Paige sighed. “Look, my roommates aren’t what you’d call adventurous. I already looked into all the everyday numbskull reasons they might be missing. I know how this sounds. I was hoping you’d tell me I’m seeing some paranoid conspiracy in a bunch of coincidences. That my friends will miraculously walk through the door any minute.”
The Colonel nodded sympathetically and said, “Thing is, a military or law enforcement agency would need damn good reasons to be so secretive about their whereabouts. But . . . while running their names . . .”
The Colonel paused, choosing his next words very carefully.
“I received a phone call from someone. They didn’t give a name or rank, identified themselves as an associate of General Delacy. You don’t get a call from such a man that late in the evening for a pleasant chat. He was quite . . . indirect . . . only said that for reasons I could surely understand, I had not been made aware of my daughter’s proximity to the subjects of an ongoing investigation. That up until now, they had still been assessing whether or not you were actively involved.”
He continued, “Suffice to say, I was given the distinct impression that if I continued inquiring on your behalf, someone might decide that they had been mistaken, and that my daughter had been quite involved all along.”
Paige closed her eyes and swallowed a bite. The subtext was clear enough: Now that you know you’re not insane—stop asking questions.
“Jesus,” Paige said. “If that is indirect, I don’t want to find out what direct looks like.”
The Colonel nodded gravely. “I know it isn’t what you want to hear. I fear that if I try to tell you what to do, you’ll do the opposite. But, please, if you feel you must act, don’t throw self-preservation out the window. Be smart.”
Was he giving her wise advice or reminding her just how much of a coward he could be? She couldn’t tell.
“Okay,” she said, cramming the last of the donut into her mouth. “That all you can tell me?”
He looked down at her feet for a while. Even under the circumstances, he seemed to want a reason to stay a bit longer. But he knew the only thing keeping her there was information. Clearly, he didn’t have any more.
“I’d appreciate it if you would keep in contact. A text or an email. Just for the next few weeks. Just so I know you’re safe.”
She took a long breath, picking up the box in more of a hurry than she’d intended. “I’ll think about it.”
She tried not to look back as she walked away, but there was something cold in the action, something childish and unnecessary despite their history. He was still sitting there, watching her leave when she stopped and turned around.
“Thank you, Colonel,” Paige said. “For the donuts.”
“I’m glad you still like them,” he said. “Some things don’t change.”
Before she turned away, she glanced over his shoulder and saw the Space Needle through the Black Sun’s void.
The radio played softly in the background as Evelyn watched Paige through her rear-view mirror.
Disturbing news out of Louisiana this morning. A prison inmate, Beo Rhodes, has authorities baffled after disappearing from his cell.
Listeners may recognize the name. Rhodes made national headlines a few years back after walking into a New Orleans police department and confessing to six unsolved murders. After pleading guilty to charges, Rhodes had been serving out multiple life sentences inside the State Penitentiary.
Sources say that Rhodes’ cell was found empty by Correctional Officers during routine rounds between the hours of eleven and midnight. Surveillance videos show Rhodes was placed into his cell for lockdown where he remained undisturbed until his bed was discovered empty. Thus far, authorities haven’t provided any speculation as to how Rhodes may have managed to get out of his cell. A local manhunt—
Evelyn turned the radio down as Paige opened the passenger door and got inside.
“Can he help?” Evelyn asked.
“He’s scared,” Paige said. “Someone already got to him. He isn’t going to stick his neck out.”
“What’s with the box?” Evelyn asked.
Paige opened the lid and held the contents up to her. She was subtle, but drew attention to the outline of the envelope beneath the thin wax paper.
“He brought donuts to soften the news. Like, I’m eight years old and he can make things better by taking me out for ice cream,” Paige said.
“They smell good though,” Evelyn said.
Paige’s eyes narrowed. “They smell like guilt . . . but they are blueberry.”
She wasn’t sure precisely how much of Paige’s behavior was theater. She knew the girl hadn’t wanted to call her father, only did so because loved ones’ lives were in danger. Evelyn followed her lead; they weren’t meeting strangers in strange places and staying off cell phones for fun.
“Can’t blame your father for trying,” Evelyn said. “No matter how bad you screw up with your kid, you have to keep—”
“Evelyn,” Paige closed her eyes and held up a finger to interrupt. “Have a donut. I’ll let you know when I’m in the mood for a Hallmark moment.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
OCT 15, 2005 | NOON | JBLM FACILITY
“I APOLOGIZE,” DR. WATTS said. “Initially, the trauma to his body was the most probable cause for his comatose state. Now that we’ve factored the injuries out . . .”
The door sealed behind him as Rivers entered the observation deck in the alien’s containment shell. Below, most of Dr. Watts’ staff was grouped around an x-ray review board. Olivia waved for him to join her as she listened to Dr. Watts’ update through the intercom.
“He is presenting like a man under anesthesia, but none of the blood work has shown the presence of any chemicals used to induce an artificial coma. We believe that the bracer is responsible.”
“What can you tell me about it?” Olivia asked.
