STASIS: Part 3: Restart

by E. W. Osborne

  She forced herself to look away from the corner. The talk outside with Cameron had helped center her thoughts, at least for the time being.

  “Is it fucked?” Cameron asked the scientist.

  Wesley peered at him over the edge of his glasses. “Nothing is ever truly fucked, unless I want it to be.”

  Cameron furrowed his brow in a cartoonish gesture, looking to Penelope for an explanation. She could only shrug in response, having long ago given up trying to decipher the scientist’s odd language.

  “What is that supposed to do, anyway?” Penelope asked, looking over the scientist’s shoulder. The exposed electronics and circuitry looked like a blend of old and new. The rough chipboards, with their glinting silver and gold were obviously things he’d brought from his workshop. But in a cloud of cursing, he’d painstakingly combined them with the sleek, smooth modern designs he’d scrounged from somewhere. There was no display or obvious interface.

  The old man groaned and grunted out a caveman-like response, as if having to explain this was the biggest waste of his time. “It find signal. Good for me. Bad for them.”

  It was Penelope’s turn to look to Cameron for help. If he hadn’t been a witness, she might’ve been too tempted to bash the guy over the head with the nearest heavy object.

  “I think what he’s trying to say is the device will be able to intercept any incoming signals going to Joey’s Seed. This thing here,” he said, patting a laptop that’d seen better days, “will hopefully point us in the general direction of where it’s coming from.”

  “That alone won’t tell us anything,” Wesley cut in. “Think of it like a trail marker. We aren’t at the final destination yet, but it’ll point us there.”

  The pair shared a look over the old man’s head, like two parents commiserating over the end of a toddler’s tantrum. A moment later, he rested the soldering iron back on its holder and clapped his hands once.

  “That should do it.” He flipped the device over and switched it on. They all turned to look at Joey sitting silently in the corner, unmoved.

  “How do we know it’s working?” Penelope ventured.

  Wesley opened his mouth to reply with some snarky answer, but Cameron jumped in before he could. “The computer records any incoming signals. The speakers here, well, that’s just for us to know it’s working.”

  She pointed to a pile of wires and chips. “That’s the computer?”

  Wesley glared at her through his bushy eyebrows but didn’t speak.

  “Without all the pretty window dressing, yeah,” Cameron replied.

  She pushed the end of a loose wire around with her nail, frowning. “So nothing is being sent to his Seed?”

  “Do you hear anything?” Wesley snapped, batting her hand away.

  Penelope gritted her teeth and took a slow breath through her nose. “I’m going to see if he needs something to eat.”

  Cameron grabbed her arm as she strode past. “He’s quiet, probably sleeping. Shouldn’t we just leave him alone? God knows he’ll tell us if he wants anything.” She glanced back at her captive husband and had to admit the silence was nice for once. She nodded and took a seat at the table.

  The rare moment of down time was a welcome distraction, a respite in the middle of mayhem. Despite the heat of the day, they were sipping coffee and enjoying the little breeze wafting in through the windows. Before long, a small bottle of whiskey was uncovered and added to their cups. But as the ratios of coffee to whiskey flipped, they delved under the surface a little deeper. Light conversations became steadily more serious as early morning moved closer to noon.

  “How long did you know my father?”

  Wesley regarded her for a long moment before replying. He had a habit of moving the bristly hairs of his mustache across his lower lip as he thought. She was about to field a different question when he replied with one of his own.

  “You didn’t like him much, did you?”

  Penelope laughed, quickly realizing the absurdity of that question was lost on the other two. She traced the edge of the table with her finger as she tried to think of a nice way to put it. “It’s not that I didn’t like him. Let’s just say, he was more of a boss than a dad.” She laughed again, meeting Cameron’s intent eyes. “It’s strange even using that name to describe him. Dad.”

