“Sal, this is Special Agent Stan Decker, of the FBI. Since you took it upon yourself to murder a deputy sheriff, Agent Decker was sent down here to take a closer look at this situation. You want to try telling him your crazy story?”
I looked at the FBI agent. Agent Decker was a tall, thin black man, a man who looked like he had spent a lot of time in his job. He didn’t offer to shake hands, and I realized that he seemed to be looking at me with what I took for curiosity. Of course, I didn’t expect him to believe me, but that didn’t change the fact that I was telling the truth, just as I had said to the sheriff. I shrugged, and saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
“Mr. Jones,” he said. “I understand you’re claiming that you don’t remember anything about what happened last night?”
I shook my head. “No, Sir, I’m afraid I don’t. As I told the sheriff over and over, I woke up in the basement of the house, didn’t recognize where I was or anything around me, and made my way up the stairs. I was only dressed in boxer shorts, so when I saw a bedroom, I looked inside and found clothes that fit me and put them on, and was trying to get out of the house when I tripped over a man on the floor. He’d been shot or stabbed in the neck, I couldn’t tell which, but there was blood everywhere. I tried to help him, but he died, and that was just when the sheriff showed up.”
Decker looked at the sheriff and nodded, then turned back to me. “Sheriff Branson says you claim not to even know your last name?”
I shrugged again. “The only name I can think of myself by is Sal. That was the first thought in my head when I woke up, that I’m Sal. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the truth. The psychologist here gave me the last name of Jones, just for convenience, until they figure out who I am.”
Decker sat there and stared at me for a minute, while the sheriff just sat back and scowled. I tried to think of something to say, anything that would help them to believe that I was being honest, but there was nothing I could point to as evidence that I was telling the truth. In fact, all the actual evidence said I was lying.
Decker stared at me for several seconds, then turned to the sheriff again. “I’m going to suggest to your prosecutor that a full psychological workup be done on this man. I’ve done a lot of interrogations, Sheriff Branson, and I’ve never seen anyone who could tell a story as fantastic as this one without some sign that he’s making it up, but this man isn’t flinching. I’m not seeing the signs that he’s lying, and that’s pretty hard for me to believe, but still…”
The sheriff laughed. “Agent Decker, you think this man isn’t smart enough to tell a lie without blinking?”
“It’s not about blinking,” Decker said. “There are a number of physiological signs, little indicators that we are trained to look for when people are lying, and this man isn’t showing any of them. I’ve already seen your psychologist’s report, and she came to the same conclusion. I’m not saying what he’s telling us is the truth, what I’m saying is that everything I’m seeing tells me he believes that it is. There’s a big difference, there. I’m simply saying he needs more examination by a qualified psychiatrist before this goes too far.”
Decker got up and picked up his file. He looked at me one more time, and said, “Mr. Jones, I’m going to be looking closely at this case. While this would not normally be a federal case, the fact that a law enforcement officer has been killed does allow us to claim jurisdiction. For right now, I’m not quite doing that, but I will be working closely with the Sheriff’s office to try to get to the truth. I’ll probably be back to talk to you again.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said. “I expect I’ll be here.”
Decker and the sheriff both looked at me for another moment, then left the room. A moment later, a new jailer came to take me back to my cell. He walked me down the hall, and opened my door for me, but as I went to step inside I felt his hand grab the back of my neck, and my face was slammed into the wall. I bounced off of it, and spun, ready to defend myself, but he had already slammed the door behind me.
“That was for Kyle,” I heard him say through the door. My head was ringing, but I thought I also heard, “And that’s just the beginning.”
I reached up and touched my nose, and my fingers came away bloody. I went over to the sink and looked into the stainless steel mirror that was mounted to the wall above it. My nose was bleeding, all right, and I suspected it might be broken. I wiped away the blood, then felt my nose carefully. It seemed a little off, so I steeled myself and gave it a twist. I felt an incredibly painful pop, and then there was another quick gush of blood, but after I wiped it away, my nose looked more normal.
It still hurt like hell, though.
Chapter 4
I sat down on my bunk, trying to just think my way through the situation. I still had no clue how I had come to be in the basement, or why I couldn’t remember anything prior to when I had awakened, there. After speaking with both the sheriff and the FBI agent, there was little doubt in my mind that I was somehow involved in the deputy’s murder, but nothing in my memory would give me any sort of confirmation. I didn’t even know who I was; I was simply Sal, in my own mind, not Sal Jones.
I’m not sure how long I sat there, but lunch came while I was still trying to think it through. The meal slot flopped open again, and another tray and cup were shoved through. I accepted them, and sat down to eat. Lunch was a slice of something that appeared to be pizza, though it tasted a lot like cardboard, and a cup of Kool-Aid. At least it was nourishing, or so I told myself. I ate quickly, and when the trusty came around again, I passed the tray and cup back through the slot.
I had just sat down on my bunk again when I heard the buzzer and the door opened. A jailer stood there. It wasn’t the one who had slammed me into the wall earlier. This one told me to roll up my bedding and follow him. So I did.
