The Last Everything

by Frank Kennedy

  Terror snatched him. Ben double-checked the clip in his pistol and took a deep breath. Adrenaline rushed forward. Ben hadn’t felt such an overwhelming sense of fear in two years. The pistol shook in his hand, but he knew he had to go inside. He wouldn’t find Jamie, and he assumed the traitors already tore it apart. But he remembered Iggy’s final plea. Hope for the third option.

  Inside, he found the front door open. He held his weapon with firm aim and focus. He glanced into Jamie’s bedroom, which was a confusion of disorganized possessions that represented the life of a 17-year-old boy. Ben couldn’t remember the last time he’d come into this room just to sit down and chat with Jamie, to be the man his parents would have expected.

  In the bathroom, he took a handful of aspirin. Then he grabbed a pocket knife, dragged his frayed couch away from the living room wall and pried open a one-inch-square section of wood. He reached into the hole and felt a tiny envelope. Ben opened it and allowed a flash drive to fall in his hand. He wrapped his fingers around the compact metal device, which was the perfect size for a key ring but carried forty gigabytes of data, and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  Ben wanted to show this to Jamie for so long, but he never found the right time, knowing Jamie couldn’t accept these contents until he was told the truth about everything else. Ben didn’t know if he’d have enough time, but he had to find Jamie before anyone else and explain.

  Ben was ready to leave when his phone rang.

  He heard the granite tone of Walt Huggins. “He’s safe, Sheridan. I have him.”

  Unseen weight fell from Ben’s shoulders. “I’ve been calling. What took you so long?”

  “Unexpected business. I’ll need your help for that. As for James, we’re en route to the safe house. Twenty minutes out. Are you drunk?”

  “What …? No, Huggins. I’ve had a bad night, that’s all.”

  “We all have. Would have been less bad if you had stayed around to protect James.”

  “Please, I already feel enough like a schmuck. Did you know the others betrayed us?”

  “I know about Ignatius. Rand and Agatha, too. I can guess who else is with them.”

  The aspirin was not working as quickly as Ben had hoped.

  “Do we know who we can count on?”

  “Other than the four of us,” Walt said, “No one. Where are you?”

  “The apartment. I …”

  “And you’re still alive? Interesting. There are assassins about.”

  “I know. I saw their work.”

  Walt spoke after a long pause. “Here’s what I need from you, Sheridan. Leave now. My wife and daughter are in a predicament. They should be able to handle themselves; they’re well trained. But I would prefer backup. Oh, and Sheridan, do hurry. We have much to do, and we want James to be comfortable in his final hours.”

  Ben cringed. “As always, Walt, you are a beacon of hope.”

  The instant Ben closed the phone, he felt the muzzle of a gun push into the back of his neck. In better, more sober times, he never would have allowed anyone to come so close without detection.

  “You still believe his orthodoxy, even now, at the end?” Rand Paulus sounded amazed. “How could you have listened all these years and not realized who held the moral high ground? Drop the gun.”

  Ben did as told. “Rand. The debate ended. We took a vote. It was unanimous. I thought we were together on this.”

  Rand chuckled. “We could have voted thirteen to one against Walt, and he still would have overruled us.”

  “Is that why you killed Ignatius? Because you knew he never would have turned against Walt? I don’t understand any of you. We had fifteen years to prepare, and now at the end you try to change the outcome.”

  Rand pressed the muzzle deeper. “A few random casualties at most. Nothing compared to the horror we’ll see in less than seven hours if we don’t stop the Jewel.”

  “You don’t know that, Rand. You’re trying to violate laws that have infinite consequences.” Ben decided he was not going to continue this pointless debate. He took two steps forward and turned around. Rand’s gun was aimed directly between his eyes.

  “If you feel the need to shoot someone you’ve known all your life, go for it. I can’t stop a bullet, and nobody will hear a thing. All I want is to be with Jamie at the end. I want to tell him how sorry I am, that he didn’t deserve any of this. I don’t expect him to forgive me, especially when he learns the whole truth. Still, I think he’s entitled to as much. Don’t you?”

