Separation

by J. S. Frankel

Farrell had already started shaking his head. “No, you go on ahead without me.” He sank down in his bed once again. “I’m going to stay right here. I’m quite comfortable with all the painkillers, and since you’re safe...” his breath caught, “I’m satisfied.”

  They passed a few more friendly words, and Farrell seemed most interested to hear all about the adventures in Europe as well as out in Lake Shasta. His eyes glowed with pleasure and he even bounced on his mattress, much like a little boy watching his favorite superhero television show.

  However, he soon grew weary and settled back, a tired but happy looking smile on his face. “Some adventures you had, kid. My daughter will come by tomorrow. We’ll catch up...”

  At the door, Harry waved and forced himself to smile. He knew there would be no more tomorrow. Outside, Anastasia whispered, “How is he?”

  “There isn’t much time.”

  “You told him about the chamber, didn’t you?”

  “I did. No point now in using it. He said no, and that’s final.”

  Heaving a sigh, Istvan turned toward the door. “I know he does not want to look like pig, but it is a chance for life.”

  Since he didn’t have a snappy answer handy, Harry simply shrugged as if to say nothing could be done about the matter. He offered his hand to his wife, she took it, and they walked outside with Istvan tagging along close behind. They went back to the cabin and he waited for the call. The smell of death had been in Farrell’s room, and the ticks of the clock confirmed it.

  Farrell died exactly two days later. Overton came out to the cabin with Istvan to deliver the news. It was a beautiful summer morning, the sun out hot and full, but the verdict took some of the joy of a new day away. His face taut, he told them in a restrained voice. His eyes, though, red and swollen, betrayed his feelings as he ushered them to his car.

  “His daughter already came to say her goodbyes, but she told me to say thank you to both of you.”

  It was too late to say anything to her, but Harry had the hope they’d all meet again one day.

  Overton dug into his pocket and came out with Farrell’s badge. “He wanted you to have this.”

  Anastasia took it. With a curious expression on her face, something between a smile and a frown, she handed it over. Harry rubbed his thumb over the badge number—437—and smiled. “That was thoughtful of him.”

  “He said something to me. He said you were the best we had. You and your wife were the best and brightest and the hope for our future.” He cleared his throat. “I think so, too.”

  No one spoke until they got to the cemetery. There, Overton led them to a newly filled grave with a headstone placed in position.

  Miles Farrell

  FBI agent, father, friend

  Born, November 12th, 1962

  Died, July 8th, 2016

  Overton stood at a respectful distance while Harry stood at the foot of the grave. He couldn’t stop the flood of tears and didn’t want to. Anastasia also wept, and Istvan muttered something in Hungarian. He might have been praying or saying goodbye. It didn’t matter. Harry had lost a father figure, a mentor, but most of all he’d lost a friend.

  Once done, Anastasia excused herself. “Sorry, I have to use the bathroom again,” she said, and her voice sounded faint. She also looked pale, quite a feat for someone who had gray fur.

  She ran inside the nearest building, and even from a distance the sounds of violent retching could be heard. Even from a distance, Harry observed the swelling in her stomach.

  “What is happening?” asked Istvan. “I know about her sickness from the time we were in Italy, but she was finished with it, yes? I do not know about morning sickness for cats.”

  With a sudden jolt, Harry realized this kind of morning sickness differed from what he’d been expecting his wife to have. He thought she was over it, and then thought about the breeding cycle of the average feline, and...

  “Oh boy...”

  Overton and Istvan swiveled their heads in his direction, the former asking, “What do you mean, oh boy?”

  “It means I’m wondering how fast all of this is going to go down.” He made the gesture of a woman’s stomach swelling with a baby inside. “Time works a little differently for us.”

  Overton’s eyes widened. He’d heard the news about her pregnancy before, but only now did it seem to sink in. “Oh...”

  Anastasia walked out, shaking her head. “Sorry... can’t keep a thing down. And I’m showing, which means—”

  “Which means the party is out of the question,” Overton cut in and not unkindly at that. “Just as well, because I’ve got a lot of files to go over and reports to do. I’ll need your statements when you’re ready,” he added, looking at them.

  Harry offered a nod, but then snapped his head around. He smelled something... something familiar... and evil. “We’ve got company,” he said. “We’ve got...”

  The sound of a blast drowned out his words and a sudden concussion threw him into the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife hit the ground and Overton along with her. Wanting to help, but being in no position to, he felt himself floating and landed hard on his back a fair distance away from his initial position. “Anastasia...”

  She was lying in a heap under Overton. Harry ran over and gently pulled the agent off her.

  “They were waiting for us,” Harry ground out, furious now, but grateful that the agent had protected his wife. He knelt by Anastasia’s side and put his fingers to her neck. A pulse, strong and steady, beat under her skin. She’d been knocked out by the blast, but the baby...

  “She needs a doctor,” he said, lifting her in his arms.

  With an effort, Overton staggered to his feet and wiped the blood from his eyes. “I’m on it. Come with me.”

