by Ho, Jo
“Why, whatever gave you that idea?” came Gideon’s snarky reply.
“I don’t know what he’s told you, but I can almost guarantee it’s revisionist history.” I didn’t know why I was explaining myself, especially since I didn’t care what this kid thought of me. His attitude galled me all the same.
Gideon came into the room, crossed over to the desk and dropped the tray onto it with enough violence that half the water spilled out of the glass. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jake.” The way he said my name made it sound like a dirty word. “He hasn’t said anything. What I know about you, I figured out myself.”
I knew I could correct him if I wanted to, but I was over my daily limit of teenage angst. Seeing my dad was causing enough negative emotions, and that was without venturing into the minefield that was the brain tumor territory — which alone was enough to drain my energy. I just wanted to lie down and sleep.
So instead of correcting him, I said nothing. I sat on the bed and very deliberately pulled my boots off, preparing to sleep. As I had hoped, Gideon took this as a sign to leave, though he couldn’t hide his disappointment. This kid was giddy for a fight.
Spinning on his heel, he marched out of the room. I wondered what Chase saw in him. Kids.
CHAPTER 90
CHASE
Bandit had already jumped onto the bed, iPad on and waiting to communicate, when I heard footsteps stomping outside. Tip-toeing to the door, I peeked through the keyhole to see who it was.
It was Gideon. And he looked furious.
He was coming back from Sully’s room. By the looks of things, whatever had gone on between them hadn’t ended well. What exactly was Gideon’s problem with Sully? The two had never met before now, so what was with his salty attitude?
He stormed past my room, disappearing down the hall. Even angered, there was something about the way he looked that drew me. I watched until he was gone.
Bandit woofed softly at me.
“What? I’m not doing nothing.” Caught, I answered automatically. In hindsight, he probably wasn’t asking why I was staring after Gideon, but that’s the first thing that crossed my mind. Moving guiltily from the door, I climbed onto the bed beside him where he was already busy typing.
What is tumor?
The official explanation was “a swelling of a part of the body, generally without inflammation, caused by an abnormal growth of tissue, whether benign or malignant.” I knew this as I’d come across the explanation in a scientific journal once, back when I was studying and tossing around the idea of being a doctor (yes, I had dreams too - though I did also consider being a space cadet when I was young, so…). There was no way Bandit would understand that though, so we searched YouTube for videos that might make it clearer.
We watched a couple of videos put out by the American Cancer Society, followed by clips of past sufferers who were now cancer free. They had happy demeanors, but their eyes looked haunted. By the end of our research, I had almost convinced myself of a positive outcome. God wouldn’t make Bandit special just to kill him off. That would make no sense whatsoever. Then again, I used to wonder why I was created if this miserable existence was going to be my life.
Clearly God didn’t exist.
We were screwed.
CHAPTER 91
SULLY
An owl hooted outside my window. As it was an unseasonably warm night, I’d flung the window open to let the breeze in, but I now couldn’t sleep due to the cacophony of sounds outside. In addition to the owl, a choir of crickets chirped incessantly as the occasional bat swooped across the dark sky. It had been so long since I had heard this much nature that, despite my fatigue, I was having a hard time sleeping.
Then again, I could only ever sleep next to Emma.
There was an old radio alarm clock plugged into the wall. Probably one of Zeb’s “collectibles”, as the red digits were stuck at 12:03 and had been that way since I’d first come into the room. I had no idea what time it really was, but it was long past midnight.
Sighing, I rolled out of bed and headed out into the night wearing just my shorts. The air was cooler out here, and a blessed relief from the cloying stuffiness of my room. Zeb was old school and had never believed in air conditioning. Said a man wasn’t a man unless he could brave the climate naturally. I used to argue that his logic was asinine since we relied very much on heating during the long and brutal Vermont winters, but all that had done was to enrage my old man to the point my mom would have to step in to diffuse the situation.
The owl hooted again. I looked up into a cluster of trees to find him silhouetted against the round moon. He blinked at me, wide yellow eyes alert and watchful but showing no fear. Folk around here tended to leave the animals alone, so unlike in the city, they had not grown to fear man.
The moon shone over the ranch, granting enough light for me to see some distance ahead. Enjoying the moment, I started walking when a whinny caught my attention. I smiled, suddenly excited, and made my way to the stables.
Sliding the door open, my eyes picked out a group of thoroughbred horses. The gray, Derby, was a two-time state champion of Vermont. She’d ran for most of her life, until skeletal fractures had cut her career short. Her owners — a pair of mercenary scumbags I had wanted banned from owning any animal — hadn’t wanted to stump up the small fortune it would take to fix her injuries, so Derby was heading for the butcher’s block when eight-year-old me had stepped in.
