The Severed Thread

by Dione C. Suto

  “We should also ask him if he knows of any new friends or associates of Jason’s.”

  “Good thinking,” I said. “I can call Donald and arrange a time to meet with him.”

  “Ah… I already did it for you,” she said sheepishly. “I was banking on your liking the idea.”

  “Obviously,” I responded with a laugh. “Thanks Sam.”

  “No worries. By the way, he invited us for dinner. We are supposed to be there at six.”

  “Okay. How did it go with the agents earlier?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “It went fine. They wanted to talk to me, Johanna, Sal and a few others. They didn’t ask for anything in the way of records for now but they did warn that they might be back for more information later.”

  “Good. We can cross the warrant bridge if we have to.”

  “Did I mention that that Smathon guy is super creepy?”

  “Really?” I said sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed”

  “Funny,” she said. “You could have warned me about the dead fish handshake.”

  “Yeah,” I said dragging out the word. “Sorry about that. I forgot until it was really too late to mention it.”

  “Mmmhmm.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  “Look, you would have had to shake his hand anyway.”

  “True,” she said archly, “but at least I could have steeled myself first.”

  I laughed. “I will be back at the office shorty. I wasn’t going to come in but maybe I can get a few things done before we have to head out to the terminal.”

  “Alright, see you in a bit.”

  I stopped back at the office and had enough time to answer a few emails before Samantha and I headed out at five-fifteen to make the short drive to the terminal. Samantha had called ahead and gotten permission from the port. Upon arrival at the main gate, we were cleared through security and given a visitors placard for the car as well as name tags we were cautioned to wear at all times. We parked the car in the visitor’s parking lot adjacent to the main gate complex and from there we were escorted to the Lassiter Tempest by Port Authority personnel.

  Donald was waiting on deck for us when we arrived. “Abigail, Samantha, welcome!” His smile was bright but his eyes reflected a deep well of sadness lurking below the exuberant greeting.

  “Hi Donald.” I barely get out the words before I was folded into a hug. He smelled of oil and brine with a hint of musky shifter. “It’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you too, although I wish the circumstances were different” he said leaning back and giving me a soft smile. He then turned his attention to Samantha. There was a wistful yearning in his expression that I had never noticed before. Samantha and Donald had dated a few times in the past but nothing serious. At least that was her story. But seeing him look at her made me consider perhaps there was more to it, at least on his side of things.

  “Samantha,” he breathed before hugging her as well. I watched her face over his shoulder before looking away. She looked a bit tragic standing there stiffly while being embraced. Viewing the interplay was disconcerting because I was sure Donald could feel her resistance. “It’s nice to see you as well,” he offered lamely as he released her.

  “You too,” she said with a halfhearted smile. It suddenly felt very awkward standing there with the specter of some mysterious discord hanging in the air.

  “Well,” Donald said as he rubbed his hands together uneasily. “I arranged to have dinner in the meeting room. I thought it would be comfortable there and offer us some privacy. Why don’t we head up now so we can catch-up?”

  “That would be great. Lead the way.” I swept my arm out in front of me indicating that I would follow. As we trailed him inside, I poked Samantha and gave her a questioning look.

  “What was that?” I sent silently to her. She just shrugged and shook her head. I would be asking again later when we are alone. There was definitely more between her and Donald than she had previously let on.

  When we arrived at the meeting room, Donald sent a jumpsuit clad crewman off to the galley to get the food. The table was already set and there was coffee and soda on a long low counter anchored along one wall. We each got drinks and settled around the table while waiting for our dinner to arrive.

  “I assume you heard that Sal will be filling in for Jason?” I asked, trying to breach the tension.

  “Yes,” Donald nodded. “He was a good choice. I spoke with him earlier today about the logistics of our next trip. It seems like he has slipped into the role fairly seamlessly.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I asked Sal to delay our departure. I hope that is alright. We will have to give the crew some paid leave time as well as pay additional docking fees but I really wanted to attend the funeral. Unfortunately we were originally scheduled to leave in two days, which is the night before the funeral.”

  “I’m glad to hear you are coming.” I put a reassuring hand on his arm. “Jason would have wanted that. And, don’t worry about the costs, Lassiter Shipping can afford it. Ask Sal to handle any timing changes necessary for the shipments.”

  All three of us were silent in our thoughts when Donald asked abruptly, “So what happened, Abigail?” He looked haunted, this unanswered question obviously eating away at him. “I don’t understand why someone would kill Jason, let alone like that.”

  “I don’t know, but I can assure you that I plan on finding out.” I hesitated a second before continuing. “I was actually hoping that you might know something that would help.”

  “I didn’t see a lot of Jason the last few times I was here. I did have drinks with him back in August but he seemed happy. Normal.”

  “Well, we all know that Jason could get pulled into some bad financial ventures but as a rule it was something to sue over, not kill over.” I had been dishing out this half-truth to so many that it was slipping off my tongue with an ease that worried me. “I have been trying to figure out if he might have gotten mixed up with the wrong someone here at the port. If you think of anything odd, let me know.”

