The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series

by Jacqueline Druga

  Joe looked at Robbie then Henry. “Put it this way, Henry. I feel like I am in a Stephen King novel.”

  Ellen looked at the semi-mound that was supposed to be a body on the table in the morgue. She let out a deep tension breath as she put on her gloves and moved to the table. “Oh boy.” She cleared her throat and brought the accessories with her, tape recorder, chart, and trays. Hesitantly she grasped the of the top of the sheet and pulled it back, exposing Hank’s half -torn apart head that was barely connected to his body. Ellen dropped the sheet and slowly closed her eyes. “Oh God. Not again.”

  ^^^^

  Binghamton, Alabama

  On a small grade dug pretty much into the hillside, Jess and John laid on their stomachs. It was an odd thing for Jess to hear. Perhaps that was why he turned to John when he heard the snickering.

  “John. What? What do you see?”

  “I’ll be damned. Take a look.” John handed Jess the binoculars.

  “What and where am I looking?”

  “Walking into what we call building ‘A’. Look.”

  “Oh shit.” Jess lowered the binoculars and smiled at John. “Frank.”

  “Yep.”

  Jess looked again. “Holy hell.” Jess then handed the binoculars back. “I almost didn’t recognize him. He has hair.”

  ^^^^

  Frank didn’t think it was a poisonous apple. It didn’t look poisonous. But then again it didn’t look like an apple either. It was round and green and Frank thought maybe it was the start of some really huge plum. He held it, looked at it, and debated in his mind on whether to eat it. It had been so long since he had fresh fruit, a custom he had become used to in Beginnings.

  Figuring he’d take it with him, relax after working out, and stare at it for a while, Frank walked down the corridor of the main building and to his office. He was surprised when the door was unlocked. He was more surprised when he saw Dean sitting there. “Dean.” Frank hurried and shut the door. “How did you get in here?”

  Dean sat in the chair by Frank’s desk. “That guy Richie unlocked the door.”

  “Richie? He, uh, didn’t say who he was, did he?”

  “Richie, Frank. You know the guy who came from my closet.”

  “Oh yeah. That Richie.” Frank palmed his mysterious fruit, looking at it.

  “Frank? What do you have?”

  “An apple, I think. Kind of small.” Frank held it up. “Maybe the start of a plum or peach. I was gonna eat it.”

  “Frank, you can’t . . . go on.” Dean raised his head. “Enjoy.”

  Frank opened his mouth, paused and smiled. “No-no.” He set the thing on his desk. “You’re supposed to wait until we get home. It’s poisonous, isn’t it?”

  “No. Eat it.”

  “No Dean. It’s poisonous, isn’t it?” Frank smiled. “Huh? Isn’t it? Huh? Isn’t it? Huh?”

  “Frank!” Dean snapped. “God. Yes. It is a poisonous berry.” Dean picked it up and whistled. “And a really big one too.”

  “So what are you doing here?” Frank sat down behind his desk. “Miss me?”

  “No, contrary to what you’d like to believe after the initial slight happiness of seeing you, I’ve had my Frank fill.”

  “Whatever. What do you want?”

  “I have news.” Dean moved closer to the desk. “Guess who’s coming to Binghamton in two days?”

  “Who?”

  “Guess.”

  “Um . . .” Frank closed his eyes. “My dad.”

  “Aside from him.”

  “My brother.”

  Dean snickered. “Aside from him too. Guess.”

  “Who?”

  “George.”

  “Who?”

  “George!” Dean yelled. “George Hadley.”

  “Oh my God. No shit?” Frank snapped forward. “How do you know?”

  “Leonard just told me.”

  “Oh this is so great. How long will he be here?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s just hope he stays long enough for us to safely kill him.”

  “All you’ll have to do is your Frank thing to him and how long will that take? One second.” Dean told him.

  “You don’t want to help?”

  “What? Kill George?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No.” Dean shook his head. “You can have the honors. Killing is really not my cup of tea, except for you.”

