by J W Brazier
“Doctor Holland bought a small farm twenty miles on the outskirts of White River, Arkansas.”
“Did any of her letters say why she decided to return to White River?
“No, sir, nothing definitive, but in one, she introduced a third person—an Ian Taylor—a friend of Dr. Wagner’s. She writes of his conversion and how that news pleased Dr. Wagner.”
“Ian Taylor,” Abram whispered, then said in a normal tone: “Unbelievable! The infamous Ian Taylor resurfaces. Another one I thought dead, is alive. Depending on others to follow my orders was a mistake that I’ll not make again.”
Hess just sat and listened as Abram practically talked to himself, as if the professor wasn’t sitting there in front of him.
Abram nodded and looked out the window. “I’ll end Ms. Holland and Mr. Ian Taylor’s festering annoyance—my way, when they least expect it … and with finality.”
“So … you’re acquainted with this Ian Taylor, then, sir?”
Abram turned and looked at Hess as if he’d just realized he was still there. “Oh … Uh, yes. I employed him many years ago. Hmm. So … it appears that finding religion, as you’ve said, is contagious, which explains how Ian’s proved a formidable adversary to my plans. Dr. Wagner was difficult, but Ian Taylor won’t go away that easy. He’s a dangerous opponent, like a cornered viper.”Abram pulled in a deep breath and motioned with a hand toward Hess. “So, Rudy, please continue. Tell me what truths Dr. Holland thinks she knows. I’m waiting for you to drop the next piece of bad news in this sordid tale.”
Hess shifted in his chair. The news was, in fact, quite bad, at least in his own estimation. He wrung his hands a bit, keeping his head bowed.
“Professor?” Abram said. “Now, if you don’t mind.”
Hess looked up and swallowed. “Dr. Holland has copies of all of our records from Project Phoenix, including Dr. Wagner’s original research. I imagine she transferred everything to hard drives and made recordings. She mentioned three—and there could be more.”
Abram leaned forward and looked ready to jump up out of his seat again. “What else?” he said.
“Dr. Holland’s last letter, by date, tells Dr. Bruner about recording a personal confession explaining Project Phoenix details and its results. We have reason to believe that what she copied contains financial proof linking its funding to GEM-Tech. She may have contacted or told others using our documents as proof.”
Chapter 6
“Brethren, the arrival is at hand. Our orders are clear!”
The warlord’s dire directive fueled the frenzied enthusiasm among the fallen ones.
“Stop them! Destroy them!” came their enraged shouts, building louder and louder to a deafening crescendo that reverberated off the walls of the cavernous pit.
Deborah thought she was inside a hewn cavern, carved into the jagged side of an escarpment. She looked down from its edge into a gaping hole. Below, she saw a churning mass of horrific beings. The overpowering stench of decay hung in the sulfur-laden air, making it difficult to breathe.
Then she heard something behind her—something running toward her, growling. Before she could turn to look, powerful hands took hold of her long hair and flung her body to the ground. She couldn’t tell what was dragging her on her back, kicking and screaming, deeper into the black hole.
“Dear God, have mercy, help me!” she screamed.
“No mercy, no God here, woman,” growled the unseen being that dragged her.
“Oh, God, please help me!” Deborah shouted.
And then …
Deborah bolted upright, drenched in sweat, holding her head and hair, her heart pounding, ready to burst free of her chest. Terrified by the nightmare, she gasped for breath, her face wet from tears. Unsure where she’d awakened, she struggled to focus on her surroundings. Her eyes darted left, then right. Had she awakened back in her bedroom? She could only hope.
Anxious for assurance that it had in fact been a nightmare, Deborah held her face, touching her damp flesh. Her eyes searched the room—2:00 a.m. blinked on her bedside alarm clock. She let out a breath. Confident and relieved that she was indeed safe in her bedroom, her labored breathing began to slow.
Still, the appalling, surreal nightmare had imprinted strong illusions of grotesque beings and suffocating darkness, as if she’d been trapped in literal hell. She’d even sensed physical pain and the burning intensity of unfathomable anger, hatred, and despair … but then, the horrific dream couldn’t have been real … Right?
