by R. J. Henry
“Their due dates are beneath them, on the screens; month, month. Day, day. The fourdigit year follows after that.”
He tapped a blank screen, under what appeared to be a baby marsupial. “What about the ones that aren’t working?”
She chuckled, enjoying his idiocy excessively much. She attempted to speak with easy words. “If you would use that little noggin on your shoulders, you’d know that they didn’t survive the tests. Only the human gene combines perfectly with the CBH virus.”
He cocked his head in annoyance. “You just witnessed what lying makes me do. You want to press your luck with that attitude, Missy?”
“It’s Rachel,” she said, and then scoffed, “and yes. Because what is being done here is wrong and immoral. We are not God, why play his part?”
“You want to talk morals, now? Heh, so you killing your father wasn’t immoral?”
“He was a killer you, asshole!”
“Okay, what about what you did to Emily? Is planting her with a tracking device, designed as a phone, not immoral? How about stealing her eggs? Was that not immoral?”
Rachel pressed her lips into a tight ‘O’.
“Huh?” he said, echoing his voice throughout the building.
“Under the order of Boss, we had to.”
“Oh, so when someone says it’s okay to do it, then it is no longer immoral?” He rubbed his gun to his chin. He looked down at its steel. “Huh?”
“How is what I have done, in the past, any different than what you did do to Emily way before this plan even became an idea?”
“I did nothing to her,” he scoffed.
He squinted an eye at her. “What exactly do you think you know?”
“Oh don’t play coy. You got her removed from the force. And by the looks of you, I bet it was to continue some love affair.” She looked him up and down, but his face didn’t waiver in emotion. He continued to keep a stone-like stare.
He chuckled with a half-smile. The sudden change in his face made Rachel
back away. “Of course. My love affair of
the New World.” He cackled nervously.
Rachel grinned out of the corner of her mouth. She lowered her face, keeping her gaze on him. She knew she got him now. “No, no. An actual affair.”
His face tightened, showing wrinkles within his frown. He knew she was right. But he refused to give her that power over him.
“You are a dick. A cheater and a liar.” She spat on the floor towards his black, leather, shoes. “You are as filthy as the ground a dog shits on.”
His clenched fist shook. The vein in his neck throbbed. He stabbed his finger into her clavicle. He said, “As your superior, I demand, that if you wish to live, you shut the hell up. You do not know anything of which you speak!”
For a moment, she stood in silence. She contemplated his intentions. She assumed he was lying to her. She matched his stance, and in a hushed tone, she said, “Make me.”
He pressed the cold barrel into her sternum. Her breath slowed.
She gripped his wrist, to keep him steady. “Pull it. Pull the trigger. I dare you. Because if you don’t, I’m going to tell Emily everything.”
Without hesitation, three shots flew out, dropping her next to David. “Now, who are you going to squeal to?”
He huffed, and lifted his chin to secure his tie. The lifeless gaze the two bodies gave him, made him feel exuberant, but the mess made his tie seem unruly.
George came through the door, bumping into Myers’ shoulder. He seemed to be in rush, as his feet were moving faster with each step until he finally sprinted into a jog towards his car. He drove off.
George shook his head. “Hey guys, I’m back! So why were the dogs here?”
He dropped the small sack at the sight. He jumped to their sides, checking for pulses. Beads of water streamed down the corner of his eyes. He shrank back, and sat on his heels. Without moving his head, he eyed Agent Myers’ fleeing vehicle. He clenched his fists, wishing he would have bumped into the bastard a little bit harder. Or, at least, hard enough to make the killer spin his head into the door frame, knocking him out. George would make him sleep with the fishes.
He let out an echoing growl. “Ahhh! I will kill you, Agent Myers. You’re a dead man!” He knew the threat was impenetrable to his target’s ears, but it will not be unknown for long. He sat beside their bodies, praying for them. “Please, have safe travels my friends. I promise you will be redeemed.”
