by Melody Clark
“I think I bought them some time. I tempted him with the next nebulous programming venture that could be immensely lucrative for both companies. I think he’ll bite.” Thomas set down his teacup in a saucer. “So what was this important thing you had to tell me?”
Tad looked from Ken to James to Wilse and back again. “You cannot tell Eddie or Andrew I’ve told you what I’m going to tell you until after this is over, but Eddie is not coming up with his works of genius without a chemical assist. And I have proof.”
“You’re certain?” Thomas asked.
Tad nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Thomas surrendered to a chair behind him, his fingers sinking into the armrest. His head swiveled slowly toward Ken. “Did you know this?”
“Of course he knew it. He watched it happen,” Tad replied.
Ken shook his head, surrendering up a growl of angry laughter. “How the hell did you guys think he managed the killer schedule? That poor kid was strung out on purpose and we all chose to ignore it – all of us. And the saddest part of all is, so long as the racehorse was winning, it didn’t matter. Edward has never been anything but a victim of somebody else’s bad decisions.”
“Ken is right,” Thomas said.
“Yeah, I am. And what’s going to be left of that kid? That’s what we’re not addressing.”
“I don’t know about psychologically, but physically he’s crashing,” Tad said. “I give him at most an hour before he’s going to need to use again.”
“What’s going to happen when he crashes?” Ken asked.
“It’s hard to say without knowing what he’s on at this moment. He could be up for three straight days or sleep for a week. More likely the second scenario,” Tad said.
“Given the circumstances, we need him to do this,” Ken said. “We do. Who else can do it?”
“There has to be another way,” Thomas replied. “We have hundreds of programmers in our employ. Some of the best in the world.”
“Really, Dad,” James said, “that know this program? That have the skill level that Eddie has at the tasks we need to have performed? We don’t.”
“James is right,” John Croftdon’s voice rose above the others. He sat down on the settee beside the small group. “What we have begun, we must put to an end. We started this madness, and we must end it. It is our responsibility.”
“That’s right, it’s your responsibility,” Thomas rebuked the older man. “Yours. Not my son’s. You find a way out of this quagmire that you helped create.”
John sat forward with stoic precision, failing to meet his son’s eyes. “Thomas, we live in a precarious world balanced upon difficult and dangerous choices. Edward has been a vital asset in keeping us all safe from those dangers. We have all enjoyed the benefits of his work. Now we must have him finish that work.”
“Goddamn it, he isn’t an asset.”
“I wish I had the luxury of being so idealistic,” John replied. “You are my son, Thomas, and when it comes to matters of business, you’ll do what I tell you to do.”
“Not this time. Not again. Never again.”
“Hate as I do to argue for something like this,” Ken said, “I don’t see we have a whole lot of options.”
“Then we’ll have to find one,” Thomas said.
“I need a break,” Edward said, standing away from his chair like some anchor he had just divested himself of. He combed fingers through his hair to move it all away from his eyes. He tried to focus on one thing – on any thing – that wasn’t a screen filled with text.
“Are you all right?” Andrew asked, reaching for his own mug of tea to follow Edward over to the window.
“I’m conscious,” Edward said, gripping his fingers together as he descended slowly into an old red wingback chair, positioned against the window that overlooked the grounds. “That’s as good as it gets.”
“We’ve made a lot of progress,” Andrew offered. “We’ve found a number of places the access isn’t located.”
“That’s true, defining my failures, I guess that could be seen as progress,” Edward said to his reflection in the darkening window. Between the lights of a distant house and the shadows of this one, the family cemetery back gate loomed darkly, the old posts glittering in the residual moonlight. He leaned forward to stare out across the yard, as if seeking some answer in the deeper shadows. “Rhetorical question to distract myself. Do you want to be buried? Because I don’t.”
Andrew looked around with a confused squint. “What a question. I’ve never given it much thought, actually. I suppose so. Father has the new plot in town for the lot of us. That’s where Gram and the other grands went. Where the old codger will go, too, once they finally ram a stake through his petrified heart.”
Eddie laughed at the thought. “I’ve never understood the European wish to horde our dead. I’d rather be cremated and scattered to the four winds or seven seas or something.”
“Well, you’d want a memorial though for everyone to remember you, wouldn’t you?” Andrew asked.
Eddie shook his head. “I don’t really want to be remembered.”
“Well, you will be. Why wouldn’t you want to be?”
Edward shrugged. “Too much responsibility. I think it’s best to be forgotten. Death is about managing carbon, you know, the process of forgetting. Things have their moment, but then they’re gone. Turned over into the earth.”
Andrew stood beside him silently for a long moment. He set aside his tea and then finally spoke, “Eddie, that’s so fucking sad, I can’t even begin to tell you.”
