The Orpheus Trilogy (Book 2): Orpheus: Homecoming

by Dan DeWitt

  "Thanks," was all Orpheus could think to say.

  "You're welcome. I'm not going to leave you high and dry. I already have another pilot in mind to take my place. I'll show her the ropes, and then poof on out of here."

  "If you want to keep it a secret, don't you think it'll raise a few red flags if you just brought another pilot on board?"

  "Well, that's why you're going to request her."

  "And how am I going to do that without tipping anyone off?"

  "You're a smart guy. You'll figure something out."

  They smoked for a few minutes, neither one looking in the other's direction.

  "This pilot," Orpheus said, "is she any good?"

  "Real good. She should be. I taught her everything she knows, and the rest is just in the blood."

  "In the ...? This is your daughter? Why would you send her here?"

  "She wants to be here more than anything, but she didn't get selected. But I figure that your request will count for a lot. I haven't always been able to give her everything she deserves, but I can give her this last gift."

  "Does she know?"

  "About my relapse? Nope. And until I'm sure that the end is fucking nigh, she won't. The last thing I want is for her to waste her life taking care of me."

  Orpheus didn't respond, and Jameson seemed disappointed.

  "Nothing to say to that?"

  Orpheus moved his hands in small circles around each other, trying to formulate his answer. "It might not be the way I'd handle it, but I'm not in your shoes."

  "I wrestled with it for a while. But it's the right thing. Promise me you won't tell her."

  "I'm not in love with it, but you have my word."

  "And promise me that you'll take care of her."

  "You have to ask? I'm taking care of you, and I don't even like you."

  That elicited a laugh from Jameson. "Oh, you fucker."

  Crisis at Home

  "You sure you don't need anything else before we go?" Peg Morelli asked of her daughter again. How many times that was, Jackie had lost count.

  "Mom, go. Have a great trip. I managed to take care of myself pretty well before I lost my island home."

  "I know, I just worry about a few things with Cam being, you know."

  "She worries about everything," Donnie said good-naturedly. "That's not ever going to change, Peach. So embrace the hovering."

  "You stop it or this vacation will go very poorly for you."

  He held his hands up in mock surrender. Jackie walked them to the door and ran them through their checklist to make sure that everything was in the car. Luggage? Wallets? Snacks? Check, check, and check. She kissed her parents on the cheek and opened the door. "I'm fine. In fact, I see some wine in my future, as well."

  Her parents were halfway down the walkway when Donnie stopped and said, "Seriously, though, do you need -"

  "Go already!"

  "Okay, okay, we're gone, we're gone."

  Jackie watched them back out of the driveway. She waved and shut the door after the tail lights had disappeared from view. She leaned against the door. "I'm sure that Ethan thinks I'm the same way. Well, mother's privilege."

  She leaned against the door and just listened. The house was as silent as she could remember it ever being. No kids, no parents, even the dog was sleeping. She missed her family with all of her heart, but she could still appreciate the value of being alone. The quiet was good for the soul, and it would be over before she knew it.

  Jackie glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to make sure that everything was ready and take a quick shower. Drying her hair was out of the question, and she just wanted to get the grime off before her guest showed up. She took a quick trip into the kitchen. The wine was breathing, the glasses were clean, and the snacks were in the cupboard.

  She trotted to the upstairs bathroom and was downstairs fifteen minutes later to answer the doorbell. She was still toweling off, and her date was early. Not annoyingly so, but Jackie would've liked to have been able to throw on something other than the closest sweats. She could clean up in a few minutes.

  She opened the door and stood face-to-face with the man from the gun club, the nice one who had shared the line with her.

  "Hi," he said, a charming smile across his face. "You look nice."

  "Um, hi," she returned. She wasn't sure about the smile on her own face.

  He took a few very slow steps toward her, that smile still beaming. Instinct compelled her to step back into the foyer, but she was unable to speak. Although the door was open, he wouldn't be visible from the neighbor's house and, with the porch light off, a passerby on the street probably wouldn't see much, either.

  She mentally kicked herself for not checking the window first. Her discomfort turned into a very real fear, and she tried to slam the door, but he stopped it with a stiff arm and she had no leverage to close it any farther. He reached his right hand behind him and produced a gun, the same Beretta that she had noticed at the club. Cam's gun. He didn't point it at her, only kept it at his side in the most nonchalant manner she could imagine. The way he was tapping it against his hip was unnerving. She almost wished that he did aim at her.

  "Man, I thought that those geezers were never going to leave." Then she got her wish, as he put the barrel inches from her forehead. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

  Her feet refused to comply for a few seconds, but she got her mouth working. "What are you doing? Please don't do this."

  He placed the barrel to her forehead this time and pushed. The steel forced her head to crane backward at an awkward angle. She had no choice to walk backward to alleviate the pressure, which was exactly what he wanted. "Hurts, don't it? Trust me, I know." He was in the house now. He kicked the door shut with his heel. He kept the gun trained on her and said, "Don't move. Not even a little." He half-turned to the door and threw the deadbolt.

