Conspiracy Unleashed

by L. Danvers

  Any luck yet?

  Haven’t heard from you in a while...

  Getting worried.

  She let out a yawn and stretched her arms wide before scrolling through the rest of the messages. The next one made the hairs on her arm stand on end.

  Cal, come home. Police called...

  Quinn’s body was found...

  ...taking her to the funeral home.

  No, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. How could she have slept through this? Of all times to sleep. She cursed herself for not checking the text before bed. What was she thinking?

  They cremated her before we had a chance to say goodbye. Cal, where are you?

  Please come home.

  Cal clutched her stomach while it somersaulted within her. Her head was spinning. She had so many questions left unanswered. She wanted to believe Quinn was alive. Out there. Somewhere. Waiting to be found. But what kind of sister, what kind of person would she be if what her mom was saying was true and she didn’t treat it as such? That Quinn was, in fact, dead, and she was too hardheaded to mourn.

  The first few hours following hearing the news of her sister’s death were gut-wrenching.

  As promised, Cal went to her parents’ home. Her mother and father were overwhelmed at the thought of planning a funeral for their eldest child. That wasn’t how life was supposed to work. It wasn’t fair.

  Cal’s mom couldn’t speak Quinn’s name without spiraling into a fit of hysteria. Seeing her parents in so much pain was difficult. It was hard on her having to be the adult when she wanted to break down. She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry until her body couldn’t produce a single more tear, but her parents needed her. So she pulled herself together, buried her emotions for the time being and took control over planning the funeral. It had to be done, and she had to be the one to do it.

  Cal began making calls. She reached out to her parish to notify the priest of Quinn’s death. He offered to make a home visit to help console the family. Cal thanked him and told him it would mean a lot, especially to her mother.

  Within an hour or so, he arrived. It was wonderful that Father Jim was there to offer his support, but Cal had to admit she was more grateful that he was able to distract her parents for a while so she could notify relatives and make arrangements.

  But she needed to know which funeral home had cremated Quinn. She chewed her lip, delaying asking the uncomfortable question as long as she could for fear of sending her mother into another fit. The thought of breaching the subject filled her with dread. She called two more relatives while she stalled—cousins who didn’t remember who she was—and, despite her reluctance, she forced her way to the cracked leather couch where her parents sat. The priest was in a chair beside them.

  “Which, um...” She swallowed, buying a couple more seconds. “Which funeral home did you say—”

  “Valley Hill,” her father interrupted, much to her relief. His eyes were dark and heavy. He hadn’t slept in days. Her mom dabbed at a constant stream of tears that flowed down her rosy cheek. Her parents looked older since she saw them last. Their faces were wrinkled with worry and sunken with despair.

  Cal swept into her bedroom so they wouldn’t have to hear her make the call.

  “It’s a beautiful day at Valley Hill Funeral Home,” an old woman with a sweet but shaky voice said. Cal thought it was an odd way to answer the phone for a funeral home, but she bit her tongue. “My name is Candice. How can I help you?”

  “Yes,” Cal said. She paced as she talked, her heart beating its way up her throat. It was hard to get the words out. “My name is Calista Cameron. My sister, Quinn...” She hesitated, struggling. “She died. I believe her, uh, body—”

  “Oh, I am so sorry, honey,” Candice said.

  “Thanks. It’s my understanding that her body was taken to your facility.” She gulped. There was that word again. Body. “Can you verify that for me?”

  “Hold on a moment, please.”

  Cal’s blood pressure was rising.

  “Ah, yes. I see it here. Quinn Cameron of Washington, D.C., 27 years old—”

  “Yes, that’s her,” Cal said. “We, um, need to set up arrangements for her funeral.” Cal sat at her old desk while she and the sweet lady went over the details.

  It made her sick thinking Quinn was nothing more than ashes. She wished she could have seen her again, once more, to get closure. To say she was sorry. To say goodbye.

