Ejecta

by William C. Dietz

  ***

  Though clever, the answer was somewhat evasive. A fact that Cooper made note of as he imagined how the woman across from him would look without any clothes on. There wouldn’t be any fancy lingerie. He knew that from having gone through the clothes in her dresser. So that left her body. The woman with the green eyes had small breasts, that much was obvious, but what about her nipples? Were they delightfully pink? Or deliciously brown?

  Cooper felt himself start to stir in response to his own imaginings and took a sip of coffee by way of an antidote. He was pretty sure that Devlin knew more than she was willing to admit, especially where the question of transference was concerned. But rather than try to force the information out of her, Cooper thought it would be best to keep an eye on the scientist instead. He smiled. “I’m not at liberty to release any information at this time. But thank you for the coffee.”

  Devlin nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  Both of them rose, and it was Cooper who led the way to the front door, where he paused to don his raincoat. “We may have more questions.”

  The scientist nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  The agent had stepped outside, and Devlin was just about to close the door when Cooper turned to look at her. “And Dr. Devlin….”

  “Yes?”

  “Should you happen to stumble across another parasite—be sure to call me. And, if the next one happens to be alive, please don’t kill it…. Understand?”

  Devlin felt something cold trickle into the pit of her stomach. It was a warning. A veiled warning. But a warning nonetheless. “I understand.”

  “Good. “You’ll find my card on the kitchen table.”

  With that Cooper pulled the collar of his raincoat up and made his way out onto to sidewalk where he paused to light a cigarette. The momentary flare of light lit his face from below and gave it a somewhat ghoulish appearance. Then, rather than get into one of the cars parked in the dead end, the agent ambled away. Devlin watched. Hoping to see where the investigator would go. But the darkness gobbled him up.

  Chapter Seven

  Seattle, Washington

  The main chapel could hold as many as two-hundred people, and the room was already three-quarters full, as the bagpipes skirled and the somber looking crowd continued to stream into the church. The memorial service was the first such event that the scientist had been responsible for, and she was understandably nervous, as McCracken’s friends took their places on the wooden pews. Many of the mourners knew each other, and there was a persistent buzz of conversation, as they exchanged greetings and compared theories regarding both the suicide and the nature of the dead man’s relationship with Sara Devlin.

  From her position towards the front of the chapel the scientist could not only see the curious looks directed her way, but feel the animosity, especially from those who had never met her before. Because even though she'd been in Costa Rica for the last two years many of the people in the room were ready to believe that she was little more than an academic gold digger. And there wasn’t a damned thing she could do to counter their suspicions.

  Devlin’s thoughts were interrupted as Marvin Leander materialized at her side. The attorney had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the bagpipes. He was impeccably dressed as always. “Hello, Sara…. How are you holding up?”

  “Pretty well,” the scientist replied. “For a cheap, gold digging whore.”

  Leander shook his head sympathetically. “There’s a few like that, but only a few. So ignore them! Great job by the way—Mac would have enjoyed it. Especially the pipes!”

  “I sure hope so,” the parasitologist replied fervently. “Thank you for agreeing to be Master of Ceremonies. There’s no way I could pull that off.”

  “You’re very welcome,” the lawyer replied. “Speaking of which it’s almost time to begin. I’ll tell the pipers to wind it up.” Devlin gave Leander a hug—and turned back towards the room. Now that the planning phase was over, and the memorial service was actually underway, she took a moment to scan the audience for old classmates. Devlin had just located two such individuals when she saw a woman enter the chapel from the courtyard. As the newcomer turned to the left Devlin saw her silhouette. It was impossible to miss the hump on the woman’s back or the furtive manner in which she took a seat.

  Devlin felt her pulse quicken as she began to work her way back along the wall. Late comers hurried to find one of the few remaining chairs as the bagpipes fell silent and a man lurched out, blocking Devlin’s path. His name was Ed Wong. The two of them had been an item three years earlier. “Sara!” Wong said enthusiastically. “It’s good to see you…. Or would be if the circumstances were different. How was Costa Rica?” His eyes were hopeful, as if he’d been thinking about her, and wanted to reestablish contact.

