Edgar Aeternum, Book 1: Tales of Aeternal Love

by Jay Belle Isle

  Four-three-eight-eight-eight-nine-zero-seven-six-alpha-zed

  You're to transfer half of your considerable trust into that account. Don’t think you can trace it, either; like I said, I am not an amateur. There are more dead-ends in the trail than there are zeroes to the right of the decimal point in your trust.

  I'm giving you thirty-six hours to make the transfer, Aeternum. The first twelve are a bonus so you can get over the shock of my little surprise; and mother said I had no heart. Once you transfer the funds, I'll send you the address where you can pick up what's left of your boyfriend. Don't FUCK with me, asshole! If you don't make the transfer by eight p.m. tomorrow, I'll send you the berries that go with the twig; and I'll keep on cutting every two hours after that, until he either dies or there's nothing left to cut off.

  Get on it, rich boy!"

  "Well," said Evans, "she's certainly full of herself. Of course, you said it would be so in your article. Now, listen, sir, I know what comes next is difficult but it must be done. If you prefer, I can have one of my security agents take it from here."

  "No, Evans," Edgar said. The bile was gone; the fear was gone. Everything was gone but a white-hot anger that burned like the sun. At some deeper level, Edgar was worried sick about Maddi; however, he'd seen horror upon horror in his long life and, while he couldn't tell Evans, he'd reached an inner space where he was even more dangerous than Campbell. "That won't be necessary. I can do it."

  "As you wish, sir," if Evans was surprised by the sudden change in Edgar's attitude or the steely cold in his voice, he gave no indication.

  Edgar put the letter down and removed the last of the packing material. As promised, there was a small plastic bag at the bottom of the box; the contents were soft as he picked it up. It was the source of the chemical smell, despite being sealed. One side was an opaque white; Edgar found himself hoping the other was clear or else he'd have to open the bag to identify what it contained.

  He flipped it over and saw the other side was, in fact, clear. The bag contained a piece of flesh, approximately four inches long, perfectly butterfly cut, and a small amount of blood. There was no mistaking it for a human penis; however, it was too mangled to identify as Maddox' by sight alone.

  "Mr. Aeternum?" Evans prompted.

  "I'm here, Evans," Edgar replied. "It's what she said it was. She did a piss poor job of it, so I can't confirm it's his by visual. Can you have one of your agents get here right away? I want you to have a DNA scan run; I'll provide some of Maddi's DNA for the comparison."

  "Certainly, sir!" Evans answered. "Not to be discouraging, but everything I've read of Miss Campbell suggests that she does not lie when it comes to her 'art'."

  "Understood," Edgar said. "In any case, I want to know for sure." His mind wandered back to his first mate; they never found the man's head after the accident. His body was badly damaged and identity could only be confirmed by a DNA test. "Evans?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Do whatever you can to find them; spare no expense. She may have made a mistake with her 'dead ends' when it comes to that account. But," he paused, "start making preparations to transfer half of my trust. If we can't find her in time, we have no choice."

  "Of course, sir," Evans said. "But I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that it's unlikely that she will allow Mr. Bristow to live even if you meet her demands."

  "I know, Evans," Edgar said, devoid of emotion. "I have to do everything I can for him, though."

  "As you wish, sir," the barrister replied. "Is there anything else I can assist you with? If not, I'll begin investigating that account."

  "We're good here, Evans. By all means, start with that account; and with the transfer prep. End call."

  "Oh Miss Campbell," Edgar said aloud, still holding the plastic bag. "We're going to meet, you and I, if I have anything to do about it. When we do, I'll show you a thing or two I've learned about 'art' in the last four hundred years. We won't need baggies when the lesson's over, though; that, I promise you."

  CHAPTER 23

  Maddi slowly came to, still on the bed. His knees were immobilized by severe swelling, but the pain was only a dull throb in the background. Jarvis must have used some of the Prozine on him; the stuff was amazing at dulling pain. He lay, unmoving, for a moment then opened his eyes. The lights were dimmed and he saw no sign of Jarvis or Ridgely. He tried to push himself into a seated position, but that only worsened the pain, threatening to knock him out again. Then he noticed the smell.