A consistent beeping noise caught his attention; a location update on Emily’s device popped up on one of the monitors. He creased his brows, but decided against checking it out in depth. At least, not until he is able to bury his friends.
He clicked the switch that powered the Fledge Pods; killing the remaining ones. “No more... no more playing God!” His fist flew into one, shattering its supposed bulletproof glass.
•••
Agent Carlson rested his eyes upon the chipped, blue siding house. Twenty years ago, he had married in that very yard. Two years after the wedding, he had become a proud father. The spring before Katie’s terminal diagnosis, he remembers teaching her how to pitch a tent. It wasn’t long after that he woke up one morning to her not responding to his everyday bacon and eggs.
He banged his head on the steering wheel, holding his breath to fight off the memories. It’s okay, I’m okay, he thought to himself.
He knew it wasn’t true, but needed to give his family a final resting spot. Leaving them on the floor filled him with regret. Seeing his wife, lie dead against his daughter, scared him. He hopes it was just a dream. That once he walks in there, dinner would be cooked and his daughter would be waiting for a bedtime story.
He sighed, and headed towards the agape door. With a settled house, and settled marriage, he refused to settle for anything less than allowing his family to decompose on the very threshold, he carried Christine through on the day of their wedding.
He pushed the door open. Below from where he stood, the floor was vacant. He walked around the living room, spinning around in freight. The bodies were gone. He became so incased for the search of his family, that the tires crackling the gravel in his drive way did not catch his attention. He checked the entire house, and returned back to the foyer.
Brinks stood by the door, waiting for him to notice her. She cleared her throat. “Why are you here?”
“Where are they? Where are the bodies?”
She sighed. “I didn’t want—”
“Where, the hell, are they?”
“I had a crew dispose of them.”
“They deserve more than whatever the hell you are doing to them.”
“A burial?” she rhetorically asked. “So everyone will know you shot your daughter?”
He didn’t know what she was headed for. He deepened his voice, gripping her shoulders. “Bring them back!”
“Forget it! Now step off me,” she demanded.
He pulled a gun to her temple. No more of this shit, he thought to himself. He placed his finger on the trigger. “My name is Jack, you bitch! Now tell me where they are!”
“No. You are my agent, now, unless you plan on pulling that trigger, I suspect you better put it where it belongs.”
He stared at the short barrel. “You’re right. I’m not like you. I don’t kill people for the hell of it,” he said, turning it towards his heart. “It belongs here.”
“Drop it, now.”
He shakenly held it tighter to his chest. His face turned red, as drops of regret streamed down his face. “No.”
She egged him on. “Then do it. Pull it. You’re a wuss, and you know it.”
He did it. He pulled the trigger on himself. But, to his demise, only the click of an empty cartridge sounded. He looked down at the gun. “What the hell?”
“As my partner, I may trust you to not get me killed. But in order to ensure that you would not kill me, I never allowed you more than one bullet a year.”
He tossed the gun off to t
he side. It pounded against the floor, rocking on its handle until it finally tipped over. She kicked it off to the side. “Now come on. We have work to do.”
“No, I don’t. I am no longer your underdog,” he said, fleeing the house.
She pointed her gun at him. “You will be killed if you desert this plan.”
Throwing his hands up into the air, he said, “Kill me then. What reason is there for to live anymore?”
She held the gun between her hands. However, she didn’t shoot; only aimed. She knew he had no other family, nor did she allot any time for him to gain any friends. This job was time consuming enough, just for her.
She allowed him to drive away in one piece. With a whisper, she said, “You’re free. Now nothing holds you back.” She turned back into the house. “Except for me,” she said, dialing a number on her phone.
The other end rang three times before a man’s voice answered. “Hello?”
“Yes, this is Agent Brinks.”
“What do you need me to do now?”
“I need you to stake out Emily’s house. She needs to be found.”
“How do you know she will be back?” “Just be there.”
