The Arx

by Storey, Jay Allan

  He awoke feeling a little better and changed into the clothes from the bag. Patrons who were probably used to the outlandish sights of the Downtown Eastside still stared as he walked into the Laundromat wearing shorts, a tee-shirt that said ‘Vancouver Sun Run’, and gym shoes, and used some of what was left of his cash to run the washer and dryer. The rest paid for a cheap Bic razor.

  Dressed in his newly-laundered clothes and the gym shoes, he hit the nearest branch of his bank, convinced them who he was, canceled all his credit cards and arranged for a new one, and withdrew enough cash to last him a few days.

  Finally ready, he headed for Mountain View Hospital.

  Frank wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he met Ricky Augustus again. Two things nagged at him and convinced him that the quadriplegic was the key to the mystery. The first was Ricky’s eyes, hauntingly similar to those of Gloria’s kidnapped baby. The second was the simple fact that Ricky’s name was one of two on a list Frank was still convinced was a ‘hit’ list. Why would anybody go to the trouble to kill a mentally challenged, speechless cripple?

  The nurse had said they had no idea what had caused Ricky’s deformities. If whatever was behind the conspiracy he’d uncovered related to the side effects of a drug taken during pregnancy, maybe Ricky was living proof of that fact. Maybe his mere existence posed a danger to Kaffir Pharma and those who controlled it. If they got wind of Ricky’s existence…

  Then there was the supposed accidental death of Richard Carson. Was Carson really dead? Like so many aspects of the case, his death could be explained away, but Frank’s gut told him something more was going on.

  “Hi Frank,” Nurse Carstairs greeted him as he walked through the doors of the Mountain View Centre. “Good to see you back here.”

  “No offense,” she continued, “but you look like you’ve been through the wringer. Maybe you should come back after you’ve gotten some rest.”

  “I’ve had a rough couple of days,” Frank smiled, “but I’m fine. Actually, I think a little time with Ricky would pick up my spirits.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad someone is finally taking an interest in Ricky.”

  “That reminds me,” Frank said. “The first time I came here you said that nobody had ever visited Ricky. I was just wondering – is that literally true? No one has ever visited Ricky Augustus other than me?”

  Her brow wrinkled in thought.

  “I can’t remember anyone ever visiting him. I can check the records for you.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  She disappeared into a back room and returned several minutes later with a thin file folder.

  “I was almost right,” she said, smiling. “Apparently Ricky did have one other visitor, a couple of years ago. It was before I started here; a man.”

  “One visitor? Did he leave a name or address?”

  “No address. He was required to leave a name, but I’m not authorized to release that information. I guess it’s okay to tell you that it doesn’t really look like a real name anyway.”

  “John Smith, or something like that,” Frank said.

  The nurse nodded.

  “Can you tell me anything about him?”

  She thumbed through the papers in the folder.

  “According to this, he was a distant relative of Ricky’s. Ricky had so few prospects, and no one had ever come to see him, so I guess they gave the guy the benefit of the doubt.”

  As before, Nurse Carstairs led him to Ricky, who occupied the exact same space he had during Frank’s first visit. Frank asked her to bring him a chair and he sat down in front of the quadriplegic, who this time faced the room with his back to the wall. As before, Frank told her that her presence wasn’t required, and she went off to perform her other duties.

  Frank glanced around to make sure no one else was within hearing distance. Satisfied, he moved his chair right in front of Ricky and leaned forward, his lips close to Ricky’s ear.

  “I found a list with your name on it,” he said. “I think it’s a hit list. I think your life may be in danger.”

  Ricky’s expression seemed to alter slightly, though so subtly it was almost imperceptible. Frank waited for more of a response. Almost a minute passed. Frank was about to conclude that his theory had been wrong when Ricky’s fingers slowly crawled up onto the stick of his electric wheelchair and he swiveled around, first to one side of Frank, then to the other.

