Friction
Page 8
“What’d he say?” asked Kristy, who’d been anxiously waiting.
“He’s putting me in contact with a neurologist,” said Natalie.
“Awesome,” said Kristy. “Let’s hope he can help.”
Kristy, despite facing so many tragedies, including the recent loss of her mother, amazed Natalie with her optimism. She had every reason to be negative but seemed to find the silver lining in any situation. The two had become as close as sisters and relied on each other in every way.
“We should go check on Jesse,” said Natalie.
They walked upstairs and approached the room where Jesse was being held, but before they entered, Natalie sensed something was off. She raised her arm. “Wait.” At the door’s entrance, she heard grunting. She peeked around the threshold and gasped in horror.
“Get Daniel!” she shouted.
Natalie burst inside and ran to Jesse, who had initially looked like he was fighting his restraints. When Natalie saw the blood spurting from his left wrist, however, she realized what was happening. Jesse had maneuvered his left strap in a way that allowed him to dig the jagged buckle into his flesh.
They’d loosened the leather straps slightly for comfort, not realizing he would use the metallic buckle to end his own life. Jesse was like a man possessed; he was sweating and groaning in pain, but he’d already done most of the work. There was a large pool of blood on the floor, with lots more spewing from his wrist.
Though Natalie wasn’t certain Jesse was in his right mind, she ran to him and tried to stop the carnage. She grabbed his left hand and held it, surprised by her own strength. Jesse tried in vain to free his right arm, desperate to continue, but he couldn’t get it loose. He looked at Natalie with wild, teary eyes and pleaded with her.
“Please, let me die,” he said. “I can’t bear it.”
Natalie wanted to tell him she was getting help, for him to hang in there, but his eyes were fading. She looked at his torn wrist; though she was no doctor, she knew he’d lost too much blood. She released his hand and put pressure on the wrist, but the gouge was too deep and long. She couldn’t stop the flow of blood, even using both hands.
Jesse’s eyes were blank, and his head lay peacefully on the pillow. His breathing had slowed. He glanced at Natalie once more and closed his eyes.
Natalie let him sleep.
*
September 30, 2028
10:00 a.m. CST
Chicago, Illinois
Cane arrived at Brewer’s office and parked, still trying to figure out his approach. There were several other vehicles in the lot, so he’d have to take the other patients into account.
He’d just received a call from Lynks letting him know Jesse had killed himself. Cane found himself even angrier with Brewer because of this, for the doctor had a measure of responsibility in derailing the innocent man’s life. He also felt a sense of relief for Jesse; if Cane were in his place, he would have wanted the same thing. The man had already lost everything, so why wouldn’t he choose to end his life rather than succumb to the strange entity taking over his mind?
The clinic was small and bland, a seemingly unlikely place for something so sinister to be occurring. The old building needed maintenance, the paint peeling and chipping away from years of neglect, but it was cozy and inviting, nonetheless. The parking lot was in decent shape, showing the business itself was likely functioning well, unless Vinson was paying the doctor for his efforts.
The door buzzed as Cane entered the small lobby, and the few waiting patients turned to watch him enter. Cane was a big, imposing figure who rarely made public appearances, especially in the daytime. The looks on the patients’ faces suggested he was out of place, but he strode toward the reception area like he knew what he was doing and tapped on the glass partition. There was a sign-in sheet he ignored as he waited for a nurse to open the glass.
A moment later, a chubby face appeared behind the Plexiglas, and it opened, revealing a cheery lady in her thirties. She was smiling until she saw Cane’s appearance, realizing he wasn’t a current patient. She straightened her face and pointed to the sheet on the counter. “If you’re a new patient, sign the list and we’ll call your name.”
The nurse probably knew all the regulars, but Cane wasn’t trying to bluff. “I need to see Dr. Brewer, immediately,” he said, trying to sound like a concerned relative.
“What’s this about?” asked the lady. Her smile was completely gone and she looked irritated.
“I’m here about Jesse Vercher, a patient of his,” said Cane.
“And you are?”
“Just tell him Jesse’s brother is here, wanting answers,” said Cane. He tried to appear as menacing as he could, though it wasn’t a stretch.
The nurse wheeled her chair around and left the reception area. Cane stood upright and looked around the waiting room; a dad was busy comforting his sick son, another kid was staring at Cane with a scared look, and an elderly lady was glaring at him, likely reacting to his rude outburst. He smiled at her and paced, waiting for the nurse. He suspected it wouldn’t take long once she spoke to the doctor, and he was right. Not five minutes later, she opened the door leading to the examination rooms, a hallway looming behind her.
“Dr. Brewer will see you now, Mr. Vercher,” said the nurse.
The way she called Cane’s name reminded him he didn’t have a last name. It was odd to be called mister anything.
Cane followed her down the hall, passing exam rooms on the way, until they reached the end. It made sense for the doctor to want to meet in the privacy of his office.
The nurse shut him inside with Brewer, who was a good-looking, well-kept man in his forties. He wasn’t dressed like he’d been seeing patients, but rather like he was ready to attend an important meeting. Cane reminded himself to approach the man carefully, for Jesse had never confirmed the doctor was involved; they only had the word of the brainwashed version of the captive.
