Stasis: A Will Vullerman Anthology

by J. Tobias Buller

  The answer seemed to satisfy her. For a while, she said nothing, and Will continued working on the phone, trying to find the wire he needed to connect his comm. No good. His fingers were too thick. He dug in his pocket and came out with a pair of tweezers, using it to part the wires and look through the more delicate ones deeper in the phone.

  "Do you have a family, Mister Vullerman?"

  Will paused his work. Children could afford to be blunt, he supposed. "No. I had my grandparents, but they're...gone."

  "Oh."

  There was another moment of silence, and then she spoke again. "Didn't you have a mommy?"

  Will set the phone in his lap. "My mom left a long time ago." He didn't elaborate. Will's mother had left him with his grandparents after his dad had died. He barely remembered her now. But May didn't need to know that. The world was a hard place, but not to a girl of May's age.

  If only he could be as innocent as she was. People like her gave him hope. They were what the world hadn't screwed up yet.

  He picked up the phone again and poked through the wires with his tweezers.

  "Well," May said, breaking her thoughtful silence, "We can be your family, then."

  "Thank you, May." Will swallowed back the lump in his throat. He didn't have time to dwell on May's statement, however, as he found the wire he needed. "All right, there we go!"

  "What?" She glanced down at the dissected phone.

  Will gently pulled out the wire and cut it. "Here's the wire I needed to connect the phone to my comm." He took a wire from his comm and touched it to the one in the phone. A jolt went through his fingers, and the wire sparked. Will dropped the electronics with a grimace. "Ouch! Must have been the wrong one." He shook his hand, his fingers tingling and going numb.

  "Are you sure you know what you're doing, Mister Vullerman?"

  Will rubbed his fingers. "I guess not.”

  Mrs. Torrey swept into the room and pulled May to her feet. "Time for bed, May. Don't bother Mr. Vullerman, okay? He has to work."

  "He shocked himself, Mommy."

  Mrs. Torrey raised an eyebrow at Will. "Is that so, May?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Is that true, Mr. Vullerman?"

  Will grinned ruefully. "I'm afraid so. I think I'm done for the night, anyway. I'll continue working on it in the morning." He stood, thanked Mr. and Mrs. Torrey, and went to bed.

  But Will didn't sleep very well. Not that the bed was the problem. Much of the night, he laid awake and stared at the ceiling, the raspy voice echoing through his thoughts.

  I'll finish what I started. You can't hide. Because I'm coming.

  Sleepless nights had a way of dredging up the worst in him. His soul wrestled with the problem facing him and came up with nothing. And late that night, his conscience dug up something he had tried to forget. A family with an innocent little girl, and his mission to protect them.

  The one mission he had failed.

  ************

  Will punched a few buttons on his comm's keypad. "Error" flashed on the screen, and he sighed. Another failure.

  Will was familiar with modern-day technology, but wedding his comm with this dinosaur of a phone was proving to be a headache. Will had managed to connect the comm to the phone, but programming the comm to reverse the phone's incoming signal was the problem. He had been working on it for two days now, and all he had to show for it was a long list of what not to do.

  To make matters worse, Brownbarr had instructed him to keep things unofficial, so Will couldn't consult any of the ASP's resident tech geniuses.

  And in the meantime, the calls continued. Will glanced at the clock—it read ten minutes till six. In about an hour, then, the phone would ring. No way he would have this hack figured out before then.

  Will set down the comm for a moment and gazed out the window. A taxi sputtered past, leaving a trail of exhaust fumes behind.

  He heard footsteps behind him. Will turned and found Mrs. Torrey standing in the doorway to the living room. She gestured over her shoulder. "I've got everything but the potatoes on the table, if you'd like to join us for supper.”

  Will shrugged. "Sure, I'd—"

  Will's words were cut off by the loud ring of the phone.

  Beeeeeeeeeep.

  He picked it up, and the familiar "unknown caller" scrolled across the screen. What in the world—?

  The phone abruptly stopped ringing, and "new voice message" blinked on and off on the screen. An hour early—but why? He pushed the call button, and the message played, the same one that always played. With a beep, it ended.

