by Michael Rigg
"Excellent. And the submersibles?" Terrace held up the wrinkled papers and read, "Yes, sir. Two of them. The Stravitskov and the Republic."
"And they can go that deep?"
"The Stravitskov is rated for 3,000 fathoms, sir, the Republic for 4,000."
Thorne smiled. "Good. That's good, right?"
Terrace nodded. "Well, sir, according to geodetic surveys we pulled from Landry Holdings through our thinking machine, the site is in excess of 3,500 fathoms. It'll be tight for both, nearly impossible for the Stravitskov, which I plan to have on hand for assist—"
Thorne raised a silencing hand. "That'll do, Admiral. Just make sure I'll have accommodations aboard your flagship."
The admiral nodded. "Aye, sir."
"Dismissed," Thorne said with a yawn and an idle wave.
The admiral clicked his heels, parked his enormous Napoleonic hat on his head, spun, and exited the conference room.
Thorne turned to Wolfe just as his partner was waking from his post-newspaper nap. "Landry can't change his mind now, Nigel. The whole Imperial navy will be protecting our latest acquisition."
"Indeed, Bradford," Nigel Wolfe yawned.
Thorne started to speak again but the intercom on the conference table buzzed. He walked over to it and snapped the toggle switch. "Yes, Miss Norris?"
"Mr. Thorne, there is a Mr. Grubbs to see you."
Thorne grinned widely and raised an eyebrow to Wolfe. "See? And now we'll find out all we need to know about this mystery woman." To the com speaker, he said, "Send him in. Immediately."
"Yes sir."
A moment later, Perek Grubbs entered the conference room, his black velvet suit shushing quietly with each step as he pulled leather gloves over his hands. Grubbs smiled and nodded to both of his former bosses. "Good morning, gentlemen."
Wolfe's eyes widened and Thorne's eyebrows crawled half the distance to this hairline. His handlebar mustache twitched. "Well, well, well, look who we have here, Mr. Dasher VonDashing." Thorne clapped his hands twice, applauding the entrance mockingly, before lowering his hands and scowling with irritation. "I sincerely hope your trip to Philadelphia wasn't just to stop at the finer men's tailors in the city."
Grubbs pulled out a chair near the end of the conference table, sat down and kicked his feet up on the shiny surface. "Not at all, Bradford." He nodded to the other partner in the room. "Nigel."
Thorne's normally-pasty pallor deepened to crimson. A huff of air escaped his nostrils as he turned and marched toward a desk near the corner by the two corporate thrones. As he moved to the desk and pulled open a drawer, he said, "I don't find this amusing, Perek. Not in the least." He pulled a long-barreled chrome revolver from the center drawer and checked to see that it was loaded. "And you know full well I'm not used to being spoken to in that manner by an underling. I've killed employees for less."
"Quite right," Grubbs grinned, "And forgive me for not re-introducing myself."
Thorne slowly walked back to where Grubbs sat, his arms folded and the enormous chrome pistol tucked under his armpit. Nigel Wolfe's forehead dotted with beads of sweat. He reached into his vest pocket and produced a pair of earplugs which he crammed into each ear.
Thorne said, "I'm listening, Grubbs, and frustration is building."
Grubbs stretched and crossed his legs atop the table at the ankle, flicked out his cuffs and tucked his hands behind his head, leaning the chair back on two legs. "The name is Vice President Perek Grubbs of Hearse & Grubbs... Incorporated."
Thorne's lips were tight under the handlebar beneath his nose. He breathed loudly through flared nostrils and sharpened his gaze. After a long pause, he spoke, choosing to forget Perek's introduction. "What do you have for me on the woman with Bryce Landry?"
Grubbs shrugged one shoulder disinterestedly and inspected his manicure. "Well, that kind of information will cost you, Brad. My employer—my new employer—sent me to negotiate a deal on the information."
"And who is this new employer," Thorne said quickly, sneering.