  “I remember some things you told me about him,” he said, as if unsure he had a place in the conversation. “The way he treated you…”

  “To be fair to my father, he never wanted kids in the first place. But once we arrived, he saw it as an opportunity. We became extensions of him, not individuals. We were half Steele, after all.” She felt strangely protective of her father’s memory, even though she’d be the first one to point out his flaws.

  “I had Mom, though,” she replied, a swell of emotion choking her voice. “Until I didn’t.”

  “Your father always blamed himself for her death, you know,” Wesley said in a quiet tone. Penelope lifted her eyes questioningly. “It’s true,” he insisted. “I remember a few weeks after she took her life, he showed up at the lab, reeking of booze. We shared a few glasses, toasting to your mother’s memory in our own way.” It was his turn to grow wistful, his eyes unfocused yet clearly seeing the past. “She was a wonderful woman.”

  “I wish I could’ve met her. She sounded like an amazing person,” Cameron said. Penelope could tell he wanted to reach for her hand. Maybe he would’ve if her husband weren’t sitting in the corner.

  Wesley’s comment still didn’t gel with her memory of him. After her mother’s funeral, he hadn’t seemed any different. Life went on as normal, only he expected Penelope to pick up the slack around the house, take care of the woman’s work. “Why would my father feel responsible for her suicide?”

  “I don’t know. He kept saying it over and over. ‘It was me. I did this. It was my fault.’” The old man looked at her with genuine caring. “They were the ramblings of a grief-stricken husband. You know as well as I do, he loved your mother. If his cold heart had warmth for anything in this whole world, it was her.”

  She rolled this thought over and over in her mind, as if testing the theory for weakness. It was entirely possible she remembered him from the point of view of a child and not an adult. Maybe he was a caring husband and her mom’s death had…

  The speaker on the table to her left crackled. A faint tone beeped, silenced, and beeped again. They all straightened in their seats, looking at one another to confirm they’d actually heard it. Before they had a chance to speak, Joey shifted in the corner.

  “Guys? Pen? Something’s wrong. There’s something…”

  His hands and feet pushed against the duct tape restraints, tendons taught, muscles rigid. He kicked as if wanting to launch himself away from an invisible danger.

  Penelope rushed to his side and pulled off the headphones. “What’s wrong? Where’s it hurt?” She put a hand to his wrist to feel his heart rate.

  Cameron appeared with a stethoscope, already launching into action.

  Joey licked his lips, his voice a little breathless. “It doesn’t hurt, but I felt… I don’t know. A tingle. A shift.”

  “Heart rate is fine, a little fast.”

  Cameron nodded in agreement. “Breathing is good. I’d like to check his pupils.”

  “He’s sweaty, but it’s a hundred degrees in here…”

  She tried to hide her nerves and pulled the pillowcase off his head. It was nearly impossible to look at him directly and not feel as though she were a terrible person. The concealment dehumanized him. She could lie to herself for minutes at a time, pretend the person in the corner wasn’t her husband.

  He blinked around the room. The thin pillowcase let in enough light he wasn’t blinded by the sun, but it was still an adjustment. Cameron held up a pen with one hand while he examined his pupils with a light. The fact he complied with Cam’s instructions showed how scared he was.

  “Is there anything else wrong? Can you put your fing
er on anything specific?” Penelope struggled to keep her tone professional, trying to act like a doctor and not a wife.

  “No, nothing else. To be honest, I don’t think I would’ve felt it if I wasn’t so paranoid about the damn thing in my head.”

  Penelope nodded, swallowing another lump of guilt and fear.

  After examining him again, head to toe, they retreated to the far side of the room with Wesley. “There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him,” Cameron said.

  “He’s perfectly healthy. Considering…” Cameron shifted, crossing his arms, scuffing his feet. “What?” she demanded.

  “He could be faking.”

  “Are you—”

  “Shh!” He looked over her shoulder to Joey, hoodless but still restrained. “You have to admit it’s possible.”