  The sound of the door closing was bad, it made Jackie think of all sorts of horrible parallels. But the sound that the deadbolt made when it was slammed home? Given the context, it was the worst sound that she'd ever heard.

  The intruder finished securing the door and turned back to her. "I know that your parents are gone, so I'll ask you one question: Is anyone else here? Do not lie to me."

  She didn't need to lie. "No."

  "If I see anyone else, you're all dead."

  That shook something loose. "Wait, my dog. He's in our bedroom."

  "Is your dog going to be a problem?"

  "He's like forty pounds and he's behind a gate upstairs."

  "I see a single hair come anywhere near me, you know what happens."

  She nodded.

  "Good." He didn't say anything for a moment while he looked around. He poked his head into the living room and the dining room. He seemed to be satisfied and said, "Let's get something to eat." He flicked the gun in the direction of the kitchen, and she led him in. They got to the table and he said, "Stay." She stood rooted to the spot where her husband would usually sit. She'd give anything to have him burst through the door now, but she was on her own.

  The man looked around the kitchen. He took the wooden knife holder and dropped it, knives and all, into the trash. He was taking no chances with her. "I figure that any wife of his might actually be willing to cut someone if needs be. Consider it a grudging respect." He got down on a knee and inspected the underside of the table. "Or shoot them. Stay there."

  She did.

  "Now I know that a man like that has to have several guns stashed around the house. You're not going to get close enough to use any of them, understand?"

  Jackie was trying to keep herself aware, ready. She apparently didn't answer quickly enough for him, because he exploded. "I asked you if you fucking understood, bitch!!!"

  She actually jumped in her chair. "I do, I do." She kept her voice as calm as possible, but she was terrified of this man. She didn't even know what he wanted.

  "So this is the Holt place, huh? This is nice. Yo
u have a very mature decorating style. Most women ... at least the ones I've met ... put in overtime to be as trendy as possible, shit they saw in ten different magazines, and it just turns out a mess. You? Classic. It works."

  The sudden change in demeanor didn't alleviate her fear at all. It had the opposite effect. But at least they were talking, and she wouldn't be psychologically bullied by this man. He clearly wanted her for something, and it didn't seem like she was the target at all. "So you know who my husband is? I thought you were just the unluckiest burglar in town."

  He snickered. "Lady, I know exactly where I am. And I don't give a shit who your husband is. Oh, hey, you have one of those German coffee things with the cups." He moved to the counter and casually rotated the holder, checking out the selection. He ejected the old cup and placed the new one in. "Mugs?"

  "Cabinet to your left."

  "Gotcha." He pulled one out immediately and held it up. It was decorated with a horde of zombies. "Really?"

  "You wouldn't believe how many things like that were given to him as homecoming gifts."

  "That seems kind of insensitive, don't you think?"

  "Actually, yes. But he shrugged it off."

  He motioned to the Merlot on the countertop. "What's with the wine?"

  "I was looking forward to a nice, quiet night reading."

  "I get it. It'd be beer and porn for me, but quiet time is quiet time, right?"

  This, Jackie thought, is the single most surreal conversation I've ever had.

  The intruder said nothing else while the coffee brewed. A gurgling sound signified that it was done. He took the mug out and inhaled deeply. "I'd offer you one, but I don't want it chucked at my face."

  The thought had definitely crossed her mind, and she was still scrambling for another way out.

  "Let's grab a seat and have a little chat." He motioned for her to sit down first. She almost sat in her husband's seat, but thought better of it and moved to the one on the corner.

  "Something wrong?"

  "I hate kitchen chairs with arms, but they belonged to my husband's parents." She motioned to the next chair. "May I?"

  "Be my guest."

  She settled in and clasped her hands in front of her on the table. It came as no surprise to her that he took the seat on the opposite corner. He wasn't taking any chances with her at all. She almost felt complimented.

  Her eyes were drawn to the steaming black coffee in front of him. "Creamer's in the fridge."

  "Oh, no need to ruin it. I'm sure you have questions."

  She did. "Why are you here? If you know who my husband is, you have to know that just going as far as you already have is pretty dangerous for you."

  "Well, life is a risk."

  "But you said you don't care who he is."

  "I wasn't being completely honest with you about that."

  "Or at the club."

  "Hey, I never said anything at the club. Anyway, I guess I do have a bit of a grudge against him, but that can be wiped clean if he does a little job for me. No muss, no fuss. In fact, if he does that, you don't have anything to worry about, either. I'll leave both of you alone."

  "Then why not just ask him?"

  "Come on, really? I'm not asking him to drive me to the airport. He might have to get dirty."

  "And you think that this is the best way?"

  He shrugged. "It's the way I chose. No going back now."

  The conversation was making her feel a little better about her circumstances. He wasn't after her sexually, he didn't seem all that eager to hurt her (although she had no doubt that he was willing, if it came to that), and if he was telling the truth, there was a way for everyone to get out in one piece.

  She wondered about the "job," though. The vagueness worried her.

  Still, she was in a better place now than she was twenty minutes ago. "So I have your word that if my husband does what you say you'll leave my family alone?"

  "I didn't say exactly that."

  Now she was confused. "What did you say then?"

  "I said that you and your husband can go on your way. And I mean that."

