Stillness

by Eldon Farrell

  “Mary—”

  “Don’t,” Mary interrupts him raising her hand to silence him “Don’t tell me that I mean something to this town Jacob. Don’t lie to me when the truth is all around me. Look at this place and see it for what it is Jacob.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a blessing. I’m actually lucky that I got this warning—it’s more than Adrienne got.”

  “Mary the town didn’t do this to you. A few assholes did this.”

  “Well,” she begins “I guess I fail to see the difference anymore. I’ve known Justin his whole life. My parents used to serve his parents here. Now I think I never knew him at all if he could do this. So tell me Jacob, is he the town or an asshole because I sure as hell don’t know.”

  “Mary,” Jacob pleads with her “You can’t let this beat you. Look at me. You know how this town has treated me over the years. I’m nothing to these people but I won’t let them get me down because I know that I’m better than that.

  “And so are you Mary. Look, maybe I’m selfish but you’ve always been good to me so the thought of you packing it in hurts me. Don’t let the few assholes get you down.”

  Mary forces a smile as she replies “I guess you’re stronger than me Jacob because my mind is made up. Mary’s Café is closed for business.”

  The overpowering scent of disinfectant assaults Will Sullivan as he walks the corridor of Centennial School. As strong as it is though it pales in comparison to the stench of fear that looms in the place.

  With effort he keeps his eyes forward to avoid seeing the sick and dying in their beds. Hearing them is bad enough.

  Walking through a set of swinging double doors he asks a tired looking nurse where Scott Lee is and is told the end of the hall. Thanking her he continues through the hospital surrounded by pleas for help and moans from those too far gone for help.

  Reaching Scott’s makeshift room—curtains hung around his bed—Will finds him sleeping in bed while Jaime keeps a vigil over him. “Hey.”

  Jaime looks over at him and mouths a hello. Will has never seen her look so exhausted.

  Stepping closer to the bed he asks, “How’s he doing?”

  “He sleeps a lot now. They’ve got him on some kind of a drip to keep him somewhat out of things. The pain, I think. He’s getting worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “The doctor says that he may need to go on a ventilator soon if he doesn’t improve.”

  “Do his parents know?”

  “His parents are dead Will.”

  Surprised Will asks, “Wh-when did that happen? What happened to them?”

  Jaime shakes her head, “They were in a car accident a few winters ago.”

  In the silence between them Will can hear the steady beep of a heart monitor somewhere close by. The implication attached to the sound causes him to shudder. “How are you doing Jaime?”

  “I’m all right I guess. I still have headaches from time to time from the concussion but honestly I’m sad to see them less frequent now.”

  Will furrows his brow in confusion prompting Jaime to explain “When I have a headache I actually can forget this nightmare for a few hours.” Her eyes drift back to Scott in the bed and she continues “I still can’t believe that Adrienne is gone…and then Dom…”

  Will moves to her side and nervously reaches his hand out to comfort her, placing it on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Wiping at her eyes she pulls away from him and asks, “Why are you still here Will? I would’ve thought you’d split before this got so bad.”

  With a puckish smile he says, “I’ve got friends on the line. Where else would I rather be?”

  Standing up she embraces him resting her head on his shoulder saying, “Thanks for staying Will, we’ve missed you.”

  Pressing her closer Will whispers in her ear “I’ve missed you guys too.” His eyes roam to Scott and a flood of memories causes him to tear up. Slowly they pull away from the hug and share a smile as they see each other crying.

  “He’s going to be okay Jaime. You’ve got to believe that.”

  “I know.” Will wipes a tear from her cheek and she smiles “He’s tough and I know he’ll fight this.”

  They both agree that he’ll recover just fine from the sickness. The words fail to provide comfort as neither of them is able to really believe that it’s true.

  Chapter 36

  “I want to see you.”

  “Now’s not the best time Angela.”

  “I need to see you Alex.” Her plea falls on deaf ears causing her to grip the phone tighter asking, “What’s wrong with you?”

  Stammering, Alex replies “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Nothing,” Angela repeats disbelieving, “Then where have you been? You’ve been a ghost since…since Cody died. I need you and you’re nowhere to be found. It’s like all I’m good to you for is sex.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it? Prove it. Let’s meet somewhere.”

  “Angela,” his voice cracks as he pleads with her. “It’s not that I don’t want to be there for you—I do. I just can’t get away right now. With everything that’s going on, Victoria needs me.”

  “She needs you?” Angela repeats condescendingly.

  “Be fair Angela. You’re not the only one suffering here.”

  Angrily she curses, “How is she suffering? Has she lost a son Alex? Have you? I’ve lost my little boy! Don’t talk to me about suffering. Don’t you dare!”

  “Angela please I didn’t mean—”

  “Forget it Alex,” she cuts him off, “I’ll tell you what, when you get the time call me. Maybe I’ll answer if I have the time!”

  Slamming the phone down she’s bristling with rage. I need him, doesn’t he understand that. I have no one else—he’s all I have.

  Guilt soon washes her anger away and she’s reaching for the phone again to apologize when the door to the study is opened and Donald walks in. She stares at him with contempt.

