Stimulus (Arc Gap Trilogy Book 1)

by Ryan Burnett

  “Professor it's me... Angela.....Tyra and I found...” light filled the room and now as if my throat was trying to make up for earlier it was all I could do to suppress a scream. Professor Engle's lay slumped in her desk chair with a bullet hole in the direct center of her forehead. I felt dizzy. Almost as if there was some sort of debilitating buzzing building behind my eyes. Impaled on spikes of nausea and bound by a breakdown in the senses, I involuntarily heaved the remaining contents of my stomach into the wastebasket in the corner of the office. It took a moment before I could calm myself down again but eventually I found the will to focusing on my breathing again.

  I occupied my mind wholly with the process of inhalations and exhalations until some semblance of order settled over my mind. I was huddled on the floor quaking not wanting to be the hero, not wanting to do what was best with the group, I felt sorry for Tommy but at this very moment all I wanted was make it back to safety with Professor Yodson and Tyra. However I was here now and nothing I can do can change that. I pulled myself to my feet, being careful about where I put my weight and painfully aware of each movement and the rush of light-headedness it brings. Taking deep slow breaths to steady myself I approach Professor Engle's desk and I check the drawers and the pockets to her lab coat but find nothing. No gun, no knife, not even a bottle of pepper spray. Had someone shot her and then left? Why? I turned to leave desperate to get back to the other room in case whoever did this decided to return but as I moved my head I noticed a glint shining from around Professor Engle's neck.

  She was a very practical woman and I had never seen her wear any type of jewelry before, not even a pair of earrings. It was a silver chain with a medallion piece in the center. It was a simple design consisting of a larger circle encompassing a smaller one. The inner circle had small line fragments radiating out from its perimeter that almost touched the perimeter of the larger circle. It was a symbol I had seen many times before. The icon of the Photographists. All this time we had worked together and I never knew we had this controversial faith in common. I knew some Photographist even refuse to call it a “faith”, saying instead that it was a human concept rather than a divine one, but regardless in my mind the word seemed appropriate. It seemed wrong to just leave her like this, a part of me wanted to take her body with me but I knew I wasn't strong enough to drag it through the hallway with any sort of speed. Regretfully I closed her eyes, and repeated a short mantra in her honor

  “Thank you for sharing your memories

  Through your life may mine find focus.”

  Though I was sincere the words seemed hollow to me. I remember there was a time where they had seemed solemn to me, but now standing next to her executed corpse they seemed completely inadequate. Forcing back the melancholy I deactivated the lights before I opened the door once more and went back down the hallway mentally making a promise to myself to live through this at least long enough to insure that any data that could be salvaged off of her VRN got uploaded to the servers at a photographist center. We had never been close but she had always been kind, and without her we would be stuck in this building with no means to defend ourselves. If she had taken the selfish route and kept the gun for herself maybe she could have survived this nightmare. That thought brought my mind to the weight of the gun. I had completely forgotten about it during the shock of discovering Professor Engle’s murder, but now I brought it to bear conscious that there were some here who were better armed than we initially anticipated.

  My ears were pricked and on alert but I couldn’t hear anything except for sirens and the hellish sound of the battle below. I began to turn the final corner that would bring me to the front of Professor Yodson's classroom once again but as I did I caught sight of a group of five men facing the doorway to the classroom and I quickly hid myself back around. I had only seen a quick glimpsed but I could tell these weren't like the psychopaths downstairs. They all wore black turtlenecks and had guns big enough to make the one I carried seem like a toy. As much as I hoped it was a police force some instinct inside of me told me that it would be unlikely that the police would send anyone without having the drones thoroughly sweep over the place. I wondered if they were responsible for Professor Engle's death but those large weapons seemed incapable of producing the neat and exact shot that had claimed her life.

