by Bill Myers
Katherine’s heart swelled in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“Is that why…” She searched for the phrase. “I mean, you did serve some time in prison, right?”
“That man is dead. He was very evil, very violent, and now he is very, very gone.”
“And you’re a brand, spanking new creature.”
Coleman shrugged, then nodded. “I guess so.”
For some reason, another Bible verse came to mind. Katherine had heard it dozens of times as a child, but she had long since forgotten it. Until now. What was it about this man that stirred so many things inside of her?
He saw her expression and asked, “What?”
She shook her head.
“No, tell me.”
She looked up to him, then took a breath and quoted: “ ‘Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.’ ”
Coleman looked surprised. “Is that…?” He motioned toward the coffee table where the Bible she’d given him lay.
“Yeah, it’s in there. Though I suppose it has more to do with a person’s faith than his DNA structure, wouldn’t you?”
Coleman nodded, though it was obvious he was still mulling over the concept. They both sat in silence, thinking. Finally he turned to her. “I know I promised not to ask, but…”
She looked to him.
“What about you?” He held her gaze, looking so deep into her that she fought back a shiver. “I get the feeling that you’ve been through a lot.”
A weakness spread through her body, but she didn’t want to look away. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. She took another sip of wine. He waited silently, his eyes full of compassion.
Finally she began. At first the story came out matter-of-factly. Her sheltered childhood, her preacher daddy, preacher-wife mommy. Bible college. Meeting the man of her dreams. Married right out of college. The perfect couple, who within a year were adoring their perfect newborn.
And then the tragedies. Anguish and sorrows that no twenty-three-year-old should ever be forced to face.
Gary’s shooting. Her pretended strength. The days of ceaseless prayers and their obvious futility. The suffocating love and spiritual formulas from family and church. Her discovery of alcohol and its ability to numb the pain. The bingeing. The bad-girl reputation. Her father’s persistent love regardless of the tongue waggers.
But Katherine could go no further. Somewhere, deep inside, the shudders began. Deep sobs from inside that made it impossible to speak. She tried to stop, but couldn’t. She hadn’t cried like this since her father’s death. A moment later she felt his arms about her shoulders. A gentle embrace, an attempt to comfort. She turned and buried her face against his chest. And to her amazement, she felt his own body shuddering. He was also crying, sharing her pain. And if he shared such deep things with her, was it possible that he might share other feelings as well?
For days, she’d been searching almost unconsciously for a sign. But he was always so considerate, so tender, it was impossible to tell how he felt about her. She looked up at him through her tears. Moisture streamed down his own cheeks. It was so touching, so moving. Before she knew it, she had raised her head toward his mouth. He lowered his. Their lips found one another. The kiss was delicately tender, the salt of his tears mixed with hers. The passion grew. She could feel him trembling, struggling to restrain himself. And it was at that moment that she knew he could be trusted, that she could give herself fully to him without reservation and without fear of being hurt. He had touched her innermost being, her very soul, and she had touched his.
Their embrace grew. But as the kiss reached its height of passion, she felt him hesitate. She kissed him harder, encouraging him. But instead of complying, he started to pull away.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, pressing in, “it’s okay —”
“No,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes. He gently pulled back and looked at her, searching. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, “it’s — it’s not right.”
She moved in again, closing her eyes, reaching for his mouth. “Of course it is.”
“Katherine.”
She looked at him again. The depth of his gaze was unnerving. “This isn’t right. Not now. Not for you.”
She frowned. Who was he to tell her what was right and wrong?
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head.
She pulled back, trying to understand. Hurt and rejection flooded in. “Sure,” she said, trying to regain her dignity, “of course.” But the anger and humiliation continued to pour into her. Already she could feel herself shutting down, closing off. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” She pulled back and sat on the couch, straightening her clothes.
“Katherine…”
“After all, you’re part God now, right? I mean, what would happen if —”
“That’s not it.” He searched for words.
She took her glass from the coffee table and rose unsteadily to her feet. “No, you’re right. Besides, it’s late, and we’ve both got work in the morning.”
“Katherine.” He rose toward her.
She held up her hand, bringing him to a stop. “I said you’re right, this isn’t what I want. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I didn’t mean to —”
“Listen, maybe you should go. All right?”
He looked at her a long moment. She held his gaze, refusing to back down. She didn’t care what he saw inside now. If it was her anger, fine. Her humiliation, so what?
Finally he nodded. He turned and crossed the room to retrieve his coat. “I didn’t want —”
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.” She wanted to say more, but the anger and embarrassment kept her from continuing.
“Thank you for dinner, Katherine. I had a terrific day.”
“Right, terrific.”
“Will you tell Eric —”
“Tell him yourself,” she interrupted. “He’s still up, working on his computer.”
“That would be okay?”
“I just said so, didn’t I?” She turned on him. “He deserves at least that much, don’t you think? For you to at least say good night to him. He at least deserves that.” She wasn’t sure what she meant, but she suspected that somehow he’d know.
