Shapeless

by Glenn Bullion

  What looked like a small army of men pushed their way through the sliding glass doors. There were at least ten, maybe fifteen men. Most of them were dressed in suits while others wore white collared shirts and slacks. Half of them wore sunglasses, even though the sun had long set. A man sitting in a chair reading tried to stand up, only to be forced back down by one of the men.

  He didn't need to be told who they were there for. He thought he covered his tracks perfectly. There was one major change from his original plans.

  Kim.

  Did she betray him?

  He went back through the vending area and opened the door to the stairwell. Taking them two at a time, he ran up to the second floor as fast as he could. Dread filled him to the core. He had a feeling his actions wouldn't merely lead to jail time.

  He ran to his room and threw open the door. Kim sat on the edge of the bed. Zero-Twelve was nestled in her right arm while she held a bottle to his lips. She jumped at Michael's sudden arrival.

  "Did you tell anyone?" he snapped.

  Michael was a whirlwind, moving about the room. He searched about for items to gather. Kim was quiet as she watched him, her mouth opening and closing in confusion.

  "Tell anyone?" she asked. "What?"

  "Did you tell anyone?" he repeated, more forcefully. "There are people downstairs."

  "You think I called someone?" Kim said. "Who? When? On that long drive here?"

  He regarded her as he gathered his jacket and the metal suitcase. Either Kim was a very good liar, or she was telling the truth. The confusion and pain in her eyes seemed very real. As much as he wanted to, he didn't have time to press further.

  "We have to move." He pointed at Zero-Twelve. "Can you carry him?"

  She stood up and bounced the baby in her arms. He wasn't happy that his meal was interrupted.

  "Yeah. But where?"

  "We have to get to your car. After that…I don't know."

  "My car…." She walked toward him and grabbed his arm. "Could they have tracked my car somehow? Maybe they track all of our cars?"

  It was a terrifying thought. One they didn't have time to think about.

  "Let's go. We have to move. Gather everything."

  "And go where?"

  Michael didn't have an answer ready.

  He kept her back at arm's length as he poked his head into the hallway. He wasn't sure what he expected, but everything was quiet. The only person out was a man gently knocking on the door three rooms down, apparently having forgotten his key.

  He grabbed Kim's hand and pulled her along. Zero-Twelve was quiet at first before letting out a loud cry. The hair stood up on the back of Michael's neck, but no one lunged from the shadows.

  He nearly hit the call button for the elevator when he noticed it was already moving up.

  It could have been anyone. It could have been a regular guest going to his room. But Michael wasn't taking any chances.

  "The stairs," he said.

  "Michael," Kim whispered. "We have to come up with a plan."

  A plan. He thought he'd done that. But his carefully-laid plan was gone. They simply had to get away. There was no time to plan.

  They were nearly to the stairwell at the end of the hall when he heard the elevator door open behind them. Keeping a steady, casual pace, he didn't dare look over his shoulder.

  His chest tightened when someone spoke, and he realized they were addressing him.

  "Sir! Stop right there, please."

  He felt Kim try to slow down, but he wouldn't let her. He tugged on her hand, his eyes locked on the stairwell door.

  All his worst fears were confirmed when he heard a walkie talkie squawk, followed by the voice.

  "We've got them. Confirmed."

  All the pretenses of acting like a regular hotel guest were gone. Michael ran for the door, Kim on his heels. He held the door open for her and ushered her through. Only then did he look back to the hallway. Three well-dressed men were running in his direction. The one bringing up the rear was reaching inside his coat.

  Michael slammed the door shut. He looked around frantically for something to block the door, but the stairwell was empty.

  Kim took a step to head down. He grabbed her shoulder to stop her. He said nothing, simply held up a finger. Then they both heard it. Voices coming from the bottom of the stairs, followed by footsteps.

  "Up," he said.

  They ran up the stairs to the third floor. As they reached the door, they heard the groups of men meet up beneath them before their own footsteps echoed through the stairwell.

  "Oh, God," Kim said, tears running down her face. "I can't believe this is happening."

