“Okay, calm down there. Who are you, Rod Serling?” Hunter plopped himself into his springy office chair. Leisurely, he held his head on a tight palm and groaned.
“Just think about what I said, alright? The case is in good hands.”
“I know. I know. I’ve had the same thoughts too. It doesn’t all make sense. We don’t even have a damn murder weapon!”
“It’ll be over soon. The FBI will do the country good.”
Guajardo vanished through the doorway. Hunter always considered himself a rational man. He knew that everything going on around them from the advanced weapons to the strange ritualistic killings could not all be traced back to people who couldn’t even legally drink. But his natural stubbornness was too strong. He was going to get to the end before anyone else.
“What do you think?” asked Elder.
The other man took a long hard stare into the doctor’s cold icy eyes. When it fully dawned on him that he could not have gone to all those lengths to concoct a story of that much scale, a psychotic smile appeared on his face.
“What could possibly have happened to you for you to become that manipulative?” Patane marveled. He took a soft sip from his now warm glass. He had completely forgotten about it halfway through the story.
“Too much. But it has become a useful quality, so I don’t mind it.”
A loud chime suddenly chirped from somewhere near. Elder motioned an arm over to the central table in the corner. One of his many cell phones was plugged in to charge. With a quick slide of one finger, he left the phone alone and returned to his company.
“Problem?” Patane indulged another gulp of whiskey.
“Quite the opposite. It was a notification from our friend in the White House. The plan is still a go. Twenty-four hours from now the world will be a completely different place.”
“So I take it our more vicious products are all in line?”
“That’s right. Remind me, when we made our werewolves, what came first? The man or the wolf?”
“I don’t remember.” The captain laughed. “Anyway, there’s still the matter of the other watch. May I remind you that you only possess one?”
“That’s right.” Elder extracted the watch from his white suit pocket. He held it up into the yellowish light as if it were dripping with something radioactive. On the back of the golden plated time teller was one word. One word that had stuck with him for many years past, and at this rate, would continue to hover somewhere in the distance. Buchanan.
There was nothing on TV. There wasn’t even any of her favorite holiday movies that were painfully played on repeat on some of the channels. With the house having been dressed with jolly joy, from lights, to a tree, to a candy cane walkway, Lindsey’s house basically mirrored something out of a cartoon. Just without the snow. She was just about to make some hot chocolate and make a futile attempt at contacting any of the members of the raven gang when her father joyfully barged in. Practically catching his daughter contacting high-ranked fugitives, he tossed a bag on the dining room table and hung his coat.
“What are you doing home so early?” the detective asked his daughter.
“Dad, it’s six o’clock in the evening. My last class ended before noon.”
“Oh, I guess I’ve been working too much.” he routinely covered his coat with his scarf and hat. “But no matter. I have a feeling that everything will come to an end shortly.”
Lindsey tried not to look nervous. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say that if by some miracle I still have that birthday present you gave me eight years ago, I’ll know for sure who killed that Doctor Black tonight.”
“But didn’t the FBI take over that case?”
He didn’t hear her. But a look of enlightenment beamed from him. “Aw, damn. I’ll bet I put it in storage.”
As he was once again heading back out, he retrieved his winter wear and made for the door. “I’ll be back before you know it. If it’s not me or mom at the door, don’t let them in.”
Lindsey hurried over to the window. Once her father had driven well out of sight she flung herself over the sofa and into the dining room where the brown paper bag her father brought back lay. She carefully opened it with two fingers. Peeking in with one eye, she knew instantly what it was. Shifted right side up and pointing at her accusingly was a battered up video camera. She had no idea how her father retrieved the small bit of technology, but she knew what she had to do.
Things were less sullen in their humble confines. As much as the deaths in the city were weighing on them, they had gotten to be a happier group. Patrick was seated on the couch, sipping hot chocolate out of an old mug. He still sported what the gang’s only style of clothes was: a black t-shirt, with dark blue pinstripes and pants. And Slate did finally get used to not wearing a dressy button down.
He took a moment to turn to the hazy sky outside. A full moon’s radiance was artistically masked by the clouds around it. To him, it was a beautiful scene worthy of capture.
He came back to earth when someone took the seat across from him at the other end of the table. “I saw you looking at the book. What did you think?”
“You’re right. I guess he had a really good imagination, not to mention some of the drawings.”
“Look, Patrick.” Gary shifted himself until he was directly facing Patrick. “What I said earlier about your dad. I mean, I really believe it, and I’ve believed it for most of my life, but I never looked to see what kind of person he was. From what I read, he seemed like a passionate person. Someone who expressed himself more in his writing than he probably just couldn’t any other way. Basically, I mean to say that I’m sorry I’ve felt that way for so long about you. Despite what I think he did.”
