MONAD 12.21.12

by T. Anderson

  “Well, uh…let’s see. It’s been so long.” Petra closed her eyes and dug deep for the beginning. The rest just fell into place. “An Alchemist was appointed by the King of Denmark. The King was looking for someone who was willing to work on theories that interested him—theories that other scholars believed were a bit ‘out there.’ This particular Alchemist accepted the proposal, in exchange for funding of his own projects that he would develop at the same time. The King gave him an entire island to carry out his work. As I remember, the Alchemist dabbled in astronomy and medicine. The large sum of money he received from the King allowed him to build observatories, housing, equipment, and he was able to hire the best assistants and staff. Essentially the island became a community—scholars, students, artisans. An eclectic group.”

  Stella interrupted. “And what was it that the King wanted the Alchemist to pursue?”

  “Funny you should ask. He was obsessed with the idea of immortality. He was mad. He feared death and he wanted the Alchemist to find a way to save his soul, move it forward to another body, so to speak.”

  “He was mad? How do you mean?” Stella asked.

  “Some say that he was influenced by a woman in his court. A witch with evil intentions. They say she held a power over him, but that he trusted her and looked to her for advice.”

  “And what of the Alchemist?”

  “Well, he wasn’t much interested in that kind of work, but was attracted by the ability to conduct his own work, so he passed off much of the King’s research to his assistants. Until something caught his attention. His favorite Assistant had a young wife who was very ill. The Alchemist had grown very attached to the young couple and thought highly of them both. He hated to see them suffer. He encouraged the Assistant to find a cure for her. But it wasn’t a cure that the Assistant found. It was the secret of the soul—that which the King himself had longed for. Even the Alchemist was becoming interested in the possibility. The Assistant spent every waking moment perfecting the research. But time had forsaken them and the girl was about to die. The Assistant was too distraught to perform the procedure alone and passionately persuaded the Alchemist to do it. They injected mercury into her brain and waited. The girl did not respond. She was dead. The Assistant went into a blind rage and drove the crude glass surgical instrument into the stomach of the Alchemist’s wife, who’d been assisting.”

  Stella interrupted again. “Right, and then what did the Assistant do?”

  “The Assistant ran from the village. He was distraught.”

  “And the Alchemist, his wife? What happened to them?”

  “This is the amazing part. The wife miraculously survived and gave birth seven months later—she was pregnant.” Petra stopped for a moment. She just realized, after all these years, what this story was about. How could she have missed it? She was an intelligent woman, but hadn’t ever considered the possibility. “She gave birth to twins.” She shook her head. It couldn’t be. “Stella…do you think…?”

  “Petra, I need you to finish the story. The crucial part of the story. What else?”

  “The ending has always been a point of debate. But what I was told, by my family…”

  “Yes? What happened to the Assistant?”

  “The Assistant? He fled the island. He disappeared for many years. He believed that the procedure had worked, and he had unrealistic ideas of pursuing the twin daughter once she came of age. But the daughter’s twin brother was always nearby, watching over her, protecting her. The Assistant could never get close enough. When he heard that the girl was ill with the same condition his wife had had, he couldn’t contain his madness. When she too, died, he went to the Queen.”

  “The Queen? Why the Queen?”

  “Well, you see, not many people knew this part of the story. The Assistant’s wife was actually the Princess. The Assistant had married the Princess of Denmark. The King had arranged for the couple to go to the island. He practically volunteered his daughter for the experiment. With the King’s Witch on his side, the Queen was powerless. There was nothing she could do to stop them. All she could do was hope for a miracle—that the experiment would work.”

  “And the Assistant went to her for help? With what?”

  “He told the Queen that the Alchemist had murdered the Princess. He wanted revenge. He needed to blame someone, so he blamed the Alchemist for her death. Now the Queen wanted revenge as well. So the Queen arranged for the quiet and discreet murder of the Alchemist. It left her feeling empty and still wanting revenge. So she ordered the murder of the Witch and then the King himself.”

  “And what happened to the twin brother?”