He walked me down the hall to a door that was marked General Population. “FBI guy says we shouldn’t keep you locked up by yourself,” the jailer said. “We gotta put you in here with everybody else, now. Go on in, you’re going to cell D7. That’s on the upper level, the row on the right.”
The door buzzed, and I stepped through it to find myself in a very short hall. The door behind me closed, and another in front of me opened at the same time. I stepped through, and then that door closed, as well.
The room I stepped into had a number of what looked like steel picnic tables, all of them formally mounted into the concrete floor, and there were a few dozen men sitting around them. There were two televisions, one on each side of the room, and so much noise that it was almost impossible to hear yourself think, let alone try to listen to what was on the TV. I saw stairs leading upward, and remembered that the jailer had said my cell would be on the upper level, so I climbed up them.
A sign said row D was on the right, and I followed it until I found a door marked with a seven. It was standing open, and I stepped inside. There were two bunks, and the bottom already had a mattress and bedding on it, so I put my things on the top bunk. I had just gotten it all rolled out when I heard a voice behind me.
“You my new cellie?” I turned around to see a huge black man standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his massive chest, just staring at me.
“I guess so,” I said. “They just told me to come in here.”
He grunted. “Great. Just what I need. You ever do time before?”
I shook my head. “No, Sir,” I said. “I—as far as I know, I haven’t been convicted or sentenced or anything. I thought this was just where they keep you until you go to court.”
“Okay, first thing, don’t you ever call me sir again, you got that? I ain’t no sir! My name be Morice Jackson, but everybody call me Gunner. Got that?”
I nodded quickly. “Got it,” I said. “You’re Gunner, and I’m Sal.”
His eyes went wide. “Sal, huh? Well, Sal, they call this the Stevens County Detention Center, but they built it so big they can rent out space to the state prison system. Most of th
e people in here are state prisoners, doing time. If you got less than ten years, they can put you in one of these places.” He cocked his head to one side, and looked at me closely. “What they got you in here for?”
I let out a sigh. “Well, it appears that I may have murdered someone.”
Gunner’s eyes went wider, and he stared at me for a moment. “Murder? You murdered somebody?”
I shrugged. “That’s what they’re saying, that I murdered a deputy sheriff. I honestly don’t remember what happened, but he was definitely dead in what they tell me was my living room.”
Gunner shook his head. “Wait a minute, what? You saying you don’t remember, and you don’t know was it your living room or not?”
“I’m afraid that’s right. I woke up in the basement of a house last night, went upstairs and ended up tripping over this guy who was bleeding all over the floor. Then the sheriff comes busting in and says I’m under arrest for murder. The house was on fire, and burnt to the ground; they didn’t even get the guy’s body out of it.”
“And the dead guy, he was a deputy sheriff?”
I nodded. “Yeah, they tell me his name was Kyle Johnson.”
I didn’t think Gunner’s eyes could get any wider, but they did. “You capped crazy Kyle Johnson? Man, that dude was one of the meanest, craziest mothers in the whole county! How on earth you managed to kill him?”
I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t even know if I did; all I know is he’s apparently dead, and the sheriff found me kneeling over his body, so I’m the one who got arrested for it.”
This was a two-man cell, so the little table welded to the steel wall had two short bench seats that were also welded to it. I sat down on one of them, and leaned back against the wall. A moment later, Gunner sat down on the other one.
“So, what you gonna do? They offer you a plea deal, yet?”
“No, they just brought me in last night. The sheriff just asked me a bunch of questions a little while ago, and then this FBI agent came in and…”
“FBI? You got feds on you already?”
I shrugged. “They say it’s because it was a deputy who got killed. I guess that brings the FBI in, automatically.”
Gunner looked at me for a moment, then shook his head again. He stood up and started toward the door. “Man, you all messed up. Just try to stay out of trouble in here and don’t bring me no grief. Got that?”
I nodded. “I got it,” I said. “I’ll do my best not to cause you any problems.”
He paused at the door, and looked back over his shoulder at me. “Here’s the thing, man,” he said. “You want to stay alive in here, there are two things you got to remember. First off, you keep your eyes off everybody else—don’t look at nothing that ain’t yours. Anyone sees you looking at them or in their cells, you gonna get hurt, got it? Other thing is, keep to your own kind. You a white dude, so when we out of the cell, you don’t talk to me, and I don’t talk to you. You stick to whites, okay?”
I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “I can handle that.”
“Cool. During the day, most of us stay out in the day room. Watch TV, or there’s books out there, some games and stuff. Don’t try to get in on no games unless you get invited, though, that makes people mad. Best if you just stay to yourself until people start talking to you.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Another thing, they got gangs here. Are you a member of a gang?”
My own eyes went wide, and I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I said.
Gunner nodded. “Okay, then, when Aryan Nation or DWB start talking to you, you just tell them you roll solo. You don’t want to be in no gang, not in here.” He looked over his shoulder at me one more time, then stepped out the door and was gone.