It was, though, a fact that the nightmare had disturbed her peaceful sleep, leaving her feeling groggy. Her old knurled hands and fingers ached. She first thought that her arthritis was acting up … until she looked down and snickered at discovering the reason for her pain: she had a white-knuckled death grip on her bedsheets. But then she saw her arm. A gasp escaped from her lips.
Several strands of coarse black hair clung to the right sleeve of her nightgown. She shook her arm to dislodge the disgusting strands, trying not to touch them, but finally gave up and brushed them away. Deborah shivered and hugged her arms to herself. A full moon bathed the bedroom with eerie shadows. The window curtains rose and fell with the cool night’s breeze. She pulled her knees to her chest, bringing wadded sheets and her blanket along, and embraced their warmth.
The nightmare still fresh in her mind, she snuggled in bed, feeling traumatized, her body still trembling, afraid to move or make a sound. She pulled the warm blankets closer, overwhelmed by the imageries of that horrific place that beggared description.
Another dreadful thought compounded her fears: Dreams don’t leave behind long strands of coarse hair on your nightgown sleeve, she reasoned. Her thoughts churned over the possibilities inviting the horrific occurrence. She couldn’t conceive of any reasons—other than perhaps one.
“GEM-Tech,” she whispered.
Yes, that’s got to be it, she mused.
She wondered if it wasn’t the burden of guilt she’d carried for decades because of her past work that had triggered the lurid apparitions. She couldn’t be sure, because logic didn’t apply to what she’d experienced.
Maybe the bizarre dreamscape foretells a warning or a future event that’s meant to be a message.
The more she thought, the more outlandish her suspicions became. She figured it premature to jump to conclusions that could justify the bizarre dream. Her eyes lifted to see the crucifix on the wall. She smiled, thankful that an answer had come when she’d called out for help.
She’d survived and hadn’t died, as the dream had portrayed, leaving her soul trapped in hell. The chants of the grotesque beings in that pit, though … They still resounded in her mind: “Stop them! Destroy them!”
She shivered as another wisp of chilled air drifted into her bedroom. The power must’ve gone out at 2:00, she figured.
As she held the blankets close, another possible reason for the night’s bizarre happenings came to mind. She giggled, remembering she’d stayed up late, watching a stupid horror movie. Has to be it. That horror movie triggered my nightmare … or was it the two chili dogs? She snickered at the silliness and finally shrugged off the disturbing dream.
More in tune with her senses now, Deborah noticed that her clothing felt damp. She slipped out of her warm bed, deciding to shower and change. Soon enough, refreshed and dressed in a warm flannel nightgown, she reset her alarm clock, ready for another try at sleep. She walked over to close her bedroom window when her dog Max barked outside.
Deborah leaned closer to the window, figuring that Max’s aggressive barks were because of deer, as usual. But then her eyes stopped roving and went wide. She caught a short breath and squinted. Perched high in a giant pine tree, there appeared to be a large, odd-shaped black form. Silhouetted against a few puffy clouds and a moon-washed sky, the ebony outline looked the size of an enormous man. A trick of moonlight and shadows, she reasoned.
Before she closed the window, the form moved. She squealed and gasped
at the sight of two large red-orbed eyes blinking twice. On the ground below, Max yelped and fled for safety, as if in pain or scared. He didn’t stop running until he’d reached the porch.
Deborah just stood there and stared in horror as the black form, its red eyes aglow, took flight toward her house. She could hear the swooshing sounds that its giant bird-like wings made in flight as it raked the air. She clutched at her nightgown, unable to move while watching the solid black form draw nearer. Before it reached her home, the dreadful creature screeched like a bird of prey and then, with a single stroke of its giant wings, veered away, shooting vertically into the sky.
Her breath held tight, she watched it disappear among the patchwork of drifting clouds. A powerful impression flashed in her mind—or was it a voice? She wasn’t sure: “Warn them, Deborah. He’s coming with his legions!” The appeal sounded stern, but gentle—or was it a command?
