“Yes, and she took little ol’ sophomore Denise under her wing and kept me from flunking out,” Denise added.
“I don’t know about that,” Pat replied, “but I did find Denise a breath of fresh air among many of the undergrads I met. She was one of the few students that actually seemed to have some idea what they are doing in school.”
As the ladies continued to get to know each other, Lionel glanced over to his old friend. Something seemed to be troubling Flip. Even as he tried to fit in with the conversation, his speech seemed forced, and his brow knitted like he had something on his mind that kept him from being fully present. I wonder if he’s feeling pressured by our engagement to pop a similar question to Denise, Lionel thought.
“Okay, the food is ready,” Bridgette announced. “Help yourself. I figured giving our small space here the best way to serve is buffet style.”
“Yeah, this place has served me well as a bachelor, but it’s a little cramped for the two of us. Guess we might need to look for something a bit larger soon,” Lionel said.
“Yes, especially when the children return,” Bridgette added.
A long moment of silence followed as everyone tried to think of something to say to fill the void.
“It’s important to keep a positive attitude about such things,” Pat finally said, and everyone readily agreed which broke the moment of embarrassed silence.
Everyone was well into eating when the phone rang.
“That’s odd,” Lionel said. “Just about everyone who’d be calling me at home is already here. Probably a solicitation. I’ll let the it go to voicemail.”
“No, get it,” Bridgette urged, then added, “I have a feeling it could be important.”
“Wow, she’s become bossy already,” Lionel quipped but then rushed over to pick up the phone.
“Well, it’s about time you answered,” an irritated Mrs. Petty barked.
“Good morning to you too,” Lionel replied as cordially as possible, already regretting picking up.
“I’m sorry to disturb you at home,” Mrs. Petty said though clearly she wasn’t sorry at all, “but I have a very irritating person on the other line that insists on talking with your friend, Mr. MacDougal. I thought you might know where he is. Given who she claims to be, I figured one of you might want to talk with her.”
“And who does she say she is?”
As Franklin’s secretary answered his question in her customarily snippy tone of voice, Lionel jaw dropped.
He held the phone out to Flip. “It’s for you.”
“For me? Who’d be calling me here?”
Lionel walked over to where Flip sat in his wheelchair next to Denise to save his friend from having to come to him.
“It’s your daughter, Alp.”
Epilogue
Mimi Rawlins blew across the top of her large triple latte espresso with skim milk in an effort to cool it as she flipped through the small black notebook that had become integral to her life work over the past several years. The book contained a summary of some of the weirdest and most bizarre stories Mimi had collected, some dating as far back as her teenage years when at sixteen she’d started the book. She’d grown up in the small mountain village of Foster Flat[1] where weirdness was pretty much a way of life if you were astute enough to look below the surface of normal mountain living.
Most residents of Foster Flat made it a point not to look, feeling that ignorance was not only bliss but a lot safer as well. But Mimi knew better. Having grown up with an abusive father, she knew there wasn’t such a thing as safety; not at her home and not in Foster Flat. Oh, most of the stories were harmless enough. Like the guest house near her home that was rumored to attract its unsuspecting guest with a road sign that magically appeared and disappeared depending on the needs of the antebellum home. There was also the neighbor who claimed she had returned home one day to find her muse sleeping on her porch. Or the Buddha statue that was reported to have appeared one night in the Seventh Avenue community that was known for its high crime rate and illegal drug trafficking. That is until the Buddha mysteriously appeared, and the crimes dropped to nothing.
And then there was one of the first stories she’d written down that had involved her favorite relative; Uncle Bo. In an effort to spend as little time at home with her alcoholic father, she often found sanctuary by spending days in neighboring Waynesboro with Bo and his wife, Helaine. Bo had come home from a deer hunting trip talking about the strange larval-like creatures they had pulled from the carcass of a recently shot deer. Her uncle had hypothesized that there was some connection between them and Biogentrix[2]: a local, privately owned bio-genetic research lab.
Most of these story tidbits seldom led to anything useful, but they had led Mimi out of the North Carolina mountains to Atlanta Georgia where she became a reporter for the Atlanta Journal. She figured it would be a perfect way to continue to explore weird and bizarre stories and to get paid for it. Unfortunately, the Journal was way too old fashion and stodgy for her tastes, and the stories she was given were equally boring.
But that had led her to taking her present reporting job with the Global Inquiry, a tabloid whose main diet was the bizarre and weird — the weirder, the better. So, even though Mimi had to take a significant cut in an already low salary, she was now encouraged to explore stories like those chronicled in her little black book.
She tried taking a sip from her latte and burned her lips. Still too hot. She ran her fingers through her closely cropped amber hair, the redness accentuated by her most recent dying experiment. She kept her hair short in part because it was more convenient to maintain, but also because the buzz cut along the sides allowed her to show off her ears which she considered her best physical features. So, why not flaunt them, right?
