Stillness

by Eldon Farrell

  “You’ll be all right Eddie,” he comforts him as he’s hurried to the truck. Climbing behind the wheel, Robert abandons the burning house and the block—leaving it in the hands of an angry mob.

  Rocks and another bullet chase the truck down Division Street onto Thatcher Crescent. Robert can hear the pained cries from Eddie as his fellow men try their best to keep him comfortable.

  Turning around on the crescent Robert guns the engine and speeds back towards the burning house and the gathered mob.

  Without slowing he scatters them from the street and heads off into night to find help for Eddie and safety for the rest of them.

  The sounds of Robert cursing and Eddie screaming and the town burning trailing closely on their heels.

  “Justin man what the fuck?”

  Eli Jennings grabs Justin by the sleeve and twirls him around. “What the fuck are we doing here? We’re supposed to be going after the public health building.”

  Justin Badger eyes the woods at the end of Valley Road like a hawk spotting prey. Shaking loose from Eli’s grasp he fires back “That fucking loser reporter is in there man. What’s the matter with you? This is fucking perfect. He’s alone and on the run.”

  “Who cares? The police will squash this riot soon. Now’s our only chance for revenge. That’s what this has all been about. That’s what you said!”

  “I know what I said! Fuck Eli! You want to go to the public health building then go! But we got hunting to do first eh boys!”

  A bloodthirsty roar rises from the mob and precedes their charge into the woods. Their number has dwindled as the night has worn on and now they have only nine men assembled to flush out their prey.

  But Justin knows it’ll be enough. A fine idea he had to call in that phony story to get the fucker out in the open. If it weren’t for that shithead stirring up trouble, writing his stories none of this would be happening. Now he’s going to get his.

  The thought brings a sick smile to his lips. There’s a certain poetic justice in it all.

  “Jacob!” he yells at the top of his lungs. “Come on out Jacob and take it like a man!”

  Mere feet from where he walks along, lying flat face down on the ground George Marlin dares not breathe lest he reveal himself.

  All around him he can hear people moving and slashing at the bushes trying to find Jacob/him. Closing his eyes he tries his hardest not to move but to just blend into the background.

  “Justin I found something!”

  Justin storms away from George’s hiding place asking, “What have you got Quinn?”

  Quinn holds up his hand and shines his flashlight on the object dangling from his fingers. “His camera.”

  “Yes,” Justin hisses between his teeth “He must’ve dropped it as he ran this way. Come on we’re close now.”

  Overhearing the exchange George smiles. Actually I threw it away over there knowing that you’d think it was a trail asshole. Thank God I’m not being chased by anyone smarter than your average child.

  As the footsteps trail away from him George waits two minutes to be sure that they’re all gone then he slowly rises up on his knees. Looking out after them he can see several beams from flashlights sweeping in arcs through the woods.

  His common sense is screaming at him to take the opportunity to flee the scene but his reporter instincts are telling him to follow the lights. He’s almost certain that his would-be attackers weren’t carrying that many flashlights, which means that there are other people sweeping the woods.

  And George’s guess is that the police have finally mobilized. By following them he’ll not only get his story but hopefully a first-hand glimpse of the cops taking Justin Badger down a peg or two.

  The latter is enough reason for him to follow.

  As he gets closer he can hear voices shouting at the mob to stop and raise their hands. A shot sounds and George immediately hits the ground before another shot rings out.

  From behind a tree he takes a peek and sees smoke slithering along the ground ahead of him surrounding the mob. One whiff is enough to tell him that it is the police and that they’re using tear gas.

  Covering his nose with the sleeve of his shirt he presses closer to the tree and watches as the cop’s fire more canisters of gas into the crowd.

  As he watches he sees Quinn come running back towards where he’s hiding. With no time to move without being seen he prepares for a confrontation but it never happens.

  A shot rings out and Quinn falls forward from the impact in his back. He’s shocked by the brutality for an instant before he sees Quinn writhing on the ground and realizes that the police are only using rubber bullets.

  Somewhere in the fog of gas he can hear the remaining members of the mob succumbing to either the tear gas or the rounds of rubber bullets. His own eyes tearing up George decides that it’s time to vanish before he’s mistaken for one of them.

  But before he leaves he squints into the haze and watches Justin take two rounds to the chest and fly backwards landing in a prone position subdued.

  Turning away he quietly scampers back out of the woods towards Valley Road.

  Chapter 29

  October 23

  Arriving in the security office Kazim El Said removes his sidearm and slips out of his jacket. It’s been a long night and an even longer few days, but at least the mission was a success.

  Vladimir Tesla was delivered back into the custody of his employer about forty-five minutes ago. Sitting down heavily on the sofa in the room he buries his face in his palms.

  Normally after a successful mission he’s in a much better mood. But tonight, something is off. He tells himself it’s just his nerves and the tension caused by the expanding riot.

  But he doesn’t believe it.

  He knows that it’s Vladimir Tesla and what he said that are under his skin. The man actually feared for his life. He seriously was afraid that I was going to kill him. He even thought that Markov was murdered.

