Fringe - the Zodiac Paradox (18 page)

Walter stepped up to the glass to see what was going on in the adjacent room.

There were two subjects, both male and Caucasian, but that’s where the similarities ended. The man on the left was young and gangly, with an unfortunate beaky profile and long, sandy hair. The man on the right was older and pudgy, with a gleaming bald head and a weak chin hidden beneath a steely gray goatee. Each man was hooked up to a heart rate monitor that displayed the function of that organ for the students to observe.

The two were laid out on the sort of low-profile, bedshaped couches you might see in an analyst’s office, heads toward the middle of the room. In the center, sandwiched in the narrow space between two folding rice paper screens, was a third man.

He was in his mid-forties, with a thick shock of unruly white hair, large square glasses, and a jovial, slightly mischievous manner that reminded Walter of Willy Wonka in that film that had come out a few years back. He was dressed in a lab coat and was fiddling with a toaster-sized machine that sat on a spidery steel table. This, he assumed, was Doctor Rayley.

“What is he working on today?” Nina asked a young, redheaded man with a spare mustache and a Dr Pepper T-shirt.

“He’s synchronized the subjects heartbeats,” the young man said, “and is now seeing if one is able to control the frequency of the other.”

“Any success?” Walter asked.

“More luck with slowing than raising,” the Dr Pepper kid replied. “They tend to go out of sync once they go above a hundred beats per minute.”

“Well,” Walter said, “that’s still quite impressive, and potentially relevant for our own study. I’m particularly interested in the fact that he is able to achieve synchronization of subjects without the use of wires or electrodes to connect them either to the biofeedback machine or to each other.” He turned. “We must speak with him at once, Belly!”

“We can’t just barge in on an experiment in progress,” Bell replied.

“I suppose you’re right,” Walter admitted, chastened.

“It’s been an hour and forty-five minutes already,” the Dr Pepper kid said. “Shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Walter sat down on the far end of one of the risers, studying the machine in the center of the room and trying to work out its various components and functions. Trying to think of ways it might be adapted to serve their purpose. He unfolded the schematic he’d sketched out for Bell, and started making a few modifications.

Before he knew it, the experiment was over and the two subjects were attended to by nurses who checked them over thoroughly and helped them sit up. They both seemed upbeat, excited by their accomplishments and impatient with the nurses’ poking and prodding. Doctor Rayley embraced each of his subjects as if they were family, before allowing them to leave the lab.

He then disappeared through a hidden door and reappeared in the observation area, greeting each of his students by name and taking time to thoughtfully answer all of their questions. Bell had to grab Walter by the back of his collar to prevent him from barging over to accost Doctor Rayley with a hundred questions of his own.

But Nina had more subtle ways of attracting Doctor Rayley’s attention and within minutes, she’d drawn him into her gravitational field without even trying.

“Miss Sharp,” he said, arms wide. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I have some friends from out of town who are very interested in your biofeedback studies,” she said, allowing herself to be embraced and yet somehow not fully participating in it, like a cat tolerating a hug while waiting for food. “Walter Bishop, William Bell, this is Doctor Jeremey Rayley.”

“Yes, yes,” Rayley said extending his hand to both Bell and Walter. “A pleasure, indeed.”

“We are currently conducting a series of experiments not unlike your own recent work, involving the synchronization of multiple minds,” Walter blurted out. “We were hoping that you might allow us to borrow one of your devices, to test their use under very specific field conditions.”

“If it were anyone but Miss Sharp,” Rayley said. “I wouldn’t even consider letting one of my patented machines out of the building. But what you say intrigues me—I don’t mind telling you that I’ve been very interested in the use of biofeedback to control various brain functions. Particularly the more esoteric ones, such as...” He paused for dramatic effect, waggling his considerable eyebrows. “Telepathy and telekinesis. I know for a fact that those are specific topics of Nina’s personal studies.” He cast a glance in her direction.

