by A. R. Wise
“Hold on, I’ll get it this time,” said the man outside before thrusting his ample weight into the door a second time. He managed to snap the chain, and then came tumbling in just as Michael got his pistol.
“Don’t shoot,” said the black woman that had been at the door. Michael turned and saw that she was pointing a shotgun at him. His hand was on his gun, but he wasn’t sure he had time to turn and fire.
“Michael Harper, I’ll shoot if you don’t put that gun down,” said the stranger as she walked carefully into the room. “And I’ve already got too many souls on my conscious as it is. Don’t go adding another.”
“He’s mine,” said Michael, his hand still on the pistol.
“Ben’s dead,” said the stranger. “The person you’ve got in that bathroom isn’t your son.”
“Bullshit,” said Michael as he slipped his index finger into the trigger guard, but left the pistol still sitting where it was.
The stranger raised her shotgun in a menacing gesture as another person entered the room behind her. Michael recognized him as Alma’s boyfriend, who he’d fought with at his daughter’s apartment a couple days earlier. The big man glared at Michael from behind the black woman.
“Your son died sixteen years ago,” said the woman with the shotgun.
“No he…”
She interrupted, “He died at the cabin after you forced him to pour boiling water on Terry. He died that day, and the thing you have in the bathroom is just using his body.”
Michael was shocked by how much the woman knew; not only about his past, but also about how Ben was in the bathroom. It was as if the stranger had been spying on him. “You’re crazy.”
“Dad,” said Alma as she walked in beside her boyfriend. “Please put the gun down. No one needs to get hurt.”
Michael grimaced at his only daughter, and remembered how much he wanted to kill her for daring to go back to Widowsfield. He didn’t want her to unleash the secrets that had been buried there, but now it was too late. “Alma,” he said her name in both anger and regret. “I wish you would’ve listened to me. Goddamn it. Why didn’t you just listen to me? Why’d you have to go back there?”
“I had to,” said Alma. “I’m through running away from what happened.”
“Are you sure?” asked Michael with a wicked grin. “Life’s better when you ain’t looking back on it, kid.”
“Don’t make me kill you,” said the black woman as she took a step closer to Michael.
Michael took his hand away from the gun and stepped back. “I just wanted my boy back,” said Michael. “I wanted a chance to start over is all. You can’t fault me for that.”
“Sure we can, psycho,” said Alma’s boyfriend.
“So who are you?” asked Michael as he stared at the stranger with the shotgun. “Are you working with those fuckers that put Ben in that prison?”
“I’m the one trying to put a stop to all this,” said the woman.
“And how do you plan to do that?” asked Michael.
“I’m going to start by bringing him,” she motioned towards the bathroom, “back to Widowsfield.”
“So you are working with them,” said Michael.
She shook her head. “No. I just know where he belongs. And it sure the fuck isn’t at a hotel in Branson with you.”
“He’s my son,” said Michael as he stepped around to the other side of the bed, away from the others.
Alma closed the hotel room door as her boyfriend said, “You sure turned out to be a hell of a Dad.”
“Shut the fuck up,” said Michael. “You don’t know anything about me, or about what happened. Who are you to say…”
Alma’s boyfriend shouted over him, “I know enough.”
“Stop it,” said the black woman. “Both of you. Just calm down and get his things together. We’ve made enough noise as it is. Be careful not to leave anything. We can’t leave any evidence they were here.”
“Why?” asked Michael.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said the woman with the shotgun.
“You trying to erase me or something?” asked Michael. “Is that it? You planning on getting rid of me?”
“We don’t want people following us back to Widowsfield,” said the stranger. “Did you tell anyone you were here?”
“Yeah, I called a bunch of people,” said Michael. “I called them and told them where I was, and who I was with, and to call the cops if I didn’t call them back tomorrow. So, you’re shit out of luck, bitch.”
The black woman walked over to the phone that was sitting beside the bed. “Did you call from here?”
Michael nodded, uncertain why the woman would ask that. She placed her hand on the receiver, and then looked back at him with a devilish grin. “He’s lying. He didn’t call anyone.”
“Bullshit,” said Michael. “I called lots of people. How the fuck are you supposed to know if I did or not?”
“Trust me, I know,” said the woman confidently.
“The guy at the front desk has my name. He knows I’m here. And they’re going to see what you did to that door tomorrow. You’re going to have people looking for me.”
“I’m not worried about that,” said the woman. “Now let’s get Ben and get out of here. We don’t have much time. One of the other guests might’ve called the cops already.”
As she pointed to the bathroom, someone knocked on the door to the room.
“Fuck,” said the big man that had busted the chain. “Do you think that’s the cops?”
“No, they’re not that fast. I’ll take care of it,” said the black woman as she went to the door. She looked through the peephole and then turned to look back at the others. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. It just looks like one of the people staying at the hotel coming to check on us.”
She set the shotgun down against the wall so that when she opened the door it would be out of sight. She looked at Michael and said, “Keep your mouth shut.”
