“Whatever brings us the most peace,” the Captain said as he headed back to his bus.
“Which one would that be?”
“Which one do you think?” Before stepping aboard, the Captain turned back to Elliott. “Put it this way. It’s going to be a long, long, ride home.” With a nod of his head, a flash of smile, the Captain stepped on the bus leaving Elliott standing there. A moment later he popped his head back out. “And you’d better hurry Elliott; you have feminine protection to locate.”
With a disgruntled, ‘swell’, Elliott walked back to the women’s bus.
^^^^
Beginnings. Montana
Tomorrow. That was the answer Dean gave himself. The day started out positively, facing rabbit vomit and possibly the answer to incubation periods. But with each passing hour the day grew worse. The news of Sarge’s death took over anything and everything. Dean couldn’t even remember what he had worked on the night before, his mind was so cluttered. The three of them tried to work, but it was useless. No one said much, and conversation was needed. Dean supposed the next day things would be clearer. Sarge was too much on their minds, a man that came into their lives with a blast, and left too quickly…an asset Beginnings would never know.
The quiet moment of the evening reminded Dean of his college days. He peered up from his notes that he tried to review. Notes that seemed to fade to the back of his mind when other thoughts took over. He looked over to Henry who sat up on the bed across form his. Sitting up, sleeping, head fallen forward, papers sprawled all over Henry’s bed and lap. Dean debated on waking Henry, but opted not do. Henry would argue that he wasn’t asleep and Dean didn’t feel like getting into that with him. So Dean let Henry go, figuring Henry would either wake up and go back to work, fall over and continue sleeping, or stay like he was and get up with a hell of a stiff neck.
So quiet it was in the mobile with the exception of Ellen’s muffled voice seeping through the wall from the next bedroom and Frank’s loud mouth as he spoke to her over the radio outside. They argued about something. Dean didn’t really try to hone in on the whole conversation. He heard the mentioning of John Matoose’s name and that’s all he needed to hear. Frank’s occasional ‘shut up’ made Dean shake his head with a snicker. Wasn’t Ellen realizing that if she were trying to tell Frank some sort of secret, she wasn’t exactly being confidential by saying it over the airwaves?
Not tired, but not feeling like notes he’d rather save for the next day, Dean set his folders and such aside. When he did, he spotted it on the night stand. A gift of sorts. A box of memories Ellen brought for Dean to look at if he got bored. It was perfect to take his mind off of things and Dean reached for it.
Hand gliding through the box that used to contain size thirteen shoes, Dean looked at the objects inside, pictures, notes and such. All stuff to help jar a memory he didn’t have. And every picture, every word written might as well have been in a different language, because to Dean they were foreign and he didn’t understand any of them.
‘Keep it that way. Lab lights on. Blinds down. Stay out of sight.’ Frank’s handwriting was on the note he slapped against Ellen’s bedroom window.
Ellen read it. “Why?”
“Don’t ask. Just do it. O.K.?” Frank said.
“But Frank . . .”
“El, I have to go. I have another reason to be here. In.” He pointed. “Blind down. Now. Good night.”
Ellen took a deep breath. “Night.” Almost in a huff she tugged on the pull string letting the blind smack hard against the window sill. Folding her arms, still clenching the radio, she turned around and almost jumped when Dean was standing in her open doorway. “Dean?”
“Busy?” He asked.
“No. Come on in.”
Holding the shoe box, Dean closed the bedroom door. “I couldn’t work. I heard you arguing.”
“I’m sorry,” Ellen walked forward. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just . . . I was trying to get through to Frank. He doesn’t want to hear it.”
“About John Matoose?” Dean asked.
“You heard.”
“El?” He smiled in a quirky way. “Anyone with a radio heard you suspect John Matoose. If Frank does, do you think he’d tell you over the radio.”
Ellen slightly chuckled. “I guess you’re right.” She turned back to the window, separated the blinds, and peered out. “But now he’s out there. Lurking in the dark. Waiting.”
