Disturb

by Jack Kilborn

  David lifted up Manny’s gown and peeked.

  “Looks nasty. What is that tube?”

  Manny tried to melt into his mattress.

  “A drain.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  David prodded at the protruding plastic, pinching it between his fingers. Manny forced courage.

  “What do you want, David? Did you come back to finish the job?”

  “I wasn’t after you, Manny. You know that. But you tried to get in the way. Don’t you see the only way we can be free is if the experiment ends?”

  “I told the cops.”

  David grinned, patting his brother on the cheek.

  “No, you didn’t. You lied to them. I know you did. Now-who should we kill next?”

  “Please…”

  “How about the computer geek, Dr. Townsend? All those ridiculous graphs and charts, as if he could reduce us to just statistics. Or Dr. O’Neil? Aren’t you sick of his fumbling attempts at taking serum samples? Maybe Dr. Fletcher. He tries to poke around in our heads with all the subtlety of a linebacker. Or Theena…?”

  Manny’s eyes got wide.

  “Maybe I should pick up your Theena.” David rubbed his face, as if mulling it over. “We could have some fun together. I bet she’s a real tiger.”

  Manny tried to raise his arm, but it was taped to the rail so the saline drip IV wouldn’t pull out. This greatly amused David.

  “Yes, I think Theena it is. Unless you’d prefer someone else. Who should I kill instead of Theena? I’ll let you pick.”

  Manny stared at his brother with tortured eyes. This was worse than being attacked. David was going to kill someone, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  But at least he could save Theena…

  “Townsend.”

  David’s smile was ghastly.

  “The computer geek. Excellent. I’ll come back later with the details. Maybe even some pictures. See you, bro.”

  David left. Manny looked at the phone. He had to talk to Jim Townsend, warn him what was coming.

  He called DruTech and got the number from Barry, the head security guard. Barry attempted to wish him well, but Manny hung up on him, anxious to make the call.

  Townsend wasn’t home. His machine picked up. Manny left a message.

  “Dr. Townsend. This is Manny. Your life is in danger. The same people that killed Dr. Nikos are going after you.”

  Manny squeezed his eyes shut at the lie. How could he still be protecting David, after all he’d done? He swallowed hard, and continued.

  “You have to go away for a while. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. These people-they can’t be stopped. They’re maniacs. Please believe me. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  He gently set the receiver in its cradle and laid back down. Outside, clouds had covered the sun, turning everything gray.

  Manny closed his eyes and wished, for the thousandth time, that he could just go to sleep.

  Jack Kilborn

  Disturb

  Dr. Jim Townsend hated days off. The call from Rothchilde’s secretary came while he was in the car and already halfway to work. He’d briefly argued with her, insisting on coming in anyway, but she told him security had been informed not to let anyone in.

  Irritating.

  He was essential to the project. Without his organizational skills the experiment would be all over the place, untamed. Townsend had been the one to lay out the plans, run the schedule, catalog the results. His conclusions dictated what would be tested next. Though he didn’t invent N-Som, it would never be ready for FDA approval if he wasn’t on the team. The Nobel Prize people had better be aware of that when the time came.

  Faced with the ugly prospect of nothing to do, Townsend pulled the Hundai into a supermarket parking lot and weighed options. A frown creased his doughy face. He scratched at a spot on his glasses, pushed the comb-over back on his balding head, and tried to think of something to kill time until tomorrow.

  Movies, and all forms of media entertainment, bored him. There was nothing to do back at the apartment; the little amount of time he spent there was for sleeping, dressing, and washing. Eating was a joyless necessity, usually something quick and convenient. His burgeoning stomach was a testament to this, but exercise bored Townsend as much as anything else.

  The library? He needed to catch up on his reading; many of his subscriptions had run out, and prestigious scientific journals didn’t send you a little card to fill out as a reminder.

  A search of his wallet revealed his library card was expired. To get a renewal meant lines and hassles. The library was out.

  Museums? It seemed a chore to go into the city, search for parking, fight the crowds of school children.

  He thought, enviously, of his computer at work. When the strain became too great, he’d play a chess program to help ease his mind. It was somewhat banal, and he never lost, but it was the closest thing to entertainment that he pursued.

  Though efficient on many different operating systems, Townsend had never gotten around to owning his own computer. The ones he worked on were always vastly superior to home versions. But he knew that modern models had a tremendous amount of speed and memory, quadruple that of only a year ago. Was it time to join the personal computer revolution?

  “Why the heck not?”

  Computer stores seemed to be everywhere in the suburbs, and Townsend located one of the larger chains and went inside.

  Four different salespeople approached him, and each time he shooed them away, annoyed at the interruption. He finally did require assistance after deciding on a model, and of course it took forever to find help. Such a burden, shopping.

  After rebuffing pitch after pitch for accessories, Townsend allowed himself to be talked into two chess programs, each claiming to have beaten grand masters. He even felt a tinge of excitement, driving home with his purchases in the back seat. It wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as work, but these boxes represented a slight promise of challenge, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  It took three trips to bring everything up to his third floor apartment. Badly out of breath, he needed a rest and a glass of orange juice before setting up his new system. His answering machine was blinking, but he was too preoccupied to notice.

