Walking to the large window, I peaked out and saw a nondescript white van next to my car. The driver was already coming up the walk carrying a small box. I hurried the short distance to the front door, opened it, and stepped out.
"Hi," I said. "The lady of the house is upstairs. Does she need to sign?" The man stopped in front of me and looked at his electronic clipboard.
"Actually, I'm looking for a Michael Spencer. Is that you?"
"Yes," I replied in confusion.
"I'll need to see an ID. It's restricted delivery."
With my thoughts buzzing around who could know that I was at Karen's, I pulled out my wallet, which I had not taken on my vengeance-seeking trip during the night. I showed the man my license, and then signed for the small package. As he walked away, I turned the box over looking for a return address. There was none. It occurred to me that my wife might have sent it, getting the address from Lori, but the box was far too small to be divorce papers. Tentatively, I pulled at the brown-paper wrapping.
"What did they bring?" Karen asked from the open doorway behind me as the van drove away.
"I don't know, but it was addressed to me." I balled the wrapping and stuffed it into my pocket.
"You? Did you order something?"
"No."
Under the paper was a very old looking wooden box. It felt well oiled, which they often used in the past as a wood protector. Two small brass hinges were on the back, and a clasp adorned the front. Wax sealed the crease between the top and the bottom halves—yet another preservation method for the contents. A small engraving of an "M" decorated the top.
"Wow, it looks ancient," Karen said.
"Yeah, and that makes me nervous."
"Don't just stare at it. Open it."
I slid a thumbnail around the edge to loosen the seal, released the clasp, and lifted the lid up slowly. A yellowish, brittle-looking piece of paper rested on top. While holding the box with one hand, I used the other to lift the paper out, and was blindsided by what was resting in a bed of silk underneath.
"Is that what you were telling me about? The potion?" Karen asked.
"It looks like it," I replied. "But how, and why? Here, hold the box." I handed it to her. She sat a cooler down to take it.
"I thought we should stop by my work for your dinner, after we have ours," she explained.
Folded into fours, I carefully opened the parchment-style sheet. Neat and concise cursive handwriting was on the inside.
"What does it say?" she asked.
I read, "Something you lost, now returned. Adieu." I felt icy slivers from the past prick my skin.
"Who is the M on the box referring to? You?" she asked.
"No. I think it's supposed to be from Michel. Michel de Nostredame."
"You're shitting me," she blurted out. "It really is the potion?" She looked down at the vial that rested in the box and held it with more care.
"I'm not, and yes it appears to be." What concerned me more was the word choice in the closing. Adieu, in the days of Nostradamus, stemmed from a Dieu vous comant, which translated roughly to, I commend you to God. My suspicion was that whoever wrote the note had slipped, and put in a hint of their true intentions. Nevertheless, I could not figure out why my death would be so important that someone would go through the trouble of recreating a package that appeared to travel across time. I say appeared, because small clues gave me strong doubts that the box and its contents were authentic.
"So maybe he did foresee that your last bottle would be destroyed and somehow arranged to send you another one. Incredible! This is wonderful," Karen said. "Try a sip. See what it does."
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea. I cannot believe that he would have foreseen the exact address and time to have this delivered. He was good, but not that good. What worries me the most is that the handwriting is not his. He wrote a lot, with me over his shoulder, and his writing was so sloppy it was nearly impossible to read."
"Oh," she muttered, sounding disappointed.
"If you test it, do you think you can determine what it is?"
"Of course I can try, but it would be hard to tell if it's something exotic."
"Trying is good," I encouraged.
"Why not just taste it? If it's fake, nothing will happen and that will be the end of it. If it's real, just a little drop will probably give you very short-term amnesia…nothing extreme. I'll take care of you if that happens. Remember, trying is good, so give it a try." Karen suddenly sounded like a drug pusher on a street corner.
"That's okay. Better safe than sorry. Can we look at it after dinner when we stop by your work?"
