Shadow Memories: A Novel (The Singularity Conspiracy Book 1) (4 page)

10

Semiology

By the time
I’d awoken the next morning, there was a stack of papers two inches thick on the cheap coffee table in front of me. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and rolled over, straight on the floor.

“Smooth,” Cassie said, and when my senses returned to the land of the living, I could see that she was sitting in a chair ready to go. “Get dressed. We got another shot.”

I yanked on my pants and rubbed some cold water on my face. Not the cleanest job I’d ever done, but hell, it wasn’t like I was getting laid for a few days, anyway. One piece of plain white bread later and we were on the road, heading towards Ocean Boulevard.

“I did some research on this Otto character,” she said. “I want to know more about this job.”

“I thought it didn’t meet your standards.”

“Well, reality set in and I’ll put it real easy for you, Kurt.”

“We’re fucked?”

“We’re fucked.”

Not much more needed to be said. Cassie pulled up at the Seafood Shack and threw the truck into park.

“Nah, I’m good on the fish sandwiches,” I said, “I had a wholesome breakfast already.”

“It’s three in the afternoon.” I double-checked the clock. So it was. Not that it mattered. I deserved to sleep in, after the night I’d had.

“So it is. I was being polite. This place blows.”

“Then don’t get anything,” she said, stepping out of the car, then leaning back through the open window, “in fact, just stay here. Don’t see what Otto has to say. You’ll just dick it all up.”

I watched her head over to one of the wooden tables. It should be illegal for chicks to wear yoga pants. People could get distracted, hurt.

I went up to the Shack and ordered a bucket of fries. The place had the distinct smell of dead fish, and I wasn’t thrilled about sampling their specialties. Last time I had, the rest of the day had been spent buckled to the toilet seat, like an astronaut riding a jetpack.

The greasy teenager behind the counter handed me the sad stack of limp, wet fries, and I headed to the table. By this time, Otto had joined the festivities, still wearing that same blazer. He’d replaced his shirt with a kind of gingham pattern, though, which worked better with the hip professor aesthetic he was trying to project.

I sat down mid-conversation. For once, I kept any smart ass comments to myself.

“My associate and I,” Cassie said, nodding at me, “looked over the files you sent. And we apologize for our behavior.”

I don’t know what I had to apologize for. I hadn’t told the dude his fashion sense sucked, and his motives sounded suspect as hell. Not that I didn’t agree, I just hadn’t gotten the opportunity to start that fire. She’d already burned the house down before I struck a match.

“It’s all right,” Otto said, and put his broad hands on the table in some sort of peace gesture, “you were riled up. Manny…”

“Manny can be a real piece of work.”

I looked at Cassie. Who was this woman? She hadn’t exploded into a string of expletives for at least five minutes.

“That he can. As I was going to mention yesterday, before our meeting was cut short, I have a job for you and Mr. Desmond.”

“Kurt,” I said, “Mr. Desmond is—”

“Yes, your father. Of course,” he said, smiling as he completed the old joke, his expression telling me to be quiet. “This job, it involves finding a certain piece of artwork. Now, we have a few clues as to where it might be, but we were hoping that professionals might be able to locate it quicker.”

“And as I said the other day,” Cassie said, “we aren’t art dealers. Why us?”

“This isn’t a job for the stuffy collars,” he said, “it takes…more resourceful individuals. Locals.”

“All right. Why go to all the trouble, though? From the picture you gave us, it’s just a bunch of symbols. Gibberish.”

Otto’s features tightened when she said this, but he maintained his placid demeanor. “Yes, I suppose they are just, as you say, gibberish to most. But to my employer, they’re very important. Fascinating, of great historical relevance.”

“And it said in the report that this is a cave painting? Look, I don’t know if you’ve been around here,” Cassie said, sweeping a finger in the air like she was running a guided tour, “but this town isn’t full of mountains.” She grinned for a moment and lowered her voice, like she was going to tell him a secret. “In fact, the boys in the white coats say that we’d be the first to get swallowed up in the ocean.”

Otto would have made for a terrible poker player. Maybe I would let Johnny know. His teeth clenched, like he was sick of bullshitting with us, and just wanted to hear a yes. What he didn’t seem to realize, though, was this was all part of Cassie’s game. She was reading him, and what his face had to say, it wasn’t good.

“My employer,” he said, continuing as if it were a great burden to remain civil, “would like a few high-resolution photographs of the cave where these symbols are located.”

“But you already have a drawing. Seems you got the symbols you need to study right there.”

“This is a concept sketch, Ms. Atwood. Based upon other artifacts and paintings.”

“We’ll take the gig. And your employer, he’ll give us the money up front?”

“Yes, and after yesterday, we’re willing to double the payment. If you can expedite this,” Otto said.

“Which was?”

“Twenty thousand. My employer will give you forty thousand, however, if you can guarantee delivery by the end of the week. I have the twenty in the car.”

