J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House)

by J. A. Konrath

  Christ felt cold in his hand.

  Thrist hurried out the door, hurried down the Red Arm, fumbling the code for the first gate several times, fumbling several more times at the second, racing to his room and falling on his knees next to his bed, his hands clasped in prayer but his mind unable to dismiss Shotzen’s words and the possibility that they might be true.

  Frank Belgium watched from the sanctuary of his computer terminal. He’d returned to Red 14 after spending half an hour in the bathroom, feeling the urge to vomit but unable to.

  Belgium knew it was a physical response to fear. When the demon awoke last week, that was frightening enough. But his voice—soft, low, almost seductive—was the voice of a thousand nightmares.

  Though he sat far enough away from the speech lesson to be unable to hear Bub, watching proved disconcerting all by itself. There was something upsetting and grotesque about a demon watching a children’s television show. Bub’s blank stare made Belgium wonder if he was indeed learning how to conjugate verbs, or if he was wondering how the child actors tasted.

  The doctor shivered, nibbling on his lower lip.

  Get a grip, he told himself. The demon seemed to be cooperating so far. Maybe it wasn’t his fault he was so frightening.

  Andy stood, stretched, and said something to Sun. She stood as well, answered him and nodded, and they walked out of the room.

  Bub watched them leave. His stare lingered on the door for almost ten seconds, then his eyes locked on Belgium.

  Belgium tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

  “Fraaaaaank,” Bub said, loud enough to be heard from across the room. “Fraaaaaank Beeeeeelgium…”

  Belgium turned away, wondering if the demon would leave him alone if he pretended to be working.

  “Fraaaaaank…”

  “I’m busy,” he said, trying to make his voice sound unafraid.

  “Fraaaaaank…… what does Craaaaay computer dooooo?”

  That seemed like an innocent enough question.

  “Umm, The Cray? It stores and processes information.”

  “In Englisssssssh?”

  “In computer language.”

  “Dooooooes it… taaaaaaalk?”

  “Talk? No no no. Computers don’t talk. But we can use them to talk to others who have computers with an Internet connection.”

  “Internet coooooonnection?”

  “The World Wide Web lets people with computers access all the information available in the world.”

  “Would the Woooorld Wide Web help me learn Engliiiiiiish?”

  Belgium hunched down lower and ruffled some papers on his desk.

  “Sure. The Internet has everything on it.”

  “I waaaaant Internet coooooonnection,” Bub said.

  Dr. Belgium turned around and ratcheted up his spine. He didn’t quite stare at Bub so much as stare in his general direction.

  “You’re too too too big. Sorry. You couldn’t use the keyboard.”

  Bub didn’t answer, and Belgium hoped the conversation had ended. Being alone in the room with the creature was freaking him out. He got up to leave.

  “Come heeeeere,” Bub said.

  Belgium stopped, mid-stride, his mouth going dry.

  “Coooooome heeeeeere, Fraaaaaank.”

  Relax, Belgium though. He’s behind the Plexiglas. He can’t hurt me.

  He changed direction and approached Bub.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  Bub extended a claw and touched it to the Plexiglas. Then there was a shrill screeching sound and his finger became a blur, moving faster than any human being possibly could.

  It was over in an instant, and Dr. Belgium was amazed to see that Bub had etched the entire English alphabet, both upper case and lower case letters, onto the glass in a space less than the size of a credit card. So impressed was the doctor, that it didn’t occur to him that Bub had written it as a mirror image, which allowed Frank to see it the normal way.

  “Well, I guess typing wouldn’t be too difficult for you then. Remarkable small muscle control. Yes yes yes.”

  “I waaaaant Internet cooooonnection,” Bub said.

  “I I I don’t see how. We’d have to rig something up. Maybe we could use, um, a wireless router.”

  Bub moved closer to the Plexiglas, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. He moved quite well for such a large creature, thought Belgium. Like a dancer, smooth and quick.

  Or like a cobra.

  “Let meeee ooooout,” Bub said, “I caaaan use your compuuuuuuter.”

