The line of black cars with their tinted windows made its way slowly through the city. Dinner was to be served at 20:00, but they would wait until the president was seated to serve the meal. The cars were only minutes away, when the clock struck 19:30. Immediately, the president’s car, which was second in the line of vehicles, exploded into flames.
A bomb had gone off. Glass shattered onto the sidewalk nearby. Pedestrians ran into buildings for cover. The explosion set off a domino effect, blowing up each car in the procession, including the prime minister. At 19:31, smoke could be seen billowing from the palace. Several bombs had gone off there as well. There were a few other buildings were important government activity took place around the country. All of them were in flames by 19:32.
At 19:33, security at the dinner received word of what had happened. They called to evacuate the building where the dinner was being held, but were too late, as the final set of explosions went off at 19:35. Police officers immediately sprung into action, attempting to secure the city.
They were on the streets in moments, attempting to advise citizens back into buildings, preventing anyone from leaving the scenes of the bombs. But there were too many bombs to have prepared for this type of security. Emergency broadcasts played over television screens and radios everywhere, saying, “The government is dead. They’re all gone. We don’t know who’s doing this.”
Hundreds of masked citizens were on the street within minutes of the police officers attempting to pacify the city. They wore masks of all sorts, but their clothes were all black. They began rioting. Some beat police officers. Others shot them. Some busted store windows and lit fires. Before long, several unmasked citizens had joined in, looting, shouting, breaking things.
The riots went on for hours and didn’t die down until morning. When it was completely dark outside, Armand appeared in Adele’s bedroom doorway. She had been lying in bed, but had not fallen asleep. Her house was pitch black, but she recognized the outline of his figure and was not scared to see him.
“We must go Adele. We are being watched. I know there are eyes on your apartment.”
“Well what should we do? Where should we go?” Adele got out of bed and began throwing a few of her things in a bag. She used her cell phone for light, taking care not to let anyone outside see that she was awake.
“As leaders of the resistance, the smartest thing to do would be to split up. But I can’t. I have fallen in love with you, beautiful Adele. We must run away together.”
“I admit I’m falling in love with you, too. Let’s go together. I feel safer when you’re around anyway.”
The two slipped out of the apartment, making as little noise as possible. Armand had a car parked down the street. They took off. After a few blocks, he felt sure that they had gotten out unnoticed. Their drive wasn’t terribly long, as they wanted to stay near enough to continue leading the resistance, but changing locations would help keep them from being discovered.
Their new home was a townhouse. It was on a quiet street. The architecture was beautiful, but it was fairly small inside. Adele loved it. As soon as they got inside, Armand instructed her that they must change their appearances. He had already prepared a new wardrobe for them both. The clothes were nothing like what they usually wore. Adele would have to trade her pantsuits for sundresses. Armand’s clothes were American, down to the little logos embroidered on every piece. He hated them, but knew it was a necessary change.
Adele, on the other hand, was enjoying changing who she was. Her new clothes were comfortable and liberating. The next step was to change their hairstyles. Armand groaned as he handed Adele clippers and a razor. She frowned as she watched his gorgeous dark locks fall to the floor, but in the end, he was still strikingly handsome with short hair.
He gave her bangs and they dyed her hair red using a box kit. The red was fitting. She could pass as a natural redhead. Armand reminded her that when the color began to fade, she would have to switch to something different. Adele found this exciting. She would try every color of the rainbow.
Chapter 7
The day of the attacks had been the first day in years that Philippe had not tried to sell his art. He had not completed a new painting the night prior, knowing that he would be busy with the resistance. Instead, he stashed his art bag in a closet in the church and headed out before dawn.
After the attacks, he was unsure what the next step would be. The three had not concocted a plan for their next step. They needed to see how the attacks would pan out. All had gone well, which left Philippe feeling renewed and full of strength and energy he had not felt in years.
When he got back to the church, he retrieved his art bag from the closet. He noticed an envelope peeking out the top of the bag. He opened it, to find nearly 10,000 Euro and a note.
You are now being watched. Use these funds to get a place to stay and new clothes. You must never paint again. The risk is too high. Be well and stay safe. I will be in touch.
There was no signature, and the letter was typed rather than handwritten, but Philippe still knew that the words were from Armand. He thumbed through the bills again, thrilled. He had never had that much money at once. He buried the envelope in the bottom of his bag and headed out to find a room.
He knew the exact room he wanted to rent. It was a modest, but charming apartment he had admired many times before. However, the leasing office was definitely closed at that hour, so he decided to stay at a hostel near the apartment building for the night.
He slept in his clothes, gripping his art bag tight. When the sun rose, he headed downstairs for breakfast. The meal was included in his stay. A grin snuck across his face as he saw the buffet. He had not eaten like this in a very long time. He piled his plate high with croissants, meat, cheese and eggs. He filled a mug with coffee and a glass with orange juice.
