Atmosphere (6 page)

In addition, no hair evidence showed up, not a single fiber. Coincidentally, Bobby, claimed during an interrogation to have joined some unnameable religious order prior to the murder and had shaved every hair from his body, toes through head. Even his eyebrows.

Additionally, the kid possessed a paranoid demeanor that had Frank and Neil raising eyebrows all throughout questioning. For Frank Ballaro, the lack of evidence pointed all fingers to no one but Bobby Lindsay. But how to implicate him?

As they waited, wondering just that, something broke. And Frank got his man.

With all of Bobby's clever planning, his detailed formulations, his perfect crime had a crack in its armor. He made a mistake.

He bought the wrong condoms.

Although the girl had been raped and sodomized repeatedly, there was no semen present. When the coroner's report came back, they found large traces of
non-oxynol 9
in and around Carey Lindsay's genital area. The report went on to explain that
non-oxynol 9
, a generic name for a common over the counter spermicidal lubricant, was also found to be used in the manufacture of widely used condoms as a secondary precaution in preventing pregnancy.

The search of Bobby's room had found a box of
Trojan Ultra Ribbed
condoms with
non-oxynol 9
in a drawer next to his bed. There were five missing. The next day a video showed up of Bobby Lindsay purchasing the same brand of condoms from a convenience store two blocks away from his home. The grainy surveillance tape was dated June 2nd, two months before the murder.

They had their man.

"Frank? You there?"

Frank broke his paralysis. A film of sweat had formed on his hands. "Who in God's name set bail for him?"

"Judge Mathews. My guess is that she didn't think his folks would show any sympathy, and honestly, I didn't either. Heck, it's not even his real father. But the two of them just waltzed right in to the City Courthouse, arm in arm, and plunked down a mil cash. That ain't no kitty litter. I'm telling you, that Jo-Beth Lindsay must have her rich husband wrapped around her finger like a gold ring."

"Why the hell did Mathews set bail?"

"Well...I figure it's like this. If he makes bail, he can't go anywhere because they tag him with a homing bracelet. It'll send up a million red flags if he places one foot out the door. If he tries, they shoot him full of holes, and the city gets the dough. Beats the hell out of spending all sorts of bucks to keep him in jail while deciding if the creep gets the death penalty. Higher-ups won't fess it, but it's the truth."

Frank scoffed inside, even though it really made sense. "Neil...where do you get these ideas?"

"It's the truth, Frank, I'm tellin' you. And another thing. I don't think she's buying all our evidence. Kid's pleading innocent. They hired some hot-shot Jew lawyer from the upper-east side. Gonna be a real uphill battle." He took a deep breath. "Nevertheless, he's out, and we got to keep an eye on him and his folks. Us too, kiddo. There's going to be a shit-load of pissed off people when this hits the papers tomorrow."

Frank ran a hand through his thinning hair. "It's gonna be a nightmare. Thanks for letting me know, Neil."

"Wanted to fill you in before you heard it on the news."

"I appreciate it." Wanting to get off the phone, he blurted, "Listen, Neil, I gotta head over to the thirteenth." He suddenly realized he spilled something he had hoped to keep a secret—at least until the news broke about his involvement in last night's adventure.

"The thirteenth?"

"I'm going to pay Hect a visit. Haven't seen him in a few. We're gonna grab a bite." Dodged that bullet.

"Ah...send Hect my regards. Sorry to be the bringer of bad news, Frankie. Try to have a good weekend."

"No easy feat."

After hanging up, Jaimie appeared from the kitchen with her books cradled next to her chest. She now had her hair tied back in a scrunchie, and Frank thought she looked more beautiful than an angel appearing from the heavens. She dropped her books on the couch and put on a blue windbreaker she retrieved from the closet next to the door. "Gotta run."

"Good luck on your test."

"Thanks. Oh, I almost forgot. Some of us are going out for dinner tonight. After the test. I won't be home till later."

"How late?"

"Dad..."

