Prometheus Mode, page 13
“You ate while meeting with Father Heall?” I say, pointing out the fresh spaghetti stain on his clean shirt.
“While waiting.”
“What did he ask you?”
“Not much, just basic questions, mostly having to do with Arc. I think he just wanted to be sure we’re not associated with them.”
“Oh, interesting. And what’d you tell him?”
“The truth. That’s all either of us can do, Jess. Just be honest.”
“Be honest,” I mutter.
“Yeah.”
“About not being associated with Arc.”
He gives me an odd look. “Yes.”
I’m tempted to press the issue, but Brother Matthew beckons for me to follow him.
Just be honest.
Right. Just like he obviously wasn’t. Because if he had been, he wouldn’t be sitting in our room right now. Not the way these people feel about Arc.
And what about Stephen’s death? I just wish I’d had a chance to ask him about that touchy subject.
Brother Matthew locks the door behind him before trailing me and Sister Jane down the hallway. Another man joins us. He introduces himself as Brother Jasper. He tells me to watch my step as he leads us down the darkened stairs to the ground floor.
Sister Jane keeps a hand on my elbow. It’s more for steadiness than for security, as her touch is light. They probably aren’t worried about me escaping. I’m sure they don’t believe I could probably handle them if I needed to. It would be so easy: a shove in the back of the man in front, and down the stairs he’d go, followed by flipping Sister Jane over the railing, and finishing by tripping Brother Matthew and throwing him after her. I see all this in an instant, almost as clear as day.
But of course it’s pure fantasy. Where am I going to go? It’s almost fully dark outside and I don’t know the area. Plus, Micah’s still locked up in our room upstairs. And I still don’t have what I came for.
We turn left at the bottom of the steps and enter a darkened hallway and proceed deeper toward the center of the house. The flickering candlelight makes our shadows dance on the wall. Darkness stretches out from under the framed photographs still hung there. I check them out as we pass. A white-haired man and woman stare out as us from a set of formal portraits. There’s nothing remarkable about the couple. They show no expression, no happiness or resentment. The moment we pass, I’ve already forgotten their faces. All I’m left with is a rising sense of redemption. The old Haves, stripped of all they owned, only to have it all repossessed by those who want for nothing but to live.
Where are they now, this childless couple? Are they dead? Undead? Why should I care?
A door stands open to one side, nothing but darkness beyond. We pause outside of it while Brother Matthew searches for another key on the chain, and I can see in the wan candlelight stairs tumbling down into darkness. Cool air drifts up and out. It smells of damp earth.
Panic shoots through me. I don’t want to go down there, not into the basement. So it comes as a relief when Matthew turns and inserts the key into a door on the opposite side of the hallway. I step forward expectantly, but Sister Jane stays me with her hand.
Brother Matthew enters the room alone, leaving the hallway in near total darkness. I steal a peek around the jamb and see that it’s some sort of supply closet. He grabs a box off a shelf. Hand printed on the side is single word: INFECTION.
“What’s that?”
“Test kits. We want to make sure you’re not carrying the virus.”
“I’m not.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he crosses the hallway and begins to descend the stairs into the basement.
“Go on,” Sister Jane urges.
“Oh, hell no. I’m not going down there.”
“You wanted to meet Father Heall, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but not down there. He can come up here.”
“It’s all right, honey.” The sweetness in her voice evokes a memory of another woman promising everything was going to be okay: Can you hear me, honey? I’m here to help you.
I lurch backward reflexively, as if Nurse Mabel might come charging up at me from below. Sister Jane’s grip tightens on my arm. “It’s okay,” she cajoles. “I promise. It’s nice down there, not as hot as up here.”
“I don’t... I don’t want to.”
She glances down at Brother Matthew, then over to Brother Jasper. Brother Matthew shrugs and continues down the steps.
“But—”
“Miss Daniels,” Brother Jasper sternly says.
“I never told you my last name.”
Your Link, dummy. They took your Link. Remember?
Or they asked Micah.
Brother Jasper doesn’t reply. He just gestures for me to head down into the basement.
“Is that her?” a voice calls out from below.
A shiver passes through me. I’ve never heard a voice like it before, full of despair and longing. Visions of dark places and horrible, nameless things come to me. That movie I’d remembered earlier in my conversation with Brother Matthew comes back to mind. But it’s not Frankenstein’s monster I think about now, it’s Dracula.
Suddenly I have no strength left in my legs, no will to flee. My bones are jelly. If Sister Jane weren’t holding me as firmly as she is, I’d probably end up at the bottom of the steps anyway.
“Well, what’s the hold up?” the man down there presses. “Doesn’t she want to see me? I want to see her.”
“No,” I whisper. My blood freezes. My heart races. I don’t want to go down there. “I can’t.”
But my legs no longer heed my commands. They take me down into that dark and dank place. The moist air swaddles my skin, no longer cool and comforting, just clammy. It’s a different kind of chill now. It’s the coldness of dead things.
In my head I am pleading with them to stop, but my body refuses to listen. I’m no longer in control. This isn’t right, my mind screams. What’s happening to me?
