The Creator

by Neil Carstairs

  Ben settled back into his seat and looked out at the dark of the airfield split by the multi-coloured arrays of runway lights. As the Mustang picked up speed the lights flashed by. They merged into a continuous stream until the pilot lifted the nose of the Mustang and the ground fell away below them. The lights became a string of jewels on the night-time landscape as they reached cruising altitude. The engine noise evened out to a background drone that Kramer seemed happy with as she moved over to take the seat next to Ben. ‘I’ll put Dawson on speaker phone,’ she said. ‘He told me he had some updates.’

  Ben nodded. The seats were close enough that Kramer’s arm and leg were touching his. He could feel her warmth seeping through his clothing and onto his skin. He wasn’t sure if it was deliberate, but Kramer seemed quite happy to stay in place as her phone rang. Dawson’s name displayed on the caller ID as she answered it. ‘Kramer here, sir. I’m on speakerphone so Ben can listen in.’

  ‘And you are airborne now?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kramer said. ‘Flight time should be three hours and our landing is slated for oh-four-hundred.’

  ‘I’ll have a car waiting,’ Dawson told them. ‘Now, I have further information on the incident in Westchester. We have people on scene and they are controlling the incident as best they can. I’m afraid police and local residents were there in large numbers so we are having to handle this with a cover story.

  ‘What we are saying is that Julie Zabel was killed by animals that escaped from an unregistered private zoo. The story is that she was driving and struck one of the animals. When she got out of the car to investigate two others attacked and killed her. Residents living along that section of road then shot the animals dead.’

  ‘Will that be a good enough cover?’ Kramer asked.

  ‘Should be. We are saying the animals were some kind of primate, which covers us for what people saw.’

  ‘So Julie wasn’t killed by humans then?’ Ben asked.

  ‘No, this was another creature incident. We have recovered the bodies to one of our facilities and have experts looking at them. First assessment is some kind of redundant primate branch from the proto-hominid. We’ll know more once DNA sequencing as taken place.’

  ‘No sign of Emily DeForrest or her mother?’ Kramer asked.

  ‘Well, this is where it gets interesting. A local man saw a woman carrying a child making away from the scene. He tried to stop them by firing a shot but a man with them returned fire and the resident ducked back into his house.’

  ‘Was the man who fired back forcing Emily and her mother to go with him?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Not according to our witness. He seemed to think they were together.’

  Ben and Kramer exchanged a glance. ‘So who is he?’ Kramer asked.

  ‘We’ve identified him already. His name is Peter Walsh. He’s a retired Chicago P.D. detective. Around the same time that the police were alerted to the incident involving Julie Zabel calls came in about a disturbance at a nearby property. Because of the serious nature of Julie’s call patrols responded to that one first. It took over an hour before a unit went to the other residence. They saw a broken window and entered the house believing there may have been a crime committed. They found another of the primates in a top floor room along with a dead dog.’

  ‘And the house belongs to this Peter Walsh?’ Ben asked.

  ‘It does,’ Dawson replied.

  ‘Are you saying Walsh and Zabel are connected in some way?’ Kramer asked.

  They heard Dawson laugh down the line. ‘Not Julie. Jane DeForrest.’

  ‘How?’ Kramer frowned.

  ‘Walsh is separated from his wife,’ Dawson said. ‘We’ve spoken to her and her reaction when we mentioned Jane’s name was to call her ‘that little slut’.’

  ‘She called Jane a little slut?’ Kramer sounded stunned. ‘That’s not the Jane we know.’

  ‘Peter Walsh is an author; he writes under the pseudonym Gus McKenna. He met Jane DeForrest five years ago when she worked for him as a researcher through an agency in her hometown. According to Walsh’s soon to be ex-wife they have been having an on-off affair ever since. Jane is one of the reasons she is seeking a divorce.’

  ‘But the house was empty,’ Ben said.

  ‘Correct. Walsh’s car had gone so we have a state-wide BOLO out on it.’

  ‘But he’s got at least an hour head start,’ Ben said. ‘As an ex-cop he’ll know all about be-on-the-lookout alerts. He’ll change cars or ditch it somewhere and take public transport.’

