SUMMATION

by Daniel Syverson

  Mike nodded as she spoke, looking up to the corner of the room, deep in thought. He kept looking down at the table, then finally looked back up at her. "Let's try something. Jenny, go get your boom box and meet me back in the room."

  Sue, listening from her table a few yards away, looked up. "Uh, Mike - whatcha up to?"

  "Well, just an idea. I had read the same thing, basically, that Jenny had said. Only some type of magnetic field, from an electric line, or otherwise, would, or at least should, do this."

  She nodded. "I can see that. That makes sense. And?"

  "Well, if there is a strong field there, it should affect the boom box, right? I mean, interfere with reception?"

  Sue looked skeptical, but said nothing as Jenny went for the boom box.

  Anyone walking in while Mike was moving the radio around Mr. Richter's head would have thought the group had gone nuts.

  Up close, only static was heard. When the radio moved away from his head, music could be heard, relatively clearly (it was never real good in the morgue because of the reinforced concrete walls around and above them caused so much interference). Move towards Hans' head, get static. Away, music.

  "NOW what?" Sue looked more puzzled now than she had before.

  "No idea," Mike replied, sitting down on the stool next to Mr. Richter. "I guess I make some phone calls. This is a new one on me, that's for sure."

  Nearly an hour and half later, Mike returned. Sue had just finished the father, the rest could wait til morning, now only a short time away. She had started cleaning up. "What'd you find out, Mike?"

  "Not a whole lot. I even called CDC. They want a closer look. They asked us to get some frozen sections of the brain, and send it to them on dry ice. I told them we couldn't, and why. I told them I would send some of the samples we did have, though. They also want us to keep him here. They said if there was any problem, to call them, and they would deal with the State Department. Can you believe all this?"

  Mike got the samples, divided them, and prepared them for packing. While doing that, Sue went ahead and made the preparations for shipping them out.

  "You about ready to go home?" she asked, about forty minutes later.

  "A week and a half ago," Mike replied.

  * * *

  After one final look around, Mike reached up and flipped off the lights.

  Chapter 12

  Going Stateside

  Gerhard Richter sat alone in his room, lights dimmed, Mozart playing in the background, but softly; loud enough to clearly hear, but not loud enough to really appreciate the range of emotion projected by the music.

  His devastation was complete, and not just for the obvious, paternal reasons. Hans was not just his only son, his only child - he was the culmination, the final result of literally hundreds of years of preparation.

  That wasn't quite true. Hans was not his only child.

  A man of prodigious sexual appetite and vast resources, he had had no shortage of willing partners over the years, with the expected consequences. These were always dealt with, however, and discreet visits to clinics or quiet payoffs eventually resolved each of them.

  But Hans was different.

  His mother, a quiet woman from a family Richter's family had known for generations, had served as the vessel for the continuation of Richter's line. A marriage not of love, nor even convenience, it had been one of duty. A necessity.

  He never saw the marriage as anything more than this, and over the short years that Hans went from newborn through the lower grades of school resulted in the tiny woman becoming ever more frail. The son had followed the father from the beginning, and in that short time, her role had become less and less meaningful, her very life less relevant.

  The dalliances of the father had not ceased with the marriage, and there was no relationship other than legal between husband and wife. Hans, following the father, had developed a disdain for his mother that had risen to the point that he only tolerated her presence.

  She knew there was no way out of this marriage, to which she had promised til death did they part, save one, and one day, while Gerhard was out with Hans, she took it.

  To say the two took it well would not be quite accurate. She had served her purpose, and now had become an annoyance. An annoyance that no longer was a problem.

  They both got over it pretty quickly.

  That all being said, Hans was still the firstborn. At least the official firstborn. The anointed one that would carry on the legacy.

  He was the only child that had the Gift. The Ability. The Future. The potential to bring his line to its Rightful Place. To rule.

  The time had been right.

  Yes, others in the line had succumbed, but this was different. He really was to be the One. This just simply could not be. As far as Gerhard himself had come, he was only setting the stage for Hans. Like John the Baptist for Jesus. A humbling thought for a man such as him, but the truth. He had been taught this from birth. He had read it himself in the Writings. This simply could not be!

  Outside his room, the staff waited, quiet, not daring to disturb him. They had already canceled all appointments, shut down the phone to his room, and dared not even speak above a whisper. They were just as shocked, just as confused. They also had worked toward this time their entire lives. They, and their fathers before them. Fathers - for they had never known their mothers, none of them.

  They were born into this priesthood, and would die there. It was so. There was no question of choosing otherwise. This was their destiny, a legacy, passed down a dozen generations, and more before even that. Some writings traced lineage back before Christ, before Moses, even before the Garden, but these were not, obviously, documented, and many of the writings had not survived the Inquisition. They too, could not understand what had happened.

  Their entire reality, the reason of their very birth, was now in question. Not only theirs, but the births of their fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers. The birth of the male offspring being raised to follow them. What had happened?

