Tesser: A Dragon Among Us (A Reemergence Novel)

by Philbrook, Chris

  Chapter Thirty

  Alec Fitzgerald

  Alec Fitzgerald sat in his office. It was long after the end of business hours, and the only light in the room came from a small banker's desk lamp. The green glass shade tinted the light and cast an odd pallor in his massive corner office. Alec was nervous. His heart pounded.

  I need to know. Where the fuck is Mr. Host and his motley crew of creeps anyway?

  A knock on his door startled him. He cleared his throat and sat up in his leather chair. "Come in." Only a small number of people knew Alec was still in his office, and none would dare to knock before calling other than Mr. Host.

  The wide panel door swung in and Mr. Host came through. He had another man on his heels. Both men had that air of military service to them. Alec recognized the other man as one of Mr. Host's closest security officers. He had the same vacant, menacing look to him, though he was much younger than Mr. Host, younger in an indescribable. In truth, the two men shared many of the same features. They could've been distant family. The younger guard carried a briefcase. After shutting the door, the two men approached Alec's desk.

  Why am I so scared? Oh that’s right, because I know what these men are capable of.

  "Mr. Fitzgerald," Mr. Host said flatly. There was no charisma or familiarity to his greeting. They might as well have been total strangers instead of employer and employee. Of course, that wasn't their real relationship either.

  "Mr. Host. I hope you and your man bring me good tidings. It's awfully late."

  The younger man sat the briefcase down on the corner of Alec's desk. Had an ordinary run of the mill employee done the same, Alec would've reprimanded him, but this was one of Mr. Host's men. You didn't reprimand them. They only listened to Mr. Host.

  "Indeed. Mr. Tracker was able to follow Miss Rindahl to her meeting with the man named Tesser successfully."

  Alec sat forward, thrilled. "And? Were we able to get proper surveillance? Usable data?"

  The younger man, cleverly named Mr. Tracker, opened the briefcase quickly and produced a small digital voice recorder. With pale yet strong hands, he sat the recorder down and pressed play. The entire exchange between Matty and this Tesser character was electronically regurgitated out for all three men to hear. By the end of it, Alec was laughing. It was funny shit.

  "Fantastic. So he's definitely the father, that's great news."

  "Before we continue, you should turn on your computer and search something," Mr. Host said.

  Alec turned and wiggled his mouse. His screen came to life and he quickly opened a browser window. "What am I searching?"

  "Naked vigilante hobo."

  Are you shitting me? How did you say that with a straight face? "I’m sorry?"

  "Search ‘naked vigilante hobo’. There will be a security camera video. Load the version that has fifty thousand views."

  Alec lifted his eyebrows skeptically and typed in the strange search. Mr. Host was right; several hits on YouTube came up of a black and white video. Alec hit play on the one with the most views and watched as a strangely perfect man came to the aid of a woman who looked to be in a bad situation. The naked Adonis wrecked one man as if it were child's play before the other ran off. Alec watched the video several times, noting the strange glint coming off the eyes of the person.

  "What is up with his eyes? They look reflective, like a cat's or something?"

  "They appear to be gold to some. Those that are touched with a bit of… specialness."

  Alec leaned back, "Specialness?"

  "Special in the way that the dragon below us is special. Special in the same way all the other things your family has discovered and taken advantage of are special."

  "Special like you and Mr. Tracker?"

  Mr. Host nodded ever so slightly. "Yes."

  I'm not special. Alec fumed but choked down his jealousy. It wasn't his lot to be like that. It was his job to walk the line between the two realities of the world. To try and be more than that invited something worse than danger.

  "Were we able to confirm that this Tesser character is a dragon?" Alec asked.

  Mr. Tracker nodded wordlessly and spun the briefcase to face Alec. He lifted the lid and revealed a startling, fleshy mass within. It was plugged into a tangle of colored wires that led to what appeared to be a battery, several microprocessors, and a small LED screen. A small hole in the briefcase was linked to a tube and a fan, creating a vacuum of sorts. The mess gave off a faint odor of blood, decay and mucus.

  "What the hell is that thing?" Alec asked, leaning away.

