Project Armageddon

by Michael Stephens

  “Hey Sweetie,” said Emma, pleasantly.

  Abbie raised her eyebrows and slowly rolled her head towards Emma. Her actions were lethargic and lacked any meaningful response. She looked exhausted and surprised to see Emma even though she just climbed in.

  Abbie said nothing. She blinked slowly at Emma. She then rolled her head back to its original position, staring vacantly out the back of the ambulance.

  Emma squeezed her hand to regain Abbie’s focus. It worked as she rolled her eyes back to Emma.

  “They told me you ran into the building, what were you thinking?” said Emma.

  “They said Daddy was hurt,” said Abbie, her words fogged the oxygen mask. “I wanted to help.”

  Emma’s brow furrowed. Her face brooded with empathy. She squeezed Abbie’s hand tight and reassuringly. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

  Abbie turned to the EMT. “Can I take this off?” She pointed to the mask.

  She nodded. “Keep it close. If you start having a hard time breathing, put it back on.”

  Emma helped Abbie remove the mask and placed it in Abbie’s lap.

  “I ran in and,” Abbie paused, “it was terrible. It was the most awful thing I’d ever seen.” There was no emotion in Abbie’s voice. No intonation. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. “They just left him there.”

  “Honey, don’t get worked up again,” cautioned Emma.

  “It’s fine, Emma, I want to get it out.”

  “Okay.”

  Abbie wiped the tears that ran down her cheeks and sniffed. “They shot him, Emma. The bastards that did this. They shot him all over and just left him. Why would they leave him?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Emma. “Why did they shoot him?”

  There was a long pause before Abbie answered. “I don’t know.”

  Chapter 13

  The next three days were like a bad drug trip for Abbie. The crime scene of her father’s torturous death plagued her at night, robbing her of any sleep. Her lack of sleep made her appear like a zombie during that day. There was an imaginary fog that surrounded the part of her brain that made decisions. She rarely answered any question asked of her on the first try, and her first response to most requests was to ask the person to repeat what they asked.

  Emma was Abbie’s saving grace. She gave Abbie a couple days to mourn but did not stand for Abbie hibernating in her room with the blackout curtains closed tight. Emma knew that would only add to her depression. She needed Abbie to face the reality of the situation, which called for moments of tough love.

  Emma decided the third day after her father’s death was Abbie’s day to return to the world. It started with Emma letting herself in Abbie’s apartment at seven that morning, forcing Abbie to shower and brush her hair and teeth. Next, a small amount of breakfast, followed by planning her father’s funeral.

  Emma struggled with keeping Abbie focused and motivated to complete the task at hand. Abbie wanted to return to the safety of her dark room, which Emma refused. Then there was Abbie’s mind drifting to the reality that her father was dead. She was parentless. The thought erupted a strong emotional response in Abbie that had her using most of the box of tissues.

  The process was therapeutic for Abbie. The first few hours were challenging, but hours turned to days. On the final few days before the funeral, Abbie was almost back to behaving like a typical human, except for refusing to drive. Her last time behind the wheel scared the hell out of her. Emma drove when she could. Otherwise, Abbie relied on taxis or Lyft.

  Chapter 14

  The day of Dr. Anthony Talbot’s funeral arrived. Abbie wore a tasteful black ensemble that Emma bought for her. Abbie got ready without any distractions and only a few tears. Emma would remind her that tears are healthy, especially today of all days.

  Emma and David picked Abbie up from her apartment and headed to the gravesite. It was a beautiful day that included lovely blue skies with the occasional cotton ball of a cloud, and a mild sun that warmed just enough to offset the cool breeze.

  They arrived a little early at the gravesite. The setting looked astonishing. A large tent towered over the well-manicured hole in the ground beside Abbie’s mother’s headstone. Abbie brushed the smooth marble edges of her mother’s headstone compassionately with her hand.

