Dream of Eden (Erin Bradley Book 1)

by Sean Parsons

  Grossman came on the line. “Erin, tell me some good news, buddy.”

  “Mr. Grossman,” Erin said, refusing to be informal, “I’m going down to the sublevels tonight to follow up on some leads. Captain Kramer wants me to clear it with you first.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, detective. It’s very dangerous down there. I’d like to arrange for an armed escort.”

  “I have to maintain my cover as much as possible, director. They don’t know I’m a cop yet. I’d rather not advertise that fact. Plus, I work better alone.”

  “I really have to council against this. We’re liable for anything that happens to you while you’re down there.”

  “I understand that and I wave your liability now. This call is being recorded, right?”

  “Yes–” It sounded like he was checking something. “Yes, it is.”

  “Then you have a record of my waver. Goodbye, director.”

  Erin hung up. Something about Grossman didn’t agree with him.

  He had put the moment off long enough; it was time to go down to the sublevels and locate the man named Keel.

  Erin exited his room and found the nearest all-station elevator tube. He got in and stared at the rows of buttons for every floor. The lowest he could go was 10. How would he get to the levels below 10? Rickard or Grossman would probably know, but Erin wouldn’t go to them for help. He wanted to do this on his own. At this point, he trusted no one.

  He pushed the button for 10 and waited while the elevator descended.

  The doors hissed open, and the first thing Erin saw was the mist. An acrid smoke filled the corridor, blotting out the light from the single surviving fluorescent bulb in the ceiling. He stepped out of the elevator and almost slipped over. Looking down, he saw the floor was covered in some kind of muck. The hall reeked of urine. When the doors shut behind him, he turned back to look at them. They were covered in red and black graffiti.

  Fuck Off.

  Don’t Come Back.

  Sledgehammer’s Domain.

  The last message struck a chord with Erin. He headed down the hallway, treading carefully to avoid slipping over. The hall ended in a junction, with another hall running lengthways. A red light permeated the place: the emergency lights had come on when the cameras and hall lights were smashed, and had never been turned off. It gave the whole place a nightmarish air.

  He went down the left side of the corridor, picking his direction at random. He had no idea where he was heading anyway. The hall curved off for some distance. Hallways branched off it every so often, bathed in the perpetual red light. They all looked the same. He was starting to feel lost.

  Erin heard the sound of running feet behind him. He put his hand to his gun and turned around. Around the bend in the corridor, a group of kids came running up. They stopped some distance from him and just stared, whispering among themselves. They looked like monsters in the red light.

  “Kids,” Erin said, “I’m looking for a guy named Keel. Have you seen him?”

  They didn’t respond.

  “It’s very important. If you know where I can find any adults, tell me right away, ok?”

  They still didn’t respond. They were dirty little urchins, wearing rags. They were a mix of Indian, Chinese and African kids. There were one or two white kids. Finally, one of them pointed down the hall, the direction Erin was heading in.

  “Thanks.”

  He kept walking, aware that they were following him. They conversed in low tones, in English.

  “Should we rush him?”

  “Naw, he’s got a gun.”

  “He wants Keel.”

  “Keel don’t wanna talk to no man with a gun.”

  “He’s a cop.”

  That ended the conversation. The kids backed off and left. So much for my cover, Erin thought. Even just a rumour of a cop being down here would be enough to get him in trouble. He kept walking.

  The halls twisted and turned, and Erin was sure he was lost. He couldn’t tell if he was on the main corridor still or not. Then he heard another footfall behind him, this one loud and unmistakably an adult.

  He turned around and saw the muzzle of the gun pointing at him. He ducked just in time. The report of the gun shot was deafening in the close corridor. Erin pulled out his own pistol and fired a return shot. The bullet ricocheted down the corridor, but he missed. The man who fired at him took cover in a side hall, then stepped back out and fired again. He was dressed all in black and his face was shrouded in the dim red light. As if in a dream, Erin seemed to notice he held his gun in his left hand. Then the crashing of the bullet brought him back to reality and Erin turned and fled.

  He ducked down a side corridor and sprinted. A sudden pain in his shoulder stopped him short of breath. He looked and saw blood pooling on his shirtsleeve. He was hit, after all.

  He struggled down the corridor, hearing the left-handed gunman’s footsteps behind him. He was hopelessly lost. At this rate, he would bleed out before he made it back to the elevator.

  Then, out of nowhere, one of the kids appeared. He stood staring at Erin.

  “Which way to the elevator, kid?” Erin said.

  The kid hesitated, but then he saw Erin was bleeding. He raised a slender finger and pointed off down the hall to the right.

  Erin staggered down that way and came to a different elevator door. This one was big and industrial-looking. A service elevator. Erin thumped the door button and fell inside, just as the gunman came around the bend of the hall. He stopped and watched as the doors closed, and their eyes met. The man looked Latino, though it was hard to tell in the dim light. He was a cold-blooded killer, Erin was sure of it. Then the doors closed, and he was whisked upwards.