  Shaking his head he rises and walks over to the fridge to get a drink in the hopes of clearing his head of these thoughts.

  And what of Arthur Wellesley? Who is he and why was Vlad so sure that he is…what did he say…the key to everything?

  Taking a cold Heineken from within the fridge he pops the cap off and takes a good swig. Sitting down again he can’t banish the doubts from his mind.

  Why should I listen to him? Why should I doubt that what I’m doing is right because of the ravings of one man? Taking another drink, images of the riot and of sick people dying flash before his eyes.

  ‘You are not on the side of angels.’ That’s what he said to me—could he be right? Enough of this, I need to know for sure.

  Setting the beer down he leaves the room filled with questions that he’s never had before—on a quest for answers that he’s afraid he may not want.

  Angela Lincoln shakily pours herself another scotch on the rocks. Normally it would be too early for such a drink but she’s been up all night.

  Jaime never came home last night.

  She started calling the store around seven o’clock last night when she heard news of the growing riot. The phone stopped ringing within the hour without her getting any answer.

  She’s been going out of her mind with worry ever since.

  Turning away from the liquor cabinet she watches Donald feebly trying to get hold of anyone with any news about the uprising.

  At least she knows that Alex is all right. Donald got hold of him to question him about what happened. Taking a drink how she wishes she could’ve spent last night worrying about her daughter with Alex instead of her husband.

  Raising her eyes upward she whispers a prayer. I’ve already lost Cody, please bring Jaime home safe. God if anything were to happen to her. Her elbow bends again to numb her mind.

  Donald hangs up the phone and she asks, “Any word?”

  Solemnly he shakes his head. “No estimate yet of the damage but the worst of it appears to be over.”
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  Angela just stares blankly at him until he asks, “What?”

  “I meant about our daughter. Are you not even the slightest bit worried about her?”

  “Have another drink.”

  Furious Angela throws the glass in her hand across the room breaking it against the wall behind Donald’s right shoulder. “What the hell?”

  “Fuck you Donald! You don’t even give a shit that your own daughter is out there. All you care about is your fucking self!”

  “Of course I care about Jaime!” Donald raises his voice in response.

  “The same way you cared about Cody!”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  The hatred for him in her eyes at this moment is seething to look at. “You let him go out and get sick. It’s your fault,” she spits at him. “It’s your fault! If you were any kind of father at all Cody would be alive and Jaime would be here!”

  Donald advances on her raising his fist to backhand her when the phone starts to ring. They stare at each other for a moment, each defiant in their pain and hatred, before Donald backs away to pick up the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Lincoln it’s Scott Lee.”

  “Scott,” as he says the name Donald watches the reaction of his wife. Instantly she forgets all her anger and reverts back to her worry. “Do you know where Jaime is Scott?”

  “She’s with me sir. I was going to call to let you know but the phones were cut and your line has been busy since they came back on.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Not really. I think that she has a concussion.”

  “A concussion?” Angela instantly covers her mouth in fright. “Thank you for calling Scott. Why don’t you bring her home now?”

  “I don’t think it is safe yet sir.”

  “She got a concussion with you, how safe can it be where you are? I want you to bring my daughter home immediately.”

  “I can’t do that sir. And for the record she received the concussion before I found her. I don’t recall seeing you out looking for her.”

  “Don’t take that tone of voice with me Scott. I’m sending a driver over to pick her up, please have her ready to go.”

  “Jaime’s all right with me sir,” Scott declares “When she tells me to, I’ll bring her home. Goodbye.”

  “Scott! Scott don’t you dare hang up on me!” Donald screams into the phone as the line clicks off. Slamming the phone down, he swears “Goddammit! That punk of a boyfriend thinks he can treat me like this?”

  Closing her eyes against the tears Angela whispers “I can’t live like this.”

  “What are you mumbling about?”

  “I can’t keep living like this,” Angela states emphatically. “You’re not the same person I married any more. All you care about is yourself and I can’t put up with it any longer. I want a divorce Donald—we’re finished.”

  Narrowing his gaze, Donald stares daggers through her. Reaching out he lifts a vase off an end table and hurls it against the wall behind her head causing Angela to flinch.

  “You listen to me honey,” he says with no emotion in his voice at all. “You are mine. I own you until I tell you differently.”

  Stalking towards her he closes the distance between them quickly. Standing beside her he reaches out and lifts a strand of hair away from her face. She’s trembling as he whispers in her ear.

  “If you think about it I know you’ll change your mind. I know you don’t really want a divorce. You wouldn’t want to lose Jaime. How do you think she’d feel about her mother abandoning her so soon after her brother died?

  “She’d hate you. She’d blame you for destroying her family. I know that you don’t want that.”

  Smiling confidently he brushes past her on his way out of the room. Calling over his shoulder he says, “So have another drink boozy, and remember that you’re not going anywhere unless I say so.”

  When she’s sure that he’s left, Angela collapses to her knees shaking and crying uncontrollably. She believes that he’s right about Jaime and the knowledge leaves her feeling sick—feeling helpless.