“Who? John?”
“No. Frank.” The simple pat against the window made Ellen shriek and release the blind.
The radio hissed. “El.” Frank spoke. “Stay away from the window.”
“God.” She winced and shut off the radio. “So. What’s up.” she walked over and sat on the bed.
Dean held up the shoe box. “I just figured since we’re on borrowed time here, I was hoping to borrow some of your time.” He sat down on the bed next to her. “I want to know about this stuff, some of these pictures. I know after quarantine, I won’t get the chance to ask.”
“Dean,” Ellen whispered. “It’s not forever. It’s just until Frank and I work it out.”
“But how long will that take?” Dean questioned. “I mean. You two don’t have an easy time working things out. And now, you’re just gonna move right back in with him.” He heard her snicker. “What’s so funny?”
“You sound like Henry. He . . . he doesn’t think we should follow Rev. Bob’s advice. He thinks I should continue to build the friendship back with Frank. He says living apart keeps our relationship platonic enough to do that clearly.”
“Henry doesn’t think you should sleep with your husband?” Dean asked.
“Nope. He says sex has a way of burying things. And if I move back with Frank we’ll . . . you know.” Ellen swallowed a little feeling uncomfortable. “But I think he made a wise point.”
“And odd. Henry’s Frank’s best . . . never mind.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Weird.” He let out a breath. “Anyhow. Yes? No?” he lifted the box again.
“Yes.” Ellen snatched up the box, plopped down sideways onto her side on the bed. “I really think this is what I need.” She patted the spot across from her.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Dean asked as he lay on his side facing her.
“Absolutely. Especially after today. I need to not think of Sarge.”
Dean’s fingers fiddled with the items in the box. “I just, I just want to know this stuff. You know. And when I look at it, sometimes I feel like I stepped into someone else’s life. I’m living it. I want to know it.” His eyes gazed up to her. “Does that make sense?”
“Yes it does. And I’ll do my best, Dean.”
“As long as it doesn’t bother you to talk about it.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ellen smiled. “Dean. I loved my life with you.”
Quietly and without warning, Dean leaned over the box of memories and softly kissed Ellen. “I would give it back to you . . . in a heartbeat.” his fingers reached out and gently brushed over her lips. After a second of a stare, Dean took in a breath and changed his demeanor. “But . . .” He pulled back. “Choices are made and after quarantine. I’m . . .” He winked. “Little man history.”
“Are you laying on the guilt?”
“Yes.” Dean just smiled then reached into the box. “Memories?” He lifted a picture.
“Memories.” Ellen looked at the photo. The smile fell from her face. “Ouch, bad choice.”
“Really?” Dean peered at the picture of him, Ellen, and Robbie.
“Nah. Kidding.” Ellen giggled. And really appreciating the ‘feel good’ she was getting from getting ready to share the memories, Ellen scooted closer to Dean in a more of an intimate hovering share of that box.
^^^^
For as cold as Frank felt standing outside, hiding out near the mobiles waiting in the early morning hours, that was how hot he became when he saw him. It was hard at first. The dim porch-type light barely lit him up. But Fra
nk saw that red hair. That long red hair, and like its color, red’s what Frank saw.
Moses--Reverend Thomas walked slowly up, standing ten or so feet from the trailer. He peered in the mobile window first, backed up, and then faced the trailer again. Standing there not doing anything, just standing. He didn’t hear anyone out there with him, nor did he expect it. When he felt it, when he heard him, it made his insides fall, and Moses tried not to show his emotions. He felt the shifting slightly of his hair then he felt the cold hard metal surface of it pressing to the base of his skull. He knew it was a gun, and he knew it was Frank.
Speaking in the deepest softest voice he had, Frank pressed his revolver harder into Moses. “I hope you have a really good reason for fuckin standing out here at three in the morning.” Frank saw Moses move some. “Don’t! Don’t move. Answer me. Why are you here?”
