Camden's Knife

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  “Tell me you’re pulling my leg,” Camden said mockingly.”Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. It’s the truth.”

  “And Hickey told you about this? This discovery?”

  She nodded.

  “And did he tell you the name of it, Trisha?”

  “No.”

  “Did he call it KYAG?”

  She straightened up, her bewildered expression replaced by rage.”Who told you that!”

  “Nobody had to,” he answered, sitting down on the stool, the hand holding the flask dropping behind the backrest.”I invented it. And you tossed the whole formula into that fire.”

  She began to step toward him but was grabbed from behind by Smite, her T-shirt tearing at the shoulder as she was pulled back. A long, heavy, gold-bladed knife appeared in his other hand, its point directed at the doctor.

  “I don’t know what the problem is between you two,” he growled, looking at Lane, then Camden.”But you’re going to have to work it out between yourselves later. Give me the capsules, Trishabelle.”

  “Give me that bottle,” she ordered.

  “Back where I come from, Artie,” Smite snarled as he picked up the remaining notebook with his free hand and wedged it under his arm, “little boys like me grow up with knives like these and learn how to use them. I can slit a grown hog from end to end in just one motion. I can cut a piece of rope thicker than your cock in one motion. I can do a whole lot of things you wouldn’t imagine in one motion. But most of all, I can throw.”

  Camden stared back motionless, the sweat dripping off his face.

  “I can throw,” Smite repeated, letting the weapon drop to his side.”Throw as pretty as can be. I used to stand out in the backyard with my brothers. We’d stand there for hours tossing our blades at a big oak tree no farther away from us than you. Had a little circle on it ’bout the size of a man’s heart. And I learned to cut dead center every time.”

  The flask dropped from Camden’s hand and bounced on the floor.

  “Now we’re gonna play a little game of backyard tossing, Doc. We’re gonna play us a game for money, and here’s how it goes. I’m gonna ask you just once to walk over here and give me the bottle you got left, and I’m gonna hand you this book. Then I’m gonna give Trishabelle that bottle and Wexford’s swan songs and she’s gonna give me those KY whatever the fuck capsules. And then the game’s over.”

  Camden stared back at his inquisitor with half-closed eyes, his hands shaking at the ends of his limp arms.

  “But if you don’t do what I ask, you’re going to find old Doug’s knife somewhere between your shoulder and your stomach, then I’m gonna walk over and take that bottle you dropped. But you won’t care because you’ll be dead. Do we have an understanding?”

  Camden’s mouth opened slightly but he didn’t speak.

  “Come over here. Come over here or you’re history.” He raised his arm, the handle of the knife resting on his shoulder.”I said come over here or you’re history.”

  Camden remained still. A look of animal rage jumped onto Smite’s face as his arm cocked. Stonetree stepped between them.”Stop!” he shouted.

  Smite hesitated. Stonetree heard Sharon yell, “No, David, no!” from behind and to his left. Camden lurched to his feet and shook his head as she ran to Stonetree’s side, removing the revolver from her purse and pointing it at the attacker.

  “It’s all right,” Camden said.”It’s all right. Don’t do anything. It’s all right.”

  She held the gun steady.

  “So what’s the story, Doctor?” Stonetree asked.

  “Yes, what is the story?” Lane mimicked, stepping back to the table.”Now that we’ve all calmed down.” She sneered at Sharon.”Put the gun down, lady.”

  “The knife,” she replied, motioning with it.”Into the furnace, please.”

  She removed it from Smite’s hand and tossed it into the blue wall of flame, a burst of yellow and a thunderous crack greeting it. Sharon lowered the weapon to her side.

  Camden straightened his clothes and pushed the wet hair back on his head, then bent to pick up the flask.”I can’t believe you’d be so foolish, so ignorant, Trisha.” He stepped to the table, lifted a glass of the champagne then returned to slump into the stool.”You never were that circumspect to begin with.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, running her finger across the cover of the remaining notebook.”I’ve tried it. I know.”