  Maybe they had smaller guns on their person too? But even if that were the case why would they bother to switch weapons? Even if noise were an issue then wouldn't a knife make a lot more sense? The only thing I could be sure of is that right now they were between me and what was most likely the only other sane people left on campus. I gripped the gun tighter in my hands only now coming to the realization that I had the gun clenched in a vice grip for quite a while now. I tried as hard as I could to keep quiet. Waiting, listening, biding my time, knowing their lives and my own were like petals in a garden set ablaze.

  Chapter 13

  Marcus

  13:15:24

  It hadn't taken much actual effort to get a lead on Alex's whereabouts. Rob and I had poured over the surveillance video and had caught a lucky break. Whenever Alex made an appearance at Pangea he would quickly acquire a little entourage and a big tab. The girl’s in these little parties seemed to vary from night to night but Rob was able to recognize the face of one of the guys who had managed to worm his way into Alex’s inner circle. Vik Chambers, or “Slick” as he was known by in some less than illustrious social circles, was a semi-regular fare of Rob’s. He had a habit of getting too drunk and leaving large tips for no good reason. This in itself wasn’t too uncommon but I wasn’t really in the mood to question Rob’s memory or our good fortune.

  Almost as if Rob could read my mind he broke the silence of the car drive over to Slick’s apartment, “Man I never would have remembered that guy either except for the fact that every time I picked the dude up he started singing these horrible songs in like Russian or something, worst fucking singing voice I have ever heard in my life. There was a time or two I almost drove right by rather than have to listen to him belt another one of those out.” I couldn’t help but grin to myself at the thought of someone’s voice actually being bad enough to make Rob willing to miss out on some coin. We’d just have to cross our fingers and hope that when we caught up to him he would only “sing” for us in the figurative sense.

  As we got to the complex, I wasn’t truly surprised at the amount of dirt and grime around the premises but it was something you couldn’t help but take a mental note of. I’m no neat freak but even I couldn’t help but try not to look too hard at the garbage that spilled out of the dumpsters and on to the street. The concept of garbage was one thing, sure it was still filth but it was a hazy concept, safely vague and mostly indistinct. Almost any normal person could easily handle the concept of garbage because “garbage” can dam well just about anything. It was only when one got down to the reality of the nitty gritty maggot encrusted details did one gain the perspective necessary to turn one’s stomach.

  I occupied myself with observing (but not too closely) our surroundings as Rob circled to building 28 were he usually deposited Slick after he got loaded on the night life. Even though I couldn’t remember ever actually seeing Slick before, I could easily guess which apartment was his. Of all the apartments there, there was only one with pulled shades that half concealed colorful lights pulsing behind them. That plus the ring of discarded disposable e-cig cylinders that had accumulated outside of the door and window were a dead giveaway.

  As we approached the door the rhythmic bass pulse of the music grew steadily stronger even though I couldn’t really make out any recognizable tune coming from the apartment at this distance. It was a peculiar sensation as well as another sign that we were at the right place. It was hard for words and melodies to pierce the incoherent delirium of the zap, joltjunkies preferred music that they could feel as they rode the electrical wavelengths. Rob and I stood in front of the vibrating door, neither of us bothering to raise our fist to knock knowin
g that such an action would be useless against the brutal resonance.

  I motioned my head signaling to Rob that I would loop around the back. He merely responded with a raised eyebrow and a shrug before slipping his hands in his pockets. I tried to avoid looking like I was in a hurry as I circled around to the rear of the first floor apartment. The chest high gate was a joke of an obstacle and using my arms for leverage I vaulted my way to the other side. I almost slid as my feet landed on yet more empty canisters, plastic, and assorted waste strewn across the modest patio. The thunderous rattling from the interior seemed to grow deeper if not louder as I approached the sliding glass door leading to the inside. I could see the flashes of light streak past the blinds here before being enveloped and obliterated by the much stronger sunlight outside. I took a deep breath and pulled my gun out of its holster as I tested the sliding glass door. It was unlocked, typical. I grinned a little at my recent run of good luck before closing my eyes as I removed the safety from my weapon, I slid the glass open in a flurry of motion and entered the apartment weapon drawn and ready to fire.

