by Ethan Cross
Corin knew that the man who had repeatedly brutalized her could walk. She had watched him stroll naked toward her a few times in the beginning, but she had quickly learned to close her eyes and find distance. Even then, she heard his bare feet padding into her concrete world.
So who was the guy in the wheelchair?
The other girls had already set the table and prepared the meal by the time Sonnequa wheeled Corin into the ornate dining room. A long table covered in a white linen cloth occupied the center of the room. The walls were are a dark, rich wood, and a crystal chandelier hung over the formal place settings.
Sonnequa had wheeled her up to the table, and the other girls took their assigned seats. Once everyone was in place and silent, The Good Wife left the room and returned, this time pushing a man in a wheelchair. Sonnequa walked with an air of superiority, as if she were escorting royalty. The man in the chair took his spot at the head of the table, with Sonnequa filling the seat at his right hand.
He was perhaps the most beautiful man Corin had ever seen. An expertly groomed head of sandy-blond hair sat above bright-blue eyes and a combination of other flawless features that would have been the envy of cinematographers everywhere.
The others seemed to fear and respect this man. They treated him as though this was the Master they had told her about. She had assumed that the Master and the man who had raped her were one and the same, but she also knew that her tormentor could walk.
Was this really the man in the skull mask playing some kind of sadistic game with her? Was he faking an injury? It had to be a trap of some kind. He was testing her—her obedience, her self-control, her patience, her fear.
The young Asian girl named Tia, the one with no tongue, served the food to the Master. Corin could taste his dominance hanging over them like a cloud of noxious fumes. The other girls seemed to be holding their breath as the man in the wheelchair savored his first bite and finally said, “My compliments, ladies. Enjoy.”
He continued eating and the rest of the girls started passing around the porcelain serving trays filled with eggs, potatoes, bacon, biscuits and gravy, sausages, and all manner of rolls and croissants.
Corin burned to show at least a small gesture of defiance—perhaps ask a question when she knew not to speak, or refuse to eat—but she fought the urge. She needed to play the role of the mouse: quiet, patient, waiting.
They ate in silence until the man in the wheelchair tossed his napkin atop his plate and said, “As you all know, we have a new addition this morning. Welcome to the table, Corin.”
In unison, the other girls said, “Welcome to the table.”
She said nothing. She just stared down at her plastic fork. Maybe she could pierce his eye with it, or ram it into his ear? She didn’t necessarily have to kill him, just slow him down, incapacitate him.
He said, “You’re now part of something very special, Corin.”
One of the girls who hadn’t been present the day before—a tall, thin woman with red hair and freckles—began weeping at the end of the table.
The man in the wheelchair said, “Let’s not be rude, Estelle. This is Corin’s moment.”
“You killed my baby,” the redhead whispered.
“Now, my dear, I did no such thing. I would never harm one of my children. We’ve been over this. It wasn’t your fault or mine.”
“You let him die. You’re a doctor. You could have saved him.”
“Estelle, you know the rules. If the child doesn’t have the will to survive, then it’s not worthy of life. Your baby was weak. But don’t worry. There will be plenty of opportunities in the future to bear children. Let us not forget that we are only a few days away from going to the Island.”
“Who are you?” Corin said abruptly, unable to hold back her words any longer.
He laughed. “She can speak. And this is a time to speak freely, Corin. In answer to your question, I am Dr. Derrick Gladstone. I’m a geneticist and fertility specialist.”
“What is this place?”
“The facility is an abandoned luxury resort. There was supposed to be a golf course and spa and the whole nine yards. Unfortunately, black mold spread through its heart like a cancer. Board of health condemned the whole place. But don’t worry, the dangerous areas are locked away.”
“But what is this? What are you trying to do here? And what the hell is the ‘Island’?”
“The answer to that is quite simple and yet infinitely complex. I’m building a better world, one child at a time. I call it the Eden Project.”
“You’re insane.”
Sonnequa snapped, “Show the Master respect!”
“It’s okay, my dear. This is a time to speak freely. She merely lacks understanding.”
Corin said, “I understand that this whole thing is about as sick and perverted as it comes. It doesn’t matter what religious message you try to dress it up with.”
“Religious message? Hardly. I don’t believe in that sort of thing. What I’m doing here is saving the human race.”
“See, right there. Listen to that statement. Doesn’t that sound a little insane to you.”
“If spoken by a lesser man, perhaps. Let me explain. First of all, are you acquainted with the basic concepts of evolution?”
Corin said nothing, but as he spoke, she slipped a plastic fork from the table and concealed it beside her leg.
“Crash course. Evolution 101. The core idea is that all species evolved to what they are today by means of natural selection. Now, natural selection is very observable in nature. I could quote you many clearly defined cases from the classic examples of the peppered moths during the Industrial Revolution to Darwin’s finches to Italian wall lizards and the cane toads in Australia. All examples of species adapting to better survive in their environments. You may have heard that ‘only the strong survive,’ but that’s not necessarily the case. Oftentimes, it’s genetic mutation or viral outbreak or some other random factor that determines which distinct subset of a population will survive. Unfortunately, our species has created a society where the poor and ignorant are those most likely to reproduce.”