“We will gladly share the results of our research,” Walter said, ignoring Bell’s warning glare. “As scientists, we are all in this together, aren’t we?”

“Ah, yes, quite right,” Rayley said. “Science, like love, should be free for all.”

They left the Institute for the Advancement of Bio-Spiritual Awareness with two large cardboard boxes filled with equipment and supplemental parts. There was barely enough room in the back seat of Nina’s Beetle to fit everything so Walter ended up having to hold one of the boxes in his lap for the drive back in to San Francisco.

He didn’t complain, though, and when Nina looked up at his reflection in the rearview mirror, she could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He almost looked happy. She wished that she could share his enthusiasm, and sincerely hoped that this crazy plan of theirs would work, but all she could see were flaws and weaknesses.

They returned to the house, and Walter and Bell immediately went to work on modifying the biofeedback rig to Walter’s specifications. Nina tried very hard not to be bothered by the mess of wires and solder they made in her pristine bedroom, which offered a much more effective working space than the crowded basement.

After a time, she decided to go out for cigarettes.

Outside, the mess had been cleared out of the street, but the neighbors’ house was still in chaotic disarray, the missing wall along the front of the top floor covered by a flapping tarp. The place looked deserted, no sign of the family—the McBrides, she thought their name was. They must have gone to stay with relatives or friends.

She felt a slight twinge of guilt over what had happened to them, and to Mrs. Baumgartner, too, but quickly sloughed it off, focusing instead on planning ahead, running scenarios in her mind and picking them apart.

As she turned and headed down the block toward the liquor store, she lit the last cigarette left in the pack. The street seemed weirdly empty for midday. An occasional car trundled up the hill and past her. The only person in sight was a colorful bum that she saw almost every day, an eccentric local character nicknamed “Circles” by the people in the neighborhood.

He had a dozen colorful ribbons braided into his dirty beard and had earned his nickname because of his strange way of walking. Instead of moving in a straight line, he got from place to place by walking in a chain of tight circles. Sometimes it took him two or three hours just to travel the length of one block.

When he saw Nina, he executed a couple of agitated circles in her direction, waving his skinny arms.

“The man wants you!” he shouted. “You watch out! He’ll do it to you! I know!”

“How you doing, Circles?” she said with an indulgent smile, wrinkling her nose against the scent he emitted. She held up her cigarette. “I’d give you a smoke, but this is my last one. How about I give you one on the way back from the store, okay?”

“The man!” he said again. “He doesn’t think I know, but I know.” He tapped his temple with a black fingernail. “Nobody’s gonna tell me what I know!”

Clearly she wasn’t going to get through to him.

“See you later, Circles,” Nina said, waving with her cigarette hand and walking away, smoke trailing behind her.

Even though the streets were relatively empty, there was a small line at the liquor store, including an elderly woman who wanted to get input from everyone about which lottery numbers “felt most lucky.” Nina was about ready use a bottle of Tab to conk the old biddy on the back of her bouffanted head. But she wasn’t confident that the bottle would make a dent in that blue Aqua Net helmet.

The woman finally got her lucky numbers sorted out, and Nina finally got her two packs of Virginia Slims and her diet soda.

On her way out the jingling door, she stuffed the soda and one of the two packs of cigarettes into her purse, and then started to peel the cellophane off the second pack. She was planning to give one of the cigarettes to Circles, like she’d said she would, but as she turned to walk back to her house, she didn’t see him anywhere.

Strange,
she thought.

Circles was so slow that it took him ages to get anywhere, and he had been in the middle of the block when Nina had talked to him. Yes, it had been a longer wait then she’d expected at the liquor store, but not more than ten or fifteen minutes. It would usually take Circles at least an hour to cycle his way from the middle of the block to one of the cross streets.

No one on the block would have invited him into their house or car, smelling the way he did. The only place he could have gone was up the driveway on the left side of the shabby apartment building across the street from her place.

Curious, she waited for a car to pass, then headed over, open pack of cigarettes in her hand. But when she reached the mouth of the driveway in question, she paused.