  “The Alchemist’s son, the twin brother, had just married. The Queen wanted to be close to newlywed couple, as they reminded her of the Princess. She took them into her court. They had children and lived with her like royalty. Some say that they eventually told the Queen that just before the murder of their father, the Alchemist, he’d performed the experiment again. They say that the girl lived on, once again, as a child of the twin brother.”

  “A little confusing,” Stella admitted.

  “Yes, but now it all makes sense.” The look on Petra’s face was as if she had just made an amazing discovery. Stella was pleased to see it. She’d been waiting for it.

  “Now you see?”

  “I do,” was all Petra said. It was all she needed to say.

  27

  Realization

  The buzzing cell phone hopped lightly on the nightstand. Vern switched on the bedside lamp and reached for it as he read the clock. 1:05 a.m. “Hello?” It had been a long time since he’d slept soundly through the night and was already alert.

  Petra spoke softly. “She came home.”

  Vern bolted straight up. “What? She’s there? With you?”

  “Yes. Are you coming?”

  “On my way.” The conversation was short. Vern dressed quickly, threw some stuff in a carry-on and flew out the door. Aron and Dane were waiting at his car. He didn’t need to ask how she knew before he did. Aron just seemed to know these things. “If you’re coming to Minnesota, get in the car. We don’t have much time,” Vern instructed.

  At the ticket counter, they hastily bought outrageously expensive seats on the first available flight. Thank God for credit cards. Sitting at the gate, waiting to board, Aron suddenly blurted out, “He’s not the Alchemist.”

  Vern and Dane looked at each other, tired and puzzled. “Who’s not the Alchemist, Aron?” Vern asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Erling Steinar. I thought he was the Alchemist. But he’s not.” When she realized they weren’t following, she added, “In the Legend? Duh! Vern, you should know this…you’re the Assistant.” She seemed impatient.

  “What?” he scoffed at the suggestion. “I’m the Assistant in the Legend of the Alchemist’s Assistant? Is that your theory?” His half-laugh was cut short when the light bulb went off in his head. “You’re serious.” Aron nodded yes. “So…you’re saying that—let me guess—Stella is the Assistant’s wife.” She nodded yes again. Vern leaned back, massaging his temples and stretching out his feet. “Okay then. Let’s say that it was a possibility—because right now, I’m willing to explore all options. Then, who is the Alchemist?”

  Dane was so lost. He was trying to keep up. Aron answered, “My dad.”

  “Gunnar? Are you joking?” Vern asked in disbelief.

  “I’m not joking. Stella told me.”

  “And you believe this?”

  “Of course. It makes perfect sense. Why wouldn’t I believe it?”

  Vern calmed down again. “Okay, okay. So, Gunnar is the Alchemist. Then who the hell do you think Erling is? Huh?” He was ready to get into an argument when the flight attendant interrupted on the intercom, announcing that it was time to board.

  Aron stood up and smugly answered, “Think about it Vern…I’m sure you’ll remember,” and then strutted toward the gate with Dane at her side. She wanted him to f
igure it out for himself. She needed him to believe it.

  28

  Payback

  Petra sent Stella to bed. It seemed like the motherly thing to do. But she also had business to take care of…business that couldn’t wait until morning.

  Of course Stella was not going to sleep, but she knew whatever Petra planned to do was fate and she could not intervene. She must let everyone determine their own destiny. She’d told Petra all the information necessary to make her own decisions. With Petra, it was time for Stella to sit back and watch.

  It was just before midnight and Petra was certain that her husband would be at MONAD, along with his wicked sidekick, Myra. She knew they would be hiding in their secret lab, doing horrible, ugly things. It was December 19th, the week before Christmas, and they would have lured some desperate creatures there who needed cash to buy toys for their kids or jewelry for their spouses. Her blood boiled as she pulled through the gates at the security station. She lowered the icy window and the cold air poured into the car. The guards knew her and she easily slipped through when she flashed her designer smile.