She pulled the pencil from behind one of her ears in preparation to writing a few more notes from a conversation she’d had the night before with a lady named Rachael Phillips. It had been a particularly challenging day so when she’d finally called it quits, she wandered into the closest bar in an unfamiliar part of Atlanta. She found herself sitting at the bar next to a woman with flaming red hair and wearing a stylish business suit that probably cost as much as a week of Mimi’s salary. Mimi had had a couple stiff ones as well, so it was easy to start a conversation with the woman.
Before she knew it, Rachael was spilling out her life story. Most of it sounded pretty boring to Mimi, about how Rachael had built up her own successful company over the years but how it was a constant struggle to stay on top. But Mimi’s reporter radar had turned on when Rachael started talking about being a part of a harem of successful professional women who used some guy for their sexual pleasure.
Since Mimi was officially off duty, she didn’t have herself wired to record the conversation so had instead listened as attentively as she could through a cloud of alcoholic induced stupor. Unfortunately, she had made a critical mistake by not writing down the details before falling asleep back at her apartment.
She remembered Rachael saying that she and the other members of the harem had all become pregnant even though they were all on birth control. Unusual yes, but hardly bizarre enough for the Global Inquiry. But then she’d gone on to say she’d tried to track down the guy that had made her pregnant. Somehow, it had resulted in her being forced to go to some lab in North Carolina to have her baby along with the rest of the harem. But hadn’t she also claimed the pregnancy had only taken about nine weeks? Now that was bizarre.
Maybe I have that wrong, Mimi thought. Maybe she’d said nine months but I heard weeks instead. But what was the lab’s name? Had she even said? And what kind of lab would force a group of women to have their babies in their research facility? And what if the story was true, which Mimi doubted at this point? What happened to the babies?
Mimi turned to a blank page in her notebook and jotted down the few details she could recall. Hardly enough to go on at this point, especially considering her workload, but you never could tell
. Her boss, Aaron Aldridge, the editor in chief at Global Inquiry, had a knack for coming to her from time to time and asking her to open her notebook and see what she could find, especially whenever circulation started to drop off. She’d keep this one in mind for the next time Aaron asked her for any ideas from her black book.
Flip took the phone from Lionel and glanced at all the startled faces around him.
“She’s using the phone? That’s odd. I’ve never spoken to any of my children that way.” He chuckled nervously. “Is there a way to put this on speaker phone?”
“Yes, push the button on the lower right-hand corner,” Lionel replied.
Flip pushed the button before saying, “Hello, this is Flip MacDougal. Who am I speaking with?”
“Dad, this is Alp,” the voice said on the other end. It certainly sounded like his daughter, at least how he thought she’d sound over a phone line, given their previous psychic conversations and the one conversation they’d had in person. But how could he be sure it wasn’t someone playing a terrible practical joke.
“Okay, but how do I know it’s really you?” Flip asked.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then, “Last time we were in touch I was standing outside a hut on an island in the middle of the Atlantic. You helped me get over my fear about what I needed to do.”
“Yes, well, okay Alp. It is you,” Flip replied. No one else could have known about that.
“I’m sorry to have to call you like this. I’ve been quite tired the last few days and didn’t think I could communicate in our customary way, and I have a matter of some urgency that couldn’t wait.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart. It’s wonderful to hear from you in any fashion. What can I do for you? We’re all here to help in whatever way possible.” He glanced around him at the other beaming faces who were listening in. They all nodded.
Alp briefly brought them up to date concentrating on the latest news she’d learned from Zunga, finishing up with, “I don’t know where Mel, Tabitha and Kirstin are, but I have a good idea where the rest of my sisters have been taken.”
Flip knew where Mel and the two girls were, or at least where they’d been a day or two ago, but decided now was not the time to reveal that information.
“How’s that?” Flip asked.
“I have a friend…he helped us escape from BVT,” Alp explained. “He’s the pilot that was flying the helicopter. The one that Lionel knocked out.”
Flip glanced at Lionel who shrugged. “From my intramural boxing days. Comes in handy on occasions.”
“Well, James, that’s his name, was also the pilot that flew the mission when my sisters were abducted.”
“James?” Pat spoke up. She leaned in close to the phone receiver. “His last name wouldn’t by chance be Stepp, would it?
“Yes,” Alp replied in a surprised voice. “How did you know?”
“James and I go way back,” Pat replied. “Way back to a time I’d just as soon forget,” she muttered mostly to herself. “We were on a mission together in a former life. Let’s just leave it at that for now.[3]”
“So how can I help?” Flip asked again.
“James is willing to help me recover my sisters but, well, it’s going to cost quite a bit to fund the mission.”
“And you said the children were taken to Dubai?”
“That’s right. They’re being held by a person who calls himself the Sheik,” Alp replied.
“I’m familiar with him too,” Pat said. “He’s a power-hungry megalomaniac. Extricating your daughters from him won’t be easy. And while James is right such a mission will be costly, it’ll take more than just money to pull it off.”
“Well, at least we know they’re still alive,” Denise said. “That’s great news.”
