Saboteur: A Novel

by J. Travis Phelps

  The man fell to his knees with a sharp groan and looking down could see his reflection in the blade that had penetrated him. His blood poured in a thick pool at his feet. He suddenly felt very light. He was about to say something, but felt no need. His eyes faded in and out, flickering from light to dark, then he was gone.

  Charlie Patterson stood over the body having slowly pulled the sword from the man’s chest as he fell. He had to struggle against the bone and gristle to remove it. There was no light left in the man’s eyes now, only a look of complete surprise, followed slowly by what seemed look of acceptance, peace. Patterson paced around the body finally shouting wildly:

  “I’ll kill you wherever I find you, Gaius! Are you listening you dog, you whore? Everywhere, every time!”

  He looked back down now and the corpse had taken on an almost mocking grin, like it knew something he did not. He was taunting him still, so he ran the blade directly into the dead man’s mouth, howling like a wild animal as he did so, finally decapitating him in a fury. The echoes pinged across the garden and off the walls of the nearby cliffs. Patterson finally bent over, dropping the sword, still panting from the slaughter. He was completely covered in blood now. He had some of it in his eyes even. He knelt at the base of the statue tracing his fingers around the letters VERITAS, tears streaming down his face.

  “I love you, my dearest Samara my sweet little girl,” he said, shaking all over.

  He tried composing himself before reaching into his bag for the paper and pen. He started to write:

  Sweets, I love you more than I have words to express. Don’t be afraid. We will see each other again soon. Right now I am trapped in an impossible situation, but soon I will be able to come to you. I love you

  He tried wiping the blood from the page, but only smeared more. He had to get the letter to her as quickly as possible. He pulled another page from his bag and started writing:

  Jacob, I need to send a letter. It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask you to do. I mean it this time. Please get here as quickly as you can. It’s Samara, it’s her only chance.

  Chapter XIX

  Walking up the front steps to his house Downy could see the bucket, some water and foam still inside from when he and Naomi had last washed the car together. She had laughed at the care he took, since the car was such a relic. Finally, she had simply dumped the bucket over him and at the end on to the both of them. Her tiny, thin t-shirt was soaked through so thoroughly that things had turned very playful, ending in the garage with the door only half closed. He thought of her pants halfway off, one leg at the ankle. The bucket looked old and sad to him now. He’d remembered throwing the bucket out he thought. He opened the front door and could see a bottle of his best scotch sitting on the table, the lid off. He had not left it there. Had the cops raided his liquor cabinet too? He walked over to the table and could see a note under the bottle. The writing was instantly familiar. Charlie’s.

  I had no choice but to do this. Forgive me.

  Jesus, he thought. Had Taro been right? Taro had predicted he would see Charlie again. Was this what he meant? It was almost impossible for Downy to imagine his best friend capable of such a horrific crime. But it was something else about Taro that troubled him even more. Taro didn’t act like a man guilty of murder. He was strangely dispossessed of anxiety in fact. Then again, maybe that’s exactly how a killer might behave. A sociopath. He’d drugged him after all. That was the only rational explanation to all this. He looked anxiously around the room. Police tape was still draped across the entrance to the ground floor guestroom where Samara had--he couldn’t bear to think of it. He walked to the back patio taking in the view of the horizon. The gray clouds sped past revealing only flashes of blue sky above.

  He collapsed into the chair and let out a long sigh. He thought of getting up for a drink, but it felt too good having his eyes closed. The cool breeze had never felt so much like freedom and he breathed it in deeply. There were cops across the street watching the house, so he felt free to doze, to rest finally. He closed his eyes slowly and awakened in the same room where he had last dreamed of Samara. He could smell amber in the air. The high priest was bent over a pool of water washing his hands now. His back was turned to Downy, who knew he was only dreaming and so floated across the room to get a closer look. The man suddenly turned to him. His face was painted red. He smiled a toothy, malevolent grin.

