you think I’ve seen him? Who told you to come here?”

  His eyes are darting all around checking out the street behind them—looking for something beyond Cole’s ability to say.

  Still smiling he answers, “We were told that you keep a good eye on things around here; just thought you might’ve noticed him.”

  “No,” Gregory continues to fidget as he offers, “But if he came snooping around here then you ain’t gonna find him.”

  “Why is that?” Jeremy asks in what strikes Cole as a leading expression.

  Rising to the bait, the panicky Zeke Gregory motions for them to lean in close to him as he reveals, “The vanishing is a government controlled conspiracy. They know exactly what happened—they caused it—and now they’re covering it up.”

  He nods knowingly at them both before continuing, “I know all about it but no one around here listens to me.” Motioning with his index finger he waves it in a circle next to his ear saying, “They all think I’m crazy.”

  “Imagine that,” Jeremy cracks wise before Cole elbows him in the gut.

  “Yeah, but I’m not crazy.” Gregory carries on, “I got a blog and I’ve put it all out there.” Anxiously checking the street again he says, “Now they’re after me cause they know I know.”

  Quickly changing gears he asks them, “You ever hear of the Philadelphia Experiment? It was a Second World War Naval experiment into the feasibility of…invisibility. They’ve denied it ever since; said it never happened, that the whole thing is foolish.

  “But I know better. It worked. They made the Elldridge and her entire crew invisible. And now they done it again only on a much bigger scale.”

  “Then you think…” Jeremy trails off as a smile lifts his cheeks.

  Nodding excitedly Gregory confirms, “That’s right. No one disappeared. They’re still there. We just can’t see them.”

  With a tired sigh Cole says, “Thank you for your time Mr. Gregory. Let’s go Jere
my.”

  “Hey wait,” Gregory points at the camera around Jeremy’s neck, “Don’t you want to take my picture. You know…for your story?”

  With a placating look Cole replies, “Of course. Take his picture Jeremy.”

  Stunned by the request, Jeremy slowly complies. Then later as they’re walking away he asks, “Why do we need his picture?”

  “Forward it to Homeland,” Cole says shaking his head, “I’m sure they’ll be running across him one of these days.”

  Their last interview of the day takes place on the beach outside a Malt Shop where Yolanda King works. She is a tall, slender woman with charcoal coloring and long wavy hair. She seems to be the serious type and their hopes of getting something useful are momentarily raised. But once she starts talking it quickly becomes clear that nothing useful will be learned.

  While she may work serving the public, her real occupation seems to be as the town gossip. She talks for close to forty-five minutes about the minutiae of local life before Cole can get a word in edgewise and steer her back on point.

  Handing her the ID photo he asks, “You recognize him?”

  “Can’t say I do,” she answers, “He’s cute though; he have a girlfriend?”

  “He’s missing.”

  “Well I don’t like a man who’s around a lot anyway.”

  “We’re trying to find him.”

  “Oh,” she places one of her vibrantly painted nails to her lip asking, “Was he in Hope when…?”

  “No, he got here after that.”

  “We think,” Jeremy adds.

  Shaking her head she comments, “Just terrible what’s happening around here.”

  Fully expecting Jeremy to make a snide remark and lead her on, Cole says nothing. When Jeremy doesn’t either he begins to think that after this day maybe he’s finally tired of out there theories.