by Debbi Mack
“Oh, God,” Her voice shook from the force of her sobs. “Daniel. Oh . . . shit.”
She swatted the tears away, swiping a backhand across her runny nose, and glared at Swede. “What the hell do you want?” she muttered through clenched teeth.
Swede gulped. “The research. I thought he might have . . . told you . . . .”
“Goddamn it, Swede!” Alexis paused, hunting for the words. “So what are you saying? You think Daniel went back on his word and spilled his guts during pillow talk? Well, surprise! He didn’t, okay? He never told me a thing. All the secrecy was no joy to live with, let me tell you. I knew something was troubling him, but if I tried to discuss it--whoops!--we couldn’t because it had to do with his research. There were nights not long before the accident when he couldn’t sleep. He’d get up and pace, so I’d ask if he was okay. And he was like, ‘Sure, sure. I’m fine.’ But he wasn’t fine and he wasn’t telling me about it because it was all connected to that research, wasn’t it?”
She paused, her ragged breathing matched only by Swede’s, and said, “Now you have the fucking gall to come here and act like I’m supposed to know something about this goddamned mystery research that was wrecking our lives, when you know Daniel wouldn’t have told me and you know I know nothing about it.” She paused again and swallowed, trying to regain self-control. “So why don’t you just get the hell out of here?”
“You may not know what Daniel was doing,” Swede stammered, “but they don’t know that.”
“Who the hell is--”
Then someone pounded on the door.
Jessica
After spending the better part of an hour going over Swede’s introduction to the story, I stopped and considered the result. Getting there, I thought. But how can I really know if it’s there?
As I went about fixing my scrambled-egg dinner, my cell phone rang. I flipped it open. (I won’t buy a “smart” phone. Too pricey.) Private caller. For the third time that week. I don’t like to take calls unless I recognize the number. I sighed and ignored it. I was melting butter in the pan when it rang again. Private caller. Hmm . . . could it be that editor I met at the symposium two weeks ago? But why didn’t she leave a message? I took the call to find out.
“Jessica Evans?” I couldn’t place the voice—deep and androgynous—although it had a familiar ring.
“Yes?”
“Look out your window but don’t move the blinds or make it obvious.” A brief pause. “Someone is watching you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jessica
“Who is this?” I said. My chest tightened and my pulse raced.
“Look for a dark van. Down a few spaces to your right. Remember, don’t—”
I snapped the phone shut. What the fuck? My pulse was pounding now. I thought of the story. The dark van in the parking lot that morning. And Alexis being followed by a dark van. Too weird. But it had to be a coincidence. Just some wacko.
The phone rang again. I jumped at the sound. Private caller again. I set the phone on the counter and moved back, staring at it as if it were about to explode.
The phone stopped ringing but started again within seconds. A burning odor filled the air. For a crazy moment, I thought it was the phone. Then I saw smoke billowing from the pan.
“Goddamn it!”
I turned off the burner and set the pan aside, surveying the wreckage within it, the butter singed on its surface in shades of mottled black and brown.
“Great,” I said. “Just great.”
The phone stopped ringing, then started again almost immediately.
I snatched it up, checked the number. Private caller. Well, Private Caller was about to get a piece of my mind.
“Jessica?” It was the voice. “Have you looked out the window?”
“No. No, I haven’t looked out the damn window. I’ve been too busy trying to burn my place down.”
Silence. “Jessica—”
“No, listen up. I’m trying to make dinner and just ruined my best pan—thanks to you. So why don’t you leave me alone. Quit fucking with my head.”
“The van—”
“Fuck the van and fuck you. And how do you know there’s a van outside my place? Unless, of course, you’re in it. I’m calling the cops. Right . . . now!”
I hit the button to disconnect and immediately dialed 911. In the few seconds it took for them to answer, I turned off the light and edged up to the window so I could peek through the crack in the blinds without moving them.
Among the vehicles in the lot, I saw a dark van. Looked like the same van I’d seen that morning. My stomach felt hollow, as if I were plunging down a skyscraper in a fast-moving elevator. What was going on? I thought again about the story, but no one knew the details except my writers group. And none of them would play a sick joke like this.
“911. What is the nature of your emergency?”
“Um. I’ve been getting strange calls.” My voice sounded strangled. “And there’s this van parked outside my place.” I groped for the right words, but they all sounded crazy.
“Threatening calls?”
“Not exactly. Just . . . strange.”
“Ma’am, this is an emergency line. If someone is trying to hurt you or break into your house—”
“No, no. And I’m in a condo.” My voice shook. “But this person called and said I was being watched by someone in a dark van. And there’s a dark van, just sitting there.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no law against someone parking in a public place. And, just so I’m clear, did you say the caller threatened you?”
“No,” I mumbled. “Never mind.”
I couldn’t even hit *67 to trace the call. The private caller ID meant the number was blocked.
I closed the phone and, forgetting my hunger, decided to ignore the van and resumed my work.
Joe
“What now, Chief?”