  “And I’ll tell you what you don’t know” he began.”I came up with that concoction you’ve fallen in love with years ago. It was an accident, wasted a lot of distillate. But I decided to see what it would do.”

  She stared blankly and bit hard on her lower lip.

  “The rush of euphoria, the freeze, the tranquilization, the awareness, the brilliant memories,” he continued.”Yes, I know all that. Once, and once only. It will unlock your memory and make you think you control the past, maybe the future. And for a few hours after the first sleep period, it provides an admittedly spectacular clarity of thought. But it probably explodes tens of billions of brain cells in the process. I’m surprised I can still stand after that experience.”

  She continued to stare, the grip of her teeth on her lip stronger.

  “I had some fed to a couple of innocent rats at the Ohio lab,” he nodded, the confidence of knowledge flowing through his words.”Sort of a last meal for them. They cracked open their little skulls afterward. Cracked them open and found little balls of mush, almost liquid.” He rose from the stool and shook his head.”Maybe you can take it once, Trisha. Maybe twice. Maybe you got off lucky like I did. Do it more than that and you might be in trouble. You could go into a coma or lose your eyesight or God knows what else. It just depends on which cells decide to blow.”

  She dropped onto her chair, her makeup barely concealing the ashen tone of her face.

  “And that could happen to you, Mr. Smite, as sure as you’re standing there. From one farm boy to another, you’d better take my word on that.”

  “Hickey,” Trisha said in a weak voice.”Hickey.”

  “Yeah, I left those reports behind,” Camden said, shaking his head.”I even gave it a tag. Named it KYAG...as in kiss your ass goodbye.”

  “You’re serious, ain’t you, Doc?” Smite asked.

  “Serious as a heart attack, Mr. Smite. Old Pierre smiles only about once a month but this might get a little laugh out of him.” He paused, staring intently at Lane, his sleeve again wiping his forehead.”I gave him a call today, Trisha. Thought the time had arrived to come to terms. And you know, in some respects he was still on your side. In your comer.”

  “That shouldn’t surprise you,” she replied, standing and slowly moving around the table.”He doesn’t make mistakes when it comes to judging relative strength.”

  She took a step toward the scientist and Stonetree moved between the two, facing her. The brilliant light from the furnace made her eyes glow and her face glisten. Her disheveled hair and clothes only added to this vision of pure contempt.

  “Leave the doctor alone,” he warned her.”He’ll give you what he said he would. Just leave him alone.”

  “And who are you to tell me what to do? Get out of my way.”

  “I said leave him alone.” The flames of the furnace turned from blue to red. He could hear music in the background as sweat dripped into his eyes, making them sting. He knew he was in trouble, more trouble than he could imagine.”I’m right.”

  “You’re right?” Lane repeated, an air of innocence in her voice.”No, you’re not. You’re confused. Your loyalties are confused. You don’t work for Camden, you work for me.” She paused.”And I want that bottle. Don’t make this difficult on yourself, David. Don’t make this difficult for me.”

  “Leave him alone.”

  She glanced at the tear in the shoulder of her top, tugging on the material to straighten it a bit.

  “You have to make a choice. Like I told you the other night, you�
��re now part of the future.”

  Sharon grabbed the champagne bottle by the neck and smashed the side of it against the table, then took a few steps and held the jagged weapon an inch from Lane’s throat.

  “And I’m telling you that if you harm him again, you’re part of the past.”

  Smite yelped and started to clap. Lane stepped backward and leaned against the table as Sharon dropped the bottle to the floor and looked to Stonetree, a slight smile appearing on her lips.”I think you four can finish up now,” she said, picking up a glass from the table and stepping away from them.

  Lane smoothed her skirt, looking at each of them in turn, settling on Camden.”Arthur, this has been a trying day,” she said.”Take your notebook and toys and go back to Georgia, please.” She turned to Smite.”The capsules are in my coat. Leave me the tapes and we’ll talk later.”

  She then returned her gaze to Camden, so rife with hatred it could melt the wall of fire behind them.”You fuck with me for one more second, you go to prison. Grand theft, conspiracy, you name it. And I’ll make it stick.”