  Dr. Belgium blinked. “Uh, no Bub. It’s safer for you in there.”

  “Yoooou aaaare afraaaaaid.”

  “No no no. Not at all. I’m a scientist, Bub. I study things.”

  “You study meeeeee.”

  “Yes.”

  “With the Craaaaay compuuuuuuter.”

  “Yes. That’s part of it.”

  “Hoooooow?”

  “Well, Bub, I’m trying to sequence your DNA. Your karyotype shows you have 88 chromosomes. This is over 300,000 genes, about six billion base pairs. I want to figure out what your genes are, so I can see what you’re related to. All life on earth is related to something, some things more than others.”

  Bub stared, saying nothing. Belgium continued, fear making him ramble.

  “What I’m doing is using the Sanger procedure, along with whole genome shotgun sequencing. First, I take some of your DNA—a blood sample—and make a template by subcloning into a YAC. I’m using restriction enzymes in gel electrophoresis to get a 1000 sequence base read that the computer can interpret as a chromatogram. It’s all very simple, really. Simple simple simple.”

  “Hoooow much of my DNA haaaaave you seeeequenced?”

  “Only about forty percent. The problem comes from not knowing enough about DNA. Only ten percent of an organism’s chromosomes contain exon genes—those are the ones that protein code, which account for an organism’s physiology. Intron genes are responsible for growing, aging, things we don’t know yet… so sequencing is only half the battle. The Cray is also trying to sort out what is exon and what is intron, and trying to find matches with other life forms.”

  Bub blinked. Belgium had never noticed him blink before. His eyelids closed sideways, like elevator doors. It was disconcerting.

  “You analyze my bloooooood,” Bub said. His voice had dropped an octave. “What else do you anaaaaaaalyze?”

  “We have tissue samples going back 100 years.”

  Bub appeared to think about this.

  “Why do yooooou study meeee, Fraaaaaaank?”

  “Hmm? Oh. To figure out what you are, my friend. Physiologically, you’re more advanced than anything on earth. Mentally too. You’ve been learning English for less than six hours and already you’re conversant. You’re an amazing specimen.”

  “Amaaaaaazing.”

  “Very. For example, you clearly have the X and Y chromosomes, making you a male, but you have no genitalia… at least not that we’ve been able to find. Nor do you have a belly button. How were you born? How does your kind reproduce? Or is there only one of you? Questions questions questions.”

  “Why are you heeeeere, Fraaaank?”

  “To study you, Bub. The opportunity you represent is limitless, I’ve been doing research for…”

  Bub cut him off. “You have to beeee heeeeeere.”

  Frank’s words died in his mouth, leaving a foul taste. “What?” he managed.

  “Did you do something wrong, Fraaaaank?”

  Dr. Belgium swallowed. His mind involuntarily returned to his prior life, graduating top of his class at Berkeley, already thrice published, a Nobel Prize almost a foregone conclusion…

  He’d first taken speed in graduate school. The courses were highly demanding, and he had to postpone sleep in order to learn everything that needed to be learned. Simple caffeine pills at first. Then ephedrine, available over the counter in health stores as ma huang extract. These worked for a time, limitin
g his sleep to five hours a night, but when five hours became too long, he switched to harder stuff.

  A friend was able to hook him up with a Benzedrine supply. Bennies got him through school, got him his job at BioloGen, the largest genetics lab in the world, got him his Porsche, his house, his trophy wife.

  But the work was even more demanding than school had been. He switched from Benzedrine pills to injecting Methedrine. To come down after a Methedrine buzz he started taking Librium and later Nembutal. He was stoned on Nembutal when he blew up Labs 4, 5, and 6 at BioloGen.

  The police report called it criminal negligence. He’d left the gas line live on a Bunsen burner after the flame had gone out. Not even a kid in high school would have made such a careless mistake. The irony was that the burner wasn’t even being used in an experiment. Frank had been using it to heat his coffee.

  The explosion caused almost two million dollars worth of damage and lost research. Three people were killed. Frank had been in the bathroom, and walked away without a mark.