  Michael threw open the door, revealing an identical layout. They were half way down the hall when one of the guest rooms behind them opened. He turned to see an elderly woman. Without hesitation, he raced back to her, taking Kim with him. The woman nearly screamed in fear before he clamped a hand over her mouth. With his right foot, he wedged it in between the door and frame.

  "Get inside," he said. "I'll lead them away, and you get yourself and Zero-Twelve out of here."

  Kim shook her head. She joined the elderly woman in the room, but pulled on Michael's arm.

  "What are you doing?" she asked. "This is crazy."

  Their eyes met, and time seemed to slow for a moment.

  "I'm so sorry for dragging you into this." He smiled at Zero-Twelve, who surprised him by reaching his arms out to be held. "I'll see you both soon."

  "Michael—"

  He shut the door in her face.

  Backing cautiously away from the door, he scanned the elevator to his left and the stairwell he'd come from. Both opened at the same time, with suited men pouring out. The first man from the elevator reached out and tried to grab his shoulder. Michael ducked and stepped back. He wildly swung the suitcase he still carried, catching the man in the nose. The man collapsed into two of his partners, and Michael didn't wait to see what would happen next. He turned and ran.

  He could sense the footsteps behind him as his eyes focused on the second stairwell at the end of the hall. He half-expected to be shot in the back, but that never happened. As terrified as he was, he tried to feel comfort in the fact that the small army of men were focused on him, and didn't realize Zero-Twelve was hidden away in a room.

  Slamming through the door to the stairwell, he worked his way up. He didn't know where he was going, only that he couldn't stop. He wanted to drop the suitcase, but that was his decoy.

  The sounds of countless footsteps were all around him. He wasn't exactly out of shape, but it had been a long time since he'd run for any reason. His lungs hurt as breathing became more difficult.

  He nearly ran head-first into the door leading to the roof. It was stuck, but two attacks with his shoulder forced it open. The night air felt like freedom, but he knew he wasn't safe yet.

  Michael ran almost aimlessly. Moving to the edge of the roof, his eyes grew large as he looked down at the parking lot below. He was five stories above the ground. His fear of heights returned to him with a vengeance.

  As carefully and quickly as he could, he peered along the sides of the hotel. He searched for a ladder, fire escape, balcony, anything. In the back of his mind he realized something was off. The men chasing him should have caught up by now. What were they doing?

  There was a bus parked near the side of the hotel. He wondered if he could survive a fall to the vehicle's roof. The thought was ridiculous, but he was desperate. He set the suitcase down, dropped to his knees, and scooted closer to the edge, trying to work up the nerve.

  "Good evening."

  The voice caught him by surprise. He turned and didn't see the mass of men that he thought he would. Instead, there were only four. Three stood in a line while the fourth guarded the door leading back inside the hotel.

  It was easy to see the man in the middle was in charge.

  The man was in his mid-thirties, tall, with dark hair and broad shoulders. Wit
h a disarming smile, he gave Michael a wave. As his coat moved Michael saw a gun holstered under his arm. He wore sunglasses, which he casually removed and tucked into a pocket. The two men at his side didn't move, looking almost unnatural.

  "You and I need to talk," he said.

  Michael stepped toward the edge of the roof and held the suitcase out with one hand.

  "Don't come any closer! I'll drop him!"

  The mysterious man shook his head.

  "No, you won't. You wouldn't have gone through all this trouble just to drop the child now."

  "I mean it! To keep him away from you, I will."

  He smiled again, seeing right through Michael's bluff.

  "You don't even know who we are. Go ahead, then. We'll just walk downstairs, pick him up, and go on our way."

  They were both quiet a moment as they sized each other up. The man held out a hand.

  "Now, hand him over, please."

  Michael hesitated, and the stationary men suddenly pulled out guns. The man in charge held up a hand and gave them a disapproving look.

  "Stop," he said. "Conversation first. Stand down."

  The men backed up a step, but didn't holster their guns.

