by J. T. Bishop
Finally, he looked around the place and examined everything he had done. Not bad, especially since he had accomplished it all in about fifteen minutes. He grabbed her bag, ran downstairs, and put it in the car, then got in and drove around to the back alley. It wasn’t perfect, but he was going to try and get her out without being seen. He went back upstairs, grabbed her keys, did a double-check of her place and determined it was as good as it was going to get, picked her up, and started out the door. He looked down the hall and saw no one. Closing the door behind him, he turned and locked it with one hand, then headed down the back stairs that were used primarily as a secondary exit in case of fire. He stayed alert to any presence on the stairwell, but no one appeared. He went down the two flights and down the back hall, passing the quiet laundry rooms and maintenance closets. He headed out the back door marked with an exit sign and made it to the alleyway. Luckily, he saw no one there either. He opened the car door and slid her into the front seat, dropping the seat back and fastening her seat belt, getting her as comfortable as possible. He closed the passenger door and headed around to the driver side. Getting in, he started up the car and drove off.
**
INSIDE THE BLACK SUV on the corner, a phone rang. It rang several times before the call went to voicemail and the ringing stopped. A few seconds later, however, the phone started to ring again. The man inside stirred. He heard the phone and knew who was calling. He attempted to sit up, but fingers of heat slid through his midsection. It had lessened, though, and he managed to right himself despite the discomfort. He had to accept that, unfortunately, his younger days were behind him. In the past, he would have handled the situation better and with greater ease. He recognized now that he had acted too soon and that he should have anticipated Ramsey’s actions. Ramsey obviously knew more than they had presumed. They should have prepared for that. The Community had been smart to keep it low key, to pretend that this was a typical, if not complicated, Shift. But somewhere along the way, their Protector had discovered that there was more at stake. And if he wasn’t sure before, then he was clearly seeing it now.
The phone continued to ring its monotonous tone. He groaned, shook off the lingering effects of the heat assailing his midsection, and answered it. “I’m here,” he said.
“What happened?” asked a stern voice.
He spoke without pretense. “She’s gone. I lost her. Ramsey knows now.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
“Where would he take her?” asked the voice.
“Maybe to the house, but if he suspects more, he might find another place to hide her.”
The voice on the other end remained quiet for a moment. “No, he’ll take her to the house.” There was another pause on the line. “Go take care of it. You know what to do.” The line cut out abruptly.
He listened to the empty air and then put the phone down. He sat and watched the cars drive by on the street. And as the pain in his belly receded, he picked up his phone again and dialed another number.
CHAPTER EIGHT
* * *
SIXTY MINUTES LATER, after a quiet but angst-filled drive, Ramsey’s car pulled into the driveway of the house. He hit the garage button and the door opened, allowing him access. He pulled the car forward and hit the button again, closing the door behind him. Jumping out, he went to the passenger side and opened the car door. Sarah lay against the seat, unmoving, her eyes closed. He unsnapped her seat belt and slid his arms underneath her and picked her up. She remained quiet and did not react. He got the back door open and brought her into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. Taking her into the master bedroom, he laid her down gently on the bed, pulling off the blanket that he had wrapped her in and covering her with it. She felt hot to the touch. He rolled her over again to look at her back, glad to see that the red marks were much less visible now. He rolled her back and tucked the blanket around her. Grabbing the damp towel, he entered the bathroom and wet it again. Wringing it out and returning to the bedside, he blotted her face some more and put the towel back on her forehead.
“Sarah, can you hear me?” He sat on the bed next to her and watched her with worry as he ran his fingers over her face, moving away some loose strands of hair. She didn’t stir.
At the front of the house, he heard his name. “Sherlock?”
“Back here.”
A few seconds later, Leroy entered the room and looked at both its occupants, assessing the situation. “What happened?”
“What happened?” Ramsey answered. “Someone tried to grab her off the street. And they almost succeeded. Damn near got her.”
“Who?” Leroy asked.
Ramsey continued to aid Sarah. “Older man with a gray beard. He was strong, too. Not your average elderly gentleman.”
“How is she?” Leroy asked.
“Hard to say. She’s feverish. She’s been unconscious since it happened.” Ramsey continued to study her, wishing she would at least open her eyes and look at him. That clenched feeling in his gut might ease up a little if she did.
Leroy observed Sarah, who lay still on the bed. Realizing they would need to make some decisions, he tried to get Ramsey’s attention.
“Sherlock.” He addressed his friend and waited, but got no response. Ramsey’s focus remained on Sarah, and Leroy could sense his concern. “Sherlock,” he said again, but with more force.
“What, Leroy?” Ramsey responded.
“Come with me. We need to talk.”
“So talk. I need to stay here. She can’t hear anything,”
Leroy knew what had Ramsey on edge. “You know you can’t be sure of that,” he said. “Let her rest. She needs it. Come on. She’s okay for now.” He waited for a moment, but then turned and left the room.
