I saw Ian's wanting more stories by midnight, and I kind of, uh, haven't had time to write anything lately.
However, this is one I've wanted to get back to for some time, and depending on if anyone has any suggestions for revisions by tonight, I could get started on it at home (home computer, sans the internet. Hopefully to be rectified within a month or so...)
So, more clearly: any suggestions towards revisions would be greatly appreciated.
Anyway.
On with the program...
Unknown
(In memory of Nicole)
Adrian started… a ringing sensation that was vaguely familiar awoke him from a deep sleep. Adrenaline surged through his body… his brain slowly surged to life. The word jolted him fully awake, as suddenly as his slumber was interrupted. Telephone. His arm reached towards the nuisance, as if even it protested being disrupted in such a rude fashion. “If you’re not a blonde Ph.D. who’s going to offer to marry me based upon my incomparable intellect, I’m hanging up”, Adrian’s acidic, weary voice whispered.
“Ade… if you haven’t learned that the chances of a doctoral forensic anthropology student getting a date in this day and age are nil, then I think you ought to think about taking some Communication classes. We…we have something at the lab. I think you might want to take a look at it.”
“Is she hot?”
“We’re…we’re not quite sure what it is. It looks human, but…”
“You’re waking me up for another goddamn Neanderthal skeleton?”
“Hey…do not bring my mother into this!”
“Fine, fine… give me the rest of the year.”
“You’ve got until two.”
“You owe me a free consultation with the office brunette.”
“I don’t think even she’d have anything to do with you.”
“Make sure she’s in her best cup, too.”
“This case isn’t getting solved any faster.”
“Alright, alright, alright… I’ll get there eventually.”
Adrian hung the phone up and slammed his head against the wall. “Why, oh why, did I get into this gig? Why can’t I have been a business major and drank my life away? Those guys are the total definition of Chump Theory.” He placed his glasses in their proper position, grabbed his leather trenchcoat, and exited his apartment. After locking the door, he proceeded to walk down the stairs and unlocked his bicycle—usually well groomed, but today, slight dew was visible over its blue and gold paint. It was a decent bike… nothing fancy, but for five hundred dollars it fit his lifestyle. Regrettably, for five hundred dollars, it wiped out most of his savings for a few months. As he left, he was thankful for his photo-gray lenses, which activated as the sunlight began to pour over the treetops.
He kept himself busy with thoughts like those until he arrived at the forensic anthropology lab, which took up about fifteen minutes of each morning by bike. He wouldn’t accept rides from coworkers or take the bus because he was a loner… and feeling the wind play havoc with his clothing and hair calmed him. Adrian locked up his bicycle, brushed off his trenchcoat, and began the two-story climb to the lab.
Robert Wingerson, who was widely rumored to retire within the next five years, had founded the lab in 1984. Wingerson actually began teaching physical anthropology at the university, but due to his background in aiding county police in forensic matters, petitioned the university legislature until they acquiesced. Even in 2003, the program was relatively small, though it did offer doctoral studies for interested students. Adrian had just begun the program this year… he was working with two other students in the lab, usually learning from their experience.
Anastasia Sawyer had grown up right across the street from the university. She was a hometown girl who eventually graduated from her high school with a 4.0 average and was valedictorian of her class. Anastasia had always wanted to get involved in crime solving… she’d grown up reading Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew novels. As she progressed with her education, she grew to love Law and Order and LA Law, as well as C: SI. As she dealt with the scientific aspect of investigations more, she didn’t enjoy C: SI as much as the others, however. She didn’t take out much time to enjoy anything else, either. At 26 years old, she was nearly finished with her doctoral program, and had never really dated. Romance just really didn’t appeal to her; she knew that the majority of love was biochemical signals in the brain responding to the stimulus of pheromones. Nor did she believe in God or the usual predestination spiel that Christians tried to preach to her. Unconditional love wasn’t something that humans were capable of, she believed—examples of infidelity occurred countless times in the natural animal world, and she noticed that humans were no better.
Adrian and Anastasia’s partner was proof of the libido-addicted nature of humankind. David McPherson was brilliant, and confident in his abilities. He was also confident in his ability to drink. There are certain women that find these traits irresistible. It was natural, then, that David’s tendencies to party just as hard as he studied would irritate Anastasia. It was also understandable that Adrian tried to shy away from David’s lifestyle as much as he could, because Adrian was interested in getting through the program as rapidly as he could and wanted to not annoy his partners as much as possible. He reasoned that silent cooperation was the easiest way to deal with strife of this magnitude. As quiet as Adrian was, David was the opposite… it was David who’d called him this morning. They had a good-natured male rivalry, even though they really didn’t know each other that well. Regardless, David did enjoy mocking Adrian for his incompetence with women. David didn’t care if Adrian didn’t enjoy it… David did things just because David felt like doing them. His intellect could get him out of any problem he came across.
Right now, his intellect was telling him to put down the alcohol. He told his intellect to do anatomically improper things to itself, and took a swig. As the alcohol warmed his belly, a voice startled him. “If there was a licensing board for anthropologists, I’d have you up on public indecency and debauchery.”
“So… you’re not gonna be a complete waste of taxpayer’s money… you’re actually gonna put that big brain of yours to work.”
“You should know basic anatomical structure just as well as I do, perhaps even more. You are in your last year of the program…”
“I just wanted to see if a wet-behind-the-ears rookie could spot what I did.”
“Rookie? I don’t see a badge on you there, Wyatt.”
