by Ellery Kane
“Investigative work,” Edison replied. “Interested?”
“Maybe.”
“Then put on something warm and get out here already.” Eager for a distraction—anything but another Quin-filled night—I grabbed my coat and tiptoed my way out the door.
“Exactly what are we investigating?” I asked, sliding in next to Elana in an unmarked van parked near the curb.
Putting a finger to his lips, Edison smirked. “It’s a covert op, need-to-know basis only.”
“Well, I need to know.”
Elana shook her head, resigned, as if she had lost an argument. “Edison thinks we should break into the Paramount.”
“Could you make it sound any worse?” Edison asked. “According to Zenigenic, it’s an abandoned building. We’re just going to pop in for a visit, give the mice a little excitement. No harm in that. I’m hoping we can find out more about that wire transfer of yours.”
“What does your dad think about this?” I wondered, glancing sidelong at Elana.
Frustrated, Edison groaned. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Maybe because he can be a bit intimidating,” Elana answered. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You’ve been pretty concerned about his opinion lately.” She turned to me. “He didn’t tell his dad.”
“Yet,” Edison added. “I’m waiting till we get something good.”
“And if we don’t?” Elana asked.
“Then he doesn’t have to know. Quin said he would keep him occupied for at least an hour.”
I frowned at him. “I don’t want to burst your bubble, Edison, but this sounds like a really bad idea.” I could almost feel the bullets whizzing by me, as I spoke. “The police said they didn’t find anything.” Elana nodded in agreement.
“Amateurs.” He assessed us with disapproval. “Since when do we trust the police? Besides, Lex, I thought you said there was a secret door. Even if they did check it out—and that’s a big if—they probably wouldn’t know what to look for.”
Still skeptical, I didn’t respond. “C’mon,” he urged. “I’ve been stuck in a suit and tie—might as well call it a straightjacket—for months now, trying to please my dad. This Guardian Force reject needs some action.”
I chuckled in spite of myself. “Alright, soldier, what about the guards? Have you thought of that?” I asked. “I’m sure they’ve hired new ones by now.” Guilt reverberated through me like the strike of a bell, as I conjured Ed, lifeless in the alley.
“I did a drive-by last night. There’s no one.”
“But what if we—”
Edison didn’t let me finish. “This could really help Quin’s dad.” He knew that would sway me.
“Not fair,” I muttered. He started driving before I could protest, giving a confident, conspiratorial nod to his father’s security team. Twenty minutes later, Edison parked the van a block from the theater. He got out and stood there eyeing us, hands on his hips.
Before she opened the door, Elana muttered, “I’m sorry to drag you into this. He really wants to show his dad he can help. I tried to talk him out of it.”
“It’ll be okay.” I hoped that was true. But already, I felt uneasy. The street was blanketed in darkness—even our shadows were invisible—and pin-drop quiet.
“This is super creepy,” Elana said, as we approached the Paramount. “This is super creepy,” Elana said, as we approached the Paramount. It was flanked by a row of vacant storefronts and offices—their blank faces watching us through sightless eyes as we passed.
“I told you not to come,” Edison replied. “I know these kinds of things make you nervous.”
“Breaking and entering, you mean?” Elana didn’t disguise her annoyance. This argument had started long before tonight. “You know, I was a Guardian Force recruit just like you. And I’m pretty sure only one of us got kicked out because of anxiety.”
“Ouch!” He jostled Elana playfully. “That one hit below the belt.”
Her face was humorless. “I’m tougher than I look.”
Edison opened his mouth to speak, his smirk hinting of sarcasm. I elbowed him in the side and shook my head. “Can we table this discussion for the ride home?” Thankfully, they both answered me with silence.
The doors to the theater were ajar, beckoning us inside, where the air was thick and musty like chalk. Old theater programs with fancy lettering—Macbeth—were scattered like leaves across the floor. The walls were covered in graffiti, the mark of the old Resistance still visible under layers of spray paint. I stood, perplexed. Why did it all seem so unfamiliar?