  At first Frank thought his host was trying to get away. Then he realized Ricky was checking that the nurse was nowhere to be seen. His suspicions were confirmed when Ricky quickly swiveled back to face him.

  Ricky stared into his eyes. It was unnerving. He had the impression that the crippled man was measuring him somehow, trying to come to some decision. After another minute or so of uneasy silence, Ricky spun his wheelchair to the right and Frank caught a slight movement of Ricky’s head in that direction.

  He was confused at first, but finally guessed that Ricky was motioning for him to move as well. He shifted his chair around so that he was once again facing the quadriplegic. Ricky continued to angle his chair away from the room, and Frank understood – Ricky wanted to be facing away from the rest of the ‘inmates’. Frank moved aside to allow Ricky to turn, then re-positioned his chair. Now their faces were both out of view of others in the room – Ricky because his back was to them – Frank because Ricky blocked their view.

  Ricky’s wheel chair crawled forward so that their faces were centimeters apart. To Frank’s shock, Ricky’s lips started to move. There was almost no sound, only eerie puffs of air coming from Ricky’s mouth – puffs that were nevertheless being shaped into something intelligible by Ricky’s lips. Frank tried to read those lips and strained to hear what Ricky was saying.

  Ricky had to repeat himself several times before Frank nodded that he understood, and he smiled.

  Rebecca Tells All

  The golden expanse of Kits Beach stretched out below them in the afternoon sun as Rebecca and Carla sat on the patio of the Boathouse restaurant. Toddlers plopped plastic buckets onto sand castles under their mothers’ watchful eyes. Shirtless teenage boys yelled as they tossed a football around. A wet and shaggy black Lab, a chunk of driftwood clamped in its teeth, waded on shore and drenched its owner shaking off the salty water.

  Rebecca and Carla had just finished a light lunch. Rebecca sat bolt upright in her chair, hands gripping her coffee cup. She’d made up her mind to tell Carla the truth. She’d be admitting to betraying a woman who had become, after only a few meetings, one of the best friends she ever had. But it had to be done, and the sooner the better.

  She was about to open her mouth when Carla spoke, “Something’s bothering you.”

  Rebecca felt herself blush. “I have a confession to make,” she said.

  Carla smiled at her, “Oooh, sounds serious.”

  “To tell the truth, I’m ashamed to admit it. I hope it won’t ruin our friendship. Before I say anything I just want you to know that I was just desperate to get to the bottom of what happened to my sister.”

  “Your sister?” Carla said.

  Rebecca stared into her cup, unsure how to begin.

  Carla touched her hand. “I can’t imagine anything you could say that would destroy our friendship. Go ahead, tell me.”

  Rebecca lifted her head and looked at her friend. “Well, the fact is that when I came to see you that first time, I wasn’t honest with you. I wasn’t working on an article at all.”

  “Really?”

  “It seems silly now. A friend of mine was helping me investigate what happened to my sister Gloria.”

  Rebecca explained the circumstances of Ralphie’s disappearance and Gloria’s suicide, the theory about the baby not being Ralphie, and the DNA test. Carla shook her head slowly as she listened.

  “This is the friend you spoke about before,” Carla said.

  Rebecca nodded. “Like I said, he’s got some psychological issues. I should have known better than t
o buy into his story.”

  Carla’s eyebrows knotted together. “So if you weren’t writing an article, what were you doing?”

  A gust of wind licked over the patio. Rebecca pulled a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

  “My friend had this idea… it’s embarrassing to even say it now – this idea that the kidnapping of Gloria’s baby had something to do with Kaffir and Olmerol.”

  Carla laughed. “Your friend has a vivid imagination.” Her expression turned serious. “So our friendship has just been a ruse to allow you to spy on me?”

  “That’s how it started out,” Rebecca said, “but that was before I got to know you. I really do consider you my friend. I’ve come to value our time together.

  “I hope you understand the context for all this. My sister’s child was kidnapped and killed. Then she committed suicide. I refused to believe that she could harm her own baby. I was desperate to prove her innocent. I was grasping at straws.”