  ‘All true,’ Dawson said. ‘But we know they’re close to Chicago and that’s where you’ll be landing in a few hours. Now get some sleep because it could be a long day.’

  Kramer took that as an order to sign off the call. She put the phone away and rested back into her seat. Ben found he couldn’t concentrate on the events in Westchester because Kramer sat so close. She had closed her eyes and Ben realised she intended to stay in the seat next to his.

  ‘Kramer,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you running a temperature?’

  She tilted her head towards him and opened one eye. ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Just wondered,’ Ben said.

  ‘It’s because I’m hot,’ Kramer said with a smile. She closed her eyes.

  For the first time in a long time, Ben found himself lost for words.

  ***

  The Mustang landed at Chicago Midway International just after four and an all black Chevy Suburban waited for them on the apron as Ben and Kramer walked off the jet. They stowed their bags away and had a five minute briefing from the DHS rep who had brought the car to the airfield. The early hopes that they would find Walsh, Jane and Emily through tracing Walsh’s car had faded. The vehicle and its occupants had vanished and now Ben and Kramer seemed to be back into a waiting game. As Kramer drove them the few miles to Westchester, Ben fired up his laptop and began researching Peter Walsh and his alter-ego Gus McKenna.

  ‘I’ve read a couple of his books,’ Ben said.

  ‘Any good?’ Kramer asked as they pulled up at a stoplight.

  ‘Yeah.’ Ben found a bibliography. ‘He’s had fourteen books published. The last three all got into the top ten best seller list for thrillers. It says that he had four commendations and a life-saving award during his service with Chicago P.D. ‘

  ‘Got a picture of him?’

  ‘Here,’ Ben said as he angled the laptop screen. ‘Stock photo from his publisher.’

  Kramer glanced over. ‘Good looking,’ she said. ‘I can see why Jane got involved.’

  ‘Bit old, though,’ Ben said. ‘According to his bio, he’s fifty-three.’

  ‘You think that’s old?’

  ‘Not old old, just old where Jane’s concerned. She’s what? Late twenties?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Kramer said with a shrug as the light changed to green. ‘But sometimes we can’t help who we fall for.’

  ‘Have you ever been in love?’ Ben saw a chance to ask.

  ‘Once,’ Kramer said. ‘Back in college. Thought we would be together forever then found he had started dating my best friend behind my back.’

  ‘His loss,’ Ben said.

  ‘You got that right.’ Kramer slowed the car as she checked a road sign for directions.

  ‘Nothing since?’

  ‘Nothing serious,’ she said. ‘You?’

  ‘No-one who has lasted. Some don’t like who I work for. And I guess I’ve never fully committed to a relationship. I always hold back for some reason. And then there’s Chrissie. She likes to approve of my girlfriends and I think none have passed her test.’

  ‘And what test is that?’

  ‘A test of their inner spirit. To see if they would suit to me.’

  ‘And she tells them?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Ben said with a smile. ‘Chrissie couldn’t keep something like that to herself.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s why you hold back.’

  ‘No.’ Ben closed th
e laptop down. ‘There’s another reason I hold back.’

  Kramer pointed ahead. ‘I think we’re here.’

  She pulled the Suburban up behind a Westchester Police Department patrol car parked at the side of the road. Ben could see the outline of one cop sitting in the driver’s seat. Police tape across the front door of the house they had stopped outside. As he and Kramer got out of the Suburban, the cop slid out of his car. He looked to be about ten years past his best, with a stomach that strained the buttons on his uniform shirt.

  ‘Help you?’ he asked as he hitched his belt up.

  Ben and Kramer got their I.D.s out and Kramer said, ‘Agents Kramer and Scarrett, Homeland Security.’

  ‘More of you?’ the cop shook his head.

  ‘Yeah, more of us. We’ve just flown in and wanted to get an idea of the scene.’

  ‘Can’t let you in,’ the cop said. ‘CSI haven’t finished their sweep yet. They’ll be back after eight.’

  ‘What about the other incident, is it close by Officer...?’

  ‘Ruzzo,’ the cop said. ‘Back the way you came. First right then first right again.’