  It took only the briefest of moments to realize that the only danger here was posed by the sheer volume of the music. I was a little bit surprised to find that I vaguely recognized the song Slick had been deafening himself with, “Infidel” by the Teslaves. It was slightly more tolerable than most of what passed for music nowadays merely due to the fact that the bass track had more composition to it than a raw recording of an industrial jackhammer. I quickly crossed the room to the front door and let Rob inside of the room and locked the door behind him. Multicolored hues haphazardly paraded across the interior of the apartment but they danced for eyes absent of thought and control. Eyes that were technically open but were not able to see. Rob smacked the joltjunky who owned those eyes to bring him out of his own reality back to a world we held in common.

  I saw Rob chuckle to himself before going over to the sound system and yanking the cord from the wall. He didn’t waste any time before crossing over to the dazed Slick and asking “So where can we find him?” he followed his question up by waving a cheap printout of Alex in front of the man’s face obscuring the holographic visualizer that painted psychedelic colors across the room. Slick flinched, recoiling in his enthralled state as if some strange horror had just entered his presence. His lip trembled and points of sweat began to form on his face... I could not tell if it was because he was putting effort into trying to form a response or if a surge of pleasure was threatening to overtake his senses.

  Despite any misgivings he may have had initially I could tell Rob was enjoying this part quite a bit. Maybe I would be too but I had a nagging anxiety in my stomach that the lead that we had stumbled across was too fried to be of any use. I stood behind Rob and took a moment to really take in the place...it was a place to crash and not a place to live. Trash littered the floor and glowing posters decorated the walls. The single projector that had our potential lead so thoroughly engaged probably had never served any purpose than the one it was currently performing. Any surface that was not covered in debris had a strange scrawling graffiti all over it, written it what was probably English but the script was completely indecipherable to my mind. A modded alternator rested on the table emitting a low hum as its rotors turned. The thick disk kind of reminded me of some kind of tire made entirely of metal with a black wire trailing from it to the back of Slick’s neck. The strange device seemed somehow ominous amidst all of Slick’s rubble.

  “Who....are ….you?” Slick replied in a voice that seemed to be coming from far away. His face seemed puzzled as if his own words had caused him a great deal of confusion. I fought back the impulse to switch off the modded alternator altogether but I honestly had no idea what would happen if I did so. If the poor fool had a stroke we were the last one to see him and the last thing I needed was to throw another wrench into the works. I hadn't even told Rob about the fact that it was Alex who had done the club shooting. To be honest I couldn't truly be 100 percent certain myself even though my gut instinct confirmed my belief.

  I looked back to Rob and thought it was time to step in. That very same gut was telling me that the strong arm tactic would not work on this guy, he was so high that concepts like danger wouldn’t even compute...unless we started to beat on him of course but I wanted to avoid that if possible.

  “Easy Slick, we're Alex's friends we hooked you guys up at the Teslaves show a while back? Just trying to call in the favor you know? We’re looking for a buzz and last I checked Alex was the type of guy who would know where to find one”. I knew from the surveillance video that Alex was free with his money and liked to spread it all over town. They were probably a lot of people in his social circle who tried to call in little favors with the wealthy young man. I was banking on it being too many for someone deep in a electrobinge to remember clearly.

  His eyes flickered, as if beckoning some form of recognition attempting to come to the surface. The pupils of his half opened eyes expanding and contracting as if they had an independent life of their own. At least he was trying to think through the surge, I hoped that was a good sign. “He was a really chill guy”.

  “...Yeaaaaaahh....chill-ass...motherfucker...” he faced seem to slip into a more placid place of relaxation. “I know Slick. You wanna tell us where he went?” Slick's face scrunched up again. “ Re.....rehab.... I think....his dad....”

