by N. A. Cash
The set of shelves on the far right contained a multitude of colored dusts. I picked up a small container from the fourth shelf from the bottom; it contained a fine silver dust. The label on the container, in thick block letters, read Argenti. I took an empty vial from a nearby counter and carefully poured some of the powder into it. I then put the cap back on the labeled contained and put it back where I’d found it.
With a sense of purpose, I left the room with the vial and the flower. This combination may come in handy someday soon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
He replayed the information given to him over and over again. She can control the weather. He figured that would happen. Her gifts were strengthening as he imagined they would. The only thing that played out in an uncertain dark spot in his mind was whether or not she would use what she knew for good or for evil. He knew he had done a ton of bad things in his lifetime. In his mind, though, the people who he had directed his anger towards had deserved it.
He picked up the sheet of paper on his desk and read it again. He knew who it came from. It only could be Sultren. That distinctive curvy S always gave it away. It resembled a snake coiling into a wavy line, then doubling back onto itself, like it was trying to bite its own tail.
He remembered his first run-in with Sultren, in his younger and more restless days, only just hitting his late teens, trying to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life after high school. By that time, he ran with a dangerous crowd—some called it a gang—all looking for identity and meaning in their idle lives. They had just come from dropping off a stolen car for Mr. Cooner, a popular mob boss and illegal auto mechanic, and were walking down 5th Avenue, celebrating with a congratulatory gift of a bottle of Johnny Walker Black.
As they toasted and drank, he felt a squeezing sensation hit his chest. It wasn’t as he would imagine heart attacks would feel, from what he knew about them, but it felt as if icy hands had gripped his heart and squeezed hard, causing an irregular thump, thump. He stopped in the middle of the street to press his hand on his chest, as if that would have stopped the feeling. He glanced at his comrades who continued to celebrate. It seemed like only he felt the sensation. As was his natural tendency to be cautious bordering on paranoia, he swiftly glanced around him. He turned his head again and saw the dark figure lurking in the shadows in between two buildings near the street. He stopped cold, staring at the figure and sensed eyes staring back. It felt like the figure called out to him subconsciously, drawing him closer until his legs started moving towards it. As he approached, the figure moved deeper within the shadows, blending in to the darkness. He followed, not knowing what awaited him.
When he reached the spot where he first saw the figure, all that remained was a navy-blue hooded robe. He picked it up and inspected it up close. The material was soft, like some type of chenille and cotton blend. It had a large hood and covered his feet when he held it up to his five-foot-eleven frame. He rummaged around in the pockets of the robe. In one pocket, he found a note.
Wear this when approaching the ten-story red brick high rise on the corner of Chelsey and 3rd. Come alone. Midnight, tonight. We have urgent matters to discuss. S
In the other pocket, he found a small tin container similar to a pill box. He opened it and saw two round capsules containing a clear liquid. He picked up one of the capsules out of the box and peered curiously at it. The liquid swished slowly to one side, then the other, as he carefully shook it. He put the capsule in the box and looked around once again for the author of the note; he saw no one. By then, one of his colleagues had noticed that he’d disappeared and called out to him. He bundled up the robe, tucking it under his arm, and rejoined his friends.
He slipped out of his mother’s loft that night with a sense of anticipation. For fear of drawing attention to himself or looking like a fool while wearing the robe, he didn’t put it on until he arrived at the red brick building. It loomed like a sleeping giant masked by the silence of night. The absence of a door at the front of the building prompted him to move around to the side, which only contained high-rise windows. He spotted an alley towards the back and moved towards it; a solitary door greeted him. There was no lock on the door, only a silver handle with a hole for a key. Seeing he didn’t have a key, he spent several minutes searching and feeling around the door for one. In sheer desperation, he jammed his hand into one of the pockets of the robe, feeling the tin box. He pulled it out and tried pressing the box to the lock. It didn’t work. After studying the box, he noticed that it could be opened because of a small slot on one side. He opened the box and found several capsules with a small paper that stated in a fine writing that he should place the capsule in the lock. He obeyed the instructions and placed one of them into the lock. Instantly, the lock glowed softly and the door swung open.
Intuitively, he ascended another staircase to another keyless door and repeating the process with the other pill. The door opened, and he entered a massive room. Behind the mahogany desk slumped an older man. His flesh was wrinkled, like he’d sat in a swimming pool and a sauna all day. He was slim with a slight frame and frail build. The old man’s dull blue eyes were clouded over, and he wondered if the old man could see him. He waited by the door saying nothing, his breathing shallow.
“You’re just going to stand there?” the old man asked, not look at him but through him.
He walked farther into the softly lit room. Most of the lighting came from the outside of a bay window on the far-right wall.
“I’m…”
The older man cut him off abruptly. “I know who you are,” he said. “Sit.”
He sat in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. He always believed being direct was the best course of action in any situation. “Who are you, and why did you ask me here?”