  “Ha!” Frank rocked in his chair. “Really ‘Mr. Wipeout Half the East Coast’? Come on, Dean. You don’t want to take the pleasure in killing George?” Frank raised an eye brow.

  “Frank. I’m saving my energy for you.”

  “He killed the world, Dean. He . . . gave my dad Salicain.” Frank tossed out the list with an enticing manner. “Started the new plague. Had something to do with you going blind. Gave our kids the new plague. Brian, Dean. And . . .” Frank stopped rocking and leaned his elbows on the desk. “According to Henry and Ellen, he even killed you.”

  “O.K.. Maybe you have a point. But how much help do you need to shoot him in the head?”

  “Dean,” Frank smiled. “I was thinking on the lines of something sicker. Something that would make him suffer. You know, hit him with a delayed reaction. He thinks he got away and BAM, he dies a slow, painful, really disgusting, Dean-style chemical death.”

  “Frank . . .”

  Frank tilted his head. “You make it. I hit him with it. What do you say?”

  Dean moved his lips around as he thought. “O.K., you got a deal. I’ll see what I can make here. It depends what they have.”

  Frank slammed his hand on the desk. “Excellent. You’ll get on it right away.”

  “Sure, why not.” Dean shrugged. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “I have no test subjects. I’m gonna need test subjects. Rabbits or such.”

  “When do you need them?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  Frank smiled arrogantly. “Don’t worry. I know just where to pick them up.”

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  Andrea’s office.

  Joe looked at the nearly shut door, facing it for what seemed to be an eternity. He checked out the note from the future and then replaced it in his chest pocket. With a hand that held a requisition, he knocked once on the door and pushed it open.

  Andrea looked up from her desk, smiled, and then began to stand. “I was just leaving.”

  “Oh yeah?” Joe placed his hands in his pockets. “I need to uh . . .” Joe held up the requisition. “Need to borrow your typewriter. Can I?”

  “Oh sure.” Andrea piled up some folders, moving them neatly to the corner of her desk. “Are you sad about Hank?”

  “Who?” Joe asked.

  “The new guy that died.”

  “Oh.” Joe nodded once. “Yes. Very. It’s a shame.”

  “Ellen didn’t say if she needed help with the autopsy. You know, with Dean gone and all.”

  “I’m sure Ellen’s fine.” Joe waited impatiently for Andrea to move from behind her desk so he could use the typewriter on the little table next to it. “She’s fine.”

  “Good.” Andrea smiled. “Are we having a special council meeting regarding it?”

  Joe lifted his shoulder. “Don’t know. Andrea, can I . . .”

  “I guess I should be asking Henry that, huh?”

  “Yes. Andrea, could I use that typewriter? I’m really can’t fit back there with you standing there.”

  “Oh.” Andrea snickered. “Sorry.” She stepped from behind her desk. “Be my guest.”

  “Thank you.” Joe walked over, sat in her chair, and turned it to face the typewriter. He looked at it.

  “On the side.”

  “What?”

  “On the side. The power.”

  “Andrea, I know how to turn . . . thank you.” He reached for the power button as if she guided him, even though Joe was quite aware of where the power switch w
as located. He pulled out his glasses and placed them on. He could see, from the corner of his eye, Andrea standing there. “Are you gonna watch me?”

  Andrea closed her eyes and shook her head with a smile. “Sorry. I’m a little out of it. I’m going to go. See you at home.” She pointed to the door.

  Joe watched her. Then Joe watched her stop.

  “Joe.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we have everyone over for dinner? I don’t mean the community.” She snickered at Joe’s grunt. “I mean, Ellen, the kids, Robbie, Henry, and Johnny. Can we? We haven’t had the family together in a while. I’m making pasta and there’s . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, goodie because I just think with Dean leaving and . . .”

  “Yes Andrea. You can do this. You don’t need to explain.”

  “Thanks.” She reached for the door. “I think it would be nice don’t . . .”

  “Andrea! Christ, I’m trying to get this done.”