Adrian took his glasses off, as they weren’t quite finished making the transition from shades to regular tint. He placed them next to the signup sheet, which all students signed when they handled evidence, and proceeded to the sink to wash up. While he was washing his hands, he noticed the previously mentioned “office brunette”; their codename for the coffee machine. His eyes widened in joy at the sight of freshly brewed coffee. He said to himself quietly, “My dark mistress…”
“While you’re being a good girl and following the rules, I’m gonna go conduct a scientific experiment on the effects of alcohol upon what laymen call “the hangover from Hell.”
Adrian nodded slightly—when he began working in the laboratory, he became more withdrawn and serious. He could think better this way… speaking was a distraction, and he tried to communicate through nonverbal methods if at all possible. He then washed his glasses and walked to the cooler, where they stored the evidence.
It was bagged neatly and according to bone—the ribs were packed together, as were the tibia and fibula and so on. Initially, Adrian began to think that this was possibly the remains of a late teenager to early adult, though it weighed a bit less than other specimens of this age that he’d weighed. “It’s in remarkably good condition… we seem to be missing two of the cervical vertebrae, both clavicles, and the patella. Wait… some of the mandible appears to be missing, too.”
“Are you sure? Take a closer look at what seems to be missing…”
“Odd…no breakage there…”
Another voice interrupted them. “Wow… I was right. You really are an addict.”
Adrian continued examining the evidence. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and looked at the notes that David left in the lab notebook. Nothing seemed to differ from his findings so far; clearly, this was some kind of skeletal mutation. Possibly this was a survivor of an atomic weapon test or other genetic misfortune. Whatever the case, a simple osteological examination wouldn’t be enough. It was an interesting case, to be sure—and it would have to be examined for mitochondria DNA, in order to determine ancestry. He barely registered the conversation continuing near him.
“…So full of yourself. Who the hell are you to tell me how to live? At least I do live… all you do is study and peer over fragments in this damn lab. My apartment is bigger than this cesspool…”
“Let’s not forget that my grades are better than yours. Let’s not forget that Wingerson values my input more than yours. Let’s not forget that Berkley, Harvard, and Stanford are all interested in employing me once I’ve finished here.”
“Believe me… I won’t miss butting heads with you. You really ought to loosen up.”
Anastasia rolled her eyes and walked closer to the table upon which the evidence rested. She read the log and glanced at the expression on Adrian’s face. “You with us over there, rookie?”
Adrian’s face was thoughtful, and his eyes were narrowed. His hand, in the classic thinking men pose, cupped his chin. He didn’t seem to have registered Anastasia’s comment, as he continued his stoic stance. Comparatively, David was beginning to feel better… his hangover was dissipating. As a result, once David began to lose his hangovers, he typically became flirtatious. As much as he enjoyed pestering Anastasia, he invariably found her attractive. He showed his attraction, in this instance, by sneaking behind her and quickly, gently squeezing her butt.
Anastasia was a petite brunette, with her hair almost to her shoulder. She was generally soft-spoken, unless she was annoyed. She was in relatively fit shape, as she either walked or biked to work each morning. Her most notable feature was her sky blue eyes, which were wide open in shock at David’s audacity. Her mouth was in roughly the shape of an “O”, and she was in the final stages of a shriek that possibly wanted to be a scream. “Are you wanting a sexual harassment suit?”
“Hey, that’s what you get for bending over like that…”
Adrian snapped himself out of his thoughts, just in time to see Anastasia slap David loudly, to the point that David’s left cheek went red from the force of the slap. Anastasia stormed out, and Adrian rushed past David. “Wait…”
“I think I’m taking the rest of the day off… you’re a mute, and our partner is nothing more than a glorified fratboy…”
It was probably just because Adrian was shorter than Anastasia, she told herself. It was probably because he was a bit thinner than she was. His blonde, short hair did nothing for her… neither did the fact that he wore glasses or also had blue eyes. But his smaller stature made him more trust worthy in her eyes. She’d given it thought, and didn’t think that it was due to some latent fear of male-rape. She just couldn’t bring herself to be afraid of a male that she could, in all likelihood, beat up.
“Why… what’s wrong?”
“You know people in the genetics department.”
“You can’t ask them yourself?”
“I’m…not good around people I don’t know. You know that.”
“You just have a crush on me.”
“I just want to find out what the anomaly on this specimen is.”
“You’ve got that whole shy-guy chivalrous thing going on, too.”
“That’s one theory.”
“Well… are you ready?”
Adrian walked quickly back to the table, and gathered the bones back into their bags. He placed all but one back into the freezer, and chose a left rib for DNA analysis. He looked at David, who smirked, shrugged, and washed his hands and left through the other exit. “Yeah.”
Adrian raced to catch Anastasia, who was already halfway down the stairs by the time that he’d closed the laboratory door. “I should’ve done something to stop him…”
“What, you? That’d be like Steven Hawkins versus Mike Tyson. …Besides, forget it. That guy’s a trip to the hospital waiting to happen.”
Adrian nodded… he was generally more content to be an ear than a voice of reason. He walked a bit behind Anastasia, allowing her room to emotionally adjust to her situation. His heart began racing with anticipation as the Genetics building came into view. As he’d mentioned, he was very eager to discover the true nature of this skeleton. Adrian knew better than to believe in the possibility of supernatural beings or unexplained phenomenon; he believed in proof, facts, and verified evidence. Still… something, some vague feeling in his gut told him this could possibly be big. Intuition…
He’d drifted off again. Anastasia was tapping his shoulder, trying to regain his attention. “…Adrian? This is Robert. He’s the only geneticist I know who’s crazy enough to be up this early.”