Ramsey examined Sarah, looking for any signs of trouble, but she appeared to be comfortable. He agreed that she definitely needed the rest. He took a deep sigh, closed his eyes, and made himself relax. A small degree of tension moved out of his shoulders and his stomach unclenched a little, and he felt a little better. He got up from the bed, tucked in the covers around her, looked around to ensure the curtains were drawn and the windows locked, and reluctantly left the room after checking on her one more time.
He walked into the kitchen, where Leroy was popping a one-serving sized filter into the coffee machine. He pulled the lever down, and it began its quiet whirring as hot liquid began to fill his waiting mug.
“Want one?” Leroy asked his friend as he came into the kitchen.
“Got anything stronger?” said Ramsey, sitting down at the table. He stared into space for a moment and then rubbed at his eyes. “Damn, Leroy. He almost took her,” he said as Leroy sat down across from him.
They exchanged knowing glances, but neither spoke. Leroy broke the silence first. “But he didn’t. You stopped him.”
“This time, I did.” Ramsey looked away then.
“And nothing else beyond that matters, Sherlock.”
“No. I guess it doesn’t. Not anymore.”
Leroy watched his friend with concern. “This is a different time and place. Different circumstances. Don’t let something that happened years ago mess with your head right now.”
“Different circumstances, maybe. But right now, it doesn’t feel all that different.”
Leroy attempted to encourage him. “This has stirred memories for you. That’s unavoidable and not surprising. But don’t let it get to you, John. You’ve got a job to do.”
Ramsey heard his friend’s advice. “I guess by actually using my first name, you’re trying to snap me out of my present state of melancholy?”
“Is it working?” asked Leroy.
“Ask me in a few minutes, Sampson,” Ramsey replied.
Leroy snorted. “Touché.”
Ramsey sighed, settled into his seat, and shook off the ghosts of the past. “So let’s review our present situation here.” He held up his hand to count on his fingers. “One, I’m assigned to protect
a possible Red-Line.”
“Probable,” said Leroy.
“Fine. Whatever. Probable. Two—” He held up another finger. “—Morgana and the Council are watching this closely, although they are acting like they’re not. Three, Sarah has no idea who she is or what she’s about to go through. Four, we have no idea what we’re dealing with or who to trust, and five, somebody out there knows about Sarah and tried to take her today.” He paused. “Anything else?”
“Don’t forget the Mirror,” said Leroy.
“Ah, yes. Six, the mysterious Eudoran Mirror. The one we didn’t realize even existed up until now, and if it does, what its significance is, but may somehow come into play somewhere in all of this.”
“Correct,” replied Leroy.
“So we know a whole lot of nothing. Does that seem accurate to you?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound good.” Leroy took a sip of his drink as Ramsey agreed with a nod of his head.
**
SEVERAL MILES AWAY, Morgana walked through the stately rooms of her home with her usual athletic grace. Her elegance and style were unmatched by most women her age. Her silver-white hair was swept up into a smooth chignon, and she wore black satin pants with a matching jacket. Her striking gray eyes missed nothing as she moved. She was tall and carried her height gracefully. It had served her well in her position as a councilor these past many years. She was a well-respected member of the Community. Her counsel had always been sought and heeded by her peers and, usually, her subordinates. There were always exceptions to the rules, though, as she thought about her latest endeavor.
She walked through the high-ceilinged foyer of her home and into her office. She passed a dark-paneled wall of books, approached her large oak desk, and sat down. She ignored the pile of work waiting to be reviewed. She regarded the view outside her window instead, recalling her latest confrontation with John Ramsey.
It had been unpleasant, as usual. She knew that her position would always carry with it the need to be a tough-as-nails, no-nonsense lady. People either loved or hated her, and most often it was the latter. She accepted it, though, as all do in positions of high authority. She had been rough with Ramsey from the start, and he resented her for it. She knew it. But beneath all their past conflicts, difficult encounters, and angry disagreements, they respected each other. Without that respect, there was no way they would still be working together. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen him for this job. It had not been a popular decision with the others, but she had refused to yield. She knew it had to be him, and she knew why. Using her considerable influence, she’d called in a few favors, and had made it happen. Now, as she sat at her desk and looked out over the small pond in her side yard, she pondered her decision and the ramifications of it.
Her valet appeared at the door, interrupting her thoughts. “May I get you something, madam? Glass of port, perhaps?”
Morgana looked up. “That’s an absolutely divine idea, Ronald. Thank you.”
“Straight away, madam.” The occupied doorway became empty again.
Morgana returned to her thoughts. There was so much at stake here. Had she made the right choice in not revealing to Ramsey all that she knew? At the time, she had believed that it was, but now, she couldn’t help but reconsider. One of her most valuable traits was her decisiveness. Once she made a choice, she never looked back. She hoped this trait served her well now and that she would not live to regret it. The future of their people depended on it. She sighed as she sat back farther in her chair and looked out her window, seeing nothing.
**
“WE’RE NOT COMPLETELY in the dark,” said Leroy.
“How do you mean?” asked Ramsey. The two continued to sit at the kitchen table in the secluded house. By now, Ramsey had helped himself to his own cup of coffee.