  Working at a vet clinic, Maddi had become used to certain unpleasant smells to the point that he often didn't notice them. Now, however, lacking much else to occupy himself, he became aware of a set of unpleasant smells. There was feces and urine; it must've been Ridgely, he thought, as the bed was clean but for the blood from his knees. Underneath that, there was a slight coppery tang, the blood, of course.

  At first, he assumed that was from his own injuries. Fighting through the pain, he leveraged himself into a seated position from which he could see the nightmare in the corner of the room. Ridgely was lying in the fetal position, surrounded by a huge pool of blood. Maddi's first instinct was to look away, but he forced himself to examine the gruesome tableau.

  Ridgely wasn't moving; there was no rise and fall of breathing, either. His face was locked in a rictus of pain as though his death hadn't been an easy one. The blood was concentrated near the man's groin and Maddi finally realized what he was seeing. The part of his mind that was blocking out the worst of the traumatic scene finally surrendered and he could see that Jarvis had removed Ridgely's penis.

  Maddi remembered that Jarvis had ranted about sending something to Edgar to prove the seriousness of her intent. He leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of what he'd just seen. Unfortunately, the image that replaced it was of a horrified Edgar opening the box containing Ridgely's mangled penis and thinking it was his.

  He opened his eyes and looked around the room again; there had to be something he could use against Jarvis. He forced himself to look at Ridgely again, hoping against hope that Jarvis had left behind a scalpel or a knife. Maddi couldn't see anything metallic in front of the man's body, though it could've been covered in all the blood on the floor; it may even be behind the corpse. His stomach turned at the thought of trying to get over to the corner to look for a weapon and then get back to the bed.

  Further complicating that plan, he wouldn't be able to hide the trail of Ridgely's blood he'd no doubt leave on his way back. Then he realized that the sheets were stiff with dried blood; maybe she'd overlooked something on the bed. He leaned forward to check, fighting the waves of pain and nausea that accompanied the action.

  His vision started to blur as he felt around the sheets, pain and nausea overtaking him. He was about to give up when he bumped something hard and smooth. Elation won out over pain as he sat back and examined his prize. Jarvis hadn't retrieved everything, after all; he had an empty Prozine injector. It wasn't much, but it was something. The needle was a little under an inch long, nothing compared to a scalpel or the mini. He knew this type of injector was a one-shot – one use and recycle; however, there were ways of tampering with it to get a second use.

  Maddi began working on the small device, attempting to get the back off so he could access the med tube. He had nothing to put in it, of course, but nothing was exactly what he needed. Once the seal on the tube was broken and the tube removed, the injector would shoot a harmless stream of air if activated while empty; harmless unless injected into an artery, in which case the stream could create a large enough air embolus to cause Jarvis' heart to fail. He'd have to hold the injector in place for almost thirty seconds to make it work.

  Maddi dropped the injector and stared at it as disgust and horror spread through his consciousness. He was creating a lethal weapon and, worse yet, was planning to use it on a human being at the first possible opportunity. That thought send his mind spinning.

  What the hell
am I doing? I'm working to become a healer, but I'm planning a cold-blooded murder! No. I can't do this. It doesn't matter that she's fucking crazy, all life is sacred! That's the first thing they teach us. Shit, my parents have told me that all my life. I didn't have my first taste of meat until after I moved away from home!

  How the fuck can I be doing this? It goes against everything I have ever believed in; no matter what, no matter how bad the act, no living being should be put to death. Even if it means I never make it out of here in one piece, or alive, Jarvis is a human being, a sacred life. I can't do it. Even if I lose my chance of a happy life, a career, Edgar…

  That last thought stopped his racing mind. Edgar could do this horrible thing he was contemplating; from everything he'd said, Edgar had done it or at least paid to have it done. That was why Maddi left. And yet, the thought of never seeing Edgar again, of losing all the joys and wonders life had to offer…

  Maddi grabbed the injector and almost threw it across the room. Arm pulled back, he stopped as another realization slammed its way into his mind. He saw Edgar's face, the pain in his eyes as he shared those secrets. Edgar wasn't a cold-hearted man; he did what had to be done in the face of an impossible situation. He'd done exactly what Maddi's boss at the clinic did when veterinary science couldn't save a badly injured pet. This from the woman who, other than his parents, was the strongest advocate for life Maddi knew. His hand fell to his lap, still gripping the injector.