  Smite reached down to the floor and picked up her trench coat, setting it on a stool.

  “I’m not sure those capsules are yours to give away, Trisha,” Camden said.”Or the notebooks. Pierre might have something to say about that.” He turned his head toward the second floor landing, the others following his lead. The silhouette leaning at the railing, black against the glare from glass doorway behind it, was recognizable to anyone who’d worked at SUE very long. Pierre Picard waved a hand then made his way to the stairs.

  “You might have won this battle, Arthur,” Lane yelled, grabbing the notebook, “but I’m sending the rest of your dreams to hell!” She turned toward the furnace and sent the research into eternity. Smite reached down, grabbed the cube holding the tapes and took a step away as Picard approached, removing an earpiece and letting it fall, dangling on a wire. As if on cue, Camden reached beneath his shirt and removed a tiny mic, also letting it drop as far as the wire allowed.

  “No need to panic, Mr. Smite,” the man cautioned in an even voice.”We’ve avoided any serious problems thus far. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Pierre Picard, one of Ms. Lane’s colleagues. Am I to understand that those are the masters for Wexford’s next album?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well maybe you’d be interested to know that a good friend of mine is a high-placed law enforcement officer here in the city. In fact, he is the regional director of a certain government agency, a federal agency, best known by three initials. Are you familiar with that agency, Mr. Smite?” A slight grin crossed his face.”He tells me he has a file on you. A large file. His name is Steve Danastorg.”

  “I might know of him.”

  “If you’ll please set those tapes down and excuse yourself, you might be able to walk away unmolested. If not, you take your chances.”

  Smite hesitated a moment then placed the tapes on the table.”Can I leave now? I think I’ve got another appointment waiting on me.”

  Picard waved to someone at the other end of the first floor.”Yes. Good day.” He extended his hand but Smite was already on his way, passing Sharon as she returned to Stonetree’s side.

  “This is colossal stupidity.” Lane sighed.”There’s been no damage done here, Pierre. Can we sit down and talk this through so we don’t end up with a big misunderstanding?”

  “I think there has been some damage done, Trisha.” He paused.”Starting with your career.”

  “Don’t worry. I have a beautiful set of copies of the notebooks back in my office. You see? No harm done. You really didn’t think I’d ever torch those, did you?”

  “Trisha?” Camden asked.”Did you copy them on a machine that picks up invisible ink? If you didn’t, then unfortunately all of the best parts are gone forever.”

  Picard reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat and removed a folded sheet of paper. After shaking it once to straighten it, he set it on the table. It was a copy of the release agreement.

  Stonetree felt Sharon’s hand close around his.

  “No harm done,” Lane repeated, as if she hadn’t heard the bad news.”Except Dr. Camden’s insane destruction of the distillate.”

  “Distillate?” Camden asked, opening the bottle and chugging the contents.”I’d never do something that insane.”

  “Is this your signature?” Picard asked her, gesturing to the document.

  “It is.”

  “And among other things, you gave Arthur his knife collection and framing outright with no recourse for our having it returned?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Seems like you managed to not only give away the keys to the store but also the store itself.” He looked to the scientist.”Might you elaborate?”

  “Delighted to.”

  He reached and lifted the frame onto the table, positioning it like he might a work of art.

  “Let me first draw your attention to the weathered, stained parchment behind the knives.”

  “What about it?”

  “The parchment isn’t weathered, at least wasn’t when I purchased it new. The stains are the result of the absorption of four ounces of CY6A4, plus a stabilizing agent, that will allow it to be withdrawn and reprocessed in a few, easy steps.”

  She just stared.

  “Then,” he continued, turning the frame over and fiddling with the bracing securing the backing, “seeing that I felt it desirable to keep my impressions regarding cures and other compelling possibilities away from prying eyes, I redacted all of the most promising ones from the notebooks.”

  He struggled with a few of the twelve brass hinges but none of them would budge. After considering the problem a moment, he flipped the display back over.

