by James Cole
THE REAL
BY JAMES COLE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
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Kindle 2012 Edition
Copyright © 2010 - 2012 by James Cole
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-1-936377-35-0
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THE REAL
BY JAMES COLE
Prologue
Sunday, November 23
The Raven
It was Sunday, first light, the morning after the Destiny RockFest.
Grover’s Field had seen better days. The park-like area, located in the heart of the University campus, was defined by ten acres of manicured grass, widely scattered picnic tables and old oak trees. Sadly, last night’s festivities had transformed its pristine beauty into a picture of ugliness, a virtual garbage dump of empty bottles, cans and plastic food wrappings.
With squeaking suspensions, a caravan of navy blue trucks rolled over the curb to park single file on the grass. A young boy emerged, popping excitedly from the cab of the lead truck. One by one, the workers followed suit, though with a great deal less eagerness. They gathered their tools and in drudgery began to harvest the trash.
The boy set out to explore, surveying the scene with a pointed enthusiasm and freshness almost always reserved for young hearts. He marveled at the massive oaks and their long shadows, stretched by the low angle of the early morning sunlight. He kicked at crumpled beer cans and sniffed an empty pint bottle of Jim Beam when he thought no one was looking.
From nowhere, the cold wind gathered strength. Droves of dead leaves rained down from above and scurried about the boy’s feet like hungry rats. With regret he noticed a charcoal stain on his snow-white high-tops. As he knelt to wipe away the dark mark, a curious sound registered; a siren song, beautiful and strange.
Kaugh! (Come!)
Lured by the sound, he followed, searching for the source. The calling originated from a raven that hopped around the perimeter of one of the dumpsters temporarily placed in Grover’s Field.
Kaugh! Kaugh! (Come see!)
The raven stood by, its eyes ruthless and wild as it contemplated the one who dared encroach upon the fringes of its world. A new sound, a buzz, tickled in the boy’s ears, drawing him closer still. Blowflies swarmed in and around the open lid of the dumpster. Something was there, something more than garbage.
With skinny, brown biceps, the boy hoisted himself up and peered over the rim, directly into dead eyes. Sprawled within this unholy coffin was a human corpse, her legs spread perversely in the stark immodesty of death. Etched into the flesh of her forehead was an intricately-designed symbol, the indentations of which were filled and outlined with crusty blood, like a new tattoo.
The guttural moan that erupted from deep within the boy evolved into a full-blown scream of terror. Letting go his grip on the dumpster rim, he fell, landing flat on his back with a breath-stealing thud. Panic reigned supreme as he bounced to his feet and ran helter-skelter across Grover’s Field, gasping for air and wishing in vain for deliverance from the grisly images that would forever be burned into his mind.
Two hours later the phone rang at the apartment of Jeremy Spires. It was the police.
Chapter 1
Saturday, September 6
Jeremy took the roundabout way from his apartment to the Biotechnology Facility so as to approach from a less conspicuous direction. Typically he parked his motorcycle under the ginkgo trees at the northeast corner of the building and entered there. Tonight, however, he maneuvered the hyper-sport Hayabusa onto the sidewalk near the side door at the opposite corner of the building. He scanned the hedges for any suspicious movement but saw none.
So far, so good.
Using his key, Jeremy turned the lock as gingerly as he could, but the lock disengaged with a conspicuous clack anyway. He winced, hoping the noise wouldn’t give him away. He opened the door just wide enough to squeeze through to the long, darkened hallway on the other side. Energy-saving timers installed in the newly-renovated Biotech Facility dimmed the lights in the common areas after ten p.m. The muted illumination, useful as it might be for energy conservation, only increased the advantage of his adversary.
He sneaked through the labyrinth of dimly-lit hallways until just one corner separated him from the elevator. He peeked around the corner at another empty hallway. At the end of the passage, past the elevator, was the front lobby where he was supposed to meet Tavalin. This was the most likely ambush area. He listened for two protracted minutes, unmoving and barely breathing. The longer he waited, the louder and more uncomfortable the silence became.
Jeremy checked his watch: Five past eleven. He drew a deep breath and ventured into the corridor, hugging the wall like a spider man.
Just as he drew even with the elevator door, the succinct ding of the elevator bell jabbed him like a hypodermic needle. As the door slid open, Jeremy slipped into the pitch-black classroom opposite the elevator. A stressed grin pressed itself onto his face as he peered through the crack of the inward-opening door. Much to his chagrin it was not Tavalin but Dr. Cecil Cain who exited the elevator. This was not the first time Jeremy had seen the executive director in the building late at night, nor was it the first time Jeremy had wondered why Dr. Cain kept such odd hours.
Jeremy watched as Dr. Cain walked expeditiously down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. Suddenly, a shriek shattered the stillness. Jeremy hustled to the lobby just in time to see the terrified look wilting across Tavalin’s face and the rage blooming on Dr. Cain’s.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” exclaimed Dr. Cain.
