Realm of Shadows

by Eldon Farrell

  Convinced that Yolanda knows nothing of import, Cole takes the picture back saying, “Thanks for your time.”

  Acting like she didn’t hear him she says, “It never used to be like this.”

  Not able to arrest his curiosity in time Cole asks, “What never used to be like this?”

  “Well the people disappearing of course,” she answers, “They never used to be angry enough to take these measures against us.”

  “They?”

  Looking at him like he’s a simpleton she states flatly, “The Fairies.”

  “Oh lord,” Jeremy mumbles under his breath.

  “They must be so angry with us to resort to such kidnapping,” she says in all seriousness, “Myself; I’m pulling up stakes and hightailing it out of here.”

  “You’re running from the Fairies?”

  She shakes her head at Jeremy saying, “It’s all right if you don’t believe me; you haven’t seen a Fairy yet. You can’t see them until you see them. That’s why all those poor souls got taken; they couldn’t see it coming.

  “They couldn’t fight the Fairies any more than you or I. That’s why it’s best to just leave.”

  With that she stalks away leaving them both to just look at each other dumbfounded.

  Finally Jeremy stresses, “What the hell is it with this place? Is this where crazy comes home to roost or what?”

  Closing his notepad for the final time today Cole remarks, “Just the order of the day.”

  Chapter 23

  Atlanta, Georgia

  The slow, steady pulse of the heart monitor fills the darkened room alongside the in and out cadence of the ventilator that is helping Caleb to breath.

  Dr. Adam Levi stands at the foot of his bed, dutifully reading over his chart. Caleb is only two hours removed from having started thrombolysis—the enzymatic destruction of a clot with medication.

  This was done to treat a pulmonary embolism that was caused by the blast wind of the explosion. Previously noted on his CTPA♦, it sent his vitals crashing and the alarms blaring. Stepping up his thrombolysis treatment, surgery was even briefly considered as an option to stabilize him.

  In the end though, the long-term outcome combined with his weakened condition ruled out surgery.

  Replacing the chart on the footboard of the bed, Adam checks the readouts on the machinery hooked into his patient. Quickly he notes his blood pressure at 88 systolic over 55 diastolic as being in the low range, with a heart rate of 72 beats per minute and oxygen saturation at 97 percent.

  “Oh sorry,” he turns at the sound of a nurse entering the room and listens to her saying, “I didn’t know you were in here doctor.”

  Lifting the chart she begins to make notations on it commenting, “You’re here kind of late aren’t you?”

  Releasing a tired sigh he answers, “I am. I’m actually on my way out for the night; just wanted to check on these patients first.” Looking over at her he asks, “Did you just come from Agent Jerome’s room?”

  She nods.

  “How’s he doing?”

  Holding the chart against her chest she replies, “Not very good. His vitals are troublesome; BP and heart rate continue to be worrisome. And well, you know he slipped into a coma this evening.”

  Adam does know this. He actually had a conference with his fellow ICU docs to determine whether or not they should induce a coma in his case. The swelling on the brain was such that they feared putting him into a coma might be the only way to relieve the pressure before permanent damage was done.

  As it turns out they didn’t need to decide as the patient slipped into a coma on his own. How long he’ll last now is anyone’s guess but the prognosis is certainly not good.

  For either of them.

  Branches rip at his clothes and scratch his face as he rushes headlong through the thicket. The moonlight overhead barely reaches to the forest floor—blocked out long before then by the dense canopy.

  His breathing is labored and his calf muscles are crying for relief, but Caleb will not rest now. Somewhere up ahead he can hear her screaming for him. He can hear Lynne.

  Breaking through an old and rotted branch he tumbles slightly to the side before regaining his footing. Leaping over gnarled tree roots, he lands softly in the dirt and turns to head further up hill.

  All around him the old growth forest of pine and oak seems to close in on him the closer he comes to the crest of the hill—as if forces beyond him are conspiring to keep him from reaching the top.

