Everything Falls Apart

by Micah B. Edwards

  The hallway turns a corner and continues through more of the same. Zane natters on about medical encounters, data storage, experiment replication and other things of that sort. I pick up about three words out of every sentence as I'm lost in my own thoughts, trying to figure out what we're missing. The answer's here somewhere. I was sure of it back at the police station, and I'm sure of it now. I'm just not sure where.

  “And that's pretty much it!” says Zane, gesturing to a door at the end of the hallway marked SUPPLIES. “Our little slice of the medical game.”

  He moves past us to return to the front of the building, but something about the way he's casually passed over the supply closet raises my suspicions. If I were going to hide a secret entrance to an illegal laboratory, I might well put it behind a door marked SUPPLIES. Hidden in plain sight!

  I wait until Zane's back is fully turned and then open the door to reveal, disappointingly, a supply closet. Unpainted wooden shelves are screwed to the walls, and cleaning supplies, reams of paper and assorted office equipment sit haphazardly on them. The carpet does not extend into the closet, and the concrete floor is grimy and stained with old spills.

  Zane turns back and says with some asperity, “Could you please stop opening random doors?”

  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset the supplies,” I say with slight sarcasm, pushing on one of the shelves in case there's a secret door behind it. There's no give at all, though, and the layer of dust I stir up convinces me that it hasn't been moved in recent memory.

  “I think I've been more than cooperative in showing you around,” Zane complains. “That's all there is to see here. If you'll please follow me back to the front, I'll sign you out.”

  He moves back down the hallway slightly more briskly than on the way in, offended. As we walk, Peterson asks, “So we've described an L around the outside edge of the building. What's in the main area, through the loading door?”

  “Storage,” Zane replies. “Of three kinds. One area just holds excess inventory for Rossum, so that's your standard cardboard-and-pallets area. A smaller section has refrigerated and cryogenically frozen samples, which we maintain for our own use and rent to other professionals in the area. And we also have a small data storage center, keeping a personal cloud for all of Rossum's needs.”

  “That explains the faint hum I've been hearing,” Regina remarks.

  “That's probably the air conditioner, actually. It takes a lot to cool those computers! You'd think having it next to the refrigerators would help, but they vent heat worse than the computers do. I've said we should just combine the two, put the servers right into the freezers, ha ha!”

  I'm looking to the side, trying to pinpoint a source for the hum Regina mentioned, which is why I notice a door I missed on our first trip down the hallway. It's set on the inside wall just before we get back to the L-bend, it doesn't have a nameplate at all, and there's a keypad set into the wall next to it.

  “Hey, Zane?” I ask. “Where does this door go?”

  “Into the storage center.”

  “Could you open it to show us?”

  “I'm sorry, but I don't have the code to open that door.”

  “Oh, if that's the only problem....” I say as I press both hands flat against the door. My nanos rush forth, hungrily attacking the surface, stripping away the paint and tearing the metal down to dust.

  “No! What are you doing?” shouts Zane, rushing forward as if he can hold the dissolving door together with his bare hands. Within seconds, it has collapsed, and behind Zane through the now-open doorway we can all clearly see a state-of-the-art laboratory stretching from wall to wall in the large space behind.

  Smooth counters hold computers, microscopes, centrifuges and dozens of esoteric machines. Stainless steel refrigerators with glass fronts stand along one wall, their shelves lined with tubes and trays. A whiteboard covered in notes takes up a good section of another wall. The whole space is filled, but not cluttered. It's clearly in regular use by someone who cares enough to keep things orderly.

  And standing up from the computer, unfolding like a rickety stepladder, is a scarecrow of a man, wearing a shiny black suit and a welcoming grin.

  “Ichabot,” I breathe. My hands clench, and I can feel the slippery surface of the nanos sliding against my palms.

  “Dan!” he crows in response. “How lovely to see you. You're looking well!”

  “You're not going to be,” I say, striding forward. The nanos aren't dripping off of my hands like Brian's were; I haven't reached that level of unthinking rage. But it's close. “You're going to turn this off right now!”

  “Oh yes?” he says pleasantly. “Or what?”