"Um, sure."
"Hey guys, what's going on?" Lori asked as she bounced out the front door. "What's that?" She peered at the box in Karen's hands.
"Just something from my lab," Karen said wisely. "Can you hold it for me, Mike?" She closed the box and handed it back to me.
"Did you give anyone Karen's address?" I asked Lori as I stuffed the small box into a pocket.
"I had to give it to Mom. She insisted. Why?"
"Just wanted to be sure she knew where you were. Ready to go?" I asked, knowing Sara hadn't sent the package. I wished we could stay and analyze the contents of the mysterious bottle right away instead of going out and playing happy family.
"Yep! Can we take Karen's car? It's way cooler. Sorry, no offense, Dad. It's just you've been needing a new car almost since I was born." I looked at my fifteen-year-old Toyota parked behind Karen's new five-series BMW and found myself in agreement with Lori.
"I already planned on it," Karen said, taking the keys out of her pocket.
Karen locked the door while I picked up the cooler. The three of us piled into the Beamer and took off with smiles. It felt like we were a real family, and it was a great feeling, until Karen noticed a car following us.
Chapter 13
"Mike, do you see that silver car behind us?" Karen asked from the driver's seat. I turned and looked past Lori in the backseat, and out the rear window.
"The Charger?"
"Yeah."
"What about it?"
"Once we pulled out of my neighborhood, he showed up and has been there ever since. Could it be a coincidence?"
"A very small chance of that," I said.
With the highway packed full of evening rush-hour commuters, the GPS mapped us a backstreet route to a small steak and seafood restaurant that Lori liked. We were almost there, and the odds of someone going to the same out-of-the-way restaurant, from the same neighborhood, and at the same time, were astronomical. Karen swung a hard left, causing the GPS to bark out to make a u-turn.
"See if he follows," she said. I continued to watch through the rear window, and sure enough, the Charger turned into view behind us.
"He is following us. Who is it?" Lori asked, while also keeping an eye on the tail. Karen and I exchanged glances, both knowing it probably had to do with the death of my boss. I wondered if they could have found the body so soon, and then realized they probably had help in the form of a discreet 911 call from Ricka. Neither of us said anything, not wanting Lori compromised should they ask her questions.
"Maybe it is a coincidence," I said, not believing it, but hoping to ease Lori's mind.
"I doubt it, Dad. It's either a cop car or a bad guy. Did you take money from the mafia?"
"Don't be silly."
"Well, what do we do? What if it is the cops?" she asked fearfully.
"We go to dinner," I replied. "If we act guilty, they'll assume we are guilty." I faced forward just as the pissed-off GPS rerouted and commanded we take a right. Karen obeyed, and we drove the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence, occasionally stealing looks at the car behind us.
Once at the restaurant, we requested a seat by the window. Thirty seconds later, we saw the Charger pull into the parking lot and back into a parking space well away from Karen's BMW. I had caught a brief glimpse of two men in the front seat as they passed, but now a larg
e SUV concealed them. We waited, hoping for coincidence, but the two men never walked up to the front entrance. With appetites ruined, Karen and Lori picked at an appetizer, all thoughts of juicy steaks forgotten.
"You'll need to feed soon," Karen said, reaching for a shrimp but then changing her mind.
"Yeah, but until we know what this is about, it would be best not to be caught at your work with a cooler full of blood."
"Let's still go by work and you two come inside with me. If they see and ask why, I'll say I forgot something at the office and wanted to show you both around. Inside, you can get some dinner. Sound good?"
"Brilliant," I said. I looked to my daughter. "How long have you been dating?"
"Really? At a time like this you're going to dig into my personal life?"
"Personal lives start at eighteen. Maybe that boyfriend of yours did something and that's why we're being followed."
"Now you're just being dumb. The only thing Shane has probably ever done wrong is go five miles-per-hour over the speed limit. He's an Eagle Scout and plans on going to the Air Force Academy. Can we drop this?"