  “Hey, Momma,” she said with a smile. “Daddy’s coming soon. You’ll be together again.” She smiled as her eyes teared joyfully. Abbie stood. The rows of flowers went forever and amazed her. She joked with herself—I can start my own flower shop—which brought out another smile and a small laugh. Next to the casket stand and flowers was an easel with a poster-size picture of her father. It was a recent headshot he used for his latest book. Abbie loved that picture of him because it was a genuine smile caused by her doing something silly while the photographer snapped the picture. She could not remember what she did, and it did not matter. It was a good memory of her dad.

  Abbie took in the enormity of the venue. At least two hundred chairs were neatly ordered in rows and aisles under the protection of the tent. Abbie thought that was a bit ambitious. Her father knew many people from many walks of life, but it seemed a bit excessive.

  An hour passed, and Abbie’s thoughts of the ambitious seating arrangements were debunked. The two hundred plus seats went fast. People were standing in the back, on the sides, and anywhere else they could find to pay their respects to the well-liked professor and researcher. Abbie knew her father had friends, but the turnout was simply glorious. To think her father touched so many people in some way or fashion brought a warm glow within Abbie. She was thankful for the waterproof makeup Emma got her because the proceedings were just starting, and she was overwhelmed with positive emotion. Abbie was enthusiastically happy to know that her father impacted so many people.

  The service was beautiful. The University Choir performed an outstanding version of “Amazing Grace.” Abbie was impressed by how some of the ladies could cry and sing at the same time. Abbie smiled. She remembered how her father doted on her about everything she would do, except singing. He’d always tell her she could not carry a note in a wheelbarrow.

  Abbie did not speak at the funeral, but a few of her father’s closest friends had the opportunity. There was nothing but praise for her father, funny moments that made the crowd laugh, and an overwhelming feeling of loss. Many of those who spoke needed a few seconds to compose themselves as they spoke fondly of Anthony Talbot and the friendship he shared with them.

  The service ended. The minister prayed over Dr. Talbot’s casket as it lowered into the ground. A long, single-file line formed by those who came to pay their respects. Each person took a white rose from a large display and laid it on the lowered casket as they passed it and then exiting to pay their respects to the family—to Abbie.

  One-by-one, they all passed Abbie, consoling her, some giving her letters while others who knew her and her father well would give her a hug and peck on the cheek. Many were unfamiliar to her. Abbie knew her father dealt with many people outside the University with all the books he published, his cancer research. She could not know them all.

  The line was long but growing smaller. Many of Dr. Talbot’s students, past and present, hugged Abbie—all of them with a common sentiment; he was like a father to them too. People kept coming to give their condolences. Old people, young people, some with kids, some without kids, a man in a dark suit with a Ukrainian accent, and a young woman who clearly wore too much perfume. Finally, the end of the line, a man in a very nice suit.

  “Ms. Talbot,” he said. He opened his hands, inviting Abbie’s.

  She accepted.

  He looked into her eyes. “Darius Vogel.”

  Abbie tried to put his face and name together and recall where and if she had met him. “Thank you for coming, I apologize, but I don’t recognize you, Mr. Vogel.”

  “No apology needed,” he said softly and compassionately. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. Your father and I go back severa
l years—research on different types of cancer research.”

  “You researched together?” asked Abbie.

  Vogel laughed politely, “Oh no,” he said. “Your father was the brains behind it all. I funded the research through my pharmaceutical company, GenRex.” Vogel held Abbie’s hand politely. He said, with empathy, “Your father was a brilliant man. A kind man. He will be missed. I miss him already.”

  In a line of over two hundred people, this was not the first time Abbie heard someone say this or some variant of it. She had her response prepared. “Thank you, Mr. Vogel. Thank you for remembering my father.”

  Chapter 15

  The wake at Dr. Talbot’s house was a more intimate and casual setting than his funeral. Dr. Talbot’s house was large, not a mansion, but excessively large for a single person. It was a proper setting for Anthony’s wake. He had many close friends and colleagues, most of which knew Abbie, but she did not know them.