The woman feigned a smile for the newcomer as she opened the door and said, “I’m sorry for the noise…”
Before she could finish, the man pushed his way in and screamed, “I’m not going to let you hurt Ben!”
CHAPTER 12 - Sacrifices
South Side of Chicago
July 13th, 2007
Rosemary had called her mother to tell her that she was coming over. Rosemary had only spoken with her mother a few times since she’d left to go with Oliver to Widowsfield, and this was only the second time that she’d visited since then. Rosemary had lied to her mother about where she’d been, thinking it would be better for her to know as little as possible.
Her mother was ecstatic to see her daughter, but they had a large family, and the eldest children would often disappear for several weeks or months at a time, so Glenda hadn’t been concerned about Rosemary’s disappearance. Meanwhile, Rosemary’s mother was busy with her grandchildren, and several of them were running around the small apartment while Rosemary visited.
“I swear to God, Rose,” said Glenda as two of Rosemary’s nephews tore through the kitchen. She had her hands up in the air, holding a wooden spoon that was covered in sticky cookie dough out of the children’s reach. The boys ran off to another part of the apartment, screaming the entire time. “These kids are going to be the death of me.” Being a grandmother had changed Glenda, and Rosemary liked the way her mother was smiling more often than not these days. It was a drastic change since the days they’d spent living with Rosemary’s father.
The sweltering summer heat was barely eased by the box fan in the window, and Rosemary felt herself beginning to sweat as she sat at the kitchen table. Her mother was in the middle of preparing cookies for a church bake sale, and insisted that she needed to keep working while Rosemary visited. The oven’s heat made the sweltering afternoon even worse.
“How’s the money situation been?” asked Rosemary.
“You know what? It hasn’t been that bad, honestly. I’m a bu
siness owner now. Can you believe that?”
“A business owner?” asked Rosemary in shock and disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s right. No need to look at me like that. It’s the truth.”
“What sort of business.”
“An internet one,” said Glenda as she started to mix the dough after adding in more butter.
Rosemary gave her mother a queer look and asked, “What sort of internet business? And since when are you a computer person?”
“I’m not the one with the computer. Someone else is handling that for me. You know I’ve got no use for technology.”
“What are you selling?”
“Jewelry. You know how I used to always like making those beaded necklaces, right? Well, Pauline at church said that her niece sold that sort of thing on the internet, and that she was making loads of cash.”
“No kidding?”
“Mmm hmm,” said Glenda as she stuck her pinkie finger into the dough and then into her mouth. She seemed satisfied with the taste and started to stir again. “Before you know it, I’m going to be making millions. You just wait and see. And you know what, speaking of jewelry, you just wait there a minute. I’ll be right back. Make sure the boys don’t get into that cookie dough.”
Rosemary’s mother left the room, and no sooner had she walked out than the two boys reappeared, standing on the tips of their toes to stare into the bowl. “No,” said Rosemary sharply as she pointed back into the living room. “You two get on out of here.”
They groaned complaints, but obeyed. Rosemary waited until they were gone before she reached into her satchel and took out an envelope filled with cash. She’d finally cashed all of the checks that she’d gotten from Oliver in Widowsfield, and she was planning on leaving the area to hide out somewhere in Indiana for a while. However, she wanted to leave her mother some cash before she left.
Rosemary lifted a stack of bills that were on the table and set the envelope beneath them. She didn’t put her name on the envelope, but drew a rose on it so that her mother would understand where it had come from. She heard her mother’s heavy footsteps returning and she quickly spread the rest of the mail out over the money she’d left.
“Here we go,” said Glenda as she brought back a wooden, beaded necklace. “What do you think? Do you like it?”
“It’s gorgeous,” said Rosemary as she inspected the jewelry.
“Well then, don’t just look at it, go ahead and try it on.”
Rosemary put the necklace on and smiled up at her mother. “I love it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome baby. I’ve been saving it just for you. But you’ve got to promise me you’ll keep it on. Okay? Don’t ever take it off. That way a piece of me can always be with you. Then, next time I see you, I’ll give you a new one. Sound good? That’ll be like a new tradition for us.”
“Sounds good,” said Rosemary with a wide smile.
Widowsfield
March 13th, 1996
“Heaven?” asked Oliver in surprise. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
Vess walked slowly down the stairs, with Oliver just ahead, as they went down to where the CORD was being kept. “What else would you call it? This entire project is based around trying to explore the place our energy goes when we die. Don’t let yourself get caught up in terminology. In Norse mythology it was Valhalla, the Great Hall in Asgard; the ancient Greeks longed to reach Elysium; and Buddhists refer to it as Nirvana, where we give up our desire to own material things. Most cultures developed some version of the same thing. All we’re trying to do is use science to explain what people think God is responsible for. That is, after all, what all the various sciences have been doing since they began.”
“But if we prove that heaven, or whatever you want to call it, is real? Wouldn’t that prove God exists?”
“No, of course not,” said Vess as if Oliver’s reasoning was ludicrous. “It does the exact opposite. Mankind has spent too much time creating Gods to explain what they didn’t understand. Finding heaven’s no different than proving the sun isn’t Apollo’s chariot streaking through the sky.”