“I’m sorry,” Tavalin sniveled. “I thought you were him.” Tavalin pointed an accusing finger at his friend.
The executive director whirled around to glare at Jeremy.
Jeremy, revealed, stepped out from behind the corner. Feigning innocence, he said cheerfully, “Hi, Dr. Cain. How are you?”
Dr. Cain directed his attention back at Tavalin. “Explain yourself, young man,” he demanded sternly.
“I was just trying to get him back,” whimpered Tavalin. “He scares me all the time.”
“This is not the sort of behavior I expect from my graduate students,” scolded Dr. Cain. “If you boys think you can act like this and work for me, you’re dead wrong.”
“Sorry, Dr. Cain,” Jeremy said. “It was just a practical joke that got out of hand. You understand we certainly never meant to target you.”
“I understand,” Dr. Cain said as he eyed first one and then the other. “It’s just that I disapprove.”
As the director turned his back to leave, Jeremy and Tavalin exchanged wide-eyed looks but said nothing until he was out the door.
“Traitor,” Jeremy said, though with an absence of any real hostility.
“What?” Tavalin asked.
“I can’t believe you tried to lay the blame on me.”
>
“It is your fault,” said Tavalin. “You started all this.”
Jeremy asked, “What’s Dr. Cain doing in here so late anyway?”
“I have no idea.”
“You gave him a pretty good scare, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yeah.” Tavalin grinned sheepishly. “I got him good.”
“This is not necessarily a positive development for our graduate school careers.” Jeremy’s sense of humor ran toward the dry side.
Tavalin laughed. “Scaring the devil out of the executive director can’t be a good thing, can it?”
“No, not really,” Jeremy said, laughing. “I don’t think Dr. Cain appreciates the subtle delights of our little game.”
“Did you hear him holler?” asked Tavalin.
“Screamed like a little girl,” Jeremy replied. “Or was that you?”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” replied Tavalin sarcastically. “I’ll get you next time, you’ll see.”
Chapter 2
Monday, September 8
Jeremy punched the accelerator, pedal to the metal, as he guzzled the last two or three swallows of his beer. The high-revving engine accelerated the two-seater with stomach-tingling authority down the straightaway.
Nervously, Tavalin asked, “How many beers have you had?”
Jeremy scrunched his forehead as if performing complicated mathematical calculations involving large numbers, all the while pretending to ignore the road ahead. After a moment, satisfied that he had further raised his friend’s anxiety level, he truthfully answered, “Counting this one, one.”
Tavalin leaned over to peer at the speedometer needle, then directed his attention to his safety harness and clamped himself in. Jeremy’s seatbelt was not fastened.
“I don’t know why I ever agree to go anywhere with you.”
Tavalin Cassel was Jeremy’s fellow graduate student and friend. Tavalin was lanky and tall with a concave chest, and he had recently accessorized his look by growing a wiry-haired soul patch under his bottom lip and by bleaching the tips of his spiky brown hair. Tavalin’s too-small, yellow-orange, tie-dyed T-shirt sported the words Chemically Altered.
With the sunroof open and the windows down, their ever-increasing speed created a crescendo effect of rushing air, like the roar of some mythological beast’s awakening.
“Could you please slow down?” Tavalin had to compete with the wind as well as the blaring music in order to be heard. “I’m really not in the mood to die today.”
Jeremy flashed an exuberant smile. “Don’t pretend you’re not having fun,” he said. “If you weren’t here, you’d be stuck in the lab, wasting your time on some boring experiment.”
“I might be wasting my time, but at least I’d still be alive.”
Jeremy, his sandy blond hair blowing and his eyes burning with turquoise fire, shot back, “No, Tavalin, can’t you see? We’re as much alive this instant as we ever have been.”
Jeremy was well aware of the possible repercussions of his actions. Driving fast was just Jeremy’s way to thumb his nose at the grim reaper, who, he knew, would come calling one day anyway. Daring death gave the illusion of control over that which he knew was ultimately uncontrollable.
The dichotomy of the road from Destiny to Sticks River Landing was unmistakable. For the first seven miles the route ran straight and smooth through wide-open cotton fields. At the end of the straightaway, the landscape and the passage within abruptly transformed like the most cunning of chameleons. Marking the break in the road were two low posts on either side of the road. Still attached to the left-hand post was the chain that had presumably once draped across the road as a blockade. Now the chain lay rusted and broken on the pavement.
Stabbed into the dirt on the side of the road was a weathered sign. It read:
Keep Out
Area Closed
After the break, what had been wide smooth asphalt became a thin, convoluted ribbon of concrete, weaving its way up and down steep hills and around dangerous curves made blind by thick tangles of trees, bushes and vines. They had now entered government land, and the forest encroached close to the road’s edges and over it in places, providing only a narrow, tunnel-like passage.
As Jeremy slowed to cruise mode, Tavalin relaxed noticeably. He unbuckled his seat belt and leaned out the passenger window, his gaunt face stretched into a clown-like grin. Without warning, he let loose a blood-curdling scream like the howl of a rabies-crazed wolf.