“What are you planning to do? Release a virus to kill the world and create your own Noah’s Ark?”
“Nothing quite so dramatic. No, I’m not trying to kill the world. I’m merely attempting to right the ship. You see, all living things evolve. The difference between humankind and any other species in history is that we have the knowledge and means to affect our own evolutionary course for the better. How do we do that? It’s very simple. We control breeding.”
“One guy and a few sex slaves can’t influence humankind.”
“First of all, you’re not slaves. You’re the Chosen.”
“Chosen by who?”
“By your genes, and by your will to survive. Everyone at this table has been tested thoroughly using the most advanced genetic screenings available. We are all free from genetic markers causing disease or defect. As you can see by the diversity, this has nothing to do with the color of one’s skin. I could care less if two hundred years from now the Caucasian race is a small minority. All I care about is that the individuals who are in the majority are healthy, well-educated, productive members of society.”
“So you’re basically trying to rape humankind as a whole . . . That’s wonderful. I’ll kill myself before I let my DNA become part of this insanity.”
Derrick wheeled away from the table and pushed himself closer to her. “I don’t think you have suicide in you, Corin. You’re a fighter. Unlike your mother.”
“What the hell do you know about my mother?”
“I know everything about you, Corin. I know who you really are and all that you’ve done. Everyone at this table is a survivor. By whatever means necessary. That’s the kind of people I need to correct the evolutionary destiny of our species.”
She wondered what he really knew. Her mother’s suicide was public record. He could have gotten that information from newspaper archives. But there was no way that he could truly know all that she’d done to survive over the years.
Derrick said, “My plans go much farther than merely this compound. But consider this before you decide the issue of my sanity and the validity of my plans. About eight percent of men in Asia can trace their lineage back to the great Genghis Khan, a personal hero of mine. He reportedly fathered hundreds of children, but that doesn’t always correlate with a strong genetic legacy. After all, fathering a multitude of sons doesn’t always mean that those sons will sire their own multitudes of offspring. Establishment of such successful lineages often relies on social systems that allow powerful men to father heirs with many women. Unfortunately, most societies which present the necessary circumstances are considered barbaric by the modern world. So I decided that the only way to move forward was to form my own society. From the ground up. And through technology and the current crumbling of our culture, I intend to leave an even broader legacy than the great Khan.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Am I? Why is that?”
“What you’re doing is wrong.”
“How do you define right and wrong, Corin?”
“It’s pretty widely accepted that kidnap and rape are wrong.”
“Right and wrong are religious concepts. In order for something to be ‘right,’ there has to be an inherent measuring stick by which one assesses what is right and what is wrong. For many, that’s where God comes in, but the truth is that we are nothing. Mankind is but an enlightened animal with a tendency toward delusions of grandeur. If you want something in this world, you have to take it. You see, ‘only the strong survive’ actually isn’t anything that Darwin ever said or even a core concept of evolution. But on a personal level, on the level of our individual generation, it’s still the truth of a finite, mortal existence. The law of the jungle. The strong prey on the weak. And if I’m strong enough to affect the genetic destiny of our entire species for the better, then why is it wrong for me to do so?”
“They’re going to catch you. It’s not just wrong. It’s illegal.” Corin turned her wheelchair to face his, her muscles coiled and ready to strike.
Derrick smiled. “The police or feds or whoever are welcome to try and stop me. If I’m not strong enough and smart enough to carry out my plans, then I don’t deserve to be the genetic father of millions. You see, I intend to . . .”
She had heard enough.
While he basked in his own glory, she readied her weapon. Then, picking her moment, Corin lunged forward and grabbed him by his perfect mane of golden hair while thrusting the end of the plastic fork toward his ear.
~~*~~
Chapter Sixty-Six
Baxter’s memory of Detective Natalie Ferrera was of a woman a bit younger and a few pounds lighter, but his former partner was as still as beautiful as ever. Her skin reminded him of white-sand beaches after the tide came in—pure, moist. Natalie was born in Cuba, but her parents had defected when she was in junior high. He had often thought of her family, washed up on a Florida beach like a message in a bottle.
Natalie wore a red blouse beneath a coal-black pantsuit. As she approached, she caught him admiring her. He could see it in her eyes. The beautiful brown mirrors to her soul filled with a warmth that he remembered fondly. But then her memory must have landed on one of the bad times because her eyes went cold.
Beside him, Jenny said, “That’s your old partner? She’s gorgeous.”
“Yes, she is.”
“You ever hit that?”
Baxter had tried to talk Jenny out of coming along to the police station, but it was her day off, and he couldn’t find an adequate explanation for wanting to leave her behind. He didn’t know why he should feel awkward. Jenny wasn’t his girlfriend. She was just his secretary, apprentice, or whatever. And Natalie was no longer his partner. She hadn’t been for quite some time.
In response to her blunt question, he smiled over at Jenny and winked. “A gentleman never tells.”