"His name is Teivel Hearse. And soon, he and I will own Thorne & Wolfe. Imperial business holdings are too weak separated from each other. Mr. Hearse suggests massive mergers across the country. I promise to keep you on as my valet, Bradford, if you prom—"
Grubbs never finished his taunt. Silver flashed in Thorne's hand as the revolver appeared and he fired two shots point-blank into Perek Grubbs' heart and one into his throat. The tall windows vibrated in their panes as the pistol roared, Grubbs toppled backward, his eyes wide with dead shock, blown out of the chair by the force of the heavy pistol.
Thorne turned to Wolfe and sneered. "He was building frustration, Nigel. You know how I hate that!"
Wolfe pulled the plugs from his ears and frowned. "He was a good man, Bradford. A shame. Though really quite unstable this morning."
"Indeed." Thorne set the pistol on the shiny table surface and picked up his coffee with no more thought than if he'd just let out the cat.
"I wonder what he knew about the damsel," Wolfe wondered aloud.
Thorne shrugged, turning to the tall window. He frowned and fisted his trembling hands. He could no longer smell the coffee, only gun smoke. His morning was ruined. "I don't care, Nigel. I'll soon have Atlantis. If there is anything to this phantom woman story, we'll soon learn it, no? I can't imagine Landry would keep the bitch secret if he thought there was anything to her. We acquire Atlantis first, then we acquire the woman."
Nigel harrumphed and nodded. "Important thing is acquisition, Bradford, always."
"Always."
“I do wonder what young Grubbs was going on about, though. This Hearse? Have you heard of him?”
Thorne puckered his mustache to one side of his face and shook his head as if irritated. “Never. Probably some Rhode Island bumpkin thinks he can match toes with me. Not on my watch.”
"I wonder if...."
Thorne turned to his partner as Wolfe's voice trailed off. The fat man stared, his eyes open and showing white all around his irises. He pointed past Thorne, his jowls flapping soundlessly.
Thorne spun around in time to catch Perek Grubbs getting to his feet and dusting off his black velvet trousers.
"Uh," Grubbs said, "This was a new suit, Bradford." When he spoke, his voice came with a raspy gargle. The torn vocal chords and esophagus flapped in his open throat as air vibrated in and out of his lungs. The bullet holes in his chest, brown with stagnant blood, wept with each breath he took.
Thorne stumbled back a few steps, his eyes and jaw imitating his partner's as he watched the should-be-dead man lift the revolver from the table top. Grubbs smiled. "It's perfectly legal to kill a former employee, and I'm sure despite my new position you'd be able to trump up something about corporate espionage.
"No worries." Grubbs shrugged. "You can listen to me now, right? I mean... it's important I get your full attention for my lord, Mr. Hearse."
Thorne's jaw continued to work and he glanced around as if he'd find another weapon capable of bringing down a man who was already dead—or should be. He said, "H-How did?"
"Calm down, Brad."
"I-I don't—"
Grubbs sighed and enunciated slowly, "I need you to be rational. Calm. Down. Bradford."
"H-How did y-you—?"
"We need to be placed in a position of impoverished fear, Brad, like I was... so you can show Lord Hearse the proper respect." Grubbs lifted the revolver and formed a straight line with his arm and pointed the gun at Nigel Wolfe. The revolver bucked in his hand as he pulled the trigger. The gun roared from the muzzle flash and Thorne watched as a black dot appeared on Wolfe's forehead, a fan of red spraying out on the chair behind him.
Nigel Wolfe slumped dead in his chair.
Thorne squealed and held his hands up to defend himself uselessly. A dark spot spread on the front of his trousers. "P-Perek, I—"
Grubbs held the smoking barrel to his lips and said, "Sssh," then he tossed the gun to Thorne who caught it, whimpering, in trembling hands.
Grubbs held up his leather gloved hands. "Like I said, it's legal to kill me—which you have." He nodded to Wolfe's corpse. "But your partner?" He made a tisking sound behind his teeth. "Fingerprints, Brad... I guess frustration builds." Grubbs repeated the "tisk" sound before collapsing to the ground like a broken marionette.
Dead.
CHAPTER 19, “Alice in Wanderland”
My neck hurt. My back throbbed. My vision was a blur of white.