At last he nodded and walked past her into the hallway.
Katherine stood, still smarting. Then, seeing the dinner dishes piled on the counter, she moved toward them, grateful to find something to do.
A weary O’Brien headed out of the research building of Genodyne Inc. and into the parking lot. The night air helped a little to clear his head, but not enough. He was both relieved and puzzled. The bands from the gel had proven to be exactly the same as the GOD gene. It had not mutated, it had not been changed. It was the identical pattern Murkoski, Wolff, and the team had been using for months. So what was the problem? Why had Wolff called him at home? More importantly, why had he died?
There was one other thought: the mice. What had happened to that one mouse, then to the entire community of six? And why only to them and not the others? And what did this have to do with the gels and Wolff’s fate?
O’Brien was so deep in thought that he barely noticed someone arriving at his BMW. He was practically inside the car before he heard the girl’s shouts.
“Excuse me! Excuse me, Dr. O’Brien?”
He turned to see Tisha Youngren approach. She looked as good under the glow of mercury vapors as she had in the lab.
“Ms. Youngren. Is… everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, arriving just a little breathless. “I left my keys in the car.”
“Ah…”
“Boy, do I feel stupid.” She gave a helpless little-girl smile.
“It happens to the best of us.”
“I suppose.”
He reached for his cellular. “Let me
give Security a call. They have one of those flat metal things to jimmy it open.”
“Oh, don’t bother them.”
O’Brien looked up.
She stuck her hands in her coat pockets and boldly held his eyes. “I’ve got an extra set at home. I just live a mile away, over at Smoky Point. Since it’s on your way, I thought maybe you could drop me off.”
He looked at her. “Uh, actually it would probably be better just to call Security. I mean, they’ve got the metal thingie and all.”
“Better for who?” There was that smile again.
He stared at her, feeling his face flush slightly.
She tilted her head, waiting for his answer.
For the briefest second he forgot the question. She was so young, so lovely, and it was becoming very apparent what she had in mind.
“Listen, Ms. — uh, Youngren —”
“Tisha,” she said, her smile growing more coy.
“Yes, uh, Tisha —”
“It would only take a few minutes.” She took a tentative step toward him. Now they were less than two feet apart, plumes of white breath rising above their heads. “And if you wanted, I could fix you something to eat or something. I mean, with you being alone and everything, and it being so late.”
More color rose to O’Brien’s face. An indefinable rush of excitement spread in his chest. It had been a long time since someone so beautiful had shown such interest. Oh, there were the occasional flirtings, but nothing like this. This girl seemed truly impressed by him. Unlike Beth, who grew more critical each year, this girl seemed so accepting. No put-downs, or reminders of clay feet. Just a beautiful girl, half his age, who seemed to really admire him.
He wondered how she knew he was alone, then realized that she was part of another generation, a smart generation who knew how to go after what they wanted. He was both flattered and cautious. But why the caution? Other execs did this all the time, didn’t they? Wasn’t this one of the perks of power? The stress, the worry, the anxiety — didn’t these call for special benefits? Didn’t this come with the territory? No one appreciated the pressure men like him were under, certainly not their wives. And this girl seemed so willing. How many times had he been faithful at the hotels, the conventions, the international meetings — with no one there to pat him on the back for his integrity. And he was so stressed, and she was so lovely, and there was no one at home waiting.
He took a step toward her. The plumes of their breath intermixed. She reached out and touched the lapel of his topcoat. “You won’t be disappointed.”
He was glad to hear that her voice carried a trace of nervousness. This wasn’t something she did every day. She was putting herself on the line, taking a risk, and all for him. Once again he was struck by her deep, jade-green eyes. So inviting. And he was so alone. He reached up to his coat and placed his hands over hers. She moved closer. No one would know. And she was so young and beautiful and she admired him and no one was at home waiting.
She rose up on her toes and they kissed. It grew passionate, full of hunger, a foretaste of what the night could hold. He pulled her closer, drawing her into himself. She surrendered, but at the same time pushed against him, as if trying to turn him. He was too caught up in the moment to notice. She pushed harder until he stumbled, shifting his feet, and turned slightly. It was then that he opened his eyes and saw it.
In the distance, directly ahead. A van.
Tisha pulled back his topcoat, pressing herself into him. O’Brien closed his eyes, trying to lose himself again, but the image of the van would not go away. He reopened his eyes. This time he saw movement inside the van, silhouetted by one of the parking lot lights. Someone was behind the wheel, watching.
Sensing his distraction, Tisha’s kisses grew more demanding. He tried to pull from her, but she clung to him. At last his insistence prevailed and they separated.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, almost breathless.
He motioned behind her, and she turned to look.
Suddenly the van’s engine turned over and its lights blared on. Tisha shielded her eyes from the glare. “What —”
The van’s wheels spun, throwing gravel as it lurched forward. It was heading directly for them.