"He drives a fast car."
"Liking cars is not a crime. He built the engine himself."
"Have you kissed him?"
"Dad!"
"Hey you two, can we talk about something else right now. If you didn't notice, we're in public and you are embarrassing me," Karen said. Lori was glaring at me.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's just you're my little girl and I worry."
"You raised a smart girl. Give me some trust."
"Okay, fine. I'm sorry."
I looked out the window as twilight settled in. I could see the front bumper of the Charger, and felt that it was waiting like a lion in the brush stalking prey. I did not intend to be easy prey, nor did I want the cops following us to Karen's Supermarket of Blood. An idea occurred to me, but I didn't share it with my two dates. Their ignorance would make for believable stories should we get caught.
I made up an excuse to go to the restroom, thankful neither of them asked if I had such bodily functions. Next to the restroom was a steel door that led either outside or to a dead-end utility closet. I checked it for an emergency exit alarm and found none. Once I was sure that no one was around, I grabbed the knob and gave it a twist. It was unlocked. I eased the door open and smelled fresh air blow in. Satisfied, I closed it and returned to the table.
After maintaining worried, minimal conversation for a half-an-hour, I requested the check.
"Let's get out of here," I said once the waiter returned with the receipt. We stood and walked to the front entrance. "Wait here, I have to use the restroom once more before the ride home."
"Actually, I do, too," Lori said. I didn't tell her that she wasn't allowed, but I considered it.
She followed me back and I left her for the men's room. Inside, I counted to ten and then came back out. I went straight for the door to the outside, but just as I reached for the knob, a young bus boy came out of the kitchen with a bag of trash. I yanked my hand back. He went for the door and I smiled as he passed, indicating with a hand gesture that I was waiting for a woman to exit the restroom. He smiled back and then went out the door.
Tapping my foot impatiently, I wondered how long it took to take the trash out, and then my exceptional nose caught the distinct smell of tobacco. He's taking a damn smoke break! Lori will be coming out any second, and then what? A thought occurred to me. I opened the door to the outside and saw the kid puffing away against the wall.
"Hey, I think your boss is looking for you," I said. "I didn't want to get you in trouble so told him you were in the dining room." He dropped the cigarette, stamped it out, and raced for the door.
"Thanks! If I lose another job, my dad will kill me." He hurried in and headed straight for the kitchen. My fangs popped down and my nails turned sharp and silver. I raced out into the night at full speed.
Catching a glimpse of me at such speed would be a challenge during the day, and next to impossible under cover of darkness. Still, I kept low, shielding myself behind cars. I was at the back of the Charger in seconds and sliced my finger into one of the tires. Air hissed out. Satisfied, I charged back to the restaurant, morphed in to human, and entered the door just as Lori came out of the restroom.
"What were you doing out there?" she asked.
"Oh, I was just curious. Found some kid smoking. You should have seen his face when I came out." I gave a chuckle and then led her quickly to the main entrance. We didn't see Karen inside, so walked out the front door. She was standing on the sidewalk.
"Check them out," she said, indicating to the Charger, visible now that the SUV had left. In the yellowish light cast by the streetlamps, we saw both men standing next to the car looking down at the tire. I couldn't help but smile. One of them looked in our direction, pointed, and then rapidly got into the car.
"He's calling for backup," I said. "Let's go." We hurried to the BMW and left the parking lot, tail free for the moment.
With the evening traffic abated, the GPS guided us to Karen's work along the highways, which allowed us to make good time. While Karen drove, Lori and I kept a lookout for suspicious vehicles that might be following us, but we saw none. It didn't occur to me that we should have watched the sky, too.
Chapter 14
Plasma Worx was a 24-hour operation that ran three shifts, five days a week. The facility's bread and butter came from testing blood, separating plasma, and packaging finished products for hospitals in several states. A third of the building was reserved for research labs, where I was lucky enough to enter on my first visit. This part of the company operated on a more normal schedule (banker's hours, the production workers mocked in jealousy, Karen informed me), and researchers were free to come and go as they wished. It's hard to put restraints on a mad scientist.