  Abbie felt strange in her father’s house. It looked exactly the way it was more than a decade ago when they had her mother’s wake. She was on a first-name basis with most of her mother’s friends. But today, Abbie was putting on a performance. Smiling and thanking people who were complete strangers to her. She entrusted Mr. Bailey, her father’s attorney, with screening those who attended, but she felt more alone than if she were in the house by herself.

  Abbie amicably escorted an older woman and her husband to the door. They extended their apologies several times. The woman gave Abbie a consolation hug before leaving. Abbie believed it was she who was doing the consoling as the woman could barely keep her composure.

  Abbie closed the front door and made her way back to the family room when she was surprised by a familiar face.

  “Brian,” she gasped as she stepped back a few steps.

  “Hi Abs,” he said in a soft and gentle voice. He spread out his arms, the pretenses of a hug, but waited for a sign from Abbie that granted him permission.

  Abbie was relieved to see someone she knew… quite well. Abbie stepped forward and aggressively wrapped her arms around Brian. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she embraced him tightly.

  The vice-like grip Abbie had around Brian made it difficult for him to speak. He managed. “Mr. Bailey,” said Brian, struggling for air, “he thought it would be good for you to have a few people you knew attend.” Brian finally ran out of breath, forcing him to inhale and cough.

  Abbie released her binding grip around Brian’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

  He waved off her need to apologize.

  Oxygen started flowing to Brian’s lungs. He cleared his throat. He politely pulled Abbie into his embrace; He spoke with genuine affection. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  Abbie enjoyed the familiarity of Brian’s embrace. It reminded her when the two of them were an item. His caress was warm and calmed her nerves like that of a hot cup of tea with a shot of brandy.

  At that moment, all of Brian’s character traits that annoyed Abbie were absent from her memory. His general lack of ambition, dropping out of school, the annoying snort he made when he laughed, or how terribly unromantic he was were not critical. He was here. Abbie tucked herself closer and cuddled to Brian’s chest. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling.

  “Abbie?”

  Abbie’s eyes opened. Am I dreaming? she thought. She looked in the direction she heard her name. It was Emma. “Em, what is it?”

  “You okay,” she asked.

  “Sure.” Abbie separated from Brian and reacquainted him with Emma.

  Emma and Brian were not strangers to each other. They were cordial when around Abbie, but otherwise, they both knew how they felt about each other. Brian blamed Emma for breaking him and Abbie up. Emma blamed Brian and the busty brunette she saw him with too often to be a coincidence. Brian and Emma exchanged polite greetings as if the past did not exist.

  “Brian, Abbie needs to make an appearance for one of the University big wigs. I’ll have her back here in five minutes. Okay?”

  Brian was aware of University politics and how Abbie was always sucked into them…because of her father. It was another point of contention between him and Abbie. “You okay with that, Abs?”

  “It’s fine,” she answered. “I’ll meet you in the family room.”

  Emma did not wait for Brian to react or answer. She quickly whisked Abbie away, led her down the hall, through the kitchen, and out to the backyard by the catered food area.

  “Where is the uppity-up I have to greet,” said Abbie, annoyed. Emma nearly dragged her out of the house at a moment where she was actually feeling relaxed and familiar.

  “Don’t be dense, Abbie” Emma shot back.

  “What?”

  “What is Brian doing here, and why were you hugging him?”

  “He was invited, and I actually like the idea of being around someone I was close with. It’s not like these last weeks have been stellar for me. It felt good.”

  “Abbie, I’m sure Brian’s gesture was authentic but is now,” she emphasized, “the best time to resume a fling with your old boyfriend?”

  “It was a hug, not a fling, Emma.” Abbie’s tone was firm with overtones of hostility. “And why not now?” she said defiantly.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Really? You’re going to make this about you?”

  Abbie perked up with Emma’s use of profanity at a formal function. “Who else is this about, Dr. Hoffman?” The sarcasm was thick in Abbie’s response. “If not me, who else. You have David, you have both your parents. Who do I have?”