•••
George walked into the Crum O’ Slap Bar. The thick smog of cigarette smoke filled the air, mixed with the potent scent of alcohol. The ambience relaxed his eyes, easing the tension he recently acquired. The sound of eighties music fell into the background, and it didn’t help any. He preferred smooth rock versus the migraine inducing rock.
Two grown men, fists flying through the air at each other was enough to edge him the wrong way. Typically, he ignored the average bar fight. However, this one in particular was between a stranger and someone he knew.
For a moment, he felt relieved to see someone he might know. But, seeing as that Jack’s wobbling stance was making him lose, George stepped in.
He stood between Jack and the other guy, placing his palms on both of their chests. He flexed, managed to keep them separate. “Hey! C’mon, guys!”
“Is this your buddy?” the other man slurred.
“It don’t matter whose buddy I am.”
“Tell that little pip-squeak that he needs to keep his mouth shut, then.”
George eyed the different sizes between them, and realized he must’ve been talking about Jack. This man had a beard trim like some bounty hunter, with a port belly sticking out under his shirt.
“What did he say to you?”
“He called me Ms. Piggy’s Daddy.” Despite his rugged-biker look, his eyes twinkled with a shimmer of sadness.
“Jack,” George turned, “did you say that?”
“What’ch’it, to ya?”
“Look, um…”
“Sue,” the man said, entering his name.
“Really? Ok… Look, my friend here is not in his right mind. Please excuse him. I’m sorry.”
Sue spat at Jack’s feet. “Fine,” he gruffly said, walking away.
George cleaned off Jack’s shoulder from unknown debris, then sat him down at the bar. He sighed heavily, heaving out a frustrated breath as if he were a parent of two misbehaved children that did not get along at recess.
Jack was loud with incoherent bellows. The gorgeous bartender, however, nodded and smiled. George felt she was polite, despite having a bullring piercing. He didn’t judge. Nor did he feel like it was his responsibility to judge. That’s not how he was raised. Respecting others, is what he was taught.
Jack’s bicep revealed itself as his shirt slid down. His hair stood up with stiffness. It was clear to George that the man hadn’t showered for quite some time. The armpit stains, wrapping around the side of his rib cages, confirmed it.
George straddled the chair next to him. “Agent Carlson?” he said, with a small chuckle. “What brings you here?”
Jack turned to him. “George? Aren’t you supposed to be off being Agent Brinks’ pawn?” He turned back to his drink, adding another shot glass to his six-glass pyramid.
The bartender winked at George. “Anything for you, cutie?”
George could feel himself blush, but knew it couldn’t be seen amongst his chocolate, brown skin. He nodded, holding up two fingers. “Two beers, please.”
Jack laughed. “Don’t take it to heart. It’s her job to be a flirt. So, why are you here?”
“You first,” George said, after taking his first sip of beer.
Jack’s face hardened. He looked as if George asked him to jump off a cliff. He silenced his voice, under toning the music. “I quit.”
“Huh?”
“I quit!”
George refused to believe it, even for a second. “Really? So, she just let you walk away. Alive?”
He rose from the barstool, paid his tab, and nodded at George in response.
“Hey,” George said, grabbing Jack’s arm, “where can I find you?”
Jack chuckled slightly. “If I’m lucky? Heh… Dead.”
The incongruity, in which he spoke, left George puzzled. He watched as Jack left; nothing in his step made him seem depressed. The light blinded him, as the door opened. He turned back to the bar, tapping his finger on the neck of his beer.
The bartender smiled at him. Her big, voluptuous, red lips stretched between her dimpled cheeks. “Anything else,” she asked.
Her palms faced down on a flat surface. No ring, George thought to himself. “Uh, yeah. Can you answer me one question?”
“Sure,” she eyed his silver bracelet, studying how two metal pieces rested on his wrist, “Military Man.”