  “I'll tear this place apart!” I growl, slamming my hands onto the closest surface. The counter immediately begins to peel apart under my touch.

  “Ah. Well, have it your way, then,” says Ichabot. Reaching down, he types a short command into the computer closest to him, and I suddenly wince as my entire body contracts with an all-over ice cream headache.

  “I'm sorry, Dr. Argute!” calls Zane, distraught. “I tried to stop him, but the door –”

  “Don't worry about it, Zane,” responds Ichabot. “Everything's fine here.”

  Glass smashes as the counter I've touched continues to dissolve, dropping the vials and machinery on it to the concrete floor below. I touch another counter in an effort to spread the destruction of the lab, but nothing happens. I already knew it would be useless. That full-body spasm always marks the arrival or departure of my powers. With one quick set of keystrokes, Ichabot has just deactivated my nanos.

  Ichabot steps out from behind the computers and strides towards us, his stork-like legs covering the ground rapidly. As he walks, he trails his fingertips along the surfaces he passes, like a blind person keeping in contact with familiar surroundings.

  “Everything is fine here,” he repeats, adding, “except for this potentially deranged individual who has broken into my lab. Officer! I'm glad you're here.”

  Ichabot has taken several steps past me and now reaches out to grasp Peterson by the shoulder. “This deranged individual has broken into my lab,” he says again. “You should arrest him.”

  “Arrest me? Arrest him!” I say, pointing at Ichabot. “This is what we came here for! Look at his lab! Look at all of this! This is proof!”

  I slap my hand on the nearest counter, which happens to be one of the ones Ichabot has just passed by. Peterson's still just staring at me, though, as if unsure what to do. How can he be unclear at this point? This is exactly what we needed to see. Isn't it? If it isn't, then I am deranged, imagining things. I built up an entire fantasy scenario to break in here.

  I shake my head violently as I realize what's going on. Ichabot didn't just use the suggestion nanos in an experiment and a demonstration here, and he didn't just give them to Tanger. He's using them himself. The sentences he keeps repeating, that's what he's seeding the lab with. I just got a dose from the counter he'd touched, and that was enough to make me doubt myself.

  And Peterson? Ichabot still has his hand on Peterson's shoulder, and is once again repeating, “Everything's fine, but you should arrest this deranged individual.”

  Regina had backed away as Ichabot approached, and now turns to run back out of the doorway. Her maneuver is interrupted by Zane, though, who's standing in the doorway again. As she tries to duck around him, Ichabot reaches out one improbably long arm and touches her on the back.

  “You're safe now,” he says, still holding Peterson by the shoulder. “The situation is under control. This policeman is handling it. Officer?”

  Peterson steps forward at last, Ichabot's hand dropping from his shoulder. “He's right, Mr. Everton.”

  “He's what?! No! He's gotten into your head!”

  “Calm down, please. Come with me. We're going to sort this out.”

  “It is sorted out. We found him! We found proof! Look at all this stuff! Does this look like a three-part storage r
oom to you?”

  “Everything's fine, Mr. Everton. Just please come with me.” Peterson is pulling out a pair of handcuffs that I didn't realize he'd been carrying, and approaching me slowly, as you would a wild animal.

  “Dude. This is screwed up.” I back away, crashing into more lab equipment. Something behind me shatters on the floor.

  “Please, officer! He's destroying my work.” This from Ichabot, who offers me another grin out of keeping with his tone.

  “Mr. Everton. Dan. Come with me, and we'll sort this out.”

  I'm backed against a counter, my superpowers are off, and my friends have been turned against me. I'm pretty low on options at this point, but there's got to be something I can do. I cast a quick glance around in case there's anything nearby, something I can knock over, throw or hold hostage.

  When my eyes flicker away from him, Peterson leaps for me. I may work in construction and have residual superstrength, but Peterson has years of training in leverage and stopping people who are resisting arrest. He twists one arm up behind me, kicks my legs out from under me and drops me to the floor. I land heavily, only able to catch myself with one arm, and my torn cheek smashes painfully against the concrete. I scream in pain, and Peterson pulls my other arm behind me and cuffs my wrists together behind my back.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” he recites as I struggle uselessly.

