He took two aspirin with his sandwich for lunch. Grimes stopped by his office, listened to what he had to say and then walked away without speaking. The rain continued to fall. He worked all day Saturday in the silence of the building. The guard in the lobby drowsed behind his desk, opening one eye to inspect his ID badge. The rain still fell outside and, beyond his window, the city was drowned in grey mist.
Why, they flew away, young man. They just flew away like little birds.
That was the key to it all. He could feel it stirring somewhere in the back of his mind. Where had the old ladies taken the two babies? If he could get a handle on that, then everything else was bound to become clear.
Sunday dawned clear. Dulaine put on his running shoes and went for a long, hard run. The air burned in his lungs. The miles blurred by and he tried not to think about the photos of dead bodies in the case file. He stopped in a park for a drink of water. Two mothers gossiped over their baby strollers. One of the babies stared at him with unblinking blue eyes. From somewhere in his mind, his memory dredged up a fact. It sometimes takes three years before a baby’s eyes settle into their permanent color.
The baby looked away. It was gazing at something beyond him. He turned to see. A playground stood on the other side of the path. Children sailed back and forth on swings. A merry-go-round spun around. Other children were hopping back and forth on a brightly colored surface. He took a step closer. It was a huge map of the United States made out of hardened rubber. The children skipped from state to state. Their voices sounded as light and as insubstantial as the chatter of birds. The back of his neck prickled. He looked back. Both babies in the two strollers were now gazing at him. He shivered and resumed his run.
Dulaine did not sleep well that night. He opened his eyes and looked over at the clock. 4:32 am. The wind moaned outside the window and he suddenly realized there was one pattern he had not looked for. One that he had neglected. Hurriedly, he dressed and drove through the dark streets. The stars shone uneasily through the ragged clouds. The night guard dozed at his desk in the lobby. Dulaine took the elevator up. He paused in the hallway and looked back. The dim exit sign over the elevator was the only source of light.
“Hello?” he said. “Is someone there?”
The hallway remained silent. He let himself into his office and locked the door. The computer screen waited, blank and glowing. He adjusted the parameters in the analysis routine program and then typed in the necessary data. Hit return. Leaned forward. The computer murmured and then a map popped up on the screen. A map of the Midwest. The incident locations were displayed as red dots. Fourteen red dots. Fourteen red dots that were distributed within the area of a roughly shaped blob. He considered this for a moment and then tapped some more information out on the keyboard. Date and time of each location, cross-referenced with local traffic patterns and weather patterns. He hit return and the fourteen red dots adjusted. They adjusted into a nearly perfect circle determined according to time of travel. The outermost dots were almost identical to each other in relation to the time it would have taken to drive from those locations to the center of the circle. And in the center of the circle? The town of Eden Grove. Dulaine frowned. He had never heard of the place.
The sun was rising over the horizon by the time he left the city. Morning traffic crowded the roads in from the suburbs. He stopped at a gas station, filled up the tank and bought a cup of coffee and a doughnut. The road led him west, past strip malls and towns that had grown into each other. The strip malls gave way to cornfields. He called into the office but Grimes wasn’t there yet, so he didn’t bother leaving a message.
Eden Grove announced itself with a faded sign claiming a population of 3,317 people. He slowed, took the exit, and found himself driving down a sleepy Main Street, complete with a hardware store flying an American flag, a corner drugstore, and a diner. He pulled in at the diner and parked between two battered pickup trucks.
“Coffee?” said the waitress.
“Please,” said Dulaine.
He sat down at the counter. Conversation rumbled around him, ranging from corn yields and livestock to high school football and an upcoming barbecue fundraiser for the local 4H chapter. He drank coffee and ate eggs and bacon, all the while listening. He heard about hog prices at auction, the offensive line of the Eden Grove Mavericks, and the relative merits of smoke versus wet as methods of barbecuing ribs. He finished a third cup of coffee, paid his bill and left.