Vess took each step cautiously as they traversed the skinny halls within the belly of the Eldridge. Oliver took advantage of their time together to learn more about Cada E.I.B.’s goal. “Is that what we’re trying to do? Put a knife in God?”
Vess enjoyed Oliver’s phrasing. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”
“Am I right?”
“In a way, yes,” said Vess. “Although, it’s not as diabolical as you make it sound. Giving up faith is a step forward for the human race. Just like we stopped believing in Hades, or Zeus, or Odin, or any number of the old Gods, the current deities people cling to will die in time. We’re not suffering any delusion that we can eradicate all belief in God around the world, but if science is able to provide us with an explanation about what happens when we die…” He shook his head and smiled before saying, “It doesn’t take a scientist to recognize what sort of affect that might have on society.”
“So why March 14th?” asked Oliver. “What does doing it on that date, at 3:14, do for us?”
“It’s just marketing,” said Vess. “Most people are familiar with the numbers because of their relationship to basic math, but the history books don’t have much regard for the date. When you hear the number, it doesn’t immediately conjure up any recollection about an important event. But we’re going to change all of that. Soon, whenever someone hears the numbers three-fourteen, they’ll think of what we accomplished. The name of our company, and the date and time that we performed our experiment will create instant immortality for us. Mankind will never forget us.”
“Wow,” said Oliver. They were moving slowly through the ship on account of Vess’s disability. “Were you the one that came up with the idea to use the date?”
“No,” said Vess. “Oddly, it was Einstein that suggested it. As much as the man tried my patience, I’m willing to give him proper due. Three-fourteen was his idea.”
“I didn’t know he had a mind for marketing,” said Oliver as he opened the door that led into the loading bay where the CORD was located.
“Don’t give him too much credit,” said Vess with a snort. “March 14th is his birthday after all.”
Oliver laughed and asked, “Is it really? I had no idea.”
Vess snickered as he nodded. “The wily old bastard was intent on figuring out a way to make sure people remembered it.”
“I would’ve thought he grew up with the dates switched around,” said Oliver. “Wouldn’t he have written March 14th as 14-3?”
“Yes, but back in those days he was keen on considering himself an American. Plus, he loved the mathematical significance of his birthday when written down in our style. Also, good luck finding the 3rd day of the 14th month, or the 31st of April. If you want to turn 314 into a date, then March 14th is your only option.”
Oliver allowed Vess to enter the room first. The door opened to a catwalk that looked down on the bay where the CORD was kept. Oliver expected the old man to be pleased, but Vess turned to him with a scowl.
“This isn’t right,” said Vess.
“What’s not right?”
“This,” Vess motioned down to the level below. “All of this. What is that curtain?” He pointed at an enormous curtain that was currently bunched up and tied, but could be guided around a half-moon rail to shroud the CORD during the experiment. “And what is that box there?” Vess was referring to a stopgap measure that had been installed to regulate the flow of radioactive material. The original CORD hadn’t implemented such cautions, because people at the time weren’t familiar with the damaging effects that radiation could have on the human body. The stopgap was simply a container that could keep anyone on the ship safe from the uranium. When the stopgap was cut off, the CORD would be fed the radioactive material, a process that Oliver and the engineers at Cada E.I.B. began to refer to as ‘Cutting the CORD
.’
“We followed the directions that we…”
“I don’t care,” said Vess. “You have to fix this. We have to try and make the room look as much like it did as possible.”
“We can’t,” said Oliver. “The stopgap measure can’t be replaced. I can have the curtains taken down, but the…”
“Who authorized these changes?” asked Vess, incensed.
“The Accord,” said Oliver, referring to the board of scientists that he’d assumed Vess was a member of. They were the collection of scientists that decided which projects Cada E.I.B. funded. “We built everything according to their plans.”
“Those idiots,” said Vess, seething with anger as he grinded his grip on the railing. “They ignored everything I told them. They don’t understand. Goddamn it!” Vess made a fist and slammed it down, causing the hollow rail to hum.
“I can take the curtain down,” said Oliver. “But there’s nothing I can do about the stopgap mechanism.” He glanced at the orange box that was positioned to the left of the CORD. It was about two feet high, and rectangular shaped, with black hazard stickers on each side. The reinforced box was an integral part of the CORD, and removing it couldn’t be done before the experiment was meant to begin.
Vess pointed to the corners of the room, where cameras had been set up. “And those have to go.”
“Sir, The Accord is going to want to be able to…”
“I don’t care,” said Vess definitively. “I’m here, and this is my project. You work for me. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” said Oliver as he avoided looking into the old man’s eyes.
“I was there the first time the CORD was activated,” said Vess. “I’m the only one that’s ever seen this thing work, and I’ll be damned if they think they’re going to tell me how to do things. We don’t need these safety measures. I’m the only one that’s felt the effects, and I’m not dying of cancer. I’m as healthy as I ever was.” He looked at Oliver, as if expecting the young man to nod in agreement, but his new assistant just continued to avoid his gaze. “Look at me.”