The look on the doctor’s face did little to appease Cane’s suspicions, for the man looked like he’d seen a ghost. This wouldn’t have been the reaction Cane banked on had Brewer been a marked man, but rather one being paid or coerced. Fear filled Brewer’s eyes, and he was fidgeting before Cane ever spoke. Clearly, Cane’s backstory had done what he’d hoped it would.
“Mr. Vercher?” asked Brewer. His voice was nervous and agitated.
“Jesse’s dead,” said Cane without acknowledging his fake identity.
Brewer’s eyes widened as he tried to keep his composure. “What’s this have to do with me?”
“He killed himself this morning,” said Cane. “He’s been changing over the last few weeks. Losing his memory, having blackouts. Lately he’s only had a few moments of brief clarity, and during one, he decided to end his own misery.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Vercher, I did not contribute to his demise.” Brewer tried to sound confident but wasn’t doing a great job. The knowledge that he’d likely caused this man’s death couldn’t be easy to stomach, unless he was turned himself. “Even if you are his brother, I’m afraid I won’t be able to discuss the details of his case.”
“No?” asked Cane. He walked closer to Brewer’s desk and leaned over it. “I think you’re gonna tell me everything I want to know, Doctor.”
“Who are you?” asked Brewer. “I don’t think you’re Jesse’s brother.”
“I’m not,” said Cane. “You’re gonna wish I was, though.”
Brewer rose from his seat and grabbed his headset.
“I know you’ve been working with the marked men,” said Cane. “If that’s the cops you’re calling, I’d be curious to see how they react to your side-job. I’m willing to bet you have syringes in here somewhere, and they don’t contain legal medicine. You probably don’t know what’s inside of them, either.”
Brewer dropped the phone as Cane leaned in. “I know what’s in the syringes.”
Brewer sat down and exhaled. Cane gave him a moment to soak it all in.
Brewer’s head lowered, and he nodded. “You don’t understand. They will kill my family.”
“Who came to you and when?” asked Cane.
“I don’t know his name,” said Brewer. “But he came to my house a few years ago.”
A few years ago?
“He told me he needed me to do something for him,” said Brewer. “He said it wouldn’t affect anyone adversely. He told me if I didn’t cooperate, he’d kill my wife and kids.”
Brewer’s anxiety took on a different form; he was no longer guiltily afraid, but terrified instead—no doubt for his family.
“I resisted at first, but the guy kept sending his men to taunt me randomly, at different places and times, to show me his reach and power, I’m sure. He wanted me convinced there was nowhere to hide. I cooperated, finally, because I had no choice.”
“You knew he was one of the marked men?” asked Cane.
“Yes,” said Brewer. “I saw several men’s markings. I had heard about the men before, but I didn’t know much about them.”
No one does, thought Cane. The marked men had started a wave of paranoia across the country that fizzled out because the men were so mysterious.
“He forced you to inject men with syringes?”
“Yes,” said Brewer.
“Did you know what was in them?”
“No,” said Brewer. “I didn’t ask, and I honestly didn’t want to know. He swore it was nothing harmful, but I’m not stupid.”
Cane dreaded the next question. “How many men have you injected?”
Brewer lowered his head farther in obvious shame. “I’d say two or three a week.”
It wasn’t as many as Cane had feared, though it was still an alarming number. “How’d you choose which men to inject?”
“At first they let me choose. They wanted healthy men. It was their only condition. Later, maybe a year ago, they sorted through various candidates. They wanted no one with a violent past.”
Cane pondered that for a moment and thought he knew why. He recalled the men who’d lost their minds and caused random acts of violence. Maybe men who have a particular trait don’t respond well to being turned, he thought.
“What happened to those you injected?” asked Cane.
“Right after, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing detectable,” said Brewer. “In fact, that’s what helped me justify what I was doing.”
“What you’ve been injecting these men with has been erasing their current identity and implanting a foreign one somehow,” said Cane.
Brewer shook his head back and forth as the revelation dawned on him. “That explains why the men leave their jobs and families and move elsewhere. I had no idea.”
Cane found himself torn between pitying the doctor and being angry at his passiveness. He was doing what he had to do to protect his family, but his actions had ruined hundreds of other families.
“You have vials here?” asked Cane.
The doctor startled. “Oh. Yes. I keep them locked up.”
“Show me,” said Cane.
A fearful look swallowed Brewer’s expression. “What are you going to do?”
“I won’t ask again,” said Cane.
Brewer walked to the corner of the room where a refrigerator stood. After thumbing the lock open, he opened it to reveal a top shelf of two syringes filled with a maroon-colored liquid. It looked like blood mixed with something darker.
“That’s all?” asked Cane.
“They only furnish so many at a time,” said Brewer.
“They come by and restock you?”
“Yes,” said Brewer. “Every week.”
Cane signaled him to shut the door, and the doctor sat back down at his desk. “Please, sir,” said Brewer. “I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, but if they find out I’ve talked to you, they’ll kill my family.”