  Rand wavered. He lowered the gun slightly.

  “I don’t hate you for what you did,” Ben said. “I just wish you had tried to talk. Ignatius was an understanding man. He would have listened.”

  In a flash, Ben ducked and jammed an elbow in Rand’s gut, enough to cause his fellow Chancellor to drop the gun. Ben got to the weapon first, then spun about and aimed.

  “Me? I don’t listen anymore.”

  Ben pulled the trigger once. A hole opened in the center of Rand’s forehead, and the flour mill foreman collapsed.

  Ben grabbed both guns and made a quick exit for the Huggins house.

  11

  3:17 a.m.

  T HE HUGGINS HOUSE was dark save for the flashlights that guided Sammie and her mother, Grace, to their duties. At one point, Sammie lost her composure. She had returned to her bedroom at the moment her father leveled Jamie with a carefully placed chop to the back of his neck. Her emotions got the better of her, and she screamed. With Jamie lying unconscious, her father whirled about, grabbed her by the shoulders and stared deep into her eyes.

  “I had no choice, Pumpkin. I have to take control of this situation. I always did. You understand? Put your emotions aside. He can’t be saved.”

  Walt towered over her like an iron giant, but Sammie felt comfort in his assuring arms. He knew what was best. He allowed Jamie to stay in her life despite everything.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I just wish we had more time.”

  “You’ll have that chance with someone else. A stronger man. Someone guaranteed a future.” He kissed her on the lips and ordered her to the garage to retrieve duct tape and cord. Sammie did as she was told, passing her mother in the doorway. She didn’t expect her father to add one last nugget. “Did you know he’s a drunk like his brother?”

  She heard those sorts of claims before. He would tell her about Jamie’s supposed involvement in petty crime – some of which she knew to be true – but also suggested he was at times a marijuana user and/or seller who graduated to harder drugs as he entered high school. Walt never followed-up on his accusations, so she filed them away as the rants of an overzealous dad. She knew Jamie fought a daily battle with his lingering grief and his anger toward Ben.

  Walt bound Jamie and carried him to the garage, where he plopped the boy in the trunk of his Buick. The family stood together as Walt explained the next step.

  “Obviously, Agatha has swayed several of our colleagues to her cause. And apparently, the Caryllan pulse triggered earlier than I predicted. Nonetheless, stick to the plan. Only difference: I want lights out as soon as I leave. Finish everything quickly as you can. No more than twenty minutes.”

  Sammie and her mother could have finished the list of evacuation duties quickly under normal circumstances. Once Grace shut off the power, each step required more care. They needed to box up all documents that might have indicated the Hugginses ever lived at 614 Truman Street. They moved swiftly through every drawer and cabinet. Sammie changed into jeans, t-shirt, blouse and her best athletic shoes then boxed up her schoolbooks and papers.

  They divvied up ten incendiary devices. Earlier, she asked her father why they needed to take such an extreme step.

  “Because endings like this always come in fire.”

  They followed Walt’s design and planted the devices along the walls close to the baseboard. Grace took the second floor. Sammie stayed below, placing the first of her devices by the breakfast nook. She started toward the de
n when a shiver gripped her. She swung around, stepped gingerly to the back door, crouched down and peeked through the corner of the door’s flowered lavender curtain. She ducked.

  The trespasser wasn’t more than ten feet from the door. Sammie stayed low, the flashlight pointed to the floor as she ran upstairs. She stumbled into her mother, who was leaving the master bedroom having planted the fourth of her devices.

  “Mom. Out back. Trouble. He’s got a gun and he’s wearing night vision. Can’t tell who because of the goggles.”

  Grace nodded. “OK. They must have been tracking Jamie. Saw your father leave. Suspected something. How many?”

  “Just one that I saw, but I haven’t looked out front.”

  “I’m sure there are others. Agatha wouldn’t send just one to go up against us. She’s not that bold.” Grace handed a key to Sammie. “They probably don’t know what they’re facing. That’s why they haven’t entered. Open the cabinet. I’ll scout for any other assassins. Give me the devices. I’ll place them.” She stroked her daughter’s hair. “You’ve rehearsed this, dear. You’ll do fine.”