  Driving his legs into the soft earth he pushes himself further and further up until he stands atop the brow of the grassy knoll. From there he looks out and sees smoke rising in the distance; thin tendrils curling toward the blood moon hanging in a starless night.

  The scream gets him moving again.

  Running downhill he loses his footing and careens over head first into a roll the rest of the way to the muddy bottom. He can hear branches breaking and dirt shifting before he rolls to a stop with a hard thud.

  Groaning, he slowly rises back to his feet, testing his extremities to be sure nothing is broken. With the exception of some bruises and lower back pain, he pronounces himself fit to carry on.

  Somewhere in these woods, he knows, his quarry lurks. Somewhere out in the darkness he will find the Toymaker.

  Off running again, he splashes through a burbling creek and climbs up the far bank to re-enter the thick bush. The running is difficult as there are no paths here.

  With every step he takes he risks turning an ankle on the uneven terrain or even walking off a cliff as the low-hanging vines and leaves make visibility next to nothing.

  But he can still hear. All in this wood is quiet save for Lynne crying out to him and that propels him on with reckless abandon.

  Crashing through the underbrush he pauses when he hears the harsh report of twigs snapping off to his left. Facing a wall of green he clenches and unclenches his fists as he listens to the unmistakable cacophony of a man approaching.

  The rustling draws nearer. Closer and closer it comes and then…it’s gone. All is quiet again and Lynne’s screams cry out.

  With a guttural roar he charges into the bush at the spot where the rustling was heard. Branches snap against his face and tear at his skin as he pushes through, eventually emerging in a clearing.

  Flickering orange and yellow firelight catches his eye but no one is seated around the fire. Stepping toward it he stops when he once again hears the rustling drawing closer.

  “SHOW YOURSELF!” he hollers at the night.

  As he does a murder of crows lift from the tree tops and take to the sky blacking out the moonlight. The image causes vertigo to flare up in him and he turns from it as the world begins to spin madly.

  Around and around he twirls in the clearing until his murderous eyes rest upon his prey at the farthest edge.

  Heath.

  Roaring he charges at him, closing the distance between them in no time. They collide with incredible force as the Toymaker makes no move to get out of his way.

  Crashing to the ground with Caleb on top of him, he drives repeated blows into his skull. The impacts send tremors up his arms but seem to do little to the Toymaker. Despite the barrage he still smiles that sick bloodstained grin up at him.

  Grabbing his shirt with both hands, Caleb lifts his bloodied head out of the dirt screaming, “WHERE IS SHE!?”

  The crazed laugh of nightmares is all he receives in reply.

  “WHERE IS SHE!?” he bellows again before lowering his forehead to crack against Heath’s nose. Over the spurting of blood he promises, “TELL ME NOW OR I’LL KILL YOU!”

  Blood stains his crooked teeth crimson as he smiles wider and with an insane cackle says, “She’s with me now.”

  Cocking his arm back for a final blow, Caleb drives it into the ground where a moment ago Heath was laying prone. Blinking at this disappearance, Caleb frantically searches the clearing for any sign of him.

  Logs on the fire crackle
and spit sending a shower of sparks up into the air as Caleb rises to his feet. The clearing is empty.

  “LYNNE!”

  He screams her name until he is hoarse but he can no longer hear her crying for him. He cannot find the Toymaker and he can no longer hear the woman he loves. In his fractured mind this adds up to a horrible conclusion.

  “No,” he shakes his head as rage builds up inside of him; boiling his blood as it flows through his veins. “No…No…NOOO!!”

  The instant he feels the knife against his neck he knows Heath has returned. In a blind fit of rage he grabs him and rushes him backward across the clearing, slamming him hard against a wide tree trunk.

  His cackling fills the night air even as Caleb wraps his hands around his throat and squeezes. Hands shaking, he puts all his strength into choking the life out of this monster.

