“C.A.N.D.L.?” Walter wondered staring intensely at the aged photograph. He had never heard of such a place. The picture itself confused him and made him curious as to the point and purpose of it. He wondered how the photo got to the location in the first place. After a moment of staring intently at the photo, he glanced down toward the bottom of the picture.
The bottom had a white strip of tape where someone wrote the words, Project Begins. Following the two words were a series of exclamation points. Walter felt utterly confused. He had assumed that finding this picture would bring some of the pieces of the puzzle together. But instead, brought on a deluge of questions. Questions that had to be answered. The only problem was, he was unsure as to how he should go about answering those questions. He knew that a group of shadow government, stealth assassins were hunting him, and anyone that tried helping him. So asking anyone for anything could become a death trap for both parties.
The door to the warehouse slammed shut and Walter walked toward his beat up loaner car. The car looked like Walter felt. As he got into the vehicle, he became worried that he might endanger anyone that he seeks help from. After a big sigh of disappointment, Walter’s head hit the steering wheel with defeat. He was worn out, tired, and scared. But even more than that, he was confused.
“I need to find out where this C.A.N.D.L. place is, and pay it a visit,” he thought lifting his head up from the steering wheel and starting the car. It started fast and strong. He pulled onto Third Ave. and started to head back to his office to recoup.
He felt that he knew less than he did when he came to the warehouse. Plus, he was now sure that he was being pursued by an extremely dangerous group of assassins.
Chapter 8
An Interesting Day
The next morning was cold. A violent shiver snaked down Walter’s back as he opened the door to his office. He slammed the door shut with little or no regard for anyone or anything around. He was tired. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night. Most of the night he spent wide awake, paranoid that The Umbras were waiting for him outside his house. He wasn’t able to get much thinking done with the fear of death firmly placed in his mind.
His eyes hung low, and rested sloppily on the dark bags that resided on the undersides of them. He was a mess. He was wearing the same clothes that he had been wearing the night before, and they were now covered in thick stains of dust and dirt. A few rips were scattered throughout his attire, revealing his sun deprived, white skin.
As he sat down in his torn up office chair, he picked the phone up. His long, rigid fingers slowly began to dial a series of numbers as he placed the phone up to his ear. He waited patiently as the phone rang. A sudden click was heard halfway through the third ring.
“Hello,” he said, drawing the word out like a kind-hearted southerner. “This is Thomas Webster. What can I do for ya?” His attitude was cheery, the perfect kind of voice you would want, or expect, to hear when you call a place of business.
“Thomas, it’s me, Walter,” he said with a stern tone.
“Hey Walter, how are you?” Thomas asked cheerfully.
“I’m fine, but I really don’t have the time or energy for pleasantries. I need some help and I need it as soon as possible,” Walter said with even more sternness.
“Okay, okay. What do you need?” Thomas asked, sensing Walter plea for professionalism.
“I need you to analyze a piece of evidence for me, and I need it done in a few hours,” he answered.
“Whoa, that’s a tall order my friend. It’s going to take some more time than that. What are we talking about here anyway?” he curiously asked.
“I can’t really talk about it too much over the phone. I’d really rather try and keep the utmost discretion when it comes to this. I’ll let you know more when I see you,” Walter said. His eyes peered across his office and through the amber colored window that hung so dreadfully in the door. “I just don’t want anyone besides you and me to know about this, for the safety of both of us.”
“Alright then. Just come by my office and I’ll take a look at it,” Thomas stated.
“Okay, I’m on my way,” Walter said. He hung the phone up and sat still for a moment. The echo of the phone slamming rang throughout Walter’s office, penetrating his inner ear. His mind raced with thoughts. He knew that if he went outside, he might be jeopardizing his life, or the lives of others. But, he also knew that if he did nothing, the death of Neil and Marcia Darden would go unsolved, closed, and eventually, erased and forgotten. He gritted his teeth together, bringing every ounce of courage in his body to fruition.
“I need to stop acting like such a coward,” he thought to himself. “It’s time to step up to the plate, and bring justice to this case.” His mind flipped one hundred and eighty degrees. In just a moment, he snapped out of his fear enduced stupor. The feeling of courage and bravery crept back into his soul, filling him until his feelings of paranoia disappeared into the very depths of his mind in which they came from. He felt as if he had been pretty selfish. His worries and cares seemed to be all about himself, and this wasn’t his normal way. To Walter, being in danger was just another part of the job. But, for the past few days, he had forgotten about this. Now, with a fresh mind and attitude, Walter was ready to put his full energy and attention into this case.
The drive to the morgue was fast. Before Walter left his office, he was sure that someone would end up following him to the morgue. The last thing he wanted was another chase. But, to his surprise, no one followed. He drove straight down Carter St. with a hint of reckless abandon. The majority of the street lights were green, allowing Walter to cruise briskly through them, and continue without much slowing down or stopping.
He turned into the morgue’s parking lot from Twelfth Ave. The sun had just breeched itself over the perfectly rectangular building, casting brilliant yellow-orange light on the parking lot and Walter’s car. A fervent ray of hot sun beamed itself through Walter’s windshield and grazed his face with an intense heat, comparable only to that of a mid-summers day. With all the cold that had embraced Francis City in the past few days, he genuinely welcomed the heat with open arms.
