The Edge of Reason

by Melinda Snodgrass

  During the short flight back to Albuquerque, she considered. She needed details on the case, and she knew enough people within the police that it shouldn’t be a problem. She didn’t stop at home for clean clothes but went to APD headquarters.

  She spotted Oort’s desk immediately. It had the same neat economy as the man himself. There were only two detectives in at this hour. One of them was Snyder. Angela knew his reputation from friends on the force. He was a grumbler who always felt underappreciated.

  She hailed him. “Hey, Snyder.” He looked up from his newspaper. Powdered sugar from the open box of donuts coated his fingers. Angela sighed. Cops resented being stereotyped, but they were often total clichés.

  “Doc,” he said, and waved his coffee mug at her.

  “The lab’s doing tests for Oort, and he’s fucked up some documents.” It was absolutely the right tack to take. Snyder beamed.

  “Little asshole. He’s either got pictures of the chief fucking a chimp or he’s fucking the chief.”

  “So may I look through his files?” Angela asked.

  “Be my guest,” Snyder said, and waved a hand grandly at Oort’s desk.

  Angela settled into the chair, and read quickly through the handwritten notes, noting the small and precise handwriting and the distinctive lefthander’s tilt. It didn’t take her long to realize that the trailer whose evidence she’d analyzed was step two in a trail that began with an explosion at Lumina Enterprises.

  She had never paid much attention to the elegant modern building with its multiple angles placed on a knoll at the foot of the mountains. Now she studied it closely as she wound her way up the hill and pulled into the parking lot. It reminded her of the prow of some fantastic ship preparing to sail out across the river valley far below.

  There was a security guard as well as a receptionist in the lobby. The walls sent back the echoes from her heels tapping on the black and silver marble floor. She showed her credentials to the receptionist.

  “I want to see Mr. Kenntnis.”

  “Who should I say is calling?” the woman asked.

  “Doctor Armandariz.” The woman turned aside and spoke so softly into a throat mike that Angela didn’t catch a word.

  Angela wandered around the lobby. Drew a hand across the butter-soft leather upholstery on the sofas and the chairs. Flipped through the assortment of magazines and newspapers, both scientific and business and not all of them American or even in English. The security guard watched her sleepy-eyed, but his physical stance told her he was very much awake. The perfectly coifed young woman answered the gentle chimes of the phone. Bored, Angela wandered up to the security guard and indicated the alternating dark silver panels on the walls and the dark floor with its swirls of silver.

  “You know, if Darth Vader had an office it would be in a building like this.”

  “What makes you think he doesn’t?” rumbled a basso voice.

  Angela whirled, grasping for her scattering composure. She hadn’t heard the elevator. The man who was stepping off and into the lobby was massive and African-American. She hadn’t expected that. Then on closer inspection she realized his face was a fascinating mix of racial types. He thrust out a hand.

  “I’m Kenntnis.”

  “Dr. Armandariz.”

  “Please come upstairs to my office.”

  The elevator doors sighed shut. “You wouldn’t know a bomb exploded here three days ago,” Angela said conversationally.

  “Considering there hasn’t been any news to that effect I’m wondering how you knew,” Kenntnis said. His eyes had narrowed and he took a step back from her. The retreat seemed odd from a man so large and powerful.

  “I read Oort’s file this morning.”

  “Now you are beginning to interest and alarm me a great deal,” Kenntnis said.

  “Hey, relax. I’m a good guy.”

  “I would feel so much better if Richard were here to tell me that.”

  “So you haven’t been able to reach him either,” Angela said.

  Kenntnis reached out and hit the stop button on the elevator. “Who are you, and what is your interest in this?”

  “I’m the County Coroner and I think Richard’s in trouble,” Angela said simply.

  “Why?”

  “I think he’s still investigating in Denver and it’s never a good idea to work a high-wire act solo.”

  “You act as if this investigation is dangerous,” Kenntnis said, clearly probing.