  “You can count on it.”

  We finished the rest of the meal sharing lighthearted stories about Jason. It was cathartic to speak of good things about my brother – of the love and affection for him we all shared. Even though coming here tonight was primarily an excuse to get out to the port, it ended up being a great evening. The interlude was an upbeat bubble of time within the greater sphere of stress and unrealistic timelines.

  It was getting late by the time Samantha and I finally departed with a promise from Donald to pass on any information he might pick up from the rampant rumor mill at the port. There was another awkward embrace between Donald and Samantha before we were finally off to complete the real task of the night.

  “Donald looked good.” I innocently looked over at her.

  “Yeah, he did,” she agreed as she continued to stride away from the Lassiter Tempest, refusing to look over at me.

  “You going to tell me about it?”

  “About what?” Hmm, someone sounded a tad surly.

  “Ha!” I snorted humorlessly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” My eyes slide over to look out at row after row of stacked containers before settling pensively back on her. She was running her hands through her hair restlessly.

  “Let it go okay.”

  “Sam,” I started.

  “Don’t Sam me,” she rounded on me, hands on hips, feet planted wide. “We’ve got a lot on our plate tonight. We are so not adding whatever may or may not be going on between Donald and me to the pile. Got it?”

  “I just hate to see two people that I care about obviously hurting,” I fished some more.

  “Uh huh,” she replied, humoring me. She started walking again towards our destination amid the sea of containers. “That and your elven curiosity cannot stand being out of the loop.”

  “Yeah well, that too.” I grinned and bumped shoulders with her affectionately.

  Ch
apter 11

  I’m not sure how Samantha did it but she easily navigated us to the spot on the pier were Sal had the containers staged. The two units appeared to be brand new. The gleaming white paint was not nearly oxidized enough to have made more than a couple of voyages.

  “Looks like we purchased two new containers recently,” I mused out loud. “I bet that was part of the planning. Replace the two units that had the similar numbers with two new, identical refrigerated units so McCallister wouldn’t notice the switch.

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Did Sal ask any questions when you asked him to move the containers?” I could only imagine what he thought of such an odd request. I walked over to the first container, the one marked with the original tracking number provided by Liam McCallister.

  “He started to ask and then gave me the oddest look,” she laughed at the memory. “Then he started grumbling about damn fools and storms brewing.”

  “I bet he did,” I chuckled while running my hands along the mechanism to open the door. The groan of metal pierced the surrounding silence. I winced and glanced at Samantha, both of us freezing for several heartbeats. When it was obvious no one was coming to investigate, I shrugged and went inside.

  The container had the typical metallic smell, overlaid with a briny tang and the musty fragrance of green bananas. Unripe bananas had their own distinctive pong that always made my tongue feel dry and puckered, not unlike the sensation I got when eating one.

  I walked the perimeter of the steel box, before going back to the very center and stopping. Sitting on the floor in lotus position I breathed deeply, attempting to block out any distractions. I focused on the residual energy coming from the previous contents of the container. Weeding out those that were only a soft echo, those were too old to be the one I was looking for. Instead, I concentrated on the strongest signature. A tug around my middle and like a vaudeville actor on a hook, my consciousness was pulled from the humid confines of the cargo container to the cool, dim expanse of a hushed warehouse. I was in a chilling room specifically designed to store bananas at 17° C until they could be transported out to supermarkets for sale. The key to shipping bananas was keeping them from ripening prematurely. They had been kept cool enough in the refrigerated container to halt ripening. Now they were getting a slightly warmer treatment to restart the process.

  Directly in front of me were boxes stacked six high on pallets. Without my physical eyes to aid me, I saw mostly by the glow of the colorful energy given off by the items in the room. Each pallet was glowing from the salmon hued energy of hundreds of bananas in their boxes.

  I moved to the other side of the stack closest to me. The pallets were marked with the transporter information - Lassiter Shipping and the receiver, Wholesome Food Marts. These were the crates I assumed that McCallister had inspected in the container. I could even feel a trace of Lok’s energy signature still present and it had a red, angry radiance. His glowing red handprint could be seen outlined on one of the boxes.

  I made a mental note of the building and location of the pallets before allowing my consciousness to return to my physical body still seated in the container. I blinked up at the familiar and anxious face of Samantha. I put my head between my knees as I attempted to shake off the sense of unbalance I always felt as I settled back into my body. It was more than a little disconcerting to be unaware of what was happening here while I was away.

  “You know that is really creepy, right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, unfortunately I do know,” I muttered as I pulled out my phone to check the time. I was surprised to see that nearly a half hour had passed. It had seemed like only two or three minutes.

  “How did it go?” Samantha asked anxiously.

  “Well, I know that there were definitely bananas in this container. They are currently still at the port in cold storage. I also know that a very unhappy Lok was in the container with the bananas at some point. His residual anger was palpable on the crates. Beyond that…” I trailed off shaking my head.

  “You got an actual reading on Lok?” Samantha asked in surprise.

  I nodded, rising to my feet. “Now I need to get into that other container.” I had a feeling that was where the answers lay.