“You think so? I somehow find it comforting.” Edward stood from the chair, crossing his arms against another chill overtaking him. “I mean, I can’t abide the thought of just hanging around, in whatever form. Dead in a box, or just existing, hooked up to machines. Someone else paying my bills. I’d rather die than be useless or, worse, a burden to someone. I’d rather just be scattered and forgotten.”
“Eddie, I’m about one step away from calling in Tad. Are you really okay?”
“Of course,” Edward said, laughing. “Are you?”
“I’m not the one pattering morbidly about death and dying,” Andrew said.
“Oh, I’m just in a morose mood from everything that’s happened. I’m fine. Really.”
As Edward turned to walk back to his laptop, Andrew reached out to keep him from moving for a moment. “Eddie, after we melt down the program, what are you going to do? Where are you going, I mean? Have you given it much thought?”
Edward stopped in one place to think for a moment. “I don’t have the foggiest notion. Obviously not back to Bakunin. Not after this.”
“You might stay on with Croftdon, you know.”
“Oh, God, no. That would be presumptuous as hell. Besides, after doing this to Wendell, it wouldn’t be right.”
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind an unsolicited opinion from your kid brother,” Andrew said, “I think you should stop worrying about your responsibility to others in any of this. You didn’t ask for what you’ve been given. You aren’t beholden to anyone for it.”
“You know you’re a much nicer person than Tad and I. How did that happen?”
Andrew shrugged. “There are numerous theories.”
“Yeah, I’ve been hearing about those.”
Edward checked the darkness beyond the window against the face of his wristwatch. “Well, before anything happens, we have to get this done – or there won’t be much of a happily ever after for either of us.”
Edward returned to the chair beside his laptop. He pulled the collar of his sweater up, then folded his arms against the intensifying shiver. For a moment, his fingers wouldn’t flex. Then he hit the spacebar to bring up the screen. Perspiration spilling down his face, he wiped it away with his sweater sleeve.
“You have the gateways loaded, so all we have to do is try each one in ser
ies,” Edward said, “then it will provide us the window for the password. Wendell chose it. That’s when the fun begins.”
“How long will it take to sequence?” Andrew asked.
Edward shook his head. “It could be minutes, it could be hours, it might be –”
The laptop screen resolved and quickly displayed one text line:
Opening Salvo
“That’s Wendell’s prompt!” Edward gasped, pointing to the screen. “Opening Salvo, that’s his favorite prompt. It has to be the way in. I’ll bet the prompt text line is keyed to the password phrase. He loves that crap.”
“There’s a password phrase?” Andrew asked, his voice alarmed.
“Not really. It’s a randomly generated phrase that only keys to one word. You have to know Wendell to get it. There will be a series of three. They all must be correct.”
“Fabulous. Why didn’t he make it difficult or something?” Andrew said darkly.
The next line of text: Antimony born?
“Here’s the first one,” Edward said.
“Antimony is a metallic element, isn’t it?” Andrew asked.
“It’s also the name of the town in Utah where Wendell’s mother was born.” Edward typed in SELENA.
The screen flashed CORRECT. It then displayed –
Dock Square Lodge Site
Edward wove his fingers through each other to grip them together. At last, he typed in KENNEBUNKPORT
The screen flashed INCORRECT – TRY AGAIN?
“How many chances do we have?” Andrew asked.
“Two,” Edward said, exhaling. “This one has to be right. Wait – wait, I think I know.”
He typed in CAPE PORPOISE.
CORRECT.
“Jesus,” Edward said, sighing. “That was close.”
“So, what’s that?” Andrew asked. One more?”
Edward nodded. “I think.”
The screen displayed Clan I Or Deep and Wide.
“What the hell does that mean?” Andrew asked.
“I know that from somewhere,” Edward said, sweeping away more sweat from his forehead. “Where do I know that from?”
With a sudden, sharp movement, Edward’s arms contorted forward in front of him. He grasped at his right arm with his left. He pitched forward, seized by another wave of cramps in what felt like all his muscles.
“I’m getting Tad,” Andrew said.
“No,” Edward coughed out, trying to wave away Andrew’s concern. “I’m fine. I’ll just – I’ll be back in a minute or so.”
Edward grasped hold of the wall again. One of his legs felt like rubber, the other wracked by a deep-bone twisting pain. He inched toward the library door and into the hall, and felt his way to the room he had been using. The door sprung open and he had to grab for the frame to keep from falling. The sweat spilling into his eyes made it impossible to see.
“Dear God, not here,” he murmured to himself, closing the door behind him and the rest of the house. “Anywhere else, please just not here.”
