Tolkien’s works fit both, and Joniver reveled in the story. He did not want it to end. He read the books word for word, including the appendices Tolkien provided. He not only read them, he memorized them. Joniver could recite many passages, so thorough was his reading and comprehension.
He had not cried since he was a small boy, but he could not help shedding tears while reading. The story moved him as nothing ever had, especially when Frodo left Sam. Broad streams flowed down his cheeks. He wiped furiously to keep his eyes clear so he could see the words.
When he finished, he stood up and looked at Emily with a weak smile.
“Well,” Emily said, “what did you think?”
“Incredible!” His mouth widened into a big smile. “But I do have one question.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Frodo - he was hailed as a hero, but I am not totally sure why. Why do you think?”
“Because he bore the weight of the ring and finished what was set before him. He saved the world.”
“But he didn’t. If it had not been for Gollum, Frodo would have kept the ring for himself.”
“But he had the foresight and compassion to spare Gollum and not take the poor creature’s life. On several occasions Frodo acts with wisdom rather than impulse.”
“Then it wasn’t Frodo. It was Gollum who saved the world.”
“No,” Emily said, shaking her head and gazing off thoughtfully.
She walked to a seat in the corner of the room, “Gollum was only there because of Frodo. Gollum was there to do what he did because of Frodo’s compassion - because of Frodo’s morality - because of his love…”
“Morality? But that still wasn’t Frodo, it was Gollum, and Gollum was not at all a hero.”
“Umm, so...it was Frodo - and it was Gollum, but there are other forces at work.”
“Other forces? What do you mean other forces?”
“Well…”
Just as Emily spoke the first word of her sentence, there was a knock. Opening the door, Emily was greeted by a tall young man in his twenties with blonde hair and gray eyes and a friendly smile. He and Emily hugged, and she invited him in.
Joniver stiffened.
“Joniver,” Emily said, “this is Buscar. Buscar, this is Joniver. We were just talking about Lord of the Rings.”
“He knows about the books?” Joniver said.
Emily smiled, put her right hand up and made a downward motion to Joniver, telling him to calm down. She saw he was red faced and though his skin was not fair, the red of his ears was evident.
He’s jealous, she thought. That is so cute! I love it!
Her eyes belied her humor and pleasure, but Joniver did not see. Joniver wanted to hit something. His eyes narrowed. He tightened his lips and stiffened his jaw.
“Whoa!” said Buscar, his two hands held out in front of him. “Did I interrupt something?”
Joniver caught himself and cooled his temper. Why had that happened, Joniver thought. He calmed down and regained control. Had Emily not said she was the only one with whom he could discuss the books? Who was this guy? “No, of course not!”
“No!” Emily said.
“As Emily said we were just discussing the book. I didn’t know anyone else knew about them, or at least, I did not know who else was aware of them. Emily’s comment just caught me by surprise, that’s all,” Joniver said. “Good to meet you, by the way.” He stuck out a hand to shake Buscar’s.
Buscar ignored him. He turned to look at Emily, and raised his eyebrows in an attempt to communicate something without words. Emily shook her head just a bit in a No gesture.
“Joniver,” she said, “Buscar has other books for you to read.”
“Great...that’s great.” Joniver knew he should be excited, but he did not like, nor trust, this guy and he was not sure why. Emily seemed to trust him. What was that hug about? And he wouldn’t shake my hand? Since Emily seems to trust him, maybe he’s all right. Alarm bells were ringing in his head, and he wanted to go get Olinar, but he remained as calm as he could. Worst of all this guy seems to know Emily better than I do, and I don’t like that, Joniver thought.
Joniver looked at Buscar. “Wha’d-ya-got?”
Emily was not sure he was asking about the books.
Chapter 8
He fidgeted with a nervous energy in the back of his Mercedes limousine. He hated coming to this shit-hole of a place. Regent Blue, in his current context known as Director Stephen Oliver Hunter, was impatient.
Harvesting was not something Regents or Directors were supposed to be involved in, but this was different. Involvement had been necessary in the case of Jacob and now he must involve himself in the search for his half-brother as well. Both of those boys knew too much and had too much ability to just leave them to the whims of chance.
Hunter found Jacob and processed him almost a year earlier, despite his own sister. Hunter knew it was her machinations that had initially stopped him, and he was sure she was behind the most recent debacle as well.
He would eventually find her, it was inevitable. She would be harvested but not processed; her actions deserved the virus and he would have no qualms about it. If necessary, he would inject her himself, he thought.
His lips curled into a snarl.
If she had not played the whore, he would not be in this mess in the first place. And her husband, my brother-in-law tolerated it! Hunter thought.
Hunter could not be a Director nor his former brother-in-law a Secretary in the company if it was known they had a whore for a sister and wife. Then to top it off she had gotten pregnant!
Well, my cavalier brother-in-law had been taken care of. I took care of Jacob, now I would get the half-brother. Then I’ll deal with my sister, the whore, Hunter told himself.