The question came from Billy, a 25-year-old, red-haired freckled fellow, new to the game and full of himself, in Cotter’s opinion. From where he squatted on a small stool in the back of the van, the kid grinned at Cotter.
Cotter looked at Billy. “Keep tabs on her phone.”
“But I think we been made.”
“Did I ask what you thought?”
Billy frowned and turned back to the blinking console.
After several moments of protracted silence, Billy said, “You had the goggles, Chief. You could see that Evans chick as good as me.”
Cotter took a deep breath, as if inhaling the fresh air of a new day.
“It doesn’t really matter,” he said.
Billy grunted. “I just hope she don’t run.”
“What if she does?”
“Complicates things, huh?”
Cotter shrugged. “She runs, we follow. Simple as that.”
Billy snorted. “Oh, yeah.”
“By the way, Billy?”
“Uh huh?”
“Don’t call me ‘Chief.’ Understand, Sport?”
Alexis
Swede leapt away from the door and stared at it. Another round of pounding ensued.
“Young lady, I know you’re in there!” An indignant voice from the other side.
With an exasperated sigh, Alexis checked the peephole. It was her upstairs neighbor, a white-haired old man named Klaus who often complained in a strident Teutonic accent about her music being too loud.
“It’s just the asshole from upstairs,” she muttered to Swede, who kept eyeing the door as if a troll lurked behind it.
Yet another series of jarring knocks. Finally, Klaus harrumphed and said, “I know you’re in there. They could hear you yelling a mile away. Keep it down or I’ll call the police.”
Muffled muttering followed as Klaus turned to go back upstairs. Through the peephole, Alexis watched him leave, then turned to Swede, folding her arms across her chest.
“That was fun. What shall we do next?”
“Alexis.” Swede took
a deep breath and held his hands out in a placating gesture. “Please believe me when I tell you this. You have to leave here. We both have to go.”
Alexis shook her head. “Go? Go where? I’m not going anywhere with you.” Her voice trailed off. “Daniel’s dead, Swede. And you and me, we died long before that. Let’s not go there again.”
Swede threw up his hands. “I’m not trying to get back together, if that’s what you think.”
“Good,” Alexis said. She had cared for Swede. Maybe even loved him. But his brooding and pessimism could really get to her. Bright, but unstable. That was an apt description of Alan Sweetser. When they were together, at times, he would simply shut her out. When their differences finally tore Swede and Alexis apart, she turned to their mutual friend, Daniel. He was more patient, more even-tempered, and their relationship grew beyond friendship. Swede accepted the situation with more grace than Alexis had thought him capable of. But she’d continued to sense weird vibes when Swede was around. Like the air before lightning strikes. So she tried to avoid having him around.
“At the risk of repeating myself,” Swede said, “you need to get out of here.”
“Why? I have no idea what you’re talking about. And you never answered my question about who ‘they’ are.”
Swede’s brow furrowed. He looked almost ready to cry. “That’s the thing. I don’t know who they are. I just know that they’re after our research. And if they get hold of it . . . .” He bowed his head and shook it as if dazed. “It will be very bad for all of us.”
“Why?”
“Our discovery . . . .” Swede grimaced. “I . . . I can’t tell you. I shouldn’t. You’re better off not knowing. Just in case . . . .”
“In case what?” It took all of Alexis’ effort to keep from shouting.
Swede slumped. “In case they catch you. What you don’t know, you can’t tell them.”
Alexis just stared, then started laughing.
Swede didn’t smile. “You still don’t get it.”
“Don’t get it? You came here to warn me about a bunch of strange somebody-or-others who are looking for information about your research, which you’ve already acknowledged I know nothing about.” She spread her arms. “Hell, that’s the best joke I’ve heard in ages. It’s positively hysterical.”
“I told you.” Swede’s voice took on an urgent tone. “They don’t know that you don’t know anything.”
“Yes, and what I don’t know, I can’t tell them, right? I think we’ve been over this already.”
Swede laid both hands on her shoulders and looked directly in her eyes. “That doesn’t mean they won’t try to make you talk.”
Alexis’ breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean?” She shuddered. “Jesus . . . you must be joking.”
Swede grabbed her shoulders and looked straight at her. “Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked.
Jessica
When I checked again a half hour later, the van was still there. I could barely make out the vehicle’s interior. Then I remembered Fred’s binoculars. He’d left them here after our last hike through the woods. I ran for the closet and pulled them off the upper shelf. With the lights off, I took a chance that no one would notice if I moved the blinds just enough to get a clear view through the binoculars. I trained them on the van and saw . . . an empty interior.
Okay, so the front seat was empty. Someone could be in the back. Or the person who called me could just be crazy.
I continued to check on the van every fifteen minutes or so. It never moved. And I saw nothing to suggest it was occupied.
“This is nuts,” I said.
As I stored the binoculars, it hit me that I still hadn’t heard back from Fred Barkin. He had promised me information I needed to confirm a few details for the book. I dialed Fred’s number. Went to voice mail. For the third time in two weeks. Weird.