  Kazim sits before the computer unsure of how to proceed. He’s never been in the archives of the facility before. This is where all the records of experiments—both successes and failures—are kept.

  It’s also where the employee files are housed. He’s sure that they go all the way back to the beginning. He’s just not sure if they are all computerized. Back when the facility was opened they would’ve been on paper and it’s possible no one reentered them.

  Of course, he has no idea of where to start looking. When exactly did Arthur Wellesley work here if he did at all?

  He spends a good hour pouring over the archives, coming up with nothing. Rubbing his eyes he decides to try a different approach.

  Logging out of the system he clicks onto the internet. Bringing up a search engine he types in ARTHUR WELLESLEY and waits as the search is completed.

  Thirty-nine hits appear and he begins to skim through them. The first link takes him to an article written by Wellesley on Gene Therapy. It’s dated 17 years ago.

  Backing out of that he clicks on the second link bringing up another article on cloning vectors dated shortly after the first article. It’s all Greek to Kazim so he backs up again and tries the third link.

  Again it brings up another article detailing the discovery of something called a restriction enzyme. From what Kazim can understand Wellesley discovered one. Tired of the big words he backs up yet again and moves further down the page.

  Trying the seventh link he brings up a newspaper article. Here we go. The story details the disappearance of Arthur Wellesley, Geneticist employed by Agri-Chem. The article is 15 years old.

  Smiling at the screen, Kazim follows the trail of links further down the rabbit hole until he arrives at a personal ad signed by Arthur Wellesley. It describes how he left Stillness to escape his marriage and unwanted pregnancy.

  Who would take out a personal ad for this? And why would any paper publish it? Checking the paper he sees the stylized heading of The Sound and nods understanding. All the pieces are starting to come together.

  Logging out of the internet he logs back into the system and uses the year of Arthur’s disappearance to narrow the employee search.

  After a time the result comes up. Something is wrong with it though. Kazim can tell right away that the file has been altered. The system is designed so that no information can ever be deleted—a safety feature. Only those with top security clearance can alter records and even then a trail of their activity is recorded. This is what Kazim sees now on the screen, huge gaps in the record. Why would anyone do that?

  The sound of a door closing somewhere close causes Kazim to shut down his computer and quickly rise to his feet. Checking his watch he sees that he’s been in here for nearly two hours. Too long, he knows.

  Resolved to get to the bottom of all this he exits the archives past the clerk’s desk, nodding briefly at the disinterested clerk.

  “Dom, are you ready to go?”

  Gaetano calls from the front door as he anxiously waits for his girlfriend to get ready to go over to Scotty’s place.

  “Dom?” Receiving no answer Gaetano exhales and closes the door to go find her. “Come on Dom how long does it take to find a first aid kit?”

  Walking into the kitchen he finds Dominique shaking unsteadily over the kitchen sink. “Dom?” He rushes to her side just in time to catch her as she falls backwards when her legs give out.

  Slowly sliding down to the floor Gaetano frantically says, “Dom! Dom what’s wrong?”

  She looks up at him with wide fearful eyes. “I feel so dizzy Guy.”

  Gathering her up in his arms he carries her into the living room and lays her down on the sofa. Wiping a stray hair away from her face he’s shocked by the heat coming off her. “Jesus, you’ve got a fever.”

  They look at each other both knowing the significance of it. Shaking t
he thought from his mind Gaetano says, “No it’s just a fever honey. You’re going to be fine.”

  Squeezing her hand in his he brings it up and kisses it gently before placing a kiss on her warm forehead. “You’re going to be fine,” he repeats.

  She weakly offers a smile and a nod of her head in agreement before he asks, “Where does it hurt?”

  “My head. I have a splitting headache.”

  “When did it start?”

  “A few hours ago.”

  “Rest,” Gaetano begins “Just rest and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Standing up he hurries to the kitchen and runs cold water over a hand towel before rushing back to her side and gently placing it on her forehead.

  The cold causes her to shiver momentarily before she adjusts to it and slowly slips into unconsciousness. Kneeling beside her Gaetano watches her sleep fitfully. In his heart he can’t bear to imagine losing her. He loves her so much that his life would be over without her.

  Wiping the tears from his eyes he adjusts the washcloth and tries to get a hold of his emotions—but he just can’t.

  As she sleeps in front of him he cries uncontrollably at the thought of losing her.

  For the first time in years he looks heavenward…and prays.

  Chapter 30

  Cedar Falls, Iowa

  The sound of his heels clicking on the marble floor echoes down the long narrow corridor. Nervously he straightens his black-striped tie and smoothes the lapels of his suit.

  The hallway is inside an old brownstone building converted for use as medical offices. One office in particular is the focus of William Sullivan’s attention.

  The closed wooden door at the far end of the corridor, the one with the frosted glass pane and the name Thomas Kent, Forensic Anthropologist etched on it.

  Checking his watch he sees that it is 5:15 pm making him early for his 5:30 appointment. With a deep breath and one last adjustment of his tie he opens the door to the office and steps inside.