  No. I can't accept that, I can't! It's a convenient excuse to end a life. Jarvis isn't injured, she's crazy. Dangerous, deadly and sick, but not injured. As a healer, I have a duty to help her, not kill her!

  He sat wrestling with the issue, back and forth, not finding a justification for killing Jarvis that didn't show as pure bullshit under scrutiny. He began wondering if anyone was looking for him; surely, his friends had called Altair Security when he went missing. Unless they assumed he was with Edgar. Would Edgar be looking or had he ruined everything when he left Highland House? He felt hot tears welling up and shook his head.

  This is stupid! I've only just started getting to know him! How can he be so damned important to me already? Yeah, he's everything I've ever wanted in a man, minus the disregard for life bit; but that's huge for me! I can't be with someone who treats people – even psychos like Jarvis – like they're mad dogs, fit to be put down. It's just not…

  Maddi forgot all about the impending tears as another memory came to him. He looked at the injector, turning it over and over, as he remembered a scene from his childhood. It was a spring day, beautiful weather, and he was in a park with his parents. They were playing what passed for catch with a five year-old; spending more time running to retrieve the ball than actually catching it.

  In the background, they heard screaming; neither he nor his parents paid all that much attention to it initially. It was a park with a playground; some kid was always falling down or freaking out over something. He remembered seeing his Dad's face then, as an adult's screams joined the child's. His Mom looked in the direction of the screams and ran to grab him. As she did so, he saw a small child on the ground rolling around with a dog. It looked to him as though the two were playing, but the few adults around them were all yelling and trying to get them apart. A man in a uniform was running toward the child, waving something in his hand. The adults backed away and that was when Maddi saw the blood; the dog wasn't playing with the child, it was biting her.

  The man in the uniform – a Security Officer, his parents explained later – finally arrived and got to one knee. He pointed his hand at the dog and, just like magic to his 5 year old mind, the dog lay down. The man and the little girl's mother moved to help her. The mother was crying as she held her little girl and the Officer was looking at the bites. That was when Maddi's parents turned and left the park, taking him home. Later, they explained to him that the little girl and the dog weren't playing; some animals got sick, but not like a cold or the sniffles. There were sicknesses of the mind that made nice dogs act bad and do bad things. It wasn't magic that made the dog lay down, they said; the Officer had shot and killed the dog.

  He'd cried then, because the dog was dead and his parents explained to him that sometimes these sick animals couldn't get better. Life was special - they hadn't used sacred until much later – but sometimes death was the only cure. He remembered disagreeing with them and crying himself to sleep that night. The memory faded then and Maddi was back in the room, back with Ridgely's corpse, back with the blood-soaked sheets and the dull throb in his knees. Back with the mad dog in the other room.

  He wiped away his unshed tears and set about the task of modifying the injector. He was going to be a healer someday, yes, but part of that meant that death was sometimes the only cure. It was most definitely the cure for mad dogs and certain psychopaths.

  In the back of his mind, the sacred life argument began again. This time, it was buttressed by thoughts of Ghandi, who suffered great torments without resorting to violence. Mother Teresa was in the mix, living in some of the worst places on Earth just to help those less fortunate. Quotes from Sh'ara Q'Nal, the Thraxian healer, ran through his mind, along with images of Juan-Carlos de Los Santos Rodriguez, who gave his own life so that forty-seven other shuttle passengers might live. He stopped working as the last piece fell into place.

  These people – Ghandi, Teresa, Q'Nal and de Los Santos Rodriguez – they were extraordinary. They suffered a lot, and they did it with grace and dignity and no care for themselves. Damn right, they're to be honored, even emulated. But that's just it – they were extraordinary. Yeah, I like myself just fine, but I'm not like them. Maybe they really were touched by some universal energy that made them the way they were; but I haven't been.