  "One of your secret projects, Mr. Fitzgerald. We removed one of the dragon's olfactory systems a few years ago. We were able to sustain it outside the creature's body in the lab and were able to run a multitude of tests to determine electrical olfactory responses to stimuli. Your programmers were then able to write a code that told us what the dragon's nose smelled. This is the current iteration of the system. A portable, refined version of the sniffers we have been using around the facility since the building opened."

  "That's goddamn fascinating. Is this marketable? Can it smell drugs or bombs accurately?"

  Mr. Host simply looked at Alec in response. He was devoid of emotion or decision on the question, and Alec let his question die in the air.

  "The sniffer confirmed that Tesser, who is the man in the security camera footage you just watched, as well as the father of Miss Rindahl's baby, is indeed a dragon. He appears to have shifted into the form of a human being. We believe he has done this to blend in. To learn."

  "Holy shit. A shape-shifting dragon? The applications are endless. His cellular makeup and DNA must be absolutely off the charts. Can the purple dragon change shape? We never saw her do it."

  "The purple dragon is likely able to as well, though our sedation techniques are powerful enough to prevent any changes."

  "Thank God for that. So what now? You go and grab him? Is that even possible? Can you do to him what you did to Purple downstairs? Are we going to need another facility for him?"

  "Apprehension and containment of the Tesser is possible, though it might be a destructive event. He is a different animal than the purple dragon. More aggressive, if push came to shove. More importantly, although certainly less dangerously, is the unborn child your employee carries."

  Alec rolled his eyes in amazement. "Dear me, yes. When Matty comes into work, we need to put her under quarantine. That's not in the employee contract, but she'll understand. For the sake of the baby and all that."

  "We feel that her retrieval cannot wait," Mr. Host said with finality.

  Alec swallowed nervously. Mr. Host's feelings weren't shared with the intention of seeming like advice or of asking permission. "Okay. I'll send a car to go get her."

  "I've already sent a team. They should be there momentarily."

  "A team? Is it just me or are we at that point of no return here Mr. Host? We're about to kidnap a pregnant woman because she's carrying the baby of a rogue dragon. If this gets out, Fitzgerald Industries is done. You realize that, right?"

  "Your father did things far more risqué than this, Mr. Fitzgerald. The bold control the future. The bold change the world. Are you bold, Mr. Fitzgerald?"

  Alec thought of his father. He wanted to build the company to be ten times what his father had left him. His unending ambition constantly burned in his chest. Never satisfied. It was the curse of being a Fitzgerald. A Fitzgerald could never be satisfied, not fully. "Grab her. Please be careful though. We can figure it out later, I suppose."

  "Agreed. Once the woman is safely in a secure room, we will consider going after Tesser."

  "You know where he lives?"

  "My associate Mr. Follower was able to… follow Tesser to a home in the Back Bay. He's currently under observation."

  "Mr. Tracker? Mr. Follower? Names regardless, you really have your shit together, Mr. Host. I'm halfway between horrified and impressed."

  "An accurate assessment of the impact we frequentl
y inspire, Mr. Fitzgerald," Mr. Host said as Mr. Tracker shut the briefcase and removed it from the desk. The strange younger man had still not said a word.

  "We?"

  "‘We,’ indeed. I will advise you when Miss Rindahl is in our custody. We will then move on the Tesser. Get some rest in the meantime. You will be very busy once we have her and the dragon in our possession. The leaps in science that will be at your fingertips will make all this unpleasantness seem idle. I would contact your human resources department and tell them to begin interviewing for more staff." Mr. Host and Mr. Tracker didn't wait for Alec's response. They simply walked away and left the office with a quiet click of the door lock.

  What am I doing? Alec turned and grabbed a crystal decanter filled with very expensive scotch and poured a tall drink. Mr. Host and his men aren't covered by my human resources department. Weird that they are all contractors. Why does that thought frighten me so goddamn much?

