“I know the feeling,” Dean exhaled.
“Maybe Ryder was right. Just left out?”
“I would agree or disagree, Frank, but you never told me what the problem was.”
“Oh, forget it.” Frank waved out his hand and picked up a piece of paper.
“Sgt. Ryder had attitude this afternoon.”
“It’s the entire fuckin UWA brigade,” Frank told him. “Hal didn’t want to hang out tonight.”
“I’m glad.” Dean smiled. “I missed my friend. Since Ellen’s been gone, you’ve been avoiding me. You don’t have to tell me why. Just know I’m glad you’re here.”
“All that’s behind me, Dean.” Frank held up the piece of paper. “Thank you for sharing your Ellen note with me.”
“And thanks for sharing yours with me. This was great, Frank. What made you do it?”
Frank shrugged. “I missed her. I needed to talk to her. I know it was a chance, but as long as no one knows, we’re good, right?”
“Right,” Dean agreed. “Ellen sounds good, though.”
“Through her letters. Elliott says she’s fine.”
“She was more serious in your letter than mine.” Dean gave a quirky look. “Although, Misha teared up when she read . . .”
“Whoa. Wait.” Frank held up his hand. “Misha.”
“Um, yeah, Frank. My lab assistant.”
“What are you? An asshole?” Frank snapped.
“What the hell?” Shock laced Dean’s words by the sudden Frank turn around.
“Do not even tell me you showed Ellen’s letter to Misha.”
“Yeah, I did. I . . .”
‘Fuck!” Frank blasted as he stood up. “Could you be anymore fuckin lame, Dean!”
“I resent that, Frank.” Dean rose. “You’re getting all pissy about this. I needed to share it. There is nothing wrong with me sharing that letter.”
“Yeah, you fuck, if the circumstances were normal.”
“Don’t talk to me like that. You hear me. Where do you get off?” Dean snapped back with passion.
“I don’t but I’m starting to wonder if you do.” Frank nearly tossed the chair and barged toward the front door.
‘What the hell are you talking about?”
“Misha,” Frank said in a spin.
“What about her? You’re pissed off because I showed her the letter!”
“And you have a right to question that!” Total anger flew from Frank. “You have no right whatsoever to question that. And you had no right to show that letter to anyone! Anyone, Dean.” Strongly Frank’s moved about as he raged. “Ellen’s not away on a fuckin girl scout convention. She’s not in Bowman. Ellen is away from this community for community reasons. There are rules, Dean.”
All expression dropped from Dean’s face and he whispered out, ‘shit’ just before he closed his eyes.
“That’s right,” Frank graveled. “Rules. Rules that we broke. No one can know this. You miss her?! I’m wondering because if it gets out that we broke those rules, that Ellen broke those rules, you can forget about seeing her for another month! If that happens, if that happens . . .” His voice dropped to a frightening whisper. “I will never forgive you. I swear on my life that you will pay.” On his final word, Frank flung opened the door and raged out.
Dean could not move. Even the slamming of the door didn’t jolt him one bit. His heart sunk, his eyes closed, and his head fell forward. Frank’s forgiveness? Dean chuckled emotionally. If Ellen’s sentence was extended because of his error, then dealing with Frank unable to forgive him would be the easy part because Dean would never be able to forgive himself.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
January 12th
Another big red ‘x’ was placed on a square, another marking Ellen made of days served. Very few white blocks remained, but it wasn’t the finishing date she stared at in the kitchen. It was the current day.
“Whew,” Robbie commented as he came in the kitchen door. He stomped his feet. “Cold out there.” He rolled the M-16 from his shoulder as he shut the door then used his teeth to took off his gloves. “The snow melted yesterday . . .” He walked to Ellen. “But it iced up.” He put his hand on her cheek. “Cold.”
She shrieked near silent from the icy touch. “Yes.” She shook her head.
Robbie peered over her shoulder. “Marking the calendar?”
“Yep and look at today.”
