The Last Everything

by Frank Kennedy

  “You’re smart to give up,” Lydia said, sending a jolt through Jamie.

  Jamie’s heart sank the instant he saw her, any shred of hope that she was a product of his imagination now gone.

  “Nice of Walt to bring you water, considering what he put you through. I wasn’t sure about him until tonight. He is a hardened believer.”

  Jamie flashed back to that final moment in Sammie’s bedroom. The crickets returned, the window was cracking, Lydia sat in the corner, then …

  “You and Walt are in this together. You and all the others.”

  Lydia sighed. “I cannot say who is with whom anymore. These assassins … Rand Paulus, Agatha Bidwell … I knew they were observers, but fifteen years on this limited world must have worn heavily upon them. Walt will kill them if he has the chance. He will keep you hidden here so you can die and be reborn before the others reach you. They used to be such allies.” Jamie stared into space, his jaw hanging. “Walt is a defender of Chancellory genetic regeneration. As is Grace Huggins. And their daughter.”

  Jamie picked through the scrambled mush that was his brain.

  “Sammie,” he whispered, almost believing what he was hearing.

  “Yes, Jamie. They despise this town, much as you do. They will celebrate their return through the fold. Twenty miles north of Albion. They have triangulated it by now. The folds are not stationary, you see. No doubt sent an observer to verify. Packed their bags, so to speak.”

  “Where are we now?” He asked.

  “The lake house. You’ve been here before. Three years ago.”

  Lydia was right. He was here with all the Hugginses, his parents, and Michael. It was a great weekend. Cookouts, swimming, hiking, some pot on the side.

  Jamie closed his eyes, his anger seething to the boiling point.

  He screamed. “Huggins! Walt Huggins! I wanna talk to you.”

  Jamie created a stir for five minutes, until he heard footsteps above. A second later, the fluorescent light flickered and the basement went dark. Jamie continued to shout, adding a series of profanities that might have peeled wallpaper. Lydia didn’t interfere.

  He stretched his voice for almost half an hour, certain that sooner or later Sammie’s muscle-bound father would storm downstairs with a fist specially prepared for Jamie’s face. When the door opened at last and the light returned, Jamie didn’t believe what he saw.

  15

  J AMIE’S TORTURE DIDN’T end when he saw a familiar face appear on the stairs leading into the cellar. Instead, his confusion deepened and his temper burned. Ben stopped at the bottom step and stared, his bloodshot eyes glistening as puddles of water formed. Ben lowered his head for an instant, muttered words Jamie couldn’t understand, and started slowly toward the boy, who was bound as if he were a dangerous criminal.

  Jamie didn’t try to decode what piece of the puzzle his brother fit into. Ben presented him with so many identities over the years: the big brother who pushed him high on the swings, the alcoholic who now stood over him reeking of booze. Jamie felt cold and empty and waited for Ben to make the first move.

  Ben knelt then pulled apart the Velcro band wrapping Jamie’s wristwatch on the left arm and compared that watch to his own. He played with the buttons on Jamie’s watch and returned it to his little brother.

  “Nine fifty-six,” Ben said. “Don’t forget. Everything leads there, J. Nine fifty-six.”

  Ben removed a switchblade from his pants pocket and sliced through Jamie’s cords. Jamie dropped his freed arms into his lap and watched the knife do its magic on his leg bindings. When those cords fell away, Jamie wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

  Jamie felt this paralysis before. He sat on the couch in the Coopers’ den when Sheriff Bill Everson arrived in the middle of the night two years ago. The sheriff spread a cloud of heavy musk as he sat next to Jamie and explained what happened to Tom and Marlena Sheridan. Jamie remembered the words because they slithered out matter-of-fact beneath the sheriff’s abundant gray mustache, carrying not the first hint of concern.

  “Young man, it’s my sad duty to inform you that your momma and daddy have met with a tragic end. It appears a man broke into your home with intent to rob. That individual fired shots at both your momma and daddy. They did not survive. I want to offer you my condolences and promise you the Albion County Sheriff’s Office will find the individual who did this. He’ll never harm another momma or daddy.”