I sat there at the table for a long minute, just trying to figure out how on earth I had come to be there, and how in the world I was going to survive.
Chapter 5
INTERLUDE ONE
I was twenty-nine years old, and already a billionaire. They said I was one of the whiz kids of the computer age, because I’d started making my fortune at the age of sixteen, when I wrote some software that proved to be better at computer security than anything on the market. I built a website and started selling my software through bulletin boards and tech groups and social media, and it got so many good reviews that by the time I turned seventeen, I had sold it to one of the big companies for more than thirty million dollars.
Of course, I already knew I was a genius. I had finished high school at fourteen, and was already in college by the time I made that first fortune. I majored in computers and computer engineering, and had a half-dozen patents by the time I was eighteen. One of those took digital compression technology into areas that were at least ten years ahead of what anyone else was doing, and so every computer in the world that was built since then has used my technology. Those royalties made me one of the top twenty wealthiest men in the United States.
The wonderful thing about being so rich was that I could continue my education, without having to worry about going to work every day. I continued to study, and got my degrees in medicine, bioengineering, genetics and other fields that most people thought of as the subject matter of science fiction movies.
I did my best to be a very private person. I managed to stay out of the news for the most part, and avoided social functions like the plague. At twenty, I very quietly married my long-time sweetheart and best friend since childhood, Elizabeth Harrison. We had two wonderful kids, a daughter named Janice and a son named Michael. Life was good, and it didn’t seem possible that anything bad could ever happen to me.
All of that changed two years earlier, though, when a chartered jet lost an engine while bringing my family home from a European vacation. The pilot radioed a Mayday, but he couldn’t keep it in the air, and the plane went down. It crashed into the ocean and there were no survivors. The search went on for weeks, but the only thing they ever found were bits of wreckage from the plane. The bodies were never recovered.
I had been in Brazil when it happened, working on a new project with one of the big tech companies based there. Of course, I flew home immediately, and hired a boat to take me out to try to help with the search, but to no avail. When I was finally forced to accept that they were gone forever, I decided that I just wanted to be alone. I sold off all of my business interests, set up a shell company, and used it to buy a house and car anonymously, then began drinking myself into a stupor most nights.
The trouble is, with a mind like mine, you can’t make it stop coming up with ideas. I tried, God knows I tried, but there was just no way. Gradually, the hours of drinking gave way to hours of scribbling notes on legal pads, running calculations on my laptop, designing circuits in my head that would drastically speed computer processes. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking.
And that’s when it hit me.
Quantum computing is the science of using what’s known as the quantum state of energy in order to speed computing processes. In a nutshell, what it means is that, while most computers operate on a binary system using 1s and 0s—which basically amounts to “on” or “off”—a quantum computer performed its calculations using many variations thereof. Instead of just having it either “on” or “off,” a quantum computer could use “on,” “off” or “partly off, partly on,” in an infinite number of variables in the “partly off, partly on” state. Instead of just using 1 or 0, it could use incredibly complex figures like 0.00497648 to represent some state in between. By doing this, it is possible for a quantum computer to perform an incredible number of calculations all at the same time, and small quantum computers had been invented already.
While I was doodling on my legal pads, I suddenly had an epiphany, a concept of how to take quantum computing to a whole new level, so that it could create what would essentially amount to a “subconscious mind” for a computer, a form of processor capable of making millions of decisions at a
time and delivering that gestalt to the operating system that would then control whatever mechanism was employed to take a resulting action.
I went to the computer and began running calculations to see if my theories might have any validity, and I was absolutely blown away to see just how simple it would be to accomplish what I was imagining. Like so many other things in science, the solution was little more than simply looking at the problem from a slightly different angle. That’s all I had done, but it enabled me to create a computer that could essentially think for itself.
I set to work. This would be my magnum opus, my great work, the legacy that I would leave behind me. I would create computers that would be capable of doing literally anything, and would change the face of the world forever.
Mankind would never be the same again.
Chapter 6
I decided to go out into the day room, just to sort of check out the situation. I didn’t know anything about being in jail, and appreciated the tips Gunner had given me, but I figured it was time to learn a little through experience.
I walked out of the cell and down the stairs, carefully keeping my eyes on the floor in front of me all the way. What Gunner had said, about not looking at anybody else, made sense to me. Eye contact, especially when it is unexpected or in a hostile environment, is often taken as a challenge. If you appeared to be watching someone, then I would imagine they would take it as a threat. Either of aggression or of snitching.
There was an empty table off to one side of the room, and I saw a small bookshelf right beside it. The day room was surrounded on three sides by glass, which was mirrored on the side I could see. There were a number of cameras around the day room, as well, so I knew that we were being watched constantly by the jailers, or guards or whatever they were called.
Thriller: I Am Sal - A Mystifying Crime Thriller (Thriller, Crime Thriller, Murder Mystery Book 1) Page 3