by B. C. CHASE
They listened to the news on the way to Wiggins’ home. As Wiggins turned down his street, a reporter was saying, “Officials have gone totally silent about Towson and the virus, refusing to speak with us, but we were able to fly a drone into the area. Our producers are still debating whether to make the video public due to its extremely disturbing nature, however we can tell you that the drone spotted no living person. The area appears to have been evacuated of any official presence. Bodies litter the streets. It appears, from what we have seen, that the containment effort has gone very, very wrong. Now, although we have been unable to speak with any officials, we can provide this recording of Secretary of Health and Human Services, Karen Harigold, in her first official statement on the matter, which she made yesterday. Listen.”
Karen’s voice said, “The CDC, under the capable leadership of Phillip Compton and with the cooperation of the armed forces, is doing everything possible to contain the virus. The situation is, as you would expect, very fluid and there is no doubt that this is the most challenging public health crisis the CDC has ever faced. But this is what the CDC is here for. We are prepared for these situations: we spend every waking moment thinking about them. So be assured that we will contain this virus and that the public should not be unduly alarmed.”
As soon as Wiggins pulled up the driveway to his house, the shaven orangutan became suddenly excited and opened the car door to rush up to it. Urging them to open the house door quickly, she loped in and started hectically searching for something in every room, ignoring Wiggins’ wife who had awoken to all the lights being flicked on by the frantic ape. Finally locating a dry erase board stuck on the fridge with magnets, the orang hopped up and down trying to reach it. Wiggins looked questioningly to Wesley and Kelle, but when they had no answer, he took the board down and handed the animal a pen. To everyone’s surprise-especially that of Mrs. Wiggins’, she wrote with a practiced hand:
I am Karen Harigold. It came back to me when I heard my voice on the radio.
Wiggins submitted, dubiously, “You mean you are Karen Harigold, Secretary of Health and Human Services?”
She nodded, grunted a reply.
Wiggins’ wife, standing there in her nightclothes, exclaimed, “Unbelievable!”
They all looked at her.
“You’re telling me the United States Secretary of Health and Human Services is in my kitchen?”
Karen, the orangutan, blinked at her as if unsure how to react. The she wrote on the board:
I need a shower. Now.
After Karen showered, Kelle took a turn. When she was finished, Wesley passed her on his way to the bathroom. She was wrapped in a towel, a pleasant scent wafting from her still-damp body. “I hope you left some hot water for me,” he joked. “You certainly took your time.”
She smiled, “Girl’s prerogative.”
Wesley shook his head and continued on his way to the bathroom.
He closed his eyes and let the hot water run over his body. The steam had filled the bathroom, and he felt the soft touch of feminine hands on his chest. Her fingers slid around to his back and he drew her close, her body pressed against his. Her beautiful voice spoke into his chest, “I love you.”
He audibly said her name, “Sienna.” Hearing himself speak snapped him back to reality and he was alone.
He stood there in the hot water, fighting emotion. But then he covered his face with his hand. The water washed with tears as his body rocked with sobs.
Buttoning his shirt, Wesley stepped into the kitchen where Wiggins, Kelle, and Karen sat at a round oak table, papers, printed pictures, and folders spread all over with two screens resting on top. Karen was wearing oversized clothes while Reebok had donned an apron and was experimenting with kitchen implements.
Kelle said, “You took your time in the shower, too, cowboy—” but when she met his eyes, her face fell.
Is it that obvious I’ve been crying? he wondered.
Wiggins said, “We opened the container. It’s all Jarred’s files from the case he was working. Some very strange stuff. Seems he wanted to shadow drivers for a company called Biocertica. They were doing pickups.”
“What were they picking up?”
“People. They were kidnapping people. Now, I had a little involvement in the case, myself. I was on duty when we got a call for a disappearance. A two-year-old boy named Jeffery Riley vanished from his bedroom on the second floor of the home. The house alarm was set, never went off. The kid’s pajamas were left on the bed in the fetal position, just like he usually slept. He told his father he saw ‘eyes’ that night before he went to bed. Jarred found this drawing in his bedroom.” He showed them a crumpled paper with black crayon markings.
“That’s, uh, disturbing,” Wesley said.
“Yeah. I was forced to assume that the boy just drew scary drawings. It was a coincidence, but it had nothing to do with the case. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Why not?”
“Because, apparently Jarred looked into 479 other disappearance cases. Some children also left behind drawings.”
“So not a coincidence.”
“Doesn’t seem so. And listen to this. He recorded some of the families telling their stories.” Wiggins picked up one of the screens and pressed a play icon.
A woman’s voice, strained, spoke, “My name is Sally Leman. I live in Dallas, Texas. My daughter Michelle disappeared seven months ago. The FBI and the local police investigated, but found nothing to go on. I told them about the things that happened, but nobody seemed to care. I think they thought I was making it up.”
Jarred’s voice said, “Explain what things happened, please, before she disappeared.”