With memories of Wolff fresh in his mind, O’Brien suspected the worst. Perhaps Murkoski was thinking of another way to silence his questions.
He looked around. They could run for it, but the building was too far away and the van was picking up speed.
“Get behind the car,” he ordered.
“What?”
“The car! Get behind the car!”
She started to back away from him.
“Tisha!”
The van roared closer.
“Get behind the car!”
She turned and started running.
“Tisha!”
The van accelerated. It was less than fifty yards away when it veered to the right, and O’Brien realized the sickening truth: It was not heading toward him, it was heading toward her!
“No, Tisha!” He started for her.
The van closed in. Twenty yards from the girl. Fifteen.
It kept Tisha in the center of its headlights.
O’Brien was running now, pushing his legs for all they were worth. “Tisha!”
She threw a frightened look over her shoulder. The vehicle bore down.
Five yards.
“TISH —”
Adrenaline pumped through his body. He was flying — but he was too late. The van would hit her long before he arrived.
Ten feet. Five.
Then, just as it was about to strike, the van suddenly swerved to the left. The passenger door flew open and the van slowed its speed to match the girl’s. Now she was running parallel, directly beside it. To O’Brien’s amazement, she turned and leaped inside, tumbling into the darkness of the open vehicle.
The van accelerated and roared for the exit.
O’Brien slowed to a stop and watched as the vehicle smashed through the security gate, fishtailed a turn, and raced down the perimeter road. He bent over and propped his hands against his knees, gasping for breath, plumes of white vapor rising above him.
And there, alone, bent over in the parking lot, Philip O’Brien realized that Murkoski didn’t need to resort to murder. He could find other means of securing people’s cooperation.
Coleman headed down the hallway toward Eric’s room. He felt terrible. He had humiliated and betrayed Katherine. And he had no idea how to make it right. Maybe he couldn’t. That thought made his heart even heavier as he knocked on Eric’s door.
“Who is it?” Eric asked. “I’m asleep.”
“It’s me, can I come in?”
“Sure.”
Coleman opened the door and saw the eight-year-old sitting at his desk in the dark, his face bathed by the blue-green glow of a computer screen.
“Hey, Eric.”
The boy didn’t look up but continued working the keyboard and mouse. “You’re not going to sleep with her, are you?” he asked.
Coleman joined him. “How does somebody your age know about that stuff?”
The boy shrugged. “We get cable.”
“What are you doing?”
“That guy at the laboratory today?”
“Yeah.”
“He said his name was Steiner?”
“Something like that.”
Eric clicked his computer mouse twice more and a picture slowly started to scan, from the top of the monitor down.
“It’s going to take a little bit of time, since my equipment is like from the Dark Ages. But there’s this guy on the Internet, a real nutzoid. Mom doesn’t like for me to read anything he writes.”
“So, of course, you do.”
“All the time. I’ve been downloading his stuff into my general file folder forever.”
The scanning lines had already revealed dark, closely cut hair and a forehead. Now they were defining the slightly crooked bridge of a nose.
“His name is Steiner, too. Anyway, he’s always writing these weird letters and sending these pictures telling us not to forget about the man who murdered his daughter.”
Eric’s voice grew fainter as Coleman watched the monitor. A knot twisted in his stomach as he stared at the emerging eyes.
“And Steiner,” Coleman heard himself ask. “He sends this stuff out to everybody on the Net?”
The rest of the nose was forming.
“Nah, just to a few of us.”
“Why you, Eric?” His voice was faint now, unsteady. “Why does he send this stuff to you?”
The mouth slowly appeared, followed by the chin. Next, two words in block letters began to form at the bottom of the screen.
“That’s easy.” Eric answered, his voice was coming from another world.
“Why, Eric?”
“ ’Cause the man who killed his daughter killed my dad.”
The picture of executed killer Michael Coleman was now complete. And directly below it, in large printed letters, were two words:
NEVER FORGET
CHAPTER 11
COLEMAN CLOSED ERIC’S DOOR and somehow made it down the hall. The walls blurred as he stared at the threadbare carpet passing under his feet. He was the one responsible. For their struggles, their pain. He was the one.
He passed the kitchen and heard Katherine scraping the dinner plates. She was eight feet away, but he didn’t look up, didn’t speak. He had to get out.
He reached the front door and opened it. The knob was tarnished, loose, and like everything else in this impoverished apartment, ready to fall apart. And he was the reason they were here.
Everything would have been different. Katherine would be back in Council Bluffs, in a real home. She’d be a different person, full of the tenderness and innocence he had been able to see inside her. She’d be in her kitchen loading her dishwasher, preparing to join her husband on the sofa to watch TV, or maybe talk about their dreams, their kids, how to swing payments on that new minivan.
But thanks to him, she had no future. Thanks to him she had no life.
He closed the door, headed down the hall, and took the elevator to the lobby.