  They haven’t had a happy marriage for years but since Cody they’ve been nothing more than two spirits haunting the same space. Both are crushed by the loss but neither can find any comfort from the other. Their pain is shared but their grief never will be.

  “Calling someone?”

  Realizing that her hand is still poised over the phone she pulls it away saying, “What do you care?”

  Sneering Donald hisses “Keep pushing me bitch, just keep it up.”

  Undaunted by the threat Angela replies, “And what? What are you going to do Mr. Mayor? You wouldn’t want to spoil your perfect image now would you?”

  Clenching his jaw Donald asks, “Do you really hate me this much?”

  “Yes.” There was not even a moment’s hesitation before she answered.

  Looking at him standing across the room she’s greeted by a twisted smile as he replies, “You can hate me all you want. You’re still mine. Till death do us part and all that.

  “So have another drink boozy. By all means drown your sorrows over your failings as a wife and…mother.”

  “Fuck you Donald!”

  Stepping towards her he stops short grinding his teeth. She can see his powerful biceps twitching beneath his shirt as he stands poised over her. They remain posed in this grim tableau for some time before Donald viciously turns away and skulks from the room. The door slamming sends reverberations throughout the walls.

  When she’s sure that he’s gone she allows herself to shake from the effort of controlling her nervous energy.

  I need you Alex—I have no one else.

  This is not going to be pleasant.

  Entering the break room Kazim El Said finds Eric Lydekker sitting at the table. He knows that if anyone would have information on what happened 15 years ago, it would be Eric.

  He also knows that Eric is the last person he wants to have to ask for that information. While he is technically speaking, Eric’s boss, their relationship has never been fi
lled with mutual respect.

  Due in no small part, Kazim knows, to the fact that he got the job that Eric no doubt coveted. That and the fact that Eric Lydekker has a serious problem taking orders from someone who is not white.

  It would’ve been much easier to have gotten the information he needed from the archives, but with the gaps in Wellesley’s file the archives proved inadequate. So here he is about to ask for help from someone who he despises.

  “Evening Eric,” he begins.

  His eyes narrowing to pinpricks, Eric gruffly clears his throat in greeting.

  Leaning back against the counter along the wall Kazim continues, “I wanted to ask you something.”

  Eric clenches and unclenches his jaw before asking, “What?” The clipped tone betrays his ill temper.

  “You’ve been with the facility for close to twenty years now, right?”

  “Twenty-two. Why, you giving me a gold watch?”

  Ignoring the remark Kazim asks, “Does the name Arthur Wellesley mean anything to you?”

  Kazim studies his facial expression for any signs of recognition. It’s subtle, but he thinks he sees a little shock in his adversary’s dark eyes as he answers, “No, who is he?”

  “File says he worked for Agri-Chem 15 years ago.”

  “And?”

  “And he really worked for the facility. He was a geneticist. He disappeared 15 years ago and I thought you might remember him.”

  “I don’t,” Eric says with finality. “Why are you asking anyway?”

  “Large sections of his file have been removed. You’ve been here longer than I have; you ever come across something like that?”

  Slowly Eric shakes his head in reply. Kazim continues, “Any idea why his file would be blacked out?”

  “Why would I have any idea? I didn’t know him 15 years ago. You know how it is Kazim, us security types rarely associate with the brains of the facility.” Picking up on Kazim’s body language he says, “You seem disappointed?”

  “I am.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because he disappeared,” Kazim points out the obvious, “You must’ve looked for him. And I know you Eric, failure torments you. Wellesley was never found so either you failed to find him, in which case you’d remember, or you never looked for him, in which case he never really disappeared.”

  Crinkling his fleshy nose Eric asks, “What are you driving at here?”

  “I’ve heard that Arthur Wellesley died in a lab accident. The archives have no record of any accident and as far as the rest of the world is concerned, he ran away from his wife and kid.”

  “So then there was no accident and he simply split on his family. So what? It happens every day doesn’t it? Who told you there was an accident anyway?”

  “Vladimir Tesla. You know he thought I was going to kill him. He implied that Markov’s accident wasn’t an accident either. You know anything about that Eric?”

  “You can’t be serious?” Eric scoffs, “Tesla is not what I would call a reliable source.”

  “Why? He was here 15 years ago—it’s not impossible that he could remember what you seem to have forgotten.”

  “He was on the run!” Eric exclaims, “He would’ve said anything to keep you from bringing him in. Christ, he would’ve told you that he was a space alien from Mars if he thought it would work.”

  “Maybe,” Kazim concedes, “But if you’re right and he was just talking out of his ass, why give me Wellesley’s name? What’s the point?”

  “I’m sure that I don’t know,” Eric stands up saying, “And I don’t care. If I were you, I wouldn’t care either.”

  Kazim places a hand on Eric’s chest stopping him from leaving the room. “Arthur Wellesley may have been murdered by the people we work for. Nikolai Markov may not have had an accident. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Can you prove any of that?”

  Reluctantly Kazim shrugs his shoulders admitting, “No, not yet.”