“The man who tried to take her. Describe him.”
Ramsey reflected for a moment. “Elderly. Looked to be around seventyish, graying hair, gray beard, thin, strong…” He paused for a moment, thinking.
“What is it?” asked Leroy.
“Very strong. Hell, I’m an idiot. He used heat on her….” He paused again. His eyebrows furrowed.
“What? He used heat on her?” Leroy asked.
“Yes, to subdue her.”
They both paused, realizing the implications.
“He’s one of us?” asked Leroy.
“He’s one of us,” confirmed Ramsey.
“Damn.”
“Damn.”
As members of the Eudoran community living on Earth, both Ramsey and Leroy enjoyed the basic abilities of heightened sensitivities, advanced intelligence, an instinctual need to protect their species, and an overall desire for peaceful coexistence. But there were others with more developed skills and training, whose tasks involved ensuring that any potential threats to their people were handled as efficiently and easily as possible. Although Eudorans disliked violence, and as a group, rejected it, they did have the ability to manipulate energy and direct it as needed. It was a special skill cultivated by those who would use it responsibly, if necessary. This group was small, but both Leroy and Ramsey were both members, and now, apparently, so was a thin, well-dressed, grey-bearded, seventy-year-old man.
“Who, though?” asked Leroy. “How could we not know this person? Who would benefit from taking her?”
“Think about it.” Ramsey sat up in his seat. “If they got to her before her Shift, they could potentially mold her, control her, and use her. For their benefit.”
“But they couldn’t hide that for long. At some point, they would be discovered. You can’t hide a Red-Line without someone sensing her after a certain point.”
“Unless they know better. How much do we know about Red-Lines anyway? If they have an inside source…” Ramsey’s voice trailed away.
“What?” asked Leroy. “What are you thinking?”
Ramsey looked at him with concern. “What if they have an inside source? Someone we know. Someone we trust.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Sherlock. We’re already on their side. We have her. She’s with us. Once she shifts, then we’re out of the picture. There’s no need to kidnap her.”
Ramsey sat back, putting his mug down. “Then we don’t know everything. There’s a reason to take her now, a valuable reason. We just don’t know what it is.” Ramsey’s earlier weariness now quickly faded.
“We don’t know anything, Sherlock. You’re just coming up with scenarios. You have no idea if there’s an inside source. Hell, we don’t know if there’s a source, period. This guy could just be some strong old man with good genes and a penchant for pretty, vulnerable women. Don’t get too carried away. Let’s just stick with the facts as we know them.”
“I am sticking to the facts, Leroy,” said Ramsey. “The facts are adding up to some scary possibilities. We’ve had conflicts in the past with various factions who’ve not had the best intentions for us.”
“The past is right. That was years ago. If those factions were a threat to us, you know the Council would make us aware of it. I’ve not heard a whiff of anything to suggest that could even remotely be a possibility. The Council would not make us sitting ducks, and they certainly wouldn’t put Sarah at risk.”
“Maybe they don’t know, either.” Ramsey’s inner alarm bells rang.
Leroy was done with this line of thought. He stood up and went into the kitchen. “Come on, Sherlock. You can’t whistle a show tune without the Council knowing it’s from your favorite musical. It’s preposterous.”
Ramsey eyed his friend with annoyance. “Is it?”
“Yes, it is.” Leroy looked around the kitchen. “You’re right, we need something stronger.”
“Then what’s your theory, if mine’s so preposterous?”
Leroy straightened after looking under a kitchen cabinet. “My theory? Hmmm. I’ll tell you what my theory is, my friend. Somebody talked. That’s all. Somebody spilled the beans, told somebody
something or somebody overheard something, and now the secret’s out that there’s a Red-Line about to shift. Naturally, there’s curiosity. They want to know more, like who it is, what does it mean, get the scoop, tell their friends. Somebody figures out it’s you who’s protecting her. Not a big leap. You do happen to get some of the bigger cases. So they follow you. Watch you. See where you go and whom you see. They figure out you’re protecting Sarah. They get a little carried away. Think ‘How cool would it be to see a Red-Line?’ Maybe Grandpa heard the story. Maybe he’s pissed over some perceived slight that got handed to him by the Council somewhere down the line, and he volunteers to get to the bottom of it and find out the truth. He watches you, sees you with Sarah, gets an overactive imagination, and thinks he can protect her, get her through her Shift, and then bring her in and get all the praise. There.” Leroy put his hands on the counter and looked at Ramsey. “Now that’s a theory.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s ridiculous is what it is.”
“It’s not as ridiculous as having some inside source turning on us and going after Sarah to use her as some sort of weapon against us.” He turned back around, still searching through the kitchen.
“Weapon? I never used the word ‘weapon.’” Ramsey eyed his now-empty cup and pondered the word.
“It’s what you implied,” replied Leroy. He gave up on his search and decided on a glass of water.
“Weapon,” said Ramsey. “Could that be possible?”
Leroy stared at his friend in frustration. “Dear God, man. I’m sorry I said it.”