“The steel is seamless, indestructible as far as we can discern. We are still working on a way to remove it.”
“What makes you think it’s responsible for the coma?”
“X-rays and ultrasound show hundreds of thin wire-like connections emanating out into the subject’s limb from the band’s inner ring. They run up the length of his arm. It appears they are somehow manipulating his nervous system.”
Olivia released the intercom’s button, tapping her finger a few times in a short-lived hesitation. She concluded she was entertaining some degree of nonsense, then reopened the line. “Is there any reason a surgical option isn’t feasible?”
“You . . . you wish us to attempt to disconnect internal wiring? We could try, but those connections are likely made of the same material as the band—”
“Amputation,” Olivia said. “Remove the arm and the bracer with it.”
There was a pause from Dr. Watts’ side of the glass. “We hadn’t considered . . . I would like to consult with the surgical team to see what their assessment of the risks might be. But I would not recommend resorting to such extremes until we’ve exhausted all other options.”
“Agreed,” Olivia said. “Consult with your team, get me a report with any viable alternatives for removing the band. We’ll begin with the least invasive and work our way up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dr. Watts said.
Even with the lower half of her face covered by a surgical mask, Rivers could tell Dr. Watts was uncomfortable with what she had just agreed to. She was still a doctor, and the alien was still her patient.
When Olivia turned away from the window, she sighed and closed her eyes. Rivers didn’t need to ask, everyone was feeling the cloud of disappointment. Despite all the preparation done in anticipation of this day, nothing had gone their way since they’d captured The Mark. Now, all their answers lay below. Yet, the alien continued outmaneuvering them by simply refusing to wake up.
“What do you think the chances are that Mr. Tibbs knows how to remove that bracer?” Olivia asked.
“Think he’d
be willing to cooperate?” Rivers asked.
Olivia opened her eyes, looking at him as though he were being purposely dense. “He’ll cooperate; his willingness isn’t relevant.”
Rivers took a long breath but reconsidered the question. “When we debriefed Leah, she said Jonathan tried to get his roommates to help move him. He needed a car. Must have been planning to take The Mark somewhere—might be worth finding out where and why.”
Later that day, Olivia’s people were still in the process of transitioning the upper building into a suitable center for long-term operations. The other military personnel of the surrounding base had little direct involvement with her people. Troops provided additional manpower for the perimeter guard but mainly served to make sure that only those The Cell wanted escorted in or out could do so.
When Leah took the elevator to the surface, the wide-open space where aircraft were normally parked had already been cleared out. The Cell’s agents were in the process of erecting rows of cubicles along with sleeping and living quarters.
The moment The Mark had been brought into the facility, a quarantine had gone into effect. Anyone who knew what was imprisoned below, even those at the highest levels of The Cell’s chain of command, could not leave the hangar. A protocol from which Olivia excluded no one—including herself. She had moved into temporary living quarters below the same day as The Mark.
Given what had recently transpired between them, Leah wasn’t surprised that her own quarters were in the lower levels. For the time being, as long as Leah made no attempt to leave the hangar, she retained enough autonomy to go where she pleased within. The only exception being the two lower wings that housed the prisoner containment shells.
Finding Agent Rivers didn’t take long. He wasn’t responsible for overseeing the work on the hangar’s upper floor, nonetheless she had been told that was where she would find him. When she saw him, he was talking with a woman to whom Leah had not yet been introduced. She had seen her a handful of times in the recent week. Prior to The Mark’s capture, she had been working out of The Cell’s hub near Jonathan’s residence.
When Rivers saw Leah approaching, he gave a sympathetic grimace. “That’s gonna be quite the shiner.”
“I’ll live,” Leah said, though she still moved her hair so that it hid the bruise. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Rivers replied, giving a nod to the woman standing beside him. “Leah, this is Margot. She was key in disabling The Mark’s ability to disappear on us.”
“Ahh, so you’re the one,” Leah said, as she took Margot’s hand. “We’re all grateful for the work you’ve done.”
“Appreciate that, but if I knew it would only get me locked in a hangar, I might have put less effort in,” Margot said.
Leah smiled sympathetically, before turning to Rivers. “I was hoping you could spare me an analyst, someone to help me with the footage we pulled from Jonathan’s garage.”
“We’re not quite fully operational here yet,” Rivers said. “The tech staff transferred the servers from the old HQ. They’re up, but the work stations themselves are—”
“I’m available,” Margot interrupted.
Rivers paused. He looked as though he were about to explain how there was a process for these sorts of requests, but Margot didn’t let him start. “Get over it, Rivers. I’ll make sure the damn TPS report gets a coversheet.”
He tried to hide his further hesitation. “Uh, I think—”
“These fine folks are paying me until I’m cleared to go home. My station was set up half an hour ago and I’d rather be doing something with my time.”
What happened next made it hard for Leah to keep a straight face. Rivers opened his mouth to protest once more, and Margot didn’t just stop him. She put a finger on his lips as though she were his mother. “Laurence, I know you’ve got more important things to do than prove to me your OCD is worse than I suspected.”
Begrudgingly, Rivers moved her finger away, and excused himself.