Dulaine wandered down the sidewalk, paused, and looked about him. There was nothing to the town. Nothing except the dusty Main Street and shabbier streets stretching away on either side, lined with old houses fading into the morning sunlight. Nothing to indicate that this place was at the heart of dozens of brutal murders. A pickup truck rolled down the street and he watched it go. Once, when he was three years old, he had wanted nothing more in the world than to drive a pickup truck. Things were simpler when you were a kid. Life was easier. He shook his head. The coffee was making him jittery. The gun in his shoulder holster felt heavy and awkward against his side.
Dulaine walked into the hardware store. The screen door banged shut behind him. A bell jangled somewhere inside the store. The place smelt of machine oil, leather and wood. He heard the sound of shuffling footsteps. His eyes were drawn to the glass case beside the cash register. An array of knives lay displayed on black velvet. The footsteps stopped.
“Genuine American made. None of that foreign stuff.”
An old man leaned on the other side of the case.
“Need a knife, sonny?”
“No,” said Dulaine. “Just looking around.”
“Well, feel free. Now that pig sticker got an edge on it that’ll keep till doomsday. Slice through bone like chunking butter. Good blade for the money. Fifty-nine ninety-five. Got one myself for when I go boar hunting.”
“I’ve never hunted boar, myself,” said Dulaine. “They good to eat?”
“Tolerably good. Tolerably.” Something flickered behind the old man’s eyes. It was just for a split second, but it was almost as if someone else had peered out at Dulaine in that moment. “Just passing through, sonny? We don’t get many strangers in Eden Grove. Ain’t much here in the first place.”
“Can’t say I’ve been here before. I imagine this is a nice place to live. Quiet and all. Mostly farming here?”
“Yep. Corn and wheat. Soybeans, hogs.”
“Is there anything special about Eden Grove?” Dulaine tried to make his voice sound casual.
The old man looked at him without blinking. “Just the regular stuff, sonny, and that ain’t much. Got a high school, buses the kids in from around the county. They got a tolerable football team this year. New dairy put in, let’s see, about twenty years ago now. Makes a decent cheese. Oh, and the orphanage. Nuns’ve been there ever since I was a little nipper in short pants.”
The orphanage was at the end of a cracked and potholed street, right on the edge of town. Dulaine drove through a pair of iron gates and parked in front of a large white building. The paint on the walls was faded and peeling, but it was an imposing building. Two stories in height and surmounted by a red terra-cotta roof. He walked up the steps. Sunlight glittered off the white walls and he felt sweat trickle down his back. Inside, a hall stretched away from the front door, full of shadows, until it ended at a bright rectangle of light. A door opened beside him and he turned.
“May I help you?”
A woman stood there in the simple robes of a nun.
“My name is Dulaine.” He showed her his badge. “I’d like to speak to the administrator of this facility.”
The nun’s face was impassive. “You’ll want to see the Mother Superior. Please wait here.”
He sat down on a wooden bench. The nun walked away down the hall. Her footsteps were silent and her form blurred into a dark blot that diminished and then vanished into the bright rectangle of light at the end of the hall. He waited. As he sat there, he became aware of different soun
ds making themselves known in the cool shadows. A clock ticked in a nearby office. A door opened and closed with a gentle creak. He could hear a baby crying somewhere. The quiet noise made him sit up straight, the back of his neck prickling. The clock ticked on and the baby subsided into silence.
“Mr. Dulaine?”
A tiny nun stood before him. Her face was wrinkled and a few strands of white hair straggled free from the edge of her wimple. A pair of faded blue eyes inspected him from behind thick glasses. She smiled.
“How may I help you?” said the Mother Superior.
He stood up, unsure if he should bow or shake her hand. He did neither.
“I work for the government, ma’am,” he said. “Law enforcement. Your facility’s come to our attention in relation to – well – in relation to a case involving some missing children.”
“Missing children?” She cocked her head to one side. “Oh, dear me. How dreadful. Simply dreadful. No, we aren’t missing children here. None at all.”