  “Considering three dead people managed to walk down a street and get shot I think it’s way past dangerous and into fucking surreal. Now can we get this elevator moving and finish this conversation sitting down? I had three hours of sleep last night.”

  Suddenly Kenntnis was grinning down at her. It made her feel that shiver of joy reminiscent of when her father had praised her efforts after a track meet or the grades arrived. Kenntnis jammed the button down and the elevator hummed back into motion.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Richard’s notes.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of those, would you?”

  “Hell, no.” She paused and enjoyed his discomfort. “I have the originals.”

  This time Kenntnis laughed out loud. The elevator sighed to a stop and they stepped into an elegant outer office. Kenntnis began flipping through the pages, his eyes scanning quickly down the lines. Suddenly he stiffened and stopped walking.

  “We need to go someplace more secure,” he said, and turning on his heel, he led Angela back into the elevator. It took a key override to ascend to the topmost floor.

  He was walking so quickly that Angela had only an instant to react to the marble parquet floor and the intricate plaster work. As they pushed through a pair of double doors Kenntnis called out, “Rhiana, if you’re doing anything unnatural, please stop.”

  A stunningly beautiful girl looked up, startled, as they walked in. Angela registered the seven or eight tennis balls spinning like a green nimbus around the girl’s head and shoulders before they fell onto the thick oriental carpet and went rolling in all directions.

  Kenntnis glanced over at Angela. “How are you holding up?”

  Angela made a rude noise. “Telekinesis? Please, that’s kid stuff compared to zombies.”

  Kenntnis looked at her approvingly. “You’ll do.”

  “Who is she?” the girl called Rhiana asked, and she didn’t sound real happy.

  “Someone Richard has pulled in on his line.”

  Rhiana stood up. “How do you know we can trust her?”

  “Because there’s no coincidence, just convergence. Work out the math,” said Kenntnis shortly. He turned back to Angela. “Now, do you think Richard has gone to this church?” He slapped the file with the back of his hand.

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t worry about the church … .”

  “Oh, I’m very worried about the church,” Kenntnis interrupted. He looked at Rhiana. “Do you think you’re ready to confront some of the faces in the mirrors?”

  The sentence was nonsense to Angela, but it had a profound impact on the girl. The pale skin grayed as the blood retreated from her face and her lips thinned to a tight line. “He saved your life,” Kenntnis said softly.

  The girl shuddered and clenched her fists at her sides. “Payback time,” she said almost to herself. She raised green and frightened eyes to Kenntnis’s face. “Am I strong enough?” she asked.

  “Yes. And you won’t be alone. Cross and I will be there.”

  “And me,” Angela chimed in, though she had no idea where they were going or what she was getting into.

  Chapter ELEVEN

  His first impulse had been to drive directly to the Faith in the Rock Church in Castle Rock, but Richard thought about it and acknowledged that he was exhausted and hungry. He checked into a Super Eight, and walked to a nearby café for lunch. Castle Rock had become a bedroom community for both Denver and Colorado Springs, but it still maintained its charm. The downtown held ni
neteenth-century redbrick buildings and there was a stretch of cobblestone on a few streets. He was seated at a window table that gave him a view of the rock formation that provided the name for the town.

  His waitress was a gawky girl with long straight brown hair, a long torso and equally long legs. She was also chatty, and she told him about the restaurant that used to be open on the top of the rock, but rattlesnakes had infested the walls and slithered out to the dismay of the diners. Despite Kenntnis’s disdain for feelings, it still felt like an omen to Richard.

  After returning to the hotel Richard called the church and made an appointment with the pastor for five o’clock. He changed into pajamas. Like many cops he kept a big bottle of generic aspirin close at hand. He shook out three pills and dry-swallowed them. He also had a wider range of pharmacopeia available. The Xanax bottle came easily to his hand. Richard checked the expiration date. It was a few months past the date. He hadn’t needed the drug for a long time. He bounced the bottle on the palm of his hand and considered. No doubt he was stressed. No doubt he needed to rest. He placed the bottle back in the overnight case and climbed into bed. It felt like a victory.

