Separation (29 page)

Farrell answered for him. “It’s not you, not
because you’re what you are. It’s my choice and mine alone. That’s
all.”

Seeing as how the older man wouldn’t change
his mind, Harry changed the topic. “Will you be well enough to have
a party with us later on? Overton’s going to set the whole thing up
at the cabin. We’re thinking of two days from now. We can drive you
up with a medical team, just for a few hours...”

Farrell had already started shaking his head.
“No, you go on ahead without me.” He sank down in his bed once
again. “I’m going to stay right here. I’m quite comfortable with
all the painkillers, and since you’re safe...” his breath caught,
“I’m satisfied.”

They passed a few more friendly words, and
Farrell seemed most interested to hear all about the adventures in
Europe as well as out in Lake Shasta. His eyes glowed with pleasure
and he even bounced on his mattress, much like a little boy
watching his favorite superhero television show.

However, he soon grew weary and settled back,
a tired but happy looking smile on his face. “Some adventures you
had, kid. My daughter will come by tomorrow. We’ll catch up...”

At the door, Harry waved and forced himself
to smile. He knew there would be no more tomorrow. Outside,
Anastasia whispered, “How is he?”

“There isn’t much time.”

“You told him about the chamber, didn’t
you?”

“I did. No point now in using it. He said no,
and that’s final.”

Heaving a sigh, Istvan turned toward the
door. “I know he does not want to look like pig, but it is a chance
for life.”

Since he didn’t have a snappy answer handy,
Harry simply shrugged as if to say nothing could be done about the
matter. He offered his hand to his wife, she took it, and they
walked outside with Istvan tagging along close behind. They went
back to the cabin and he waited for the call. The smell of death
had been in Farrell’s room, and the ticks of the clock confirmed
it.

Farrell died exactly two days later. Overton
came out to the cabin with Istvan to deliver the news. It was a
beautiful summer morning, the sun out hot and full, but the verdict
took some of the joy of a new day away. His face taut, he told them
in a restrained voice. His eyes, though, red and swollen, betrayed
his feelings as he ushered them to his car.

“His daughter already came to say her
goodbyes, but she told me to say thank you to both of you.”

It was too late to say anything to her, but
Harry had the hope they’d all meet again one day.

Overton dug into his pocket and came out with
Farrell’s badge. “He wanted you to have this.”

Anastasia took it. With a curious expression
on her face, something between a smile and a frown, she handed it
over. Harry rubbed his thumb over the badge number—437—and smiled.
“That was thoughtful of him.”

“He said something to me. He said you were
the best we had. You and your wife were the best and brightest and
the hope for our future.” He cleared his throat. “I think so,
too.”

No one spoke until they got to the cemetery.
There, Overton led them to a newly filled grave with a headstone
placed in position.

Miles Farrell

FBI agent, father, friend

Born, November 12
th
, 1962

Died, July 8
th
, 2016

Overton stood at a respectful distance while
Harry stood at the foot of the grave. He couldn’t stop the flood of
tears and didn’t want to. Anastasia also wept, and Istvan muttered
something in Hungarian. He might have been praying or saying
goodbye. It didn’t matter. Harry had lost a father figure, a
mentor, but most of all he’d lost a friend.

Once done, Anastasia excused herself. “Sorry,
I have to use the bathroom again,” she said, and her voice sounded
faint. She also looked pale, quite a feat for someone who had gray
fur.

She ran inside the nearest building, and even
from a distance the sounds of violent retching could be heard. Even
from a distance, Harry observed the swelling in her stomach.

“What is happening?” asked Istvan. “I know
about her sickness from the time we were in Italy, but she was
finished with it, yes? I do not know about morning sickness for
cats.”

With a sudden jolt, Harry realized this kind
of morning sickness differed from what he’d been expecting his wife
to have. He thought she was over it, and then thought about the
breeding cycle of the average feline, and...

“Oh boy...”

Overton and Istvan swiveled their heads in
his direction, the former asking, “What do you mean, oh boy?”

“It means I’m wondering how fast all of this
is going to go down.” He made the gesture of a woman’s stomach
swelling with a baby inside. “Time works a little differently for
us.”

Overton’s eyes widened. He’d heard the news
about her pregnancy before, but only now did it seem to sink in.
“Oh...”

Anastasia walked out, shaking her head.
“Sorry... can’t keep a thing down. And I’m showing, which
means—”

“Which means the party is out of the
question,” Overton cut in and not unkindly at that. “Just as well,
because I’ve got a lot of files to go over and reports to do. I’ll
need your statements when you’re ready,” he added, looking at
them.

Harry offered a nod, but then snapped his
head around. He smelled something... something familiar... and
evil. “We’ve got company,” he said. “We’ve got...”

The sound of a blast drowned out his words
and a sudden concussion threw him into the air. Out of the corner
of his eye, he saw his wife hit the ground and Overton along with
her. Wanting to help, but being in no position to, he felt himself
floating and landed hard on his back a fair distance away from his
initial position. “Anastasia...”

She was lying in a heap under Overton. Harry
ran over and gently pulled the agent off her.

“They were waiting for us,” Harry ground out,
furious now, but grateful that the agent had protected his wife. He
knelt by Anastasia’s side and put his fingers to her neck. A pulse,
strong and steady, beat under her skin. She’d been knocked out by
the blast, but the baby...