Adrian nodded. “I think you’ll… want to see this.”
“Give me a couple hours.”
Anastasia shook hands with Robert. Adrian joined her in her visual appraisal of the geneticist; a former football player, Robert was in his 30’s. He still maintained his impressive physical shape, as he liked to keep his body as active as his mind. He had thinning brown hair and a pair of the most impressive green eyes Anastasia had ever seen. It took Anastasia a moment to recollect herself before remembering to return his smile and answer Adrian’s amused facial expression.
“Touching.”
Anastasia smacked her lab partner on the shoulder, with a vivacious, embarrassed look on her face. “I’ll see ya in a couple of hours… I’m gonna go shower.” “I’ll bet.” Adrian took a couple steps back, and watched his lab partner race back to the lab, in order to get her bicycle. He shrugged, and walked slowly behind her. I don’t see mutations explaining what I found… something’s awry. It’s something I can’t quite put my finger on…
Adrian focused his vision far enough ahead of him that he saw the sidewalk approaching him, allowing time to prepare to avoid obstacles or curbs, and also allowing him time to concentrate his thoughts on his current dilemma. Possible reasons for the breakage… we could be looking at a homicide. No one’s mentioned any cultural artifacts, and the notes didn’t mention any kind of specific burial. It seemed as if this body was simply buried as hastily as possible, and there were no apparent post-mortem injuries. Interesting that the patella and the hyoid bones were both missing. The hyoid could’ve helped us determine if the cause of death was strangulation; however, this still doesn’t explain the missing portions of the mandible.
Adrian began re-examining the portions of the skeleton he’d seen in his mind, again. He compared them from photos he’d seen in Osteology, the laboratory class for Forensic Anthropology, which was a class he’d taken as an undergraduate student. Even for a late teenager/young adult, those bones were a bit small. Possibly, that’s due to malnutrition or some other environmental effect, but that doesn’t really explain the lightness. The skeleton also had some soupy matter on it; clearly it’s been there between six months and a year. This would suggest that the skeleton be in better physical condition than it is… there are tiny cracks that shouldn’t be there. That gut feeling I had was right…there is something odd about all of this.
Adrian crossed the street, and noticed with some amusement that he’d arrived at the lab without realizing it. He looked around, and decided on going to a coffee shop that he liked frequenting. He thought that either David or Anastasia would find him here when the results came in.
He came to with his head on the desk, a half full coffee cup next to his face. He came to because Anastasia was shaking his shoulder vigorously. “You want to come with me.”
“Actually, I was considering finishing my coffee.”
“You were right about the sample.”
“How do you know what I thought about the sample?”
“You wouldn’t have been so damn engrossed if you wouldn’t have thought something was amiss with it.”
“So how does this intrude on my coffee?”
“You want to hear this from Robert, himself.”
“Why do I…?”
Anastasia let his shoulder go and pressed her mouth close to Adrian’s ear. “The specimen… he doesn’t think it’s human.”
“That can’t be… It’s got Homo Sapiens tendencies. It’s just missing a few key bones.”
“Adrian”, she hissed, pulling on his shirt. “Shut up. Just trust me for once.”
Adrian shook his head, downed his coffee swiftly, and groggily stood up. “Alright… let’s see what the stud shows us.”
“Would you get over the muscles complex? He’s got a good body, yes… but that’s not the most important consideration I have when it comes to men!”
“I thought you didn’t date.”
“I haven’t yet. That doesn’t mean I won’t, eventually.”
“I see.”
Adrian nearly jumped out of his skin as Anastasia grabbed hold of his hand as they ran across the street. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” she admonished. “I only knew you were here because I saw you through the window.” Adrian nodded… he wasn’t social in the best of times, and being around a beautiful woman was a bit disconcerting to him.
The genetics building came into view, and his thoughts returned to the case. He almost didn’t notice the stress of trying to keep up with Anastasia up the steep four flights of stairs. The femur and tibia seemed a bit small, even for a teenage male, as we hypothesized… the odor was a bit wonky.
Adrian brought himself back to reality just as Anastasia began shaking his shoulder. “This is the room…the door’s locked, and the lights are out.”
“Interesting.”
“I just spoke to him about fifteen minutes ago… I told him I’d be back within the hour.”
“Where would he be, now?”
“The most likely place is the bathroom…”
“Wouldn’t have gone home for anything?”
“He lives on the other side of town, dear…”
“Dear?”
“Yes, well, how about I watch things here while you go look for him?”
“Alright.”
Adrian waited for Anastasia’s directions and then strode quietly down the stairs to the third floor. Upon turning to his right, as instructed, he entered the bathroom… and found nothing. He double checked each stall, just to make sure—luckily for him, no one at all was there, or this might have been even more of an uncomfortable experience. Adrian shrugged. “…Right…”
He walked quietly and as rapidly as he could back up the stairs, turned left, and went back to the fourth floor, where he’d left his partner. He reached the door, looked around, and noticed with some confusion that Anastasia was now gone. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses, tried the lock on the door, and discovered that it wasn’t about to give. With that accomplished, he looked around the rest of the floor.
He discovered that it wasn’t much different from the social sciences building that he was used to—it was comprised of a lot of rooms. Each room had a door, which was locked, and kept him from learning exactly what each room contained. He found this mildly irritating, especially after trying each lock. The forensic anthropology graduate student considered using his chemistry knowledge to maneuver around the locks, but decided that such an action was probably unethical and at the very least time-consuming. After a moment of pondering his next decision, he decided to run back to the social sciences building.