  She parked, flipped her fur-lined hood up over her head and hustled to the building. She opened a door at a side entrance, using her own MONAD badge…how silly that Erling trusted her with one. He was overly confident, as usual. From memory, she quietly made her way through the halls. She decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. She took off her shoes and silently descended three stories underground. She peaked through the small glass pane in the door that connected the landing to the hallway. A light from further down the corridor signaled that she was in the right place. Her source had proved to be reliable. It should be—she’d paid the agent enough for the information!

  Retrieving the small handgun from her purse, she took a deep breath. The years of target practice were about to pay off. After setting her shoes and purse down on the bottom step, she gently opened the heavy steel door. The well-greased hinges assisted in her stealthy advance. Although her heart was pounding, she took her time. No need to rush. There was no room for error. No mistakes. She tiptoed toward the light at the end of the hallway; it came to a “T.” After peeking around the corner to the right, she rounded it, sticking close to the wall. Each step was methodical and deliberate. As she crept toward the lab, she tightened her grip on the gun and kept it steady out in front of her, waist high.

  The frosted glass door hid the activities that took place behind it. Ignoring her own heartbeat and controlling her breath, Petra listened intently. She heard them talking, but couldn’t make out words, only voices. The heavy glass door muffled the sound. If she moved swiftly, she could save not only Stella, but she might be able to save these poor souls tonight as well. She counted backwards from ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. She was ready. Three. Two. One! With one hand, she flung her MONAD I.D. badge at the sensor. It beeped, but did not turn green. Red. She tried once more. Red. Panic began to set in. This lock must only be authorized for Erl and Myra. Shit! Why hadn’t she thought of that? Then she heard footsteps rush to the other side of the door. Someone was going to open it. She backed up and braced the gun out in front of her, pointing at the opening door. That’s when she saw the tiny camera pointed at her from above. Did they know she was here? Damn!

  The door swung open and Erling stood squarely in front of her. He said condescendingly, “Petra…don’t do this. Sweetheart, what has gotten into you? Come on, give me the gun.” He motioned for her to hand it over.

  “No. Back up. In the room, move it.” She was all business. He smiled coyly as he put his hands up in the air and began to walk backward. She stayed with him, keeping the same distance and moving inside, the door closing behind her. She saw Myra sitting beside the video camera with an irritated look on her face. She spotted the two victims on their tables, both alert and staring at her. One of them, a man, suddenly sat up with a terrified look on his face. Petra motioned for him to sit still.

  “Stand next to Hadrian,” she ordered Erl. He moved closer to his accomplice, standing behind her. “Are you actually trying to hide behind this witch? You disgust me!” Before he could answer, she fired a round at his head, but missed. He made a lunge toward the tables, leaving Myra still sitting alone and uncloaked.

  Dr. Hadrian couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “Is this really what you want, Petra? You want to save Stella, don’t you? You can help us.”

  “Your psycho-babble means nothing to me.” Without hesitation, Petra aimed at Myra’s head and fired twice, this time with success. Myra crumpled to the floor. Then she turned toward Erling who was crouched between the tables. He was flailing and grasping for a sharp tool to defend himself with. Petra slowly stepped closer.

  “Why, Erl? Why couldn’t you just let it go? You murderer,” she said with absolute disgust dripping from her voice. “Look at you. You make me sick.” In one last ditch attempt, Erl bellowed an animalistic growl, raised the metal instrument and jumped up to his feet. As he made a move forward, the man on the table beside him lashed out with a kick and threw Erling off balance. As he stumbled to the floor, he began to whimper.

  “Please don’t shoot me. I…I’m sick, Pet. Can’t you see that? I couldn’t stop. I needed to save her. I had to find a way. Help me.” He reached out to her from the floor.

  Petra’s heart tugged at her to lower the gun. She’d come here to kill him. She couldn’t stop now. She was conflicted. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “What are you, Erl? Who are you? What have you become?” After no answer, just sobs from the floor, from the man who claimed to have such power, she answered her own question. “You’re pathetic.”