The old man smiled slightly. “My name is Martin. Avery Sultren Martin.” His voice was soft but confident. “I am a businessman of sorts. I asked you here, because I know who you are, what you have done, and what you are capable of. I asked you here to give you a chance to do more and be better.”
Confusion swept over his face. How did this man know me? What did he know about me? His paranoid thoughts played through his uneasy mind. “What do you mean you know who I am? I never met you before!”
A smile tugged at the corners of Sultren’s mouth, lifting the wrinkles there a fraction of an inch. “Don’t worry, it’s not a trap. I’m not intending to harm you. You’ll be a valuable asset to me.”
“What do you want?” He then realized he’d spoken a bit too firmly, allowing his unease to betray his otherwise calm demeanor.
Sultren cautiously leaned his frail frame back in the chair, interlocking his long thin fingers over practically nonexistent abdomen—all the while staring right through to his visitor’s soul.
“You have a special gift, no? The gift of persuasion.” For emphasis, Sultren made a slight twirling gesture with his right hand.
He was shocked. How did Sultren know? He had been keeping it secret for years now. He, himself, just found out about it no more than three years ago. He had a gift, as some called it…the ability to bend people to his will. He came to think of it like hypnosis and still wrestled with figuring out how to use it for his advantage. He could summon his gift at will, as he’d done several times in school to get better grades, or to talk him and his crew out of trouble with the authorities. With diligent study and practice, he was able to use it when absolutely necessary.
“I may have such a gift,” he answered cautiously, inadvertently moving the chair back a bit from the desk. “What’s it to you?”
“I need someone with your…talents. You’d be handsomely rewarded.”
Curiosity peaked his interest now at the possibility of a payday. “Rewarded how?”
“I need your help in getting rid of a few minor problems. The pay will be forwarded to whatever account you would wish, once you get the job done. Let’s say we start at a fifty thousand dollar signing bonus
and move up from there?”
His breath almost stopped. That was a lot of money, more than he and his friends ever managed to get their hands on. Although worry nagged at him, curiosity and excitement overruled it and rooted him to the spot to hear the rest of Sultren’s proposal.
He spent several years working for Sultren. His special powers were required to gain information about the whereabouts of a certain family—the Patels. Sultren had extensive knowledge of them already, although all Sultren knew had to be supplemented with research of his own, which led to the job taking years of his life. He followed them and studied them. For now, Sultren just wanted information on them and their movements—where they were, what gifts they had. He had even involved himself in the kidnapping and questioning of a few of them. He had no problem with this; in fact, kidnapping had become his specialty. The pay was more than he had anticipated, and he built a considerable life and fortune for himself. Everything went well…until he met her. All in the same moment, the world he knew and had created for himself crashed, and a new one began.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I went to the college on Sunday, when I was sure no one would be on campus. I had previously called Dr. Brown and got permission to use the chemistry lab, which also doubled as a forensic training lab. I didn’t know how to extract the information I needed but, through vague language, had expressed my interest in the forensic sciences. Dr. Brown had given me the name of one of the best forensic scientists on campus.
The chemistry lab reeked of a mixture of chemicals. It was like any high school chemistry lab, with high-top granite tables and stools tucked underneath. Each table contained a Bunsen burner, a variety of test tubes, and glass containers filled with colored liquids. I navigated my way through the tables towards a tinkling noise coming from an open door at the back of the room.
I cautiously approached the room, pausing at the threshold and peering into the space awash in fluorescent light. Large machines stood to one side of the room, with tables arranged in the center. Shelves and tables on the other side held smaller machines, which I assumed were used for blood analysis and chemical composition examination. Several high-tech computers occupied tables against the back wall.
A man of slight build was slumped in the glow of one computer, his frantic typing and clicking indicating that he was working on something important. I cleared my throat loud enough so that he could hear me above the typing. His head snapped up, and he spun around so quickly that he lost his balance and toppled over to one side of his chair. With a loud thump, the chair hit the floor, and so did his head. After I noticed he hadn’t moved for a few seconds, I rushed over to him. I shook his shoulders roughly. “Sir, are you okay?”
When he still didn’t move, I did the only thing I knew how to do—I slapped him. He moaned softly, turning his head towards me. He pried his eyes open and squinted through thick glasses. Groggily, he opened his eyes wider. “Are you an angel?” he mumbled as he stared into my eyes.
“No, I’m Karma.”
I helped him to sit up. He swayed just a bit. When I saw he was stable enough to sit on his own, I got him some water in a paper cone cup from the nearby water cooler. I knelt next to him, tipped the cup to his mouth, and helped him to drink the water. After he finished, I rocked back on my heels and waited. He shook his head and looked up at me, finally understanding what happened. Red spots tinged his pale cheeks as he turned away in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry…you know, about earlier,” he stammered. “I hit my head…I didn’t see…”
I held up a hand to stop him. “It’s okay.”