It was moments like this that Adrian liked going out in crowds… he was a generally unassuming looking young man. At around five feet, six inches tall and around one hundred, twenty pounds, he had an uncanny ability to weave throughout and within a crowd, effectively unseen. As he walked, he tried to look around him, in order to try to search for his partner and the missing geneticist. It was beginning to be noon, which meant that the street was a bit more congested than normal. This hampered his effectiveness—it took him a few seconds to look at each person as they passed.
This earned him a myriad of responses. Generally, they were nonverbal—usually indifferent glances, or in the case of the more masculine, aggressive men, hostile. In the interests of examining the female point of view, Adrian gained a lot of indifferent responses, though he noticed a surprising amount of smiles. In the interests of wanting to be polite and not being very adept in these situations, he managed a half-smile as he continued to concentrate his searches.
Towards the end of the block, he noticed an unmarked car speed away with some great eagerness. As it sped out of his field of vision, his thoughts were returned to a more immediate location—a passerby jostled him by brushing against his shoulder. The passerby turned back, placed his hand on his shoulder, and apologized. Adrian took in his features—an apparently Mongoloid face, alert and friendly, though guarded. The man seemed to have interest in watching him, even though his gaze only met Adrian’s for a second or two. His voice had an unusual range, or pitch—it seemed as if he was speaking in some sort of code. Adrian considered this further as the man walked away, in a much more rapid style than before.
He wondered if he was being paranoid. This was all beginning to resemble the stuff of legend—James Bond-level legend. Nothing that he’d discovered or learned about the case yet suggested anything remotely conspiratorial. He’d found an unusual skeleton, and the geneticist they’d visited was a bit late for an appointment. Anastasia had presumably gone in search of him. Daniel was still at the lab, nursing a hangover. More aptly, Daniel was at the lab, nursing a hangover and his latest undergraduate conquest.
Still, nagging doubt began raising his stress level at an almost insignificant level. Almost, but not quite—he prided himself on evaluating every detail, regardless of how insignificant it seemed. He entered the nearest phone booth, and reached into his front pocket for a quarter. While he fumbled for change, he discovered a piece of paper that he hadn’t thought he’d put there before. This raised his curiosity, so he put his hand inside his pocket and pulled the paper out. He read it two or three times, and then placed it on the ground, and stepped back to examine it further.
It was neatly typed, presumably in a word processing document. It had been folded four times, in order to neatly fit within his pocket, and to be as inconspicuous as possible. It was notable for the four words that were written on it. It was also notable for the fact that it appeared to be written by some sort of professional printing press, as the ink and paper quality far surpassed anything Adrian had seen used by anyone in his college classes.
The particular language wasn’t exactly befitting that of a graduate-level college student. Shut the fuck up was its inscription. Adrian gave an almost imperceptible shrug, then mentally kicked himself. “Dammit, I contaminated any possible prints…”
He gingerly put the paper back into his shirt pocket with his sleeve, praying that he hadn’t done too much damage. Having accomplished that, he looked around for a taxi.
In the social sciences building, Robert Wingerson locked his office, as he usually did at the end of the day. He put on his favorite leather coat, brushed it smoothly into place, and exited the building by the stairs. He placed his glasses snugly on his face, as they’d been resting in his glasses case in his shirt pocket, and prepared himself for a walk home. He was fifty-one years old, and was nearing twenty years of teaching at this university. He enjoyed teaching; but he’d given nearly half of his life to the endeavor. He’d never married, indeed, had effectively been single most of his life, and was looking forward to spending the rest of his life taking care of his golden retriever. He contentedly felt the sun on his back as he strolled along, feeling secure in the routine of his five block constitutional to his home. He kept feeling secure as he felt a dull throbbing in the back of his neck, and promptly fell over, unconscious.
Daniel awoke, not in the lab, but with something over his head. It obstructed his view of his surroundings, and he was experiencing difficulty in hearing noises around him clearly. He felt woozy, and lethargic—even in this state, he suspected that he was drugged. He also realized that he was bound, obviously gagged, and was in some sort of constricting, tiny restrictive structure.
Anastasia realized as soon as she awoke that something had gone terribly wrong. Her world was silent and dark; restraining devices, either very tight ropes or cables constricted her body, and she noticed that her heartbeat was very dull and shallow. She realized that she’d been sedated; but thinking this much this fast had already begun to take its toll on her. Frustrated, she tried to strain at her bonds, to no avail. Impressively, even this small act of defiance seemed to instigate some sort of reprisal—she felt even more fatigued than she had when she’d awoken.
Adrian tapped his foot patiently on the sidewalk. Taxis were streaming alongside him, not paying him any attention. He took this all in stride; he was by nature patient. After five minutes or so, by his estimation, a taxi finally stopped and he entered. “Police station, please.”
The driver gestured towards an envelope in the glove compartment that was attached to the back of the front seat that faced Adrian. “We like to keep our customers satisfied…and to show our appreciation to you, we’ve enclosed some cookies and brownies in these envelopes. Consider it our way of satisfying your nutritional needs as well as your location needs.”
“Thank you.”
As the driver put shades on and pulled into the free driving lane, Adrian grabbed the envelope, mostly out of curiosity, and examined its contents. Indeed, there were snacks; they seemed perfectly healthy, but today was turning out to be distinctly odd. He decided to hold onto them. “I’m…I don’t believe I’m very hungry at the moment. I think it’s best if I hold onto these for a later time.”