  Scanning the area, he saw Istvan was nowhere to be found. Harry called out his name again and again, but got no answer. “They’ve taken him.”

  “Worry about him later,” Overton said. “You both need help.”

  At his car, Harry gently loaded his wife’s limp form inside and Overton took the wheel, driving hell-bent for the nearest hospital. During the ten-minute trip, he called ahead and asked for the services of a doctor as well as an obstetrician.

  Once at the hospital, Harry carried his wife inside to the nearest examination room, where two doctors waited. “We’ll let you know,” one of them said.

  An orderly came over and offered assistance, saying that he needed to have his injuries attended to, but the agent waved off any form of assistance. “We’ll be fine. Take care of her first.”

  Pacing back and forth in the hallway, Harry felt his rage and frustration growing. Allenby—that scumbag—had planned this all along! If there was ever a time for vengeance, it was now. Harry vowed once he found the mad nut, his life would not be worth...

  The sound of a door opening interrupted his plans for revenge. Both doctors emerged, taking off their masks, “She’s still in a coma,” the first doctor, a tall and reedy man said. “It’s more like a light sleep, from what I can tell.”

  “When will she come out of it?”

  The doctor shrugged. “It’s impossible to tell. I’ve monitored her brain waves, and they’re steady, so there’s no brain damage. Her body needs, to, er, regenerate. That’s the most hopeful prognosis I can give.”

  Fairly bursting from the adrenaline overload, Harry couldn’t contain his anger mixed with fear. “Is the baby all right?”

  A look of surprise appeared on the second doctor’s face. Short and chubby, she introduced herself as Doctor Blanchard. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. But from what I can tell, internally, she’s the same as any other human.”

  “What about the baby!”

  “The baby’s fine,” she replied, her look of surprise changing to an expression of confidence. “Your wife—she is your wife, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not an expert in this, er, physiology, but from my examination, she ha
s a healthy fetus inside her. When did she start having morning sickness?”

  Harry’s reply of roughly three weeks ago caused the doctor’s eyes to bug out. “That’s... impossible. If my examination is correct, then she’s the equivalent of a woman who is eight and a half months pregnant. That would make the delivery date roughly two weeks from now... and that’s impossible...”

  He barely heard the rest of the doctor’s speech. He breathed a sigh of relief, but also knew his mission wasn’t over. “Can I see her?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Inside, Anastasia lay in bed, her eyes closed, and her chest moving slowly and rhythmically. “Anastasia,” he whispered, “I’ll be back soon. I have to find Istvan and I have to stop this monster. Wait for me... please.”

  A constricted feeling in his throat prevented any more words from coming out. He started to cry, sobbing as though part of him had been torn out. Now, in this time of separation, what would he do without her, without the only person who’d ever meant anything to him in his adult life, save his parents?

  The sound of the door opening disturbed him and he wiped his eyes. A nurse came over to check Anastasia’s vital signs. “She seems to be all right,” the nurse said. “I’ll be with her.”

  “Please,” he begged. “Do what you can.”

  Outside, he found Overton on his cellphone. He was sporting a bandage wrapped around his head, and soon clicked off. “I’m having guards placed here, just in case. Your wife will be safe.” Rotating his injured arm, he winced, but his face held a look of determination on it. “What’s the plan?”

  Harry shook his head. “I don’t know.” A feeling of loss swept through him like a typhoon. “I don’t know where to go. Farrell is gone, Leo is gone, and you’re hurt...”

  “Listen to me. I’m here to help you.” Overton stood tall, and a new kind of authority sounded in his voice, the kind that spoke of newly acquired experience and understanding. “Jason and Maze will also help, and you know how to do this. You’ve got a friend out there, and you have to find him. There’s no one else.”

  In a moment of clarity, Harry realized there was no one else, and a special someone needed him. It meant leaving his wife, but he had a job to do. “You’re right. We have to get this done. First thing, we talk to Jason and Maze. Then we go after Allenby.”

  Out in the bright sunshine, possible scenarios flew through his mind. Hiding places, contacts, Genesis Chambers and more, they all whirled in his consciousness, but the overriding emotion that came through was revenge. He had a score to settle with a certain changed monster and his minions, and nothing would stand in his way.

  To Be Continued...

  About the Author

  J.S. Frankel was born in Toronto, Canada, a good number of years ago and managed to struggle through school, graduating from the University of Toronto with a BA in English Literature.

  After working in Toronto for three years, he moved to Japan in order to teach English and has never left. In 1997, he married the charming Akiko Koike and moved to Osaka. Their union produced two sons, Kai and Ray.

  Frankel teaches English during the day while attempting to write Young Adult novels during the late hours of the evening. Separation is the fourth novel out of five in the Catnip series. Frankel is the author of numerous YA novels, including Mr. Taxi, Star Maps, Just Another Quiet Little Town and Picture (Im)perfect, a YA romance, all published by Devine Destinies.