  “What—what does it mean?” Mrs. Torrey's face was pale. “It always calls at seven. Always. It's never called earlier before.” She covered her mouth with her hand and tore her gaze from the phone, looking up at Will.

  Will set the phone on the table and frowned. “I don't know. I don't know what it means, but now we can't count on predictability. Once I get this comm connected to the phone, we need to be ready to answer it 24/7."

  Mrs. Torrey nodded. "I'll tell my husband." She turned and fled down the hallway.

  Will glanced at the phone again. Whatever it meant, he had to work, and fast. He felt, rather than knew, that things were progressing. Whoever was calling would make a move soon, and Will had to be ready.

  ************

  Will woke in the dark.

  For a moment, he blinked and stared at the ceiling. He started to roll over and closed his eyes, but then they shot open again.

  What had woken him up?

  The faint smell of smoke drifted into his nostrils. He sat up in bed like a gunshot, rubbing his eyes. What was burning?

  He inhaled deeply through his nose, and he caught it again, a smoky, sulfuric scent. It smelled like a match had been struck, nothing more. Mr. or Mrs. Torrey had probably lit a candle or something.

  But nevertheless, he glanced out the window. Nothing. It seemed like a quiet night. And late, too, a little too late to be lighting candles.

  And then he saw it. A dim, concentrated glow, barely visible, ten or fifteen meters away. Will stood up and leaned forward to get a better look, but as soon as he did so, the glow disappeared.

  Strange. He'd better check on things, just to be safe.

  Will dressed quietly and checked the clock. It was a little after two in the morning.

  He slipped out into the hallway and halted when he saw a soft light in the living room. He padded down the hallway and peered in; Mr. Torrey was on the couch, his head bowed and his blank touchpad in his lap, as if he had fallen asleep reading.

  He was about to slip back to his bedroom again when Mr. Torrey stirred. He stretched a little and looked up, blinking. He nodded to Will. “Mr. Vullerman. Is the light keeping you up?”

  Will shook his head. “No, no, you're fine. I thought I smelled smoke and got up to take a look around.”

  “I haven't smelled anything,” Mr. Torrey said. “If you're awake for a little while, feel free to have a seat.”

  Will sat down in a chair opposite to Mr. Torrey, gesturing to the touchpad. “Did you fall asleep reading?”

  “What?” Mr. Torrey glanced down at the touchpad. “Oh, right. Must have gone off. No, I was praying.” He leaned back on the couch, adjusting his glasses. “You a religious guy, Will?”

  Will shrugged. An odd question. “Yes, for the most part. My grandparents were Conservative Baptists. After they died, I slacked off on my church attendance somewhat. I've been trying to go more often.”

  Mr. Torrey nodded. “Will—you mind if I call you that?—I'll be honest with you. I'm at the end of my rope. There's nowhere else I can go. It's not just these phone calls—it's this house. The relocation program for American survivors is a generous international gesture, but I still have to pay fifty per cent for the house and all the bills. I still don't have a job, and we're several thousand short on this month's payment.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  Mr. Torrey laughed. “Not your fault, is it? Sur
e, we could borrow money from Danton, but I'm from the Bible Belt. Don't suppose you'd know what that is, but the thing is, I grew up paying for what I got. No debt. So far we've made it, but I don't know how much longer we can last.” He sighed. “Sorry, I'm unloading on you.”

  “No, it's okay.” It came out of Will's mouth before he realized it. “I don't mind.”

  Mr. Torrey stared out the window. “Thing is,” he said, “it's still hard. We've got all these great American testimonies on the news of people saved from a virtual apocalypse, but the news doesn't show the other side of it. The people we left behind. It hurts, Will.” Mr. Torrey's Adam's apple bobbed. “I've got friends that died—forty years ago. Mary's parents, too.”