  Devlin smiled. But rather than make eye contact with Wong her gaze was directed over his right shoulder. As if invested with a sixth sense the woman at the back of the room came to her feet. “It was hot,” Devlin answered cryptically. “Listen, Ed, there’s someone I need to talk to back there. I’ll see you at the reception. We’ll catch up then!”

  Wong opened his mouth to reply, but she side stepped him before he could get the words out, and was already fast-walking toward the back of the chapel. Having seen the sudden movement the hunchback scuttled outside and began a limping run. Heads turned as Devlin shouted, “Stop that woman!” and immediately gave chase.

  Devlin was outside now on a busy downtown street, her head swiveling back and forth, as she sought her quarry. The woman in black was at the other end of the block by that time. Brakes screeched as she jaywalked across a side street.

  Devlin began to run in earnest. But she was hampered by a skirt and a pair of new high heeled shoes. She tripped, threw out her hands, and felt the concrete sidewalk shred the flesh on her palms.

  A businessman stopped to give the young woman a hand. But rather than pause as he expected her to Devlin kicked off both shoes and resumed the chase.

  The hunchback had disappeared into the alley by then. So Devlin cut across the street and heard the sudden blare of a horn as a motorist stood on her brakes. A pair of middle-aged tourists stared in open-mouthed amazement as a well dressed woman with no shoes raced past them and entered the alley.

  Devlin saw that the narrow passageway was empty and came to a stop. And there she stood, panting heavily, as the hunchback emerged from a sub-surface stairwell. The black clad woman hadn’t traveled more than ten-feet when Devlin closed in on her. “Whoa!” Devlin said, as she caught hold of a raggedy coat.

  “I didn’t take noth’in!” the woman insisted, as Devlin brought her to a halt. “All I wanted to do was sit down. It’s a church ain’t it? So anyone can come in.”

  Devlin was a good deal taller than the other woman so she found herself looking down into beady brown eyes and a pinched face. Given the patches of dirt on the bag lady’s skin, and the rank odor that surrounded her, the hunchback clearly needed a bath. Devlin released her coat. “Look, I’m sorry. Of course you can sit in the church. That wasn’t the reason I chased you.”

  “Why then?” the woman demanded suspiciously, as she clutched a bundle to her scrawny chest.

  Devlin struggled to formulate a tactful way to broach the subject but failed. “It’s about your back. I wondered if you would allow me to examine it.”

  “My back?” The older woman asked incredulously. “What are you? Some sort of pervert?”

  “No,” Devlin responded. “I’m a doctor. And I’m especially interested in people with spinal deformities.”

  “Oh, you are, are you?” the hunchback asked, her eyes agleam with avarice. “Well, then, I’ll tell you what…. You give me fifty bucks—then you can look at my back.”

  Suddenly Devlin realized that her purse and what had been McCracken’s briefcase were back at the church, where either one of them could easily be stolen. “Okay,” she said. “Fifty bucks it is. But we need to go back to the church. Th
at’s where my money is—and that’s where I will examine your back.”

  The smaller woman seemed to consider the proposal for a moment before responding with a hesitant nod. “Okay…. My name is Mimi. You lead the way.”

  Devlin didn’t lead the way, lest Mimi run off, but walked next to her instead. The high heels were where the scientist had abandoned them, but one shoe was broken, which left her with no choice but to reenter the church bare footed.

  One of McCracken’s fellow faculty members had just concluded her remarks when the unlikely pair entered through the double doors at the rear of the church. People turned to stare as the twosome made their way up the aisle to the point where Devlin’s belongings were waiting. Then, mouths hanging open in amazement, the crowd followed the couple’s progress as they exited through a side door and entered the smaller chapel beyond.

