Stillness

by Eldon Farrell

  “You know what his last words were before they shot him?” Gaetano asks. “He said that somebody always has to get hurt. That sums up his life so perfectly. You think I loved him?”

  Shrugging his uncle’s arm off Gaetano stares right into his eyes saying, “I hated him.” For a long time those three words hang in the air between them before Gaetano continues “He took Dom away from me forever and I will never forgive him that.

  “I hate him. I ran off last night because I couldn’t stomach spending the night grieving for him—not after what he’s done. You don’t know the half of it Uncle Marcos.”

  “Your father wasn’t perfect Gaetano, none of us are. He made mistakes in his life. I’m sure that I don’t know about all of them but I don’t need to know about them all. They don’t matter now.

  “He’s gone and what you need to do now is…find it in your heart to forgive him his trespasses whether he deserves it or not. Because if you don’t son, you’ll never find any solace in this life.

  “It’s okay to be angry with him now and you don’t have to forgive him today. Just as long as you’re able to do it someday. Because otherwise, I fear that the great person you are will be lost to the bitter poison that is your hatred. And that would be a tragedy.”

  His arms begin to quiver first as his chest expands and contracts with increasing speed. As the first tears spill over his eyelids he buries his face in his palms crying, “I miss her so much…it hurts.”

  Hugging him Marcos whispers “I know, I know.” Listening to his nephew cry he can’t help but look towards the crucifix on the altar and ask the one question that’s in his head.

  Why is it that somebody always has to get hurt?

  You never think about it.

  You make a few phone calls trying to get a hold of somebody you love; when they don’t return your call, you think nothing of it. They’re busy you say, or maybe they just forgot.

  It happens right? You don’t give it another thought…at first.

  But as time goes on and you still don’t hear back from them doubt begins to creep into your mind. Why haven’t they called me back? Have I done something wrong? Are they okay?

  You push it aside reasoning that they’re fine; they just didn’t get their messages. That’s all. That has to be it because terrible things just don’t happen in your life.

  Eventually though the whispered doubt becomes so loud that you can no longer ignore it. So you forget the phone calls and just head over to see them in person.

  You want to believe that you’ll find them okay, just swamped with other things. They’ll apologize for not returning your calls and you’ll sit and talk about how silly you were for thinking something awful had happened to them.

  You want to believe that, but the truth is that terrible things do happen in your life. And whether you face them head-on or try to ignore them doesn’t matter; they still happen and you’re still never prepared for them.

  Inserting her key in the door lock Jaime is surprised when it pushes open without her turning the key. The door was not even shut. A profound sense of dread seeps into her as she steps across the threshold noticing the splintered doorjamb.

  The air inside is so cold that she can see her breath condensing into tiny crystals that catch and reflect the faint light that’s spilling through the windows.

  Deciding to leave her hat and gloves on, she steps through a small mound of snow that’s gathered just inside the front door. Feeling a chill on the nape of her neck she shudders and closes the door behind her.

  The click of the latch, so loud in the hush, adds to her melancholy. But the door doesn’t stay shut—the splintered jamb allowing it to crack open again.

  “Dad?” Her voice echoes softly in the expansive interior of the ground floor before fading away to nothing.

  Stepping into the dining room she flicks the switch for the lights to banish the deep shadows only to have nothing happen. Playing with the switch several more times she still cannot bring the lights to life.

  The power’s out.

  Thrusting her hand in her coat pocket she touches her cell phone with her fingers. Somewhere between the door being ajar and the power being off her sense of dread has grown until she’s downright spooked.

  “Dad?” she calls again though a little quieter than before. Again there’s no answer.

  She’s about to leave the dining room when the glint of broken glass catches her eye. Looking closer she sees that the china husk has been smashed, its contents scattered in pieces around the floor.

  Suddenly feeling very alone and vulnerable she hurries from the dining room to the front door stopping dead when she sees it.

  Pinned to the inside of the front door is a single white envelope. Swallowing hard she debates about opening it. Finally, while her one hand grips her cell phone she snatches the envelope from the door with her other hand.

  Ripping it open, a ring falls to the floor bouncing twice on the tile before rolling to a stop by the staircase.

  Bending to examine it she recognizes the gold band at once as belonging to her father. Her hands tremble as she unfolds the single sheet of loose-leaf paper that was inside the envelope.

  A single word is written in a maniacal script scrawled across the middle of the page:

  Upstairs

  Her breathing is deep and slow as she becomes increasingly afraid to make a single sound. Someone’s been here…what if they’re still here?

  Flipping her phone open she’s about to call for help when she notices that her battery’s dead. All those days by Scott’s bedside—she forgot to charge her phone. A single tear hangs for a second on her eyelashes before spilling over onto her cheek and running down her face.

  Go…just go...run, get help.

  Despite the voice screaming in her head she remains rooted to the spot. What if Dad’s hurt up there and I leave him? He could die.

  Listening for the faintest whisper of a sound upstairs she hears nothing. Fighting against the rising tide of her fear she cautiously mounts the steps toward the second floor.