  He hid nothing. After admitting to the drugs, he demanded to be arrested.

  A lawsuit was filed. So were manslaughter charges. Frank lost it all; career, money, wife, and he went to jail. That’s where President Reagan found him.

  Prison gave him a chance to kick the drugs, and it also gave him penance for his wrongs. Frank didn’t want to leave. Reagan arranged for a trip to Samhain, to give Frank an idea of what his country needed him for.

  Frank never left. He traded prison of one type for prison of another. This new one was quieter, more demanding, and gave him a chance to help the world while being punished at the same time. Frank hadn’t seen a sunset in twenty years. He missed it every day, and that’s why he stayed.

  Even when the incumbent President pronounced his sentence over, Frank stayed. He would finish the job he started; sequencing Bub’s DNA. Only then would his penance be complete.

  “That was a long time ago,” Frank whispered.

  “I can help yoooou.”

  “How?”

  “I knoooow of genetics. I can give you my whole seeeequence. But I need a compuuuuuter.”

  Frank thought it over. Twenty years without seeing the light of day. Was that long enough? Had he paid for his mistakes?

  “I can get you a computer,” Dr. Frank Belgium said.

  The demon made a sound that Belgium swore was laughter.

  “I like snow, but not a lot of it,” Andy mumbled, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich.

  “Yeah, not a lot,” Sun agreed. “Too much snow and I hate it.”

  “Exactly. Too much snow isn’t good.”

  Andy groaned inwardly. What the hell were they talking about? And why was Sun even bothering?

  He stared at her across the cafeteria table and decided she must be patronizing him, hoping for an opportunity to escape. He couldn’t really blame her. The only thing worse than their lame conversation was the food.

  Andy looked down at his half-eaten sandwich. It needed fresh lettuce and tomato, neither of which were available. Canned tomatoes were a poor substitute. Even worse, the turkey was processed, and tasted it. Andy wondered how much was actually turkey, and what other chemicals, fillers, and by-products it contained.

  “Good sandwich,” Andy said.

  Sun nodded and looked at her watch. Andy decided not to talk anymore. He’d die if his ears turned red like that again. Last night he had to soak his head in the sink to get them to stop burning.

  “You’re an attractive guy,” Sun said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

  Andy waited for the rest, the part where she told him that even though he was attractive, she wasn’t interested and hoped they could just be friends.

  That part never came.

  Was she playing with him? What was he supposed to say back?

  Andy opened his mouth to return the compliment, but closed it again when he considered his ears.

  Their eyes locked. He realized he was going to say it anyway, but the phone saved him. He got up and answered.

  “Who is this, Andy or Sun?”

  “This is Andy, Dr. Belgium.”

  “Andy? This is Dr. Belgium.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m in Red 14 with Bub.”

  “I know. Sun and I are almost done. We’ll be right by.”

  “No no no. Not necessary. Bub said, he said… all of this studying, he needed to rest for a bit. He took—he’s taking—a nap. Rest rest rest, must have rest.”

  “Bub’s sleeping,” Andy repeated, for Sun’s benefit.

  “He doesn’t sleep long,” Sun said. “Maybe fifteen minutes at a time.”

  “Sun said he doesn’t sleep long,” Andy said into the receiver.

  “I know, but Bub was clear that he wanted to take a break. Rest rest rest.”

  “Bub needs to rest rest rest,” Andy told Sun. “How about an hour?”

  “An hour. An hour an hour… make it two hours. I’ll be here, when Bub is ready to resume I’ll let you know.”

  “No problem.” Andy hung up. “Frank said Bub needs two hours of rest.”

  “Interesting. Perhaps mental activities leave him more exhausted than physical ones.”

  “I’ve always heard sleep is for the mind, not the body.”

  “I’ve heard that too.” You’re so damn beautiful, Andy wanted to say.

  Sun said, “So… have you had enough of this clever banter?”

  “God yes.”

  “Do you play racquetball?”