“That’s not very much—”

“Yeah, we’ll do it. End of the week,” I said through a mouthful of greasy potatoes, “you found the right guys. Fast, clean. Impeccable service. Where’d you say that twenty large was, now?”

“In the car. I’ll get it.”

I leapt up, feeling the daggers in my back from Cassie.

“Don’t worry, Otto,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder pad of his expensive tweed blazer, “I’ll come to you.” I whispered in his ear. “And, just between you and me, the chick doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I think your get-up is fantastic.”

I think he considered punching me, but instead he popped the trunk and handed me a brown package. I ripped it open a little bit, and Ben Franklin’s fresh, clean face grinned back at me from beneath the wrapper.

“I’ll be back next Monday, Mr. Desmond,” Otto said, smoothing the front of his clothes before he stepped into the driver’s seat, “you’d best get started.”

Not a problem.

I headed back to the table—snagging a cola from the Shack before I did—and sat down slurping at the straw. Cassie’s eyes hadn’t left me the whole time—and I didn’t think it was because I looked better than usual.

“He’s got a little weight behind him,” she said, once it was clear I wasn’t going to start the conversation.

“I thought he was in pretty good shape, myself.”

“This is serious, Kurt. Whoever he works for, they don’t want delays. And whatever those symbols mean, they’re nothing good.”

“You worry too much. I bet it’s just for their Sunday School exhibit about worshipping false idols.”

“I’m just saying.”

I knew what she’d been saying. We’d take his money, but be looking over our shoulders.

I could live with that. Money talks, after all.

11

Cave Paintings

I was ready
to go home, strategize, regroup.

But Cassie respected our deadline, even if I’d been the one to jump without considering the consequences.

We passed our crumbling office, and I gave her a look. She didn’t indulge me.

“What about Fox,” I said as the sad building receded into the rearview.

“He can shit all over the place, for all I care,” she said, “I pulled the door to my bedroom shut.”

Oh. Now it was
her
bedroom.

This week was gonna be real fun.

“All right, fine. Where are we headed?”

“The only place you’ll find a damn cave around here.”

I didn’t know where that was, despite living in Seaside Heights for the entirety of my more than three decades on this green, wonderful planet. Made me feel stupid, considering she’d only been around for three years, maybe four. Time sticks together sometimes.

Seaside Heights isn’t big, so I wasn’t curious for very long. About ten minutes later, we pulled into the beachside parking lot. A few people shimmied along the edge of the Pacific, as if curious whether they should test the waters.

“I didn’t bring my suit,” I said as we got out.

“You’ll be all right,” she said, “just follow me.”

I tagged along behind her, shaking sand from my sneakers every few steps. Should have packed some sandals. It was like sinking into a swamp. The beach was one of the few good things about Seaside Heights. A couple tourists came by during the summer, braving the slums for the pure coastline. And it stretched on for a while. Still, couldn’t imagine us getting any recommendations from guidebooks. The town looked about ready to fall down and be reclaimed by the sea.

That lengthy coastline was starting to give me fits by the time Cassie stopped. Rocks barred our progress up ahead.

“Over,” she said, and started climbing.

“Hell no,” I said, “that’s dangerous. You could slip, cut something. I haven’t had a tetanus shot.”

“You get tetanus from rusty metal, you idiot,” she said, “stop being a pussy.”

“It was an expression,” I said to myself, but I scrambled up the slippery rocks anyway. They’d be pretty, all covered in rich green moss, worn smooth by the flow of the tides—if they weren’t trying to kill me. I about bought it jumping from a large stone to a small, shifty one.

I held my arms out, balancing like a kid walking along the edge of the sidewalk. I looked over, and Cassie was gone, up onto the natural pathway above.

I grappled over the remaining rocks, dragging myself onto the thin ledge with my elbows. I needed to hit the gym, but I still made it, chest sagging from the exhaustion. Edging along the narrow path, the ocean stirring below—it wasn’t a high drop, otherwise I would have been doubled over in fear—I snaked towards what I hoped would be our destination.

Ahead, I heard a rumbling, like rocks were shifting.

And then, going around a corner, I almost fell backwards into a grotto. More than that; it was a goddamn spacious cave.

“Cass,” I ventured, lest I awoke all the ghosts and demons sure to be haunting a place like this, “you in here?”

A bright light, coming from a smartphone’s flash, shined in my face.

“Turn that down,” I said, “it’s killing my eyes.”

“Quit being a pussy and check this out,” she said, and turned the bright light away from me and onto the walls. “I think we found what we’re looking for.”

Yeah. Except there wasn’t one wall full of symbols. They covered the place, floor to ceiling, even coming with pictures.

Some messed up pictures.

12

The Light

It was some
real Old Testament shit, like a bad show you might catch on premium cable. People twisted together, throats getting cut, babies being sacrificed, the whole circle of human existence.