  When Erin awoke he was lying on clean hospital bed sheets. The room was small and tidy. It was a hospital recovery room. He felt terrible, with acute pain in his shoulder. The door opened and Cho entered. He nodded when he saw Erin was awake.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good enough,” Erin said. “How did I get here?”

  “You were found in the service elevator. Those elevators are used to bring patients directly to the hospital from the lower levels. The security guards found you and brought you here. You were shot. Remember?”

  It all came back to Erin. The chase through the maze of the sublevels.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I remember.”

  “Who shot you?”

  “I don’t know. He was a professional, though.”

  “Well,” Cho said, “You were very lucky. The bullet missed all of your major organs, and the guards got you here very quickly after it happened. I conducted the surgery myself. Would you like to see the bullet?”

  “No thanks. You operated on me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks doc.”

  “No trouble. It is my job, after all. Would you like to tell me what you were doing when you were shot?”

  “No. Police business.”

  “I see. But you were on the sublevels, no doubt?”

  Erin nodded.

  “Then I will have to advise you, this time as your doctor, not to go down there again. It is very dangerous, and the administration here are liable if you are hurt.”

  “I know. I spoke to Grossman before I went down. I waved liability.”

  “Well. Just so long as you know my position on the matter.”

  At that moment the door whisked open again and Rachel entered. From the look of her eyes, she had been crying. She saw him on the bed.

  “Oh, Erin,” she said.

  Cho looked from her to Erin and coughed. “Well, I must get back to my rounds. Rest up, detective.”

  He left quickly.

  Rachel looked at Erin from the doorway. He smiled at her.

  “Hello Rachel,” he said.

  She came over and sat on the bed. “You’re an idiot.”

  “That’s no way to speak to a recovering patient. Or a police officer, I might add.”
<
br />   But she was angry. “I told you not to go down there. Why didn’t you listen?”

  “I told you, Rachel; it’s police business. I go where I have to go, and I make that decision myself.”

  “I warned you that they would try to get at you.”

  “I know. You seem to understand these people well.”

  She ignored the remark. “Are you going back down?”

  “Yes, just as soon as I can get blueprints for the sublevels. I can’t find my way around down there, and there was no one to help me but a bunch of kids.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Fine. But listen, Erin – if you go back down, you need to know, this station has a lot of secrets.”

  “I’m just becoming aware of that fact,” Erin said. “New information is coming out of the woodwork every second.”

  “I mean Doctor Cho,” she said, almost whispering. “Before you go down, check his records on the computer.”

  “What for?”

  “Just do it. Please. Promise me.”

  “Rachel, you might as well tell me. I need your help with this.”

  She shook her head again. “No. I’ve said too much already. I’m not authorised to give out information on staff or patients. Just check his records. You’ll see.”

  “Ok.”

  She put her hand on his. Her hand was warm and soft. His eyes met hers; they were dusky brown.

  “Take care of yourself, Erin,” she said. He watched her lips form the words.

  She got up and left. He watched her leave and was all too aware that he was beginning to have feelings for her.

  Despite the pain killers they had given him, Erin’s shoulder ached badly as he entered the records office. It was a clean room with rows of terminals and a desk, where a secretary sat at a big computer. He approached the desk and the secretary looked up.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for blueprints to the sublevels, from 10 downwards. I need a printout of that information.”

  The secretary blanched. “You’d need clearance for that, sir.”

  Erin flashed his badge. “I’m a cop.”

  The secretary hesitated, clearly uncertain. Finally, she reached for a phone. “I’d better call the director.”

  Erin tapped his fingers and waited impatiently while the secretary phoned Grossman.

  “Hello? Director? It’s Jenny in Records. I’ve got a policeman here who wants high-clearance information. Yes. Erin Bradley?”

  She looked at Erin. He nodded.

  “Yes, it’s him. Blueprints to the sublevels. Ok. I’ll ask.”

  She covered up the mouthpiece of the phone and said, “The director wants to speak to you.”

  Erin waved her off, dismissively. She was shocked. “I don’t think he wants to speak to you, sir. No. Ok. Thank you.”

  She hung up.

  “He says it’s ok.”

  She began typing, frowning a little at the unusual situation. Then she paused and her eyes narrowed.

  “Huh,” she said.

  Erin leaned in closer. “What is it?”

  “That information is unavailable.”

  “Unavailable?”

  “Yes, sir. It could be deleted, or perhaps it’s been moved.”

  “Isn’t there any way to check?”

  “Not with high-clearance info, sir. Only the authorised officer is privy to that information.”

  “So someone got in there and deleted the file, and because of their clearance there’s no record of who did it or when?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s the case, sir.”

  Erin swore. The secretary looked at him, alarmed.

  “I can call the director back, if you wish, sir?”

  “No, don’t bother.”

  Erin turned and started to leave. Then he remembered Rachel’s suggestion about Cho. He turned back to the secretary.

  “Can I use one of these private terminals for a record search?”

  The secretary looked worried, but she seemed reluctant to phone the director again. “I suppose so, sir. Those terminals are free.”

  Erin sat at one and logged into the mainframe. The secretary was peering over her desk at his screen, so he shifted around so she couldn’t see what he was doing. She lost interest and went back to her work.