  “I’m so sorry about your sister,” Carla said. “But – your little investigation is over?”

  “Yes. The whole issue is closed as far as I’m concerned. I told my friend to get help.”

  “And do you think he’ll do as you say?”

  “He’s kind of fixated, but eventually he’ll come to his senses.”

  Carla touched Rebecca’s sleeve.

  “So who is this friend?” she asked. The usual childlike quality in her voice seemed harder than before. Or was Rebecca’s guilt distorting her perception?

  “I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to tell you,” Rebecca said. “I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”

  “But I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Technically he wasn’t my client, but it would still be unethical for me to talk about it. I’m sorry the whole thing ever happened. I’m guilty of some bad judgment. Can we just forget about it and go on from here?”

  “Should I be concerned?” Carla said. “If some mentally unstable person is stalking me…”

  “He’s not like that. He’s just misguided.”

  Carla leaned toward her. “I know how it feels to lose someone you love. I know what it can do to you. I’m willing to put it all behind us.”

  She placed her hand on Rebecca’s. “But don’t you think I should know who your friend is, so I can protect myself? You admit he’s not your client. There’s no duty of confidentiality.”

  Rebecca had no compelling reason not to tell her about Frank, but a voice deep inside her said no. Again she refused.

  Carla let go of her hand. “I hope you’ll at least keep me informed if your friend indicates that he has any designs on me.”

  “He’s harmless, believe me,” Rebecca said, praying that she was right. “But if I ever feel that you’re threatened in any way, of course I’ll let you know.”

  Rebecca felt ashamed. She didn’t really know why she was refusing Carla’s reasonable request, but she didn’t change her mind.

  Death and Enlightenment

  “Find somewhere private we can talk.” Those were the words Ricky had spoken to Frank in his ghost-like whisper.

  Frank found Nurse Carstairs and brought her over.

  He nodded at Ricky. “Is it possible to take him somewhere outside?”

  “Ricky doesn’t cope well with change,” she said. “Are you sure he wants to go? Did you talk to him?”

  Frank tensed. “Talk to him?”

  The nurse laughed. “Well I know he’s not going to answer, but sometimes you can tell by his facial expression what he wants.”

  Nurse Carstairs leaned down in front of Ricky. “Would you like to go out for a walk with this man?” she said loudly, like she was talking to a child. Ricky was motionless for several seconds, but finally gave a barely perceptible nod.

  “Well,” she said, surprised, “he doesn’t seem to mind the idea. It’s a nice day. There’s a little garden out behind the building. Why don’t you take him there for now and see how it goes. Let’s limit it to a half-hour or so. Maybe next time, if there is a next time, you can take him longer. It might be good for Ricky to get a little outside stimulation.”

  She explained how to get to the garden. Frank walked along the dark hallway and down a zig-zagging ramp, followed by Ricky whirring along in his electric wheelchair. A small wooden gazebo stood in the center of a garden filled with ornamental shrubs and rose bushes. They moved up a brick pathway to the gazebo, and Frank sat on one of the steps.

  He did a quick scan of the garden. There was no one around.

  Frank moved his head to within a few centimeters of Ricky’s so that he could hear the faint whisper of the quadriplegic's voice.

  "We’re alone,” he said. Ricky nodded faintly.

  “So you can speak,” Frank said.

  "Apparently," Ricky whispered, with the hint of what, for him, was a smile.

  "But all the nursing staff think you can't. They think you're mentally disabled."

  Ricky gave a barely perceptible shrug.

  "So you've never spoken to anyone in all the years you've been at the hospital?"

  "No."

  "Why?"

  "D…Dangerous – g…give myself away.”

  "Well, why now? Why talk to me?"

  Ricky swallowed feebly, as if gathering the strength to speak.

  "You f…found me. Others w…will. When the Arx find me, d…death is assured…"

  "The Arx?"

  "W…What people you seek c…call themselves."

