The Arx (25 page)

“Should I be concerned?” Carla said. “If some mentally unstable person is stalking me…”

“He’s not like that. He’s just misguided.”

Carla leaned toward her. “I know how it feels to lose someone you love. I know what it can do to you. I’m willing to put it all behind us.”

She placed her hand on Rebecca’s. “But don’t you think I should know who your friend is, so I can protect myself? You admit he’s not your client. There’s no duty of confidentiality.”

Rebecca had no compelling reason not to tell her about Frank, but a voice deep inside her said no. Again she refused.

Carla let go of her hand. “I hope you’ll at least keep me informed if your friend indicates that he has any designs on me.”

“He’s harmless, believe me,” Rebecca said, praying that she was right. “But if I ever feel that you’re threatened in any way, of course I’ll let you know.”

Rebecca felt ashamed. She didn’t really know why she was refusing Carla’s reasonable request, but she didn’t change her mind.

Death and Enlightenment

“Find somewhere private we can talk.” Those were the words Ricky had spoken to Frank in his ghost-like whisper.

Frank found Nurse Carstairs and brought her over.

He nodded at Ricky. “Is it possible to take him somewhere outside?”

“Ricky doesn’t cope well with change,” she said. “Are you sure he wants to go? Did you talk to him?”

Frank tensed. “Talk to him?”

The nurse laughed. “Well I know he’s not going to answer, but sometimes you can tell by his facial expression what he wants.”

Nurse Carstairs leaned down in front of Ricky. “Would you like to go out for a walk with this man?” she said loudly, like she was talking to a child. Ricky was motionless for several seconds, but finally gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Well,” she said, surprised, “he doesn’t seem to mind the idea. It’s a nice day. There’s a little garden out behind the building. Why don’t you take him there for now and see how it goes. Let’s limit it to a half-hour or so. Maybe next time, if there is a next time, you can take him longer. It might be good for Ricky to get a little outside stimulation.”

She explained how to get to the garden. Frank walked along the dark hallway and down a zig-zagging ramp, followed by Ricky whirring along in his electric wheelchair. A small wooden gazebo stood in the center of a garden filled with ornamental shrubs and rose bushes. They moved up a brick pathway to the gazebo, and Frank sat on one of the steps.

He did a quick scan of the garden. There was no one around.

Frank moved his head to within a few centimeters of Ricky’s so that he could hear the faint whisper of the quadriplegic's voice.

"We’re alone,” he said. Ricky nodded faintly.

“So you can speak,” Frank said.

"Apparently," Ricky whispered, with the hint of what, for him, was a smile.

"But all the nursing staff think you can't. They think you're mentally disabled."

Ricky gave a barely perceptible shrug.

"So you've never spoken to anyone in all the years you've been at the hospital?"

"No."

"Why?"

"D…Dangerous – g…give myself away.”

"Well, why now? Why talk to me?"

Ricky swallowed feebly, as if gathering the strength to speak.

"You f…found me. Others w…will. When the Arx find me, d…death is assured…"

"The Arx?"

"W…What people you seek c…call themselves."

"How do you know I'm looking for anybody?"

"Know a…about me. No other ex…explanation."

“Tell me about the Arx. Who are they?”

“They are a r…race that live among you, but are n…not of you.”

“What do you mean, ‘not
of
you’?”

“They are like another s…species.”

“That’s impossible,” Frank said. His knuckles were white on the wooden post of the gazebo.

At that moment a small group of people appeared on the walkway and headed slowly toward them.

“Somebody’s coming,” Frank said.

Ricky’s hand moved to the control of his wheelchair.

“Wait,” Frank said. “They said at the front you had a visitor, a couple of years ago.”

Ricky was silent.

“They’re still a long way from us,” Frank said, checking the strollers. “We’ve got a few minutes.”

“Man,” Ricky finally spoke. “Tried to t…talk to me – was afraid. Y…Younger then.”

Frank glanced down the walk. The group was admiring some of the flowers along the walkway.

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’ve still got time. What did he say to you?”

“Said he knew M…Mother. Didn’t b…believe him. He laughed. Said I had n…nothing to fear – he’d been d…dead for years.”

“What did he mean by that?”

Ricky shrugged.

Frank pushed on. “Why are the Arx after you?”

“Would s…spare no effort to destroy me – m…might reveal their existence.”

“Well, you’re still alive, so the guy I tangled with must have been the only one who knew about you. The names he had were yours and a reporter. You ever heard of a guy named Lawrence Retigo?”

Ricky shook his head.

“Maybe the guy wanted to use you as some kind of bargaining chip. He’s dead, so you may be safe – at least for now.”

“If one l…learned of my existence others will f…follow. No consequence. Not afraid to d…die. You s…should be afraid. They know about me – will s…soon know about you.”

“I think they already know about me.”

“T…Then your death is a…assured.”

Frank looked into Ricky’s eyes. They projected a deep-seated pity that made Frank’s hair stand on end. Ricky was absolutely convinced that what he said was the truth.

Voices approached. The group was almost upon them.

“We can wait till they leave,” Frank said. “Maybe they won’t be long.”

“T…Tired,” Ricky said. “Very tired.”

Ricky was clearly not going to say anymore. They retraced their steps back up the path and hallway to the recreation area.

“Tomorrow,” Frank whispered to Ricky. “I’ll be here.”