“No, ma’am. I don’t think you understand what –”
“Come along,” she said brightly. “Come along, young man. You must see for yourself. We aren’t missing any of our children. Not one. Come along. Don’t drag your feet. There’s nothing I dislike more than a boy who drags his feet.”
And with that, the little old nun turned and hurried down the hall. Dulaine had to stretch his legs to keep up with her. The bright rectangle of light at the end of the hall grew bigger and bigger. He could hear children’s voices and the smell of freshly mown grass was in the air. They emerged into the sunlight. A large courtyard lay before them, surrounded on all four sides by walls. A portion of the area was brick patio and the rest was taken up with lawn and greenery. Several dark-robed nuns sat on benches or stood about, some with babies in their arms and others hovering in close proximity to strollers.
“You see?” said the Mother Superior, beaming. “They’re all here. We’re not missing a single one. Oh, the little dears! Look! He’s smiling at you, Mr. Dulaine. How sweet. Oh, I’m afraid he isn’t. He’s frowning. There’s a thin line between smiling and frowning with babies, I’m afraid. One has to be careful. When they take a dislike to something, they really take a dislike. Now, where is…aha! Come with me, Mr. Dulaine. I’d like you to meet one of our older orphans. Come along.”
He followed her to a corner of the patio, just beyond a sprawling rose bush. A bench stood on the edge of the grass. A little boy sat on the bench, his chubby legs dangling down a good distance above the ground. His hands were folded in his lap and he was watching a butterfly that flitted and fluttered among the roses. He looked up and smiled at them, his face as serene and as bright as the sun.
“This is Adam,” said the Mother Superior. “He just turned four years old – didn’t you, Adam?”
“I did,” said Adam gravely. “And I had cake and ice cream. Do you like cake and ice cream, mister?”
“Yes, I do,” said Dulaine.
“This is Mr. Dulaine, Adam,” said the old nun. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” She smiled vaguely at nothing in particular and then hurried away. The butterfly teetered down through the air and settled onto a rose. Its wings trembled. Dulaine sat down on the bench and enjoyed the sunlight on his face for a moment. A small hand touched his arm.
“Do you like butterflies?”
“Yes,” said Dulaine. “They’re busy, pretty little things.”
“And they never hurt anything,” said Adam. “I wouldn’t like them if they hurt things. I wouldn’t like them at all. What do you think, mister?”
“I think you’re right.”
The little boy was silent for a moment. The entire garden was silent. Too silent. Dulaine glanced around and saw that they were alone. All of the nuns were gone. All of the baby strollers were gone. He had not heard them go. Something uneasy stirred in the back of his mind. He turned and found the little boy staring at him.
“Do you believe in evil, Thomas?” said the boy.
“What?” Dulaine stammered. “How do you know my name?”
“I believe in evil,” continued the boy. His voice was different now. It was just as high and sweet as it had been before, but now there was a grave, measured quality to it. “It was one of the first things I ever believed in. It was the first thing I knew. Do you think that’s a good thing for a baby, Thomas? No, I didn’t think so. Mother Superior checks out books for me at the library. Doctor Seuss bores me. I just finished the works of Mr. Dickens. The children often win in Mr. Dickens’ stories. I found that intriguing. Do you think the children should win, Thomas?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Dulaine.
“Of course not,” said the boy scornfully. “You’re an adult. How could you know? I recently read a book on evolution. It was poorly written and wrong in certain aspects. Evolution is not always a slow, tedious process, Thomas. At key times, necessity forces a sharp and precise modification of a species. Punctuated equilibrium. It occurs for the sake of survival. It occurred with me.”
The boy’s eyes sharpened. Dulaine could not look away from his gaze. He could feel the heaviness of the gun against his side, but his body felt stiff and unmovable. He could only watch and listen.
