by C. G. Mosley
“I’m alright, Mother,” he said, gently pulling her hands from his face. He smiled at her. “Everything is going to be alright now.”
She gave him a confused looked, and then suddenly looked past him to where Henry was standing, his arms crossed.
“Where have you two been?” she asked. Her eyes began to well up at the sight of her husband.
Henry approached his wife and immediately wrapped his arms around her. “It’s good to see you, Julie,” he said softly, and Jonathon could clearly see his father’s eyes beginning to well up too.
“Mom, how is Lucy?” Jonathon asked.
Julianne slowly pulled away from Henry and turned to face her son.
“Jonathon, the last twenty-four hours have been bad,” she whispered, clearly trying to keep Lucy from hearing their conversation from the nearby master bedroom. “She’s been really weak and refuses to eat or drink. I’m so glad you’re back—she’ll be glad to see you.” She then paused and looked from Jonathon, back to Henry. “The two of you were gone a little longer than I expected…I’d really like an explanation.”
Jonathon looked to his father for help.
“Julie, why don’t we take a drive over to the Buddy Burger up the road? I haven’t had a decent meal in a few days, and I could really use a good ole American hamburger,” Henry said, draping an arm around her and steering her toward the door. “I’ll explain everything while we’re out.”
Julianne looked over her shoulder to Jonathon. “Are you going to be alright, son?” she asked.
Jonathon reached into his pocket and wrapped his hand around the vial of water.
“Now I am,” he said with a smile. “You two go on…we’ll catch up some more when you get back.”
Julianne’s eyes narrowed and she slowly returned her gaze to Henry. “Alright then,” she said as she reached to her neck and fumbled her fingers across her pearls. It was something she’d always done when she was nervous or anxious. She pointed a finger at him with her free hand. “We will talk when I return?”
Jonathon nodded. “I promise.”
Julianne turned away and Henry led her out the door. He looked back to his son as he pulled the door shut and gave him a wink of encouragement. Jonathon smiled in reply.
When he entered the bedroom, it was dark and it took a couple of minutes for his eyes to adjust. He could hear Lucy’s light, steady breathing and realized she must be asleep. He decided not to wake her, and instead, he slunk down into the rocking chair in the corner of the room. When he did so, the old wooden chair made a popping noise in protest—a sound that was much louder than it should’ve been in the almost complete silence of the moment. Much to his dismay, he heard Lucy stir, and it was suddenly apparent that she’d woken up.
“Julianne?” she called out, her voice raspy.
Jonathon rose from the chair and drew toward her, kneeling beside the bed. He reached out and took her small hand.
“It’s me,” he said softly.
He felt her brush a hand across his face. “Oh thank God,” she replied weakly. “Where have you been?” The question was a combination of hurt and anger.
“I’m sorry I left the way that I did,” he said, his best attempt to avoid the actual question. “But the important thing is that I’m back now—and I’m not leaving again. That’s a promise.”
“No,” she replied, a tinge of defiance in her voice. “You’re not getting off that easy. Where have you been?”
Jonathon sighed and then he couldn’t help but smile. Although she was sick and frail, she was still the same determined woman at her core.
“Mom tells me that you haven’t eaten or drank anything in quite a while,” he said, again avoiding the question.
He heard her make a grumbling noise of annoyance before saying, “I’m just not hungry.”
Jonathon nodded. “Okay,” he said. “How about drinking a little water for me?”
Now that his eyes had fully adjusted, he could clearly see the silhouette of her head shaking back and forth. “No, not right now,” she said.
“Tell you what,” Jonathon said, as an idea popped into his head. “I’m going to fix you a small glass of water and if you drink every drop, I’ll tell you where I’ve been.”
Lucy sniffed and turned onto her side. “I’m not really thirsty, but if it’ll get you to tell me what’s been going on, then fine,” she said, sounding a bit childish.
Jonathon stood back up and patted her shoulder. “That’s a deal,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
He strolled into the kitchen and retrieved a glass from the cabinet. Just as he’d pulled the vial of water from his pocket and prepared to open it, the doorbell rang. Jonathon stood there for a moment staring at the vial of water and the empty glass. The bell rang again and he considered ignoring it. After the third ring, he reluctantly returned the vial to his pocket and decided to quickly run off whoever was on the other side of the door.
The bell rang yet again as he opened the door, and though it was a familiar face standing on the mat, it was by far one of the last people he expected to see.
“Mr. Williams,” the man in the black suit and sunglasses said. It was the C.I.A. agent that had questioned him in the Miami hospital. “I told you we’d be in touch.”
Jonathon was taken aback by the man’s sudden visit. “We were in touch less than twelve hours ago,” he said, looking down at his watch.
The man nodded. “May I come in?” the man suggested. “I’ve got news.”
Jonathon took a deep breath. “Do you realize you’ve never even given me your name?”
The man removed his sunglasses to reveal his piercing blue eyes. “Sorry, in my line of work, I don’t often give my name. Call me Mr. Cold,” he said, offering a handshake.
Jonathon narrowed his eyes and took the man’s hand. “You don’t have a first name Mr. Cold?” he asked.