  “No!” she whispered harshly. “For one thing, if he were trying to get out, he wouldn’t say he was feeling fine. He’d be thrashing around, complaining about—” She inhaled sharply, stopping that thought process before it started. “Besides, we heard the speakers, right?” She looked to Wesley for confirmation.

  He absentmindedly nodded, turning away from the the tight circle of conversation. He clearly wanted to get back to his data, dive into what little information he’d collected. Those beeps had meant something…

  “Uh, guys? I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Joey called out.

  “What? Did you feel something else?” Penelope couldn’t connect his comment with the growing smirk on his face.

  He nodded toward the far window. “I think we might have visitors. I wonder how interested they’ll be in seeing me—”

  “Yeah, shut the fuck up,” Cameron growled, already jumping into action. He flew toward the front door, peering through the small window at an angle so no one could spot him.

  Penelope was slower to react, although her body flooded with adrenaline all the same. She watched Cameron move as if there were a threat, yet she couldn’t get her feet to follow. It wasn’t until she heard the muffled voices outside the cabin did she believe this was actually happening.

  She rushed to Joey’s side. “Please. You have to stay quiet.” She draped a blanket over his shoulders. It was too short to conceal his bound ankles, but she figured if anyone did come in, they wouldn’t be looking down there anyway.

  He glared at her with a venom she was sure they’d never be able to get past. “Why should I? Why are you doing this to me, Pen? Aren’t you worried about our daughter? You know, the one you abandoned to come up here and play doctor with—”

  She crouched at his feet, taking his hand in hers, ignoring how desperately he tried to wrench it away. “It’s not you. It’s the Seed in your head. It puts us at risk and…” She checked back across the room at the growing commotion. Wesley was throwing bedsheets over his table of equipment while Cameron paced at the door. He felt her eyes and motioned for her to join him.

  Penelope looked back into her husband’s eyes and pleaded with everything she had in her. There was no way she was going to crack through with reason, not in the ten seconds she had left. Instead, she had to work with what she had. “If you signal to them, or in any other way indicate something is wrong, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

  Joey looked as hurt as she’d ever seen him, but the point seemed to sink in. She nodded once and jogged on her toes across to the front door. The voices outside were growing louder.

  “Do you know them?” Cameron whispered.

  She scanned the small group, three people in view, one behind the car. “The older guy is Rex Conrad. He owns the house. I think that’s his daughter and… shit. Those have to be his grandkids,” she hissed, watching a teenage boy and girl burden themselves with heavy bags.

  Cameron nodded tightly, the wheels of engagement whirring. Penelope looked back to Joey, tense, alert, but thankfully silent.

  “What are we going to—” she started to ask, before a shout from outside cut her off. They pressed their faces to the window to see the young girl had spilled a bag of groceries across the gravel drive.

  “Denise!” the mother huffed.

  “I’m sorry, but he tripped me!”

  Cameron yanked Penelope away from the door. “We have to let them in.”

  “In? We’re in their house!”

  “We can’t let them get back to the car. We have to lock the door behind them.”

  Penelope was afraid to ask what his plan was after that. Turned out, she didn’t have any time anyway. With the food collected, the group was already at the front door. She and Cameron scrambled to hide just out of sight, pressing against the wall at the backside of the door. Wesley had already disappeared, hiding in the back of the house.

  “This is gonna be the worst surprise party,” he whispered. The mischievous sparkle in his eye was worrying. Penelope thought she might throw up she was so scared, yet he seemed to be enjoying it, fueled by the tension.

  The door clicked open. “What the…” Rex Conrad muttered, the first inside.

  Penelope imagined seeing the scene through his eyes. All of his belongings rearranged and covered with a multitude of lumpy bed sheets, the space clearly recently used. Oh, and the strange man sitting in the corner, thankfully silent but still. She opened her mouth to speak, suddenly realizing he’d probably recognize Joey.

  Cameron sensed her movement and slapped an arm across her waist, holding her back. The others pushed inside, busy with their bags and distracted by the setting. It was only when Joey spoke, did their mild confusion morph into fear.