We reach the bottom.
We’re in some sort of old wine cellar, except the racks now stand empty. Each square black eye stares out at us, hiding monsters inside. Their orderliness is an affront to the chaos filling my panicked mind. We pass through a maze of shelves. What happened to all the wine since the evacuation? It’s gone. Barely a trace of the smell remains.
The steady glow of an electric bulb peeks through openings from the deepest part of the cellar, shining cold and harsh. I assume that it’s where we’re headed. We turn left and right, then right again until we come to an unfinished room with nothing but a large table and a few chairs in it. A single bulb hangs from the ceiling, its light directed downward in a narrow cone by a riveted metal shade. A man sits at the far end, all but his lower chest hidden in shadow. He shifts in his seat and sighs.
Brother Matthew approaches him, but he blows out the candle in his hand before I can see his face.
“At last,” the man says. His voice is dry, sounding like the echoes of memories stored away in dusty wooden crates. There’s no impatience in it, only expectation.
“Father Heall,” Sister Jane says, reverently.
“Thank you. Now, please sit, Jessica,” he says. “It’s about time we met.”
Chapter 20
“We are in the middle of a war,” Father Heall tells me.
He takes a sip of his tea and carefully sets it back down. I can smell it all the way over here on the other side of the table. It’s bitter and unfamiliar. More herbal crap, I think. He sees me looking at it, and his next words seem to confirm my worst suspicions.
“Artemisia vulgaris,” he says, triumphantly. “The scientific name for wormwood. Among its benefits, it helps to suppress the appetite.”
No shit, I think. It’s doing a damn fine job of suppressing mine.
He had apologized for the theatrics. “But I am a wanted man, and I have to be cautious, for my own safety as well as the safety of everyone else here.”
Wanted by whom? I’d wondered. Arc? The police? Government? But I hadn’t gotten the chance to ask before Brother Jasper was in my face telling me he’d need to make sure I wasn’t infected. “Standard protocol,” he’d said.
“Yeah, well, your standard protocol got me tased last time, so excuse me if I say no.”
“I just want to swab the inside of your cheek.”
By the time he left us to process the sample, I’d forgotten the question, at least until Father Heall began his apology.
“In times such as these,” he says, “during times of conflict, generals become valuable targets. There has always been a possibility of my assassination, but now that we’re at war, the risk grows.”
“General,” I mutter. The word makes me think of my grandfather.
“For lack of a more precise term. This war has many fronts, and I am leader of mine. If I were to die, it would leave a vulnerability in the ranks and tilt the balance of conflict quite significantly. Although my death would surely simplify things for some, it would be devastating to many more.”
Delusions of self-importance, I think. But then again, I should’ve expected it of a man who considers himself a father to his followers and has named himself “Will Heall.”
On the other hand, if he really does have a treatment for the disease and it works on Jake, then he can call himself whatever he wants. Hell, I’ll call him Father, too.
Of course, if he does have such a thing, then naturally it would make sense that people inside Arc and Government would want him dead. I imagine that’s who he’s talking about.
“What exactly kind of war is this?” I ask.
“A war of many agents, my dear,” he replies. “A war of wrongs. And a war of setting things right again.”
“Let me guess: You’re on the side of right.”
“Each side always believes they’re in the right.”
Add paranoid to his list of traits. And possibly delusional.
I squint across the table. The darkness on the other side of the cone of light is complete. I still can’t make out any details of his face. He keeps it carefully hidden.
“What makes you think I’m not here to kill you?” I ask.
“You need my help. I’m just not sure about your companion. I don’t get the sense he’s as focused as you are.”
“Micah? Yeah, well, to be honest, I’m not sure about him, either,” I blurt out. It startles me to hear myself say it. “I don’t even know why he decided to come.”
Father Heall laughs, quick and sharp, and it startles me. It’s the laugh of an old man who, despite all this talk of dying, doesn’t sound afraid of the possibility in the least.
And he is an old man. His hair — I caught a glimpse of the top of his head when he bent over to blow his tea — is thin, wispy, and scraggly. He has the stooped features of man who long ago gave up trying to fake the appearance of youth and vigor. And yet, there’s an unmistakable sense of both here. It rolls off of him like a smell.
“Look, I know you don’t know anything about me and my friends. To be honest, I’m not even sure I trust you and yours, either. But if you can help us, then I give you my word, you’ve got nothing to fear from any of us. And that goes for Micah, too. We’re not interested in your war... or whatever it is.”
He grunts. “You have your brother’s focus, you know that?”
“Eric? How do you know him?”
He ignores the question, coughing smugly, as if he knows he’s just lured me into giving up information I hadn’t intended to. I suppose he has. He probably didn’t know I had a brother at all. It was just a guess.
I chide myself to be more careful answering any more questions.
“Tell me about my son,” he says. His voice is soft, reverent.
“I don’t know your son.”
“Then tell me about this scientist from Arc named Stephen.”
“We don’t even know if it’s the same person.”