  “What is this place?” he heard himself asking.

  He looked into the darkness across the room, where he could see men in chains on the floor writhing in agony.

  “She is there,” the man said pointing at a statue. Blood raced down the face of the stone effigy of a beautiful young woman. It was Samara’s face.

  “Wake up, dear boy. Wake up,” he heard a voice repeating in his ear.

  He sprung up and sitting over him stood Charlie. It was now nearly dark outside, so he must have been sleeping for hours.

  “Jesus Charlie, how did you get in?!”

  “I have been forced to come. Don’t worry, the police saw nothing. It’s the travel

  with Taro that has you so fatigued, dear boy. You needn’t bother explaining to the cops. You’ll go straight to the loony bin.”

  Downy stumbled to his feet.

  “Did you write that note on the table?”

  “I wasn’t sure I could make it at all or that I’d see you again, so to be sure I, I left it.”

  “What do you have no choice about?”

  “The Samara you had here in your home was not my daughter, Noah,” he said soberly. Not really. We’re all trying to get back to the point of origin you see, but it’s never ending. A fucking box within a box within a box. He always outthinks us.” Charlie hung his head looking defeated.

  “Taro?”

  “Yes, Taro. That’s not his real name of course. He borrowed that moniker from an old book. He will come soon to tell you the truth. His truth.

  “Why does he think you killed Samara, Charlie?”

  “I did. I did it to free her, I swear. There is no life after the Vestals appear, only a long, pointless chase through hell. It ends in darkness, bitter suffering.”

  “You killed Samara, Charlie?

  Patterson stared forward and one of his hands began to tremor uncontrollably.

  “I drugged her first, to sleep. Then I suffocated her with a pillow. It was a mercy killing. I had to use what was available. I had no idea the police would use it to pin it on you. The cutting was after the fact, not my doing. Taro probably did it to lead them astray; he planned to frame you all along, I’m sure. He’s cunning, so very cunning.”

  Downy stood up from his chair back-pedaling.

  “Then why did he help me get out?”

  “I want to tell you how it started. It’s still unbelievable to me. Tell me dear boy, what man of such wealth and power guards his own treasure like a fucking dragon? I never imagined he was on to me.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Noah, do you remember Old Professor Blythe?”

  “Hal Blythe, of course?”

  “Ah, but you only knew him as an old man, I forget. He was a truly remarkable teacher once. I saw him while he was still in his prime giving a lecture on Rome that was the most riveting thing I’ve ever witnessed. I sometimes think my whole career started then, that very day. He talked of Rome as if he were describing a place he had visited on some idyllic vacation, like he had hovered over her in a dream. It was the most sublime mediation on any subject I had ever experienced. He talked of the streets, piss pots flying out the windows, the smell of the alleys, food cooking, people running from place to place. The grind of life, so familiar to our own. He took us to the temples, where he described their already ancient rituals, the sublimation, the mass convocation with the gods, some of whom even walked amongst them from time to time. You might meet Hera herself in a tavern and be seduced some starry evening. Your offspring could claim divine heritage. The gods and goddesses were amongst them, not above them
, not distant.: their lush gardens, still wild really. The young servant girls and boys in their dressing gowns, covered in jewels, the great men of importance at the fountain talking of business, politics, of philosophy. A man might have his dinner, put his wife happily off to bed, and then take his pleasure in the baths with the slave girls or boys if he wished. He’d invite a friend over to sell a scheme or two. As evening came the night sky was as a sea you might fall into. The majesty of it utterly escapes us today. It was the first, vast theater. We barely bother looking up now.”

  “Why are you telling me this Charlie?”

  “Because I could never believe he hadn’t actually been there. And I was right.”

  Patterson snatched at his spectacles wiping tears from his face.

  “Not a person in the room at that lecture could speak when he finished. Few of us even left our seats. We erupted in frenzied applause after. It was like a baptism. That one spark has stayed with me all these years, so when Jacob told me he’d been using the pond secretly, I knew it was wrong, but what he offered I simply couldn’t refuse.”