She yanked on the window and closed it, then pulled the curtains together and ran for her bed, feeling completely stunned by the night’s events. First, the dream, and now a horrible phantom … and the commanding voice in her mind. She realized that, for whatever dreadful reasons, the dream had been a brief glimpse of something no human eyes had ever seen—or had they?
No, Deborah knew she hadn’t hallucinated. Without a doubt, she’d seen the disquieting black form, and she was certain a strong but gentle voice of authority had spoken to her. Overwhelmed by the night’s events, she lay back down, pulling the warm blankets close around her shoulders before waiting and hoping for a more peaceful sleep to overtake her.
*
At sunrise, Deborah shuffled into her kitchen with boots and a coat in hand, feeling tired and groggy. Her erratic night had deprived her of rest. She glanced at the microwave’s clock. Six a.m. was an unwelcomed sight, and too early to start her day.
She glanced down at her old dog, Max. Her patient friend and companion stood at the kitchen door, wagging his tail, waiting for his morning romp. Max barked twice, slinging saliva. He was anxious to go, but first, she needed her morning wake-up tea.
“Okay, Max. Yes, I’m late. I’ll hurry. Let me get my tea ready.”
Max lay down with a parting moan. A few minutes later, the teakettle began to whistle. Deborah filled her cup with hot water and placed her tea strainer inside to steep.
“Max, I believe I’ll wear out before you. My old bag of bones sounds and feels like that cereal commercial: ‘Snap, crackle, pop.’ I’m getting worse every day,” she said as she slipped on her boots.
The steeping aroma of herbal lemon tea beckoned with the last snug of a shoelace. Cup in hand, she was about to savor her first sip when a strong sense of dread washed over her, as if being watched from the shadows. She’d felt similar sensations during her rounds with the surrogate girls in Project Phoenix.
Max jumped to his feet, tail curled, growling. At the same moment, the telephone started to ring. Deborah squealed and dropped her tea, shattering the cup. She turned toward Max with a curious look, his attention steadfast on the telephone.
“Max, what is it, boy?”
He senses something, she thought.
The telephone rang again. Max barked and growled his lips curled.
“It’s just the phone, boy,” she said, then picked up the receiver. “Whoever you are, it’s 6:00 a.m.—on a Sunday morning, no less—not an hour for unimportant phone calls by anyone. So this had better be important!”
“Important? Oh, yes, Deborah. You could say that.”
Max growled again.
Deborah recognized the voice. Thirty-plus years of absence hadn’t wiped him from her memories.
Oh my God, he knows where I live. But … why is he calling me—after all these years? She took a deep breath and tried to calm her fears, but deep down, Abram Solomon terrified her. Stay calm. Don’t let him sense your fear.
“Abram Solomon! What a surprise!” she said.
“Deborah Holland, my favorite bio engineer. You’re still kicking. Please forgive this impromptu call, but some good news has just come to my attention in recent days. To hear your voice again, it does my heart good. I hope these long years were kind to you, and you’re in good health.”
She knew Abram to be a cunning and deceptive liar. His dishonesty had lured her and the other scientists into Project Phoenix. In the end, they’d all abandoned their moral and medical ethics for one selfish goal. So he hadn’t called now without cause.
Deborah snickered, no longer caring at all about keeping up a façade. “Abram, seriously? Almost four decades have passed and you call spur of the moment to ask about my health? If you must know, I’m very well. Better since leaving GEM-Tech. I’m alive … no thanks to you. My former friends and colleagues weren’t as lucky. You wouldn’t know anything about their premature deaths, would you?”
“Deborah, Deborah. Please, let’s not reopen old wounds. Accidents happen.”
She felt like screaming at him, but kept her voice as controlled as she could. “Damn you, Abram Solomon. Accidents? Really? Try cold-blooded murder. You came close to killing me! If it weren’t for Dr. Bruner, I’d be among the ashes. Project Phoenix was a horrendous mistake.” Her breath caught as she envisioned the horrors she’d seen at the Phoenix facility.
“Deborah,” Abram said in a calm voice, “you chose to take part, as I recall. And to the contrary, Project Phoenix was a tremendous success … which brings me to the point of my call. I’m told a rather untidy piece of business still remains unresolved.”