“Well two weeks before, Michelle started complaining about monsters in her room. I did the usual ‘there are no monsters in here,’ you know. She said they were in the closet. I went in the closet, showed her there wasn’t anything there. Didn’t think anything about it. But Michelle insisted that I close the closet door before she went to bed. This happened every night. But I noticed that every morning, the door was open. The door opened every night. I assumed then that she had opened it, just playing a little game with me. Day after day this happened, and then I came in one day and saw that she had moved a toy box in front of the closet door. I said, ‘Why’d you move this in front of the closet?’ She said, ‘so the monsters can’t come out.’ By the next week, I noticed that she had rings around her eyes, she had not been sleeping well. She drew this picture at school.”
Jarred’s voice, “Please describe the picture.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes, please. For the record.”
“Okay. It’s a long face with large eyes. Kinda like a wasp, or an ant.”
“And you had mentioned that you asked your daughter what the monsters look like.”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said they were very … angry.”
“And you asked her why they were angry.”
“Yes.”
“I know this is hard. Thank you for your testimony.” There was a pause. Then, “I have only one more question, then we’ll be done. Are you able to continue?” Another pause. “Thank you. What did your daughter Michelle say when you asked her why the monsters were angry?”
“She said … she said that they were angry because she didn’t believe them. They told her that she belonged to them, not to her parents. But she said she wouldn’t do what they told her to do.”
“What did they tell her to do?”
“They told her to come with them.”
The audio stopped.
Wiggins said, “And then that girl disappeared. Next time, I guess they gave her no choice. And listen to this.”
He opened another file.
“I am George Gutierrez. I live in Spokane, Washington. My son, Michael, disappeared three weeks ago.”
Jarred’s voice said, “Please tell me what your son told you before he dis
appeared.”
“He told me that a bug had come to his room and picked him up.”
“Did you ask him what kind of bug it was?”
“Yes, he said it was an ant. I asked him how many legs it had, and he said it had two legs and two arms, but he put his hands in front of his face like a snout and said it did not have one of those. Just a little mouth.”
“What else did he say?”
“He said he scratched it but it didn’t do anything to its skin. He said it heard me coming and it threw him back on the bed and ran away.”
The recording ended. “Here’s another one,” Wiggins said, tapping a file.
A male voice said, “My name is Ishan Maharaj. I live in Brooklyn, New York.”
Jarred’s voice: “Could you please speak about your son’s condition?”
“Yes. We had a terrible car accident when he was fifteen. He suffered a brain injury. He remained brain damaged, but with one special ability: he knew what time it was to the second without ever seeing a clock.”
“Thank you. And can you speak about what happened before your son disappeared?”
Firmly: “You mean before he was taken.”
“If that is what happened, yes.”
“I can assure you he was taken. Some weeks, perhaps, before it happened, I started to see things out of the corner of my eye. Streaks of something. When I turned my head, there was always nothing there. But that is how it started. I didn’t realize it was a pattern until after they took him.”
“Who took him?”
“I don’t know. But whoever they are, I’m sure you don’t want to meet them. They are not like us.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because, they can speak to you, put ideas in your head if you do not control of your mind to resist them.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because, before they took him, my son told me that he heard voices at night. They told him his parents didn’t want him and he needed to go away.”
“And when did he tell you this in relation to when he disappeared?”
“The day before.”
“And what was your response.”
“I assured him that we loved him and he shouldn’t listen to such voices. I did not realize then that he actually did hear them. I assumed it was a nightmare. Perhaps it was. But I think they can communicate that way.”
“What way?”
“Through nightmares.”
“And the next night he disappeared. What happened?”
“I heard him scream. By the time we reached his room, he was gone. No door open, and he couldn’t have jumped out the window, it was closed and he would have been killed from the distance. His night clothes were on the floor, in a pile. As if…”
“As if what?”
“As if they had fallen off his body, the pants underneath with the underwear inside, the shirt on top.”
The recording ended.
Looking at one of the screens, Wiggins said, “We haven’t listened to this one yet.” He tapped on an icon.
“Could you please state your name?”
“My name is Wesley Peterson.”
Wesley met Kelle’s shocked eyes, his spine tingling. This was, without a doubt, his voice. But he knew he had never made any recording with Jarred.
“I live in Towson, Maryland. I am an elementary school teacher.”
“Could you please tell me what happened on the night your baby disappeared? Before you heard her screaming, what did you see?”
“I felt like I was being stared at. It woke me up. I was partially awake, but not really, I guess. I saw a silhouette with long, thin legs walking around the bed, like it was there but it also wasn’t there. Faint. When it came around the bottom of the bed, I could tell it was tall … almost seven feet I’d say. It had a strong, wide chest. It was like, gray, with moist-looking skin. Because the moonlight from the window was behind it, it was hard to make out, but I could see that it was thin, it had long arms ending in boney fingers, and a tall neck. Its head was oblong, large for the body. I couldn’t see its face.”