Using a key, Karen led us through the front door, where the glassed-off receptionist seat was now empty and only a few fluorescent ceiling lights lit. She typed in a code on the keypad next to an inner door, causing it to click. Twisting the handle and pulling it open, we stepped inside.
Karen turned to my daughter and said, "I need to run some quick tests, and get your dad some food. It might be a little boring for you. How would you like a tour of the blood-processing area?"
"By myself?"
"I'll get the shift supervisor to walk you around. You'll like her."
"Okay," Lori said.
Karen led us through a couple more doors and we soon found ourselves in a small room filled with white Tyvek suits and boxes of masks, gloves, and hairnets. Karen pressed a small button next to the door that led into the factory, and then helped Lori dress into protective clothing. Within a few minutes, the door opened and a white-clad woman entered.
"Karen, what a surprise!" she said, pulling her facemask down and then a look of concern washed over her face when she noticed Lori and I.
"Hi, Donna," Karen said. "I was out with my friend and his daughter when I realized that I left a test running in the lab. I need to check on it. This is Lori and Mike. Do you think you could give Lori a tour while I take care of it?"
"It's nice to meet you," Donna said, shaking our hands, but behind her pleasant demeanor, I sensed a hint of uncertainty that bothered me. Perhaps my growing paranoia was just getting the best of me, I considered.
"If you're too busy to show her around, I understand," Karen said.
"No, no…it's not that. Sure, I could show her around." She turned to Lori. "Are you okay with the sight of blood? Lots of it?"
"Absolutely. Biology is one of my favorite subjects."
"Good. I think you'll enjoy this then. Follow me." As Lori and Donna exited, Donna gave me one last disconcerting look that Karen didn't seem to notice.
I decided to keep quiet about the odd supervisor as we made our way to cold storage. We retrieved several units of blood, stuffing them in the cooler Karen had brought. We then headed down the hall to her lab, which was cluttered
with equipment, papers, and books in typical mad scientist fashion.
"Let me see the vial," she said, standing next to a complicated array of wires and tubes. All I recognized were the dual eyepieces common to microscopes. I sat my dinner on a table and pulled the box out of my pocket. Carefully, I took the vial out and handed it to her.
"What exactly is that?" I asked, pointing to the mechanical mayhem.
"A big-ass microscope, the better to satisfy your curiosity with." She smiled. "I want to see if there's anything obvious before we go onto more complicated testing." She skillfully prepared a drop of potion for viewing.
While she was setting up, I drank and looked around the lab. It was hard to imagine her spending years here, furtively searching for a cure to her own disease. The stress and isolation she must have experienced was unimaginable. Even though she had contracted the disease in a noble way, HIV had a stigma surrounding it that causes much of humanity to shun those infected. Even her husband—a surgeon himself—had run away.
"What the fuck!" she exclaimed, seconds after looking into the eyepieces at the slide.
"What is it?" I walked up next to her.
"Hold on." She worked knobs on the side and stared intently into the microscope for several minutes. Finally, she stood and stepped aside. "Take a look."
I took a seat and put my eyes onto the lenses. The image was confusing at first due to all the movement, but slowly I adjusted. I focused on one of the strange looking things—it looked like a thin, spiky worm—as it whipped its way across my field of vision. I raised my head.
"What is this?" I asked.
"It looks like the Ebola virus," she replied, donning a facemask and gloves.
"What? That's what takes my memory away?"
"I doubt it. While I know you pride yourself on not getting sick, put these on just in case." She handed me a mask and gloves. "It's similar to Ebola, but slightly off. The spikes are longer, sharper…almost like stingers. And if you look close, you'll see a silver glint at the end of each stinger. The same silver color as your claws." She went back to the eyepieces while I put on the safety gear.
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