by Gary Starta
“You envelope yourself in darkness with your clothing, your hair and your choice of literature; it just seems to me you’re doing everything in your power to avoid the light.”
“I am guilty of that.”
“Is it because of your guilt over breaking into my house? If so, I’ll forgive you so you can get on with your life.”
“I wish it were that simple. It is because of guilt but it goes beyond that.”
“Did you lose someone as well? Why do you identify with the Raven so much?”
“I did. I lost my Mom to cancer. And now I have a reminder which serves as my raven.”
“What reminder, Lori?” Timothy paused but found he had answered his own question.
“My God, Lori; you’re sick.”
“I know it doesn’t give me an excuse for what I did to you.” She wiped at a tear forming in her left eye.
“It’s not an excuse but a pretty good explanation.” He placed an arm about her shoulder. “Come in and sit. I’ll make some beverages.”
“You mean like coffee?”
“No I mean the kind that makes your hair stand on end.”
Lori laughed. He imagined a weight of burden was lifted off her shoulders, at least for a moment. Perhaps she needed to confess before the inevitable. She wasn’t certain but felt what she had, was terminal.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Lori saddled up to him in the kitchen.
“You want a double?”
“No. I’m not curable. I’m living out my days, Timothy.”
“I’m so sorry. Isn’t there some kind of treatment? I mean, I know how expensive that could be.”
“It’s not only that. I won’t go through what my mother did. She went through hell with chemo and it only made her suffer worse.”
“I see.” Timothy reached for a bottle of gin.
“I wish I could see what you see. I’ll have to settle for seeing the good in you. I know you can’t be what they accuse you of.”
“So, you’ve read the article?”
Lori nodded.
“I never wished for fame, but to achieve it in this manner is really, freaking cold.”
“It sucks.”
“It doesn’t suck half as much as it does for you. I wish I could help. Maybe an herbal remedy…”
“I would consider that. But what I want from you is to allow me to attend your sunrise gatherings.”
“Okay, you know the drill. They’re on Saturdays.”
Lori shook her head. “No. I want to be with you each morning, for every morning I have left.”
“Okay.” Timothy didn’t feel he had another option. How could he say no? Besides, if Lori hadn’t revealed herself as a thief, he might have fallen for her. She was definitely the opposite of Lou Ann and even Kate for that matter. Her demeanour, her clothing and her body language was a lot more sincere. Timothy always imagined himself to be down to earth. It was probably why he had so much difficulty in past relationships. His partners didn’t care for his honesty when he criticized their actions or choices. It seemed they wanted a partner who would always pretend everything was okay.
“So, you value, honesty?” Timothy asked.
“I do. I know it’s late in coming. I believe that whatever lies in wait for me might consider my attitude and treatment of others. I don’t know if it will be forgiving. I did some things I do deserve punishment for. But someone like Sarah is blind to an afterlife. She doesn’t care how much bad karma comes her way it seems.”
“I can relate. When I first discovered my sunrise and its hopefulness, I believed I was in atonement for what I had done. I may not have had much of a hand in losing my fiancé and my job but maybe I did, somewhat, subconsciously. I’m not at all religious and I don’t know what lies ahead for me. I just believe the sun is an honest companion along the journey.” Timothy blushed. “I know this sounds so new age. I bet that’s why the powers that be want to attack me. They simply can’t stand my new age ways.”
Lori laughed. “I can. And I’ll stand by you.”
Before Timothy knew it, his lips were on Lori’s. “I don’t want to pull away but I think I should, at least for now.”
Lori took his hand into hers. “I can wait. We both need companions…” She laughed. “…on our journey.”
“You need to turn away from the dark and the shadows once in a while. How about wearing pastel colours and reading something that isn’t quite so gothic?”
“I’ll try. But I believe we do need a reminder. We can’t be absolved nor have our memories erased for our comfort. It’s why I identify with that story so much.”
“I just hope you’ll give some allowance for the light. I mean, before you walked through that door. I was done. I wasn’t planning on experiencing anymore sunrises.”