  "The pod," he said, pointing at the suitcase. "Please."

  Michael thought about dropping it. Maybe then he could run for it. Or perhaps they'd simply shoot him on the spot and leave him for dead. He needed to keep them occupied, give Kim more time to hopefully get away.

  He stepped away from the roof and held out the suitcase. His hand trembled, and that wasn't an act.

  "W-Who are you?"

  "My name's Donovan. My friends call me Donnie."

  "A man like you has friends?"

  Donovan laughed as he took the suitcase. "Amusing, and clever. It took us quite a while to figure out what the hell was going on. Looked through the security tapes, and nothing. I'm very impressed. And that program you launched, wow. Maybe instead of test-tubes and microscopes, you should have been working for me this whole time."

  Michael flinched at the mention of the program. By now he thought he'd be at the airport, on his way to Paris. Nothing worked out like it should have.

  Donovan set the suitcase down as he spoke. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it. Instead of a baby, he opened the lid to see nothing.

  His reaction wasn't what Michael expected. Donovan simply smiled and lowered his head, slowly shaking it back and forth.

  "He's a slippery little guy, isn't he? Where is he?"

  Michael pursed his lips and said nothing. Donovan glanced at his associates.

  "Give us a minute alone, guys. You know the drill. Keep securing the building, no one in or out."

  The men walked back to the roof access door. They disappeared back into the hotel, leaving only a single man to guard the door.

  Donovan pulled a gun. Michael's entire body stiffened as he clenched his fists.

  "Dr. Oliver, where is he?"

  He said nothing. His silence was answered by Donovan raising his gun and aiming low. A gentle squeeze of the trigger, and the bullet tore into Michael's leg. He howled as he collapsed. He'd never been shot before in his life. His leg felt like it was on fire. Tears ran down his face as he tried to crawl away. He didn't have a destination in mind. He only wanted to escape, even though he knew that was impossible.

  Donovan hovered over him.

  "I'll be very direct with you," he said. "You've earned that. No riddles, no beating around the bush. You've gotten way over your head in a matter you know nothing about. I'm going to kill you. This is a fact. But, the way you die is up to you. I've got a lot of bullets with me, and I can shoot you a lot of different ways, and not kill you."

  Michael flashed one last smile of defiance. Not just at Donovan, but at the drastic turn his life had taken since Project Zero-Twelve entered his life.

  "Shoot me a hundred times. I'm not telling you anything."

  Donovan rolled his eyes, then shot Michael in his other leg. He covered Michael's mouth as he tried to shout and scream for help. There was no anger, no rage in Donovan's action, which terrified Michael. Donovan was all business, in complete control of his emotions.

  Michael lay in a pool of his own blood. He'd stopped trying to crawl away, ending up a mere foot from the edge of the roof. If he reached out, he could grab it.

  "Are you done?" Donovan asked through Michael's whimpering. He waited patiently for Michael's cries to quiet down. "I'm not going to question your courage. I mean, after all, you made it this far. I don't have any doubt you could take quite a few more of these." He gestured to his gun. "But, I really have to find that baby. It's very important. So, please, think about this."

  Donovan leaned over Michael and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. Michael's eyes shot open as Donovan pulled out a picture of his wife, Linda. He gently handed it over, squeezing the picture into Michael's hand.

  "Are you…threatening my wife?"

  "Yes, I am. Again, you don't understand what's at stake here."

  Michael nearly snarled at him. "You can't touch her. She's not even in the country."

  "Ah, yes. Paris, right?" Donovan eyed him with genuine confusion. "You think she's safe? You think I can't buy a plane ticket?"

  Michael felt the bile rise in the back of his throat. He didn't think they'd chase Linda out of the country. Why would they? She wasn't a part of the project. She was completely innocent.

  "So naive," Donovan said. "You tell me where the baby is, and she's completely safe. She'll mourn your death, and go on with her life. Otherwise, I shoot her twice as many times as I shoot you."

  "Please," Michael begged. "Don't hurt her."

  "That's up to you. Where's the baby?"