  This whole ordeal was overwhelming. Cal had so many things she wanted to ask, but she was in such a fog she couldn’t articulate them. While she and Candice were finishing making arrangements, Cal was getting bombarded with calls from other relatives and friends of Quinn’s who were in absolute disbelief of the tragic news. Each time the blue light shone from her wristband to signify an incoming message or call, it came with a sense of anxiety.

  Everyone wanted answers. Everyone wanted to know how this had happened. Why this happened. Share how they felt about what happened. And with each conversation, Cal felt her resolve weaken as she told the story over and over again.

  Hours later, after things had settled down, Cal’s mom forced her to eat. Cal wasn’t hungry, but she knew this was her mother’s way of coping. Her way of saying she loved her. Cooking helped distract Janet. Her mom needed to feel needed right now. So Cal ate everything she gave her with a smile on her face.

  “That was delicious,” Cal said, wiping the corner of her mouth with a brown cloth napkin.

  Her mom’s eyes filled with tears, and her nose turned bright pink. She put the dish she had been washing in the sink, wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to Cal. She leaned over and wrapped her warm arms tight around her daughter.

  “I don’t know what I’d do with you,” her mom whispered in her ear. “You’re a good daughter.”

  Cal had to gulp down the lump in her throat. She hung on the words. It was the nicest thing she’d ever said to her. “You’re a good mom.” She stood up from the table and squeezed her mom back. They held each other, not saying a word. They didn’t have to.

  After the priest left and her parents had retired to their bedroom for the night, Cal snuck out of the house to pay a visit to the police department.

  She wanted closure. She worried she was delusional, wasting her time tugging at a thread of hope that the officers had been mistaken, that Quinn wasn’t dead, that they had found the wrong body. She needed to hear it from the officer himself. Then she could make peace with Quinn’s fate.

  When she arrived, a man with a small head and a wrinkled neck resembling that of a turtle greeted her from behind a glass panel. “What can I help you with today?” he asked in a robotic-like tone.

  Cal explained she wanted to meet with the officer who led the investigation regarding her sister. She wanted to ask him things she didn’t dare ask her parents. Where had he found Quinn’s body? How did she die? She wouldn’t be able to mourn until she could understand what happened.

  The man typed away on his top-of-the-line holographic computer. Cal tried getting a look at the images and displays that popped up, but she couldn’t make any of them out from the angle where she stood. She rested her elbows on the counter and waited.

  Minutes later, he found something. “Here it is,” he said. “Officer Carmike. Jerry Carmike, that is.”

  “I’d like to speak with him.”

  The turtle-like man held one finger in the air as his xfone unfolded and wrapped around his ear. After a few moments, he sat up straight, as if the officer could see him. “Yes, Officer Carmike. I have a Ms. Cal Cameron that would like to speak with you. That’s correct. Quinn Cameron’s sister. Mhmm. Yes, yes. Okay. I’ll let her know. Goodbye.” His earpiece retracted into a tiny earring.

  “Well?”

  “He can’t speak with you right now. He’s busy. I’m sorry.”

  “Can I get his number?”

  “We have a policy not to hand out officer’s phone numbers. I’m sure you can understand. But he said
I can get your number and give it to him. He’ll get in touch with you when he can.”

  Cal gave the man her number. She asked him if she could speak with the chief of police. She had interviewed him a few times before and thought he could answer some of her questions. But she was told he was vacationing in Aruba and wouldn’t be home for another two weeks.

  Dejected, she headed back to her parents’ home.

  Something didn’t feel right, but she didn’t have time to waste any more energy on it. There was much planning left to do.

  Chapter Ten

  Grief, despair, helplessness and denial filled the days that followed.

  The funeral Mass was held at St. Joan's Catholic Church, located in downtown D.C. on the ground level. Towering windows depicting the Stations of the Cross, pictures representing the Passion of Christ, lined the sanctuary. The dust in the air of the old church danced along the vibrant colors of the stained glass as they reflected onto the wooden pews.