My mom and I had been visiting a local food market when I overheard Derby’s owners haggling with the butcher. Appalled that this magnificent animal would see such a sorry end, I had pleaded with my mom to save her. My tears and compassion had moved her into action. Within a few hours, Zeb had come home to find himself the surprised owner of a retired racehorse. My philanthropist ways didn’t stop there. Over the next ten or so years, I saved several more horses from the slaughterhouse. The ones I could rehabilitate were given to families to live out their days on green pastures and sunshine. The ones who couldn’t were sent to Roberts’ ranch, as there wasn’t space for them in our town house in Burlington. I had spent every school holiday caring for my horse. Derby was my first rescue and my fondest.
I made a clicking sound in my throat. Derby looked up and snickered back a greeting, prancing on her legs. She remembered who I was. With a few strides, I reached her and threw my arms around her neck. Derby lowered her mouth to my shoulder and nibbled my shirt in that comforting way she did when I was just a kid.
“Hey old girl, how’ve you been?” She whinnied, pawing the ground. “I know, it’s been a while. A lot’s happened, but I’ve never forgotten you. You’ve always been my favorite girl.” The horse seemed to calm at my words. She blew into my face, sniffing at me. As I stroked her I took in the other horses. There was one other familiar face, but I was surprised to see new inhabitants in the stables.
Leaving Derby was the hardest thing I had had to do, but there was just no way my new life in New York would allow for a horse. Before I had left, I only asked one thing of Zeb; that he care for Derby with the grace and compassion she was owed. Whlie Zeb had never been an animal person, he still respected their right to a happy and safe life. I was inordinately grateful now to see how well Derby looked. In my absence, she had been well cared for. Having spent years resting, even her fractures had healed.
Two brushes still hung on the wall where I had left them: a curry comb and a hard brush, designed for use after the curry comb. I took the comb and started grooming the horse using circular motions, beginning from her neck, then to the barrel and all the way down to her rump, removing any loose hair, dirt, and mud. Derby’s tail flicked from side to side, enjoying the pampering. When I was done with both sides, I took the hard bristle brush and went over Derby’s coat again until it was gleaming and free of dirt. She was a whole new filly by the time I was done with her.
Hanging up my tools, I promised to see her again, and was heading back to the ranch when I saw a crack of light
spilling out from the barn.
Frowning at the lateness of the hour, I headed toward it. When I reached the door, I found Zeb inside, typing busily on the computer. Scans littered the counters around me as the printer hummed loudly, spouting reams of information.
“You’re working late?” I said.
Zeb looked over at me, surprised by the visit, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. “There’s so much to consider. We can’t miss anything.”
I walked over to him, taking in the charts and diagrams, only some of which made any sense to me. “You honestly think we can do this?”
Zeb peered at me over the top of his glasses. “What choice do we have? That dog is a miracle, a scientific breakthrough.” He laughed suddenly, at something only he could hear.
“Care to share the joke?” I asked.
“Your mother and I spent thirty years studying and learning, but here you are with the kind of breakthrough we always hoped to find.”
It was meant as a complement, but the way he said the word “breakthrough” had me on edge. “Bandit’s family; he’s not an experiment to us.”
Zeb had the decency to look embarrassed. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
I nodded that I understood, though I couldn’t find the words to say it. Like so many times before, when I had entered into Zeb’s work zone uninvited, Zeb turned his attention back to the work at hand. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. However, unlike all those other times, I wasn’t a kid, and I didn’t accept the dismissal. Instead, I picked up a sheet of Zeb’s findings, frowning as I tried to make sense of it.
“This tumor isn’t like any I’ve seen.”
Zeb looked up again, surprised I was still there. As if he suddenly realized I could be an asset, he opened up. “It’s almost as if it’s man made. Look at the placement. It’s perfect.”
A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the night air. “You think they gave Bandit a tumor intentionally? Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe his intelligence has something to do with it.”
“I know there have been cases where people were seeing things or became smarter than they were originally due to a tumor growing on the brain in just the right place, but this would be crazy. How would they know where to put it, for a start?”
We both looked at each other, as the same thought crossed our minds.
“How many more dogs have they done this to?”
CHAPTER 92
THE MERCENARY
It was a bright and beautiful fall morning. Green fields flashed by in a blur as the train thundered down the tracks.
The Mercenary ignored them, having no interest in the scenery, pushing past passengers as he made his way to a specific carriage. He checked the log on his phone: Carriage C. Finally locating it, he moved inside, only to find a middle aged couple in “his” seats. At The Mercenary’s approach, the husband, a balding man in his forties with a protruding stomach, looked up from a half completed crossword puzzle.
Though he was no longer dressed in police uniform, there was no denying The Mercenary’s commanding presence. He leaned over them, letting his shadow fall over their faces.
“Sir, Ma’am, I’d greatly appreciate if you would move to a different carriage.” He flashed open his wallet. The fake ID showed his unsmiling face and the logo of the FBI. “I’m investigating a possible crime that took place where you are sitting right now.”
The woman recoiled with horror, clutching at her husband, who was already gathering up their things. “What happened? Did someone die?”
The Mercenary kept his face impassive. “I’m not at liberty to disclose that, ma’am.”
She sighed, shocked, reading into his reply. By now, the husband had their things loaded in his arms and was tugging her towards the door. “Margaret, come,” he hissed, eager to get away. To The Mercenary, he said, “No problem Officer, we’ll be moving right along.”