"She wakes," a soft male voice said from the white.
I was sitting on something cold and hard, my head bent far forward as if I were slouching on a bench, my legs spread out, knees bent and feet on a cold, hard floor. As my vision began to focus, I saw my own breasts, a dark thatch of hair between my legs, bruises on my thighs and knees. I heard movement, fabric brushing, footsteps on a hard floor. In the distance, like down an unseen hall, I heard machinery, clanking. ...Chains?
"Let her come back to us, slowly."
I blinked, blinked harder, squinting against the glare of the room even with my eyes cast down at my own nakedness. "Who..?" I managed without lifting my head.
"Oh, look! She speaks," a soft woman's voice said.
The man replied, "Listen to her. Let's hear what she has to say."
“She's only going to start screaming again.”
“If that's all she has to say, I want to hear it.”
“Nothing useful can come of this.”
“Something useful always comes of this,” the man said, with emphasis on 'useful' and 'always'.
My neck felt like liquid lead, my head throbbed, but I forced it upright so I could see who was talking. I gasped when I saw them, drawing a sharp breath as my eyes opened wide and I remembered the black room, the torture with the prodding electric fork. "No!"
The pale faced man said, "Relax. You are safe."
"Yes. Relax. You are safe."
I screamed, "You lied to me! I'm not safe here!"
"You are."
"Yes. You are. Safety is relative."
The room gradually came into focus. I could see walls and corner, everything the same stark porcelain white, even the floor. The man and the woman stepped around from behind me and peered down at me. Both wore black Victorian clothes, he a wide lapel frock jacket with tails, her a whispering skirt and corset. Both looked at me with coal black eyes from pale eye sockets, their matching silver hair groomed perfectly. In the brightness of the room and the lightness of their skin and hair all I could see were their eyes, their dark, threatening eyes. I looked away.
I reached behind my back and touched the sore throbbing spot where they tortured me. The skin there was hot and bumpy but my fingers came back without any blood. "What did you do to me!?"
The man said, "We prepared you."
"Yes. We prepared you."
"Prepared me for what?" I yelled, my voice echoing off the walls. "Where's Ray? What have you done with Ray?"
The woman licked her lips and glanced to the man. Her look was lascivious. "He has already been prepared."
"We re-purposed him."
I tried to stand, but couldn't, so I wrapped my arms around my nakedness and lowered my head. I lifted my feet off the floor and brought my legs together. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
"We're not doing this," the woman said with the same tone she'd use on a child, like she was scolding me softly.
The man said, "You are doing this. You came to us, remember?" He glanced at the woman. “Oh, isn't it sweet. She really doesn't remember.”
“Good. She's not supposed to.”
"Yes. You came to us,” the man said to me, his black eyes softening slightly, “You wanted to be the solution."
"Solution to what? Tell me!"
The woman laughed. It was a cold sound. “She truly doesn't know!”
"The re-purposing has begun."
Nothing was making sense. I started to feel my mind go, my memories. It seemed the longer I sat talking to these silver haired strangers, the more my memories faded. I forgot how I got here. I forgot my own name. I was starting to forget ...Ray?
I dug my knuckles into my temples, snarled at the absence I was feeling. "Wh-What's happening to me? Why can't I remember?"
"You are being re-purposed."
"Re-purposed, yes. You will be the solution."
"As you requested,” the man sneered, “You asked for this. Don't you remember?” he mocked.
I felt myself getting weaker, my strength draining away and my body becoming heavier and heavier.
"But who... who are you?"
The man touched a long-fingered hand to his chest and smiled. He said, "My name is Alpha."
"I guess that makes me Omega," the woman smiled and raised her thin eyebrows at me. Then she looked at the man and smiled. “Oh. Alpha and Omega. I like that one.”
My eyelids felt weighted down. I could barely maintain a focus on them. "And... who...
Who am... Who am I?"
"You are—"
"Alice!"
I woke from the nightmare with a jolt, pawing at the comforter knotted around my legs. The bright white light was all around me, but it quickly faded, softened, formed a frame around a wide window, flowers in a garden beyond, four posts of a tall bed.