He accepted the apology with a smile. He knew Gary had been right with what he said about him wanting to push his own father away. Something in him no longer wanted to keep those tumultuous emotions to himself. Like a typhoon through a house of cards.
“But there is going to be something I won’t get over.” Patrick said.
“What would that be?”
“If that’s true, about my father, then I need to tell my family.” He looked away, drawn into a sentimental trance. “It would be wrong to keep this to myself. But his wide authorship has earned him praise that will always that. That inspiration that he had on people, it’s surely done a lot of good. I don’t want to take that away.”
For a moment he paused. “It makes me wonder. How do you quantify meaning? How do you quantify pleasure? Where is the meaning? Where is the inherent morality by which we’re supposed to be guided? Everyone’s is different so what’s even the point?”
“I think you’re thinking too hard about it.” Gary concluded.
“Now that’s something I’ve never been accused of before.” he laughed.
“I don’t believe there’s a point in assigning a meaning or value to something that’s always changing and is so random. Before you can know what the world is for you need to know what you’re for.” They were no longer looking at each other. They were both glancing fondly over at the rest of the members huddled in some kind of game on the other side of the room. Whatever they were doing, they released a giggle every few seconds. It was a sight they both enjoyed. “And that’s the thing about people. They’re so concerned with their image or their achievements and status. That’s where everything goes to hell. I think that if everyone just stopped and accepted that they were born into existence by accident and that they didn’t work for their given life; that we are all simply bound by destiny without as much of a peep of our own say in it, then we’d all have a merrier Christmas. People don’t have natural rights, free will, or anything like that. It’s all made up to make us feel good.”
“I get it.” Patrick replied after some moments of reflection. “I really do. Looking around at all of us: the doct
or, the artist, the musician... the bat, and the weird one, no offense, it just makes me wonder by what messed up force did we all end up here? And it makes me wonder about myself. I don’t have a label. Nothing has made me feel like I have meaning. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in the end of a video game. How you feel after you’ve already completed the story and you have nothing to do but screw around aimlessly. What if that’s all I’m doing, just screwing around?”
He stopped to take a long rich sip from his mug. The warm rush of chocolate milk calmed his mind. He felt he had no more words to say. He peacefully absorbed the positive vibes around the room. As he lowered the cup and wiped the milky mustache off his lips, he smiled.
Gary nodded. “I may not know at all what I’m talking about, but you seem to like everything you’ve done at Weller so far.”
“Maybe, I usually think I do. Between my chemistry labs and the other classes I’ve had, I do consider myself a good student. But I can never shake the feeling hovering over me that I need to do something better, something that actually gives me excitement.”
“What exactly have you been doing the past couple weeks?” Gary smirked. “I think most people would say that worrying about classes and grades is bush league compared to what we’ve been through. How many people almost get killed by an exploding truck while running from the police?”
“Can’t argue there.” he jovially snorted.
Perusing the situation, Patrick felt like he was at one of the birthday parties of his youth, just without everything that would pretty much constitute a birthday party. He did have friends and desserts though. Memories of his parents’ enthusiasm for his parties made him smile. He remembered his father forcefully stuffing children’s fantasy books down his throat, which Patrick happily accepted as his identity. The fantasy themed parties were some of his favorite childhood memories, and after the still innocent age of nine it was all gone. The inexplicable death of his father made him want to toss all beliefs of miracles and magic away. But now, in the charming holly jolly season upon them, and after everything he’d been through in a matter of days, the feeling was returning to him.
Reminiscing his past, he almost forgot he was having a conversation. He remembered something still went unanswered. “Can I ask you one more question?”
“By all means.” Gary said.
“Why were you so interested in my watch after you saw it at the coffee lounge?”
Gary once again arched his body to face him, framing a suspenseful grin. He reached down into his pocket and mysteriously revealed a single content. Patrick felt himself turn to stone. Dangling between two fingers was something he always made sure to carry around with him. Before he could say anything Gary shoved it to his side of the table. “I have the same one. The exact same watch.”
It was an exact copy. Every functional and custom detail was identical. The gold coated chain that carried its body was precisely the same length and weight. Everything to even the same little company icon on the cap could not be more similar. The only difference that he could find was the work of engraving on the back. Right where his own surname would have been labelled was the family name of the guy sitting next to him. Frost.
While Gary continued to smile something was forming in Patrick, frantically rising from his subconscious. Piece by piece the puzzle was coming together: the watch, Gary’s father, his own father, Edgar, every variable harmonically fitting together to make one grand portrait. With the brush of an epiphany, Patrick felt that he was seeing things clearly for the first time.
“My God.” he whispered. “We are all so stupid!”
“Huh?” Gary coughed, but it was no use, Patrick was indulged in his own thoughts. With an instant burst of speed he called for everyone to gather around him, dispersing them away from the far progressed game of monopoly they were engaged in. When they all formed before him taking their seats, eyes sprinkled with confusion as he began a speech that he knew would enlighten everyone.