  His hand shook as he drank.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Matty

  Matty sat alone in her apartment at the kitchen table. It was late in the evening after her tragic meeting at the coffee shop with Tesser, the father of her freshly conceived child. Her chair was pulled out on nearly the very spot where her underwear had hit the floor the night she'd conceived the tiny baby growing inside her. One of Matty's hands drifted down into her lap to press against her still flat belly. There was no movement to feel yet. No evidence of the wondrous and unexpected life inside her. The impossible life.

  An open bottle of vodka sat on the table in front of her. Next to it, a glass of tap water beside a bottle of prenatal vitamins. The items represented the ultimate choice, placed directly in her path by her own volition. Drink the vodka and commit to visiting the abortion clinic as soon as she possibly could. She would leave behind the risk of abandonment by Tesser and the enormous mountain of responsibility of not only being a mother, but also potentially being a single mother. Years of soccer practice, PTA meetings, dance recitals, Christmas concerts, wrapping unending amounts of thankless birthday presents, scraped knees, bad first dates, and broken hearts would all be avoided. It was in truth, the bottle of vodka, the easier way out. The great goodbye.

  The glass of water and the taking of a single pink pill filled with precious nutrients meant instead of turning away from the storm of all those scary thoughts, she would turn into it. It meant potentially being a mother without support. It meant years of basketball practice, a first step, a first word, the wonder of whether or not the baby's eyes would be green like hers or gold like Tesser's. It meant buying fun wrapping paper, going to the park, and sitting in the front row at a wedding she couldn't stop crying at. It was the ultimate hello.

  Both decisions were horrifying. Should she decide to walk away from the baby, she'd be abandoning a second chance to be a mother. Her first chance at creating life with Max had failed so miserably, so painfully. Poor, little Aiden. He never had a birthday. This could be her opportunity to make things right. Give someone to the world.

  Matty felt a growing warmth inside her, and she knew it was confidence. It was the feeling of commitment. The primal sense of doing what was right. It grew right beside her baby. Tesser's baby. Matty unscrewed the colored cap to the vitamins and tipped the bottle until a pill fell out into the palm of her hand. Bottle down, she popped the nurturing medicine into her mouth and downed the pill with the entire glass of water. She picked up the cap to the vodka and screwed it tight.

  Tesser or not, this baby will be born. This is a second chance I can't give away.

  There was a knock at the door of her apartment.

  Who the hell is that? Matty stood up and pushed her chair in, just as her mother had always asked her to do. Some habits last. Her Beacon Hill neighbors didn't knock this late. It also struck her as strange that the lobby concierge would come upstairs instead of just calling her place directly. With a shrug, she walked over to the tiny peephole in the door. She put her eye to the hole and looked into the hall.

  Her heart stuttered when she recognized the head of security for Fitzgerald Industries. Her mouth dried up, and filled with the acidic taste of chalky bile. There was no good reason for him to be here. His purpose couldn't be good.

  Matty checked the chain on the door and turned the deadbolt. She let the door open inwards a few inches, and she leaned over into the space between the door and the door jam. "Hello, Mr. Host. Very peculiar to have you here at my home at this hour. Can I help you?"

  Mr. Host tried to smile, but all it did was chill Matty to the bone.

  "Good evening, Miss Rindahl; Sorry to bother you. I came here at the request of Mr. Fitzgerald. Apparently time is a factor. The doctor discovered something amiss with your pregnancy, and they'd like you to come in immediately for testing and observation."

  Something felt very wrong to Matty. "Dr. Wooster told you about the pregnancy? Doesn't that violate some kind of right of mine? Patient-client privilege?"

  Mr. Host licked his lips searching for a response. It took only a flash of a second, but it told Matty everything she needed to know. He's lying.

  "Miss Rindahl, I can't speak to your rights, but I do know they were very insistent. I'm here to help. They need to see you immediately."

  "If I need to go to a hospital, I'll head to one of my choosing. Thank you for the information Mr. Host. I'll see you soon." Matty smiled at the creeper outside the door and went to shut it. But the door caught on something. She looked down and saw Mr. Host's foot stooping it from closing. Her heart stopped and a lump of fear formed in her throat.

  "I'm sorry, Miss Rindahl. Your wishes will need to take a backseat to the needs of your child," he said without emotion.