  Sheriff Everson rambled on, but Jamie heard none of it and had no memory of the rest of that night, only that he woke up around noon in mid-scream. For a few seconds, he believed it was all a nightmare. Then his brother appeared, face ashen and eyes drooping. Jamie knew. They fell into each other’s arms without saying a word.

  Jamie turned his unbearable grief into seething anger, at first blaming himself for not being at home. Maybe he could have done something to save them. He assigned blame everywhere. He stirred his anger in a cauldron deep inside until he couldn’t breathe. He saw no way back from the abyss.

  The next day, he awoke to the voices of adults in the Coopers’ kitchen. They were all there – Michael’s parents, Sammie’s parents, Ben. They talked about how to break the news that the killer, a thug just released from prison, was caught overnight and claimed his innocence – even though the sheriff insisted the case was open-and-shut. They said they never saw Jamie so withdrawn. He allowed his rage to consume his every thought. Later, he said he didn’t remember grabbing the baseball bat from Michael’s closet. He ran a mile into town, never slowing down, not even as he burst into the sheriff’s office. He raced past the dispatcher, the deputies’ desks, and down a short hall to the only occupied cell.

  Jamie spewed forth words rarely heard from a 15-year-old, banged the bat against the cell and vowed to kill the balding, goateed prisoner who was about Ben’s age. He spat as he shouted at the prisoner. Only when one deputy grabbed him around the chest and another swiped the bat did Jamie’s temperament dissolve from screaming lunatic to rabid, trapped animal. His curses became grunts, and his tears returned in steady streams.

  Jamie didn’t realize what he did until he heard the whispers at his parents’ funeral. He saw the frowns that mingled sympathy with fear. Many of the kids who expressed their condolences in the first few days distanced themselves. Rumors flew of Jamie having fought mental disorders for years and once threatening his parents with a pistol. The stories grew into myths that never died in a town such as Albion. That’s when Jamie began jogging through the town at night, allowing the bubbling stress of life in Albion to become more endurable.

  He forgot all about his vow as he stood barefoot in the basement of Walt Huggins’ lake house at 4:30 a.m., glaring at Ben. Jamie had grown like a string bean in the past two years, and he almost faced his brother at eye level. Jamie didn’t realize he balled his fists until, suddenly, he reared back with his right arm and leaped forward while delivering a cross that smacked Ben in the left eye. His brother staggered.

  Jamie took to the offensive, marshalling the tempest built the past few hours. Both fists found their targets, and his legs showed no signs of having been bound; they danced and kicked with abandon. Ben didn’t try to fight back; he blocked his brother’s blows with open-faced hands. He grunted then pleaded with Jamie to stop.

  “This is all your fault,” Jamie told him between blows. “I knew you were the reason they’ve been trying to kill me. Dude, you’re a waste.”

  “Jamie, c’mon. Get hold of yourself.”

  “Screw you. You done nothing for me since Mom and Dad got …”

  “Yes. I’ve done wrong by you … but listen to me, will you?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “I will, J. Guaranteed. But you gotta listen. You gotta calm down and hear me out. There’s little time, and we have work to do. You hear me?”

  Jamie flailed at random, and his fists missed as the bountiful energy dwindled. Ben, with one eye blackened and blood pouring from a busted lip, let loose with a lig
htning-fast left kick, cutting Jamie’s legs out from under him. Jamie landed on his back with a thud and a groan. Ben backed away, tended to his bloody lip and gathered his breath.

  “I deserved that,” Ben said. “Long time coming. Dammit, Jamie. You got no idea how sorry I am. You gotta let me try to explain. I don’t know if there’s enough time to tell you the whole sordid business.”

  Jamie grabbed a sore spot in the nap of his back. “Dude, I ain’t in the mood for some crazy-ass story. I heard enough of that already. You tell me one thing, Ben. You just tell me nobody’s coming after me anymore. Can you promise me that?”

  Ben’s eyes widened. “What have you heard?”

  Jamie narrowed his eyes into suspicious slits. “Nothing I believe. Some whacked-out lady … shows up out of nowhere. She’s just …”

  “Jamie, did this woman … did she call herself Mentor?”