Philippe savored every bite, finishing the food even though he was full early on. He headed down to check out, feeling satisfied for the first time in ages. The leasing office was just opening when he headed over to inquire about renting the apartment.
A short, plump lady was unlocking the door as he walked up. He followed her inside. She glanced at him and sighed, clearly annoyed that he was there so early. She sat at a tall, cushiony chair behind a desk and motioned Philippe over.
“Rooms 3, 27 and 40 all need their plumbing looked at.” She handed him a stack of work orders, never looking him in the eye.
“No,” Philippe chuckled. “I’m not here to work. I am looking to rent a room.” The woman looked him up and down and sneered.
“With all due respect sir, you have to pay to live here, and it doesn’t exactly look like you are in a position to do that.”
She got back to working on her computer, as if Philippe had disappeared. At first, he was hurt. He had dreamed of this day for so long, and now that it had come, he just wanted to finally fit somewhere, yet the pain of rejection still stung his heart. He took a deep breath and decided that he would not let this lady ruin his day. He pulled out the envelope of cash and withdrew a few bills.
“This should be enough to cover the first month’s rent,” he said softly, handing her the bills. She looked shocked and embarrassed.
“Well we require first and last month’s rent, plus a security deposit.”
“Okay, how much for the deposit?”
“One hundred Euro.”
He went back into the envelope and counted out enough to cover the first and last month’s rent plus the deposit. He still had plenty of money in the envelope and knew he wouldn’t have to worry for a few months. He handed the money to the woman. She sighed and took the cash, avoiding eye contact.
“Alright. Here’s your key.” She placed a silver key in his hand and drew up the necessary documents.
When he stepped inside, his heart skipped a beat. It was completely unfurnished and undecorated, but he loved it. He hadn’t had a space of his own in so long. He felt like he had real privacy.
He plac
ed his art bag in the bedroom, withdrew some money from the envelope and tucked it in his pocket, leaving the rest safe in his new home. He set off for new clothes, a towel, a pillow and toiletries. He also picked up a few light groceries. Even though Armand had given him enough money to live comfortably, he felt guilty at the notion of buying a bed or anything he didn’t absolutely need.
Once he returned home, he showered. The shower was warm and relaxing. He let himself sit beneath the water until it started to go cold. He got out, dried off with his soft, new towel, and put on a new pair of clothes. He headed into the kitchen and made himself a sandwich.
After eating, he grew bored. He had a few free magazines and newspapers that he found when he had been out shopping, but they didn’t interest him much. He wanted to paint. He thought back to the letter in the envelope of cash. It said never to paint again, but Philippe thought this was unnecessary.
After all, no one had ever noticed his paintings before, until Armand saw the mural. What were the odds anyone would notice his paintings now? He would simply change his signature to something different. He had chosen to use a false name, after receiving the letters. When he signed the lease to the apartment, He used the name Nicolas. He decided he would sign his paintings as such, and there could be no issue. Besides, what else was he supposed to do while waiting for Armand’s next set of instructions?
He finished the painting that night before going to sleep. It was a piece about equality. The painting depicted a world free of government. In the background was the same older black lady from his mural. Rather than carrying the building on her back, she was standing next to it.
Stylistically, it was similar to his other work, but unlike most of his art, this piece contained no turmoil or sadness. He signed the bottom ‘Nicolas.’ The next day, Philippe had still not received word from Armand. He had faith that everything was okay, and that Armand was probably hard at work on the next phase, but still, he vowed to never sit idly by. He may have had money, but he could still work hard and make more.
The difference would be that, now, Philippe could afford to demand more payment for his work, and with his clean appearance, he could pop into nicer art shops and expect to be treated fairly. He made breakfast and decided to go sell the piece. There was a hip, independent art shop not far from his apartment. He had always admired the pieces they carried and had never successfully sold a piece there. He had only tried a handful of times, mostly because he hadn’t felt good enough to try.
But something was different now. Philippe, as Nicolas, had an air of confidence. He looked like the kind of man who respected himself, and who others respected. He walked to the store with his canvas. An employee greeted him immediately upon entering.
“Good morning, sir. What can I help you with?” a young, stylish man asked.
“I am a painter. My name is Nicolas. I was looking to sell this piece.” He did his best to continue projecting confidence, but the truth was that he was very nervous. He actually cared what employees at this shop thought. He wanted to be liked. He held the painting up for the young man to see.
“That’s exquisite. I love what you’re saying here. Yeah, we’ll take it. How much do you want for it?”
“Oh, uh,” Philippe stuttered. He had not considered being asked this question. He wrestled with whether to ask for what it deserved, or to remain modest. He opted with value. “80 euro.”
“Perfect.” The man disappeared into the back of the shop and returned a few minutes later with the cash in an envelope, and a receipt. “Pleasure doing business.” He smiled.
“Thank you,” Philippe replied, trying not to sound as shocked as he felt. “Have a nice day.”