“She needs a doctor,” he said, lifting her in
his arms.

With an effort, Overton staggered to his feet
and wiped the blood from his eyes. “I’m on it. Come with me.”

Scanning the area, he saw Istvan was nowhere
to be found. Harry called out his name again and again, but got no
answer. “They’ve taken him.”

“Worry about him later,” Overton said. “You
both need help.”

At his car, Harry gently loaded his wife’s
limp form inside and Overton took the wheel, driving hell-bent for
the nearest hospital. During the ten-minute trip, he called ahead
and asked for the services of a doctor as well as an
obstetrician.

Once at the hospital, Harry carried his wife
inside to the nearest examination room, where two doctors waited.
“We’ll let you know,” one of them said.

An orderly came over and offered assistance,
saying that he needed to have his injuries attended to, but the
agent waved off any form of assistance. “We’ll be fine. Take care
of her first.”

Pacing back and forth in the hallway, Harry
felt his rage and frustration growing. Allenby—that scumbag—had
planned this all along! If there was ever a time for vengeance, it
was now. Harry vowed once he found the mad nut, his life would not
be worth...

The sound of a door opening interrupted his
plans for revenge. Both doctors emerged, taking off their masks,
“She’s still in a coma,” the first doctor, a tall and reedy man
said. “It’s more like a light sleep, from what I can tell.”

“When will she come out of it?”

The doctor shrugged. “It’s impossible to
tell. I’ve monitored her brain waves, and they’re steady, so
there’s no brain damage. Her body needs, to, er, regenerate. That’s
the most hopeful prognosis I can give.”

Fairly bursting from the adrenaline overload,
Harry couldn’t contain his anger mixed with fear. “Is the baby all
right?”

A look of surprise appeared on the second
doctor’s face. Short and chubby, she introduced herself as Doctor
Blanchard. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. But from
what I can tell, internally, she’s the same as any other
human.”

“What about the baby!”

“The baby’s fine,” she replied, her look of
surprise changing to an expression of confidence. “Your wife—she is
your wife, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not an expert in this, er, physiology,
but from my examination, she has a healthy fetus inside her. When
did she start having morning sickness?”

Harry’s reply of roughly three weeks ago
caused the doctor’s eyes to bug out. “That’s... impossible. If my
examination is correct, then she’s the equivalent of a woman who is
eight and a half months pregnant. That would make the delivery date
roughly two weeks from now... and that’s impossible...”

He barely heard the rest of the doctor’s
speech. He breathed a sigh of relief, but also knew his mission
wasn’t over. “Can I see her?”

“Go ahead.”

Inside, Anastasia lay in bed, her eyes
closed, and her chest moving slowly and rhythmically. “Anastasia,”
he whispered, “I’ll be back soon. I have to find Istvan and I have
to stop this monster. Wait for me... please.”

A constricted feeling in his throat prevented
any more words from coming out. He started to cry, sobbing as
though part of him had been torn out. Now, in this time of
separation, what would he do without her, without the only person
who’d ever meant anything to him in his adult life, save his
parents?

The sound of the door opening disturbed him
and he wiped his eyes. A nurse came over to check Anastasia’s vital
signs. “She seems to be all right,” the nurse said. “I’ll be with
her.”

“Please,” he begged. “Do what you can.”

Outside, he found Overton on his cellphone.
He was sporting a bandage wrapped around his head, and soon clicked
off. “I’m having guards placed here, just in case. Your wife will
be safe.” Rotating his injured arm, he winced, but his face held a
look of determination on it. “What’s the plan?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know.” A
feeling of loss swept through him like a typhoon. “I don’t know
where to go. Farrell is gone, Leo is gone, and you’re hurt...”

“Listen to me. I’m here to help you.” Overton
stood tall, and a new kind of authority sounded in his voice, the
kind that spoke of newly acquired experience and understanding.
“Jason and Maze will also help, and you know how to do this. You’ve
got a friend out there, and you have to find him. There’s no one
else.”

In a moment of clarity, Harry realized there
was
no one else, and a special someone needed him. It meant
leaving his wife, but he had a job to do. “You’re right. We have to
get this done. First thing, we talk to Jason and Maze. Then we go
after Allenby.”

Out in the bright sunshine, possible
scenarios flew through his mind. Hiding places, contacts, Genesis
Chambers and more, they all whirled in his consciousness, but the
overriding emotion that came through was revenge. He had a score to
settle with a certain changed monster and his minions, and nothing
would stand in his way.

To Be Continued...

J.S. Frankel was born in Toronto, Canada, a good
number of years ago and managed to struggle through school,
graduating from the University of Toronto with a BA in English
Literature.

After working in Toronto for three years, he
moved to Japan in order to teach English and has never left. In
1997, he married the charming Akiko Koike and moved to Osaka. Their
union produced two sons, Kai and Ray.

Frankel teaches English during the day while
attempting to write Young Adult novels during the late hours of the
evening. Separation is the fourth novel out of five in the Catnip
series. Frankel is the author of numerous YA novels, including Mr.
Taxi, Star Maps, Just Another Quiet Little Town and Picture
(Im)perfect, a YA romance, all published by Devine Destinies.