The car rattled gently as he turned the key to the off position. He gathered the evidence that he was going to present to Thomas and exited the car. He stretched his body before he started walking toward the front doors to the morgue. A loud yawn was expelled from his rigidly shaped mouth, and a set of slightly stained teeth reveled themselves to the late morning sun.
The door slammed loudly behind Walter as he entered the main corridor of the morgue. The hallway was an empty void, lacking both life and light. Walter looked around as he stood trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden darkness.
“Hello, is anyone here?” he yelled taking a step forward. “Thomas? Eddie?”
A door opened from down the hall, spilling the internal light of the room into the corridor. A chubby head popped out from inside the room.
“Walter, over here,” Thomas yelled back. He began waving Walter toward the room. Walter followed suit and met up with Thomas at the doorway to the room.
“How are you today?” Walter asked with genuine kindness.
“I’m fine, just working on a cadaver,” Thomas answered leisurely, trying his best at humor. A deep and exhausting sounding sigh came from Thomas. “So, what do you got for me?”
“Well, I was wondering if you could take a look at this syringe for me?” Walter said pulling out his silver cigarette box. He handed it to Thomas. Thomas’s plump fingers grasped the box and opened it.
“What do you want to know about it?” Thomas asked curiously.
“Well, for starters, I’d like you to check to see if there are any finger prints on it. Then do a full toxicology test. I want to know what that stuff is, and possibly who made it,” Walter answered with bold seriousness.
“And you want in a couple hours,” Thomas said sarcastically.
“Yeah, as quick as you can,” Walter replie
d. “Plus, I don’t want anyone to know about this until I do, got it?” Walter said sternly.
“Okay, I can do that,” Thomas assured. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I get some results.”
“Alright then, I’m going to get out of here. I need go get something to eat. I’m famished,” Walter muttered.
“I got a couple of sandwiches in here if you want to join me,” Thomas offered. “I wasn’t planning on eating this early, but if you want?”
“Uh, no thanks,” Walter said, laughing half-way through the sentence. “No offence, but, I really don’t want to eat anything that’s been in this place.” A sort of sour look took over Walter’s face as he said this.
“Have it your way,” Thomas said reluctantly. “I’ll call you soon.”
“Okay, have a good one,” Walter said as he turned from Thomas and proceeded down the hallway.
***
A chewed up chunk of chicken flew from Walter’s teeth as he poked and prodded with a skinny wooden toothpick that he got after his lunch. He had taken his time at lunch in hopes that there would be some sort of news from Thomas when he returned to his office. And, as the door to his office slowly creaked open, he could see the signature flashing red light on his answering machine. He hoped it was the message he had been waiting for. He quickly closed the door to his office, took off his coat and sat in his chair. He slouched down in the chair and let out a sigh of relief, still full from his lengthy lunch. After fumbling through his pockets for a cigarette, which he realized he had none, he pressed the button on his answering machine to begin listening to the message.
A loud beep was released from the machine before the message started.
“Hey Walter, this is Thomas. I wasn’t able to get a toxicology test run yet. But, I did find fingerprints. I ran them and.” There was a brief pause in the message. “And, you’re not going to believe this. The fingerprints were a match for…” At this point there was a loud grunt, followed by excessive noise and obvious struggling. Walter sat up in his chair attentively. The sounds of crashing, smashing and grunting lasted for just a moment, before a silence consumed the air around Walter. He listened fervently, waiting for any erroneous sounds. His head tilted toward the answering machine hoping to pick up more sounds that couldn’t have been heard otherwise. At this moment, another loud beep was produced from the machine, ending the message. His skin seemed to jump from his bones as the sudden loud sound was emitted into the air. The noise surely frightened him.
He picked the phone up and dialed the number to the morgue. A busy signal was all he received from the call. After slamming the phone down onto its receiver, he sat for a moment, trying to think of not only what just happened, but also, what he was going to do about it.
He quickly stood from his chair and grabbed his trench coat. He knew that he needed to get back to the morgue and see what became of the situation that he had heard on his answering machine.
The loaner car started up with no problems. As he pulled out of the driveway onto Carter St., his tires squealed. A short black line of rubber trailed the car, eventually fading out into nothingness as the tires firmly gripped the asphalt. Walter put full pressure on the gas pedal, speeding the metal hunk to its maximum ability. It shot down the road, passing through numerous green and yellow lights. Conveniently, Walter encountered not a single red light on his way to the morgue. The streetlights glistened vaguely, trying hard to match the intensity of the bright sun, but to no avail. He sped past many cars, with the passengers glancing at him with concerned faces.
In just a few minutes Walter made it to the morgue. The car found its way into a snug parking space. A bit of smoke and steam came out from under the hood of the car. Walter had pushed the little loaner car to its limit, and it was showing signs of stress and wear.
“Great,” Walter said, getting out of the car. He ignored the smoke and steam for the moment, deciding it would be better to just do what he came he to do. He knew he would have his chance to worry about the car when he was done.