  Assembly was easy, and he didn’t bother with the instructions. The system had dutifully included a CD for free internet hours, but he decided to put that off until later. Townsend installed the first chess program, somewhat surprised by his new computer’s speed, and after familiarizing himself with the controls he began to play.

  Within forty minutes, the computer was up a piece.

  Townsend had to grin at the move. It was a brilliant one, a pin that forced him to give up his rook to save his queen. Townsend made the computer go back several moves, not to cheat, but to see if he could have prevented it. He couldn’t have. The program had planned it at least six moves in advance.

  “Wonderful.”

  He hunkered down and continued play, trying to be wary but thrilled at the possibility of being beaten.

  It was only when Townsend began to squint at the keyboard that he realized the sun had gone down. He checked the clock and was surprised to see he’d been playing for seven hours.

  The computer had beaten him three games out of six. They were tied in this seventh game, and Townsend was preparing a sacrifice that would lead to checkmate if the computer didn’t see it. The odds were slim; the computer saw just about everything. Unlike the chess program at work, this one could think several hundred moves ahead, and understood the concept of sacrifice for the sake of position.

  He paused the game on his turn and ordered some Chinese food to be delivered. After a bathroom break and a splash of water on his face to keep him focused, he returned to the computer and made his move.

  The computer didn’t take the bait.

  “I figured you’d see it. Good one.”

  A knock at the door. Townsend was so involved with
the game that he never bothered to question the obvious fact that his food couldn’t have been there so quickly.

  The man in the hallway was wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He wasn’t delivering sweet and sour pork or any other food. Most irritating of all, it was someone that Townsend knew, and happened to dislike.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello doctor.” David grinned, his pleasure genuine. “I came here to kill you.”

  When he saw the scalpel, Townsend’s annoyance puddled into fear. He took several steps back.

  “This… this is a mistake. You’ll jeopardize the project.”

  “That’s the point. Manny and I are sick of being guinea pigs. I think it’s made us somewhat unhinged.”

  “Manny and I? What do-”

  Townsend saw the slash, saw the blood, but didn’t feel a thing. He tried to speak and it came out in a gurgle.

  David appraised the wound.

  “The first cut is the deepest.”

  When Townsend coughed, it was through the gash in his neck rather than his mouth. Things became blurry, and he fell over.

  David closed the door behind him. He inspected the apartment, giving an empty monitor box a small kick.

  “New computer? Nice.”

  Townsend crawled over to his desk, reaching for the phone. He came up short and pulled his keyboard down on top of him.

  “Careful, Dr. Townsend. You’ll void the warranty if you bleed all over it.”

  Townsend began to pass out. He knew that if he did, he’d never wake up. He had to get the phone, had to get help.

  “Do you want the phone?” David laughed. “What are you gonna do with the phone, Dr. Townsend? Your tongue is hanging out your neck. Maybe I can help.”

  David knelt down next to him. Townsend felt his consciousness ebbing, the darkness closing in.

  He was almost dead when David began to work on him with the scalpel.

  Almost.

  Jack Kilborn

  Disturb

  The sheer amount of collected data impressed Bill, but not nearly as much as the content. Each document he read was more fascinating than the last. He got up from his sofa and stretched, his back crackling like a bag of chips. He took a sip of coffee. Cold.

  The clock told him it was coming up on one in the morning, but Bill wasn’t ready to turn in yet. He plodded into the kitchen for another cup. He used three spoonfuls of instant, extra strong, and popped it in the microwave. The deluxe espresso maker stared at him from the counter, dejected.

  The machine was Italian, a top end model. It had been their first purchase together, after moving into the condo. Kristen loved making lattes, and double cappuccinos, and espresso so thick you could eat it with a fork.

  Bill turned away from it. The microwave dinged and he stirred some sugar into his coffee and went back to the sofa.

  The log he was currently reviewing detailed experiments with rhesus monkeys. An early version of N-Som had kept a test animal awake for almost eight months. Bill wanted to find out how the experiment ended.

  Day 236-Sam continues to act strangely, refusing his usual morning fruit. Vitals are normal, though his eyes seem a bit glassy. After discussing the situation with Theena, I order for a complete blood work up.

  Bill reached for the next page, but there were no more in file.

  He looked by his feet, to see if it any had fallen under the table. Coming up empty, he sifted through the previous pages, then the pages of several other folders.

  Nothing.

  Bill frowned. The guy in charge of organizing everything, Dr. Townsend, had done an amazing job putting every relevant bit of information about the project into coherent, chronological order. Previous experiments had ended with a calculation of results and Dr. Nikos’s notes and conclusions. There were none to be found in this case.

  Bill yawned. “Maybe back at DruTech.”

  He took another sip of coffee and peeled off his socks, balling them up and taking them into the bedroom. As he undressed, he thought about the unlimited potential for this drug. Revolutionary didn’t begin to describe it.

  A world without sleep. Where commerce existed twenty-four hours a day, and brilliant thinkers never became fatigued. There would be more time for work, to get things done, to make more money. And more time for play, to be with friends, to spend extra hours with loved ones. How much were those extra hours worth?