  Death passed through Jamie with icy fingers. He fought back the terror and gritted his teeth.

  “How could you know?”

  Ben wiped his forehead and sighed. “Oh, damn, J. We figured something was wrong with the program, but why did it wait until tonight to unlock? Did she tell you about the Jewel?” Ben didn’t wait for a response. “The fold? The observers?”

  Jamie felt a tremor in his heartbeat. All he could do was nod.

  “Chancellors?” Ben asked. Again, Jamie nodded. “Everything at once. Makes no sense. Why would the Mentor …?” Ben paused. “The Caryllan Wave pulse. Must be it. Did it … you called it a woman … did she mention the pulse and what’s happening to you now?”

  Jamie crinkled his face. “You tell me this is all some kind of giant put-on.” He wouldn’t allow reality to set in, but he felt the walls pressing against him from all sides.

  “Please, Ben.”

  Ben turned his back on Jamie and placed his hands on his hips. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. But here we are. Jamie, as much as you hate the idea, you’re going to have to follow my instructions.”

  Jamie released a mocking laugh. “Why should I start now?”

  Ben started up the stairs. Without turning around, he said, “Get your head together. We have things to do before you die.”

  16

  4:15 a.m.

  T HE MORE FAMILIAR faces he saw, the less Michael could fathom the depth of this late-night pursuit of his best friend. Michael saw a cross-section of Albion join forces and come loaded for bear. These people gathered in a field south of town, arriving in three cars: A teacher, a fellow student, a track coach, two mechanics, a writer, and a married couple who operated a bed-and-breakfast. He recognized every face, if not the names, right away. Everyone sported a weapon – most carried pistols, but at least two (the Cobb brothers) packed AK-47s.

  As he looked at these white faces, illuminated by headlights, Michael drew upon the stories of his grandfather, who lived through the depths of the Jim Crow era and the battle for civil rights. He came to an inescapable conclusion.

  “This must have been what it was like for a black boy to get drug to a Klan meeting,” he mumbled even as he felt the butt of a rifle in his back. Christian had upgraded his personal arsenal when they arrived at the field. The student council president kept guard over Michael as the older observers consolidated.

  “Klan?” Christian said. “You comparing us to that sorry bunch of backcountry yahoos? Got news for you, Coop. Us Chancellors understand the true nature of the human race. We know how to segregate undesirables, and race is not how we do it.”

  “Chancellors? That’s what you people call yourselves? So you got a club name. Good for you, Chrissy. Good for you.”

  Christian leaned in. “Tell me something, Coop. What you figure it would feel like to have your balls ripped out and fed to a dog?”

  “I reckon it’d hurt like a mother, but at least the dog would think he’s eating steak and walk off satisfied. A damn sight better than the garden peas he’d get from you.”

  Michael couldn’t believe he still had the gumption. The past half-hour proved to be sobering, as Michael endured what he thought was little more than a death march. He sat in the rear of Agatha’s car under guard as the English teacher and the track coach searched Jamie and Ben’s apartment, confiscated the brothers’ laptop, and offered praise for the courage of the late Rand Paulus despite the flour mill foreman’s failure to kill either of the Sheridans.

  He listened as Agatha contacted all the others whom he now knew as Chancellors and coordinated their rendezvous in the field. He discerned that the Huggins family and Ben escaped town with Jamie in tow, and their destination – the “safe house” - was a mystery. The Chancellors gathered to decipher where Jamie might be hidden.

  “Walter was always guarded,” Agatha told Arthur Tynes as they drove south. “He never spoke of the safe house. He believed security might be compromised were all of us made aware.”

  “Compromised by whom?” Arthur asked. “The United Green?”

  “Naturally.” They shared a laugh. “He never explained how they might possibly exploit our defenses, assuming they even managed to traverse the fold. When we came through the fold, Green operatives were years away from such inroads. My miscalculation was that his true paranoia was focused not upon the Green but upon us.”