***

Shortly after talking to Lead Detective Stocker, Deputy Chief Constable Harold Chase picked up the phone and shook his head slowly as he punched in the number. Chase had been in office now for more than two years. None of the Arx had been present at his swearing-in ceremony, but that hadn’t bothered Chase. Arx weren’t concerned about praise or acceptance from their peers. What mattered was position and power, and Chase had been the first to achieve such a lofty status within the police force.

At the ceremony, Chase had appeared to listen intently to the saccharine speeches about his hard work, dedication, and competence for the position to which he had been appointed.

While he was aware of every word, the greater part of Chase’s attention was occupied sorting through a series of mental images. The images focused on three goals: promoting the interests of the Arx, expanding his own circle of influence, and eventually replacing the Chief Constable himself, who under the appropriate set of circumstances could quite easily meet with an unfortunate accident.

There wasn’t a universal respect among the Arx for his achievement. Many looked on the police as menial public servants. In their view, if you wanted to do something illegal, you simply paid off the right people. They didn’t appreciate what he could accomplish holding such a position in the outside world.

Chase’s detractors had been silenced when he was called upon to help with the acquisition of Arx children. It was of critical importance that the acquisitions be seen by humanity as random, unconnected acts, preferably committed by some easily identifiable culprit such as a parent, or someone close to them.

That meant that occasionally the investigating officers would have to be provided with a convenient body. The Arx connections through Kaffir to hospitals and the medical community allowed them to act quickly when a child of the correct age and size conveniently died. The target acquisition could then take place and the dead baby substituted at the proper moment.

Chase had proved indispensable when the Coroner decided to perform a DNA test on the substitute baby in Gloria Hanon’s case. At first he’d pushed hard to quash the idea, but for some reason the Coroner had dug in his heels.

Implementing ‘Plan B’, Chase had funneled the DNA work to a lab controlled by the Arx, who, after all, were deeply entrenched in many chemical and biological industries, including lab testing. Even if that option hadn’t been available, they could have ensured that the sample used for testing by some independent lab proved the identity of the child – they had the Hanon baby; substituting a sample wouldn’t be difficult.

Stocker was about as subtle as a stick of dynamite. It was clear from his expression that the pig-headed Lead Detective had an axe to grind with Frank Langer and wasn’t going to let it go. Stocker had been moderately useful over the years, but the danger he now posed far outweighed his usefulness.

“I need some more work done,” Chase said to someone at the other end of the line. “I’ll get the names and addresses to you by the usual channels. Yes – as soon as possible.”

***

Early one morning in Burnaby, a black Lexus with tinted windows slid to the curb on a side-street, a few blocks from Frank Langer’s house. Two men exited and strolled casually along the sidewalk. Drivers were just beginning their long commute to the city for work. The smell of toast and of frying bacon still wafted into the street. The chatter of the morning TV news echoed from open windows.

The men were dressed in black business suits. The taller of the two carried a briefcase containing, among other things, a bible and a dozen religious pamphlets. Each had a gun hidden in a shoulder holster. The man with the briefcase sniffed at the air as they approached Frank’s house. He nodded in silence toward the back. His partner nodded in response and headed for a path to the back door.

The first man walked up and knocked on the front door. There was no answer. He unwrapped a set of tools and picked at the lock, unlatching it in seconds. He entered, removed his shoes, tip-toed to the back and let his partner inside. Both drew their guns.

They split up and silently searched the house room by room, meeting again back in the living room. No one was home. They searched the closets and located a long orange extension cord. On the ceiling they found the safety hook for the living room fan, sturdy enough to hold a man’s weight.

They returned to the car, parked on a side-street on a hillside overlooking the house, and waited.

***

The day after his meeting with Deputy Chief Constable Chase, Grant Stocker was still fuming. After work he stomped through the door of his downtown apartment and slammed it behind him, rattling the fading photograph of himself and his ex-wife on a nearby side table. It had been years since she’d left him for another man, but nothing in Stocker’s place had changed.

Even before the breakup his career had dominated his life; after her departure it had become everything. Stocker dropped the pizza box he was carrying on the dining room table and stood for a moment, his hand resting on the back of a chair for support.

What angered him the most was that his mentor had been so quick to dismiss his request. After all the shit Stocker had taken, all the laws he’d bent, broken, torn up, doused with gasoline, lit on fire, and thrown in the trash heap… Somewhere deep within his brain he understood that the optics of the force appearing to deflect blame from itself by continuing to punish Frank for the Mastico affair were bad, though as far as he was concerned Frank deserved everything he got.

With monumental effort, Stocker willed himself into a state of calm. He loosened his belt and his tie, fixed himself a drink, flopped down on the couch with the pizza in his lap, and started to come up with a plan. He could get Human Resources involved, force Frank to submit to yet another psychiatric evaluation; then, if Frank failed… Or he could go over Chase’s head to the Chief Constable himself, though that held its own set of risks.

He’d just settled into a state of deep concentration when the doorbell rang. It completely disrupted his train of thought and his anger resurfaced. He was so preoccupied that it never occurred to him to check who was at the door before he opened it…

Catch and Release

It was dark by the time Frank approached his house after the trip to Mountain View, and he was exhausted. At first he’d been uneasy about going home, but after a careful drive around the neighbourhood and half an hour on a nearby hill watching, he’d seen nothing. He was relieved as he unlocked the door and walked inside, the familiarity offering a brief respite from the horror that his life had become.

He’d decided to get a change of clothes, proper shoes, and most importantly, a gun locked in the night table by his bed. He was still feeling the ravages of his recent binge, and Ricky’s statement about both his own and Frank’s impending death had rattled his nerves.