After a sniff, Robbie glanced again. “Oh.” He exhaled. “I’m sorry, El.”
“The twins’ birthday. They’re eight today.”
“They know you’re thinking about them.”
“Yeah, I know. Josh knows where I hid their presents.” She turned around to face him.
“Are you OK?” Robbie asked. “Is it the birthday? You seem down.”
“I am down but it’s not the birthday. It’s this . . .” She lifted the calendar. “I keep on wondering how cold it will be in February.”
“February?” Robbie smiled. “El, we’ll be in Beginnings. It won’t make a difference. Ten more days. Ten. You can count on both hands. I can’t.” He winked. “But you can.”
“Robbie,” she whispered out as she walked by him.
“El, don’t tell me you’re offended by my one-arm humor.”
“No.” Ellen shook her head. “Robbie, I’m worried.”
“About?”
“Us?”
“In what way?”
“I have a bad feeling. Not about us-us. About this being out here.”
“El, please. Have things not been calm?” Robbie scoffed.
“Exactly. Too calm. This has been way too easy. I have this feeling like we teetering on the verge. The calm before the storm sort of thing.”
“Well, I can tell you, the weather’s bad. No one is going anywhere,” Robbie spoke confidently. “And no fears. By the time it clears up, we won’t be here. This time, in ten days, we’ll be back home in Beginnings.”
“That’s another fear of mine,” Ellen said. “I just have this strong feeling that this time in ten days, you and I are gonna be further away from Beginnings than we ever thought possible.”
^^^^
It wasn’t quite the job that Margaret expected, but she did ask to be put where needed. She shook her foot gently to shuck the water that splashed on her shoe from the bucket set before her in the chapel and then she smiled at Andrea.
“Is everything all right?” Andrea asked.
“Um, yes.” Margaret smiled again.
“You’re just staring at that as if you have a problem with that bucket.”
“No, not at all.”
“You did ask to be put where needed,” Andrea sighed out and looked around. “And God’s house needs a house woman. It is very respectful. I hope you don’t think it’s beneath you.”
“No, no.” Margaret shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Good, because this is your new job. This is Beginnings and it isn’t a free ride. For the past week you’ve not done anything.”
“I . . . was moved to Containment,” Margaret replied.
“Still, I hear you slacked in there.”
“Really?” Margaret asked shocked.
“Oh, yes. Everyone said you gave attitude. Richie told me he came very close to reminding you it wasn’t the White House anymore.”
“Richie said that?”
“Are you questioning me?” Andrea quizzed with intimidation. “That boy wouldn’t lie. He is sort of my son.”
Lost, Margaret looked at her.
“What in Sweet Jesus’ name is that look for?”
“Your son?”
“Oh. Oh. Don’t even be telling me you’re given that look because he’s white and I’m black.”
“I didn’t . . .”
“Race is not an issue in Beginnings unless you’re Frank. Don’t think I don’t remember that little racist comment you made about our Jewish brothers and sisters back during the primaries of George’s first term.”
�
�It was a Passover joke.”
“Hmm.” Andrea tossed her head. “No more covering up. I am not those weak minded people who bought it all.”
“I just can’t believe you’re remembering that.”
“Is that an ‘old’ comment?”
“No, I . . .”
“Are you saying I’m old?”
“My God.”
“And you blaspheme too.”
“I give up.” Margaret tossed her hands in defeat.
“No. No-no. You cannot. Sweet Jesus woman, I told you this isn’t a free ride.”
‘You’re right. You’re right. I won’t complain,” Margaret pacified. “Joe was nice man and let me in here.”
“He is a nice married man.”
Curiously, Margaret gazed at Andrea. “Why would you add that?”
“Just so you know. We all know how you tend to go after men in power.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“Senator James, House Majority leader.” Andrea raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that little affair I read about is still fresh in my mind. You both were married.”
Margaret was in shock. She couldn’t even speak.