  He took a long sip of his coffee and savored it for a maddening length of time. Jackie wanted to scream at him to hurry up, but thought better of it. When he finally did speak, it chilled her blood.

  "But Ethan ... now that's different. Personal."

  A Lead

  Orpheus walked down the long, empty corridor to the auto shop. Jen had called him and asked to see him as soon as possible. As he hadn't heard from her for days, he assumed that it was something of import. He didn't necessarily rush through the morning briefing, but he didn't stay to grabass, either. He dismissed everyone and headed immediately to her.

  The route to the shop was just shy of abandoned. There were sentries posted, and he could see the two at the corners readily enough, but a quick turn of the head and he could convince himself that he was absolutely alone.

  There was a small stuffed penguin hanging from the doorknob. Orpheus left it hanging there, wondering what it meant. He knocked on the door, but got no answer. He didn't like that, not after being invited, so he rushed in and nearly went sprawling over a milk crate full of auto parts. "Goddammit! Jen!" Still, he got no answer.

  He jogged further into the auto bay. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that he was in his local body shop. He passed a Hyundai, still on the lift, and saw Torres, as feisty as ever. Orpheus made it a point to avoid looking at the man, and turned away.

  He saw Jen, motionless on a couch. He said her name, nothing. He dropped next to her and began to shake her shoulder, saying, "No, Jen, don't do this to me." He was closer than he should be, but his instincts were on high alert, waiting for any sign.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she smacked her lips together to deal with the dry mouth. "Oh, hey. Sorry, I tried to wait, but I thought I could catch a little nap."

  He helped her sit up. "Is that all it is? Fatigue?"

  "Trust me. I even ran my own blood work. I've barely been sleeping, trying to figure this out."

  Orpheus couldn't help but feel more responsible with every one of her yawns. She was completely wiped out.

  "But I might have something. Maybe. And I thought that you'd like to be the one to know." She tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes. "The only one to know." She tried to stand and comically fell backwards. "I might need a sec."

  Orpheus spied the coffee maker. Beneath was a small trash basket that was filled with used filters, coffee grounds, and energy bars. "Let me put on a pot and you can shake it off."

  She pointed a finger gun at him and made a clicking sound before letting gravity take her head back down to the pillow. She was snoring within ten seconds. He checked his watch. It was early, and he could give her a little more shuteye. At the very least, he could have a fresh cup of coffee in peace. Even Torres had calmed down. Either he was unaware that he still had company, or his body had somehow told him to save his energy for another time. Orpheus put a macho amount of coffee in the filter, filled it from one of the gallons of spring water laying around, and hit the button. He zoned out for a moment and came to when the first drips of coffee started to fall.

  He figured he had about ten minutes of nothing to do or drink, so he wandered over to Jen's desk to surf the morning news sites. He got as far as opening the browser before coming to the realization that he just didn't want to read anything about himself anymore. He closed the browser and fiddled with the stuff at Jen's desk. All along the back edge were knickknacks similar to the penguin on the doorknob, and he put two and two together.

  Fish ... Fish ... was leaving his girlfriend love tokens. It was touching. It had to be difficult for the kid to know that his girlfriend was right down the hall but didn't have time to see him.

  His gaze dropped to a yellow legal pad that was crammed with a haphazard assortment of notes. He assumed that she could read it, but it was a mess to him. Then a single word jumped off of the page at him.


  "CATALYST."

  That made him look closer at the notes. It was slow going, but he thought he was getting at least a piece of the picture.

  The blood work on Falcone confirmed that he had the same strain of virus, as did Torres. Even though it brought on a whole lot of questions, Orpheus found that to be a tremendous relief. Better the devil you know, he thought. The reason that Falcone's symptoms more closely resembled the flu instead of what Orpheus had seen in the past? According to his medical history, the guy just never got sick. He had a high natural immunity, so the virus had to work harder to take him down. More good news, in a way.

  The coffee finished brewing, and Orpheus treated himself to a cup before sitting back down at the desk. Jen was still out cold. If the smell of freshly-brewed dark roast at point-blank range didn't wake her up, she really was fried. He dove back in.

  Her notes left no doubt that she had copied Vincent's antidote to 100% accuracy. Was that where a catalyst came in? One of Orpheus's theories after Falcone had gotten infected was that Vincent had somehow been screwing with him from beyond the grave. Now it didn't seem silly at all, except he knew that it had nothing to do with him. He was pretty sure that guys like Dr. Vincent were beyond concepts like revenge. But Jen was convinced that something was missing, and now Orpheus was convinced that Vincent was holding something back from his employers. He could almost picture Vincent handing his antidote and notes over to his employers and explicitly telling them that if anything happened to him (which it likely would, after they had what they needed), that they'd have a big fat bag of nothing. He might even run a test right there in front of them, confidently telling them that, no, they'd never be able to find the catalyst, because he was smarter than any of them.

  It would be a pretty damn good insurance policy. Of course he was dead now, and it ended up biting Orpheus in the ass.

  God, he knew at the moment that Marty had tossed the doctor from a helicopter that he'd screwed up, and that was proving prophetic.