  As she goes the air seems to stick in the back of her throat, carrying with it a pungent coppery taste. Kneeling down on the first landing she notices dark spots on the beige carpet that leads her attention to the cracked balustrade.

  Signs of a struggle, she thinks, but how long ago?

  Rising up she climbs the remaining steps to the second floor, pausing at the top to listen again for any sounds of movement. Still hearing none she exhales heavily after unconsciously holding her breath.

  To her right the hallway is dark and somewhat foreboding. To her left a thin, wispy strand of light spills out into the corridor from underneath a door. She recognizes it as her father’s study and home office.

  Like a moth to a flame she gravitates to her left towards the light. Years of living in this house and sneaking in after curfew have taught her what spots on the floor to avoid stepping on, lest the old boards groan and give her away.

  Reaching the door without making a sound she stands in front of it watching her breath condense and drift away over her head.

  As it does she notices the folded piece of paper tacked to the door. You can do this, you can. Tearing it down, she unfolds it reading another single word written in the same demented hand:

  Welcome

  Her heart is thudding against her ribcage like the crazed fluttering of a caged songbird. She is unable to stop herself from shaking—so afraid is she of what she is being welcomed into.

  Pushing the door open with her foot her breath catches in her throat at the overpowering scent of blood.

  The scene is surreal and years from now she’ll be unable to remember exactly what it was she saw behind that door. So vile and cruel was it that her eyes refused to focus on what they were seeing—her memory refused to hold.

  All she’ll remember is dropping to the floor and hearing the anguished, unnatural scream in her ears. A scream that she’ll swear she didn’t recognize—ev
en though it was her own.

  Chapter 52

  Des Moines, Iowa

  “The beginning.”

  Caleb watches Alexander Cummings calmly brush non-existent lint from the sleeves of his dress uniform. Cocking his left eyebrow he waits for the General to continue.

  “You want me to start at the beginning and tell you everything I know.” Contorting his lips in an attempt to smile he adds in a silky smooth tone “I like you Agent Fine and because I have nothing to fear, I’m going to humor you. But first you must answer me one question.”

  Leaning back in his chair across the table from Cummings, Caleb spreads his hands saying, “Shoot.”

  “Where is the good doctor?” Caleb narrows his gaze. “Come now,” Cummings prods “You two have been near inseparable as of late, she must be around here somewhere. Is she behind the mirror?”

  Caleb looks at their reflection in the two-way mirror along the left side of the room but says nothing.

  “If she is,” Cummings remarks “Have her join us. She’s no doubt helped you get to this point; she should be here with you. Don’t you agree Agent Fine?”

  Caleb nods slightly towards the mirror and moments later the door behind him is swung open. “Ah,” Cummings exhales “Dr. Bosworth, so good to see you again.”

  Lynne closes the door without returning his salutation. Leaning against the back wall she crosses her arms shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

  Again he affords them a rictus grin saying, “I seem to have earned the ire of Dr. Bosworth. No matter,” he straightens in his seat announcing “Now that you’re both present, we can begin.

  “The year was 1969 when this sordid business was set in motion by no less than a Presidential mandate. Nixon, in his pandering to a soft liberal public, decreed that all work on offensive biological weapons was to be halted, and that all stockpiles destroyed.”

  “He said ‘Mankind already carries in its own hands too many of the seeds of its own destruction’ and he was right.”

  Glaring at Lynne, Cummings retorts “And you would know how? He was wrong, my dear. He was simply a fool who wished to be seen doing something in the eyes of a skeptical public.

  “Remember at this time we were still embroiled in a very unpopular conflict in Vietnam, something Nixon was taking daily flak for. Anything he could do for positive press, I swear he’d do.

  “But imagine it, a few false allegations from China, North Korea, and the Soviet Union of all places surrounding our use of biological weapons during the Korean War, and suddenly we’re falling over ourselves trying to salvage international good will.

  “A wasted effort in my opinion but the fool Nixon felt otherwise. Like all fools though, he failed to grasp the complexity of the situation.

  “The cold war was still heating up. Christ, we were not even a decade removed from the Bay of Pigs fiasco. To give even an inch at that point and allow our enemies that advantage would’ve been a mistake. Because as I’m sure you’re aware Dr. Bosworth, the Reds had no intentions of winding down their work on biological weapons.”

  Frowning, Lynne knows exactly what he’s talking about. Biopreparat became the agency in charge of the Soviet biological weapons program when it was established in 1973. This was a year after the Soviets signed the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention.

  The civilian pharmaceutical and vaccine company was just a cover for over forty research and production facilities dedicated to bioweapons work.

  After the iron curtain came down in 1991, huge amounts of biological agents were discovered. The sheer size and accomplishments of the Soviet bioweapons program shocked even the most distrustful intelligence agents of the West who had long suspected the worst.

  “Sure, publicly they agreed with Nixon about stopping the pursuit of biological agents, but privately they continued to amass vast quantities. That the Reds could not be trusted shouldn’t have been a surprise to Nixon. If he could learn anything from Kennedy, it should’ve been that.”

  “This is all very enlightening,” Caleb interrupts “But how does Chimera figure into all this?”