He cautiously approached the front door to the morgue, unsure of what he might stumble upon. He unclicked his holster and placed his hand on his gun. His hand grasped the cold steel door handle and turned, freeing the door from its frame. As the door creaked open slowly, rays of light from the outside penetrated the interior of the morgue. A long dark corridor stretched itself out before Walter’s eyes. It seemed to be just as desolate as his last time in the building. As he entered, his shoes made a sharp clicking sound that echoed throughout the hallway. The place was so quiet, he could hear his own breath spewing from out of his mouth. The tension, or lack there-of, sent an unsettling feeling through his mind. He crept with the fluidity and speed of a hunting lion, slowly moving in on its prey, with the utmost attention to movement and detail. This time, he knew, he was going to be the predator, not the prey. There would be no surprises. His eyes pierced the surrounding area with bold looks of anticipation. He wasn’t sure what he would find, if anything.
As he approached Eddie’s office, he noticed the venetian blinds were in a sort of unusual tangled mess. Behind the bent and broken blinds, Walter could see that the room was dark, enigmatic, and void of life, just as much as it was void of light. Walter quickly opened the door to Eddie’s office and entered. His right hand searched for the light switch, finding it with haste and turning it to the up position. An overhead light flickered on, and sent rays of pale florescent white strobe-lighting across the room. Flashes of destruction and disorder littered the room in a furious display of chaos. Finally the light became still, as did Walter. His eyes could barely take in at in at first.
Sheets of papers, and a random scattering of the usual assortment of office utensils covered the entirety of the office furniture like snow. As Walter scanned with his eyes from left to right, his ears finally caught up to his mind, and he heard the familiar sound of a dial tone. He looked around, honing in on it like a falcon with its prey. A couple of feet in front of him he noticed, wrapped and tangled in a knocked over chair, the phone and its base. The place was disastrous, an obvious struggle had occurred, Walter was absolutely sure of this. He knew what he needed to do. Carefully, he stepped over a mass of debris and fetched the phone and its base. He hung the phone up for a quick moment and then lifted it to his ear. His long, skinny fingers pushed several of the phone numbered buttons, and a dial began. “Hello,” a deep and raspy voice said, followed by the loud sound of a veteran smokers cough.
“Frank, its Walter,” he returned, halfway through Frank’s cough.
“Yeah, what do you want?” Frank said in an overall displeasing tone of voice.
“Something has happened here at the morgue. I need you to put out an APB on Thomas Webster. He’s gone missing,” Walter replied.
“Well what makes you think he’s gone missing?” Frank asked.
“Listen Frank, I don’t have time for this,” Walter said. “I just need you to do it.”
“Well, I need something to go on. I can’t have my guys just running around this great city like a bunch of chickens with their heads cuts off, now can I?” Frank said, increasing his tone to thoroughly angered.
“Alright, alright, calm down,” Walter said. “Thomas was running some tests for me on some evidence I’ve gathered.”
“What kind of evidence?” Frank inquisitively asked.
“A syringe,” Walter replied. Walter heard a sigh of approval and acceptance from Frank in the background. “I told him to call me when he got any results. I wasn’t there when he did, so he left a message on my answering machine. When I finally listened to it there was a big struggle.”
“Did he say anything about the results?” Frank asked.
“He began to, he was just about to tell me who the fingerprints on the needle were when the struggle began,” Walter answered. “So, I drove down here to see what happened. I’m calling you from Edward Brussels office, where the struggle took place.”
“How can you tell that?” Fra
nk prodded.
“By the enormous amount of crap laying around,” Walter said. “So are you going to help or what?”
“Yeah, I’ll put an APB out on him. We’ll find him,” Frank said sincerely.
“Thanks Frank, I mean it. I owe you,” Walter gratefully replied.
“Damn right. You owe me a round of beers, and a round of shots,” Frank said with a groggy voice.
“Okay then, it’s a date. I’ll talk to you later,” Walter said.
“Alright, you be safe out there,” Frank said. A click was the last sound Walter heard before the room became silent and alone once again. The destruction, even though it hadn’t left, felt to Walter as if it had returned.
After a pointless walkthrough of the entirety of the building, he left the morgue. He knew it was a dead-end, a place where there would be little evidence to be gathered. He pulled out from his brown trench coat the square shaped photograph with the mysterious C.A.N.D.L. building and two men shaking hands on it. He stared at the photograph as he sat in the loaner car, its engine struggling to run.
Chapter 9
C.A.N.D.L.
Walter slammed the door shut to the little loaner car and reached into his left pocket for a cigarette. He felt the square and sharp shape of the photograph and nothing else. But still, his hand shuffled around for a moment before finally withdrawing in defeat. He quickly felt the outside of his right pocket. He felt nothing, so he gave up.
“Convenient,” he scoffed, sarcastically coming to terms with his lack of tobacco products. He felt it would be a good idea to smoke a cigarette and scan the place out before he embarked inside. But, because of the absence of such items, he decided to just go right on in.
The Umbras Page 7