  The Faith in the Rock Church was at the north end of Castle Rock in an industrial area. In fact the church looked like it was housed in a converted warehouse. There were only a few cars in the enormous parking lot. Either they got a lot of worshippers or they were really hopeful.

  The lobby area held the usual array of flyers listing the times of worship. The pastor, a blow-dried young man in a light blue suit, grinned out from the front cover. He was posed seated with an open Bible resting on his knee. The air held the dusty smell of cheap paper and candle wax. A sign on the wall of a hallway read “Office.” Richard headed down the hall. His heels echoed against the bright blue linoleum floor. He reached a door. Etched on the glass was “Reverend Darryl Hines.” Richard knocked.

  “Come in.”

  The voice was deeper and more cultured than Richard had expected. He entered and understood why the voice didn’t match the picture of the man on the flyer. It was Mark Grenier seated behind the broad desk. The presence of this counselor and comforter of presidents in a seedy, makeshift church in Castle Rock, Colorado, suddenly made Kenntnis’s claims a great deal more credible. A cold hand seemed to brush across the back of Richard’s neck. He shuddered.

  “Welcome. Do come in,” Grenier repeated as he unfolded the long, spare length of his body from the chair. He indicated a chair in front of the desk with an elegant turn of wrist and hand.

  He was as tall as Kenntnis but lacked the bulk. Where Kenntnis’s hair was black and thick, Grenier’s was iron gray shading to white over the temples and it formed a close cap across his skull. His features were aquiline. He had hazel eyes, and he boasted a perfect tan achieved on a variety of expensive and exclusive golf courses.

  Richard felt off-balance both from Grenier’s presence and from his physical similarities to Richard’s father. The policeman retreated to rote, using it like a security blanket. Pulling out his badge in its leather holder, he held it out, saying, “I’m Detective Richard Oort of the Albuquerque Police … .”

  Grenier waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, do let’s dispense with all this. I know why you’re here. And more importantly I know what you are, which is why I made the trip out here so I could meet with you in person.” Grenier was fiddling with a pair of thin reading glasses. There was something odd about them, and then Richard noticed that the lenses weren’t clear but silvered.

  To cover his confusion Richard glanced around the office. There were a surprising number of mirrors on the walls; the top of the desk was glass, as was the top of the coffee table. He noted the same silver-graying of the glass in the mirrors he had seen in the trailer in the South Valley of Albuquerque.

  Ignoring the proffered chair, Richard went to the naugahyde sofa and sat down. It forced Grenier to cross to him and bought him a few more seconds to think. It was Richard’s nature to wait and allow others to make the opening move. For some reason that didn’t seem safe this time.

  “Kenntnis says you’re evil,” Richard said bluntly as Grenier sank into the chair on the other side of the coffee table.

  “And I say he’s evil,” Grenier replied. “Now you have a dilemma. Which one of us do you believe?”

  “No, you don’t get off that easy. He made his case. Let me hear yours,” said Richard.

  Grenier threw back his head and laughed. “You’re a cool one, aren’t you?”

  Richard was glad the veneer was working, because he could feel his heart beating in his throat and the air didn’t seem to want to reach his lungs.

  “I’m sure Kenntnis has been railing against the evils and dangers of faith and feeling, and extolling the virtues of science and rationality. I’m sure he’s nattered on about the stars, but never mentioned the flip side of all his wonderful technology. Somehow he always turns a blind eye to pollution, extinction, resistive bacteria, not to mention rush hour and gridlock.” Grenier paused and smiled at Richard. It was a practiced smile exuding warmth and charm, but it never reached his eyes.

  “All that’s true,” said Richard, then added, “but why have you opposed beneficial research such as the work with stem cells and research for the sake of pure knowledge like the super-collider?”

  “My, my, we have done our homework,” said Grenier, and there seemed to be a bit of an edge to the smile this time. “Because, while worthy, these things are like tiny pebbles shaken loose on a cliff’s edge that will eventually lead to a catastrophic avalanche. Think about the end point of Kenntnis’s position. It’s sterile, cold logic, and utterly confining. The universe as clockwork and humans trapped without choice or free will. Think how horrifying.”

  Richard crossed his legs, and straightened the crease on his pants before answering. “You’ve picked the wrong argument with me. I was raised in the Dutch Reformed Church, the closest thing to old-fashioned Calvinism still around. I’ve grown up with the idea of predestination. Free will seems a luxury.” Richard forced himself to meet Grenier’s gaze. “Shall we try another?”

  Grenier surprised him by laughing and this time it sounded genuine. “All right, let’s talk about magic … .”

  “Let’s not,” Richard interrupted. “It doesn’t seem to be terribly relevant since I apparently don’t have any.”

  Grenier leaned forward avidly, his hands closing tightly around the reading glasses. “Ah, so Kenntnis has told you that.”

  “Yes … .”

  “So, he’s no doubt told you other things.” The man’s eyes were intent, and he leaned completely across the coffee table, his hand reaching for Richard’s knee.

  At the edge of his vision Richard thought he caught a glimpse of color roiling turgidly through the glass tabletop and an answering flash of color in the lenses of the glasses. A stab of fear sent minute shivers through the muscles in Richard’s arms and legs. He jerked his knee away from Grenier and stood up.

  “Look, why don’t we come to the point. What do you want from me? You wouldn’t have come here yourself unless you wanted something.”

  Grenier also stood up and stared down at Richard. “Kenntnis gave you something or soon will. We want it.”

  He almost blurted out, No he hasn’t, but his usual caution reasserted itself. “Why?” he said instead.

  “We need it.”

  “Well, that’s a compelling argument,” Richard said.

  Grenier didn’t react to the sarcasm. Instead he took the time to fold and refold the ear pieces of his glasses, wipe the silvered lenses. “Let’s break this down into advantages and disadvantages. First, no one who’s ever borne this thing lives very long, but I expect that won’t mean much to you. You have the look of the martyr. My allies will suck you dry and kill you. But before you die I can make your life quite unpleasant.” Grenier stood and strolled back over to the desk where he picked up a thick file folder.

  “I have a large, well organized and well finan
ced organization. We’ve dug into every aspect of your life.” He paused and flipped through a few pages. “Your mother is certainly a weak reed, isn’t she?” Grenier lifted his head and smiled at Richard. “And secrets … my, you have more than your fair share. Believe me when I tell you that I won’t hesitate to disseminate them in the places where they will do the most harm.”

  Panic stopped the air in his lungs. Richard found himself gripping his wrists with either hand. He couldn’t feel the scar on his right arm through the bandages and the material of his shirt and coat, but the memory of hours of pain, humiliation, and betrayal that had led to the suicide attempt crashed across his mind and swept away all rational thought.

  The memory of a voice surfaced through the black memories and desperate shame. “Face the monsters who hurt you, and don’t let others like ’em hurt anybody else.”

  Four months later Danny McGowan had found Richard in his apartment, leaking blood from his right wrist into the warm waters of the bathtub and trying to keep a grip on the knife handle, his hand so slippery with blood that he couldn’t slash the other. Danny had been a medic in Vietnam and he’d sewn up the wrist, keeping Richard out of the hospital so no one would know he’d tried suicide. Richard asked the older man if he didn’t think he needed a shrink. It was McGowan’s answer that now pushed back the fear raised by Grenier.

  Officer Danny McGowan, sturdy and round as a boulder, his face seamed with wrinkles and his head crowned with a thatch of thick white hair: He was the reason Richard had become a cop. McGowan found Richard dumped in an alley, took him to the hospital, and visited him for weeks after, trying to get Richard to say who’d assaulted him. Richard never had. But a deep friendship had formed, and McGowan had continued to monitor the younger man.

  “No, boy, I think you need to need to make a difference. Face the monsters who hurt you, and don’t let others like ’em hurt anybody else.”