Elana tapped my arm. “You don’t remember everything, do you?” Dismayed, I shook my head. “Emovere will do that to you. It makes you focus, zero in on your target. Everything else is just background noise.”
“Where to now, Lex?” Edison walked ahead of us, shining a flashlight into the cave of theater. I pointed straight ahead. This, I remembered. We followed him inside.
“Hey, look at this.” Elana called to me from a row back, shaking a small object in her hand.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A bottle. It has a Z on it. There are pills inside.”
Edison waved his flashlight back and forth across the wall. “I don’t see a door,” he said. For an agonizing instant, I wondered if I had imagined everything. Maybe that police officer was right about me—Emovere could do funny stuff.
“It’s there,” I said, with relief. “Behind those boxes.” Edison began to tunnel his way through towers of cardboard, piled high and wide, concealing the door. It opened easily—no secret code required. Edison pointed to a hole in the wall, where the keypad was ripped out. Stacked side by side, we peered in.
“Somebody left in a hurry,” Elana observed. Broken glass littered the floor, the wall-to-wall panels in shards crunching under our feet. Two file cabinets were turned over, their contents gone. Otherwise, the room was empty.
Dejected, Edison took a seat on one of the file cabinets and sighed. “You were right, Lex. There’s nothing here.”
“That’s it?” Elana gave Edison’s boot a tap with her foot. “After all that, Van Sant gives up and goes home empty-handed?”
Edison pretended he wasn’t riled by her sarcasm. “Do you have a better idea?” The tone of his voice hinted otherwise.
Elana held up the bottle she found. “If they were careless enough to leave this behind, maybe they left something else. We just have to be patient enough to find it.” She stepped past Edison and directed her flashlight to the back of the room. “Is that where the shelves were?” she asked me.
I nodded, pointing to the small holes in the wall, left behind after the brackets were ripped away. “All the lab equipment was here.” I gestured to the wide-open space in front of me. Glass and dust were all that remained. “And I think I found that transfer slip in there.” I pointed to the file cabinet.
Without warning, Edison got up and stalked toward the door. “Did you hear that?” he asked. I held my breath, listening. “There it is again.” With his back to us, Edison removed something from inside his jacket and turned off his flashlight.
“Edison,” Elana admonished him. “I told you—no guns.”
“Shh,” I hushed, relieved one of us had a weapon. We inched toward Edison, squinting out into the darkness of the theater.
“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” A man’s deep voice was followed by uncontrollable laughter, stage right. “Deny thy father.” More laughter. “And refuse thy name.” I grabbed the flashlight from Edison’s hand and clicked it on, directing it toward the stage. The man blinked back at us, stunned. “An audience!” he cheered. “Finally, an audience! And a spotlight!”
“Who are you?” I demanded, looking him over. His clothes were tattered; he was barefoot. The layer of dirt on his face made it impossible to tell his age. Not speaking, he grinned wide at me, glassy-eyed. “What is your name?” I asked again.
He giggled and stretched out his arms. “W
hat’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.”
“This guy is on something,” Edison said, still aiming the gun at the stage. “Eupho, probably.”
“Young man, you may call me The Bard.” The man extended his hand to Edison with no result.
“I’ll call you a lot of things, but…” Quizzical, Edison turned to me, “The Bard?”
“It’s Shakespeare’s nickname,” I said, smiling.
Edison rolled his eyes. “Of course it is.” He lowered the gun. “So, Bard, what are you doing here?”
“The stage!” he exclaimed. “All the world—my world anyway—is a stage.”
“O-kaaay. This is helpful.” Edison pointed at me. “You’re the one with a shrink in the family. You have a go.”
“We need your help,” I said, hoisting myself up to join The Bard. Edison and Elana followed. “How long have you been here? Have you seen anyone else?”
He swung his arms out, preparing another line. “Wait,” I interrupted. “Brevity is the soul of wit, is it not? Or so The Bard says.”