  Andrea gasped. “Was that tone necessary Joe Slagel? Oh, I don’t think. Do you?” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Well Mr. Attitude. We’ll just deal with this later. You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass out of my office now.” Her hand moved about. “Talking to me like that. Snapping at me. Sitting in my desk. Using my typewriter. Which by the way, I let no one use. Feel privileged, Joe.”

  “Are you done?” Joe peered up at her.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. See you at home.” He waited and it didn’t take long. Andrea huffed and stormed from the office, slamming the door. Joe turned back to the typewriter.

  He set down the requisition. He didn’t want to type on it, not wanting to waste I, so he grabbed a slip of scrap paper from Andrea’s little holder. He rolled it in the typewriter, bringing the paper up a little. He peered over his glasses, placed his hands on the keys, and then typed the words, ‘this is a warning’. After he hit the return key, and the words barely inched their way up, Joe knew. He didn’t even need to take the paper out of the typewriter. He pulled the future note from his pocket, just to double check. He compared both notes. There was no mistake about it, the faulty type, the cut off capital letters, and the blue and black ink running together. The future note’s irregular and defective print was a dead match for the irregular and defective print of Andrea’s typewriter.

  Joe’s heart sunk.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Beginnings, Montana

  “It doesn’t mean anything Joe.” Henry handed Joe back the future note and the one Joe typed. “Anyone could have snuck in there and used the typewriter. To me, it’s not conclusive.”

  Joe sat behind his desk, actually Henry’s desk, leaning back in the chair, and looking at the two notes that laid before him. “Robbie, what do you think?”

  “I hate to do it but I have to agree with Henry. Just because it was her typewriter, doesn’t mean it was Andrea.” Robbie said. “What does your gut tell you, Dad?”

  “My gut.” Joe lifted the notes and dropped them. “My gut tells me . . . she typed the note. And . . .” Joe stopped when there was a knock at the door. “We’ll discuss this later . . . Come in!” Joe sat back with an ‘I’ve been expecting you’ look on his face when Ellen, so frightened, walked in.

  “Hey Joe.” Ellen was wearing Dean’s jean jacket. She shut the door and shook her arms nervously. “Cold out there. Hi, Henry.” She looked at Robbie, who stood up. “Hi.”

  Robbie inched his way to her as if Joe or Henry didn’t see him do it. He whispered, “I need to talk to you later.”

  “O.K.” Ellen looked around Robbie to see an impatient Joe. She waited until Robbie sat back down and then she took center room. “I’m still inconclusive on what is doing the killing. Our analysis program . . . um, it doesn’t . . .” She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. It doesn’t recognize the uh, animal.”

  Joe slowly rocked in his chair. He brought his folded hands up to his chin. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” Ellen said. “Whatever it is, uh . . . goes for the jugular vein first. Most of the body wounds thereafter are not bleeders meaning it goes for the throat, ripping and tearing until all movement stops and then it eats.”

  “The victim?” Joe questioned.

  “Yes,” Ellen answered.

  “And this is all you have for me.”

  “Well it only eats the fleshy parts. And . . .” Ellen reached into the inside jacket pocket and pulled out a pump spray bottle. “Here.” She set it on Joe’s desk.

  “What is this?” Joe picked it up.

  “Um, it’s this super, uh, anti-animal formula me and I conjured up.”

  “Super anti-animal formula? For what?” Joe asked.

  “It’s a mixture that will burn an animal’s mouth on contact. If the men spray it on their neck, the second the animal bites him, the animal will go no further. You may have an injury but probably not a devastating mangled mess of a death.”

  “Thank you for the colorful commentary.” Joe looked at the bottle. “This will burn the animal’s mouth?”

  “Yes. Really badly too. O.K.? That’s the best I can do now. Bye.”

  “Ellen,” Joe called out to her as he held the bottle closely to his nose. “This smells like straight garlic.”

  “Um . . . yeah. It is. Bye.” She hurried for the door again.

  “Hold it.” Joe set the bottle down. “Since when did garlic burn an animal’s mouth.”