Jacob had done well, and he was still unaware of what happened or why. Hunter checked regularly on his nephew and the latest report was glowing. Jacob exceeded all measurables, and Hunter could not be prouder. His process was successful, as evidenced by Jacob, and his plan would be just as successful. Everything pointed to it.
Hunter smiled the smile of satisfaction one feels when all one’s enemies are defeated, and one is in total control and everyone knows it. He liked referring to himself in third person, and thought he would do it more often.
We are in control, he thought. We are now tying up loose ends.
His Mercedes, surprisingly, was not equipped with the smooth riding spherical tires found on company vehicles, and the driver hit a pothole, jolting his train of thought. This occurred more and more of late.
“Apologies, Director,” was all she said and kept her eyes forward.
He glared through the smoked glass barrier toward his driver.
Would he finally need to replace her? She was not that good in bed, he thought, although she could…
Stop thinking like a teenage boy, Hunter, he lectured himself. She must be replaced soon.
“Where was the young man - the half-brother? This tip had better pay off or I know three mid-secretaries who will be without positions tomorrow,” Hunter muttered.
He did not like this place, and the fact an armored van followed his car, which was in turn trailed by a company detail was of little comfort. Bad things had rarely happened in this section of town, but there was always the odd occurrence. The security feeds had never produced anything of consequence, but the mid-secretaries insisted their informant had a positive ID on a fellow who had to be his “person of interest.”
With Jacob placed and performing as expected, pulling his half-brother in would force his wayward sister from whatever shit-hole she was hiding in. This in turn, would lead him to the nerve center of the remaining terrorist networks. Once these were destroyed, taking over the two other territories would be an easy and straightforward endeavor.
Hunter thought the elimination of his sister’s husband would have been enough, but she had tricked him twice. She escaped him after the car accident, which killed her
husband, and she had successfully hidden the existence of the half-brother. He was about to unravel the second trick.
Where was he? What was his name?
***
Joniver stood as he finished another book, this one called 1984 by a guy named George Orwell. He read it in just under two hours. He was satisfied with his reading but bothered by circumstances. Buscar had given him this book to read. Joniver enjoyed it and learned from it, but upon completion, he could only think of how he didn’t trust the guy who brought it to him.
“What did you think?” Emily asked with chipper tone, as she prepared the evening meal. She talked with Nana, and they planned for Joniver to stay and eat before heading home.
“I, uh...I,” Joniver paused and looked into Emily’s eyes. “How often does Buscar come over here?”
“I don’t know, why?”
“Because I want to know!” Joniver shot back. That was a mistake, he thought, and tried to unsuccessfully calm himself.
“I’m not really sure that is any of your business.”
“Yeah, well, I think it is.”
“Why?” Emily stopped and leaned with one hand on top of a chair to support herself. “Why is it your business? I’m frankly a bit offended by all this.”
“You’re offended?” Joniver snapped then caught himself. He looked away and out the only window in the apartment. He looked out onto the ruins that had once been Centennial Park. He did not like the ruins. “Emily, you know why I’m asking,” he said with more control in his voice.
She now crossed her arms and shook her head to throw back a strand of hair from her eyes. “No, I don’t know because you haven’t told me. Why don’t you tell me?” Her eyes flared.
There was a sinking feeling in Joniver’s stomach, and a sense of helplessness fell on him like a wet blanket dropped from the ceiling. He was not sure anything he said would be helpful. He glanced at her as she moved a strand of hair behind her left ear with her fingers. The air particles danced all around her in the fading afternoon sunlight, as if she were the center of the universe.
This girl! Speech failed him, not only because of the crisis he was in, but also because of the sudden rush of emotion from looking at her. His mind raced like a merry-go-round moving much too fast. He stammered.
“Well?” she said. Joniver’s mouth hung open and his eyes traced a pattern on the cracked linoleum floor. “Joniver, you are absolutely impossible!” She threw a towel at the table and stormed out.
He heard the muffled sounds of her crying from the bathroom, and he went to the door, “Hey Emily, I am so sorry. Please come out and let’s talk.”
“I don’t want to talk."
That’s odd, Joniver thought since a few minutes ago she had wanted very much to talk. “Emily, I don’t want you to cry. I can’t stand for you to cry. Come out and let’s eat. If you don’t want to talk we don’t have to." Joniver thought this would be great since he was hungry, and he did not want to talk right now either.
“I’m not hungry, Joniver. I think you should go.”
Joniver did not like the tone he heard. “Wait! What about dinner?” he asked.
“I think you should go!”
She said this with an emphatic tone, which even Joniver could understand meant he should go. He turned to leave, but leaned back toward the bathroom door that separated him from the most beautiful person he had ever known. “Emily, you know why I’m asking about Buscar. You are not just anybody, Emily. You’re not just a friend or even a special friend. I care about you, and I care about what happens to you. I don’t trust that guy and I want you safe.”
The crying stopped a bit, but he still heard her sniffles.
“Well, anyway, I’ll check on you later if that’s ok,” he said.
No answer.