“It is indeed.” He chuckled to himself. “I shall be brief.” Beckoning us with his hands, we moved in closer, until we formed a half-circle around him. Across from me, Elana wrinkled her nose. The Bard smelled a bit like Artos before a bath. “I shouldn’t tell anyone.” His voice was an exaggerated whisper. Thinking, he tapped his chin with his finger. “To tell, or not to tell—that is the question.”
Edison groaned. “Did I mention I got a C in English?”
The Bard guffawed, slapping Edison on the back, as if they were old friends. “Me too!”
“You were saying…” I narrowed my eyes to silence Edison and leaned in, hoping The Bard would continue. “You were going to tell us something.”
“The young man is right,” he said, giggling again. He pointed stage left. I followed his finger with my flashlight. A garbage bag sat just near the curtain’s edge.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“See for yourselves. Have a sample if you’d like.” He danced a jig toward the bag, reminiscent of Max’s performance on our sofa. Edison marched ahead of him, reaching the bag first and opening it.
“Pills,” he said. “Lots and lots of pills.”
“Eupho?” I asked.
“Ah, Eupho,” The Bard answered. “Can one desire too much of a good thing?”
Elana and I peeked inside the bag. Thousands of tiny blue pills polka-dotted the black plastic. I sifted to the bottom, where something else—a small plastic container with three cylindrical slots—was buried. “Where did you find this stuff?”
The Bard snickered as he pointed toward the entrance to the lab. I held up the plastic container to Elana, wondering if she could identify it. No idea, she mouthed, as I dropped it back inside the bag. “Did you see anyone?” I asked The Bard.
He shrugged, then waved his arm proudly toward his stolen wares. “One man’s trash is another man’s—”
“Wait a second,” Edison interrupted with a grin. “That line’s not from Shakespeare. Is it?”
“Edison Archibald Van Sant, what in the hell are you doing?” From the top of the stairs, a sudden voice descended upon us like a bomb drop. His face obscured in the dark, I didn’t need the flashlight to recognize Nicholas Van Sant.
Edison spun around, as I shined the flashlight at his father. I caught my breath. Quin was standing next to him. “Dad, I can explain—”
“Explain?” His voice cut like a whip. “You broke into this building. What if I was the police? Do you have any idea how this would jeopardize my case? My career?” Edison recoiled in shame.
“He was just trying to help,” I said. “And we found—” I paused, watching The Bard take it all in. His eyes darted fast, like a frog’s tongue. Moving with surprising speed, he grabbed the flashlight and tossed it into the seats, leaving us in near darkness. He slung the bag over his shoulder and ran.
“He’s getting away!” Elana yelled. Sprinting after him, Edison ran head first into the curtains. His arms flailed helplessly at the thick velvet, searching for the opening, while The Bard slipped through unscathed. “Parting is such sweet sorrow!” he called, his voice followed by a gleeful twitter and the sound of a door being opened. It was the last we heard from him.
As Elana untangled Edison from the curtains, I ran backstage. The emergency exit door was swung wide. The Bard was in the wind.
“What is going on here?” Mr. Van Sant demanded. “Who was that hooligan?” I waited for Edison to respond, but he was silent.
“Let’s go,” Mr. Van Sant ordered. I hopped down from the stage and retrieved the flashlight, Elana two steps behind me. Reluctant, Edison followed, gesturing toward the lab, as he walked. “Don’t you even want to look inside, Dad?”
“I already know what’s inside. My men were here last night.” Edison’s face reddened, as his father lectured him. “The next time you try to do my job for me is the last time you work with me. Understand?”
Elana reached for Edison, as they walked up the aisle, but he slunk away from her. “Yes, sir.”
Outside the theater, Van Sant security was driving our van. Still huffing, Mr. Van Sant got inside a second vehicle and motioned for Edison.
“Thanks a lot, McAllister.” Edison shoved Quin square in the chest. “You were supposed to keep him busy.”
Quin pushed him back. “It’s not my fault you got caught. He found out from the security guys at Lex’s house. I told you it was a bad idea.”
“Says the king of bad ideas.” Edison hissed within inches of Quin’s face.