“Hi, Fred. I’m calling again to try to set up a time to meet with you.” I paused, not sure what else to say. “Just call when you get a chance, okay?”
A mutual friend introduced me to Fred after I’d explained that I needed advice from a geology expert. Fred was very helpful because he knew people and things that helped provide background for the book. After meeting to discuss some of the finer points I needed to cover, Fred asked if I would be interested in taking hikes with him in the foothills.
It was during these walks that I got to know Fred as a person. He was not only a geoscientist, but he was a nature lover, through and through.
A couple of weeks back, I got an email from Fred, insisting we meet to talk about something he’d learned. He’d said it was important and should be discussed face-to-face.
I picked up a paperweight Fred had given me the last time I saw him, after a camping trip he and a few friends took to Yellowstone. I shook the clear plastic half-globe, causing the snow to swirl against the backdrop of high peaks and green trees within it, a moose standing in the foreground.
“Since you couldn’t come with us, I thought I’d get this for you,” he’d said, blushing a bit. This small gesture seemed like the act of a little boy presenting an apple to the teacher. I told him I’d keep the ornament on my desk, and he’d seemed genuinely pleased.
I always felt like Fred had things on his mind but could never spit them out. I wondered what that was all about. Now, this business with the unreturned phone calls worried me. If something bad had happened, I expected that one of our friends would tell me. So why was he avoiding me?
I set the paperweight down and watched the snow slowly settle. It took my mind off the craziness with the van and the phone calls for a short while. But my thoughts turned back to them.
Forget it. It’s ridiculous. Whoever called you is just nuts.
I had to relax, so I made myself a cup of herbal tea. I backed up my files onto an external hard drive and shut my computer off. Checked out the window again. The van was gone.
I exhaled. It felt like I’d been holding my breath for the past hour.
My hunger had returned with a vengeance, so I made some toast, gobbled it down and rinsed the plate and knife quickly, filling the scorched frying pan with soapy water and leaving it to soak overnight.
“I knew it was nuts,” I muttered, padding off to get ready for bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jessica
The next morning, I rose before dawn to take another crack at the story. I made a fresh pot of coffee in my French press and downed a quick bowl of Wheaties while checking email. Just for the hell of it, I peeked out the window again. Still no van. Good. I scrubbed out the pan in the sink and topped off my coffee before opening my word processing program.
Alexis
Alexis couldn’t believe she was going anywhere with Swede. She had sworn she would never talk to the man again, let alone travel with him.
I must be losing my mind.
But what he told her had scared her. Swede actually seemed to believe that her life was in danger from these people who were looking for the research he and Daniel had conducted. Research so secret and dangerous, he still wouldn’t tell her about it.
Alexis stared out the passenger window of Swede’s rented compact. She’d wanted to take her own car, but Swede was afraid they’d be followed. She had tossed a few bare necessities into a paper bag and, at Swede’s insistence, disguised herself as best she could by wearing a hoodie, under which she tucked her hair. It had started to rain, providing the perfect excuse for Swede to dash for the car with his jacket over his head. He’d pulled the car up to the building, and Alexis had jumped in.
“I can’t believe you brought a laptop,” Swede said.
“I’ve been working too hard on this thesis to just leave it behind,” Alexis snapped. In a forlorn voice, she added, “Who knows when I’ll be able to go home again?”
Besides, maybe her experiences would add a new dimension to her thesis on existentialism. She giggled and shook her head.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” She waved a hand. “There’s nothing funny about any of this.”
Even so, she couldn’t stop smirking. How ludicrous was this? Her dead fiancé’s lab partner with whom she’d had a previous failed relationship was now whisking her away from some unidentified bad guys who were looking for research she knew nothing about. She snickered into her hand, in a desperate bid to stop herself.
“What?” Swede said.
“C’mon. Isn’t this just the slightest bit absurd? Don’t you feel the least bit . . . awkward?”
Swede’s eyes darted between the rearview mirror, the road, and Alexis. “I probably would. If I weren’t scared shitless.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jessica
I drained the last of my coffee, got up, and rinsed the cup. Am I stretching this bit out too long? At some point, Alexis has to insist on knowing what’s going on. Did I choose the right way to convince Swede to tell her? Maybe I’d find the answers while taking a walk. The sun was coming up, and it looked like another beautiful day in Boulder. A nice day to work outdoors even.
I backed up my files, grabbed my shoulder bag and laptop—a nice lightweight model my parents had bought for me—and headed out the door.
Before leaving, I stopped to retrieve the previous day’s mail. Probably nothing but bills, so I had put it off. Looked like nothing but junk—a blessing in its own small way.
As I sorted through the various flyers for stores where I wouldn’t shop, coupon booklets for things I didn’t need, catalogs for clothes I couldn’t afford, and notifications of qualifying for major credit cards I never wanted, I came across a plain white envelope with no return address.
When I opened it, a sheet of white paper, folded in half, slid out. I unfolded it and read the printed message: