The girl smiled as she took him in. “I’m ‘Ms. Novak’,” she said with a smile and air quotes. “Everybody calls me Lainey.”
The historian laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m looking for Jelana Novak.”
Elijah couldn’t help but notice the girl was cute—young, but cute. Standing on the porch was an odd time to think about how long it had been since he had been with a woman.
“Oh, right. Jelana’s my grandmother. She doesn’t live here anymore; this is my place. Do you want to come in?”
Elijah took in her short shorts and tank, which were out of place for February in Pittsburgh. Light perspiration indicated he had interrupted a workout.
I sure do.
“I’m kind of on a tight schedule,” Elijah said, glancing at his watch. “Do you know where I can find your grandmother?”
“Sure,” the girl said. “She’s at St. George’s. She’s been there for five years. But, I have to warn you, she’s not really with it, if you know what I mean.”
Elijah pulled a notepad out of his back pocket and scratched the name of the facility.
“Thanks, Lainey. I appreciate it.”
The girl bit her lip. “Me too. Oh, why are you looking for my grandmother?”
“I’m doing some research on Alarawn Industries. I understand your great-grandfather worked there. Someone gave me your grandmother’s name as the person who could maybe fill me in on some things. I just want to chat.”
“Sounds, um, fascinating?”
Branton laughed. “Well, for some. And, it’s also my job.” Elijah took a step back. “Thanks again.”
The girl raised her hand and wiggled her fingers goodbye.
****
St. George’s smelled like antiseptic and death. Elijah straightened his tie as he walked with confidence toward the front desk. A good portion of research took place in the archives. But more often than not, he found himself trying to get into a closed meeting or land an interview. Confidence worked best. He smiled broadly at the bored receptionist. “Hello. My name’s Dr. Branton, I was just over at Jelana Novak’s house for an interview. Her granddaughter told me I could find her here.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked, barely looking up.
“An appointment?”
“Yeah. We don’t let just anybody walk in and talk to our residents.” She stared at him over a set of bifocals.
“Oh, right. Pretty good policy, I guess. Kinda bites me in the ass right now though,” Elijah said with a grin.
Thankfully, the receptionist grinned back. “If her granddaughter calls and gives you permission, I’d be happy to see if Ms. Novak would want to see you.”
“Oh, yeah. Let me give her call. Can I have your number?”
“Honey, if I had a dime for every time a young guy like you asked me that…”
The phone rang five times before he heard the voice. “Elijah, where the hell have you been?”
“Brooke, hey. Sorry I’ve been dodging your messages, but I need a quick favor. I know this sounds weird, but I wasn’t sure who else to ask. I’m standing in St. George’s Assisted Living doing some research. Apparently I’m going to need permission from a relative in order to get in.”
Silence greeted him on the other side. He fidgeted, waiting for her response.
“Okay, need me to have Rex do something?”
“No. I thought you could just play the part.”
Elijah heard a laugh on the other side. He hoped it was a good one.
“Okay, Elijah. I’ll play your little game.”
Elijah smiled; he was starting to like her. “Okay, here’s all I have. Jelana Novak was a secretary for a company called Alarawn Industries. Have you heard of them?”
“Rings a bell,” Brooke said. Elijah could picture her smart smile.
“Her granddaughter’s name is Lainey. I assume it’s Jelana, too. But I’m not quite sure. I figure your job taught you to make up shit on the fly.”
“Learned that in college.”
“Funny. You got this. Here’s the number.”
The phone at the receptionist’s desk rang. Elijah took three steps back and held his breath. The receptionist talked, then smiled, and laughed. Brooke was good. She jotted a few notes on a yellow legal pad. Finally, she pulled the phone from her face, and pushed the screen. Elijah walked back up.
“That girl’s funny,” the receptionist said with a snort.
Elijah shrugged. “I just met her. She seemed nice.”
“Let me give Ms. Novak a call. I’m sure she’s probably free.”
****
In the lounge, a group sat on a tattered old couch watching reruns of “Golden Girls.” A foursome played bridge in a corner at a table. And one man in a long blue terrycloth bathrobe stood by himself taking the whole scene in. His lips moved periodically. Elijah sat on an overstuffed chair across the coffee table from Jelana Novak. She looked out of place. Her countenance gave off an air of confidence the others lacked. Jelana wore a perfectly pressed pantsuit.
“You know Lainey?” she asked the historian.
“We only just met. I found your name online, on the Internet…”
“I know what the Internet is,” the woman said.
Elijah forced an uncomfortable smile. “Right. So, I want to ask you some questions, about Alarawn Industries. Alarawn Steel.”
Jelana pursed her lips. “I worked there for years. But that place, that place is no friend of mine.”
Elijah nodded, his face solemn. “Actually I think that’s what I want to talk to you about. Your father, he worked there in the early part of the century, right?”
“Yes, sir. My father worked there. His father worked there. I worked there. Some would say we’re part of the Alarawn family. But I don’t know what I can tell you.” The woman’s face was vacant.
“I’m trying to figure out as much as I can about the worker movement of 1902. Did your family tell you stories?”
The woman leaned back in her chair. She gripped its arms, her knuckles going white. “All we did was tell stories, but I don’t have much to say about that. I think I’m what you academics would call a dead end.”
“Ma’am, that movement was powerful. My understanding is that the workers folded before the strike really began but without any violence from the corporation. It seems out of place for a pre-1935 strike.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “1935?”
“Yeah, the Wagner Act—legislation protecting the right to organize. Before that point, mill owners could do almost anything to protect their interests. But the Alarawns resolved this dispute without conceding anything and without resorting to bloodshed. It was a remarkable accomplishment. Do you remember anything about the strike? Or Thomas Alarawn, Jr.?
At the sound of his name, Jelana’s body stiffened.
“Đavo. Da će trunuti u paklu.” Jelana made the sign of the cross and kissed her fingers.
Although Elijah couldn’t explain how, he knew exactly what she was saying.
“What do you mean he was evil?”
Mrs. Novak’s eyes went wide. She was as shocked as he was by his linguistic skills.
“That man…he did things, terrible things. My family was terrified to speak his name, even decades after he was gone.”
The woman stood, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry, Dr. Branton, I don’t have anything more to give you. Our time is over.”
Elijah stood as well. “Please, ma’am, I need help. I have something to show you.” Elijah reached into his pocket. He could feel the medallion cold against his fingers.
He pulled it out and held it up. “Do you know what this is?”
The woman gasped. “You need to go now,” she nearly shouted at him. “You need to go now, zduhać. Leave me. I’m at peace. Leave me now. There’s nothing else I can do.”
The woman was screaming. Two staff members in scrubs came over and took Elijah by the arms. They led him out of St. George’s, nearly throwing him down
the concrete steps.
Elijah’s mind raced. There was much he had to make sense of. The conversation with Willa in her apartment and all that transpired still seemed like a dream. It also felt like a lifetime ago.
Driving through the Squirrel Hill tunnels, back toward the city, he couldn’t get the wild look in Jelana Novak’s eyes out of his mind. She was panicked—in a frenzy. What could Thomas, Jr. have done to give him such a reputation? The medallion was obviously important—he needed to figure out why.
****
Elijah pulled the car close enough to the Hillman Library to pick up a decent wireless signal. On the ride into Oakland, he had decided to call Max Noonan. Max was a strange one, not that oddities were unusual in PhD programs.
He was one of the most driven students Elijah had ever met. While Elijah and his friends spent their nights drinking and chasing girls, Max dedicated every waking moment to study. Elijah respected his discipline, and their conversations were fascinating. While Branton focused on American history, Max was enamored by Eastern Europe. He was exactly the person he needed to talk to.
Elijah turned on his emergency flashers and flipped open his laptop. Max’s avatar indicated that he was online.
After three rings, a face appeared—a little too close to the camera. “Elijah, this is a surprise.”
Elijah couldn’t suppress a smile. “Hey, Max. How’s Ukraine?”
“My fellowship dried up last semester. I’m in Estonia now. I’ll tell you what, this place gets a bad reputation, but I love it here.”
“You under ten feet of snow, or what?”
“Three glorious feet. It’s been a mild winter. How’s Boston?”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling. I’m not in Boston. I landed a short-term research job in Pittsburgh. So, I’m digging into archives and slumming the adjunct scene a bit.”
“There’s always adjuncting,” Max said with a grin. “I guess Pittsburgh is the perfect place for someone interested in Industrial History, or whatever you call it.”
“Yep. Sure is. I’m actually working on the history of one of the mid-list steel companies. They hired me to write their story.”
“Or rewrite it, more likely,” Max interjected.
“Heh. Well, maybe. They do have a bit of a sordid past it seems. But the woman who runs the company, Brooke Alarawn, seems sharp and committed.”
“Alarawn? No shit?”
Elijah paused. “Yeah, how do you know her?”
“Come on. She’s like the Hilton girls, but with class and brains. I mean, how many multigazillionaire hotties are there? I even saw her sex tape.”
Elijah laughed. “You know that’s not her, right?”
“Don’t ruin my fantasy. So, you just calling to catch up?”
“Well, I should be.” Elijah felt a twinge of guilt. He had never been good at keeping up with his friends from a distance. “But, I actually need some help with the project.”
“And what do you think I might know about Pittsburgh steel?”
“Not much,” Elijah admitted. “But I know you know just about everything about Slovak history. My question is more about mythology though.”
“Fine line between history and mythology,” Max said.
Elijah laughed. “I couldn’t agree more.” He looked at his notes and asked, “What does the word zduhać mean to you?”
“Zduhać? That’s, ah, a kind of tutelary spirit.”
“You’ll have to help me with the vocab, Max.”
He laughed. “Sorry, a tutelary spirit is a defender of a place, like a guardian angel I guess, but of a town rather than a specific person. Some scholars would take issue with your word myth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well the zduhaci were people; some even made their way into recorded history. Now, certainly the powers associated with them could be described as mythical, but the heroes themselves were real and often played important roles within the life of a village.”
“But you called them spirits. What does that mean? What powers were they supposed to have?”
“That’s where it gets a little tricky. Most of the stories say that they’d ‘leave their bodies’ when evil was near. There’s some disagreement about what that means, but all the legends say that the hero would fall asleep and wage battle against encroaching spirits. Supposedly they had great strength and could rip trees from the ground. When they woke up, they’d have scratches and bruises all over their bodies—evidence of the fight.”
Blood drained from Elijah’s face. His chest itched.
He showed the medallion to Max. “How about this? It belonged to the founder of Alarawn Industries. Any chance it’s Welsh or Scotch-Irish?”
“Hmmm. It’s definitely eastern European. That symbol looks familiar but I can’t quite place it. I’d guess it’s some sort of cultic artifact. Christianity tried to wipe out the old religions, but people in these parts have long memories. Many of the old ways remained powerful in their minds long after the Church assumed its dominance. That medallion probably was significant to its original owners, but I can’t imagine it originated with the Alarawns. It seems like you’re digging in deep, man.”
Elijah considered his friend’s words. You have no idea.
“Hey, man, thanks for ringing me up. But I have a seminar in about thirty minutes. I wanna run over my notes again.”
“Alright, thanks, Max. It means a lot.”
“No problemo. Let me know if you need anything else,” Max smiled and waved. His image froze for a second and then went black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Her legs, long and exposed, extended from the Herman Miller executive chair up to the mahogany desk, feet crossed at the ankles. Brooke knew that reclining in this fashion—muscular lines drawing attention towards their almost-uncovered convergence—would arouse most men. But Rex seemed unaffected.
His eyes, locked on Brooke’s, disregarded the alluring peripheral view. Loyalty—or sexual preference, perhaps—maintained his composure. Either way propriety was far from Brooke’s mind. She had more pressing concerns.
At her desk lay an editorial discussing Mount Washington’s “monster problem.” The Trib placed the blame on a boring election cycle and the Steelers’ postseason failures. They decried the whole incident as a hoax propagated by overimaginative gossip columns and a faked YouTube video.
But Brooke had a first-hand account.
Armageddon.
As mayhem unfolded mere feet away, many fled for shelter at the back of the restaurant. But Brooke Alarawn stayed. Through dirty glass she watched as Elijah Branton turned. Like something out of an old monster movie, the man’s body expanded. His skin was like iron, his stature extraordinary.
Pained screams embedded themselves in her mind.
“You saw him, didn’t you?” Brooke Alarawn asked.
Rex stood in his usual spot. He never sat. “No, ma’am. I didn’t see a thing. I…I fell asleep while you were inside.” Rex looked at his feet. It may have been her imagination, but Brooke thought she saw him blushing—a first for her escort. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I should have been watching.”
She dismissed his uncharacteristic lapse in professionalism. He had never once failed her, and she’d learned from her father that a gracious employer inspired respect. “Forget it. You spend a lot of time waiting around for me. I understand.” Brooke stood and walked toward the window, staring out over her city. “It was unnatural. Fictive, really. But it happened. You know what I thought, when I saw him?”
Rex remained silent. Shifting his weight from his right foot to his left, he ignored the rhetorical question.
“I thought about Van Pelt and Fong. I thought about Pittsburgh. Ultimately, Rex, I thought about all the things that I might be able to do if I were him. If I were Elijah Branton. Things are going to hell. I don’t know what’s needed to save this company, but whatever it takes, I’m going to do it. I’m not afraid.”
Brooke paced back and forth in f
ront of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Rex’s eyes traced her path. “I know you will, Ms. Alarawn. That’s why you’re here. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
She placed both hands on her desk and leaned forward. “That creature is real. If I could harness that kind of power there’s no telling what I could do for Alarawn Industries, for Pittsburgh.” Brooke’s eyes danced in anticipation.
“With all due respect, ma’am, what you’re describing makes no sense. But say he did turn into a monster, how in the world would you just make that happen?”
The CEO stood up. A sly grin crossed her face. “That’s precisely why I’m going to visit our historian tonight. He hasn’t been completely honest. But, I think I can get Elijah to share all his little secrets with me.”
The statue broke form and crossed his arms. “I don’t feel good about this. If he’s what you say he is then you could be putting yourself in danger. Maybe I should go. I’m sure I could get him to talk.”
Brooke reached out and put her hand on his arm. The man’s biceps was as thick as her thigh. “I think this is going to require a gentler touch, Rex. But don’t you worry. I can take care of myself.”
Rex nodded. “One more thing, Ms. Alarawn. The medallion.”
“Medallion?”
“Your aunt’s. Try to get it back. Branton seemed strangely interested in it. Something tells me it might be the key to all of this.”
****
Brooke wasn’t sure if she should go for alluring or promiscuous. Walking through the apartment building that Alarawn Industries owned made her happy she went with the former—but she had the tools onboard to pull off the latter in a pinch.
She knocked and waited. Her master key would come in handy if Elijah were out, but she hoped he was in. She was looking forward to the encounter. Muffled footsteps approached the door, then silence. Brooke smiled, knowing that Elijah was standing inches away, staring through the peephole.
“Brooke?” Elijah said, after opening the door. “Uh, what are you doing here?”
She took a step closer and leaned against the doorjamb. “What, you mean after my date ditched me the other night?” She grinned.
Elijah pushed his hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. Think it might’ve been that appetizer, but I just got sick all of a sudden. My body was on fire.” Elijah stared at her. Each of them knew the other was not being forthcoming. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. You wanna come in?” Elijah turned his shoulder, opening up the apartment for Brooke to enter.
Steel City Heroes (Book 1): The Catalyst Page 13