Mr. Van Sant opened his car door, immediately diverting Edison’s attention. “Son, I shouldn’t have to tell you twice. Let Quin be. You’ve caused enough trouble for tonight.” Mr. Van Sant pointed to the seat next to him. “Now, let’s go. Quin, Lex, Elana—Jimmy will give you a ride in Edison’s car.”
Elana took Edison’s hand and brushed her lips against his cheek. Embarrassed, he barely looked at her. “When your dad calms down, give him this.” She handed him the bottle marked with a Z.
Inside the car, I was sandwiched between Quin and Elana. Neither spoke, both leaning against their respective windows. Elana’s occasional sniffling peppered the awkward silence. “Do you think Edison will be okay?” I asked. Elana shrugged, then sniffled.
“He’ll be fine,” Quin answered. “He should’ve known better.” I rolled my eyes and patted Elana’s arm.
Quin nudged me. “Who was that guy?”
“Not sure,” I replied. “He called himself The Bard.”
“The Bard?” Quin asked. “Like Shakespeare?” I nodded, feeling annoyed that I was impressed by him.
“That bag he ran off with was full of Eupho. He got it from the lab, probably when they were clearing it out.”
Quin’s eyes opened wide. “Did he say who he saw?”
“We didn’t get that far.” I didn’t blame Quin, but it sounded that way.
He sighed. “I really tried, but Mr. Van Sant is not easy to lie to.”
His words pricked at my heart. “Not like me, I guess.” I wanted to punish him with silence, but as usual, it proved impossible.
“Did you see anything else?” he asked, ignoring my venom.
Reluctant, I nodded. “I’m not sure what it was though. Elana didn’t know either.” As I described the container to Quin, his eyes darkened. “Does it sound familiar?”
“Yes.” He clutched his tattooed forearm, his expression troubled, unsettled. “It reminds me of something from the Guardian Force. They called it a field pack. It was only for experienced soldiers on extended missions. It was a way for us to keep up with our injections. But—”
“What?” I implored.
“The one I used only had two slots—Emovere and Agitor. You said this one had three.”
Neither of us said it aloud. We didn’t have to. I was certain our thoughts were the same. Onyx.
CHAPTER FIFTY - THREE
&
nbsp; BY ACCIDENT
SMALL AND UNASSUMING, Dr. Donnelly sat at the edge of our sofa, wringing his hands with worry. As he glanced from my father to me, his brow furrowed, sending his glasses in a slow decline down his nose.
“I hope you understand I’m taking a huge risk coming here,” he began. “Revealing this information to you, of all people, is unwise.”
“Then, why are you here?” my father demanded.
“Easy, Dad,” I cautioned, pushing through the cobwebs of fatigue from our late night, ill-fated Paramount break-in.
“It’s okay, Alexandra. It’s a fair question.” Dr. Donnelly lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I’m not sure who I can trust anymore. After Zenigenic hired me, I heard rumors—I’m sure you’ve heard them too—that they were still manufacturing banned substances. But I kept my head down, stayed quiet, just did my job. I never saw any evidence to suggest…” Dr. Donnelly swallowed a lump of apprehension. “ … wrongdoing. Then, I met Paul Grimley.”
My father and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance but said nothing.
“Grimley was like me, in a way, assigned to new product development. But, in other ways, he wasn’t like me at all. He was reckless, too inquisitive for his own good. A month or so before he died, he told me that he was being assigned to a new facility—a confidential facility. Then he showed up at Stanford totally beside himself, asking what I knew about Onyx. The last time I saw him he invited me to one of those anti-drug rallies. I told him no, of course. A few weeks later, he was dead.”
“Are you saying that—?”
Dr. Donnelly interrupted me. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. He knew too much.”
“Have you told anyone else about this?” The answer was obvious.
“Of course not. And I won’t. I don’t have a death wish, Alexandra.” Just like that, any hope of Dr. Donnelly assisting in George McAllister’s defense vanished. “After Paul died, my supervisor started sniffing around, asking some of us how well we knew him. I made it seem as if we were practically strangers. Besides, I can’t prove anything anyway.”
“What else do you know about Onyx?” my father asked.