“Do you think all the other families didn’t deserve their lives?” asked Cane. “Do you care about the lives you helped destroy? I know you did this to protect your own, but saving one family at the expense of hundreds of others isn’t something I’m willing to brush off.”
Brewer was obviously not a monster, and any man in his position would likely be, at the least, tempted to perform the same way he had, under the circumstances. However, he’d never been forced to dissect the consequences of his actions until now, and it was weighing on him. “What can I do?”
“Do you have a list of men you injected?” asked Cane.
Brewer nodded. “Not handy, but yes. I could print one out.”
“Let’s start with that,” said Cane.
“Anything to keep my family safe.”
Cane looked at the doctor up and down and considered his next move. “I might be able to help you.”
Brewer’s sunken eyes lit up. “How?”
“There is a risk,” said Cane.
The optimism in Brewer’s eyes faded. “I can’t risk my family. These men are monsters.”
Cane leaned over the desk again, this time filled with more rage than ever. “Let me tell you the alternative, Doctor. If you choose not to help, and turn your back on the families you’ve destroyed, and continue doing what you’ve been doing, I’ll be back. You may be afraid of the marked men, but you should be afraid of the man who hunts them.” Cane pointed at his own chest, in case Brewer was slow to make the connection. “If you don’t accept my compromise, you’re no better than the monsters you’re afraid of, in my eyes.” Cane stuck a finger in Brewer’s face. “I will kill you, Doctor.”
The color from Brewer’s face was gone, and he swallowed hard. “What do you need me to do?”
“First, the list,” said Cane. “Then we discuss how to save your ass.”
*
September 30, 2028
10:30 a.m. CST
Naperville, Illinois
Calvin’s house had been quiet since Jesse’s death. Daniel had been tending to the body in the room, but they didn’t know how to dispose of it yet. Natalie grieved for Jesse’s family; they’d lost him long before today, but they’d likely never know what truly happened to him. She’d considered making an anonymous call to them, but somehow, it seemed more cruel than thoughtful.
Lynks had been glued to her side while Calvin and Kristy were busy making sure Jordyn and Taryn were okay. “Can I get you anything?” asked Lynks. It was the second time he’d asked, but she didn’t mind. Having someone so attentive to the way she felt wasn’t something she could complain about.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I wish there was something we could do for his family.”
Natalie had hoped they could help Jesse somehow, since he was so early in his turning. “Maybe I should’ve told him we had a plan,” she said. “It would’ve given him hope.”
“Possibly false hope,” said Lynks. “It’s not your fault. Maybe he couldn’t bear another moment of losing himself.”
Lynks was probably right, but she wished she could at least have had the opportunity to try.
Her phone rang; it was a number she didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Is this Natalie?” It was an older-sounding man.
“Yes,” she said.
“This is Dr. Woody Grayson. Dr. Duncan gave me your number.”
That was quick, thought Natalie. After Jesse’s death, she’d wanted to gather herself before talking, and the conversation seemed less of a priority now. However, whatever information they could gather would be potentially beneficial, so she took a deep breath and composed herself. “Did he inform you of the situation?”
“We talked for twenty minutes,” said Grayson. “I believe he filled me in on all the details.”
It doesn’t sound like it, thought Natalie. He sounded too calm to be burdened with all the knowledge he needed to have. “The marked men? The brainwashing?�
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Grayson regurgitated every detail, beginning with the DNA from the hotel assassin, all the way to Jesse’s symptoms. The only thing he was unaware of was Jesse’s death, but Natalie didn’t feel it was necessary to tell him. It was awkward as well.
“So is there anything you can tell me that would be of help?” asked Natalie.
She heard him sigh. “Well, normally, I’d request to see such a patient because of the many variables. But seeing this is a unique situation, I did some quick digging.”
“My knowledge is limited,” admitted Natalie.
“Well,” said Grayson, “I did some unorthodox research. A few minutes ago, this information was out of my grasp also.”
Great, thought Natalie.
“Dr. Duncan had looked into old research from a project called Written By Blood. Its focus was primarily on genetic mutation, but there were other experiments. One of these involved not only altering their genetic code but also altering their mind states. Tampering with their memories.”
Natalie recalled Duncan’s rundown of the government project.
“These scientists realized it wasn’t enough to ‘swap’ DNA in individuals. It would be useless if they ended up with the same person’s mind and memories. They needed people they could control.”
Duncan’s research had shown that governments weren’t merely trying to alter one’s DNA, or enhance it, but were seeking to replace it completely with another, predesigned set. It sounded like fantasy, but the group had been forced to take the possibility seriously because of what they’d seen. When Duncan later confirmed it was actually happening, it had been a sobering moment.
Grayson was right; if the experimenters wanted to fully design a man, replacing his DNA wouldn’t be enough on its own. The man would retain his identity, unless there was a way to tamper with it.
“You think it’s possible?” asked Natalie.
“Not in my universe,” said Grayson. “But Duncan said he responded the same way to the notion of swapped DNA. It sounds like I won’t have the same luxury he had of testing it, so there’s no way for me to confirm this.”
Natalie almost chuckled at his insinuation but understood. Grayson was on the doorstep of acquiring ground-breaking research but would never have a chance to access it.