  Sammie hugged her mother. “I won’t let you down.”

  Sammie and Grace went in opposite directions. Sammie opened a small utility closet with the key and surveyed the family’s arsenal. She loaded two shotguns with efficiency and strapped them over each shoulder. She opened two metal boxes and slid clips into four pistols, equipping each with thin, black suppressors. She made sure the safeties were turned on as she tucked two of the weapons behind her belt. She carried the other guns in her left hand, leading with the flashlight in her right. She raced downstairs and found her mother, who rushed to plant the final devices.

  Grace grabbed two pistols and a shotgun.

  “I saw another out front. Take position. You know where to go?”

  “Yes, Mom. I’m ready.”

  “Good. It’s time you had a chance to validate your field training. Remember, no hesitation. If you have one in your sights, pull the trigger. But take care with your aim: Ben may be on his way.”

  Sammie nodded, returned to the top of the stairs, and heard her mother on the cell phone.

  “We’ll do our best,” Grace said. “Don’t come back for us.”

  Sammie could not contain the rush of her heart. She turned off the safeties. She was ready for this. She remembered the broad smile on her father’s face when she finished field training.

  “You will be respected as a soldier of the Guard,” he told her.

  She wondered whether she would ever get a chance to see the Earth where her parents were born. Ultimately, she focused on her ability to survive the next five minutes.

  12

  J AMIE CAME TO, blind and sweating. He felt a cloth sack over his head and a plastic cord binding his legs and arms, chafing at his wrists and cutting off circulation. Nothing terrified Jamie more than the duct tape over his mouth. His lungs burned; he tried to breathe steadily through his nose.

  His mind became a blank slate; he felt no pain, no anxiety, as if a resignation took hold. All hope vanished, and Jamie was left with a single, gnawing sensation, the one that stalked him for two years. He sensed Mom and Dad trapped in their bedroom, staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle, a single question on their lips as their killer pulled the trigger. Why?

  Suddenly, he smelled perfume. The aroma was subtle, like a soft, scented pillow, not the splashed-on, belt-me-upside-the-head variety every girl in school wore to impress the guys. A hand pulled the sack off his face.

  He gasped. “You.”

  Lydia the mentor patted her lips into a reassuring smile, like a grandmother doling out chocolate chip cookies and milk to a scared little boy. She caressed him on the cheek, her fingers warm and feather-soft. “There, there,” she whispered before disappearing into the shadows. She returned seconds later with a chair and sat next to him. She was cast in a glow.

  “I knew,” Jamie stammered. “I knew you were with them. That’s how they tracked me.”

  “Sweet child, I fear my answers are far more complicated than you’re prepared to accept. First, please know that I am neither human nor a figment of your imagination. I am part of you, but I have only now begun to behave as my creators intended. I was designed to have a phantom presence in your life, starting five years into the redesign. I was to manipulate your subconscious, whisper to you as you slept, or appear in spectral form to comfort you while in pain. I was to be a second mother.”

  Jamie tried to sit up. He wanted to knock Lydia off her perch.

  “Mother? Don’t you dare. You didn’t know my mother, and you sure as shit …”

  “Not on a personal basis. But I was able to observe.”

  “You are out of your freaking mind. Who brought me here? What is this place?”

  Lydia crossed her legs in the opposite direction and sighed.

  “Alas, dear child, I must apologize for my ramblings earlier. The program was excited to be unlocked, and I tried to say too much too fast. I can see why you thought I was unbalanced.”

  “You know something, lady. If I told folks about what’s happened to me tonight, nobody on this rock would believe me. I don’t think Sammie even believed. Why won’t you just level with me?”

  “Ah, yes. Samantha Huggins. Tricky, that one. As I was saying …”

  “Don’t try making me think I’ve gone round to the nuthatch. You’re just as real as the ones who killed Iggy. You’re …”

  “Real? In what sense? That you see me, or that I eat and breathe?”