The pain dragged his legs out from under him. Edward could barely breathe against the cramps compressing his chest. He sagged silently against the side of his bed while reaching up for the overnight bag Ken had brought for him. He yanked open the zipper and thrust a hand into the case’s depths. Where there should have been the one thing he needed in the world just then, there was only a void.
“Looking for this, Eddie?” Tad said from behind him.
Edward had to focus again. He pushed himself up on the bed to confront the invader. “Give that to me, it’s mine.”
Tad eyed him sadly. He dangled the white plastic bag of powder in front of him before he slid it into his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry, but that’s staying where it is.”
“You have no fucking right,” Edward groaned out, strangled by the pain.
“If you’ll consider the situation, I have every fucking right. This is our home and you are my brother. Like it or not, I’m a doctor. As I’ve said, I know how much you’ve taken and how long you’ve taken it. Don’t attempt to lie to me.”
“If I don’t do what I have to do,” Edward said, with measured breaths, “it could mean the end of Croftdon as well as Bakunin. Their futures are tied together.”
“So? I don’t give a fig about the stupid computer companies. I will help you, but you’re not getting this shit. You hadn’t shot up but a couple of times when I did your blood workup. As hard as Benzedrine is to rehab from, this shit is intravenous poison. I wondered how you were getting by without your stash. Now I know. And by the way, so does everyone. By that I mean, you know, everyone.”
Tad stepped out of the way to allow Thomas into the room, then closed the door behind him.
“Oh, my God,” Edward murmured, turning away to try to bury himself in the darkness.
“I discovered how he’s been balancing himself. Diacetylmorphine,” Tad said to Thomas. “Most people call it heroin.”
Thomas covered his face with his hands, and then walked around the edge of the bed to face Eddie. Edward’s eyes were closed. He was still facing the corner.
“This has to stop now, Eddie. This goes no further.”
“You gave up the right to tell me that a long time ago,” Edward whispered to the room.
“Then I’m taking it back,” Thomas said.
“Where were you?” Eddie screamed out, lunging forward in Thomas’ direction, only to make it to the edge of the bed. “Where have you ever been before the last few days?”
“That wasn’t entirely my fault, Eddie.”
Edward reached for the bedpost to steady himself, still turning in Thomas’ direction. “How is it my fault at all?”
“It isn’t, son.”
“But I’m the one suffering. Through no fault of my own. Because of choices you and Wendell made. The only thing you can do to help me now is give me what I need so I can do what you fucking brought me here to do – save your goddamned company.”
“That’s not why you’re here,” Thomas said softly, “and regardless, I’m still not giving that to you.”
“Fine, you want me to beg?” Edward asked. “I will beg. I will plead. This task is why I exist. It has always been the sole purpose of my existence. Let me do what I came here to do. If I do not do this, I would rather die.”
“Those aren’t our only choices. I believe there is a greater meaning to your life than –-”
“You have meaning!” Edward yelled back. “I’m an orphan in history. All I know now is I’m in pain. And I need it to stop. I don’t fucking care how.” Edward sagged back against the bed. “Father, if you have any regard for me at all, please let me stop this.”
Thomas turned toward the corner that Eddie had leaned into. He closed the distance between them quickly. “Don’t you dare use that word on me now. That isn’t my son saying that, that’s the junkie talking. Instead, I’m going to teach you what the word father means, possibly for the first time in your life. No. Not now, not ever.”
“You’re going to take responsibility for future deaths?” Edward asked, gulping for breaths.
“If necessary,” Thomas said, “yes. I have one life I’m trying to protect right now. Just one. Yours.”
“I am responsible for that weapon they are using,” Edward said.
“Not to my mind,” Thomas said.
Edward looked toward Tad. “Please. You’re a doctor. Help me with this.”
Tad sighed sadly. “Fine, but my concern at this point is your pain and general health. As such, I’m going to assume responsibility and administer what I believe will help you out of the state you’re in. If you can work while in it, so be it. But I’m going to sit in there every minute of every hour. One sign of any medical crisis, and I shut you down. I will escort you personally into treatment.”
“Fine,” Eddie said, exhaling with a limitless relief. “I can live with tho
se conditions.”
Tad pulled something out of his jacket pocket. From his shirt pocket, he drew out a shot kit. He reached for Eddie’s left arm and pulled it out straight. He pulled a transdermal patch off its backing and placed it on his upper arm. “Give me your other arm.”
“What is all this?” Edward asked.
“The patch is buprenorphine. It’ll counter a lot of what you’re experiencing now.” Tad prepared the syringe for the injection. “This is one part naloxon, which will handle the rest of your symptoms. The other part is something I won’t tell you the name of, because if I did, you’d be running around the region trying to mainline it.”
“Just give me what I need and I’ll do what I have to do,” Edward said, his voice flat and somber. “Then I can get out of your hair forever.”