  “What did he offer you?”

  “My heart’s greatest hope--to see it. Isn’t that the lure for us all, Noah, the pull of the past?”

  Patterson’s look became one of bewilderment. He sighed like a child.

  “So he took me to the very doorsteps of the men I had held in my heart as heroes since I was a boy.”

  “To Rome?”

  “Yes, at first we were only spies. Noah, it was the greatest adventure I have ever taken, please understand. It was as if I had been reborn. I was an old man on one final joyride, the ultimate vacation. I can’t explain how many ways my heart broke in the bliss of it. I was so alive there. I was amongst brethren for the first time in my life. Except for you of course dear boy,” he said grabbing his arm affectionately. Patterson’s eyes swelled with tears.

  “What happened?”

  “We wanted to bring back some of what we saw. I wanted you, Samara, everyone to see these precious things, to taste them.” Charlie held up his hands as if to hold something invisible.

  “Taro says you stole from him, Charlie.” Downy went suddenly silent, realizing what Charlie actually meant. “Taro is from there, from Rome, from the past?”

  “He will come to you tomorrow and I have agreed to prepare you for him.”

  “For what?”

  “For what he calls ‘The great interview’.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tomorrow you will meet with Gaius Julius Caesar my friend, in the flesh.”

  Downy slapped his hands against knees, letting out sardonic yelp.

  “Charlie, that’s insane.”

  An unexpected noise moved from behind them.

  “I’ll say.”

  They both heard a click.

  “Stay right where you are, Mr. Patterson.”

  Detective Sullivan moved slowly around to block the sliding door, pointing a revolver at Patterson. “This is Patterson right? You can confirm an ID for me, Professor Downy?”

  “You tricked me, you staked this out?”

  “I had a feeling your emotions might keep you from seeing clearly is all. Nothing personal, ok?”

  Patterson looked at Downy imploringly. “You can’t let him take me, Noah. Things will be much, much worse.”

  “You know, Mr. Patterson, I’ve never heard a defense quite like yours. So, it was basically your daughter’s stunt double you murdered, not her, something like that?”

  “Gentlemen, I beg you, I simply cannot be apprehended this night.” Patterson looked at Downy again and switching to Latin spoke slowly. “Serva te constituam Gaius cost.”

  Then Patterson leapt over the edge of the balcony into the darkness below.

  Downy screamed “No!” while both men watched him plummet silently down to the distant trees below. It looked much too far to survive. Sullivan grabbed his radio and called for help from the cops out front.

  “Stay here, don’t move and don’t go anywhere,” he said locking eyes with Downy. He nodded his head in silent agreement, staring out onto the darkening horizon, but could see nothing, absolutely nothing.

  Chapter XX

  When the girl awoke she realized she was no longer in her bed. Her body was stiff and bruised, but she was breathing normally again. She thought she could sit up now, at least without fainting. She’d only just lay down to sleep she remembered, but couldn’t because of the noises from the room above. Noah was upstairs with Naomi. Her reaction had confused her. She was both excited and angry at the same time, thinking about the two of them up there alone. Then she heard a man’s voice in a whisper.

  “Danny, Danny Flem, Danny Fleming,” he repeated.

  “Your name is Danny Fleming,” she whispered back.

  There was a long pause.

  The man’s voice came again, now in a whimper. “I’m a football player. I have a wife named Tara Fleming and two kids: Jeremiah and Tommy Fleming.” The man sounded deeply shaken.

  “Ok, ok, how did you get here?”

  “I can’t remember. I’m losing my memories, but I know I live at 110 W. Lewis St, San Diego CA 921….9211.” He sobbed in the darkness.

  Then she heard another voice louder and gruffer over his.

  “He’s a cop, he’s been down here ten years. Who are you?”

  She paused before speaking. It could be a trap she realized.