The Mercenary watched impatiently. As soon as they had gone, he leapt into action. Sliding on a pair of glasses, The Mercenary waited and watched. An ordinary person wouldn’t have spotted the difference between these and his image enhancement glasses, but The Mercenary could tell. These held a thicker lens and weighed more to accommodate the extra tech.
Within a few moments, a hum sounded between his ears as the glasses powered on. Suddenly, the carriage looked very different as the marks and lint, invisible to the naked eye, appeared. Staring at the multitude of sweat stains that now covered the seats, The Mercenary restrained a grimace. This was one of the reasons he preferred to travel in his own vehicles. People were nasty creatures.
Code flashed on the lens as the glasses filtered through their findings, listing every recognised item and discarding them as anything of note. The Mercenary scanned the room slowly, giving them a chance to work their magic. Eventually, they hit the jackpot as cross hairs zeroed in on a tiny speck. The Mercenary lowered into a crouch, moving his face in close.
It was a hair.
The fiber was tough and short. And brown. The Mercenary waited impatiently for the glasses to confirm their findings. Finally, a single word flashed up.
**MATCH**
It was Alpha’s fur.
CHAPTER 93
THE MERCENARY
Within seconds, the findings had been uploaded to the Facilities computers, with Dr. Robins, hard at work, examining the fur. The Mercenary didn’t know what it was she was doing — he never knew the ins and outs of her work. He was a simple man with a simple job and operated on a need-to-know basis. And what she did with those animals, what she did to them? Some things were better left unsaid.
Finding nothing else of interest, The Mercenary left the carriage and moved along the rest of the train. It was a warm day, and The Mercenary had dressed accordingly, though the muggy air clung uncomfortably close. A trickle of sweat formed at the base of his neck. He ignored it, focusing on surveying his immediate surroundings. Passengers were dotted around the carriage. Most, he noted, were elderly or poorly dressed. He assumed anyone with the means would prefer to drive rather than travel in this suffocating hellhole.
A sign ahead caught his eye. The Mercenary already knew Sullivan’s destination — it was stamped across his ticket. That meant a seven-hour train ride. It was doubtful they had the foresight to purchase provisions ahead of the journey. The Mercenary was hoping to find more information up ahead.
With that in mind, he entered into the catering car.
CHAPTER 94
THE MERCENARY
Seconds later, The Mercenary strolled up to the counter where a twenty-something guy leaned against the refrigerator with an expression of utter boredom. Going by the droop of his shoulders, The Mercenary didn’t think he’d be lasting long in this job. He glanced up at his approach. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“I need to know who was working this carriage yesterday, on this same train,” The Mercenary said.
The server’s face grew guarded. “Why? Did she do something?”
The Mercenary smiled reassuringly. “No, she’s not in any trouble. I just need to speak to her.”
He could see he wasn’t getting anywhere, however, as the server just grew more suspicious. Seeing the Paranoia magazine peeking out from his bag on the floor, a publication read by conspiracy theorists, The Mercenary — an expert at profiling — made a snap decision.
“Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’m with the FBI. We’re looking for a criminal who we believe travelled on this very train yesterday. It’s a long journey. I expect our suspect wouldn’t have had the foresight to bring provisions, in which case they would have visited the catering car. I only want to speak to her, see if she can confirm a sighting.” The Mercenary flashed his trusted FBI badge at the guy who leaned closer to The Mercenary, eyes wide with interest, though he still seemed reluctant to part with any information.
“I could get fired for giving out personal information…” He said, he
sitantly.
The Mercenary nodded. “And I’m not asking you for any. You obviously know the girl who worked here yesterday.” The Server, nodded. “Can you just call her and let me speak to her now?” he asked. The Server hesitated, worried over any possible work ramifications. Suddenly, he shrugged. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Taking a phone out of his pocket, he tapped through several screens. Within seconds, the words “Calling Janet Home” flashed up and was answered after a few rings. The Server quickly explained why he was calling then handed the phone to The Mercenary.
“I’m looking for some people who were on this train yesterday. A thirty-something guy travelling with a teenage girl and a dog. I think you might’ve seen them.”
And excited female voice came on the line. The Mercenary guessed she was somewhere in her early twenties. “Haven’t seen any guys with that description. People travelling on the train are usually older than that. I did serve a young girl yesterday, though. Come to think of it, she said she was buying food for her dog!” Janet said.
The Mercenary kept his face calm, though he was starting to feel a surge of excitement race through him. “Did she talk about it at all?”
The girl sounded confused. “Who, the dog? Not really. Just said she was buying some food for him.”
The Mercenary took note of her use of the word “him.” “Can you remember what she bought?”
Again, a confused silence came on the line. “Just some sandwiches, and she took a whole tray of meats. Said I didn’t need to bother wrapping them, just to dump them in a bag since they were for her dog.”
The Mercenary nodding, mentally filing the information away. “We’re almost done here. Can you give me a detailed description of what she looked like?”