  “It works on werewolves.” Ellen shrugged and lifted her arms.

  “Vampires,” Joe corrected.

  Robbie looked at Ellen. “This isn’t a joke because you said the animal rips apart the throat first. Is it?”

  “No.” Ellen shook her head. “It’ll work. Trust me. I think. Not ‘think’ that you should trust me. You should trust me. But think that it will . . .”

  “Ellen,” Joe stated her name harshly. “You’re saying this is an animal. Garlic won’t burn an animal’s mouth.”

  “That will.” Ellen pointed.

  “It’s garlic,” Joe said.

  “Yes.”

  “Garlic won’t do it. It’s an animal, Ellen, not vampires. We don’t have vampires in Beginnings.”

  Henry held up his finger. “If I may, Joe. You did say you felt like you were in a Stephen King novel”

  “Henry.” Joe looked at him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t.” Joe grabbed the bottle. “Now, Ellen . . .”

  “Bye, Joe.” Ellen waved and ran out the door.

  Joe, angry, stood up. “She knows something. I know she knows something.”

  Robbie turned from the closed door to his father. “What can we do though?”

  “You and you.” Joe pointed to Henry and Robbie. “Can do nothing but I have two doctors and a doctor wanna be who can pretty much make heads or tails out of her autopsy reports.” Joe sat back down. “And that’s where I’m gonna start.” He picked up his phone and dialed. “Andrea. It’s me. I have something you need to do for me.”

  ^^^^

  Binghamton. Alabama

  “What are they doing?” John asked Jess who watched Frank and Dean.

  “Staying out of sight while they talk.”

  “They should be back inside. Someone is going to see them together out there.”

  “Nah. They’re hidden. Look.” Jess handed John the binoculars.

  “Does it . . .” John lowered them from his face. “Does it look to you like they’re arguing?”

  “Yeah, but they wouldn’t be arguing. Catching up, maybe. I mean, they haven’t seen each other in a while. They’re on the same side. They’re probably just discussing George really in-depth and it’s making them look like that.”

  “Yeah.” John returned to watching them. “You’re probably right. What the hell could they possibly have to argue about anyhow?”

  ^^^^

  “Henry,” Frank said the name so insistently.

  “No, Frank. Robbie.”

  “Henry.”<
br />
  “Robbie,” Dean spoke argumentatively.

  “This whole conversation is pretty fuckin stupid.”

  “Go figure. You started it.”

  “Hey!”

  “Hey yourself, Frank.” Dean looked around to make sure they still remained behind the large storage building. He placed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Robbie.”

  “Henry.”

  “Frank, you haven’t been there in a month. I know.”

  “Don’t matter Dean. I know.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I know that she was living with fuckin Henry to stay neutral between us and . . . and.” Frank pointed. “You and I are gone. He’s gonna jump on it, especially since he thinks you really left Beginnings for the Society. In Henry’s eyes right now. You’re a gone man. I’m a dead man. He’s a lucky man and trust me. He’s gonna waste no time.” Frank nodded with assurance.

  “O.K., O.K. you have a point. But . . .”

  “No buts.”

  “Yes Frank but. I’m saying with all certainty, Robbie will go after Ellen.”

  “Robbie!” Frank scoffed. “Why in the world would Robbie go after Ellen in our absence if he knows your coming back and he knows me, his brother, is alive.”

  “Because I told him to make it look like Ellen turned to him when I left. I . . . I told him to watch over her and take care of her.”

  “Dean!” Frank blasted. “What the fuck? Oh, man.” Frank shook his head. “You gave the two most immoral people in Beginnings permission to play house. Oh, you have no one to blame if something happens. You gave the green light. You know Ellen.”

  “I know your brother too. That’s why I say Robbie’s taking advantage of us being gone. Of course I didn’t think they did after I heard they did it the one time in Ashtonville.”

  “They didn’t,” Frank said.

  “They did.” Dean told him. “El it happened when her and I broke up and she lived with him.”