“By all means, sir… they are there for your own enjoyment.”
Adrian nodded, folded the envelope shut once more, and placed it back on his lap. He then observed the driver’s route, his mannerisms, and overall, tried to glean as much information from the driver as he could.
“What do you do for a living, sir?”
Adrian imperceptibly raised an eyebrow. “I’m a grad student at the university…I’m studying forensic anthropology.”
“Forensic…so you dig up peoples’ graves?”
“Somewhat… it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“I thought about doin’ that myself, but I could never get past the smell…”
Again, Adrian was content to answer with a nod.
“Yeah, I like this taxi business…I get to feel the wind blow through my hair, I meet all kinds of people, and I get discounts on my food if I give the right people rides.”
“I see.”
“How much longer do you have at the university?”
“This is my first year in the grad program, so, optimistically speaking, another year and a half. More likely, I’ll be stuck here for another two…” The driver turned onto Maple Avenue which was where the police station was located. “Well…that was fairly painless, yeah?”
“How much do I owe ya’?”
“Call it $20…”
Adrian paid the driver, thanked him, and grabbed the envelope. He walked to the front door, opened it, and walked inside. Like fifty-one year old Robert Wingerson before him, he never saw the blunt object that rendered him unconscious. He was effectively unconscious even as he fell. Like the others before him, Adrian passed from the realm of consciousness to unconsciousness fairly seamlessly… he only wondered, briefly, what that dull throbbing pain was.
He awoke to find himself in a comparatively small space. It confined his movements, and he checked to see if he was bound. He moved his arms, and didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, so he opened his eyes. He expected to see metal bars or some blinding light. Instead, he encountered a terse blackness—reminiscent of a vacuum or the vastness of space. He could feel a cold, frictionless surface around him with his hands, so he knew that he wasn’t confined in something as silly as solidified air, like graphic novels were famous for.
He concentrated; he knew that attempting to figure out who was around him, what they were saying, and what he smelled were important in figuring out what had happened to him. He succeeded in doing so long enough to hear a disguised voice comment “Trying to gain your bearings? Trying to get a feel for who we are? We’re not quite ready for our discussion yet…” As soon as the voice finished talking, he felt his heartbeat slow moderately. It wasn’t quite enough for him to notice drastically, but, still, he tried to be observant of his health. Nevertheless, he could tell something awry was in the air; his throat felt constricted, as if it knew of his claustrophobic situation. His breathing felt ragged even somewhat jagged. He began feeling increasingly drowsy, as if he was mentally strolling through molasses. Nevertheless, he fought a losing battle to maintain his consciousness as his head began to slump, his eyelids began to grow increasingly heavy, and his breathing slowed to a slumber-like sleep.
Comparatively, David’s head was throbbing as he regained consciousness. He thrashed around uncontrollably at first, as he didn’t quite recognize his surroundings and reacted badly to this situation. “What’s going on here? Where am I?” His capture came to him, unlike Adrian; he’d been in the process of returning to the lab. This was something he’d done thousands of times before. He was engrossed in ignoring the headache that plagued him and the night before with his female companion of choice. He’d heard a couple of men’s voices behind him, discussing last night’s sports game. They appeared to get closer as he got closer to his destination, and he didn’t pay it much attention—he figured they were simply going to pass him on their way to their ultimate destination. This misconception quickly changed as he felt a throbbing pain in the back of his neck and the prickling sensation of his neck then being penetrated by a needle. As his senses dwindled and the world swirled around him, David remembered the speech patterns of one of the men who’d followed him; they sounded very much like an uneducated louse that’d gotten by on their physical prowess and threshold for pain. Likely, this man was a hitman or a member of the mob… as unlikely as the existence of the mob was, according to experts, David had always known otherwise.
He had reason to doubt the veracity of the experts’ reports because they were possibly under mob influence themselves. This may sound like paranoiac thinking to some, but David had personal experience with the far-reaching power that the mob held over people. His father had disappeared shortly after his birth, inexplicably—ultimately, the investigating officer, James Tierney, had been discovered to “be on the take”, as the boys said. While Tierney went to a shameful private retirement declaring no knowledge of David’s father’s disappearance, David always had a feeling. He knew his dad was too proud, too adjusted in his ways, to commit suicide. He’d also never abandon his family. This was a psychological aspect that David’s father shared with the mob; at least popularized accounts of the mob. Family was as important as personal honor; family was in fact often a reflection of a man’s honor. A well behaved, distinguished family meant that the head of the household was a distinguished, proper man. He was formidable, yet wise, and exuded a satisfaction of his successes.
This also led David to believe that his father would never belong or subscribe to any mob dealings due to his pride in his own accomplishments. His father was very much a loner, reluctant to subscribe to any notion of team playing. He delegated intellectual tasks to those who he employed, though he never gave them an appreciation of the scope of the projects they were working on. David’s father was a geneticist, whose major concentration was in medical research. He spent endless hours in the lab searching for possible cures for fatal diseases.
Unlike many scientists in this position, Patrick McPherson juggled a family life with his genetic research as best as possible. He made sure his wife understood his situation—a fact that was aided by her father’s death from Parkinson’s two years previously. It had both strained and strengthened their marriage, as Mary had, for a time, blamed Patrick’s inability to save her father for his demise. In her defense, Mary had recently broken from the church, and had never given science much thought. She labored under the misunderstanding that science was as much a miracle worker as the failed God she’d turned her back on.