  “Sharon?” he asked.”Could I borrow that gun of yours?”

  She looked to Stonetree, who nodded. Reaching into her purse, she grasped the weapon and passed it across.

  After examining it briefly, Camden released the cylinder, emptied the shells onto the table, popped the cylinder back in place then held it by the barrel. On the third tap of the wooden grip on the glass, the top portion cracked; a final one shattering it.

  Pushing away some of the shards with the barrel to make a wider opening, he carefully lowered his hand into the shadowbox and removed the smallest knife, eyeing both sides then brushing some particles off the green stone handle and rubbing the silver inlays. Pressing a lever, he folded the blade into the handle. Then fingering its release the business end snapped straight like a switchblade.

  “Legal in all 50 states,” he chuckled.”Cam activated, not spring activated.”

  “Is this leading anywhere?” Lane moaned.

  Prying the stone overlay off the body of the mechanism, he revealed the weapon’s hidden treasure—a golden micro memory chip.

  “Yes, Trisha,” he smiled.”Hopefully leading to…”

  “Tell her about both,” Picard suggested.

  “As for the cure, it’s no more a question of if. I’m pretty sure I’ve got it down to no more than eight to ten possibilities. With the distillate in hand and with the help Pete has guaranteed, I’m thinking in less than six months we’ll be ready for the first trials.” He looked to Sharon.”We’ll be needing some volunteers, of course.”

  She nodded sweetly then began to sob, burying her face in Stonetree’s neck and hugging him tightly.

  “And then there’s the KYAG.”

  Lane sat motionless.

  “Something was always vexing about the damage it caused and the possible benefits which the tremendous negative energy might be hiding that came with all of the benefits. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. And then one day I was listening to NPR and there was an interview with the lead singer from that band Pandora’s Obsession…”

  “Laura Loveland,” Stonetree said.

  “Yes, Laura Loveland. And she was talking about how her fans…she
had a name for them…”

  “Obsessives.”

  “Thank you, David. How the Obsessives always asked the group to do acoustic versions of their electrified, I’d guess you call it, songs. And she said that they always had that in mind when they made recordings. She said they could deliver the same punch later in acoustic versions by easing off the power but delivering the same jolt.”

  Lane cocked her head slightly but didn’t speak.

  “That’s when it hit me. It’d been right there all along, right here,” he continued, tapping the side of his head.”Hiding in plain sight. Like my knives were.”

  She looked about to respond but didn’t.

  “Ease off the power but deliver the same jolt.” He smiled.”Trishabelle, I’ve got a feeling you won’t be around to witness it. But I think we might be on the verge of a cure for Alzheimer’s Disease.”

  EPILOGUE

  Stonetree poured himself a second cup of coffee and stepped toward the living room, stopping to raise the temperature on the thermostat to adjust for the unusually harsh October cold snap that had descended on the city the day before and was expected to last through the weekend. After easing into the loveseat, he pulled up Pinkiefinger on his tablet and buttoned NewsGlance Weekender. The headline screamed Breaking News! See Jip Spotswood’s update Weekend at Prism in A&E!

  International led with a report from Vatican City that virtually all of the Church’s Cardinals had arrived in Rome to participate in the election of a successor to Marcellus III, who’d died the previous week of heart failure while vacationing at his retreat near Victoria Falls. Among them were Peter Cardinal Perkins, leader of America’s Sanctuarian Party and Martin Cardinal Elliott, head of the American Conservative Party. At a joint press conference the two men assured reporters that when it came to papal elections they’d set aside their differences and would actively support the other if circumstances brought one of them close to the throne.

  Australia, between its virtually full employment economy, plummeting crime rate, weather patterns over the past three years that were deemed “Heaven sent” by the Prime Minister, the never-ending expansions in the mining/precious metals sectors, the double jump real estate market (and associated construction feeders) and a travel industry which was the envy of its Pacific Rim neighbors, the Sixth Continent was chosen without challenge in a survey of 5,000 respondents as the Number One destination for permanent immigration, leisure travel, business opportunities and investment.