  “I’m a racquetball king.” Andy tried on a small smile, happy to have the conversation change. “If it ever becomes an Olympic event, I’m sure I’ll be picked to represent my country.”

  “We have some time. Up for a game?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Are you sure? Most men have ego issues when it comes to losing, especially to a woman.”

  “Not a problem. I’m good at being a loser.”

  Sun smiled, and the realization of what he just said hit him. Open mouth, insert foot…

  “I’ll meet you in Purple 5. Say, twenty minutes?”

  “Twenty minutes. Fine.”

  Sun finished her sandwich and stood up.

  “It’s a date.” She spun on her toes and trotted off.

  What did she mean by that? Did she mean date as in a man and a woman having fun with a later possibility of sex? Or date as in a scheduled event on a calender?

  Fifteen minutes later he was dressed in some blue shorts and a sweatshirt, walking down the Purple Arm. The Secret Service had forwarded his gym shoes, but no gym socks, so he was forced to wear none. None were preferable to argyle, especially around pretty women.

  Sun was waiting for him, squatting on the floor with her right leg extended in a stretch. She wore bike pants and a sports bra top, both black.

  Did she have any idea of how good she looked? She must have.

  So this was a real date.

  Right?

  On the floor next to her were two racquets. They resembled their tennis counterparts, except their handles were less than half the length. A blue rubber racquetball was in her hand, the manufacturer’s label stamped on it in gold.

  Mixed signals and potential embarrassment be damned, Andy willed himself to relax and have fun.

  “I see you mean to distract me by playing on my weakness.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Spandex.”

  “Nice socks,” Sun said. “You’ll get blisters.”

  “I don’t plan on doing much running.”

  “Maybe, since we both seem to be confident in our abilities, we should make a little bet on this game.”

  “Fine.” Andy took a deep breath. “If I win, I get to kiss you.”

  Sun’s cheeks colored.

  “I don’t think so.”

  What little ego Andy had left shriveled up. But confidence isn’t about how you feel. It’s about what you project.

  “Why not? Afraid you’ll lose on purpose
?”

  Sun smiled, projecting quite a bit of confidence.

  “I’m not going to lose.”

  “So you have nothing to worry about then.”

  “Fine. So what do I get when I win?

  “You get to kiss me.”

  “How about a thousand bucks?”

  “A thousand bucks? Can we afford it?”

  “We’re government employees,” Sun bounced to her feet and handed him a racquet. “Of course we can afford it.”

  She gave him a heart-melting grin and trotted into Purple 5.

  “You’re not really serious, are you?” Andy called after her. “A thousand bucks?”

  He walked into the room. It was a standard racquetball court, forty feet long by twenty feet wide. The walls were matte white, marred by several dozen chips and marks. Six florescent lights were set into the twenty foot high ceiling, making it as bright as an operating theater. The floor was wood, with red painted markings for the service area and the fault line.

  Andy closed the heavy door behind him. The door had no knob on the inside; there were no protrusions anywhere in the room. The handle was shaped like a half moon and attached to a hinge, and when it wasn’t in use it recessed into a depression. Andy likened the court to being inside of a large white box.

  “Game is fifteen points, turn over the serve at fourteen, have to win by two. Do you want to stretch?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Andy grinned but Sun was all business.

  “Zero serving zero, for one thousand dollars. Ready?”

  Andy bent his knees and held his racquet up. The pose was familiar to him. He’d played racquetball a hundred times, and though the last time he’d played was several years ago, he’d been pretty good.

  Sun was better.

  Within two minutes she was four points up. Racquetball didn’t have bizarre scoring like tennis. It was actually more like Ping-Pong. The goal was to return the ball to your opponent by bouncing it off of the front wall, and you had to do this before it bounced on the floor twice.

  By the time Sun was up six to zero, Andy realized she wasn’t intending to lose on purpose. So much for wanting to be kissed.

  But even though he was behind, he’d gotten a good feel for her game. She was faster than he was, and her ball control was better. On easy volleys she was able to hit the front wall only inches above the floor, making it impossible for him to return.