“Well, I’m a busy woman. I have to go.” Andrea began to leave. “Don’t forget to put the song insert in the books. We can’t be praising our Lord without lyrics.” Nearly to the door, Andrea stooped when she heard a little scream come from Margaret. “What!” Andrea spun back around. “Is it now?”
Holding up the music insert, Margaret’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “This song.”
“What about it.”
“Jesus is a Futomara.”
“Yes. So?” Andrea snapped. “My son wrote that. Is there a problem?”
“Jesus is a Futomara?” Margaret asked. “Futomara.”
“It’s Japanese.”
“I know.” Margaret said. “Do you know what it means?”
“Oh,” Andrea gasped. “Sweet Jesus, just because we weren’t born with a silver spoon in our mouths, just because we weren’t First Lady, and just because we live in a plague ravished world behind a an invisible electronic wall does not mean we aren’t cultured enough to understand the language of our Japanese brothers and sister. If you keep on giving me attitude like this, you’ll be placed in the House of Lesbians.” Saying no more, in a hard spin, Andrea stormed out.
Jolting some from the slam of the door, Margaret looked back down to the words. “Jesus is a Futomara.” Feeling the after effects of Andrea’s anger, Margaret figured she was probably wrong on the interpretation, so she set down the sheet and lifted her bucket.
^^^^
Access Denied, the LDC display on the keypad for the cryo-lab read.
“Huh?” Frank looked confused. “Fuck. OK.” Thinking he was in a hurry, he punched in the code again. “Access denied. OK, wait. One . . .” he pressed the button. “Three . . . . Five . . . Six. Three. Huh?” Again the error message blinked at him. “This can’t be right.” He reached Into his back pocket and pulled out a small note pad. He flipped open the pages. “I’m right. What the hell?” Just once more, looking at the written numbers, Frank tried and again Frank failed. “Fuck.” He brought his radio headset to his mouth. “Security. Come in.”
“Yeah, Frank.”
“You received any reports on the cryo keypad being down?”
“No, it’s working just fine,” Mark replied. “I’m getting signals.”
“Well, I’m not getting in,” Frank said. “It keeps reading access denied.”
“Are you using the right code?”
“Uh, Mark, I’m fuckin head of Security. I should have the right code.”
“When were you there last?”
“At the cryo?” Frank paused to think of when it was his turn to do the rounds down there. “Three days.”
“That might be why.”
“Mark.” Frank snickered. “You think the cryo lab is dejected because I haven’t been here?”
Mark laughed. “No. The code was changed.”
“No it wasn’t,” Frank argued.
“Yeah, it was.”
“OK. Before I fuckin flip out, why wasn’t I notified?”
“You had to be. Didn’t you get the memo?”
“Memo? When the fuck did we start doing memos?”
“When Hal was running things.”
“Hal’s a fuckin idiot,” Frank snapped. “No one gives me a memo. I wouldn’t read them. Why was this code changed?”
“Dean requested it. He said it was so Misha could reach the numbers.”
Immediate anger raged through Frank. “Oh, fuck him. It was alright for El to jump for the numbers but not her? How fuckin chivalrous. Give me the new code.”
“I can’t.”
“Mark,” Frank said stronger. “Give me the new fuckin code.”
“Frank, I can’t give it over the airways that would be a breach of security.”
“Well then . . .” Frank growled. “Put the fuckin radio to your head and think it.”
“Think it?”
“Yeah. Put the radio to your head and think it.”
“OK,” Mark said with uncertainty.
“Thanks.” Frank lowered the microphone and punched the code in the pad. He nearly pushed open the door with the force of his frustration and his boots screeched loudly when he stopped cold in the lab. Misha was sitting behind the computer. “What are you, deaf?” he asked her.
“Excuse me.”
‘You didn’t hear the buzz of the wrong code being put in?”
“Yes.” Misha stared at the screen.
“Why didn’t you see who was there?” Frank asked as he walked across the lab.
“I did not know who was there.”