  “Hello, sir. I hope you’re well.”

  Time moved quickly.

  “Sir?” Rex repeated, taken aback by the friendly greeting to his own home.

  “Dad?” his daughter asked, looking between the men, sensing the danger.

  Cameron launched into action the second Denise closed the door. He wedged himself between the family and the exit. It wasn’t their only path of escape, but the closest.

  His greeting sounded a touch menacing. “Good morning. I trust you had a nice trip?”

  The machines hidden under the sheets and blankets beeped again, this time more urgently. Penelope looked to Joey, wondering if he’d react the same way or worse. As if a spectator to her own life, she watched as he stiffened in the chair. His expression smoothed, eyes locked on the back of Rex’s head who stood trying to protect his family.

  “Well, that isn’t very polite,” Cameron laughed at the lack of response, nudging Penelope to join in the joke, keep the mood light. Whatever was about to happen wasn’t going to be funny.

  The beeps continued, intensified. Wesley emerged from somewhere in the back of the cabin. He threw the sheets up into the air.

  The small leather satchel dropped from Rex’s hand. She caught a glimpse of his face as he turned to face Joey in the corner, all twisted and confused, his bushy, gray eyebrows knitted together. But when he met her husband’s steady gaze, his muscles eased. He was a statue, quiet, still. Every hair on Penelope’s body stood on end.

  “Dad?” his daughter asked again, her concern on the edge of terror.

  Cameron reached a hand up to the man’s shoulder. Penelope gave a shout before he could touch him.

  “Cam! Get away from him!”

  Chapter Eleven

  London, UK

  The driving bass of the nightclub had already given him a headache. The overpriced, watered-down drinks did nothing to quell the growing irritation, but Julian stuck it out for Harriet.

  Lounging on a plush bench on a raised platform, the club’s most exclusive VIP section, the pair overlooked the pulsing club like a king and queen lording over their subjects.

  He gazed around the booth, studying the faces of the others in the strobe lights. They were nothing compared to him and Harriet. They were the fish that swam beside the shark, hoping to nab what little scraps they could, unable to fend for themselves. Why his step-sister allowed them to follow her around was beyond him. Having no friends was alw
ays preferable to subpar friends.

  He leaned close to Harriet’s ear, pulling her away from an inane conversation with a guy named Chit or Chip, or something equally inane.

  “What are those fish called that swim near sharks?” he yelled into her ear.

  She frowned, shook her head, and leaned closer. “What?”

  “The fish! The ones that—never mind.” Julian’s groan was swallowed whole by the noise. He slammed his crossed arms against his chest. I should just go.

  Harriet physically turned away from the useless prep school toff to drape her leg across Julian’s. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  Her delicate finger traced a path along the hairline at his neck. He peripherally watched Chit scowl, which made him happier. “Tell me,” she said into his ear.

  “I’m just—” He gritted his teeth, hating to feel and sound so petulant. It wasn’t like him. “I’m gonna go.”

  She rose to meet him as he stood. In her stilettos, she was nearly the same height. With a little wobble, she clung to his arm. “We haven’t even danced yet.”

  Julian dragged his eyes from her pouty mouth to the packed dance floor. “There’s no way I’m going into that.” Even the thought of pressing into the throng of sweaty bodies made his stomach clench.

  “Then we dance here.”

  The thing he loved most about Harriet was how she made him feel like the only person in the room. They might not have been linked biologically, but theirs was a connection stronger than biology. She never cared what people thought of their relationship. In fact, she basked in their comments. So when she slipped her arm under his and around his back, he knew this was as much for him as it was for those watching.

  Julian didn’t care. He allowed her graceful movements to ease his stiff muscles into a matching rhythm. With the flat of his hand pressed against her back, he could feel each shift of her hips. Heat poured from her in radiating waves. His eyes fluttered shut as he buried his nose into the nape of her neck, breathing in the scent of her flowery sweat.