Mr. Cold smiled—it was the first time Jonathon had ever seen him do it—and cocked his head to the side. “It’s Cornelius,” he said flatly. “And if you share that with anyone, I will see that you regret it.”
Jonathon smiled in response but stopped short of laughing.
“Now have I earned enough trust to come in?” Mr. Cold asked. “As I said, I have news.”
Jonathon wasn’t sure about the man in the black suit, but there wasn’t anything about him that seemed threatening. And as bad as he hated to admit it, he was very curious about what exactly the news he wanted to share was all about. Calmly, he stepped to the side and motioned for Mr. Cold to come in.
After closing the door, he led him to the living room and offered him a seat on the sofa. Jonathon decided to take a seat in the nearby recliner.
“How is your wife?” Mr. Cold asked.
The question alarmed Jonathon. “How do you already know about my wife?” he asked, unable to hide the surprise in his tone.
Mr. Cold held up his hands. “Relax,” he said. “I can find out pretty much anything I want to find out about anyone. I had my agency look into your background, and I discovered the news about your wife’s unfortunate condition. I’m betting a man in your position would do absolutely anything in his power to save the life of not only the woman that he loves, but also the unborn child still in her womb.”
Jonathon felt his pulse quicken. Did Mr. Cold know about the fountain? Did he know about the vial of water in his pocket? He didn’t see how that was possible.
“You said you had news,” he said, trying desperately to change the subject.
Mr. Cold smiled and took a deep breath through his nose. “That I did,” he said, and he leaned forward. “The U.S. military caught up to those terrorists and the giant crocodile they were hauling.”
“You’re kidding,” Jonathon replied. “That was fast.”
Mr. Cold nodded. “Yes, it was a very serious situation, and there was little time for us to act. The man that Eric Gill was dealing with is a very dangerous terrorist, and he had some awful plans for that ani
mal.”
Jonathon nodded but said nothing; he wasn’t sure what he should say. He looked down at the carpet and there was a long awkward silence.
“What is it like?” Mr. Cold asked suddenly.
Jonathon looked up at him. “What?”
Mr. Cold shifted his weight on the couch and leaned over the arm. “What is it like to see real living, breathing dinosaurs? Is it terrifying? Shocking? Magical?” He smiled.
Jonathon shifted in his chair and suddenly become quite uncomfortable. “So you know all about the island?” he asked.
Mr. Cold nodded in reply.
Jonathon crossed his arms and let the full weight of his body sink into the chair. He let his head roll back onto the headrest and he stared at the ceiling. “It’s all of those things,” he said softly. “But mostly terrifying to be quite honest.”
“We’ve known about it for quite a while, but we’ve been unable to locate the island. It’s our understanding that there is some sort of trick to finding it, but we haven’t been able to figure it out yet,” he replied.
Jonathon closed his eyes. He didn’t know what to say.
“It’s also my understanding that you know a little about how to find it,” Mr. Cold continued.
Jonathon sat up suddenly. “Is that what this is about? You want me to show you where the island is?” he asked.
“Eventually,” Mr. Cold replied. “But right now, I’ve got a more pressing matter that I was really hoping you’d be willing to assist the agency with.”
Jonathon peered over at him and raised his eyebrows. “What exactly do you guys need my help with?” he asked.
Mr. Cold stared at him and suddenly seemed much more serious. “As I said, the U.S. military managed to take the terrorists into custody, but during the assault, the dinosaur managed to escape.”
“Escape where?” Jonathon asked.
“Into the Atlantic Ocean of course,” he replied. “We have no idea where that beast is going to pop up, but when it does—”
“That’s not good at all,” Jonathon interrupted. Suddenly, something else occurred to him. “You said your men took the terrorists into custody?”
Mr. Cold nodded.
“Was there a man named Glenn Hardcastle among them?” he asked.
“You know him?” Mr. Cold replied, nodding.
“Yes, I do,” he answered. “And he is not one of the terrorists. I think he went along to try and stop the whole thing. He was not assisting them. If you have him in custody, he knows these animals even better than I do. He will be the man that you need to talk to about tracking the Sarcosuchus down.”
Mr. Cold shook his head and began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Jonathon asked, annoyed.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Cold said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But I find what you’re saying funny only because Mr. Hardcastle said the exact same thing about you. Why do you think I came to you in the first place?”
Jonathon sighed as it all began to make sense. “Hardcastle sent you to find me?”
Mr. Cold nodded in reply. “He has been cooperating fully and even explained that he was somewhat responsible for the animal escaping…something about he’d shorted the dosage that was supposed to keep the animal sedated. He wanted it to escape so that the terrorists would be unable to use it.”
“That’s right,” Jonathon said. “And chances are high that the animal is going to swim right back to the island. That’s where its home is at, and it would only make sense for it to return there.”
“That’s our sincere hope,” Mr. Cold responded. “But we’d like your assistance in locating the animal, and later, we’d like your assistance in locating the island.”
Jonathon stood from his chair and paced to the opposite side of the room. Mr. Cold eyed him suspiciously.
“I can’t leave my wife right now,” he said. “You know the obvious reasons why.”