Lori rested her head on Timothy’s shoulder. “I wonder if we’re all just in transition. It seems in this life I was born of dark. Maybe in the next I’ll be born of light.”
Chapter Twenty One
Timothy woke to the dark as usual, about forty-five minutes before sunrise. His surprise visitor lay next to him and he patted her arm. “It’s time to rise and shine, Sunshine.”
Lori woke with a smile and Timothy wondered if she ever had before.
As he searched for clothes, Timothy was glad he had simply slept next to the woman. He had been more intimate with her with words than flesh.
*
Sarah Lemming, aka Sheri Scott, counted the bills three times before ordering her bus ticket. There was no way she was going back to Harris & Rosenberg even if it meant another under the table stipend.
I wonder how St. Louis will treat me. It probably wouldn’t be any better than any other state but at least she had a relative to take her in. It sure beat couch surfing.
*
Jim Parsons was about to run a report when Ron Hayes interrupted. Whatever the bastard was up to it was pressing, so urgent it actually caused Hayes to sweat through his shirt.
“How did it go with your requisition request?”
Parsons backed away from his desk. “Everything’s in motion. But you know how bureaucracy is. It may take a few days.”
Hayes shook his head from side to side. “I want to reiterate I don’t have that kind of time. I trust everything I say to you is in confidence.”
Parsons adjusted a few knobs. “It is and always will be. I’m your only audience right now.”
“Good. Like I said, time is not on my side. Can you think of any other options which might lead to a quicker and effective result?”
The bastard was speaking as if he was crunching numbers for a budget crisis. This wasn’t about crunching numbers it was about crunching people. How did this get so out of hand? If I knew I’d be walking this road I never would have entered Candy Land. Parsons was amused by his dark analogy. Hayes & Rosenberg had seemed like Candy Land when he joined with promises of job security and more important job advancement. But advancement is not for the faint of heart because it is often cutthroat and comes with a price. He had competed with Kate Sizemore but it was duel for a better office not literal swordplay. Would Hayes actually murder Sizemore? Parsons’s gut told him the only answer was yes. Candy Land had morphed into Risk.
“I don’t know of any. I’m sorry, sir.” Parsons lied.
Hayes stared into his eyes for a long moment but Parsons didn’t bend. I think I convinced him. He believes my lie. But what if he doesn’t? Does it matter either way? Parsons arrived at a quick conclusion. The bastard would improvise.
“Well, man the fort, Jim. I’ve got business to attend to.” Hayes chuckled. “At least I can write off my gas mileage on the expense report.”
Parsons waited five minutes before scurrying to human resources. “I’m sorry,” Parsons said wheezing. “I’ve got a bug and I have to leave.”
“What on Earth do you think you caught?” Marjorie Crocker eyed him toe to toe.
“I don’t know. Maybe the same thing Kate Sizemore came down
with.” Parsons’s eyes bugged from their sockets.
“Get better. I’ll make arrangements to cover for you.” Crocker looked at him from head to toe, wary.
Parsons paced back down the hall in a near gallop. Slow down. You’re going to draw attention. He imagined an excuse. I can say it is stomach flu and I’m racing for the bathroom.
What Parsons actually raced to was his desk and his heart felt like it was in his throat for each second it took. With relief, he found what he had stowed away. The DEVICE lay wrapped in the suit bag he had wrapped it in. He had taken the prototype from R&D a day earlier, temporarily disarming cameras as he went. Had it been reported missing? He didn’t know but he doubted it which was a pretty fearful thought when a major piece of mind control damage could escape guarded eyes for a day or so. He doubted it was reported because Hayes would have been apprised. Hayes didn’t even know there was such a prototype, a more peaceful way to coerce people to do his bidding or to make them suffer when they didn’t. In other words, Hayes didn’t have to resort to murder but he would because of his ignorance.
Parsons grabbed the suit bag and headed for the exit hoping his quickened gait wouldn’t draw the attention of security. He pointed at the guard name Carl and mimed throwing up.
Carl nodded, waiving a mandatory body scan.