Her elbow rested in front of him, and placed her cheek inside her upturned palm. She smiled, and bore her big, brown, eyes into him. “Your question?”
“Yes. Why are you so beautiful?” he said with a chuckle, as if he couldn’t believe he just said that.
“Wow,” she scoffed, eyes rolled. “Well, why do you wear your dog tags on your wrist, and not your neck?”
He paused.
“See? You don’t like answering uncomfortable questions, no more than the next person.”
She started to walk away. But, he stopped her. “Wait! I’ll answer. I’m not like the next guy.”
“Good, then I’ll tell you why I am so beautiful.”
He remembered a sunny day in a distant desert, half way around the globe. A terrorist had strangled his friend, Lt. Powell. Usually, that type of death was normal in that area. But, what he was strangled by could have been one of the worst ways to die; by his own identification.
He realized his face felt hardened. He relaxed into a smile, playing his bracelet. “It’s more fashionable here. I’m trying to start a new trend.”
“Okay, okay. Well, I am so beautiful because I wear make-up.”
“What?” George sounded sarcastic. “No, I thought that was all natural.”
His joking mannerisms did not go unnoticed.
She laughed, matching him. “Heh, trust me, if this was natural, then I would save me about three-hundred bucks a month.”
“Ouch, really?” he said, sipping his beer. “I love not being a woman, if it costs that much to be one.”
“That’s good, because I love how you are a man,” she said, rubbing his hand. It sent a tingle up is arm. Her touch warmed every inch of his body.
She leaned in, her lips just inches from his. He remained, feeling his heart pound against his chest. Her perfume intoxicated his every sense. Then, his phone started buzzing inconsistently. Before her lips were able to meet his, he apologized. “I have to see what this is about.”
She shrugged it off, and walked away.
“Dammit,” he said to himself. “I cannot catch a break.”
He walked outside, and checked his phone. It alerted him of Emily’s device location. She neared Meriden, not too far from the bar.
Chapter 15
Trudy sat across from Emily, at the breakfast table. She fiddled with her coffee spoon, exasperating a series of sighs.
She has a daughter. But, that wa
s all she had confessed. Trudy, however, pressed for more. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Emily looked down at her half-eaten omelet. She pulled her lips back in a straight line across her face. “I don’t know.”
“Do you still have the sonogram pictures, or did her adoptive parents take them?”
“They never asked for them.”
“So…” Trudy waited for a definite answer. She’s technically the grandma; she couldn’t figure out why on Earth she shouldn’t see them.
Emily realized what she was hinting at. She grabbed her purse from the floor, and began rifling through it.
Trudy patted her arm. “I’ll admit I probably would have gotten mad at you. But not because you were pregnant. I would have been mad at myself for not cherishing every moment we shared, better… For not realizing that time, has indeed, flew by.”
Seeing the sadness in her eyes, Emily instantly felt a twinge of regret in the pit of her stomach. What have I done?
Nevertheless, she comforted her mother. “I wish I would have known that. I never would have left. And living with you, I would have been able to raise my daughter,” Emily shrugged, “I guess I shouldn’t dwell in the past.”
She wanted to lighten the situation. Trudy smiled. “Are the pictures in your purse?”
The rooster clock ticked annoyingly.
“Yeah,” she said, speaking over the abnormally loud ticking noise. “I just cleaned out my purse and made a special spot for them.”
She re-checked her purse, raising her hands in defeat. “They’re not here. I swear they were just here.”
Maddie walked in. She over-heard everything. “Were they in anything?”
“Yeah. A small box with a lid. It had golden swirls of floral patterns on it.”
Maddie thought for a moment. Then a light of realization dawned in her eyes. “Oh, that is what that was.”
“What? You’ve seen it. Where?”
“On your nightstand. I thought it was a jewelry box. When I visited, I was going to go through it, but then you started to wake up.”
Emily remembered cleaning out her purse that night before. “Crap, you’re right. I need to go get it.”