  As much as I believe in life, I can't help but admit that sometimes death is the answer. No, Jarvis isn't a mad dog; she's a psychopathic killer. The only difference between the two, when you get right down to it, is that the dog can't talk. If conventional veterinary medicine couldn't save an animal, as a vet, I'd have no problem putting the animal down. It'd be the only humane thing to do; so, maybe that's true for Jarvis, too?

  Maybe I'm selfish, but damn it, I don't want to fuckin' die! Not here, at least; stuck in a stench-filled bedroom, shot up by some psycho bitch. Even if I was special like those people, what good would my death do? Ghandi worked for peace his whole life and some sicko shot him three times in the chest. He did great things, sure, but maybe he'd have done even more if he'd had a gun and beat the guy to the punch.

  Mother Teresa's no different. Yeah, she helped a shitload of people and she worked right up until she died. She welcomed suffering as a way to participate in a faith I can't even pretend to understand. She left her family behind and never looked back; yet, there was still a ton of unhappiness in the world. The same with Q'Nal. She sacrificed everything – family, home, citizenship – all by becoming a healer in secret and leaving Thraxus to help those in need. Many people are alive today, especially on the outer colony worlds, mainly due to her. That's great for them; but what about her? Her own world hated her and finally got the last word by sending an assassin to Doranna Prime. He blew her damn head off right in the middle of her own clinic.

  De Los Santos Rodríguez was the same. The moment that shuttle engine locked into an overload cycle, it was all over for everybody. The emergency separation system froze, the life pods went offline, and they were finished. Until he ran back to the engine compartment, sealed himself inside and manually ejected the drive. He was atomized when that baby blew but the other people on that shuttle made it. For what, though? So they could turn on each other before rescue vessels could reach them? So the weak and helpless could be killed and eaten? Better the whole damn ship had blown, if you ask me.

  C'mon, Maddi, you can't be this cynical! What about that whole starfish story they taught in school? 'Might not matter to the ones who died, but it mattered to the one she threw back!' Shit! The way these things work out, it was probably eat
en by some fucking sea creature.

  No. I can't think like that; if there's not any good in the world, then what's the whole point of living? A nation eventually became free because of Ghandi and no one knows how many people were fed by Mother Teresa's efforts. The entire population of Doranna Prime owes their lives to Sh'ara Q'Nal; without her, the Danje Plague would've spread over the whole planet. And despite the horrors those forty-seven people committed while waiting for rescue, two of the surviving engineers went on to develop the tech that now prevents such overload cycles because de Los Santos Rodriguez sacrificed himself.

  Why become a vet? Why work so fucking hard for it? That's easy; because I believe in the work. My greatest contribution to the world might be setting broken bones and helping distressed cats give birth, but it's my contribution to make. We can't all be Ghandi and that's fine. Besides, I can't help but think that even Q'Nal would smack the shit out of Jarvis.

  I don't have to be happy about it, I don't have to choose this alternative for every situation, but one thing's for damn sure: The only way I'm getting out of here alive is if that crazy bitch gets put down. If it's good enough for a mad dog, it's damn good enough for her ass.

  Maddi set about working on the injector again, a grim look of determination on his face, the tip of his tongue protruding from one corner of his mouth in concentration.

  CHAPTER 24

  Nine A.M

  Dressed and caffeinated, Edgar paced his apartment waiting for Evans' agent to arrive. The DNA test of the severed penis would take about four hours, even with the 2-4's advanced technology. Edgar put a piece of bed sheet that had been liberally soaked with Maddi's semen in the box Campbell sent. The whole thing would be given to the agent.

  The HC interrupted his pacing by announcing a visitor. After confirming that it was the agent, Edgar grabbed the box and waited by the door. Moments later, the HC announced the visitor and Edgar palmed the door open. He was greeted not by the stereotypical burly bouncer-type often employed in such ventures, but by a petite woman who stood all of five-three. She was dressed casually in jeans and a faded t-shirt, her long, dark red hair pulled into a pony-tail.