“My brother, I am praying for their work. That is all. Just praying. The Lord will watch over them if they are guided by prayer.”
“Listen to me.” Frank moved his mouth closer to Moses’ ear. “You stay away from my wife, from Henry, and from Dean. You don’t speak to them, look at them, or pray for them. If you do, you answer to me. And from this moment on, from sun up to sun down, this area is off limits to anyone without authorization from me. If I catch you up here again, you will be breaking the rules. Break the rules, you either go or get shot.” Frank clicked the hammer on the revolver. “And trust me when I tell you I’d rather put a bullet in your head now then wait until after you’ve done something. I’m on to you. Remember that. Now go.”
“Frank, I’m sure Joe . . .”
“Go!”
Moses raised his hand slowly in surrender. He backed up and made eye contact with Frank. Without showing any emotions, any fear, he slowly--in a taunt walk--left the area.
Waiting for him to be gone, Frank replaced his revolver. He looked once more at the mobile before moving on. His gut told him it wouldn’t be the last time Rev. Thomas made a late night appearance at the mobile, and Frank only prayed, that the next time, he wouldn’t be too late.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
December 8
Beginnings, Montana
After a night of barely dreaming, waking up and tossing about, Ellen would have rather of not slept at all. When she did sleep, little dreams, memories or occurrences magnified were what barricaded her dreams. And every time, mid mini dream, Ellen would end up getting the urgency to awaken, as if she over slept. And she would. She gathered that the news and emotions over Sarge’s death, coupled with the stroll down memory lane with Dean the night before, just seeped deep into her subconscious.
She drew the final straw when somewhere in the middle of dreaming about William chastising Dean over his choice in baggy clothes, Ellen swore she heard Brian screaming. Fearful that Joey had taken Brian from the crib and dropped him again, Ellen in a rush, sat up, swung her legs--twisted in the sheet--over the bed and in her dash, fell face forward to the floor with a loud thump.
It took that ‘bang’ onto the old carpet to realize she wasn’t home, but still in quarantine. Staring at the night stand that was inches from her face, Ellen chuckled and shook her head. She gave a good kick of her legs to free them from the sheet she brought with her and straighten the long tee shirt she wore over her mostly nude body. Wanting to eliminate any extra steps in her grogginess to get to the bathroom, Ellen reached for the door so close as she brought herself to stand. The gripping of the knob was her leverage to pull herself into an upright position. The moment she opened the door was the moment she saw Henry.
Henry stopped mid walk down the hall. “Hey, El, morning,” he smiled. “What did you do, fall out of bed?”
“Yeah.” Ellen ran her fingers through her hair. “Going to the mobile?” she asked half asleep.
“Yep. Dean must have gone over early because he’s not in . . .” Henry stopped talking. He looked at Ellen, then beyond her.
“Henry?” Ellen asked then noticed Henry’s stare was no longer on her. After her eyes took a second to widen, Ellen took a second to blink long. Slowly she peered over her shoulder to Dean in bed, pulling the covers Ellen snatched from him, over his naked body.
He looked at Dean for a long few seconds then Henry, after giving a single piercing glance to Ellen, walked off.
Ellen pulled the door open. “Henry.” But no sooner did she open it wider, Dean scurried from the bed, reached out and shut the bedroom door.
“This isn’t any of his business,” Dean whispered to her as he stood behind Ellen. “It isn’t. O.K.?”
Ellen only nodded as she still stared at the door.
“O.K.” To the back of her head, Dean placed a kiss, stepped back, and reached to the floor for his clothes.
Ellen stayed at the door, just standing there, for a little bit longer.
^^^^
Former Quantico Marine Headquarters
“Joe Slagel had a little meeting bright and early this morning,” George said. He closed his office door then walked toward his desk past Steward who sat in a chair. “Fortunately, in a way, we were able to be present.”
“Our person attended.”