  He laughed a little, but the laugh caught thickly in his throat. “I had the best in-laws you ever saw, Will. When the government called for volunteers to stay out of stasis to keep the country running, they were one of the few. A lot of people had to be chosen by lot—but no, they volunteered. Mary's got the same fire, but she doesn't show it too often. But believe me, she'd do anything to keep May safe.” His voice hardened. “And so would I.” Mr. Torrey looked over at the phone and then took in a deep breath.

  “I understand,” Will said softly. And he did.

  “So that's why, Will.” Mr. Torrey stared down at his touchpad. “That's what drives me to pray. I've got nowhere else I can go.”

  He stood up abruptly and tucked his touchpad under his arm. “I should be going to bed. Good night, Mr. Vullerman.”

  “Good night, Mr. Torrey.” Will stared up at the ceiling for a few moments before getting up and turning off the living room light.

  Will walked back down the hallway, but he didn't go back to sleep, not for a long while. He roamed the house, sticking to the windows and making sure there was no one out there. His sense of danger quieted through the night, but his sense of unease continued.

  When it was well after five, Will retired to his bedroom, satisfied that he had kept the Torreys safe for the night.

  ************

  "Mr. Will Vullerman is doing well, but he still hasn't figured out who's calling."

  Brownbarr frowned, drumming his fingers on the office desk. "He's the best of the best, Mary. He doesn't have our tech support, but he should be able to help you."

  He heard his sister sigh through the comm. "I know. May likes him, anyway. She's sure that he's going to solve the mystery and catch the criminal."

  Brownbarr chuckled. "I told you that you shouldn't be reading Sherlock Holmes aloud to her. At her age, Mary?"

  "She's the one who picked it out."

  Brownbarr could hear the humor returning to her voice, and he cracked a smile. At least he had brought a little light to his sister's day. "I know. She's a bright girl. I didn't read Doyle's stuff until I was in high school."

  There was a pause over the connection. "Well, I'll let you go. It was good hearing from you, Danton."

  "The same."

  They exchanged goodbyes, and then Brownbarr hung up.

  He sat back in his leather swivel chair. "You fail this, Vullerman," Brownbarr muttered, "and you'll no longer be an ASP agent."

  Still, he ought to cut the guy some slack. Brownbarr had seen Will's ASP entry records for technology. Will had long since improved, but he was far from the best when it came to tech. But Brownbarr couldn't assign anyone to help Vullerman out, since Vullerman wasn't on official business.

  He sighed. Sometimes being director was more trouble than it was worth.

  "Director Brownbarr, sir?" Jeremy Mothinghotch, Brownbarr's lanky aide, poked his head in Brownbarr's office. No knocking...again. "We've got a situation."

  "There's always a situation, Mothinghotch," Brownbarr said wryly. "Be descriptive. What kind of situation?"

  "Um," Mothinghotch said, stepping into the office. He fidgeted for a moment, which Brownbarr interpreted as a sure sign of bad news.

  "Now, of all times, you choose to clam up?"

  "Uh, sir, it's kind of...bad."

  "I gathered that much. Speak any slower and I'll die of old age."

  "Well..." Mothinghotch shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "You remember that you sent Mr. Dolo Tarent to investigate the American murders in the East?"

  "Yes, I remember. Any other useless information you need to tell me?"

  "Uh...Mr. Tarent was discovered dead in his hotel this morning."

  Brownbarr shot upright. "What?"

  "Mr. Rolvo begs your presence in the intelligence department. He can explain it further."

  Brownbarr glared at Mothinghotch. "You should have told me that as soon as you walked in the door, you nitwit! Withholding news of an ASP murder is worth more than your job. There have been three murders of ASP agents in our entire history. You get that, Mothinghotch? Three." Brownbarr slammed his comm on the table and stalked out of the room. "Get me Vullerman, Mothinghotch, and you might save your job."

  Mothinghotch followed Brownbarr out. "Mr. Vullerman is on vacation, sir, and you informed me that he was visiting your sister."

  Brownbarr swore. "I knew that, you dunce." Blazes, of all of the times for Vullerman to be gone!

  "Then why—"

  "Forget about it, Mothinghotch. Follow me to intelligence."