  ‘Were you one of the responding officers?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Sure was and if you’re going to ask me about the creatures that killed that poor woman then I can tell you there is nothing like them in all of creation. Brass say they escaped from a private zoo. Me, I say they escaped from Hell.’

  Kramer and Ben exchanged a glance. Kramer said. ‘Well, we haven’t seen them so can’t comment but best you keep something like that to yourself. We wouldn’t want any rumours getting out into the media.’

  Ruzzo gave Kramer a long stare. ‘That an order?’

  ‘Just advice.’

  He sniffed. ‘Whatever. You sticking around?’

  ‘No. Is there anywhere near here we can get a coffee?’

  ‘There’s a twenty-four hour McDonalds up on Roosevelt Road,’ Ruzzo said, as if happy to get them away from him. ‘Need directions?’

  ‘We’ll find it.’ Kramer took one last look at the Walsh property.

  Ruzzo had disappeared back into his patrol car by the time Ben and Kramer reached the Chevy. They sat in silence for a moment as they looked at the house. Ben said, ‘Dawson seemed certain that the creatures were some kind of hominid. But if the dog died in the house then that points to the creatures being inside. That says to me there’s some intelligence in them to gain access to the property.’

  ‘Or some intelligence guiding them.’ Kramer started the engine. Ruzzo gave them an off-hand wave as they pulled out past his car. ‘Westchester’s finest,’ she said with a disparaging look.

  ‘Funny how he knew where the nearest McDonalds is,’ Ben said.

  ‘He’s probably got a loyalty card.’

  ‘So we get a coffee, then what?’ Ben pulled Google Earth up on his phone to find Roosevelt Road.

  ‘We track down the soon to be ex-Mrs Walsh,’ Kramer said. ‘And hope she knows her husband well enough to point us to a place he would run to.’

  ***

  Kramer took the drive-through lane at the McDonalds. They sat now in a parking bay, drinking coffee and watching the local nightlife go by as the car windows steamed up. Losing the view of the restaurant pleased Ben. The neon-bright lights and golden arch symbols still made him feel uneasy. The memories and nightmares never left him and some days he wondered if they ever would.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Kramer said.

  Ben looked at her. Kramer had half turned towards him, resting back against the driver’s door and hooking one leg up on the seat. The lights from the car park spilled into the Suburban and cast her in lines of alternating light and shade. ‘Not really thinking of anything,’ he said.

  Kramer took a sip of her coffee. ‘You know you haven’t looked at the restaurant since we’ve been here.’

  Ben shrugged. ‘Hadn’t noticed,’ he said.

  ‘Sure you have.’ Kramer leant forward, trying to catch his eye.

  ‘If you know my background then you know why,’ Ben said.

  ‘I know. Is it why you still have nightmares?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Ben said.

  ‘Of course it is. Have you ever had counselling?’

  ‘No.’ Ben wished she would find a different topic of conversation. But at almost five in the morning in a McDonalds car park he figured there wasn’t much else to talk about.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, not for a long time. I had some back when I was a kid, just after it happened.’

  ‘You can talk to me if you want.’

  Ben looked at her. ‘Can I?’ he spoke as if he didn’t believe her.

  Kramer held his gaze for a few seconds. ‘There’s something you should know,’ she said. ‘When they put this team together the selection panel looked into everyone’s personal history. They chose people on the skills they possessed but also on their past.’

  Ben saw an edge of darkness at his vision. He concentrated so hard on Kramer that everything else became lost to him. And then even Kramer began to fade, her voice lost as if she were in a tunnel and Ben strained to hear her as she said.

  ‘You’re not alone. We’ve all lost someone, even Dawson. With me it was my Dad. He was killed in a street robbery. Shot for thirty dollars and change in his wallet. The police caught the guy who did it. He was sentenced to death, but that took eleven years to happen. I was eight when my Dad died and nineteen when we got justice. I went to the execution just to make sure the son-of-a-bitch died.’

  Ben had no way of speaking. It seemed as if some outside agency had taken over his body. A numbness crept into his limbs, leaving him floating as if he lay in a sensory deprivation chamber. Kramer carried on talking as she said, ‘Dawson? His adopted daughter was raped and murdered on campus one night. A security guard turned up three minutes too late to save her but quick enough to shoot and kill the rapist.