  Suddenly, the panic and fear disappeared. A moment of clarity took hold. Linda flashed through his mind, and he knew what he had to do.

  He wasn't going to Canada and join his wife in Paris. He wouldn't live happily ever after.

  Shoving aside the agony in his legs, he lunged forward. Donovan shouted in surprise as Michael sank his teeth into his cheek, just under the eye.

  Donovan tried to push him away, but Michael held firm. His teeth touched through Donovan's flesh. From the corner of his eye Michael saw the man guarding the door, running to assist his boss. It took three strikes with the butt of a gun for Donovan to free himself, but not without cost. Michael ripped away a chunk of Donovan's face.

  Michael rolled. He didn't roll toward the center of the roof, but to the edge. His breath rushed out as gravity claimed him. His arm grazed a window on the way down before his head slammed into a ledge. He spun over and over until the ground rushed up to meet him.

  He didn't know how long he was out. Ten seconds? Ten minutes? Somewhere from deep in the darkness he heard a scream. He didn't feel any pain, which surprised him. Shouldn't falling from a five-story building hurt?

  He tried to move, but that wasn't possible. His limbs wouldn't obey him. It was a struggle just to open his eyes. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, with part of his tibia jutting through the skin. What looked like fruit juice pooled all around him. He felt silly when he realized it was his blood.

  He was facing the hotel parking lot, the angle skewed due to his position. A woman stood with her son not far away. She waved about frantically as she screamed and her son cried. Despite the charged reaction he realized he couldn't hear them. His hearing had left him, along with control of his body.

  Standing on the border of the parking lot, nearly hiding in the thick trees, stood Kim. He almost didn't recognize her. Her figure was clear one moment, hazy the next. She carried Zero-Twelve in her arms. She was too far away to read her face, but he saw the concern in her body language.

  Michael tried to smile reassuringly, but the world went dark for a moment. When his vision returned, they were gone.

  He tried to speak, but his words and thoughts were broken along with the rest of him.

  "…Hope…worth it…."

&nb
sp; His eyes closed, and he could feel himself falling. He saw his wife one last time, smiling at him from the darkness. He loved her so much. His final thoughts were wondering how death worked. Would there be a waiting room in the afterlife, where he could wait for her? Would he be able to watch over her when she needed him?

  Dr. Michael Oliver slowly faded away as his heart stopped beating.

  *****

  "Sir? Are you alright?"

  Donovan struggled to his feet. He felt the blood rushing from under his eye. Clamping one hand over his cheek, he shook as he settled on one knee, until a hand gripped his shoulder. His agent, named Wheatley, if he remembered correctly, helped him to his feet.

  They both walked to the edge of the roof and peered down. A crowd was forming in the lot below, all staring at the mangled corpse of Dr. Michael Oliver. Donovan felt a twinge of sadness. The doctor was motivated, strong-willed, pure of heart, even if a little misguided. There was still room in the world for people like him. He deserved to die with dignity, not as a broken bag of bones in the parking lot of a hotel in a nowhere town in eastern New York.

  The sadness quickly disappeared, replaced by duty and the weight of the task at hand.

  "Jesus," he said. "What a fucking mess."

  "We should get you checked out."

  "I'm fine," he said, waving away the concern. He took a deep breath. "Lock this whole town down. The kid could be anywhere. And, well…he could be anything." He thought of the owner of the car they'd tracked. Whether she was a willing accomplice or victim of circumstance, it didn't matter. Every car belonging to a member of the project had a tracking device installed. He'd insisted on it. "He's with that colleague, Dr. Kim Brooks."

  Wheatley nodded. "Dr. Oliver's wife. Do we bring her in?"

  Donovan sighed. He didn't want to kill anyone that wasn't absolutely necessary. He didn't enjoy killing, or torture. But there were secrets the world wasn't privy to. Some of those secrets needed to be protected with deadly force.

  "I doubt she knows anything at all about the project. But…we'll play it smart. Send someone to Paris. Tell them to contact me, I'll tell them how to proceed."