  “Me!” Emma answered quick and firm. Her eyes burned into Abbie like lasers as her brow furrowed above them. She was serious, and she was letting Abbie know it. “You want to wallow in self-pity, that’s your choice. But as your friend, I’m telling you that you need to put that shit aside and focus on what is important, which is your dad.”

  “That’s the last thing I want to focus on. I just planted him in the ground, Emma. What do you want me to do? Water it and hope that it will grow me a new one?” Abbie was beyond angry and frustrated. She was doing just fine, better than ever in Brian’s embrace.

  Emma decided to change her tactics. The strong friend-in-your-face tactic made Abbie combative. “Girl, listen to me.” Emma held Abbie’s shoulders gently and made eye contact with her. Her tone was sincere. “I’ve seen this before, Abbie, when your mom passed. You ran to Brian then and got sucked back in. It made a mess of you and your dad’s relationship. Do you want to do that again?”

  Abby folded her arms across her chest and did not answer. She knew the exact event Emma was describing. She also knew Emma accurately predicted what happened between her, her father, and Brian.

  “I’m sure Brian still cares about you.”

  Abbie rolled her eyes.

  “No, I’m serious. I don’t doubt he has feelings for you. If you try again with him, that’s your call. But you need to figure all this out.” Emma waved her hands towards Abbie’s father’s house. “Brian will wait if it's meant to be.”

  Emma’s caring toned successfully soothed Abbie's hostile reaction to the conversation, but she was confused. Yes, her father died. She knew it and was no longer in denial. “Emma, I know Daddy’s dead. I want to move on. There’s nothing more to figure out.”

  Emma shook her head in disbelief.

  “What?” asked Abbie.

  “A week ago, someone killed your father in his classroom… and no one has a clue as to who or why. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  Abbie fired back. “Don’t be silly. Of course, it bothers me.”

  “Good!” Emma stabbed the point of her finger into Abbie’s chest. “Then do something about it. Find out. Whatever it takes.” Emma did not wait for a response. She left her friend, alone, to ponder the advice.

  Chapter 16

  Emma’s words stayed in the forefront of Abbie’s mind for the remainder of the evening. She returned to her duties as the deceased’s daughter. S
he gave hugs, received hugs, and thanked people for coming. She had a brief private moment with Brian at the foyer before he left. She left things casual but open, heeding Emma’s advice… for now, at least.

  Abbie stayed at her father’s house over the next few days. She needed to go through the remainder of his things. It was difficult. When it was too much, she would wait for Emma, who stopped by every day either before or after her shift.

  Abbie appreciated Emma’s friendship, but Abbie was running out of fight. She did not know how to find out what happened to her dad. The police had no answers and lots of dead ends. The idea of spending more time with Brian and less trying to figure out who killed her dad was more appealing with each passing day. I’m a scientist, not a detective. However, sipping tea in her father’s study made her feel his presence. She felt guilty for not wanting to find out the who, what, or why.

  “Geez, Dad. You’re not even here, and you're still guilt-tripping me,” she said as she wiped the reminiscing tears that puddled in her eyes. She smiled as she looked around and saw the library of books that surrounded her, mostly academic and research literature, some of which her father wrote as one of the well-respected experts on cancer research. Abbie was about to give in to the melancholy that overwhelmed her when the doorbell snapped her to reality.

  “Mr. Bailey,” Abbie greeted her father’s lawyer with a tone of surprise. “Is there something wrong? Did I forget to sign something?”

  There was no other way to describe Eugene Bailey other than short and fat, but with the demeanor of a kitten. The balding old man who had impeccable taste in suits and accessories never had a mean word for anyone. “No, my dear,” he said in his winded scratchy voice. He pulled the chain from his waist that brought out his pocket watch. He opened it. “I believe we had an appointment at the bottom of the hour. But if the time is inconvenient, I can return later.” He said as the breath of his words made the white mustache hairs that grew over his lip flutter.