  Erin entered the system using the visitor credentials he had received at check-in. He pulled up the employee database and found Cho’s record. It gave his date of birth, place of birth, nationality, education, employment history; it was all very impressive. Cho was a smart man.

  What secrets was he hiding?

  The information all seemed standard. There was even a sibling listed, Fu-Hsing Cho. Erin sat back and stared at the screen. What did Rachel want him to find? He tapped his fingers on his knees and thought for a minute. Then it hit him: why was a sibling listed? That wasn’t exactly usual information for an employer to have on an employee. There must be some reason why they specified it in Cho’s case. As a long shot, Erin searched for Fu-Hsing Cho in the database.

  It turned up one result; a resident on the sublevels.

  “Huh,” Erin said to himself. The secretary looked over at him, but he ignored her.

  Was it the same Fu-Hsing Cho as the one listed as Doctor Cho’s brother? It had to be, why else would they list it?

  So Cho had a brother. Erin read Fu-Hsing’s record. He was older than Cho, not qualified, not employed. He was simply an old-age resident of the station, living in the sublevels. And he had a record with the station security. Drug possession. He was given a shortened sentence due to his age. No wonder Doctor Cho didn’t discuss his brother.

  Erin hit the button to print the information and went over to the buzzing and whirring printer. The secretary watched him as he leaned against it and waited for the pages to pop out. He grabbed them, still hot, thanked her and left.

  The time had come for another appointment with Doctor Cho.

  7.

  Erin knocked on Cho’s door and heard the familiar voice tell him to enter. Cho was seated at his desk, as usual.

  “Ah, Mr. Bradley. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, thanks to you,” Erin said, taking a seat across from him.

  “And what can I do for you now?”

  Erin put the printed sheet on the desk and slid it across to Cho. The doctor picked it up and read through it quickly. He looked up and met Erin’s eyes.

  “I see.”

  “Yes,” Erin said.

  “Well, detective; what does this mean?”

  “This means you’re going to tell me about your brother.”

  Cho sighed and sat back. He left the paper on the desk. “My brother. You want to know why I never told anyone about him. Can I be frank with you, detective?”

  “Of course.”

  “I hate my brother. He’s misguided, sick. We grew up together, in China. From the start we were very different. I had no interest in Chinese culture.” Cho smiled. “I wanted to be American. But my brother was very traditional. He became a Taoist priest. Have you heard of Taoism, detective?”

  “No,” Erin admitted.

  “It’s a philosophy in China, native to that country. Some say that Indian Buddhism and Taoism combined to form Zen Buddhism. But that is not firmly agreed upon. Taoism probably evolved out of the old shamanistic traditions of ancient Bronze Age China. The I-Ching is a famous text surviving in one form or another from that period. Its original purpose was to help the shaman interpret the shells of tortoises, for supposed cosmic advice. Taoism was a later invention. Around 600 BC, in Europe and Asia, and probably the Americas, there was a blossoming of philosophical thought. In Italy, Pythagoras and his followers were using mathematical principles to study musical intervals, and concluding grand things about the universe. In India, a man named Siddhartha Gautama taught the philosophy of mind that later came to be called ‘Buddhism’. And in China, a collection of folk sayings and local wisdom was gathered together, under the title Tao Te C
hing. Lao-Tzu was said to be its author, but he is almost certainly apocryphal. From this book, and others, the philosophy-religion of Taoism was formed. While the Tao Te Ching was just a book of philosophical wisdom and advice, the new religion took on bizarre, mystic aspects; similar to the transformation of Plato’s works into an extreme religion called Neo-Platonism. The followers of Taoism were concerned, first and foremost, with the search for eternal life. Don’t ask me how they made the leap from the neutral teachings of the Tao, but it was accomplished. And this eternal life was to be gained from a magic elixir, the formula for which was said to be contained in the texts of Taoism itself – but in coded form. No one, of course, has ever discovered this elixir. But many have tried to find it, and countless deaths from poisonings occur every year because of it. It is not a joke, it is a genuine belief that some Chinese people have.”

  “I don’t think it’s amusing,” Erin said, and he meant it.

  “My brother became a priest, a sort of monk, and started mixing his own elixirs. In truth, I think he was already certifiable, before I left China. But after I escaped from all of that nonsense, and started my medical degree, I had no more contact with my family, or my brother. I was already working on the station when I found out one of the residents had my brother’s exact name. It’s common in China to share a surname with someone who is totally unrelated to you, but it is rarer to share an exact name. Curiosity overcame me, and I went down to the sublevels to see for myself.”

  “And?”

  “It was my brother. He was unrecognisable. He was already older than me by ten years, but he had aged horribly as a result of his poisonous habit. His English was poor, and his Mandarin had suffered from little use. He didn’t seem to know who I was. My conclusion now is that he is schizophrenic. He refuses treatment, of course, so there is nothing I can do. I have the authority to remove him forcefully, but only if he poses a threat; which he does not. He keeps to himself, injecting drugs, drinking toxins and pouring over his books. He was once brought to the cells for possession, but I saw to it that he was swiftly let go. He won’t harm anyone. He’s slowly dying, anyway.”