  Bill knew. He knew more than anyone.

  He yawned again, and glanced down at his coffee.

  “You’re not doing your job.”

  It was late, anyway. Tired as he was, he might actually sleep well tonight. Bill was just sticking his toothbrush in his mouth when the phone rang.

  Theena?

  She hadn’t come on to him again, after the scene in Manny’s bedroom, and had remained strictly business for the remainder of the tour. Their meeting ended with a brusque handshake. Had her flirting really been an act? Or did she really find him as attractive as he found her?

  Bill picked up the phone.

  “Dr. May?”

  It wasn’t Theena. The voice was male, Midwestern, deep and cold.

  “Yes? Who is this?”

  “There’s a package for you in the hall.”

  A click, and then Bill was left listening to the dial tone. He walked, warily, to the door. The peephole showed an empty hallway.

  Keeping a firm grip on the knob, he unlocked the dead bolt and eased it open a crack.

  There was a thick manila envelope sitting on his doormat.

  Bill again peered down the hall, then snatched the envelope and locked his door.

  It was unmarked, unsealed. Inside was a VHS videotape without any label.

  Bill searched his mind for a friend or coworker that might pull a stunt like this, but he came up empty. No one he knew would do this. Especially this late at night.

  He shivered.

  Part of him didn’t want to play it, to put it away until the sun was out, until he had other people around him.

  But curiosity overcame his trepidation. Bill popped the tape into his VCR.

  After several seconds of black, a dimly lit room came on screen. It had concrete floors and walls. Possibly a basement. Bill could tell by the quality that it was home video.

  “Come over here.”

  The voice was off screen. Then two men walked into frame from the left. One had on a ski mask, and he was holding a gun to the back of the other man.

  Michael Bitner.

  Bill’s golf friend, the doctor who had been assigned to the N-Som case before him.

  “Kneel down.”

  Mike had some blood in the corner of his mouth, and his right eye was swollen almost shut. He looked terrified. His captor forced him to his knees.

  “N-Som will get FDA approval.”

  Mike whimpered. “Yes. I promise it will.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  The shot made Bill bite the inside of his cheek. Mike flopped sideways, twitched twice, then was still.

  The tape ended.

  Bill double checked to make sure the door was locked.

  Then he called the police.

  Jack Kilborn

  Disturb

  “How could he be gone? There was a cop outside the door.”

  Captain Halloran scratched his graying mustache and shifted his bulk in the chair, which was small for him and seemed too low to the ground. He shouldn’t have taken the seat when offered. It hurt his back, his knees, and made him seem fatter, older and less important that he actually was. Halloran knew Rothchilde had bought that chair for those very reasons-his own was higher and wider, with armrests that ended in polished mahogany knobs, like a throne.

  He didn’t like Albert Rothchilde. The man was whiny, arrogant, and spoiled. Whereas Halloran earned his rank by busting his ass for twenty plus years, Rothchilde was simply born into the right family. Halloran knew the guy wouldn’t last two minutes on the street.

  But thi
s wasn’t the street. This was Rothchilde’s twenty-two room house, the one that was featured in People Magazine. Halloran glanced at some stupid painting hanging behind Rothchilde’s desk. Rothchilde had casually mentioned its worth during a previous meeting, and then chuckled saying he’d bought the Mayor for less.

  To make matters more uncomfortable, Rothchilde was completely right. Halloran’s men had screwed up. All Halloran could do was grit his teeth and bare the storm.

  “The Officer said he’d gone to get a cup of coffee. When he came back, Manny was gone.”

  “Coffee?” Rothchilde smiled, but his beady eyes showed no trace of amusement. He was a thin man, almost skinny, with soft hands and slender fingers that were always carefully manicured. His hair was black, parted on the side, and his hawkish nose and slight overbite reminded Halloran of a rat.

  “This man is worth over a billion dollars to me, and you lost him for a fifty cent cup of coffee.”

  “The guy just had surgery. Who would have thought he’d get up and leave?”

  “How do we know he left? How do we know he wasn’t taken?”

  Halloran tried to sound like the authority his title represented. “Couldn’t have happened. Patient in the room across the hall saw Manny steal some clothes from a drawer. He called the nurse, but too late.”

  Rothchilde let out a slow breath. Truth be told, Halloran was afraid of him. It didn’t matter that he could break Rothchilde’s skinny little canned-tan body over his knee like a broomstick. Rothchilde’s power was greater than physical. The President of the United States took his calls. So did the capos of the biggest families on both coasts.

  “We need him found, Captain.” Rothchilde used the rank as if it tasted foul in his mouth. “Whoever killed Dr. Nikos obviously wanted Manny dead too. We can’t let that happen. It would cause an unforgivable delay.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  “Then why is your fat ass still sitting here?”

  Halloran ground his teeth. The extra money wasn’t worth it. He should tell this bozo off right here and now.

  Instead, he left the office and went to check on the search for Manny.

  Albert Rothchilde watched him go. Insulting Halloran was normally a fun activity, but there was no joy in it today. There was too much at stake.