  The door opened. "I must go at once to the United States. Notify the pilots that we need to leave immediately for Rockford, IL, just outside Chicago. Prepare my things and notify me when you are ready. You will, of course, accompany me, but only Georg will be on record. The rest of you will fly separately, and stay in separate quarters, but remain in immediate contact. We will meet at the compound. In case of problems, I do not want others to know you are with me."

  "I will see my son."

  Chapter 13

  Here to see my son

  Hans Richter's father, a man who never waited for anything or anyone, was waiting at the door when the coroner arrived. His connections both within and outside the German government had given him access immediate clearances, and in a matter of hours he was approaching Rockford. Although a relatively small airport, it was set up for international travel, with customs available. Also, it was well equipped for its size, with one of its two runways being over two miles long, thanks to the airport also serving as a FedEx hub.

  He used the time to review the information on hand, and to find out where his son was, and who was holding him. He also learned the names of the Mayor, Police Chief, Coroner, and the Chicago embassy contact who would assist him if requested. By the time he landed, he was already familiar with the functioning of the coroner's office in Rockford.

  His ground transport was waiting patiently for him despite the wee hours of the morning. By seven forty-five a.m., he was walking up the steps to the main entrance. Some of the staff had already come in early to get started, but the outside doors were locked up.

  Without ever having met her, he knew who Nancy Vega was by the way she was headed to the door, by the armload of papers in addition to her briefcase, and her quick and determined walk to the door. Before she could even say hello, he approached her.

  "Ms. Vega, I presume? I am here to see my son."

  "Excuse me, can I help you? Who is it you are here to see
?"

  "My son. Hans Richter. I've come a very long ways, and I want to see my son. Now, please."

  His directness stunned her for a moment. "I, uh, I see." She struggled with her keys a moment, balancing her load on one arm while fumbling with the lock with the other. He stood by, silently, neither offering to help nor commenting further. Finally, she pulled the door open.

  "Won't you come in, Mr., ahh, Richter was it? Please, come to my office. Let me see what I can do. I believe I'm aware of your son. I - I just wasn't expecting you. Not so quickly."

  She held the door, and he walked past her, obviously someone accustomed to having doors held.

  "Can I get you some coffee?" she asked. "Here, have a seat." She offered him the old, but reasonably well maintained loveseat across from her desk. Most people weren't paying attention to the furniture when they came to see her.

  "Danke, Thank you, no. I am here to see my son. I need to see my son. Do you understand?"

  "Of course, of course I do. But I need to, well, prepare him for you. You understand we have to, uh, protect his remains, and I will need to, well, bring him out to view."

  "Very well, I will give you a few moments."

  She turned, and walked quickly down the hall, then down the steps into the actual morgue. Fortunately, Tim, the tech that often took care of the preparations, was already in. After working during much of the night, he had only had time to go home, snatch a quick shower, quick nap, maybe a half hours' worth, and come back. He had only been gone about three hours altogether. In fact, the same was true of the others who were already in.

  Looking around the room, she saw the back of Tim's head, disappearing around the corner. She followed him, quickly catching up.

  "Tim, would you prepare Hans Richter, the German citizen, to be viewed by his father? He's upstairs waiting. Just flew in from overseas, apparently. I'll try to delay him as long as I can, but he's very insistent. Some kind of big shot. Last thing we need on top of all else is an upset parent from overseas, probably with the State Department right behind, and television cameras behind them."

  "No problem. Do you want him down here, or set up in the regular viewing room? I can have him ready down here in about three or four minutes. It will take me about ten more to get him upstairs."

  "Well, let's just do it here. I don't think location is important to him. He doesn't seem like the type that needs a curtain and a chair. I'll bring him down in five. And thanks."

  "No prob."

  She started back upstairs, but before she reached the top, she met Mr. Richter starting down. "Mr. Richter, please. I was on my way back. We are preparing him now. We just need a couple of minutes. It's better if you wait here."

  "Nonsense. I will wait by my son. You do not need to worry about me."

  She tried to block him, diplomatically. She knew how difficult this was for parents, and the shock of an unprepared body could, would, be traumatic.

  "Mr. Richter, we need to talk. Your son was severely crushed in that accident. He, well, he is going to - he's not going to look - there is a lot of damage. His face and head are relatively undamaged, but, well, we really need to keep him covered." She paused. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I understand how difficult this has to be for you."

  She pursed her lips, trying to think of what else to say, but there wasn't anything.

  "I just wanted to try to prepare you."

  "Thank you. Now, may we go?" His thank-you was more dismissive than appreciative. He stepped down and to the side, as if walking around her.

  She sighed, turned, and led the way.

  Hans Richter had been cleaned up well. Tim had worked fast, and Hans was already pulled out. Tim had unwrapped the corpse to about the neck, and left the sheet laying loosely to that point. He had placed a towel over the face itself. With the sheet separately wrapping the body, Mr. Richter could view the face without accidentally seeing the unbelievable crush damage below. She'd been informed the night before, and knew how badly the body had been mutilated and crushed.

  Tim stood aside, then quietly stepped out of the room. Besides, he had his regular work to do, and the last thing he needed was to stand there gawking at a parent with a dead child.