  ************

  "So what did you need?" Mr. Torrey sat down and put his elbows on the arms of the chair, leaning forward. “Did you find something that worries you?”

  “Yes and no.” Will looked up at the living room clock again, shifting into a more comfortable position on the couch. Nearly four PM. Still a couple hours to go. "You see, I think the man calling you could be watching your house. In fact...” Will paused. Should he tell them or not? He shouldn't cause them more worry than was necessary, but... “I'm fairly sure that he already is. I thought I saw something last night."

  “What? What did you see?” Mr. Torrey peered out the living room window, past Will's head. He visibly swallowed. “And—why hasn't he tried to break in yet?”

  "I don't know yet. But I kept watch." Will considered the situation for a moment. "Then again, the message always says that he's 'coming', so either the message is a fabrication to scare you, or I'm imagining things. But my intuition hasn't served me wrong before. I'd call the police to set up a watch, but I don't have any concrete evidence yet. Since I'm not on official ASP business, I can't use that as leverage, either.”

  “I understand.” Mr. Torrey gestured to the comm and the phone on the lamp-table. "What about your work?”

  "I've almost got it. I'll probably have it set up tomorrow."

  "Good." Mr. Torrey leaned back in his chair and pushed his cropped hair back from his forehead. "I'm ready to be done with this business."

  Will was about to say something more, but then something happened that twisted his stomach.

  The phone rang.

  Beeeeeeeeeeeep.

  Mr. Torrey's gaze darted toward the phone. Will glanced at the clock. Four PM on the dot. Why would the timing of the call change again?

  The phone stopped ringing, and Will grabbed it, pushing the call button to play the message. It played, but this time there was something different. The man's voice fell into silence, and for a brief moment, Will thought that the message had ended. And then, in a hoarse whisper, the man added, "I'm so close."

  Beep. The message ended.

  Will stared at the blank screen for a moment. "It's almost like it's counting down. But to what?”

  Knock knock.

  Will started at the sound, and Mr. Torrey jerked. Then he relaxed. “Just the mail. It always comes at four.” He stood up with a grunt and went around the corner to the front door. He came back with a handful of letters, flipping through them one by one. “Looks like a bunch of bills, as usual. No, hold on. What's this?” He pulled out a long white envelope. “Huh. It's got the right address, but the automated postal stamp is all weird.”

  “Can I see?”

  Mr. Torrey handed Will the envelope, and
Will inspected it. “It's almost like the postal computers were corrupted or had some sort of glitch.” Will gestured to the top left corner, where the computer had printed a string of meaningless numbers. “See, there's not a proper return address. May I open it?”

  “Sure.”

  Will tore the corner and used his thumb to gently rip open the rest of the envelope. He pulled out a piece of neatly folded notebook paper and unfolded it.

  The ink was a thick scarlet, and had bled a little through the paper and run on the page, like tears. There were only two lines, and Will read them silently.

  Row your boat, row your boat, life is full of dreams

  There's blood in the water and I hear the future screams.

  “What does it say?” Mr. Torrey peered over Will's shoulder, but Will folded the letter again before he could read it.

  “Nothing important.” Will shoved it in his pocket. “And nothing you need to know.”

  Mr. Torrey pressed his lips together. “Is it from...him?”

  “It's nothing,” Will repeated. “One thing is for sure, Mr. Torrey. I'm going to need to work faster.”

  ************

  That night, Will woke up again to the smell of a struck match. He rolled out of bed and peered out the window. There, the glow. The same glow, in the same place. Now that Will could see it better, he knew it wasn't the flame of a match. It wasn't bright enough. But what was it, and why could Will still smell matches?

  Will stood, and the glow winked out. And then he thought he heard footsteps on the grass, but they were so light that he wasn't sure.

  Will pulled on a shirt and padded into the hallway.

  "Mister Vullerman?"

  Will jumped, turning around and nearly smacking the shadowy figure. He recognized May, hair wild and in her pajamas. Will calmed down and whispered, "May, what are you doing up at this time of night?"

  "Why are you up, Mister Vullerman?"

  "I'm making sure everything's all right. I thought I heard noises outside."