“You could have fuckin asked. The door may be metal but it isn’t sound proof.” He walked to the back room. “I have to check this temp.” Unlocking the back room, Frank went in with his clipboard in his hand and did his check. It was brief and he was back out of there in a few seconds. Locking back up, he noticed Misha slowly but diligently typing. “Why are you down here?’
“I am doing data entry.”
“You can’t do that up top?”
“It has to do with the Christopher assessment. It needs put in down here.”
“Are you practicing?” Frank questioned.
“Practicing?”
“Um, data entry.”
“No, I am getting good. Why would you ask?”
“You’re putting the assessment information in the computer. Retyping it. I’m guessing you’re doing that because you need practice.”
“No, I am doing it because it needs logged.”
“But it’s already logged,” Frank told her. “It’s all finished.”
“We still have one more series to complete.”
“That’s not what I mean. Chris came with an entire print out of an assessment and a disk. Didn’t the disk work?”
“You mean that?” Misha pointed to the half inch stack of paper bound with a rubber band. A disk set on top.
Frank waked to it. “Yeah, this. Doesn’t this disk work?”
“I don’t know. We aren’t using that information. Dean thought it best to start from scratch so I could learn how to . . .” Misha began to rush her words but it was in vain, Frank had barged from the cryo lab with that stack of papers before she could finish her thoughts.
“So basically . . .” Dean walked around the counter in the clinic lab, talking to Christopher. “The final portion will be a series of tolerance testing. Hot, cold, exposure, and so forth.”
“Ah, yes.” Christopher nodded. “Ellen, Goddess of Wonder, performed those before as well.”
“Yes, I know. I hate to put you through these again, but consider it you helping out. Just . . . just humor me.”
Frank’s voice, so intense, took over the entire feel of the room. “Oh, someone ought to humor you.” He marched in. “Because right now you’re so fuckin far from funny.”
&nb
sp; “What is it, Frank?” Dean snapped. “I’m busy.”
“I don’t care.”
“Neither do I over what you want so leave.”
“Dean,” Frank stayed firm. “You and I need to talk.”
“You know, I recall we stopped talking over a week ago.”
“There’s a reason for it.”
“I cared then. I don’t care now.”
“Dean! I’m not fuckin around!”
“Neither am I!”
With a squeal of his sliding stool, Christopher jumped up in the after moment of their raised voice. “Should I run and find cover. If the Gods fight, surely a horrible storm will occur.”
“Chris.” Frank kept his eyes on Dean. “With how I’m feeling, a fuckin tornado will wipe this place out.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Listen to you. What do you want?”
“I told you . . .”
“We have to talk. Yeah, yeah,” Dean said with irritated sarcasm. “Well, unless you have something important, save it because I’m really busy, Frank. I have an assessment to finish.”
“Well how about I help you out.” On his final word, Frank pummeled the assessment with a hard slam into Dean’s chest. Upon impact, papers flew everywhere.
Dean’s anger and shock escaped in the form of a verbal wheeze. “What the hell, Frank!” Dean’s hands motioned outward at the mess. “Can you be any more of a dick?”
“Fifty-four pages, Dean!” Frank verbally hit hard. “Fifty-four pages of assessment. Fifty-four pages of Ellen’s hard work. No, I think the question should be can you be any more of a dick.” The emotional turn of Frank’s body and rush of his moments were like a suction that caused more papers to fly about as he stormed out.
^^^^
There wasn’t a step of the way that Jess Boyens didn’t feel nervous, but as he stood completely alone in Bertha Callahan’s office, he was at his worst. His stomach flopped, jumped side to side, and his hands shook.
He kept wiping the sweat off of his palms against his pants and he fought hard to keep his breathing in synch. He knew he could pull it off. He just had to get over that first initial moment of seeing George. Callahan was intimidating and it didn’t help that he was expecting a man. The shock of seeing a woman, or rather a masculine woman, stunned him. Her voice, when she spoke, finally gave answer to Jess as to why Frank kept calling Bertha the transvestite.
The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20 Page 273