With a warm smile, I slipped a hand under his arm to help him to his feet. When he stood, I studied his eccentric outfit. His loose-fitting brown and green patterned long- sleeved shirt was tucked securely in velvet tweed dark green pants that fell too short of his dirty brown boots. Red suspenders peeked out of his white lab coat. His sheepish gaze followed the path of my gaze. He held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Maxwell Dune, head of the Chemistry and Forensic Science Department.”
I shook his outstretched hand and glanced at his face. He appeared young. Too young to hold such a position.
He read my expression. “I graduated with my first degree when I was 18. I then completed both my doctoral degrees by the time I was twenty-five. They call me a child prodigy, but I just love what I do.”
He smiled shyly. I couldn’t help but notice his green eyes and his angelic face. He reminded me a bit of Cicely.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Dune.” I smiled at him.
“Please, call me Max.” He smiled wider now. “So, you’re Ms. Patel. Dr. Brown told me you were coming.”
I studied him for a little longer before turning to look around the room, then back at him. “What I have to say is important. I want it kept secret. Can I trust you?”
He looked taken aback for a moment, then he relaxed. “Ms. Patel, I have no friends,” he said, matter-of-fact.
I stared at him, wondering where this conversation was going. He blushed slightly, continuing. “What I mean is that I have no one to talk to, no one to tell. I’ve been a loner most of my life and working in this department, let’s be honest. Since shows like CSI, most kids think this profession is so glamorous…until they actually come to college and take a class. Then, with the hard work and the endless studying and memorizing of facts, they tend to drop out, one by one. There are a few who stick around, but this isn’t the most popular profession. All of that to say your secret is safe.”
My gut told me that I could trust him, so I dug in my shoulder bag and pulled out the plastic bags in which I had stored the piece of cloth and the camera lens. I held them out to him, and he grasped the tops of the bags with his thumb and forefinger as if they were contaminated and walked them over to an empty counter. He then rolled out a piece of thick plastic onto the table, opened the bags, and dumped both items onto the plastic. He studied them intently, his eyes darting back and forth, before he quizzically looked at me. “Back story?” he asked.
“Not yet,” I told him.
He shrugged and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Beginning to work, he scraped the dark stain from the fabric using a scalpel. He scooped up flakes of the substance with a tool and shook them into a test tube. With a glass eyedropper, he squeezed a few drops of clear liquid into the test tube, filling it halfway. After capping the tube and shaking it to mix both substances, he walked over to a centrifuge, stuck the tube in it, closed the lid, and pressed a few buttons. The centrifuge whirred, and lights flashed.
Back at the table, he picked up another glass container with a black powder, the camera lens, and a flared brush. Effortlessly, he dusted a bit of the black powder over the lens and then held it under bright lamp on the table. He leaned over, staring at the camera lens. After a few minutes, he straightened up and turned towards me. “Come.”
I approached him, and he moved over to let me see. I took the lens and stared at raised ridges where the black powder clung. “What am I looking at,” I asked.
“It’s a fingerprint.”
“I think I know who it belongs to” I said tentatively, concentrating hard on the image. My heart thumped at the confirmation of what I had seen in the video. The only thing was whose fingerprint this was. Was it A.W.N.’s or Aunt Vern’s?
He looked dismayed and dejected, like I’d robbed him of the big reveal.
“Well, I’m not completely sure of whose it is exactly,” I said. “Is there a way that we could find this out?”
His eyes lit up; his broad smile returned. “Well, we could compare it to another item that had the fingerprint you suspect on it” he suggested. “Do you have another item?”
I frowned as I concentrated. I was sure that there may have been something else at the house with Aunt Vern’s fingerprint still on it. I wasn’t sure how long fingerprints lasted on items though. I was completely sure that I didn’t have anything else with A.W.N.’s on it though. “I may have something else with one of the person’s fin
gerprint on it for confirmation.”
“No need, unless you want to go and get it.” He said this as he pulled a roll of tape from a drawer close by. He tore off a piece and carefully placed it over the print. When he lifted it, an exact replica of the print remained on the tape. He layered another piece of tape over it and slipped it in a scanner next to his computer. After scanning the image, he attached it to an email file, quickly typed an address in the Send To box, and clicked Send. “I have a lot of contacts in various fields across the country. I just emailed the print to one I trust. He should get back to me soon.”
I nodded, my smile a mile wide. Success? “Thanks so much for the help. I couldn’t have done this alone.”
“Anytime.” He smiled and blushed. “No really, anytime. I could use any distractions you want to give.” He walked over to the items, placed them back into the plastic bags, and returned them to me. “The data on the substance should be ready in about a day. You can come back for it then.”
“Okay. I’ll stop by this time tomorrow.”
I smiled at him again and walked towards the exit. I was secretly praying that this would reveal something that I could use.