  He laughed even though his throat hurt. “Lady, you can cut the head games. If you weren’t real, you couldn’t take the sack off my head and I sure as smack wouldn’t smell your perfume. You see, I’m pretty good with that whole logic deal.”

  “I suppose you are. Dear child, do me a favor. Close your eyes.”

  “What?”

  “Just for an instant. I won’t hurt you. I can’t.”

  Jamie had nothing to lose, so he played along.

  “Good. Now open.”

  He stared into a wall of darkness and felt the sack over his head, as well as something else that didn’t seem possible. Lydia asked the obvious questions before they passed his lips.

  “Are you certain I removed the sack? Do you remember anyone pulling the tape off your mouth? Odd, isn’t it? You’ve been talking to me quite freely.”

  The tape remained plastered over his mouth. He still breathed through his nose. Jamie felt a tinge of panic. They’re not going to crack me. Faster than a wink, the sack disappeared, and Lydia glowed where she sat. Jamie flexed his jaw and felt no tape.

  “Reality, my sweet child, is nothing more than perspective colored with bias. I am here, I am a part of you, and we need to face the challenges ahead. We have very little time.”

  Lydia knelt beside Jamie and ran her fingers along his face, down his neck and through his hair. She spoke to him barely above a whisper, as if wishing him good-night.

  “Your mother gave you all her heart would allow, given her limitations. I suppose Marlena Sheridan could have been quite popular had she allowed others into her life.” Jamie bristled. “How often did friends come over? Other than the Hugginses – and perhaps the real Lydia – how many people did you see associating with your mother?

  “I remember when you were twelve. You had the first inkling that something was wrong with her. You saw it in her eyes, Jamie. Remember? It started one morning at breakfast. You finished your cereal and looked across the table. You couldn’t help but stare. She had a newspaper in front of her and cup of coffee in one hand, but she seemed to be somewhere else. She gazed upward and caught your stare. You saw a coldness that frightened you. She was your mother and yet …”

  Jamie trembled. How can she know this? I never told anyone.

  “… she wasn’t.” Lydia sighed. “I wish I could have been there to soften the blow. I don’t know what wisdom I might have provided, but you would not have been alone with your fears.”
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br />   Jamie stared into Lydia’s crystal blue eyes and saw a twinkle.

  “Who are you?” He asked.

  “Someone who is now prepared to tell you the truth. I will apologize in advance; what I’m about to say will hurt you. But it can’t be helped.”

  Jamie decided to play along once he realized Lydia had to be part of an elaborate mind game. He would’ve preferred a bullet between the eyes to this cruelty, but he’d been given no choice, no escape.

  Lydia stretched her arms to her sides then paced around Jamie. “All the threads of life are interlaced. It is the heartbeat of creation itself. You’d have learned that someday, had you been given the chance. You’ve shown curiosity for the world beyond Albion. Thus, you may be open to accepting life’s more extreme possibilities.”

  “Oh, yeah? You mean like the possibility that a guy who used to give me and Ben free cans of tuna might try to gun me down? Then a lady who’s not real but looks like she’s fetched and ready for church says, ‘Yo, Jamie. Nice meeting you in the woods at two in the morning. Oh, and by the way, you’re gonna die real soon.’ Those possibilities?”

  Lydia stopped in her tracks, her back to Jamie. “Actually, now that you mention it, yes.” She swiveled about, clasped her hands together and nodded in glee. “You have borne witness to these improbable turns. Now I must ask you to consider that these events represent the tiniest threads in a tapestry more enormous and complex than a narrow mind could ever accept. Jamie, you believe in the idea of multiple universes. I know this because you and Michael Cooper have discussed it often. He’s particularly fond of the what-if nature of this concept. Your choice in film and television reinforces the curiosity.”

  Jamie rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon. Really? I mean, really? You gonna tell me that’s what this is all about?”

  “After a fashion. The notion of multiverses is well-grounded scientific theory, even on this relatively juvenile Earth. Let us suppose humans have figured out how to travel between these rifts in the fabric of creation. Don’t you consider the possibilities astounding?”