  Devlin was aware of the scrutiny, and the sort of impression that her activities would inevitably leave, but wasn’t willing to sacrifice an opportunity to examine what could be a parasitic host. “There,” she said firmly, closing the door. “Now, if you would be so good as to remove both your coat and blouse, I’ll take a look at your back. How long have you had this condition? And how is your health overall?”

  It turned out that Mimi had first experienced problems with her spine in her late fifties. And while she had a long list of physical complaints none of them seemed to match up with the sort of problems that McCracken had written about. And, once the hunchback removed her top, it was apparent that while Mimi had a severe kyphosis, there was no sign of the kind of mass Devlin was looking for. “So,” Mimi said hopefully. “Can you help me?”

  “No,” the parasitologist said regretfully. “I wish I could. But you wouldn’t want to have what I’m looking for. It’s far worse than your kyphosis.”

  “Okay,” the older woman said matter of factly, as she pulled her blouse back on. “Give me my money. Or, are you planning to cheat me?”

  “No,” Devlin said, as she opened her purse. “I’m not going to cheat you. A deal’s a deal.”

  The door to the library opened just as the soloist launched into Amazing Grace. The woman was pretty, and she had a beautiful voice, so no one noticed as Devlin escorted Mimi out of the church. The YWCA was only a few blocks away. And even though the parasitologist couldn’t repair the older woman’s back it might be possible to find a place for her to stay. Something Mac would approve of.

  ***

  Seattle, Washington

  It was Halloween. And since there were lots of children in the neighborhood the doorbell rang every few minutes. Rather than run back and forth between the informal office she had established in the kitchen and the front door she was working in McCracken’s study. A room so steeped in the academic’s personality that she preferred to avoid it unless dealing with his estate. That entailed going through the professor’s email looking for unfinished business, checking the incoming snail mail for accounts that should be closed, and sending letters to McCracken's many acquaintances. With those tasks in mind Devlin had just pressed the power button on her mentor’s computer when the doorbell rang.

  A blast of cold air greeted the scientist when she opened the front door. A group of three rather unlikely goblins shouted, “Trick or treat!” and a woman in a red ski parka looked on approvingly as Devlin dropped miniature Hershey bars into a variety of containers including plastic skull, an orange Jack ‘O Lantern, and a witch’s pot that glowed from within.

  Then, having wished the goblins well, Devlin closed the door. The computer was up and running by the time she returned to the study. A couple of clicks were sufficient to open Microsoft Outlook and it wasn’t long before emails began to populate McCracken’s inbox. The most recent message was from the Democratic party, which wanted the dead professor to contribute money for the next election cycle, but it was the one prior to that which caught Devlin’s eye. It was from someone named Catherine Harris, and the subject was, “Please help!”

  It was the kind of header that suggested a charity of some sort, as in “Please save the children!” or “Please help the earthquake victims!” but once Devlin clicked the message open it was nothing of the kind. “Dear Professor McCracken,” the email read. “I saw your postings on the Internet and I need your help. I believe my daughter is infected—and they’re after us. Please reply.”

  Devlin’s heart was beating like a trip hammer and it practically jumped out of her chest, as the doorbell rang six times in quick succession. After a trip to the front door she returned to the computer. Was there a website? Or a chat group? Where infected humans could communicate with each other? Probably not during the advanced stages of the infection, when the parasite was in control. But early on? The message seemed to infer something of that sort.

  However, after reviewing all of the sites McCracken had bookmarked under “favorites,” the only one which seemed promising was a link the professor had labeled “Le maudit,” (The cursed.) It took Devlin to a blank page and a notice indicating that either she had arrived at that location in error or that the website no longer existed. So if the scientist wanted to know more about Le maudit it would be necessary to ask Catherine Harris. Someone was after the woman. That’s what she believed anyway. So would the fugitive respond to a person other than McCracken? It seemed unlikely.