When he was gone Leah watched Margot curiously. The whole interaction was surprisingly off-brand for The Cell. “You call him Laurence?”
The only people in the hangar who were addressed by first names were Olivia and Leah herself, and in their case the names were aliases; they might as well have been a rank designation. It was unusual to hear The Cell’s agents speak to one another on a first name basis.
“You know someone long enough it gets to feel ridiculous calling them Agent Rivers,” Margot said.
Leah was already starting to like Margot; it seemed she had no interest in maintaining a stiff professionalism and it was a relief.
Once Rivers was out of earshot, Margot winked at her. “Five bucks says he only let that go so he could look up TPS in the Operating Procedures. He can’t tolerate not knowing an acronym.”
Margot directed her to join her in the cubicle where Leah handed over the memory card with the footage.
“So, what are we looking for here?”
Leah sighed. “That’s the question.”
“Something in the feed is bothering you?”
“I don’t think the recording was corrupted. There is just something there that I’m missing.”
“If you know what timestamps to start with that’s better than nothing,” Margot said. “Anything else you can tell me might give me some ideas.”
Leah nodded.
“I’ve studied this a dozen times; Jonathan knew Rylee was going to vanish and he knew the alien was going to appear. Yet, he didn’t know we were coming for them.”
She gave her reasoning to Margot. In the case of Rylee, it was how he behaved before and after she disappeared. He spoke to her like he knew he’d never get another chance—like his words had to count. Then, when she’d vanished, he had fallen on his knees pleading that he’d only needed a few more seconds. He’d been a lot of things in that moment—but surprised had not been one of them.
Then there had been the arrival of The Mark. Everyone in the room had jumped back in fear as an ethereal black and red cloud had spit a comatose man into the center of the garage. Leah had scrambled back on hands and knees until her back hit a cupboard. Hayden and Collin, eyes wide with shock, had pressed themselves against the back wall.
Meanwhile, Jonathan hardly blinked. He didn’t even look worried until he thought the alien might have been dead.
None of it made sense. The basis for the secondary protocol was that Jonathan was capable of precognition as had been observed with other subjects. How could he have known Rylee was going to disappear, but be caught off guard by The Cell’s arrival? How could he know The Mark would arrive, but then be surprised by the condition he was in when he got there? How was it that he seemed so prepared for some things but not others?
“Alright,” Margot said. “I guess we’ll start with the girl’s disappearance then?”
Leah nodded as Margot inserted the memory card, but she was distracted by a folder labeled “R. Silva Translation Library” already open on the computer’s desktop. Margot, seeing it, quickly moved to shut it.
“Wait,” Leah said. “What is that?”
The woman squirmed a bit, her face reddening. “An example of why I really need to get in the habit of closing windows on my work computer,” she said.
Her mouse cursor moved across the screen to close the file, but Leah stopped her.
“No, wait,” Leah said. “I . . . I don’t care if you weren’t supposed to be looking, I just want to know. Is that what I think it is?”
Seeing she wasn’t in trouble, Margot shrugged. “Translations of the missing girl’s journals. The Cell confiscated the rest of her notebooks from an apartment on the east coast. Translators said they didn’t find anything to flag for relevance in the investigation. So, they were just sitting there on the server.”
Leah considered. “They still finished translating it? Even after they had decided it was a dead-end?”
“I’m guessing they were paid hourly,” Margot smirked
. “. . . and I know I shouldn’t be reading them, but with her disappearing, I just felt like . . . someone should.”
“Would you copy the files to my disk?” Leah asked.
Margot frowned, but her defensiveness vanished. With a shrug she dragged the folder onto the disk.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE STOOD IN the street outside his house. There was no sunlight, no porch or streetlights, not a single light in a window in the neighboring houses. But, this wasn’t simply night—there was no moon or stars.
He thought the sky was an empty black, but then there was an eerie movement to it—like eels swimming through ink.
He shivered, as he knew that in that darkness something was gazing back at him. In this place, he could feel the shadows reach for him whenever he turned his back. That black sky owned him, and however it had come to be that he’d gotten free of it—it was only a matter of time before it would drag him back.
Instinctively, he moved toward the only light there was. He found himself standing in his driveway. He knew, somehow, that this was all that was left. The only thing the dark shroud closing in on him had yet to stain.
The garage door was up—the light came from inside.
Rylee was standing beneath those lights. Her back to him and her hands resting on her waist. Sweat glistened on her skin as her chest heaved from exertion. He could see her face reflected in the mirrors along the wall. Her eyes were closed.
For a moment, he forgot the darkness.
He stepped toward her slowly, as though she were a fairy creature and he’d risk losing her forever if he spooked her. She sensed him though. Her head tilted knowingly toward his presence as a slight curve came to the edge of her lips.
Then, the lights quivered.
For a moment, Jonathan froze in place as they flickered and dimmed. He saw her reflection change in the mirrors. When the light weakened, Rylee’s reflection wasn’t Rylee—but the girl in the pink hoodie. When the light grew strong and steadied again, she was Rylee.
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