Detective Ferrera reached them and immediately said, “I don’t need your shit today, Baxter. This had better be good.”
“With me, darling, it’s always good.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Except when it’s bad. I remember a lot of bad, Bax.”
He glanced over at Jenny who was still questioning him with her eyes. “Well, I suppose this is kind of a bad case, but it’s a hell of a good lead.”
“I’ll bite. A lead on what?”
“An abduction. Girl’s name is Corin Campbell. It’s one of your cases, kiddo.”
“Cut to the chase. What do you want for it? You need a favor or something?”
“I want full access to the case.”
Jenny said, “We want full access.”
“My apologies, Jennifer. May I introduce Detective Natalie Ferrera, and Nat, this is Jennifer Vasillo. She’s my . . . apprentice.”
“Partner,” Jenny said.
Natalie grunted and looked Jenny up and down. “Good luck with that, little girl.”
Jenny attacked Nat with her eyes. Before things got out of hand, Baxter said, “This is the kind of lead that solves a case. I could pursue it on my own, which is what my client is paying me to do. But I figured that we might as well work together and possibly save this poor kid’s life.”
Nat’s gaze finally shifted from Jenny back to him. She said, “Don’t try to manipulate me, Bax. If you don’t inform us of something that could help save a life, then I would feel obliged to arrest you as an accessory.”
Baxter chuckled. “I always love it when you talk all professional like that, but as you said, let’s cut to the chase. I’ll give you the info. You know I will. Even if you shut me out. You have resources I don’t. Ones this case needs. But I have resources you don’t. Somebody else is paying my bill. Why not let me help you for free? You need me on this.”
Shaking her head and grinding her teeth, which he recognized as her tell for reluctant acceptance, she said, “Fine. I’ll let you in. But it’s your eyes only. Lose the girl.”
He immediately said, “No deal. She’s my partner, remember. She goes where I go.”
“A good partner would understand.”
“It’s not up for discussion.”
Natalie once again shook her head and ground down on her teeth. “Fine, but she keeps her mouth shut and touches nothing. You got that, little girl?”
Jenny, thankfully, raised her hands in surrender. Nat pursed her lips and, turning away, said, “Follow me.”
Jenny winked over at Baxter, a small grin and a blush warming her pale skin. In the process, he had probably further pissed off and alienated his old partner, but Grandpappy Kincaid had always told him that you dance with the one you brought. And Baxter had always found it wise to heed Grandpappy’s advice.
~~*~~
Chapter Sixty-Seven
It wouldn’t have been the first time Corin Campbell had committed cold-blooded murder. But in those instances, her victims had been helpless. This time, Dr. Gladstone was far from feeble. He caught her arm and wrenched it up, nearly popping the joint out of the socket.
A strange vision flashed before her eyes as the pain erupted. Her mother hung above her, kicking and clawing at the rope around her neck, hands reaching toward any would-be savior.
Now, fighting the wave of pain as her shoulder slowly dislocated, she was merely mimicking the movements of someone who had died before her eyes. But she needed to learn from her mother’s mistakes. Her flailing hand caught the armrest of Gladstone’s wheelchair, and she suddenly realized where her mother had gone wrong. She had been reaching out for something to save herself, while all Corin really cared about at this point was hurting Dr. Gladstone.
She wrapped her slende
r fingers around the armrest and jerked upward with all the force she could muster. At first, the chair didn’t move, and she thought she would die helpless just like her mother, despite anything she did. But then she felt the armrest rise, and she pushed harder, tipping the chair over and throwing Gladstone to the floor.
Clutching her dislocated shoulder, Corin wheeled for the closest door. She knew she’d never escape in her condition, not with the hellhounds patrolling the perimeter. But Gladstone must have transportation between the compound and the city, a vehicle of some type. If she could find that, she would have a chance.
A steel exit door with a sign warning “Alarm will sound” was the her closest way out. She pushed through the door. No alarm shrieked, but something did growl.
Corin slowly backed away from the door as the beast followed her through the opening, its hackles raised and its teeth bared.
“Easy, boy,” she said to the massive black dog. Still backing away, she bumped against something hard and unmoving. Looking over her shoulder, she saw another snarling face. This one belonging to Gladstone, who towered over her now, apparently only faking the need for a wheelchair.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his large hands trembling with barely contained rage. He said, “Sonnequa, get a fire going. It’s time our new addition gets a lesson in negative reinforcement.”
Corin spun on him, punching and clawing at his eyes.
The muscular Dr. Gladstone easily deflected her blows, and then unleashed one of his own. She felt the impact of his fist against the side of her head. Then her world became a kaleidoscope of exploding colors, and she dreamed of falling into a well with no bottom.
~~*~~
Chapter Sixty-Eight
San Francisco’s Richmond Police Station was a Romanesque building of red and white brick. Based on the architecture, Ackerman guessed that the structure had been erected sometime in the early 1900s. It had no doubt undergone major renovations since then, considering that most buildings in San Francisco were now seismically reinforced.