  “I’ll go get the doors open.” I watched her retreating form as I attempted to stretch out the discomfort that had settled into my muscles after sitting so long in one position. I stiffly hobbled to the door, my kinks working out a bit more with each step.

  I took a deep breath of fresh air upon exiting the first container. The port was shrouded in the gentle sounds of the night, oblivious to the problems I faced. I could hear the rhythmic lapping of water and the distant hum of the traffic from the interstate. I drug my attention back to the task at hand, striding to the second container which Samantha already had opened. I hoped that this one revealed more than bananas in cold storage; otherwise, I was going to be overseeing at least twelve illegal shipments for McCallister over the upcoming year. Not an obligation that I was looking forward to fulfilling.

  “Good luck,” Samantha said with an encouraging smile.

  “Thanks.” I gave her arm a quick squeeze as I passed.

  Samantha waited on the pier while I stepped into the second container. I immediately felt the difference in the residual energy present here. The metallic bite was the same as was the dry pungency of unripe banana but something else was layered in between. It was musky and captivating, like the fragrance of your skin after a day at the beach; warm, familiar, laced with the tropical scents of suntan lotion and salty air.

  Again, I walked the perimeter of the cargo box before settling in lotus position in the center of the floor. I took a moment to clear my mind of all distractions before focusing on the strongest residual energy signature. I was again tugged away by the pull of energy to another location. This time though, instead of finding myself in a cool warehouse, I was standing in a club looking at the strobe images of bodies gyrating in a musky miasma of pheromones. The riot of color from each person’s glowing energy signature combined with the smoky fog coming from machines somewhere at the perimeter of the dance floor was disorienting. But despite my momentary bewilderment, I had the overwhelming sensation of euphoria and well-being. I wanted to touch someone. I wanted to be touched.

  Somewhere in my mind a little voice was trying to make me understand that something was terribly wrong. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen when I used my Location skills. I was always a voyeur, never the participant. Unfortunately, I seemed to only respond to the much louder voice urging me into the crush of bodies in front of me.

  I moved forward into the embrace of the swaying mass of sweating figures. My gaze hungrily roamed the crowd before coming to a momentary halt on one figure in the distance. I had a momentary sense of repulsive familiarity but was too distracted to ponder the person’s identity for long. A bevy of delectable options lay within easy reach.

  I stretched out to touch the nearest bare male chest, my hands unable to make contact with the body I could so clearly see. Perplexed, I made another attempt to bring myself in contact with warm, male skin. Again my fingers dance through the air. I was drunk on the compulsion to touch, grasp, feel. It has been so long since I felt such an overpowering craving for sexual contact. In desperation, I tried again and again before finally coming up against what my lonely fingers had been looking for; a hard male chest. The smooth feel of fabric under my fingertips was perplexing. I know I saw skin. Why was I touching a shirt?

  I took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance of the man in front of me. The momentary concern floated away on the tide of raging sexual need. His scent was intoxicating. I inhaled again and ran my tongue along my lower lip, biting it in anticipation. His nipples were hard pebbles under my fingers. I could not wait to leave a dewy trail of moisture over every inch of his skin, starting with those twin nuggets. Just as I leaned forward to engage my mouth in the explorations my hands were already enjoying, a vo
ice rang in my ear.

  “Abigail!” I dimly recognized the voice. Samantha? What was she doing here?

  “Abigail!” I detected a note of urgency through the haze of desire. I lazily opened my eyes to find myself standing directly in front of a man wearing a black linen shirt with the top three buttons opened to reveal a few tantalizing wisps of chest hair . Both of my hands were splayed upon his chest and my nose was mere inches from his throat. My eyes traveled the line of his neck to the strong jaw and finally to the heated gaze of Liam McCallister.

  His eyes darkened as our eyes locked. Clearly he had also been affected by the encounter. Meanwhile, the spicy male scent of him continued to wreak havoc on my senses. I needed to get away from him. Now! I stumbled backwards in an attempt to extract myself from the allure of his body, barely catching myself on the wall behind me. I was breathing heavily, a lingering effect of our sexually charged encounter.

  “Well, well Abigail that was a most interesting moment.” He leaned into the space I had previously occupied, smiling lasciviously. “Do you make a habit of molesting men in cargo containers?” he asked in an amused voice.

  I looked at him, momentarily seized by the memory of wanting to lick his entire body. I could almost taste the salty tang of him in my mouth as a fissure of warmth spread low in my belly. I swallowed back a twinge of regret before quickly turning away, blushing darkly at the realization that he could surely detect the lingering effects of my arousal. I pressed my forehead against the cool metal wall as my disappointment was rapidly replaced by the fire of humiliation currently burning a heated trail across my face.

  McCallister grabbed me by the arm and spun me back around to face him. He looked at me intently, the mischievous smile slipping from his face as his features settled into a scowl. He was angry. Tendrils of darkness erupted from over his shoulders, clinging to him like living cobwebs.

  “Your pupils are dilated,” he said grimly. “Are you taking some type of drug?”

  A drug? What was he talking about?