Jeremy had never known anyone quite like Tavalin. In spite of Tavalin’s obvious intelligence, he had an uncanny knack for doing and saying the wrong thing. Even though his shenanigans grated on Jeremy’s nerves at times, especially when in the company of more normal people, Tavalin was his friend. Whenever possible, Jeremy focused on Tavalin’s redeeming qualities, not the least of which was his willingness to go anywhere or do anything at any time, day or night. Most missed it, but Tavalin could also be hilariously funny, often at his own expense.
After seven miles of twisting and turning through the deep woods, Sticks River Road plunged downward and ended in a clearing at the edge of the colossal waters of Sticks River Lake. It was obvious that there had been no maintenance or upkeep in the area for quite some time. Jeremy wasn’t sure why the area had been closed but a sign on a leaning pole offered a clue. Sticks River Landing, it read. In actuality, Sticks River emptied into the lake several miles north of their present position. Years ago, the river had been dammed and this portion of the river valley replaced with Sticks River Lake. Jeremy guessed that the area was originally a recreational site on the river that had been abandoned after the lake was built, perhaps due to the long way in. Other, more accessible locations had been chosen at which to build new marinas and other lakeside developments.
This was, or once had been, a take-out point for one of the commercial canoe rental outfits located up-river. Presently, a single canoe was racked in a meager trailer that was chained to a tree in the back corner of the parking lot. Like everything else at Sticks River Landing, the boat and trailer had been dormant for a long time, as evidenced by the thick layer of leaves and twigs piled on the bottoms-up canoe.
They lugged the cooler down to the water’s edge, took off their shirts and donned sunglasses. As they sipped their beers and soaked in the glorious late-summer sunshine, Jeremy remembered another positive aspect of his friendship with Tavalin. It was Tavalin who had introduced him to this particular place in the world, and for that Jeremy was deeply appreciative. Had it not been for Tavalin, Jeremy might never have known what lay beyond the Keep Out sign at the break in the road.
*****
About halfway back to town they passed a pick-up truck parked on the side of the road. Someone, presumably the driver, had his head buried underneath the raised hood. Just as they whizzed past he looked up and caught Jeremy’s eye.
“You think we ought to stop?” asked Jeremy. He watched as the broken-down truck grew smaller in the rear view mirror.
“What?” Tavalin had been dozing.
“Somebody’s broken down on the side of the road back there.”
“Sucks for him,” Tavalin said callously.
“Maybe we should turn around and offer to help.”
“No, not me,” Tavalin promptly replied. “I’ve got stuff I need to do. Take me home.”
“Yeah, okay,” agreed Jeremy.
It would be easier to head on in. After playing hooky from school for most of the afternoon, Jeremy also had plenty of work he could tackle. They were almost to Tavalin’s apartment when Jeremy heard a muffled rendition of a certain familiar rap song.
“Tavalin!” Jeremy poked his friend, who was asleep again. “Your pocket is ringing.”
Tavalin returned a confused look before he understood and dug his phone from his front pants pocket.
“Hello?” Tavalin sat straight up in his seat and turned the radio all the way down.
“I know I should be working, it’s just that...No ma’am…No ma’am…We�
�re just riding around… Jeremy and me.”
Jeremy, who could only hear Tavalin’s side of the conversation, mouthed the words, “who is that?” to his friend. Without taking his ear from the phone, Tavalin spun his forefinger around his forehead in the universal sign for crazy.
“I’ll call you back when I get home…Okay, bye.” Tavalin flipped his phone closed.
Jeremy asked, “Who was that?”
“Just my mom,” Tavalin replied sheepishly.
“She sounds a little overbearing.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
While Tavalin spoke to and of his mother on a regular basis, Jeremy could not recall Tavalin ever having mentioned his father.
“What about your dad?” asked Jeremy. “Is he still around?”
“No,” replied Tavalin. “He went insane and killed himself in a car wreck.” Tavalin’s gaze remained focused through the front windshield. He declined to elaborate.
Ten minutes later Jeremy dropped Tavalin off at his apartment.
Before Tavalin got completely away, Jeremy rolled down the window and called after him, “You owe me for half the beer.”
“We’ll settle up later,” replied Tavalin with a dastardly grin.
They both knew the chances of Tavalin ever repaying him fell somewhere between slim and none.
As Jeremy drove home, he thought again about the hapless driver broken down on the side of the road. Though there had been plenty of similar instances when he had passed by folks in need, he felt guilty as he passed by the turnoff to Sticks River Road.
Jeremy turned up the radio but could not drown out the nagging little voice.
What if that were me broken down on that lonely country road?
*****
Jeremy pulled up behind the truck and slammed his car door. A brown face, framed with graying hair, peeked from around the raised hood. An apprehensive expression pinched the man’s features into a grimace. Jeremy hoped in this day and age that any concerns the fellow might have had nothing to do with the paleness of Jeremy’s skin.