  …. “His dad made him go to rehab?” I said trying to fill in the blanks. Slick gratefully nodded before slumping back into his chair. “Now listen Slick can you remember an address? We would be very grateful” I said while holding my datapad in front of his face my thumb right over the “transfer funds” button. “100 easy creds, you've been a good friend why not treat yourself to a fun weekend?” I asked. I looked to Rob who had drifted behind me. Rob was shaking his head at what I am sure he would consider an atrocious waste. He never was a believer in the whole “catch more flies with honey than with vinegar” philosophy, but he knew better than to argue and throw me off my game. Slick lifted his arm and weakly gestured towards a table in the corner of the room before letting out an involuntary moan and slumping back into his chair once more.

  I went over to the furniture stepping around a pile of broken glass to get close enough to check the table top. There were mostly empty cans of food alongside an ashtray and what appeared to be random bits of old bicycle parts. Useless crap mostly, however there was one piece of paper neatly folded that had the words “046 Industrial #17G” etched across it. I slipped the piece of paper in my pocket and proceeded to walk out the door not even bothering to acknowledge Slick who was once again lost within the holographic patterns of visualizer. Rob fell in step behind me as I made for the exit and said to me in a voice too low for Slick to hear, “Heh, you even going to bother paying the man?” I replied back in a matching tone “Why bother, he won't even remember we were here.”

  Something about the setup didn't sit right with me but being unable to identify it I merely sat in silence as Rob and I loaded ourselves into his car and we began our cruise towards our next stop. I was tempted to activate my VRN and see if I could pick up any police transmission but every channel was talking about nothing but the riot at the college. I listened intently for about 20 minutes or so but after that hearing the same repeated vague descriptions of terrorism and pointless fighting just bored me. I was just glad it would keep the cops busy and out of our hair for a little bit.

  As Rob drove I wondered to myself about the address....how many building were there in that part of town that weren’t either factories or warehouses? Off the top of my head I couldn’t think of a single residential or medical building around there at all. I definitely did not know of any rehab facility out there especially one that could claim to have successfully treated the addiction to neuroelectrical stimulation. I suppose I couldn't blame the dad for trying though; I mean you may as well take whatever long shot you can get when it comes to someone you love.

  “So
Marcus....you really think we're gonna find what we're looking for just by retracing his steps....I mean yeah detective work 101 but this almost seems too easy.”

  I guess that thought had occurred to me too. Made me a little unsettled, and had over analyzing information I would have taken at face value if this was any other job. I debated telling him about my suspicions regarding the club shootout but once again elected to hold my tongue. “A little...but sometimes simpler is better. We don't have much else to go on but I'm keeping my eyes a little wider and my back close to a wall....I suggest you do the same until we get our payment at least” I flashed a grin which he returned. He set his car to one of his personalized stations and we listened to Mozart on the way to the rehab facility.

  It was a dark two story building with tinted windows, there were no cars in the attached parking lot and to be honest the whole block looked uninhabited. There was a small display panel out front that read simply “Private Property Do Not Enter”. We parked down the street and approached the front door. There was a security box attached, the kind that normally allowed you to enter a code into a display screen for entrance, only on this on there were no buttons or directory making reaching someone on the interior of the building all but impossible.

  “Seems pretty unsociable for a rehab center” Rob remarked. I silently nodded my agreement and began to pace around the side of the building. I carefully bounced my knuckle against the glass of one of the windows as I paced along the buildings perimeter in the empty lot and as I did I could immediately tell after a few small raps against the glass how thick it was. My mind started to sort through the possibilities….we couldn't break the glass without triggering an alarm, but the hinges and frames though were a different story. I could see from where I stood that they were much older than the windows themselves and probably couldn’t be integrated into any modern security system. It was the type of security loophole that you could bank on when dealing with these types of squat utilitarian buildings whose construction contract had more likely than not had simply gone to the lowest bidder.