  Every life he’s taken…every atrocity he’s committed…every sick thought he’s ever had…no one can blame Caleb for what he’s doing. He is not a man—he is a sick animal that needs to be put down.

  He watches as his one good eye droops before rolling back in the socket as oxygen is denied him. This is how it has to be.

  The blade slides so easily through his stomach that it takes Caleb a moment to realize that his grip has loosened. Looking down he sees the tip of the knife protruding from the fleshy part of his abdomen, dripping black blood onto the grass at his feet.

  Unsteady, he takes one step back from Heath before falling to his knees and then toppling over backward. The empty sky yawns open above him before two shadows descend on him.

  “…lynne…” he breathes at his last.

  interlude

  Two Months Ago

  Lee Vining, California

  The bells above the door jingle as Hong pushes it open, entering the café. Nicely’s is like countless other restaurants that dot the miles of interstate highway across the country. With its retro 50’s styling, linoleum floors, shiny vinyl booths, and various kitsch items hanging on the walls, it’s the last place he would ever expect to find his father.

  “Hey honey,” the waitress cheerily calls to him from behind the counter that runs nearly the entire length of the place, “Just take a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you.”

  He nods in response but she’s already moved on to the next customer. The place is packed with the lunch hour rush. Scanning the faces around the tables and booths he finally finds a familiar one in the farthest booth from the door—tucked back into a corner where he’s least likely to be seen.

  “Hello Dad,” Hong says sliding into the booth across from him.

  Lowering the menu that Hong is certain he wasn’t really studying anyway, Jing Bai takes in the measure of his son while he does the same.

  His once jet black hair has begun to grey at the temples, but rather than age his appearance it only adds to the severity of his features. He has dark eyes, almond colored skin, and strong facial contours that include a square jaw, pointed nose, and thin lips.

  He’s dressed in his usual business attire of a finely tailored black power suit with a crisp white shirt that is notably freshly laundered from the aroma of lemons wafting across the table.

  “I have to say Dad; I was surprised when you asked to meet with me.”

  “How so?” Jing asks in his usual clipped tone.

  “C’mon Dad,” Hong nervously starts to play with the salt shaker on the table as he says; “I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve asked to meet me.”

  Leaning towards him he adds, “And I’d have five fingers left over.”

  Bowing his head slightly, Jing does something totally out of character for him and catches his son by surprise.

  He smiles.

  “I suppose I had that coming,” he replies, “I’ve recently come to realize that I’ve been unjustly hard on you son. I’d like the chance to make that up to you.”

  The waitress comes just then to take their orders and it’s a good thing for Hong as shock has robbed him of the ability to speak. Hearing his father say that to him is something he’s longed to hear but long since given up hope of ever actually hearing.

  After the waitress departs, Jing leans across the table and rests his hand atop his son’s. “So what do you say Hong? Can you give your stubborn old man another chance?”

  “Dad,” Hong looks around the room at the other patrons eating and drinking and enjoying their meals completely oblivious to the earth-shattering conversation that is taking place at this table.

  He wants to say yes—it’s all he’s ever wanted—but can’t find the word. Not yet anyway.

  “Why now?” he finally manages to ask.

  “Fair enough I suppose,” Jing smoothes the lapels of his tailored jacket down before explaining, “When you called me two months ago to tell me what you had found here I…I realized that what you do does have value Hong.

  “And beyond that I-I realized that even if it didn’t, you’re my son and I should be more involved in your life. Your mother would have wanted that Hong. I want that.”

  “Dad,” Hong starts, “You don’t know what it means to me to hear you say that.”

  Reaching across the table again to give his hand a squeeze, Jing tells him “I should’ve said it long before now.”

  The waitress returns with their coffees and once she has again left Hong beams, “This is fantastic Dad. Since you’re here already, why don’t you come back with me to the camp? You can meet Felicia and—”

  Holding his palm out Jing says with a smile, “Not just yet son. Before we get to that I’d like to make you an offer. I’d like to help you. What you’ve done so far with your discovery—keeping it quiet—it’s been smart. It is still a secret yes?”