The loss of her husband did nothing to repair her disgruntled stance on religion and the logic of an often-incoherent universe. While being committed in a mental institution may ultimately be the best thing for her, David was more inclined to take care of her after finishing his studies. This seemed to be a more humane treatment, and he felt somehow responsible for his father’s disappearance.
It may have been nothing more than an opaque variation of survivor’s guilt, but David still felt some sensitivity for his mother. On days that he felt healthy, he made an attempt to visit her at least once. He hoped that by seeing his face, his mother would hopefully regain her senses. As the gas finally overtook him, David McPherson’s last thoughts were of his mother, and how helpless she was, in consideration of the terrible road that fate had taken her down.
Anastasia Sawyer awoke a second time, and reflexively struggled against her bonds. She was at least partially surprised when she discovered that her bonds were no longer there. Her head felt groggy and lightheaded, and she felt a bit nauseous. Nevertheless, she didn’t seem to feel any different than she had before she’d presumably been abducted. “You can’t keep us here forever…some how, some way someone’s going to find us”, she yelled into the seemingly endless void. To some surprise, she heard an answer, disguised as it was.
“Your chances of discovery are highly unlikely, young lady”, the voice responded. It sounded robotic, which suggested a computer program, designed to disguise voices. She heard no sound of an intercom being switched on, or anything that would hint at the kind of sound system they were using. This meant they were very advanced. Almost immediately, she realized the one organization on earth that would have the technology and the motive to hold her captive.
“This is how you support science”, the young brunette answered. She tensed her muscles, just in case they were coming to free her. She went over the calisthenics she’d learned in gymnastics class. She knew it was important to have her body as ready as possible for rapid movement. She also knew that the possibility of being harmed by this action was very likely; but she also knew herself.
She knew her dislike of being controlled by anyone. She knew her strong sense of individuality. Most importantly, she knew herself to be one of the most adept puzzle solvers she’d ever known. Surely, this sort of incarceration was just another puzzle. That was everyone’s favorite example in introductory biology class…that creative people do best in science. She just hoped that she’d have enough creative prowess to get herself out of this mess.
Robert Wingerson felt a pain in his chest as soon as he awoke. He didn’t have a shortness of breath, though, so he knew that it most likely wasn’t a heart attack. He also knew that he was confined after some fashion. Due to the limited experience with anatomy that he’d obtained through undergraduate classes, he guessed that it was probably an effect from the gas/drugs on his heart.
He expected to find some sort of restraining device on his limbs, but they were absent. Perhaps it was meant to be a test of his stamina, his endurance, or his patience. Whatever it was, he knew he was not in a position to demand anything of anyone. He knew that the possibility of his release in the immediate future wasn’t likely. More importantly, he wanted to try to learn anything he could about the organization that was holding him. Anyone this organized and efficient could inspire his handling of his graduate students in the future. More to the point, this was a possible indication of the lengths these people would go to in order to silence scientific news that didn’t jibe with their designs.
He didn’t care too much about his own welfare; he was an old man, and he’d lived a long, fulfilling life. Few people could claim a doctorate degree, and fewer still could make the claim that they’d contributed to the legal system in a positive fashion. Over the years, he and assorted teams of graduate students had helped to solve dozens of cases; they’d reunited grateful families with deceased family members who may never have been identified if it wasn’t for their involvement.
Most men have an insecure desire to escape their own mortality by leaving some sort of mark on their fellow man. It makes them feel more competent and more significant to have a lasting reminder of their legacy—whether it be by their own offspring’s existence or the ramifications of intellectual offerings given to members of other peoples’ family, whether it be through tutelage or scientific advancement.
By extension, it could be argued that Robert appeared to be one of those men who was concerned with his own immortal legacy, due to the mass of contributions he gave to his personal legacy. Professor Wingerson has always been known as a man deeply proud of his family. Nevertheless, Wingerson is also known as a man who has great apathy towards social expectations of him as both a professor and as a family man. He cares little for his legacy beyond the welfare of his children and his grandchildren, as they are less an immortal reminder of his work and more a reminder of the most important blessings that one gets in life.
Robert Wingerson was an individual who also had a deep, spiritual connection with God. He didn’t allow his religious beliefs to conflict with his scientific background; indeed, few of his colleagues even knew about his religious background. Nevertheless, he was one of the most respected members of St Mark Episcopalian Church, even serving a few terms as Youth Group Leader and was a major contributor to the weekly collection plate. In terms of relating with younger churchgoers, he was as respected as the pastor was as a figure of wisdom and authority. Although it wasn’t his place to pass wisdom in matters of infidelity or sibling squabbles, he still was often asked his advice on these matters. He was never fully sure why, though he partially suspected a socio-political groveling in order to appear more important to their peers. Still, he was happy to have a hand in guiding the new generation through the confusion and the instability of their teenage years.
It was of the children, the young adults that he’d helped over the years…they dominated his thoughts as he regained his focus. He smiled inwardly, remembering the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach that he received every time that he saw the smile of a satisfied youth whose troubles his experience had vanquished. He felt a slight rumbling beneath him, and then he fell to the floor, as his restraining device opened. In as dignified a fashion as possible, he regained his footing and brushed himself off. He looked at a humanoid shape, cloaked in black. Due to the wide shoulders, the height, and the musculature, he thought he was looking at a male. Another disguised voice, this time in front of him, gave him his next orders. “Don’t let your audience down…give them a worthy last performance.”
“Can I…May I please at least say goodbye to my grandchildren?”
“You are a Christian man, aren’t you, Mr. Wingerson?”
“I have been known to be accused of that practice.”