  “I’m just coming to that Agent Fine.” Cummings straightens the lapels of his jacket as he dives into another soliloquy.

  “Thanks to Nixon our operations went through a massive overhaul. Arsenals in Edgewood Maryland, Rocky Mountain in Colorado, and Pine Bluff in Arkansas were to be closed. The proving ground in Utah was also to be shut.

  “Fort Detrick survived by becoming the base of operations for Nixon’s newly created USAMRIID, ostensibly dedicated to defensive work on biological weapons. But the line between what is offensive and what is defensive is quite narrow indeed.

  “Fortunately for the security of this nation, the brass knew all they had to do was be seen to be complying with the mandate—not actually comply with it.

  “Land was purchased in Iowa and construction began on the Agri-Chem facility that would act as cover for Chimera. By 1973, the facility was fully operational and like the Reds we were plowing ahead with our research where it should be, away from the prying eyes of public scrutiny.”

  “USAMRIID defied an executive order from the President,” Caleb asks, “Is that what you’re saying General?”

  Narrowing his eyes and looking down his nose at Caleb, Cummings asks “Do you know what the President is Agent Fine?”

  “My boss,” Caleb jibes.

  “He is a figurehead put in place for the people. The masses require someone to look up to when times are good and look down upon when times are not. The Presidency is the one institution that the general population will line up behind and follow blindly no matter what.

  “How do you think America ended up in Vietnam, or Iraq, or Afghanistan? The public listened to the President and then followed him unto the breach.

  “But really think about it and you might begin to see the enormity of that deception. Most Americans believe that the President is the commander-in-chief who has the final say over the tough decisions of war.”

  “He does,” Lynne says.

  “Does he?” Cummings argues “Could this country function at all if one man truly had his finger on the trigger?

  “The majority of people never realize that it makes no sense to imbue one man with that much power. If we did, chaos could result. Yet people love the notion of the Presidency and they readily swallow the deception without question.

  “All the while—lost amongst the collective delusion—are the true decision makers of this nation. They are the people you don’t know and never see. You never know they even exist because they are so adept at pulling the strings of those they put in power.

  “I see that look on your faces now, what I’m saying is abhorrent to you. Yet the shadow government is necessary for the functioning of this nation. A sitting President is never capable of seeing the big picture. They see only four years, and maybe four more.

  “But without seeing the big picture they lack the capacity to see the correct course of action. That is why we need those in the shadows who have a much longer time horizon.

  “You see the truth is that if Nixon had listened to his advisors, USAMRIID never would’ve had to defy his order because the order would never have been made.”

  “And is that how you view democracy?” Lynne asks, “A cabal of a selected few controlling the interests of a nation?”

  With a smug look Cummings answers “Is there another kind?”

  Steering the conversation in another direction Caleb asks, “General, when exactly did you join Chimera?”

  “I joined the army corps in 1969 when I turned nineteen. I did service in Vietnam for three years in the early seventies.

  “Upon returning home, I continued to climb the ladder becoming a General in 1983. I was assigned to running Chimera two years later in 1985.”

  “Then you knew Dr. Arthur Wellesley?”

  “Yes,” Cummings answers flatly.

  “I see,” Caleb taps his fingers on the table “Tell me wh
at happened to him.”

  “He had an accident.”

  “You must have a loose definition of the word accident.” Caleb leans forward saying, “I’ve recently read an affidavit purporting that his accident was actually staged. Care to tell me about that?”

  “Who swore this affidavit?”

  Flashing him a quick smile Caleb answers “Dr. Vladimir Tesla, who I’m sure you know as well.” Sliding a photocopied sheet across the table, Caleb says, “Look at the signature line.”

  As he does Caleb points out “You’re looking at a copy of the officially filed autopsy report for Bobby and Maggie Sullivan. Notice who signed it—Vladimir Tesla.

  “Now I know that Tesla was never the medical examiner of this county. He was however, a former scientist for Biopreparat who defected to this country and who has sworn that he was in the employ of Chimera at the time that report was filed.

  “The date that report was filed also places you at the head of Chimera. So why don’t we try this again General. What happened to Arthur Wellesley?”

  Once again Cummings brushes the sleeves of his jacket as he locks eyes with Caleb. Nodding he begins “Very well then. You want to know what happened to Arthur Wellesley, I’ll tell you.

  “Arthur was brilliant, truly one of the best minds we had on staff. He was assigned to finding a defense against a particularly nasty strain of plague.”

  “The Yersinia isidis strain that you said was altered by the Soviets but was actually altered by Wellesley, right?”

  Cummings glances over at Lynne giving her a thin smile before looking back at Caleb. “She’s good,” he says “I can see why you like having her around.

  “Arthur did some excellent work for us. The strain of marmot plague actually did originate in the Soviet Union but yes, the alterations were all Arthur. Creating the strain actually didn’t take too long at all, finding a way to stop it is what consumed him.

  “Years went by with no success. And then one day he had a breakthrough. What he did I really can’t say, since he never shared his breakthrough with us. The years it seemed had softened him.