  A simple black urn sat atop a small table in front of the altar, surrounded by an abundance of floral arrangements. There was everything from white lilies to pink roses, which were Quinn's favorite varieties.

  Cal sat in the front pew between her mother and father. Her grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins sat in the rows behind them, along with other friends and loved ones. When the clock struck 5:00, the pianist played Schubert's “Ave Maria.” It was an emotional song on an ordinary day. But of course, this wasn't an ordinary day. Today Cal was saying goodbye to her only sibling. In a church filled with people, she never felt so alone.

  She focused on the urn while listening to the accompaniment. She felt guilty for not crying. Maybe she wasn’t ready to accept her sister was gone, or maybe there weren't any tears left to shed.

  Her mother sobbed into a yellowed, frayed handkerchief while her dad rolled the red beads of a rosary between his fingers. When the final note echoed throughout the church, Father Jim stood up from his chair atop the altar and spoke to the congregation. Cal was sure whatever Father Jim had to say was beautiful and filled with compassion for the family and reassurance that Quinn was in a better place, but Cal wasn't listening. Instead, she was focusing on the second window, which depicted Jesus carrying His cross. She thought of how she would carry the loss of her sister forever. She tried to picture what life would look like from now on.

  Before she knew it, the service was over. Cal stayed seated as friends and relatives filed out of the sanctuary to the Parish Center, where parishioners provided a buffet for those in mourning. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath, but she was startled when she felt the warmth of a hand on her shoulder. She turned around and found Flynn standing behind her.

  "I didn't mean to scare you," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

  Cal smiled and patted her hand on the seat next to her, motioning for him to sit beside her. He did. He put his arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

  "She loved you, you know.”

  "I know."

  They sat together in silence for a while. Flynn didn't know what to say, and Cal couldn't blame him. There was nothing he could say to make things better. But having him by her side meant the world to her. He was a good friend. She could always count on him to be there when she needed him.

  The next couple of hours were filled with uncomfortable small talk as people Cal didn’t know came to express their condolences. She appreciated the sentiment, but she couldn't wait for the reception to be over. It was torture having to stand there and talk to people when she wanted nothing more than to go home and hide from the cruel world.

  At least she had Flynn to keep her company. They were in the middle of reminiscing about their favorite childhood memories of Quinn when a stranger approached. She had dark skin, high cheekbones and full lips pressed tight against one another. Cal assumed it was another parish member at first, but the woman didn’t wear a frown or the awkward smile people so often had in uncomfortable situations like this one.

  Cal blinked a few times as a memory rushed back, unleashing a flood of questions. She’d seen this woman before. On the boat on New Year’s Eve.

  “My deepest condolences,” the woman said, standing before Cal and Flynn.

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  The woman shook her head. “I’ve been watching you for a while, Ms. Cameron.” Cal’s heart thumped. She worried what this woman’s intentions were, but then something unusual happened. The woman’s coffee eyes caught Flynn’s. A flicker of a smile was exchanged between them. She had a creeping suspicion the two had met before.

  “What do you mean watching me?” Cal asked, her hands firm on her hips.

  “I know this has been a trying time for you,” the woman began.

  Cal didn’t want to hear it. “Who are you?”

  The woman handed Cal a slip of paper. There was no name. Only a series of numbers. Coordinates. “Meet me at 8:00 a.m. sharp. I’ll explain everything. I look forward to speaking with both of you in the morning.”

  Without any further explanation, the woman disappeared into the crowd. Cal stood on the tips of her toes, trying to spot the woman, but she was gone.

  “What was that about?”

  “Not here,” Flynn said under his breath. “Later.”

  Cal shot him an annoyed look, but found herself in the embrace of a weeping parishioner before she could ask him any more questions.