Frank had a feeling he wouldn't be home for dinner either. "Okay. Have fun. And be careful," he said, standing, smiling.

"I will."

"Maybe we'll have dinner together this weekend?"

She smiled. Beautiful. "Okay. I'd like that." Then she left.

And Frank felt utterly alone.

T
he bald man entered the long hall. It looked just as it did the first time he was here: dark and gloomy. Yet somehow, even through the sunglasses, he could see everything clearly. It wasn't as if his eyesight had improved, he just knew where to go, as if his thoughts had been attuned to an outside force that invisibly guided him to this place, this place that he not only needed to be, but that would provide him with the answers to all the questions suddenly speeding about in his head. Questions like: what is life? And: what purpose do I serve? Dressed entirely in black, he wore jeans, a tee shirt beneath a leather biker jacket, gloves and sneakers. The gloves, caked with blood and dirt, hung at his sides as he stared straight ahead and carefully eyed the lengthy corridor. Impulsively, he lifted his arms and dragged his soiled fingertips along the smooth ebony walls as he traversed the length of the hall, leaving streaks of brown and red upon them like sand-trails from a snake in the desert. As he did this, his thoughts and memories evaporated, leaving a blank slate behind in his mind. Still he tried to remember something about himself, what he had been called before he was summoned to this place and became the person he is now. But as his efforts ricocheted around inside his head, endeavoring to find answers, stronger, darker impressions surrounded and subdued them like a virus, pointing out to him quite surely that it really wasn't necessary to know anything about who he used to be at this moment, that nothing else mattered so long as he had guidance from the Giver. Unexpectedly, he reached an impasse at the end of the corridor. He stood there, confused at first about what to do, but quickly allowed his thoughts to collect themselves and find an answer to this dilemma. They told him to enter. Yes, enter. Something important waited on the other side and he knew his purpose at this very moment was to access it. He searched for a means to venture forth. A knob perhaps? Or a switch? But he found nothing. Still, he identified this impasse as a door of some fashion. He gently placed his gloved right hand upon the smooth inky surface. Like a sudden shot of static through a stereo speaker, a ghostly electronic storm emanated from within the shiny blackness in front of him, as if it were alive, seeping through his gloves into his pores. The wall evaporated, unveiling a vast room, allowing him access into its reach. He stepped forward and found himself within a great span of blackness, far-away walls enveloping him as if he were an embryo inside a great black egg. Familiar this place seemed. He had been here before. Yes. This is the place where he had first received the Atmosphere. Oh yes, the Atmosphere. He wondered for a brief moment how he knew it was called that. But, as usual, he could not answer his own query. He simply accepted the fact that he just knew, as if the knowledge of the object had been buried in his mind all this time and had been empathically called forth by the Giver. He spun his body, looking around. The room was round, like an amphitheater, entirely black and glossy, the walls, ceiling, and floor like the finish on a brand new car. Ever so slowly, he walked towards the center of the vacuous room. The squeaky footfalls of his black sneakers echoed hollowly amid the quietude, careening off the curved walls like an invisible pinball. He finally stood at what he perceived to be the middlemost point, placing his hand in his jacket pocket to make sure the Atmosphere was still there. It was. He had done this so many times before, even on his way here—in the street, on the subway, in the tunnel—because he knew it was crucial that he not misplace it. It was the Atmosphere, and the Giver had chosen
him
to carry out its requirements. He waited for what seemed a very along time, and then the Giver made its presence known. A slight humming sound filled the room then quickly grew into a pulse that radiated from the walls like a distant explosion. It permeated his skin, deep into his bloodstream, bearing a euphoria with it that he could neither explain nor define. It eclipsed the very pleasures of any drug he had used in his past life. It surpassed the gratification of the heady rush he felt while listening to the pulsating beats and rhythms of ambient and techno music. Prospering in the moment, he closed his eyes, permitting the sensation-filled droning to douse his mind and body like a rapid wash of warm water. He felt himself smiling and truly hoped that it would last a long, long time. Suddenly he felt himself getting hard, the pulse now reaching into his crotch. The vibration sped up. A tingling raced through his blood stream. It felt wonderful. He wanted it to last forever. He wanted to see its magic, and when he opened his eyes, he found a faint bluish color illuminating the room. He immediately felt as though he were swimming miles beneath the ocean, spelunking in a warm limestone cave where shimmering stalactites washed their ghostly natural phosphorescence over his body. This, in combination with the bodily resonance brought on a higher feeling, a miraculous awareness. This perhaps, was Nirvana.
This
is what the Suppliers felt. Yes, it would be his pleasure to bring it to them again and again. Now if only the Giver would allow him to supply someday! He stared into the light, eyes wide and tearing. Now all the walls glowed, brighter than before, a sea of neon blue swimming throughout the room. Then, like magic, the walls became translucent. Oh, he could see through them! Colorful shapes flowing beneath their surface, intertwining amidst one another in a jubilant frenzy! Microbiotic creatures orgied into a great tapestry of surrealistic hues! He raised a palm to the fluid shapes. "I am yours," he managed to whisper, the pulse in his body reaching orgasmic proportions. The shapes moved within each other, growing brighter as the seconds passed. Suddenly brighter more magnificent colors emerged: greens, purples, yellows, oranges. All glowing, fusing with the dominant blue like sucklings on a mother. Again he said, "I am yours," more than a whisper now.