“We’re all going about this all wrong! This whole time we’ve been thinking that this secret group, whoever they are, has been after us because they thought we saw something that we shouldn’t have seen about the murder.”
“I’d say that’s a valid assumption.” Slate affirmed.
“I think I’ve found a better one. Remember a while back when we first talked to Edgar here in the cabin? Remember what he wrote? He wrote that Doctor Black wanted Gary at the party because he needed something from him. Isn’t that right?” He looked over at Edgar in the back, whose interested expression urged him to go on. “Well I think I know what that is.” Patrick dashed back to the table, still being the main focus of attention. He swatted the watch in his grasp, flashing it like it was the Holy Grail. “This is what he was looking for. This watch.”
Jane gasped. “But isn’t that-?”
“This is Gary’s. It looks exactly like mine, I know. Don’t you see? Whoever Doctor Black was working for stole mine, and then they wanted this one too.” Patrick suddenly realized that he was waving his arms around like a mental patient, and resolved to contain himself. “Gary, tell us when you got this watch.”
“When I was five, just a few days after my dad died. I was told he would have wanted me to have it.”
A score of gasps waved across the small crowd. Everyone knew that it was too much to be a coincidence.
“You all know I got mine under the exact same circumstances.” Patrick continued. “Our dads were involved in something big. Whatever it is, someone somewhere wants these watches that have long been hidden.”
“Wait a sec.” Johnny leaped from his seat to retrieve the large anthology burgled from the bank. “We must have overlooked something somewhere. This needs to have a meaning. Maybe a hidden flap or something.” he sped through the pages with velocity and determination.
“No… no… not that.” Gary moved to Johnny’s side and asked to see the book. “But if were now sure there’s meaning here, I may know where to look.” He flapped back to the first few pages. “See these numbers here?”
Johnny bent over, eyeing the strange series. “These things definitely aren’t supposed to be here. But they’re just a bunch of 1s and 0s. Worthless.”.
“1s and 0s?” Jane asked. “Let me see that.” Three people were now congregated around the book. Gary and Johnny stepped aside to make room. “Just as I suspected. This is binary code.”
“You know how to read binary?” questioned Patrick.
“It was a requirement for a 500 level class. You undergrads wouldn’t understand. I think these sequences represent numbers, and considering these dashing lines, each number may represent that number word on the page, and each page represents the next number in the sentence. Each page has got at least one number, we must be on to something.” Jane was firing her words so fast everyone thought she was going to pass out. “I think what we got here is a secret message.”
The gang decided it was worth to give it the ol’ college try. Jane worked on determining the value represented by each sequence while everyone else scribed them down in the order in which they appeared, like some kind of kindergarten learning activity. After about a minute Jane declared that the words they were finding did indeed make sense when put together. Eventually after much decoding, the message was complete. Jane stepped forward and volunteered to read the developed paragraph.
Clearing her throat, she began anxiously. “It has been a long time coming, but now I feel my work is almost over. What I, Doctor Jefferson Black, have accomplished over the course of my once promising career has been nothing but evil. Unbeknownst to anyone except for my boss, who goes by the code name ‘Elohim’ to haven his actual identity, I have created the first in what will be a whole line of super-intelligent animals, for reasons even I am not wholly sure. The first one, a vampire bat from Peru, has been codenamed ‘subject zero’, and it has not been very cooperative, so we’ve had t
o take special measures.”
“Hey, that’s Edgar.” Slate contributed before being hushed.
“I believe the results were promising, though I was told to do more. Much more. I can’t even imagine all the pain I have cruelly caused. For that I will never forgive myself.”
Patrick shyly looked over at Edgar who was standing beside Gary. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he looked depressed. His ears drooped, and his eyes refused to keep open.
“But I’m not making any full confession. That will come later. In a way I hope someone finds this message before it is too late. Maybe that’s why I’m writing at all. While there is still time to stop me, and I can pay the price for my wicked deeds. And most of all for the downfall of Doctor Samuel Elder. The deplorable mastermind that tragedy and grief have bred.”
“What!” they all exclaimed in unison.
Behind them on the TV the next segment of the news had just begun, and their first topic of discussion was the increase of violent crimes committed by the raven gang, and the increasingly unsettled nature of the American people. Their first image: Doctor Elder, the man credited with helping the police with their investigation.
“That guy? The one who wants to “honor” his friend by catching us?” Gary raged.
“It makes so much sense.” Patrick’s eyes were the size of the moon. “The brilliance behind it.”
“He’s promoting his own company while supplying all the crime.” Jane added.
“Everything, this whole thing. He was afraid Black was going to say something and Elder must have had him silenced.”
The Raven Gang (Noble Animals Book 1) Page 18