  By 7:00, things were winding down. Volunteers collected the dirty dishes and took the leftovers into the kitchen. Cal's parents were standing in the doorway, waving goodbye to their oldest friends who had cut their vacation in Italy short so they could be at the funeral.

  "Are you sure you don't want me to spend the night at your house?" Cal asked them. “I don’t mind.”

  Her dad patted her on the back. "You don't have to do that, Cal. Go spend time with your friend. It'll be good for you."

  Flynn was busy helping the volunteers stack chairs against the wall. She waved him over. "You ready to get out of here?"

  He stacked the last chair and joined her and her family. He shook her parents’ hands and offered them his sympathies. They appreciated his kind words. They’d known him most of Cal’s life. As far as they were concerned, he was family.

  The two of them stepped outside while Flynn hailed a hovercab. The crisp night air came as a welcome relief following the stuffiness of the church. When the hovercab arrived, Flynn stepped aside to let Cal climb in first.

  The ride was awkward. They talked about how nice the church service was and how obnoxious Cal's Aunt Kimmie had been at the reception. Aunt Kimmie was much older than Cal's mom and had hit the stereotypical milestone of old age where she found it appropriate to stuff rolls into her purse. The thought of the funny sight lightened the mood, and the discomfort lifted. Cal and Flynn were able to carry on as they always had before.

  When they arrived at her apartment, she changed into her sweats while Flynn threw his suit jacket and tie over the back of her couch. He sighed in relief as he unbuttoned his shirt collar.

  "Want something to drink?" Cal asked as she headed for the kitchen.

  "Sure, whaddaya got?"

  "The usual."

  She uncorked a bottle of merlot and poured them each a glass. She sat next to him on the couch and crossed her legs.

  "So," she said. "I want to know everything. Who was that woman? How did she know you? Why has she been following me?”

  "Slow down, slow down. Where to start? I guess you could call it a job opportunity."

  "You mean I’d be working with you?"

  "Yeah."

  "That sounds like an intriguing offer, considering I got fired.”

  “Fired?”

  “Long story. Anyway, what would I be doing?"

  "That's the thing. I can't tell you. At least not yet, I mean."

  "Oh, come on," Cal said. "You can tell me anything."

  "Not this. I...
I need you to trust me, okay?”

  "You’re going to have to give me a little more information than that."

  "Let's say there's a reason I haven't been able to talk about work with you. It'll make sense tomorrow. We have a meeting set up with... Well, you'll see for yourself in the morning. It’s best if I don’t say anything until then."

  Cal took a long sip of wine, studying his face, trying to read him. She didn’t have a clue what this could be about. She took a large gulp. "Okay," she said, shaking her head in disbelief that she was agreeing to such a ridiculous request. She trusted Flynn more than anyone else in the world. If he felt like he couldn’t tell her any more than he already had, she knew there was a good reason for it. "I'll do it."

  They clinked their glasses together. Even though she knew he couldn't answer her, she bombarded him with more questions. She couldn’t help herself.

  What were they going to be working on? Who else were they meeting? Why did they want to bring her on? Why now? What would they be working on together?

  In time, Cal grew bored with her questions being met with silence. She got a blanket out of her linen closet and tossed it to Flynn, who sprawled across the couch and passed out. He was snoring within seconds. She flipped the light switch and climbed into her bed. She knew she should get some rest, but her mind wouldn't stop racing. She hated not knowing what to expect.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cal woke up before dawn the next morning. Flynn was fast asleep and snoring. She got out of bed, watched the sun rise while she sipped her coffee, took a hot shower and got dressed. It took longer than usual to apply her makeup. She had heavy bags under her eyes from not sleeping much the night before, and it took a while to cover them up. She curled her hair and set it with hairspray, the smell of which sent Flynn into a coughing fit and woke him. He threw a pillow at her, but she dodged it.

  "Do I look okay?" she asked.

  Flynn smiled. "You look great."

  "Good. Because someone refuses to tell me where I'm going or why, so I don’t know if this outfit is appropriate."