Deborah swallowed, wondering where this was going. She cleared her throat. “Phoenix was a long time ago, Abram. A constant stain on my life and soul. I’m retired. I’ll never be involved with any of your business projects again, ever. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, you have, and not to worry, I’ll not call on your services again, ever, as you say. But please listen careful to what I’m about to say. You have in your possession stolen documents from Project Phoenix. I expect their immediate return. I also understand you’re consorting with a certain rogue individual, a Mr. Ian Taylor.”
Deborah felt her insides tighten, but she forced her voice to be steady. “Documents? I have no idea what you’re referring to. And another thing, ‘consorting’ is a vulgar choice of words; my personal friendships are none of your business.”
“Deborah, Deborah.”
She shut her eyes, wishing he’d stop saying her name that way, like he was some father figure trying to calm her down.
“Please, Deborah, let’s not pounce on each other. My company’s research documents are missing. We know you have them. I want them back and our business will be concluded, simple as that.”
She knew she had to make a decision, and fast. She chose to keep bluffing. “Why accuse me? One of the other scientists could’ve taken your materials and sold them. The data would be worth millions in today’s market.”
Finally, Abram’s voice rose: “Don’t insult my intelligence, Ms. Holland! Our documents disappeared days before you escaped the unfortunate disaster at GEM-Tech. Your correspondence with Dr. Bruner is in evidence.”
Deborah hung her head. She wanted to hang up the phone. It was pointless to joust and trade rants with a megalomaniac the likes of Abram Solomon. His calling, though, couldn’t have been coincidental. Neither was her dream, nor what she’d seen fly out of the woods during the night. In a sense, it was all what Charles and Ian had warned would happen.
I’ve got to face this, and he knows it. He’s already pushed my bluff to the limit.
“Alright, Abram, let’s cut to the chase. Ian and I are the thorns in your side—the last living links with knowledge and proof of Project Phoenix, which you believed had been eradicated. You’ve discovered I kept my research journals. But I’m not giving them up. Get that in your head. You might come after me. I’ve no assurance that you won’t, and I don’t trust you. So my journals are insurance.”
He sighed. “I anticipated your stubborn resolve, Deborah. Now un
derstand mine. What happened to your friend Dr. Wagner was … terrible. I understand the poor fellow suffered. It would be unfortunate if a similar fate would befall you … or even worse, your only child, Ann. So do not doubt me. I’ll use whatever means necessary, peaceful or brutal, to retrieve my property. Your choice, am I clear?”
Deborah felt tears welling in her eyes now. He’d found her one weak link—one that she’d never even considered. How could I have been so naïve! I’ve put Ann at risk. She pursed her lips and nodded to herself. Time to take a stand.
“Yes, crystal clear. Now understand me. What I have are private documents and of no concern to you, Mr. Solomon, or GEM-Tech. If you harm my daughter, that move would be a grave mistake. The press and law enforcement agencies will find GEM-Tech’s illegal experiments, deaths of young girls, scientists and staff, an interesting read!”
“Deborah, please, our tempers are flaring. There’s a more acceptable and workable solution to our dilemma.”
She sensed she’d gained a bit of leverage, but knew it wouldn’t last long, so she pushed onward. “Abram, there’s nothing to work out. What part of ‘private’ don’t you understand? My diaries and research journals belong to me, not GEM-Tech. End of discussion.”
“Very well, Deborah. Our business is concluded.”
She bit her lip, wanting to ask about one last piece of unfinished business but knowing she’d regret it. “Abram, wait—please. One last question, temperaments aside, of course.”
“Ask, Deborah, and be quick.”
“How is he? I mean, is he well? Is he adjusting to society?”
He nearly laughed at that, and she visualized his sardonic smirk.
“Still the prudent scientist, Deborah. You’re wondering how your handiwork turned out. After all these years …”
“Don’t patronize me, Abram. I saw him once. He scared me then, but … yes.”
“Scared you? That’s an odd statement, since you helped create him, you delivered him, and then you held him in your hands. Now you’re concerned for his well-being? In answer to your question, he’s a handsome man and in excellent health. I’ll convey your best regards.”