It was broad daylight, and while her neighborhood certainly wasn’t the safest in the world, it was hardly a crime-infested war zone. There was no reason why she should hesitate about entering the alley.

But she did.

It just didn’t feel right.

Circles wasn’t visible from where Nina was standing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in there. There were a large dumpster, some stray trash bags, and a stained, discarded twin mattress down at the far end. He easily could have been behind the debris. Probably just taking a piss. Or worse. And that was nothing she needed to see.

Nina looked down at the pack of cigarettes, then turned on her heel, tucking the smokes into her purse and heading back home.

* * *

“Aw, don’t go,” Allan whispered. “Come back and join us, Miss Nina Sharp.”

But she didn’t, and with conflicting emotion, he watched her walk away. On the one hand, he knew that the time wasn’t yet right for him to have her, and any deviation from the plan made him anxious, as if it might spiral wildly out of control. But there was another part of him that yearned for her without regard for all his cautious preparation.

He still knew next to nothing about the two hippies from Reiden Lake, but Nina Sharp, she had been easy to research. Starting with her registration for the cute little green Volkswagen Beetle, Allan had leapfrogged through her paper trail, eager to learn everything he could about her.

Nina Louise Sharp was twenty-eight, never married. Middle child of three daughters, born here in San Francisco to Sullivan and Marie Sharp. Abandoned by her philandering father and ignored by her overworked mother, Nina seemed to have thrown herself into achieving academic excellence. Her school records showed that she was a straight-A student and the valedictorian of her graduating class at Balboa High School.

From there she went on to be accepted at Stanford with full academic scholarship.

Allan had been surprised to find that Nina owned not only the ugly lavender house she lived in with those insufferable musicians, but also a second rental property that was bringing in a tidy little income. She had substantial resources, as well, from a variety of shrewd investments. Miss Nina Sharp was not only ambitious, she was extremely good with money and while she was far from wealthy now, he could see that she would be in the future.

Too bad she wouldn’t have a future.

Beneath Allan’s boot, the bum with the stupid ribbons in his beard writhed and choked, blood bubbling from the necklace of stab wounds around his filthy throat. He clutched weakly at Allan’s pant leg, and Allan kicked his shaking fingers away. Torturing the human vermin had seemed mildly amusing for a few moments, but now the bum’s agony just seemed pathetic and irritating.

He knelt down beside the useless bum and stared into his contorted, uncomprehending face. So much of the joy of killing was watching his victims come to the understanding that they would not survive. Torturing a mentally incompetent person like this man was never satisfying on that deeper level, because they had no idea what was happening to them.

Allan looked down at his hands. They were completely normal, not even the faintest hint of the sparks below the skin. The bum’s suffering had failed to invoke any reaction whatsoever.

With a weary sigh, he slid the blade of his knife into the creature’s right eye. He held it there for a moment, until the body stopped moving. When he was sure that the bum was dead, he pulled the knife out, wiped both sides of the blade on the man’s filthy purple shirt, and put it back in his jacket pocket.

Time to go see what Miss Nina Sharp and her two boyfriends were up to.

“Everything okay?” Bell asked when Nina walked back in to her room.

“Sure,” she replied, shrugging. “Just went for cigarettes.” She peered over his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Excellent,” Walter said, patting the newly assembled machine sitting on greasy newspaper in the center of her bedroom floor. “I could probably continue to play around with a variety of optional modifications, if time were not a factor, but I feel that the prototype is ready for its first trial run.”

“Here’s the thing,” Bell said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to try to open the gate again in this house. This neighborhood, it’s just too densely populated.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Walter said. “We should try to find a different location, a place that is both secure and relatively isolated.”

The two of them looked over at Nina.

“Right,” she said. “I’m thinking...”

“Think faster,” Bell said. “We mustn’t forget that the longer it takes us to figure out how to reliably open that gateway, and keep it open long enough to put the Zodiac back where he belongs, the more time he has to act on his murderous impulses.”