  Matty looked up sharply, feeling her body flood with adrenaline and fear for her life, and the life inside her belly. Standing behind Mr. Host were two new arrivals. She recognized them as other security men from the Project Amethyst building. One was the same man who gave her the blue envelope that contained her job offer.

  "Fuck off!" She screamed.

  I have to get to a phone. My phone.

  "Think of the baby, Miss Rindahl," Mr. Host said emotionlessly.

  I'm going to die here. They're going to shoot me in the head and scrape my baby out of me. They don't even care about me. I know it. I know it. Matty abandoned the door and scampered over to the kitchen counter where her phone was. She turned it on with addled fingers and started to dial 911. She grabbed a long kitchen knife from her cutting block and held it in shaking fingers. Matty held the phone to her ear, awaiting the 911 operator's calm voice. She watched as Mr. Host's long and fluid fingers reached into the gap between the door and around it, searching for the end of the chain so he could undo it.

  "Fuck off, asshole! I'm calling 911! The cops will be here in no time!" It was a hollow threat, but it was all she had.

  Mr. Host's fingers stopped moving. For a second Matty thought her threat worked. Instead, the trio of men in the hallway laughed in an unearthly unison that drained her of hope.

  Mr. Host's voice came again and caused her to shudder in fear. "Miss Rindahl, we're employing a signal jammer downstairs. There is no cell service available to you. Your ruse is clever, but will only delay the inevitable. Once again, I ask you to think of your baby." The man's white hand went back to its work on the chain. He'd have it open in just a few seconds.

  On instinct, on impulse, she scampered forward and slashed at the knuckles and fingers with her knife. The sharp carving knife did as it should have, and cleanly lopped off two of the fingers and half severed a third. A tiny squirt of blood (one much smaller than Matty would've expected) shot across the interior side of her door, leaving stark evidence of the violence. Alarmingly, Mr. Host didn't yank his hand away fast. Instead he pulled it around the edge of the door slowly and under control. His foot and hand out of the way, Matty slammed the broad white door with the blood spatter on it shut. She twisted the deadbolt closed.

  From the other sid
e of the door she heard Mr. Host again, "Think of the baby, Miss Rindahl."

  "Think of the baby," another soulless voice said

  Matty screamed. She turned and ran towards the three large windows that framed the wall of her living room. If she were to open one, she could get outside to the fire escape and freedom on the street below.

  I need to tell Tesser somehow. I need to get him a message. He'd know what to do. He'd come to help me. He'd have to.

  Matty crossed the room as the phantoms in the hallway knocked on her front door. She could still hear them telling her to, "Think of the baby." She screamed again as she sat the knife down on the windowsill. Her fingers clumsily twisted the window latch and lifted the heavy wooden frame and large window. She grabbed the knife and started through the escape as the front door exploded inward. As she dived through the window onto the cold and hard iron fire escape, she saw Mr. Host and his two goons over her shoulder enter the apartment. They moved slowly with patient intent. They already knew how this would end. They merely needed to suffer through this waste of their time she had visited upon them.

  Matty's shoulder popped out of joint with an eruption of agony as she hit the iron grate of the escape. Darkness brought on by the pain nearly overtook her, but she clawed out of it and got to her feet. Her left arm felt numb below the excruciating pain of the dislocation. Matty fought it and ran to the end of the steel platform where the stairs looped around and headed downward towards the safety of the public street. Then from the street below, she heard an impossible voice, a voice from an impossible place.

  "Think of the baby, Miss Rindahl."

  How?

  It was another voice, but the same. "Think of the baby, Miss Rindahl." Then the two voices became four. Then the four became ten. It was an evil chorus. Matty stopped moving down the steel stairs and looked over the railing down into the small back alley she'd hoped meant her escape. Parked directly below her was a large black SUV with tinted windows. It reminded her of the large trucks the Secret Service used to protect the President. For some reason, this vehicle felt sinister. More black. It absorbed the light and gave back no reflections. The vehicle had a unit of Mr. Host's men standing around it, and even though she knew they were all different men, her mind muddled their faces into a single image of Mr. Host himself. They all looked like him. They all sounded like him. It couldn't be.