  "How do you know I'm looking for anybody?"

  "Know a…about me. No other ex…explanation."

  “Tell me about the Arx. Who are they?”

  “They are a r…race that live among you, but are n…not of you.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not of you’?”

  “They are like another s…species.”

  “That’s impossible,” Frank said. His knuckles were white on the wooden post of the gazebo.

  At that moment a small group of people appeared on the walkway and headed slowly toward them.

  “Somebody’s coming,” Frank said.

  Ricky’s hand moved to the control of his wheelchair.

  “Wait,” Frank said. “They said at the front you had a visitor, a couple of years ago.”

  Ricky was silent.

  “They’re still a long way from us,” Frank said, checking the strollers. “We’ve got a few minutes.”

  “Man,” Ricky finally spoke. “Tried to t…talk to me – was afraid. Y…Younger then.”

  Frank glanced down the walk. The group was admiring some of the flowers along the walkway.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ve still got time. What did he say to you?”

  “Said he knew M…Mother. Didn’t b…believe him. He laughed. Said I had n…nothing to fear – he’d been d…dead for years.”

  “What did he mean by that?”

  Ricky shrugged.

  Frank pushed on. “Why are the Arx after you?”

  “Would s…spare no effort to destroy me – m…might reveal their existence.”

  “Well, you’re still alive, so the guy I tangled with must have been the only one who knew about you. The names he had were yours and a reporter. You ever heard of a guy named Lawrence Retigo?”

  Ricky shook his head.

  “Maybe the guy wanted to use you as some kind of bargaining chip. He’s dead, so you may be safe – at least for now.”

  “If one l…learned of my existence others will f…follow. No consequence. Not afraid to d…die. You s…should be afraid. They know about me – will s…soon know about you.”

  “I think they already know about me.”

  “T…Then your death is a…assured.”

  Frank looked into Ricky’s eyes. They projected a deep-seated pity that made Frank’s hair stand on end. Ricky was absolutely convinced that what he said was the truth.

  Voices approached. The group was almost upon them.

  “We can wait till th
ey leave,” Frank said. “Maybe they won’t be long.”

  “T…Tired,” Ricky said. “Very tired.”

  Ricky was clearly not going to say anymore. They retraced their steps back up the path and hallway to the recreation area.

  “Tomorrow,” Frank whispered to Ricky. “I’ll be here.”

  ***

  Shortly after talking to Lead Detective Stocker, Deputy Chief Constable Harold Chase picked up the phone and shook his head slowly as he punched in the number. Chase had been in office now for more than two years. None of the Arx had been present at his swearing-in ceremony, but that hadn’t bothered Chase. Arx weren’t concerned about praise or acceptance from their peers. What mattered was position and power, and Chase had been the first to achieve such a lofty status within the police force.

  At the ceremony, Chase had appeared to listen intently to the saccharine speeches about his hard work, dedication, and competence for the position to which he had been appointed.

  While he was aware of every word, the greater part of Chase’s attention was occupied sorting through a series of mental images. The images focused on three goals: promoting the interests of the Arx, expanding his own circle of influence, and eventually replacing the Chief Constable himself, who under the appropriate set of circumstances could quite easily meet with an unfortunate accident.

  There wasn’t a universal respect among the Arx for his achievement. Many looked on the police as menial public servants. In their view, if you wanted to do something illegal, you simply paid off the right people. They didn’t appreciate what he could accomplish holding such a position in the outside world.

  Chase’s detractors had been silenced when he was called upon to help with the acquisition of Arx children. It was of critical importance that the acquisitions be seen by humanity as random, unconnected acts, preferably committed by some easily identifiable culprit such as a parent, or someone close to them.

  That meant that occasionally the investigating officers would have to be provided with a convenient body. The Arx connections through Kaffir to hospitals and the medical community allowed them to act quickly when a child of the correct age and size conveniently died. The target acquisition could then take place and the dead baby substituted at the proper moment.