  “Come on, really? Snap out of it! You know he can give people thoughts! Or at least, you know Tanger could, and he gave him that power!”

  Peterson drones on with my rights, ignoring me. I can't blame him; I really do sound deranged. Ichabot's done well, sticking close enough to the truth that his ideas can mesh with existing thoughts, instead of fighting against them. I can't sort this out, not here with him countering everything I can say.

  Relaxing to the inevitable, I go limp as Peterson says, “Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

  “I guess,” I say, and Peterson hauls me to my feet.

  “We'll be back to talk, Dr. –?”

  “Argute,” says Ichabot, his eyes flicking briefly to Zane. “And I look forward to it.”

  He places his hand briefly on Peterson's arm as he says, “I have nothing to hide from you.”

  He sounds so logical, so open and convincing. I resist kicking at him as I'm led by, knowing that it won't help my case against derangement any. But I was so close! We were here! We found him!

  Peterson leads me back to the police car, Regina accompanying him. She seems less certain about this result than he does, so I direct my comments to her.

  “Regina, come on. You know what he's done. Think about Brian! This guy almost killed him. Almost made me kill him! Think about how you felt yesterday. You know this isn't you.”

  “I – I just don't know, Dan,” she says. “Was there ever really any evidence that it was him? All we saw was some grainy security footage of him. There were thousands of other people on those tapes, too. Maybe we just fixated on him because he's so physically distinctive.”

  “He has a mad science laboratory! We were just in it!”

  Peterson puts his hand on my head and guides me into the back of the police car. Regina climbs into the front passenger seat, still looking troubled.

  “It didn't look any more mad-sciencey to me than Dr. Simmons's lab,” she says. “I think maybe you just busted up some doctor's lab for no reason.”

  “Come on,” I say, as Peterson starts up the car. “Hey, you can't really be arresting me, right? You know this is crazy.”

  “We'll sort it out soon enough, Mr. Everton,” says Peterson. “Count on the system to work.”

  And with that, I know I'm totally screwed.

  - Afterword -

  Bit of a cliffhanger there, I’m afraid. Or just a very satisfying ending if you’re the sort of person who likes for things to turn out badly. No judgment if you are! I’m an occasional fan of that myself. In writing, anyway. And in the lives of people I don’t like, if I’m being honest. No reason not to be; the afterword is often skipped, so I could admit to just about anything here, secure in the knowledge that few people would see it.

  Anyway, if you were worried that Dan was doing too well in the end of the previous book, I hope I have addressed those concerns. He’s on his way to jail while the bad guy continues to walk free. This is the world you wished for!

  There’s just one book left to go in the series, and that’s Day of Reckoning. By my count, it should be released on Amazon in the first quarter of 2018, but who can say for sure? The future is unknowable. As ever, if you’re disinclined to wait, you can check out http://experimentserial.wordpress.com to read it in weekly serial installments. Whatever works for you! I don’t want to tell you how to live your literate life.

  Please also feel free email me at baronmind@gmail.com with questions, comments or concerns. Even if it’s just pointing out typographical errors, that’s still cool. I mean, I’d rather hear what you thought about the book, but maybe all you thought was “this text has been improperly proofread.”

  Thanks for reading!

  Micah Edwards

  July 2017

  - About the Author -

  Micah Edwards is an author, a comedian, or a systems administrator, depending on the day of the week. He also moonlights as the scribe for Richmond, Virginia’s chapter of the Hash House Harriers, an international running and drinking club.

  He is also the author of Okay, So Look, an irreverent but completely accurate narrative retelling of the Book of Genesis – yes, the one from the Bible. The book is available on Amazon, as so many things are.

  He collaborated with Tom Brown to produce Ricky’s Spooky House, a kids’ book version of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher, and the upcoming kid-friendly retelling of The Raven. Sound ridiculous? They’re meant to be! But it’s also great.

  And on the flip side of the spectrum, Micah joined Lilith Lore in rewriting classic children’s tales for adults in Tales Untold and its soon-to-be-released sequel, Tales Untold vol II. So if you prefer your fairytales a little more Grimm, give those a try!

  He should probably narrow his focus. He’s also probably not going to.