I remembered. Addy's room. I shouted in surprise when my eyes fell upon a blond girl in a white dress standing at the foot of the bed. She stood with the netting pulled around her shoulders and stared at me with a wide smile, two of her front teeth missing, freckles dotting her nose and cheeks.
"Sorry, Alice. I didn't mean to scare ya 'wake."
"Who are you?" I said as I pulled the comforter up around me and scooted back against the bed's enormous headboard. "How did you get in here?"
The little girl held up a skeleton key. "Roddy made it for me. Long time ago. But it's hush-hush, 'kay?"
The girl's accent was a miniature of Adeline Landry's. She had a lot of Bryce's features in her face but the soft roundness of Adeline. Then, as awareness flowed slowly back to me, I began to separate the dream from the real. Well... whatever real this was supposed to be. "You're Savannah?"
She nodded and somehow her smile became brighter. "I heard you was a witch and come to visit us."
I shook my head. "No... No, Savannah, I'm not a witch. I'm just lost."
"Got no memories?"
I shook my head.
"Don't know where yer from?"
I smiled softly, pouting my lip in what I figured was a pitiable expression. "No. No, sweetheart, I don't."
"You sound like a Northerner. You a Yankee?"
I shrugged. "I don't know, but I suppose I am if I sound like one."
"Not necessarily."
I felt my shoulders dip as I relaxed a bit. "You're a very smart young lady."
She curtsied. "Thank ya kindly."
Wincing against the fading nightmare and realization that I'd slept pretty hard; my neck ached and I felt stiff all over, I said, "What time is it?"
"Somewheres after lunch, I reckon. Adeline's been busy helpin' mother, so I thought I'd come stir ya for somethin' to eat."
As if almost on cue, my stomach rumbled softly. I ran my hand over my face and my fingers through my hair. "Oh, then I suppose I should get up and get dressed, huh?"
Savannah came around to the side of the bed and pulled open the accordion doors to Adeline's wide walk-in closet. "You can pick some
thin' from here. Addy won't mind."
"You sure?" I smiled.
She nodded and skipped to the door. "I'll leave ya to sort it out. When yer ready, just come n' see me in the hall n' I'll take you to the kitchen."
I gave her a tiny wave, wiggling my fingers.
After Savannah was gone, I got up and made the bed. I stepped into the closet. Moving up and down the rows and sifting through the bright colored items on wooden hangars, I didn't find much beyond dresses and gowns. Then I found a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt and pulled them on after removing the bedclothes and folding them politely on the bed. Out in the parlor room I found the canvas shoes Pandora had picked out for me and slipped them back on. My hair had dried somewhat, but remained an auburn tangled mess, so I found a brush on the bureau in Adeline's bedroom and began to brush out the tangles.
That's when Addy and Savannah came in.
"Well, you look rested," Addy smiled.
"Thank you. I am," I smiled at her, waved at Savannah who bounded into the room and jumped up on the bed.
"I knew she weren't no witch," Savannah giggled. "She's too perty!"
Addy smiled. "Yeah, she cleaned up nice didn't she?" She parked her weight on one hip and looked me over. "Oh, but that outfit will never do, no ma'am. You look like you're ready to go out and work the fields, Alice."
"Work the fields," Savannah repeated with a giggle.
"Oh," I stammered. "Sorry. I didn't know, I..."
"No worries." Addy moved to her closet and shuffled through some things. I turned back to the mirror as I heard the hangers making 'shicking' sounds across their bar. By the time I'd worked my hair into a presentable ponytail, Addy and Savannah appeared with a sky blue dress with a white bodice and a pair of white shoes with a slight heel.
"I don't much care for the bodice, but I think you've got bosom enough to fill it out. You're a bit bigger than me in that department. And I'm sure I have a matching blue ribbon for your hair."
Savannah giggled at the mention of my "bosom."
I looked at the dress, which was admittedly beautiful, but then I glanced back at myself in the bureau's mirror and said, "I know I don't remember much, Addy, but I somehow don't think I was much of a dress person where I'm from."