  Nancy looked back at Gerhard Richter. "Are you sure, Mr. Richter?" Richter nodded. She walked over with him to the covered body, and removed the towel, folding it back and leaving it on the boy's covered, crumpled chest. His face had a few minor abrasions, but was remarkably untouched considering the devastating damage to the rest of his body. "I'll leave you now. When you are ready to leave, Tim is outside, and he will help you." Richter never looked up or responded. She stepped back, turned, and left.

  Mr. Richter had heard her. He was not ignoring her, nor was he overtaken with grief. He was concentrating. He pulled a stool over to the head of the gurney, sat down, and reaching out, held his son's head with both hands, slowly bringing his head closer, closer, until both foreheads made contact. His concentration was total as he pressed his forehead tightly against his son's; perspiration formed on his brow despite the cool room. The coldness of his son's forehead did not affect him. The pressure of contact began to warm the front of the dead boy's forehead.

  The lights flickered briefly throughout the building. Both Tim, downstairs, and Nancy, back in her office, looked up at the lights, as if there was something to be seen, and, seeing nothing, ignored it and returned to work.

  The temperature began to drop in the already cool basement room; first slowly, unnoticeably, then more quickly. Tim didn't notice, as it was kept cool anyway, but he did reach behind him to grab his lab coat, hanging on the back of the chair. Nancy, upstairs, went over to her closet, and pulled out a sweater she kept on hand for cooler evenings in the spring and fall, hung it over her shoulders, and sat down.

  Then it dropped quickly. Tim saw it first - his breath. He stood up, and looked around. A mist had formed, the air was so cold. Something had obviously happened to the air conditioning. He sat down, and began to look up the number of the building engineer, before Nancy asked him to, which he knew would be soon.

  It only took another couple minutes to hit the upstairs. Nancy noticed it getting colder, and when she looked up, there was condensation on the outside of the window! When she stood up and went to the door to her office, she also could see her breath. She went back to her desk to dial Tim, and have him take a look around or get ahold of the building manager. This was amazing, she thought. She never dreamed the air conditioner could put out this much cold air.

  Slowly, father and son separated.

  The room had cooled, far cooler than the rest of the building. Ice had formed on the drawer, and frost could be seen on the gurneys. The room was filled with the cold mist of freezing air.

  The son's eyes opened.

  "YES" Still gripping his head, the father kept repeating, "YES, YES, YES, YES..."

  To listen to it though, it was not a cry of jubilation, or relief, or joy, but of accomplishment. He kept repeating it, tightly gripping the boys head, still. He could feel warmth begin to spread throughout the boy's head. If he had looked down, he would have seen motion in the sheets, where the broken body was beginning to fill out. "YES, YES, YES, YES..."

  He was almost shouting it, now.

  Finally, hearing Mr. Gerhard's voice, Tim came around the corner. "Are you alright, sir? SIR? SIR?" Tim thought the man was overwrought, and came over to separate him from his son's corpse. He grabbed the arms of the elder Richter, and jumped, startled, when he saw the open eyes of the younger. Of course, he had seen open eyes on corpses before, but it was startling, just the same.

  "Leave my father ALONE!"

  Tim jumped back. It couldn't have been, but-

  The head on the table turned, and looked directly at him.

  "Get me out of here, NOW!"

  Tim shuddered. His knees went weak, and he grabbed a gurney to stay up.

  "I said, get me out of here, NOW!"

  Tim opened his mouth, but not
hing came out. He tried to step forward, but couldn't move. He finally slid to the ground, mouth still open. This just couldn't be, it can't be, it can't be, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming...

  Richter began unwrapping the boy, removing the cover sheet, then peeling back the plastic wrap, and removing the inner sheet. The naked boy climbed off the drawer. "I have no clothes. Get me some."

  Looking around, there was a lab coat hanging just outside the room. He grabbed it and handed to his son, now standing naked by the table. There were scrubs somewhere, but they didn't take time to look.

  "Let's go," said the elder.

  Mr. Richter walked ahead, leading the way to the steps, now ice covered, with frozen condensation on the railings, with Hans following. Tim couldn't move, and just sat there, staring at the door. Mike came around the corner, and seeing Tim on the floor, rushed over, nearly falling as he slipped on the icy floor. He saw a man and someone in scrubs heading up the steps, but turned his attention back to Tim.

  "Tim? Tim? You alright?" He felt for his pulse, and it was fine. He just sat there, staring.

  Richter looked back to see if they were being followed, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. Pressing one number on speed dial, he only waited a moment before it was answered, as they climbed the steps. "Bring the car around to the where I entered, NOW. We're coming out. Be ready to move out fast." They turned down the hall.

  Nancy looked up as Mr. Richter walked quickly by, and stood up to see him out, though he was passed her door before she could get up. She then saw someone in a lab coat quickly following. She ran out from the office as they headed out the door. She saw someone, barefoot, no pants, in a lab coat, run out the door. She followed, slipping and almost falling in the hallway on something slippery, ice? Was that ice? She made it to the entrance, pushing the door open and following onto the sidewalk by the entrance just in time to see the two of them jump in the back seat of a Jeep, or Bronco. Some kind of dark SUV.