“It is.” He leans slightly, enough for me to see something glisten on the shadow of his cheek. Is it a tear? I’m immediately suspicious. It feels... contrived. “But humor me anyway,” he prods.
“Humor you? With the death of a man you think is your son?”
“I haven’t spoken to him in over a year. In fact, it was I who kicked him out of his home. He was... unhealthy, for me, for the community. So, no, you needn’t worry about offending me.”
“I’m only worried about helping my friends.”
“Of course.”
“What did Micah tell you happened?”
“Your companion’s answers were persistently vague, Jessica. I hope you don’t mind if I call you that. I shouldn’t assume.”
I shrug.
“Mister Sandervol offered very few details, certainly not enough to satisfy my inquiries. Unfortunately, I had to cut our discussion short to attend to a pressing matter.”
“Well, considering the way your people treated us when we arrived, I’m not surprised he wasn’t very helpful.”
“You are right, and I apologized to him for that as well. You have my assurance it will not happen again. Brother Walter can be a bit... excitable.”
“Just keep him away from us.”
Father Heall chuckles. “I’ll do my best. So, can I count on you to be more forthcoming?”
“Can I count on you to help us?”
“There must be mutual trust. If you’re honest with me in your answers, I’ll be more willing to offer you my blessing.”
Just answer. That’s what Micah had told me when they brought him back: Just be honest with them. Answer the questions.
Apparently he didn’t follow his own advice. I can picture him sitting in this very chair, keeping his answers short and vague. Cool and collected, possibly even sarcastic, that’s what he’s always been. We’d always thought it was a good thing, his wriggle his way out of tricky situations. Just like an eel.
“To begin,” Father Heall says. “I would like to know how Enoch died.”
“I’m sorry, but you keep insisting it’s the same person. I don’t know anyone named Enoch. He never mentioned that name. I knew a man named Stephen who worked for Arc. That’s all I know about him.”
“It is the same man. If it helps, I’ll describe him to you.”
He does just that, nailing Stephen’s age and height. He guesses his hair color accurately, describes the pronounced cheekbones and his green-brown eyes. I finally throw my hand up and tell him it’s enough. I’m convinced. Stephen is Enoch.
“Stephen is the name he wished to be known by.”
“Brother Matthew mentioned that he wanted to be—”
“Yes,” he says, cutting me off. “Please, tell me how it happened.”
I sigh, debating whether it’s worth it to talk about the immediate events that led to Micah caving in the back of Stephen’s skull with a Statue of Liberty statuette. I decide there’s too much at stake. I’ll just stick to the parts that are relevant to Jake getting bitten.
“He brought us to Gameland — the arcade — promising that we’d find what we needed to leave the island there. That’s why we were at Jayne’s Hill, to hack the mainframe, because he’d written — had written — a little program that makes sure we can’t leave. Soon after we entered, he was bitten by... an infected. It was a very bad wound. He lost a lot of blood. I thought he’d died.”
Father Heall raises his hands to face. I can hear him take in a deep breath and slowly let it out. He asks, “Did you...?”
“No. He told me he was immune. He told us a lot of things, most of which were lies. I didn’t know what to believe, so I tied him up and waited to see if he would turn.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No. How did you know?”
“Please, go on.”
“He got free and attacked me.” I lift my chin so he can see the bruises on my neck. “He tried to strangle me.”
“Why?” he asks. “Why would he try to kill you, of all people?”
I frown. What does he mean by that? Is he saying because I’m a girl?
“Honestly,” I say, “I don’t think he was himself anymore. Although he hadn’t turned yet, he was clearly out of his mind.”
“So, it was self-defense.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all your companion would say.”
Great, so now he thinks I brained him, not Micah. That asshole threw me under the bus.
“Look, I’m sorry that it happened. I’m sorry if it really was your son, I didn’t know, but he was—”
“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I’m just surprised that he would lash out at you this way. But he was a very troubled young man, always so angry at everyone. Angry at the world. Angry at Arc. But he was most angry with me.”
“He wasn’t angry at Arc. He worked for them.”
“Yes, at first to spite me. But I know he never felt any loyalty to them. I suspect he was exploiting whatever access they gave him to suit his own purpose.”
“Which was?”
“I honestly don’t know. I am hoping that you can help me figure that out.”
“I think it might’ve been to make a vaccine.”
“No.”
“I mean, he didn’t turn, right? And he said he was—”
“There is no vaccine. I’m sorry.”
I sigh, disappointed. “I guess I was really hoping there was. And when he didn’t turn— I mean, he didn’t die when I thought he had, either, so he wouldn’t have. Not until after he attacked me, and that time, we... Well, he couldn’t have come back after that.”
Father Heall doesn’t interrupt me. He leans back in his chair and sips his tea and lets me ramble. It must be cooled off by now, yet he still blows on it, as if by habit. His breath sends the sweet-bitter aroma across the table. There’s another odor underneath it, something organic. It reminds me of the way the forest smelled all those years ago, after that unusually cold winter, when I met Kelly. It’s marshy.
“Did he ever mention your blood?” he asks.
The question throws me. “My blood?” I stammer. “I’m not sure I understand?”