“I felt a chill travel up my spine. I thought it was a nightmare. When it passed the window, the light made it transparent in the pattern of the blinds.”
There was silence. Jarred’s voice: “What happened next?”
“It walked to Sienna’s side of the bed. Another one was already there. They pulled her comforter off. One of them looked up, straight at me. Large, black eyes, smiling. I suddenly felt paralyzed. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t breathe. I realized then that this was no nightmare. It was really happening. But I could do nothing to stop them.”
“One of them pressed his hands into her stomach.”
“Into her stomach?”
“Yes, as if she were made of liquid. When he raised his hands, he was holding our tiny baby. It wasn’t even fully formed. It was struggling, writhing in the hands—as if it knew something horrific was happening.”
“They walked around to my side of the bed and one of them placed its hands on my forehead. I remember seeing six digits. I couldn’t describe its face to you—it was nothing evil. Then they left. Sienna woke up and ran to the bathroom, I still couldn’t move. They made me forget what happened until she screamed in the bathroom.”
The clip ended.
Kelle stood up and said angrily, “Why didn’t you tell me about this? You’ve been acting so ignorant when you knew the truth all along! You knew we were facing something we couldn’t possibly fight!”
Wesley rose, “I didn’t say any of that!” He pointed at the screen “That isn’t me!”
“Are you saying my husband faked it?”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’d say he went overboard with the conspiracies.”
“You have some nerve! What a liar! That’s your voice, isn’t it?”
“That isn’t me!”
“But it’s your voice! Isn’t it!” She stepped right up to him, “Isn’t it!”
“It sounds like me but I guarantee you I didn’t say it!”
Suddenly Wiggins interrupted them, “Guys, guys. Cool your hotcakes. I just found something.”
Wesley and Kelle said shortly in unison, “What?”
Reading from the screen, Wiggins said, “It says here that Jarred used a truth serum to induce a confession in these subjects. He found that people sometimes did not remember much of these past incidents without it and certainly wouldn’t share what they did know without some coaxing and trust.”
“You mean he injected me with some narcotic?”
“Yes. It was a psychoactive agent that induced memory acquisition and reduced inhibition. It caused amnesia during the period of administration, but only for a couple minutes.”
Wesley said, “That doesn’t seem very honest.”
Kelle replied with fire, “My husband was nothing if he wasn’t honest!”
Wiggins inserted, “He says he was afraid that one of the subjects would compromise the investigation before he could complete it and endanger themselves. The only way to guarantee that the testimony his questioning produced was known only to him was to administer an amnesia-inducing drug.”
Karen, who was using one of the other screens, suddenly started shrieking and waved animatedly. Beckoning them over to her side, she began to write on the screen with her finger.
He doesn’t show up!
Wesley said, “Who?”
Wiggins explained, “While you were in the shower, we were talking about Phillip Compton, director of the CDC. He has worked there for many years. She has known him since he became director. He was the one who had her brought to the Convergent Science facility, and he was the one who appeared to be in charge of the operations there. He also presided over the surgeries—”
Kelle interjected, “Those were not surgeries. They are psychotic experiments.”
“Sorry, the experiments. He directed the experiments on Karen as well as yours. So she said she would look him
up online, because when she thought about it she realized she didn’t really know much about him.”
Karen tapped her screen. She had written something new:
The only record of his history is the bio that HHS released to the press. It appears everywhere, but that’s it. No other record.
She erased that and wrote:
And I can’t find a single picture or video of him. He always shunned the press, never went to briefings himself. But for there to be no image of him at all on the whole internet?
Again, she erased and wrote:
Watch this.
She brought up a page that displayed a blurry picture. She tapped on it and it started to play. It was a shaky video with her as her human self, surrounded by an entourage. They were stepping down a flight of stairs in front of the Capitol, the press bombarding them with questions from all sides. The video was only about thirty seconds long, with her leaning down and over as if listening to something as she walked. There was a camera flash partway through the clip.
I know he was there with me. But he doesn’t show up. Unbelievable.
Wesley said, “You’re sure he was there?”
110%. I remember because he met me in the rotunda . He told me about a death during the flu vaccine trials that year--very unusual.
Wiggins leaned down and switched back to the browser to play the video back again. They all watched closely, and Wiggins said, “It does look like you’re listening to someone.”
Karen ardently nodded.
He repeated the playback, this time frame by frame. “Wait a second,” Wiggins said, leaning down to look more closely at the grainy images. His voice low and disbelieving, he uttered, “What in the world?”
Reebok joined them, holding a bowl of batter she was mixing with her fingers, to stare at the screen. She blew her bangs out of her eyes.
As Wiggins tapped through the frames, a barely discernable ghost-white shape edged Karen’s pantsuit. With each frame, the side profile of a figure became more visible until a masculine, wasp-waisted body was evident, the angular head perched atop a skeletal neck. The head turned frame by frame until it stared directly at the camera, powerfully gleaming eyes beaming out from a gaunt face: the camera flash.