  ‘Mack lost a brother to a suicide bomber in Kabul. Pruitt lost his brother to a drive-by-shooting and Martin Rettig’s wife and son died in a head-on collision with a drunk driver.’

  ‘And me...’ Ben heard his voice as if it belonged to a stranger.

  ‘And you,’ Kramer said and those words seemed to anchor Ben in the moment.

  He found himself sitting in the car once more. Kramer leant in, she reached out to hold his hand. Ben let her take it. Her touch held warmth from the coffee cup.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Why select people like us? Because the powers that be knew early on that these events had some sort of psychic link. They had too much evidence building from people like Julie and Emily and the others. The selection panel decided that those best suited to the team would be people who had lost a loved one in extreme circumstances. They believed that this link with death would provide some sort of advantage as the investigations proceeded.’

  ‘Are they right?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Kramer said.

  ‘Does that mean I can go home?’ Ben asked, with a shaky smile on his face.

  ‘No.’ Kramer gave his hand a squeeze before sitting back.

  ‘Pity,’ Ben said. The air in the car held the aroma of coffee that warmed his lungs as he breathed it in. Kramer seemed to be waiting for him to say something. He looked out through the misted up window at the distorted image of the McDonalds restaurant and said, ‘They might come back.’

  Kramer knew who Ben was talking about. ‘That’s what scares me the most. I could be walking down the street and come face to face with my Dad’s killer again.’

  ‘So we stop this,’ Ben said.

  ‘Easier said than done.’ Kramer turned to start the engine. She switched on the air-con at the same time to clear the windows.

  ‘Is Emily the key?’

  ‘She seems to be.’

  Ben nodded. ‘Then we have to find her first.’

  ***

  Jane fell asleep soon after they left the Wal-Mart in Addison. A quick sweep through the st
ore bought clothing for Jane and Emily, along with food and drink. Pete paid with cash he took from his house safe. He also purchased a couple of pay-as-you-go cell phones and ditched his own. What he wanted to do was abandon his car but he had no way of renting another vehicle or anyone he trusted enough to get him one in time. So they made their way north in the dead of night. Pete stayed awake on a flask of coffee as he took occasional glances in the mirror at Jane and Emily in the back.

  He still couldn’t quite believe how a single mother over twenty years younger than him could have stolen his heart. Pete hadn’t married until he passed thirty-five. Lyndsey worked in the Prosecutor’s office when they met. They’d worked enough cases together that a chance meeting in a bar led to a meal and then a series of dates and finally marriage. Pete could be honest enough and say that if hadn’t been for Lyndsey he would never have become a writer. Writing had been a hobby, something to escape the world of murders and robberies he inhabited. She’d seen one of his manuscripts, suggested some improvements and sent it into an agent without Pete knowing. Six months later he had a contract to publish that first novel and three more if he could turn them out. So Pete had no problem in Lyndsey getting a proper settlement in the divorce because he felt he was the winner now that he had Jane.

  Pete glanced at Jane again. He could still remember the day they met after emails and phone calls. Warm red hair, green eyes, pale skin and a dusting of freckles. A cold day in the Mid-west but the warmth he felt as they shook hands and he looked into her eyes shocked him. He spent two hours signing books and tried to think of anything but Jane. It didn’t really work. He promised her an evening meal where he found out more about her. Life as a single mother. Struggles with money and work. The money he gave her that night was a genuine offer. He didn’t expect anything in return, especially the hug, followed by the kiss. There had still been a chance to walk away, but her smile drew Pete in and that first night together had been something close to heaven.

  Their relationship grew. Pete supported Jane and Emily as much as possible without Lyndsey finding out. But she did and fear of the unknown kept Pete married to Lyndsey and living in Westchester. He knew now, as he drove north, that he should have left his wife back then. He would have been with Jane when Emily began her psychic visions. He would have been there when the government came calling and maybe, just maybe, he would have kept the family together. Not lost them to the black hole that was the Directorate of Special Investigations.