“Yep.” George moved to behind his desk and sat down. “Confirmed. They are working on a virus, a virus that strikes the future.” He raised an eyebrow and folded his hands. “As of yet, no progress. The antidote, which is actually an antiserum, in the vials, cannot be copied. Basically, Dr. Hayes is at square one.”
Steward smiled. “We’re ahead of the game.”
“Absolutely,” George said. “We have the recipe for the antiserum. We just have to make it.”
“Anything about the Caceres time trip?”
“All our person knows is Beginnings wants to bring him to Beginnings. What does he know Stew? You were there. You were the one who was accredited with getting the order to kill him.”
“That was so many years ago,” Steward said, “too many. I was a young, eager aid at the time. But, the president liked me. Dr. Caceres’ death was what land marked me into the society. You were there too.”
“Yes. But I wasn’t as forefront. That was when Timmins ran things.” George took a second to rub his jaw. “All I recall is that the little man with a big mouth threatened to go public with the ‘behind the scenes’ plans of the society. That year was the first public year of the conference.”
“That was all I know. Joanna Holmes was a top notch back then as well. She placed the call to me. What exactly he knows . . .” Steward shrugged. “…remains to be seen.”
George let out a deep sighing breath. “He can’t possibly have the knowledge of everything, can he?”
“We’re in trouble if he does,” Steward said.
George tossed a pencil in frustration. “Or at the very least, no matter how big we are, we’ll be at a disadvantage.”
^^^^
Beginnings, Montana
The steam from Ellen’s coffee made a small circle of condensation against the large window in the lab. She lifted her hand in a wave to Denny and Josh who sat in the grass not ten feet away. “I see we have our daily audience.” Ellen smiled then saw the piece of paper on the window. “And I’m guessing by the covering, we have our daily dose of pornography as well.” She lifted the sheet of paper to expose the picture underneath. “Why is it that I had to stare at a lesbian picture yesterday, but today, get two men and one of you two covers it up?” Ellen looked over her shoulder to Dean who worked at a computer and Henry who sat at the counter with the microchip. She shrugged and returned to peering at the picture. “This looks like it hurts. Would this hurt, Dean?” She pointed.
“Ask Henry,” Dean answered.
Henry bitterly slammed his hand. “Why would you even say that?”
Above his glasses Dean peered. “A joke.”
“It’s not funny,” Henry snapped and returned to work.
“Dean?” Ellen walked over. “They don’t look like they’re in pain.”
“Ellen.” Dean s
hook his head. “Enough. And no, don’t ask again because I haven’t a clue.”
“You would assume if it’s painful they’re wouldn’t be so much of it going on in . . .”
“El,” Dean interrupted her. “Enough. Work.”
“Demanding.” Ellen moved to him. “What are you engrossed in?”
“The Jenny Matoose sample and get the smile off your face.”
Ellen swiped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. What about it?”
“Remember the other night I noticed it was different from strain two. Well, it is. Yet, the ‘Future me’ has it marked as strain two. Why is that?”
“It’s strain two,” Ellen answered.
“No.” Dean shook his head. “It’s different, different from the other samples.”
Ellen looked over Dean’s shoulder at the computer screen and to Jenny’s sample. “Dean the difference isn’t that much in the comparison slides. If you were stressed, I can see you missing it.”
“Miss it?” Dean chuckled. “I would have had to been blind not to…” He nearly jumped from his stool when Ellen dropped her mug of coffee. “El?”
Ellen stared in a daze, hot coffee encircled by her feet.
Henry jumped up, ran to the sink and grabbed towels. “El? What is it?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, gave a nervous snicker, and grabbed the towel “Just something I read in Dean’s notes that struck me as odd and then Dean said . . . nothing.” She shook her head and bent down to the floor. “God, what a klutz.”
Henry shook his head and returned to his work space.
Dean bent down to help Ellen. “What did you read?”
“Nothing.” She forced a smile. “I’m embarrassed. I can’t believe my mind even went there.”
“What?” Dean asked again this time with concern.
The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Page 202