“You may then begin praying to whatever God you hold allegiance to that They forgive you of your sins in this life. “
Professor Wingerson knew then that the likelihood of getting out of this situation alive was relatively slim. He also surmised that his students were watching, and he was concerned with setting a good example for them. He gave thought to doing as he was instructed; but he felt that even inwardly praying was like selling out himself and his family, psychologically, and he was too honorable and proud of his accomplishments to do so. Instead, he sighed, took a deep breath, and as calmly as humanly possible awaited his impending execution.
He heard something that sounded like a truck backfiring, Anastasia’s faint shriek of horror, and momentarily felt a massive migraine-like headache. Everything darkened, and Robert Wingerson felt nothing after this. His last thought, if gibberish could be deciphered, would probably have been translated as “that wasn’t so bad…”
In the clear, cage-like structure above his body to the right, Anastasia began struggling against the restraining device that held her with great earnest. She knew better now than to yell anything at her abductors, as they clearly had their own agenda to serve and were most likely not willing to listen to diplomacy. Again, her struggling proved to be in vain. In the interests of protecting herself as best as she could, considering her situation, she curled herself into a fetal position and braced herself against the walls of the cage-like structure.
“Your kind…the scientist…always examining the first trace of evidence that barges its way into your perception. You never consider whether you actually should study physical traces that are unknown to you…cultural aspects that have until encountering you remained a mystery. You never wonder if they will adversely affect your life or the lives of your loved ones. It’s always about the thrill of discovery to you… how it enhances your ability to play Sherlock Holmes, or Indiana Jones. I am here to remind you, young lady, of the unknown mysteries that are best left alone. We are the Spanish Inquisition silencing the infidels that wield the socio-intellectual dynamite that threatens to overthrow the status quo. We are the computer virus unleashed upon your hard drive by awkward, intellectually prepubescent hackers with delusions of anarchistic grandeur. We are the editors of history, the oppressive throat-chokers that freelance newspaper columnists fear in their nightmares. We are all that stands between the happy, contented masses and the chaotic destructive prowess that they all share.”
“You’re a clandestine organization with extremely high opinions of themselves.”
“We’re also the clandestine organization that’s opening your prison.”
Indeed, Anastasia fell to the floor, and nimbly avoided injury by landing in a defensive martial artist’s position. Studying self-defense wasn’t really a reflection of a latent fear of rape; it just gave her something to do when she wasn’t in class or asleep. She figured it was more original than working at the gym or bicycling. Not knowing what else to do, she rushed to her fallen teacher’s side, hoping against hope that somehow he was still alive.
“An optimist. That must lead to a few heartbreaks in your profession, seeing as how you generally deal with determining cause of death.”
She looked up, briefly, to try to memorize the speaker’s features. While she did want revenge for Professor Wingerson’s death, and while she did want to free her lab partners and herself, she did have another reason for wanting to hopefully capture this guy. This cloak and dagger secrecy stuff was really beginning to annoy her. The insufferable arrogance of the person in front of her begged for a demoralizing moment. Instinctively, she knew that outwitting this individual would provide that moment conclusively.
She noticed that the individual was wearing what appeared to be some kind of fishnet material or a lightweight chainmail over his face, fashioned to look something like a mask. A stretchy material that looked like a pair of tights or some other form fitting, light colored form of clothing covered his chest and stomach. Below the waist, it appeared that he was clothed in form fitting, sleek dress pants. Most significantly, she noted that this individual had only slight indicators of gender. Their shoulders were somewhat broad, but their length was too inconclusive to be sure either way. The same could be said of their apparent pelvic length, and considering the situation she was in, Anastasia wasn’t likely to get a better measurement.
She forced herself to remember Wingerson’s death, in order to try to evaluate if the individual confronting her had a weapon when he was confronting the Professor. Suddenly, a glint of light, like a beam of light reflecting off of a mirror, or, obviously, a shiny metal surface, caught her eye. She knew, then, that like the Professor before her, her chances of survival were slim to none. Again, reflexively, she looked around herself in all directions, hoping beyond hope for the possibility of a method of escape. Again, she was denied.
“Hope…it is what both drives and dooms the human beast. You need not worry so, my lady… your time is not at hand yet.”
The masked figure imperceptibly nodded, and David’s prison opened. He fell to the floor with a sickening thud, and the slightest bang could be heard. The cartridge entered his forehead right above his nasal cavity. Anastasia hopelessly watched her lab partner’s last living moments, and while she observed postmortem twitching of the limbs, she took some small solace in the fact that her fellow scientist didn’t appear to suffer.
“Who…who are you? What have we done to deserve this?”
“We represent an organization who is interested in keeping certain mysteries from the public’s knowledge. Your discovery of a skeleton that isn’t quite human, that suggests an interstellar race with comparable intelligence to ours simply isn’t acceptable for our purposes. However, you two need not worry; the Professor and the lush didn’t serve our purposes. You and your boyfriend can serve our cause in quite another fashion.”
“I will…I will not bear your genetically twisted offspring…”
“My dear…we had nothing akin to that in mind at all. We have quite another method in mind.”
As silently as a breeze, a man as wide as a refrigerator stepped into the room, and into her field of vision. Quietly, swiftly, and with purpose he poured chemicals on her fallen mentor and lab partner’s bodies, causing their soft tissues to dissolve rapidly, also removing much of the liquid evidence. This large man, easily six feet tall, had obscured some of his features by wearing shades and having a long coat’s upper portions covering his mouth. Under this long overcoat, he also wore a suit and tie, which was mostly black and white and fit the grim mood of the situation perfectly.