Except it was beyond old. The colors were faded, nature eroding the vibrant hues over the millennia. Some scenes were missing or destroyed beyond recognition. I looked over the thing, like some sort of 10,000 year old comic strip, from the ceiling to the wall in front of me.

I took a glance at the symbols after that, but I never professed to be much of a reader, and I didn’t think their meaning was all that necessary to interpret what was going on.

The dawn of civilization. His vices. Sins. Triumphs. Wars, beliefs, loves. All there, in crumbling stick figure glory. A snake eating its own tail. Endless cycles of people living, people dying.

Cassie took a digital camera from her pocket and shoved the lit smartphone into my hand.

“Keep this right…here,” she said as she directed me towards a place that threw ample illumination throughout the cave. Then she set to snapping pictures.

“Well, this was the easiest forty grand we’ve ever made,” I said, not adding the obvious: it was the only forty grand we’d ever made. We hadn’t made that much in the past two years combined. Lucky for us, the cost of living in Seaside Heights was what one might term affordable.

A little too easy, in fact. Cassie hadn’t even needed an hour to find this thing, let alone a week.

Like she knew something about this place I didn’t.

Then something caught my eye.

English writing, on the wall. I forgot my task and darted over to it, Cassie letting loose a string of expletives as I threw much of the cave into shadowy dimness. I held it up to the wall. It wasn’t the only English word.

They were interspersed between the ancient symbols.

At first, I thought that some sixteen year old jerk-off had written his name on the wall to give the ancients the finger. No—it wasn’t like that. For one, the paint was old—just as old as everything else on the wall. Same color, same consistency, same height.

And there were other languages: Spanish, French. I’d have recognized more, I guess, if I was a learned man, but my knowledge of the finer points in life was limited to the Surgeon General’s warning on the smokes I snuck when Cassie wasn’t looking.

All of these were locked in with the rest of the text—the whole story written in a hundred different languages, like some sort of crazy Rosetta Stone.

I regained my ability to speak.

“Hey, you seeing this?” No response. “Pretty crazy, right? What’d Otto say—that this guy was some sort of art collector?”

“I didn’t say,” came Otto’s voice, and I dropped the phone. I’d been in such rapt concentration that I hadn’t sensed the presence of anyone else in the room. “Good job, Mr. Desmond and Ms. Atwood. Splendid, I must say.”

“You didn’t have to deliver us the money all the way up here,” I said, throat dry, “but that’s nice of you.”

Otto let out a short laugh. “Funny, Mr. Desmond. A real jokester, aren’t you?”

“Drives her nuts. She’s too wound up, I think.”

“Shut up, Kurt,” Cassie managed to get in.

Otto flashed on a high-powered searchlight. And now I could see the entire scene: two guys in the cave’s entrance armed with guns that you wouldn’t find at your local Wal*Mart, and Otto, inside the cave. They had us pretty much dead to rights. I didn’t imagine that the ancients had thought to build an emergency exit.

Otto pulled his blazer tight and walked along the edge of the walls, marveling at the wonders.

“Yes, yes,” he said, mumbling to himself, “this is it. The Shrine. I can’t believe I’ve found one, me…” And he was off for a second lap, stroking various parts of the work as he went, putting his eye up within an inch of some of the drawings. I was expecting him to lick it, when he stopped, like a man exiting a trance, and walked to the center of the room.

“Now, Ms. Atwood,” he said, “thank you for leading us here. We’ve been watching you the whole way.”

I wanted to shout that I deserved partial credit, but if I was being honest, that would have been a dubious claim at best.

“Fuck you,” she said through clenched teeth, “and your ugly friends.”

He looked hurt, but he managed to keep his composure. Considering he was going to be the winning horse, it would’ve been unprofessional to flip out.

“Quite the mouth on you,” he said, “Shadow mentioned that.”

“Shadow?” she said.

“Oh yes, you’re quite the firecracker.

She spit, and he backed up just in time. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Atwood,” he said, coming closer, like a panther stalking its prey, “I know all about you.”

“What’s he talking about, Cass?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she replied, “he’s just a half-wit color-blind—” Cassie let out an oomph as Otto punched her in the stomach, which sent her crumpling to the ground. I started forward, but one of his boys flashed a rifle my way.

I put my hands up. Not that I could’ve taken Otto anyway. He’d have crushed me, but, you know, chivalry. Dignity. Man stuff.

Otto shot his cuffs and then looked my way, plucking the camera from Cassie’s pocket. She reached out, fingertips flailing at the air, but he placed her hand on the ground.

“There, there,” he said, “it’s all right. You won’t remember a thing.”

He exited the cave, giving his men a nod before rappelling down a rope hooked to the side of the cliff. They advanced on us and shoved us up against the wall, patting us down for any other goodies we might be carrying. Satisfied that there was no information—or valuables—they readied their guns and pressed them into the back of our skulls.

I wondered if I would hear the click of the trigger before I died.