He had done the impossible and beat company security only to face the improbable: Could Parsons beat Hayes at his own, twisted game?
Following Hayes would have proven difficult if he hadn’t slapped a tracking device on his superior’s rear bumper two days prior. Following Hayes to a gas station, he engaged in awkward and idle small talk with his nemesis. When Hayes entered the pay booth, Parsons did the deed.
Hayes was slipping. Why hadn’t he checked his car? He was obviously paranoid. But had Hayes’s hatred for Sizemore outweighed sensible precautions? Of course it had. Parsons smiled sarcastically, observing himself in the rear view mirror. If the man was willing to employ primitive and highly traceable methods to kill Sizemore he surely was off his usual game.
But what good would a murder rap do once Hayes killed Sizemore? She was his nemesis in an office but not an enemy on a battlefield. She didn’t deserve to die. Timothy Ray didn’t deserve to be spied on and slandered in a national magazine. Nothing could justify Hayes’s mission to Parsons even if it meant he would spend the rest of his career as Ron Hayes’s right hand devil man.
The tracker told Parsons that Hayes was only about two minutes ahead, stopped at a light. There was plenty of time to stop him. That was if there wasn’t a whole lot of interference. Preferably, the most optimal position would be to engage Hayes’s mind from behind. There was no margin for collateral damage. If there was, he would be just as evil as Hayes.
Parsons would attempt the microwave hearing effect first published by Allan H. Frey in 1961. Subjects in a test were discovered to hear pulsed microwave radiation from a distance of 100 meters. There wasn’t a large margin for error. Parsons had to point the DEVICE at Hayes from a close proximity without being seen. Still, despite the odds, Parsons was giddy. He would be the first to use the prototype dubbed the DEVICE by R&D. Researchers initiated a company pool. The first person to guess when the DEVICE would earn its seal of approval would win a trip to Atlantic City. Parsons scoffed at their childlike arrogance. The weapon might never earn approved status because of his actions today. Who could have guessed that outcome? So, was it fate which led Jim Parsons down a windy DC road in pursuit of his superior? Or was Parsons in control of his destiny, a destiny which might very well expose the underpinnings of firms such as Hayes & Rosenberg?
It had taken half a century of development to correct the initial shortcomings of Frey’s experiment. Although Frey’s results were encouraging the after effect was not. It was supposed to be non-lethal weaponry but the capability of frying a subject’s brain was probable because microwave bursts heat up the inner ear and if that heat builds at a high enough pulse it would be equivalent to boiling water with a high flame. The trick would be to maintain a 3.2 hertz pulse, enough to implant voices in the subject’s head by stimulating the cochlea, or inner ear, but not enough to induce brain damage.
In other words, Parsons could not rule out the possibility that the DEVICE might kill Hayes. Was he simply pointing a loaded gun at the man? Would a novice be able to command a prototype to do the proper bidding without collateral damage? It was anybody’s guess. Still, Parsons concluded the correct choice was to save Kate Sizemore.
Parsons stepped on and off the gas, passing legally if possible. He could not run the risk of passing solid lines because traffic cams were everywhere in DC. It took another five minutes before Hayes’s sedan was visible. He reached into the suit bag and retrieved the DEVICE. A tech friend had unwittingly aided and abetted his soon to be crime by supplementing the DEVICE with a voice modulator or something akin to an electro larynx. The voices Hayes might soon hear in his head would be reproduced from his own surveillance audio. It would be the icing on the cake if everything worked as planned; Hayes would be warned, not fried, and there would be no need to investigate Parsons’s techie friend or for that matter, Parsons himself. But Parsons was tired from all the preparation. He had only slept an hour or so in the past two days.
Just as Parsons readied the DEVICE, a Buick merged into his lane cutting him off. “Damn it! I’m on official business here! Can’t you Sunday drive somewhere else?”
Parsons fumed for a full minute before the Buick signalled it would exit left at the upcoming light. The adrenaline of anger jolted him awake.