Anastasia backed away slightly as the mammoth of a man turned his attentions to her. She adopted a defensive stance, but almost before she could react he was upon her. Another silver glint caught her eye, and she noticed a syringe in his hand. She gave a valiant struggle, which he endured with apparent humor, as she was able to struggle for seconds longer than she should have, and then she fell to his utter brute strength. She felt a slight prickling, and then everything returned to darkness.
Adrian heard a similar mechanically disguised voice in his prison. “Brace yourself… you’re about to experience a moment of freedom.”
Adrian complied, though he didn’t plan on being as compliant as Anastasia had been. He had already formed a somewhat logical defensive plan, though it was at best fairly crude and would probably only succeed in aggravating his captors. He wasn’t the athlete that Anastasia was, but he tried to brace himself as much as humanly possible.
Inexplicably, his prison suddenly vanished before his eyes, like the others before him. The ground suddenly rushed up to meet him, and he remembered all over again why he’d hated physical education in high school. He landed on the floor with nothing more substantive than a few bruises and cuts, and proceeded to roll towards one of the piles of bones that had been left behind. Before the speaker facing him could act, Adrian grabbed a rib bone and had forced it against the speaker’s throat. He was actually able to slice open a portion of the speaker’s suit, which impressed him as the rib bone may have been the sharpest thing he could get his hands on, but it still wasn’t that sharp.
Adrian gave orders, trying not to betray his nervousness. “Alright… Anastasia and I are going to get out of here unharmed. You’re going to open that door and you won’t follow us or secretly snipe us or anything underhanded like that.”
“And if we don’t comply?”
“Your friend will no longer possess a larynx.”
“Remove his mask, and then try to understand our lack of concern.”
Adrian did so, still weakly holding the only weapon he had in this situation, and nearly fainted when he saw the results. This individual had the same skeletal features as the specimen he’d uncovered, most notably that at least a third of the mandible was missing. “That’s…that’s impossible…”
The creature before him imperceptibly shook its head in disagreement. “That’s the nature of our race.” It waved its hand slightly, and Adrian felt a slight prickling and a warm sensation run through his body rapidly as the man mountain loomed up behind him, seemingly out of nowhere. Adrian crumpled to the floor, unable to fully understand what he’d just seen and wondering that the consequences of it were.
It had been at least a few hours since she was last drugged, but Anastasia began occasionally catching bits and pieces of what was happening. She’d wake to find herself in the back of what appeared to be a delivery truck, only to find that one of the humanoid creatures had sedated her again and she returned to unconsciousness.
Likewise, Adrian awoke a handful of times to discover that he was on a road trip of some kind, only to be ushered back into unconsciousness by the copious amounts of sedatives the creatures possessed. Every time that he found himself awake, he found it harder to stay awake, as it seemed that he was getting progressively sluggish and more exhausted.
It seemed as if hours had passed, but Anastasia and Adrian eventually woke up in front of their university for no explainable reason. They looked at each other, and shared confused looks as they regarded the burning building that had been where they’d conducted their research. They also shared splitting headaches, and a slight nausea. Most of all, as much as they tried, they couldn’t remember much of anything recently. It seemed as if a week’s worth of memories were suddenly inaccessible, oddly unknown.
Anastasia turned to her friend, and helped him to his feet. They watched the fire rage for a while, saying a silent prayer that its devastation would be controlled. As far as Adrian had concerned, the fire was a form of a symbolic commentary on his life; he reasoned that it was some sort of symbol telling him that scientific research wasn’t fulfilling enough and was potentially too dangerous to bother with.
Seemingly at the same time, Adrian and Anastasia both were hit by the same memory; it seemed that during their lost chunk of time, Adrian had impregnated Anastasia. Whatever had caused their weeklong amnesia had forced them to forget this monumental occasion. Remembering this caused both of them to have another migraine, and their nausea, which had begun to dissipate, began to creep up again, like a burglar, into their immune systems. It seemed to be a momentary affliction, however, as it disappeared as soon as it had begun.
They turned their attention back to the fire, as firefighters began to finally control its fury. They were standing upwind of the smoke, so that they didn’t damage their lungs or the lungs of their impending newborn. Anastasia gently took hold of Adrian’s hand, and felt that the fire was a symbol that their relationship may have gone through a difficult, wearying time, but things were about to improve. There was a phoenix metaphor she could use, but as happy as she was, she didn’t feel like being sappy.
The fire began to die in earnest, and one of the firefighters approached them to properly give them the good news. “It looks like you guys will have a livelihood after all.” He advanced, and offered his hand to the couple. They couldn’t see his face under his helmet, but his voice sounded gleeful, genuinely pleased with his success. Nevertheless, his voice had a gravelly sound, making it seem a bit unnatural.
“That’s great news”, Anastasia gushed, as she shook the firefighter’s hand.
“I’m not sure we can ever thank you”, Adrian responded as he too shook the firefighter’s hand.
“Just look after that baby”, the firefighter responded as he nodded at the couple and vanished back into the throng that was controlling the blaze. Adrian and Anastasia looked at each other proudly at that request, though a slight headache began bothering Adrian again. Something about the firefighter’s statement rang a bell in his head…it was like intuition, something most likely that would never have a logical explanation. The headache continued to rage, but he tried to think about happier things, deducing that thinking too much wasn’t healthy.
Adrian looked at his girlfriend, and at the future that they would share, and told himself that some things weren’t meant to be understood logically. Some things were just meant to be, for reasons that perhaps were best left unknown.
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