  “Then drop it.” Eric pats him on the shoulder, “Honestly Kaz, you can’t let the inmates run the asylum. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Brushing past him, Eric leaves Kazim alone with his thoughts and suspicions. His head is swimming with doubts. It is in this turbulent sea that a lone certainty surfaces.

  Eric Lydekker knows more than he’s letting on.

  Chapter 37

  October 27

  Dressed in his standard issue navy blue suit, white shirt, and dark tie, Caleb Fine enters the lobby of the Board of Health building. Removing his sunglasses he stores them in his front breast pocket. His highly polished black dress shoes squeak softly as he walks up the stairs.

  He carries a slim file folder under his right arm just below the holster for his pistol. Stopping on the second floor he asks for directions to Lynne Bosworth’s office.

  Pointed in the right direction he moves through the warren of desks and harried employees. The air is charged with the tension of the growing outbreak and the responsibility that these people feel for stopping it.

  Knocking on her open door he steps inside her office as she looks up from behind her desk. “Agent Fine?”

  Wagging a finger at her he smiles saying, “I told you, Caleb.”

  “Sorry,” she answers, “You just surprised me is all. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  “I just thought I’d swing by and check on your progress with this outbreak,” he asks, “Do you mind?”

  Lynne checks the clock on the wall behind him. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to update Atlanta. Have a seat.”

  Closing her door, Caleb lowers his athletic figure into the chair across from her desk. Looking closer at her he tilts his head noticing her tired eyes and weary expression. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m pretty wiped to tell you the truth,” she admits “What little sleep I’ve managed has been fitful. I’ve been having this dream that I can’t quite shake or seem to remember once I’m awake.”

  She stares at him for a few seconds before turning away blushing, slightly embarrassed at having shared something so personal with someone she hardly knows.

  Sensing her discomfort, Caleb changes the subject. “What’s the latest on the bioterrorism angle? Is it in or out as a source?”

  “The pressure’s definitely increasing to have it ruled in as the source, but no official ruling has yet been made.”

  “You don’t sound convinced that this is bioterrorism.”

  “I’m not,” Lynne answers candidly, “There’s just something about it that doesn’t feel right to me. It won’t matter though; if I can’t solve this thing soon the higher-ups will simply overrule my opinion.

  “How are things with your investigation? Have you declared Nikolai a terrorist yet?”

  “Not officially,” Caleb flattens his tie down saying, “We know he was involved in something but we can’t say for sure that it was terrorism yet. I have made some progress with William Sullivan though, care to hear it?”

  “Sure.”

  “I started investigating why someone would frame him hoping that it might lead me to who would do it. I began with the theory that he might simply have been a victim of circumstance.”

  “How do you mean?” Lynne asks.

  “What if,” Caleb leans forward in his seat, “William Sullivan was framed because he was convenient? What if whoever planted that hard drive in Markov’s computer wanted to tie Sullivan to Markov simply because Sullivan was already under arrest. Like you said, Markov would never have worked with a lay person like Sullivan, but with Markov dead and Sullivan in custody…”

  “The FBI would have no incentive to look for other suspects or possibilities.” Lynne finishes his sentence eliciting a smile from Caleb.

  “You really do have a brilliant analytical mind Lynne. You should’ve been a cop.” She returns his smile, blushing from his praise. “Now as long as the evidence against Sullivan held up, the mastermind behind the scenes would remain hidden.”
r />   “So for your theory to be correct there has to be a connection between the mastermind and the local police.”

  “Does there?” Caleb asks teasingly.

  “Someone had to tell that Sullivan was in custody.”

  “You’re right,” he urges, “Someone had to.”

  Squinting at him across the desk, Lynne concentrates on his words trying to reach the epiphany that he’s obviously trying to lead her to. Suddenly she sits forward asking, “Why Sullivan? I’m sure that there are more hardened criminals in jail that could’ve been fingered to take the fall. Why zero in on this guy?”

  With a deliberate look Caleb places the file folder he’s carrying on her desk. “Take a look at that.”

  “What is it?”

  “The file we amassed on William Sullivan when we considered him a suspect. He’s been making a nuisance of himself to anyone who would listen for years now. He’s petitioned every authority he could think of to have his parents’ case reopened.

  “In short, he’s made himself a very visible target. That folder convinced me that my theory was wrong. Framing Sullivan wasn’t random—he was targeted by someone who doesn’t want his parents’ case looked at again.”

  Intrigued Lynne asks, “Who?”

  “That’s the rub of it,” Caleb leans back in his chair, “I don’t know yet. But the more I look at it, the more I’m convinced that if I solve his parents’ case I’ll have found my mastermind.”

  “Can you solve a case that’s fifteen years old?”

  “It’s been known to happen. We’re a step ahead of the game anyway since we already have a suspect—Jacob Castle.”

  “Not to rain on your parade or anything, but wasn’t he the original suspect?”

  “You know the story?”

  “Danny Gordon filled me in on it. He said that Jacob got away with murdering the Sullivan’s. He told me that the charges were simply dropped the night before the trial was set to begin. He seemed convinced a guilty verdict was the only possible outcome of a trial.”