“That’s right,” Flip agreed. “And as far as the money goes, that won’t be an issue. Let this James fellow know that I’ll fully fund whatever it takes to get our girls home safely.”
“Great. That’s so generous of you, father,” Alp said. “But there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“As far as the authorities are concerned, we all died in a helicopter accident in the middle of the Atlantic. It’s important they continue to think that’s what happened. It’s the only way my sisters and I can start our lives over without being treated as lab rats.”
“So, that would mean we can’t depend on the regular channels to recover them,” Flip said.
“Exactly,” Alp agreed. “I’m pretty sure I can persuade Chunk to go along with this. After all, I just saved his daughter’s life, but it’ll mean going after them without any help from the government or through the legal channels.”
Flip looked around at his friends. One by one they each nodded their agreement, including Pat, who added, “That’s probably the best way to approach such a mission anyway.”
“Okay, Alp. Agreed. We’ll do whatever it takes to bring the Kindred back together.”
[1] To learn more about the weird happenings around Foster Flat, see the upcoming book, Fantastical Fables of Foster Flat.In the meantime, check out the digital short, Elliot Savant.
[2] The rise and fall of Biogentrix is chronicled in the book, Freeform.
[3] How Pat and James first met is chronicled in the book, FreeForm.
Acknowledgments
This book may never have been finished and certainly not in its present form without the assistance of the best beta reader in the world; James Stepp. And if that name sounds familiar it’s because it’s the same name as Alp’s helicopter pilot friend. It seemed to be the least I could do to thanks James, besides which he really is a pilot who flew Black Hawks for many years in the military. Thanks James for all your help and for continuing to insist I add more color to my prose.
Book 3: Seeds of a New Earth
Part One
Late Sleepers
They must be sleeping late, Mimi Rawlins thought as she pulled the monocular away from her face and glanced at the digital watch she wore on the inside of her wrist. It always made her feel good to check the time. Knowing the time helped to keep her grounded in reality…well, at least a little bit. The watch was special. Her Uncle Bo had given it to her for graduating with honors from high school. Glancing at it grounded her in his love. She might be only his niece but in many ways their relationship was more like father-daughter. Since her own dad spent way too much time trying to climb out of a bottle, Mimi stayed away from him and over at Bo’s instead.
The watch flicked over to 10:05 am. Mimi wished she’d had the luxury of sleeping so late. She enjoyed that luxurious feeling of dozing, awakening, and dozing again. She often did it on weekends, especially Sundays, but not today. Today she was on assignment.
She ran her long fingers through her short red hair; the color accentuated with help from Lady Clairol. Her boss, Aaron Aldridge, claimed it made her look too much like a boy. But Mimi knew better. She’d caught him more than once ogling her slim, shapely figure. He knew all too well her gender. There were times when Mimi wished she was a boy; well, a man. At twenty-six, it was fair to say whatever her gender, she was an adult. In the world of journalism, being a man automatically placed you in the good ol’ boy network; while being a woman, especially an attractive one, just got you a lot of stares and snide remarks from those same good ol’ boys.
She gazed down the hill to the log cabin. Was that some movement on the porch? It was hard to tell. She placed the monocular against her eye and looked again, but the shadows eliminated most of the details. As she studied the porch, she thought she saw the figure of someone moving. As she watched , a young girl stepped into the light of the morning light and confirmed her suspicions. Evidently, her information gleaned from the secretary had been correct.
It had been an interesting week; completely unlike what she’d expected when she’d started out on Monday. Then she’d received the strange call from another redhead whom she’d met over the weekend in a sleazy bar
that neither of them frequented. Kismet had brought them together, no doubt. Well, at least that’s what Mimi liked to think. She believed in kismet. She also believed in divine destiny, white and black magic, and that the physical reality in which she walked was only one reality and not necessarily the most interesting one. With a childhood like hers, anyone with half a brain would have believed in such things.
The redhead’s name was Rachael Phillips, and as so often happened with Mimi, it wasn’t long after the two were sitting at the bar of the grimy little dive that Rachael began to talk to her. It was one of Mimi’s gifts that bordered on a special power. She’d developed it early in her life, soon after deciding she wanted to be a journalist when she grew up. Getting people to spill their stories seemed like an important talent, one that came naturally to her and was well worth developing.
With just a little prodding, a question here, a comment there, Rachael began to talk. She was already about three sheet to the wind, as was Mimi, and at first Mimi listened with only one ear After all, she was off duty, right? Wrong! A good journalist was never off, as her encounter with Rachael proved for the hundredth time.
Mimi figured Rachael to be in her early to mid-thirties. She was well dressed in a designer business suit that probably cost as much as a week of Mimi’s take home pay from Global Inquiry; the gossip rag she now worked for after quitting the better paying but oh so boring job at the Atlanta Journal. What had prompted such an upscale and uptight professional woman as Rachael to take refuge in one of the sleaziest bars in downtown Atlanta wasn’t clear, other than the fact that it had been a bear of a week.
Kindle Series 3-Book Bundle: A Genetic Engineering Science Fiction Thriller Series Page 52