"Do you have the unit?" The emphatic monotone voice boomed out, a guttural computerized airing. Yet, incalculably alive, breathing.

The bald man brought his hand down, searched into his jacket pocket for the Atmosphere. For a terrifying moment he thought it would not be there, that he had lost it like he feared he would. But his fingers at once graced its smoothness, latched on to the six spines emerging from the domed surface. He pulled it out, careful not to drop it, holding it close to his chest as if it were a baby kitten.

The colors spoke, swirling madly with every utterance: "Place it at your feet."

He felt jewels of sweat dappling his forehead. Oh how it hurt to give it up. He pulled it away from his chest, held it in front of him so he could gaze at it again, the Atmosphere. Oh, the Atmosphere. Again he tried to recall if the Giver had ever used this term in his presence, but his thoughts swam aimlessly within his mind. What did it matter anyway? In his mind this object was indeed an Atmosphere. It needed no explanation. It was a wonderful, blessed thing. He slowly crouched down and placed it on the smooth jet surface. At once, the bottom of the object appeared to meld with the floor, its black exterior a perfect merge to the surrounding environment. The six tubular spines on the domed crown, standing out at odd angles like the spines on an anemone, started to sway, bathing in the vigorous lights as if in empathic communication with them. All of a sudden, a small door appeared in the wall ahead, much like the entranceway to this place—like magic. It revealed an opening no bigger than a shoe box. From within its darkness a gyrating appendage emerged, slithering forth like a sentient tentacle, but no more natural in its embodiment than anything else in this stark place. Black and lustrous like the walls and floor, the segmented extremity tapped chitinously against the hard flooring as it writhed forward. It reached the object at his feet, stopped alongside it, then expeditiously wrapped itself around the fused base like an attacking snake suffocating a mouse. Once secure, the end attached itself to one of the prongs, like a nozzle on a hose. A whining noise ensued, circulating the room like a scream escaping a lost soul, sufficiently drowning out the unremitting resonance.

"The unit is full," the electronic voice droned. The whine stopped and a shrill whine resounded in its place. It continued for as long as the whine transpired, then stopped, at once returning the room to its eerie resonating pulse. "The unit has been evacuated."

The bald man nodded, understanding of the Giver.

"
Harbinger, what is your purpose?"

The bald man perceived an odd sensation in his head, as if a switch had been turned on to reveal an appropriate answer to the query. "To seek out Suppliers."

"Harbinger, what will you do if an Outsider discovers you?"

"Kill them."

"Harbinger, what will you do if an Outsider overcomes you, or escapes?"

"Kill myself."