  “Yeah,” Hong nods eagerly, “It’s just myself, Felicia, and Amir who know about it.”

  “Excellent,” Jing breathes as he raises his cup to take a sip of his black coffee. “You were right to keep it under wraps. Something…this big…you have to be certain that you’re right or you could lose your whole career. That’s where I can help you son.

  “I have contacts in discrete government labs that can handle independent verification of this type and I’d like to make them available to you. Let me do this son—let me do this for you.”

  His mind is swimming with the unexpected turn of events. What you do has value…I should be more involved in your life…Let me do this son…for you.

  Grinning ear-to-ear he gushes, “Of course Dad; that would be great.”

  Surprised to see him sliding out of the booth Hong asks, “You’re leaving?”

  Looking down at him with the type of warm smile Hong’s never seen him show before Jing replies, “I’m afraid I must; I have a prior commitment.”

  “But,” he stammers, “But don’t you want to see the camp? Meet Felicia?”

  Still smiling, Jing answers, “I would love nothing more Hong, but another time.” Reaching inside his suit jacket he removes a business card and sets it on the scratched Formica table. “Let’s handle our business first and then I can get to know Felicia…in more relaxed conditions.

  “Send a sample to me at that address and I’ll make sure it reaches the lab. Promise me though that you’ll continue to keep this quiet; a leak before its verified…could be disastrous for you.”

  “I promise.”

  Turning to leave he places a hand on Hong’s shoulder saying, “I’m proud of you Hong—so very proud.”

  Mono County, California

  “So what’s up?”

  Having arrived late to the meeting, Hong takes the last available seat in the science trailer while waiting for an answer. Joining him in the trailer are Amir and Felicia, both of whom have stern expressions on their faces that are starting to worry him.

  “C’mon guys,” he smiles, “What’s going on? Why did you want to have a meeting?”

  Amir and Felicia share a glance before he focuses on Hong saying, “We both think it’s time.”

 
Hong can feel a cold sweat prickling the nape of his neck. Despite knowing what he’s referring to, he stalls anyway. “Time for what?”

  This time it’s Felicia, who in a soothing voice says, “We’ve kept the discovery of Spirochaeta X1 secret for eight months now. We’ve checked and rechecked and triple checked every one of our findings and nothing has changed. Amir and I agree that it’s time we publish what we’ve found.”

  Looking at her Hong smiles nervously before peeking over at Amir—unlike Felicia he has a scowl on his face that would seem to preclude any discussion of the matter. Yet as he stares at his friends Hong can hear his father telling him three weeks ago at the café in Lee Vining to continue keeping this a secret.

  Whatever else he knows, he knows that he can’t disappoint his father now.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Yeah,” Amir frowns, “We know you don’t; question is why you don’t?”

  “I…” Hong reluctantly replies, “I just think we need more time to be absolutely sure—that’s all.”

  “Bullshit,” Amir cusses.

  “Amir,” Felicia pacifies, “We can discuss this calmly.”

  “No,” Hong’s voice rises slightly in response, “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  Nodding, Amir grabs a sheaf of printouts and tosses them to Hong. “All right,” he begins, “You want to hear it? Here it is. You’ve looked at those findings before; have you actually read them? Do you know what they say?”

  “Of course I do,” Hong replies tightly.

  “I’m not so sure anyone who understood what they say would still think we need further proof. The closest thing we can relate to X1 is Spirochaeta americana—and it isn’t even close.

  “We’ve now confirmed numerous times that X1 does not use phosphorus in its makeup but instead thrives on arsenic. Given the backlash Wolfe-Simon has endured I could understand why this might not be persuasive enough for you Hong, but come on man.

  “It’s not only the arsenic that separates X1. We’ve confirmed to a scientific certainty that this organism has 6 nucleotides. Six! Every other living thing on this planet has 4 nucleotides. Then there’s the chirality.