  The bell rang, followed by a knock, but Devlin remained where she was. Finally, having given the matter some more thought, the scientist clicked “reply” and typed: “Dear Ms. Harris, I’m sorry to hear that. Would it be possible to meet somewhere? Best, Mac.” Then, as the doorbell continued to ring, she hit “send.”

  ***

  The reply from Catherine Harris was waiting for Devlin when she came downstairs for breakfast. And, as luck would have it the woman was only a few hours away in Shelton, Washington. After a hurried meal Devlin set out.

  This was the first time that Devlin had taken the bright red Mustang out of the garage. It felt good to get behind the wheel of something more maneuverable than the Scout as she made her way onto I-5. The day was dark and gloomy. Devlin had to turn the wipers on and off to deal with occasional rain showers and the spray thrown up by the vehicles around her as she made her way through Tacoma, Gig Harbor, and a tiny town called Allyn. Eventually her thoughts wandered from alien parasites to Alex Palmer. There was something about him that she found hard to shake. And there was the question of her future. She had a home now. And some cash. But then what? A teaching position perhaps? Or was it too early for that?

  The questions were still unresolved as the Mustang entered Shelton. Once known for its lumber mills the city had long since been forced to seek additional employers like the nearby Washington State Corrections Center. But even with that, and the mall on the hill, nearly 20% of Shelton’s population was living below the poverty line.

  Still, poor or not, Devlin could see that the community was trying to pull itself up by its boot straps. A concerted attempt had been made to freshen things up. An old locomotive had been installed next to the main drag. Attractive looking shops lined the street. And there was plenty of cheerful signage to read.

  But what Devlin was really looking for was help finding the address that Harris had sent to her. So she turned into a mini-mall and entered the local coffee shop-bookstore. The plan being to find a ladies room, get directions to the Shangri La trailer court, and buy a mocha. In that order.

  Fifteen minutes later Devlin was back in the car eyeing a scrap of paper as she left the rehabilitated part of Shelton for the slightly seedy territory beyond. The address she was looking for turned out to be in a trailer park that had a seldom used railroad track running right through the middle.

  Some of the homes were neat as a pin, with well kept yards, and white picket fences. But most of the trailers were badly in need of repair. Tarps lay like blue band aids across leaky roofs, grass was growing up around rusty project cars, and skeletal looking swing sets stood guard over piles of wet trash.

&nbs
p; It was a cold, blustery day. So the plastic chairs, old couches, and hammocks that harkened back to the last days of summer were empty except for drifts of desiccated leaves. But, as the parasitologist pulled up next to a sixties style white-over-red trailer, she could feel the weight of a dozen eyes on her when she got out of the car.

  Curtains twitched in some of the surrounding units. And blinds opened a notch or two as a pit bull came over to sniff at Devlin’s right ankle before offering its plug-ugly head for a pat. The denizens of Shangri La had secrets to keep. Plenty of them. And every reason to keep an eye out for cops, skip tracers, and repo men.

  But the pretty young woman in the classic Ford didn’t fit into any of those categories. So most of the watchers went back to whatever they had been doing before Devlin arrived which wasn’t much. A plastic elf guarded the walkway that led to the trailer. The wooden stairs were sway-backed as if they were exhausted by the accumulated weight they had been forced to support over the years. The screen door rattled as Devlin knocked on it and there was a loud bang as a car backfired somewhere nearby.

  A minute passed. Followed by a second. And finally a third. Devlin knocked again, waited for awhile, and was half way down the steps when the inner door opened a crack. Devlin turned. “Ms. Harris? My name is Sara Devlin. Professor McCracken and I were close friends. I was the one who replied to your email.”

  There was a moment of silence followed by a terse sentence. “You were close friends?”

  “Yes,” Devlin acknowledged. “I’m sorry to inform you that Mac committed suicide a few weeks ago. But I know why he killed himself, just as you do, and I might be able to help.”