  “I can’t remember,” she said shakily.

  “I haven’t heard you before, they just put you in?”

  “I think so,” she replied.

  “But you don’t remember your name?”

  There was another long pause.

  “My name’s Tackett; I’m a cop too. Look, we gotta trust each other if we’re gonna get out of here, ok? You need to tell me who you are and how you got down here.”

  She was too frightened to hold back any longer. “My name is Samara, Samara Lee Patterson,” she said in a tense whisper.

  “Is that so?” the man replied. Now he sounded like the suspicious one.

  “Yes, I’m Samara Patterson.”

  “Is your father by chance named Charles, Professor Charles Patterson?”

  “Yes, yes he is. How did you know that?”

  “Oh nothing, it’s just that I investigated your murder recently.”

  “My murder what do you mean my murder? I was asleep, or passed out I think, that’s all I can remem--”

  “Yeah, but I saw your dead body with my own eyes, you were ID’ d by several friends and relatives in fact.”

  “What, that’s crazy?”

  “Is it? Come on, who are you really?”

  “I am telling you, I am Samara Lee Patterson and I am very much alive.”

  It seemed like the man might not answer back.

  “Let’s pretend that’s true. Any idea who took you, Miss Samara Patterson?”

  “No, not really. Everyone I’ve seen, their faces are covered, hidden. I was with friends at their house, we’d been drinking. I passed out I think. What do you know about my father?”

  “Nothing much, he died suspiciously.”

  “Yes, it was so strange, the note. You’re a cop?”

  “Yes, my partner was investigating your--is investigating your case.”

  The other voice whispered frantically in the darkness.

  “I’ve never heard anyone come back. My name is Danny Fleming and I’ve never heard anyone come back, after they take them away they never come back.” He sounded blank and confused.

  “Can we get out of here?”

  “Yeah sure, the doors are open now.”

  The girl looked at the door, which was slightly ajar, noticing for the first time.

  “We can escape then?”

  “Maybe we’re gonna find we’re in a bigger cage is all. I don’t think it was left open accidentally.”

  “But we can’t just stay down here either in the dark, we’ll end up--”

  “Then we do it t
ogether.”

  “Ok.”

  Chapter XXI

  “Could someone remove that goddamn tape please,” Sullivan said pointing to the black suited agents. “I’m sorry you had to come home to that.”

  “It’s ok.”

  “So, did you have any indication before his disappearance that Charlie Patterson was having mental or emotional problems?”

  He thought of the picture of Freud above their table at Woody’s. “No, none.”

  “Any idea where he would go? Did he give any indication?”

  “He’s been away so long it’s hard to imagine.” Downy sipped at the cup of tea the officers had put in front of him.

  “The problem is of course we’ve lost our only bargaining chip. Any guess why he is treating this laurel as authentic?”

  “You heard what he said. My friend is clearly quite ill.”

  In his mind though, flashed images of the girls from Taro’s place. He could hear them still whispering in his ear and he felt a sudden urge for the bitterness of the tea. The accompanying wave in his stomach gnarled in a knot and he felt another tremor of craving for it, for the drug. Sullivan nodded silently.

  “Who is this Taro he keeps referring to? Excuse me, but are you feeling ok professor?”

  Downy waived his hand dismissively.

  “It’s a student of mine actually, just a nutty guy who was trying to be supportive during all of this.”

  “Do you know his full name by chance?”

  “No, he is a new student really, he was in my course for only a few weeks, but he should be on my roster. My secretary--”

  “And Patterson thinks he’s a dead Roman emperor, something like that?”

  He shrugged. “By the looks of it.”

  “What was it he said before he jumped? It sounded like a foreign language, what was it? Italian?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense. He said to ‘keep my appointment’ or something like that, it was Latin actually.”

  “Well, we’re combing the canyons and neighborhoods, we’ll find him. In the meantime, I need you to stay put. Officers will be here, just outside until we do.”