As soon as he left the store, he broke into a huge grin. He had never charged so much for a painting. When he was on the streets, his paintings went for as low as 4 euro at times. He was in love with his new life. In celebration of the profit, he stopped in a market and purchased the supplies to make a real dinner, something more substantial than a sandwich.
He was nearing his apartment, when all of a sudden, he felt something sharp and warm pierce his back. He cried out in pain, falling to the ground. He did his best to look around him, but could barely move his head. He didn’t see anyone nearby, anyway. His body was starting to feel lighter and his chest was wet. He looked down to see that he was lying in a pool of blood.
He had been shot. He sobbed violently, using all of the energy left in his body to cry and shout. This was not fair. He had wished for death many times in the past, but he finally had something to live for. Things were finally looking up. If he had only been less stubborn. If he had just stopped painting for a few years, at least. If he had-
Part III
Chapter 8
“No,” Armand whispered, furrowing his brows and shaking his head slowly.
“What is it?” Adele asked, glancing over at him casually.
“No! No, no no!” Armand screamed, his jaws clenched and his face red.
“Armand-“ Adele rushed over, touching Armand’s shoulder gently.
“They killed him!” He threw his phone across the room. “They have killed Philippe. He was our art. He was our voice. They have killed him because he was too foolish to take a break from painting.”
“Oh, no,” Adele whimpered, a tear rolling slowly down her cheek.
“Adele,” Armand said firmly, grabbing her arms in his hands. “We must stay here and hide. We must not go anywhere until we figure out who was behind this. Close all of the curtains.”
Adele did as she was told. She felt fear dancing in the pit of her stomach. She had always trusted Armand to keep her safe, but so had Philippe. She knew that in part, this was Philippe’s on fault for being so reckless, but still, had Armand known these people were out to kill them, he would have gone to greater lengths to protect them. She was sure of that. This was the first time since receiving his initial message, that Adele worried there was someone more powerful than Armand.
After a few hours and several angry phone calls, Armand had cooled off a bit. He was no longer red faced and shouting, but Adele could see he was still on the defense. She did her best to comfort him.
“Why don’t we see what’s on the television?” Adele suggested, putting on a warm, maternal smile.
“Okay, sure,” Armand replied, a tinge of defeat in his voice.
Adele poured two glasses of wine and turned on the television in their bedroom. She went into the kitchen and prepared dinner. She recalled her childhood, and how her mother had always made her spaghetti and garlic bread when she was upset. She made the same for Armand. She returned to the bedroom with their dinner. Armand smiled, his face warm and inviting for the first time all day.
“Have I mentioned that I love you?” he said, grabbing a plate and kissing Adele.
“I love you too,” she said, still feeling surprised to hear the words come from her lips. Everything had happened so quickly with Armand. She was sure that she loved him, but when she said it, it was as if she were reminding herself of some incredible fact she had just discovered.
They found a film on the television. It was a classic. They had both seen the film dozens of times growing up, but they still enjoyed it. They took turns quoting lines to one another. They had finished eating and were snuggled up smiling when it came time for a commercial break.
“I hate commercials,” Armand sighed.
“Really? I actually kind of like them. I know I’m weird.” Adele waited for Armand to laugh, or to reassure her, or react in some form, but he didn’t. His eyes were glued to the television. Adele watched, to see what was so interesting.
“Here at Biolance, we are working for you. We are testing new medications, experimenting with technology, and studying the latest trends,” a man’s voice narrated the screen which flashed between different pictures of people in lab coats smiling. “Biolance’s vision is to reshape modern society, for its own good.”
Armand’s face went pale as he saw vide
o footage of Biolance employees dropping a liquid into a vial. The screen continued on about how good Biolance was for society. The end of the commercial sought out volunteers for scientific testing.
“Armand you look like you’ve seen a ghost. I agree that was a little eerie, but what’s wrong?”
“Those people,” his voice shook, “many of those people are in the resistance. They had our plans. They knew the faces of our leaders. They are hackers. They never said a word about this Biolance. Adele, I think we found the enemy.”
“We have to figure something out. We started all of this with hope to overthrow the government, or at least replace it with one that is fair and just. Biolance is just looking to control everyone in a similar, but different manner. We can’t let them do this. What do we do?”
“I don’t know, Adele, but we must lie low while we figure it out. Do not speak to anyone on the phone.”
“What ab-“
“ANYONE,” Armand thundered.
Adele’s eyes widened and she slid beneath the covers, doing her best to fall asleep. If I’m asleep, she thought, then I can’t be afraid. But she was wrong. She was terrified all night. She tossed and turned, waking from nightmares more times than she could count. She kept seeing the face of Zack Temba, from the Biolance commercial.
He was a young man. He must have only been around 18 years old. When it was just his voice narrating the commercial, Adele had expected him to be much older, but when his face appeared at the end, she almost didn’t connect it to his voice. She wondered how someone so young could start a company, but as she thought about what Biolance sought out to do, she realized that this young man, regardless of his age, had a lot of money and power.
The Great Keeper boxset: Science Fantasy Page 3