As Parsons again readied the weapon, another distraction caught him off guard. A ball bounced onto the street and a child followed. Parsons stepped on the brakes producing a screeching sound as a worrisome mother raced to scoop her child from the roadway. Enough time elapsed to put Hayes’s vehicle two lights ahead. His car was visible but just barely.
Parsons offered a hand salute to the woman who mimed a ‘Thank you’ apparently for his quick application of the brake pedal. It was the least he could do. He wondered if Hayes would have been so kind.
The conclusion burned a knot in his stomach as he gunned the engine but the progress he made was stymied by yet another red light.
Now Hayes was out sight. Although Hayes’s route was mimicking the exact passageway to Kate Sizemore’s residence, Parsons might not be able to induce thermo-elastic expansion without having Hayes in his actual view of sight. Again, it was more of a collateral damage hurdle than a technical one. An engaged weapon from less than 100 meters would achieve the desired result. But who else might it affect?
Parsons bit down on his lower lip as he gunned through a yellow light. He squinted through sun glare to catch a glimpse of Hayes’s Toyota. A siren interrupted his train of thought and launched an agitated rhythm to his heart. The piercing sound was coming from the right. Although he had the green, the law mandated he would have to allow the racing fire engine to cross the intersection ahead. Or would he? Lives were in the balance and Parsons’ actions might be just as important as the fire engine’s. He had a split second and his heavy foot answered the conundrum. His tires screeched as he approached the intersection and the oncoming engine was approaching fast from the right. He had about a second to propel his car to safety. His car lurched to the left and entered an empty oncoming lane. He had avoided the collision but his velocity was too great to correct the turning error. Parson’s car rumbled onto a grassy shoulder while his tires spit up gravel.
Shit and double shit! Parsons slowed the car to a stop and shifted into reverse where he was greeted by a serenade of honking horns. He allowed the angry motorists to exit both lanes before righting his course. Surely, Hayes was now completely out of sight if not entering Sizemore’s subdivision by now.
As if he was caught in a bad dream where time ran slow Parsons resumed his course while the DEVICE beeped softly alerting its user it was ready for action.
“Damn it! I’ve blown it!” Parsons ra
iled at the heavens as his car broke the speed limit. But what lay ahead brought unexpected joy.
Hayes had encountered a band of charity street collectors, each holding a tin can and motioning for motorists to contribute. Arm movement signified the bastard had actually braked to throw a few coins to the cause. But Parsons wasn’t impressed surmising Hayes contributed so as not to draw undue attention to his real mission.
Parsons fished in his ashtray for quarters and readied for a stop. He had probably drawn enough attention evading a fire engine to warrant identification already. He produced a closed mouth smile for the street collector, hoping not to leave anything behind but a bland impression and a few coins.
As his car’s velocity matched the road’s speed limit, Parsons smiled and pulled the device close to his lips to plant a kiss. “We’re in still in business, baby.”
There was only 2.3 miles before the turn into Kate Sizemore’s subdivision. It was now or never. Parsons pointed the device at Hayes’s vehicle while simultaneously initiating an audio software program.
*
“Shit!” Hayes yelled. “What is that damn squelching noise?”
A familiar voice spoke but did not answer his inquiry.
“You’ve gone too far, Ron, just as you always have.”
“Who is this?” Hayes punched the radio button on and off while the voice engaged again.
“They said you were in control but they lied to you. You’re just another pawn to them and they’ll use you up before spitting you out. Do you really believe your efforts will be rewarded with any other outcome?”
“Screw you!” Hayes held a hand to his head while he steered. “This can’t be true. This can’t be you, Gina! I’m hallucinating. You hear me? You’re just a fucking hallucination!”
But the voice was undoubtedly Gina’s.
“You’ll only fuck your life just like you fucked up your marriage. I will warn you only once to leave Kate Sizemore, Timothy Ray and any other beings on your hit list alone. Just once! Do you understand?”
“I can’t bargain with a hallucination!”
“Do you really believe my voice to be a hallucination? What if I were to accompany you everywhere you went, every day, for every one of your miserable waking moments? What kind of hallucination might that be?”