Mr. Cold nodded and rubbed both hands on his pant legs as if he were smoothing out the fabric. He then looked up at Jonathon and said, “If it’s the cancer you’re worried about, I’ve got wonderful news.”
Jonathon cocked his head and stared at him. Mr. Cold slowly stood from the couch and walked over to him.
“If you agree to help us, the cancer is gone,” he said very matter-of-factly.
“What are you talking about?” Jonathon asked, unable to contain his skepticism.
“I’m saying that I have a cure for your wife’s cancer,” Mr. Cold replied. “The cure has existed for quite a while, but the damn pharmaceutical companies pay a lot of big money to keep it under wraps.”
Jonathon gave him a disgusted look.
Mr. Cold held up his hands defensively. “I know, I know,” he said. “I agree—it’s vile and it’s terrible. But it’s also the truth.” He paused and considered his next words. “Look, we don’t have time to get into all of the politics regarding the cure, but all you need to know right now is that it exists and my agency has access to it. You tell me that you will help us, and I’ll see to it she begins receiving the cure no later than tomorrow morning.”
Jonathon shook his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “That sounds way too easy.”
Mr. Cold sighed and placed his hands in his pockets. “Jonathon, no one is going to force you to assist us—that much I can assure you. Your situation is sensitive, and I get that, but think about this…what other options do you have? Do you want to save your wife’s life or not?”
Jonathon thought again about the vial inside his pants pocket. It didn’t seem that Mr. Cold had any knowledge about the fountain of youth. He obviously was unaware of the fact that Jonathon did indeed have another option—but this option had the added consequence of not only immortality for Lucy, but for the baby as well. He’d felt nothing but guilt when he decided he had to trick her into drinking the water—but that was before he had another choice. And besides, he could always hang onto the water and use it if it became necessary.
“Okay,” he whispered. “But I’m not moving on anything until my wife begins receiving this miracle drug you’ve got.”
Mr. Cold smiled at him. “Very good,” he said. “Your country thanks you. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, he turned away and headed back toward the door.
“Mr. Cold,” Jonathon called after him.
He stopped at the door and looked back at him. “Yes?”
“You’re not really with the C.I.A., are you?”
The man laughed and returned the sunglasses to his face. “All you need to know is that I’m on your side,” he said, and he quickly closed the door behind him.
Epilogue
One Month Later…
“What is it?” Lucy asked as she flashed a lovely smile.
Jonathon watched as she waddled across the kitchen floor to retrieve a container full of icing. He was seated at the counter where she’d been working on a cake.
“What is what?” he asked, smiling back at her.
“You’re looking at me funny,” she said as she refocused her attention to applying the icing on the cake.
“I’m just stunned at the amazing turn around you’ve made,” he said. “I feel almost as if I’m dreaming.”
She shot a quick glance his direction. “Well, you’re not dreaming,” she said. “I feel wonderful—I still can’t believe the drug worked.”
Jonathon shifted uneasily in his chair. “Yeah, me either. We got pretty lucky.”
“You can say that again,” she said as she carefully smoothed out the chocolate goodness all over the top of the cake. “For me to be offered a chance to take part in a clinical trial just when it seemed as if all hope was lost—and then it actually worked!”
“Yep, we’re blessed,” Jonathon replied, and he walked over to Lucy and put his arms around her large belly. “Talk about answered prayers…”
“And as usual, I’ve got you to thank,” she replied, turning and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You could’ve tol
d me that was the reason you left for a few days,” she added. “I would’ve understood.”
“I didn’t want to give you any false hope,” he replied, and suddenly, he felt guilty for lying to her. He had decided one day he’d tell her the truth, but not until he was certain all of the cancer was gone and their new baby arrived.
“And now you’ve got a new job working for the government,” Lucy said. She paused for a moment and stared at him. “I’m not so sure this new government job of yours isn’t connected to my treatment,” she added.
Jonathon suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable. “And what would an unknown paleontologist have to do with a trial drug for cancer?” he asked, hoping she was kidding. “I’ve already explained this. Now that the government has discovered the existence of the island, who better to help them keep it under wraps?”
Lucy smiled and returned her attention to the cake. “I know,” she said. “I just wish it was still hidden away out there in the Atlantic. It needs to be left alone.”
“They are leaving it alone,” Jonathon lied. The truth was that some unknown department of the federal government had in fact taken control over Eric Gill’s compound, but so far, they’d left the animals of the island alone. Jonathon was going to do everything in his power to keep it that way.
Suddenly, the phone rang.
“Who in the world would that be at this hour?” Lucy asked, glancing at the clock. It was almost nine p.m.
“Probably Mom,” Jonathon replied, stepping toward the wall mounted phone. “She hasn’t made her daily call to check up on you yet—you know how worried she gets.”
Jonathon answered the phone and the voice on the line immediately brought him to alarm.
“Jonathon, you need to turn on the news right now,” Mr. Cold said.
“Which channel?” Jonathon asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Start packing, and I’ll call you in another twenty minutes with further instructions.”
Before Jonathon could say another word, he heard a dial tone. He slowly returned the phone to the wall and turned to face Lucy. She had finished icing the cake and was licking the spatula.