  Keeping the gun pointed at her husband’s head, she instructed the victims to escape. They scurried out to the hall, vulnerable and shaken—not sure where to go. She backed herself up, taking a look at Myra’s lifeless body, blood pooled around her head. “If I kill you, I’ll be just like you, Erl. And we are nothing alike. Stay away from us. Stay away from Stella. And get rid of her,” she said, gesturing toward Myra Hadrian. “Disappear.” And then she left the room, leading the two lucky survivors back out with her.

  29

  Into the Fire

  Erling took one last look at her before covering her face—she was exquisitely beautiful, even in death. He opened the furnace door and slid her body into the incinerator. Her fire-colored locks billowed around her head, and he watched, without blinking, as they mixed with the flames. He admired the irony in it. She belonged to the fire.

  He spent the remainder of the night cleaning up the place. It was much more difficult to move a body alone. And the blood—it was everywhere. It was amazing how much blood could come from such a small wound. He sat in silence for a while, wondering what he should be doing now. He couldn’t go home, Petra made that clear. He wasn’t ready to forfeit, either. He’d come too far. Then he remembered that Petra had mentioned Stella. He’d been instructed to stay away from them—from her. Why now? Why the urgency? What caused Petra to snap? How long had she known about this? And where was Stella? As far as he knew, according to Myra, she was in California. Surely she would have told him if that was not the case. But Myra would never answer another question again. He decided to do some of his own checking. It was early morning on the west coast, but phone etiquette wasn’t high on his list of priorities right now. He dialed.

  “Gunnar here.”

  “Where is she? Is she there?”

  “Stella? No. She’s been missing, Erl. No one’s seen her.”

  “Missing? Since when?”

  “A month maybe.”

  “I…” he considered ending the conversation, but changed his mind. “I have a feeling she may be here. In Minnesota.”

  “I was wondering when she’d turn up there. I’ve been waiting,” admitted Gunnar.

  “I need your help.”

  “Yes, I thought you’d be ready for my help now. I’ll be on the next flight.” Before hanging up, Gunnar added, “She has to be willing, you know, Erl.
”

  “I know. I’ll take care of that.” And then Erl added, “We need a portal. It could be a problem.”

  “I think I might have that taken care of,” said Gunnar. He’d suspected Aron’s pregnancy for the last few weeks. She seemed lethargic and distant, and turned away some of her favorite foods at Thanksgiving. They’d always had an open line of communication—this would be the only thing Aron would ever hide from him. He could never admit it to anyone, but he’d been hoping for this to happen. She and Dane had plenty of alone time over the last few months. He’d set things up that way, even encouraged it. She was the perfect portal.

  Cybele came in the room just as he was disconnecting the call. “Who were you talking to? It’s so early. What is it?”

  “It’s Stella. They found her. She’s in Minnesota. She needs our help.”

  “Oh thank God!” Cybele was relieved. And she didn’t suspect anything when he suggested that they go to pick up Aron to bring her along. She thought it was the best idea.

  They packed quickly. Cybele took Gram to the neighbor’s and explained how they had a family emergency and would be gone for a few days. They drove over the bridge to Berkeley without calling ahead, intending to tell Aron in person.

  When they arrived at the dorms and found her room empty, they checked Dane’s room. Empty as well. They started asking other kids in the hallways. The two nosey snoops across the hall from the twins said they saw Aron leave in the middle of the night with Dane. They said the two carried bags and assumed they were going home for Christmas or something. Cybele was confused, but Gunnar knew that they were already on their way to Minnesota. He quickly fabricated a story suggesting that Stella probably called Aron, asking her not to tell them. Cybele fell for it. She agreed to go to the airport and fly without Aron, but only if they kept texting and calling, trying to confirm along the way.

  Cybele and Gunnar were soon on their flight, heading to Minnesota. Gunnar was relieved that everything was going as planned so far. He’d considered taking off without Cybele, but knew it would look too suspicious. He was thankful that she didn’t feel like talking during the flight. He was worried that she would be chattering his ear off—asking questions, speculating about what had happened to Stella. But she didn’t. She sat quietly looking out the window, into the clear winter sky.