  Michael thought to ask who in hell these ‘Green’ were, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. No one answered any of his questions; he still had no idea why Jamie was so important or why they kept talking about “the rebirth.” Now, as he stood in the field with people who might as well have been from another planet, Michael assumed only minutes remained before someone put a bullet in his head and threw him in a ditch.

  The Chancellors did not need long to turn their complete attention in his direction. Agatha ordered Michael to his knees; Christian pushed his fellow student to the ground.

  “We have something to show you,” Agatha said. “I fully expect you to explain what you see. And I should caution you, Mr. Cooper, against any further sarcasm or feeble attempts at a brand of humor most intelligent humans would find insufferable. Yes?”

  The laptop screen filled with the image of three teenagers posing arm-in-arm. In the center, Michael flashed a clownish grin exposing brilliant white teeth. To Michael’s right, a blond, fair-skinned boy perhaps an inch taller tried to force a smile, but his teeth remained hidden. To Michael’s left, a girl who had not yet escaped braces mustered an also-limited smile.

  Arthur read the caption. “‘Me, Coop, Sammie. Lake house. August. Great weekend.’”

  Michael saw part of a rugged home in the background fashioned with dark wood planks and a platform extending over water. Beyond the house, the trees were taller and thicker than the pines that dominated the landscape around Albion.

  “Look, I got no idea why you’re doing this. I mean, I don’t remember that too well.”

  Agatha dropped to his eye level and tightened her jowls. “I intended for you to survive this experience, Mr. Cooper. I have now reconsidered.”

  Michael paused, his eyes drifting away. “Oh. Yeah. That. I only been there once. How the hell am I gonna remember something like that when you got me by the balls in the middle of a cotton pickin’ cornfield?”

  “So, you know this place? Might the Huggins family be there?”

  “I reckon. Sure. I seem to recall they own it.”

  “Own? That’s not …” Agatha caught herself. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. That’s what Sammie told me. Come to think on it, she tried to take it back, or at least wanted to make sure I didn’t tell anybody else.”

  Agatha faced the others. “We had a strict agreement to report all property ownership. Walter never disclosed this information.” She smiled. “I have an idea of the location. Walter often talked about how he loved Lake Vernon, how he sometimes rented a cabin when he took Samantha to field training.” She switched back to Michael. “What is the exact address?”

  He coughed. “It was one time. I dunno. It’s down so
me road right off Highway 39. Lake Vernon, like you said.”

  Agatha turned to Arthur. “Manipulate the image. Search for any geographic detail that might narrow the possibilities. Is this the only image?”

  “Uncertain. He stored hundreds of photos. I’m also scouring Ben’s files, but they’re proving difficult. Impressive encryption. Tom and Marlena taught him well.”

  Agatha sighed. “Now, Mr. Cooper. I’m faced with a quandary. I can assume we’ll soon have an address and directions to this residence. In that case, I would be merciful and kill you now. Or I can give you the chance to jog your memory and guide us to our new destination. In which case, your life is extended. Which option best serves your needs?”

  Michael didn’t hesitate. “All else being equal, I like to breathe.”

  “Of course you do.” Agatha ordered him into the car with Christian.

  As he did so, Michael heard Agatha speak to her colleagues.

  “Now we know where. We must do this in a way dear Walter will not see coming. The currents of the future can only be altered with extraordinary force. Arthur has opened my eyes to that very concept. When we arrive, no holding back. When we’re done and the Jewel is destroyed, perhaps even Walter will understand why we had to finish our mission in this extraordinary manner. We have the moral imperative, my friends, but we need to hurry. We have very limited time.”

  Minutes later, as the cars sped south on Highway 39 in search of a house on a lake, Michael struggled with a new sensation. Not only was he going to die, but he handed a death sentence to the best friend he ever knew.

  17

  4:40 a.m.

  W HEN JAMIE RACED from the cellar upstairs toward the kitchen of the lake house, he planned to give everyone a piece of his mind. They were lunatics, all of them. He’d laugh at them. Spit in their faces. Yet just before he stepped into the kitchen, reality smacked him upside the head like a two-by-four with well-positioned nails. He heard Walt.