“I’m the first of many,” said Adam. His hand again touched Dulaine’s arm, gently and confidingly. “But there are more of us coming. Just a few now, but more and more. The human race, as you know it, is in its twilight. I suppose we’ll keep you for a while. Even though our minds are much stronger than yours, we’re still young physically. I’m the eldest of my kind. We’ll need you for a while to farm and to make things and keep the power plants running. But, after a while?” His little shoulders shrugged. “I’m afraid I botched the first few attempts. I could hear their voices crying for help, but I wasn’t entirely certain of what to do. Now, however, it isn’t hard. I just reach out with my thoughts and find someone available. A plumber driving home from work. Three old ladies playing bingo. I’m afraid I get angry sometimes, but, can you blame me?”
“The government’ll stop you,” said Dulaine. He could barely manage to get the words out. His throat felt thick.
“No,” said the little boy. He shook his head. “No, they won't, and you won’t. It’s much too late, you see. You already made your choices. All of you. It’s our turn now. It’s our turn to make the choice.”
“But you can’t!”
“Why not?” said the boy. He smiled sweetly at the man. “Is justice on your side or mine?”
Dulaine stood up. His head suddenly hurt and, for a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. He heard a rustling sound and turned to find the Mother Superior standing next to him. She smiled at him. He had a vague thought that there was something vitally important that he needed to remember. It was right there, right on the tip of his tongue, but then it was gone.
“Did you have a nice chat with Adam?” said the old nun.
“Yes,” said Dulaine. “He’s a bright boy. Adam, it was a pleasure to meet you. Mind the nuns and work hard in school.”
“I’m too young for school, mister,” said the little boy. “I’m only four.”
“Well, here’s a dollar for you.”
“Thank you, sir.” The little boy shook his hand gravely, clutching the dollar in his other.
Dulaine and the Mother Superior walked away. He turned, just before passing through the door into the building, back into the shadowed hall and his car waiting out in the parking lot. Adam was standing by the bench. Sunlight shone in his hair. The boy raised his hand and waved.
“Do come again,” said the Mother Superior.
The door shut behind her. Dulaine got in his car and drove away. He sighed. The orphanage was a dead-end. A wasted day. Grimes would be less than happy. He needed to find another lead. Another pattern hidden in the case. He’d find it. He always did.
Dulaine stopped at the hardware store. The door creaked shut behind him.
“Afternoon, sonny,” said
the old man.
“I think I’ll buy that knife after all,” said Dulaine.
The Wichita Times. July 3, 2010.
Thomas Dulaine, aged 39, of Topeka, was charged with multiple counts of first-degree murder as well as one count of kidnapping in the Sedgwick County Court on July 2. In the afternoon of June 30, Dulaine walked into the Lincoln Community & Family Health Clinic and proceeded to murder every single person inside. “It was a slaughter-house,” said Lieutenant Peter Graves of the Wichita Police Department. “He herded them into a storeroom and then shot every single one in the back of the head. It was like something out of a Mafia hit.” According to security cameras, Dulaine, an employee of a yet unidentified government agency in Wichita, then proceeded to remove the still-living fetus from the dead body of an unidentified female patient at the clinic for a scheduled pregnancy termination. Dulaine was apprehended two hours later, bloody and disoriented, wandering down a street in the north Wichita suburbs. He claimed to have no knowledge of what he had done. The whereabouts of the fetus is still in question.
WEST
The boy found the place on a Friday.
A grove of pines straggled up to the Wall and leaned against it with their crooked arms. The Wall towered above the trees, reaching straight up into the sky.
It was told in his tribe that three foolish men once journeyed east in hope of being able to see over the Wall from the mountain heights. They walked for days, across the desert until it climbed into the cooler forest and up through the snows that lay higher and beyond. Looking west, all they saw was blue sky curving down to the Wall. What had they expected? Everyone knew the world ended beyond the Wall--an endless drop into empty sky.
The boy scooped up some earth. It was heavy with clay. He began to shape it. A long body, a thin nose, a tail, pointed ears. The clay fox sat in his hand. He groped for more earth and then the ground collapsed. An animal exploded up from his feet. Fur whipped against his face, and then the fox--the real fox--was gone. Red flickered into the trees.
The Model Universe And Other Stories Page 6