Joniver walked the few meters to the front door, grabbed the handle with his left hand and looked back over his right shoulder into the room. He worried about what would happen with Emily, and he felt he was in danger of losing her.
Then his thoughts stopped.
If he could lose her, then that means she is his. What did it mean for them to belong to each other? Joniver didn’t know, but he was encouraged.
He knew she was worth fighting for.
Then it hit him - he didn’t simply want time with Emily or to look at Emily or talk with Emily, he wanted Emily. He wanted her. Joniver thought back through what had just unfolded in the last few minutes and the sinking feeling returned. He feared losing something very precious, which he knew he could never replace.
“Bye, Emily,” he said and walked out of the flat.
***
In a few minutes, while still in the bathroom, Emily talked to her reflection in the small, dingy mirror above her sink.
“If he had just said the last part 10 minutes ago, it would have helped. Things might have been different!” She talked in a half whisper, half sob to herself. “I couldn’t help but cry like an idiot…” She slammed her palm on the lip of the sink. “…and so he says what he has to in order to try and get me to come out of the bathroom.”
Jerk!
He probably wouldn’t have done even that if he hadn’t been looking forward to dinner. He always hangs around here at dinner time, because he likes my cooking so much.
“What a jerk!” Now she said it, and she walked out of the bathroom.
Frustration welled up inside her, and she threw a hair brush across the small flat back into the bathroom. The brush bounced on the sink and the handle struck the little mirror just above. The mirror broke.
Emily was not in any way superstitious, so the breaking of the mirror meant nothing to her. She should have paid more attention to this particular omen, however.
As if losing her dearest aunt in a fire and having to relocate far from her previous location and trying to put together all new belongings was not enough, Emily was about to have some very bad luck. In the end she would not call it luck, she would say, “There were other forces at work.”
Indeed there were.
***
Joniver walked in measured steps down the stairs. His pace was sporadic and his legs moved on their own with his thoughts still in the flat above. The flat, he told himself, from which he had been thrown out.
She did throw me out, he thought, and with us getting ready to eat, too!
His mental protest was childish and selfish, but words that are felt can sometimes make more sense than words spoken. Spoken thoughts lose their power, and Joniver imprisoned his thoughts, locking himself in self-pity.
He thought about how he had never known Emily to be a jerk, but tonight she was a jerk.
What had happened?
Why had he pushed the thing about Buscar? Nana told him not to ask unless he was prepared for the answer, and now he knew what she meant. At least he thought he knew what she meant. He needed to ask her when he got home. He needed some advice about this, and he needed to know what he should say to Emily. Nana would know.
He was not sure how he felt about Emily. What did Emily think of him? Why didn’t he ask her?
Why did he get so tongue-tied and stammer when she was around? If they talked about stuff, everything was fine, but the whole “How do you feel?” and “How do I feel?” made him feel very uncomfortable.
He heard the growling of his stomach and realized how hungry he was. He hoped there would be something left over from Nana’s evening meal for him to have before bed. He at least would not have to go to bed hungry.
He wandered down the stairs and walked through the ground floor corridor toward the street, thinking only of his conversation with Emily and wondering how things had gone so horribly wrong.
What counsel could Nana give to fix this?
He had never felt so empty and he knew the pit in his stomach was not simply a hunger for food.
Things could not get worse, he thought.
He was wrong.
Chapter 9
Joniver pushed one of the heavy woode
n doors to Emily’s building and caught just a glimpse of one of the first waiting Guardsmen through the opening created by the door’s movement. He froze only a second, but it was more than enough time for the second member of the detail to swing the door wide and throw a black hood over Joniver’s head. The hood had been treated with an anesthetic compound, and within four-seconds of touching the large wooden door, Joniver was limp in the arms of two Elite Guard troops. They carried him to the van and then sat waiting for the Mercedes limousine in front to lead out.
Hearing the sound of car doors closing, Emily looked out from her sixth floor flat, but saw only three company vehicles outside the building. There was no telling what they were doing here, she thought. Although Emily saw them pulling away, she still went to secure the backpack in its new hiding place.
“They were right!” Hunter said, giddy with excitement in the back of his Mercedes. On his neural implant heads-up display, he compared the system picture, reportedly of the half-brother, with the image of the young man they had just taken. He had the half-brother; he looked so much like him, Hunter thought. The tip had paid off, so he could not justify killing those mid-secretaries, at least not this time, he told himself with disappointment.
In the back of the van, Joniver lay unconscious, his hands behind his back in cuffs and the black bag still covering his head. Four Guardsmen sat on benches around him, one in each direction, north, south, east, and west. They would not let this kid get away. They did not know who he was or why he was so important, but they would not lose their position at the company because of him. Their guns hung across their chests and their eyes were fixed on the motionless figure at their feet.
Hunter’s driver expected their convoy to head toward the Station, but instead they headed east. She needed to find a pothole or two depending on where they were going. They were on Baker Street heading east, but she knew the street was bombed out west of Piedmont on the other side of the 75/85 connector. Hunter had not said, but she guessed their destination was somewhere off the connector and could be even further south on the 75 or the 85.
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