The Game (7 page)

Then it hits him like a locomotive striking a
cow that’s wandered too close to the tracks
. It’s Potter! He’s
finally coming to take me out of the picture
. Singleton knew
this day would come. You can’t just up and tell a man like General
Potter that you quit—especially when the job is not only
classified, but unethical and illegal too. Singleton hoped that the
thousands of miles separating him from the General might delay the
inevitable—that maybe, just maybe, their years of working together
may have given Singleton a reprieve.

Heavy footfalls echo on the steps and another
peal of lightning rips the sky. Singleton takes a tentative step
away from the door. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder,
somewhat surprised there’s not already an intruder waiting in the
house and using the person at the door as misdirection.

Knuckles pound on the door and a voice calls
out, “Mister Singleton?”

He’s frozen. Who could it be? Any man of
Potter’s—if they were coming to erase his existence—certainly
wouldn’t knock on the front door.
Whoever it is, he knows who I
am
.

“
Who is it?” he asks, voice high and
mousy.

There’s a pregnant pause filled by grumbling
thunder, then the man on the other side of the door says, “Sir, it
would be best if I explain it to you face to face—without the door
between us.”

Singleton hesitates. Is this a trick? Will he
open the door to find the barrel of a gun pointed at his head?
Whether he opens the door or not, if it
is
Potter, there’s
no avoiding what’s coming. He covers the few feet to the door,
wraps his right hand around the knob, unlatches the chain lock with
his left, takes a halting breath, and opens the door.

The young man stands several inches taller than
Singleton. His stare is youthful, but intense: grey eyes reflecting
the atmosphere outside. His light, sandy hair, cropped close to his
scalp, is wet from rain. Singleton guesses the man to be in his
early twenties and judging by the boys posture, hair, and
unwavering gaze, probably military too. Singleton stares into his
eyes. There’s recognition there. He knows him even though Singleton
doesn’t recollect ever meeting him before.

“
I apologize for all the water, but
do you mind if I come in?”

Singleton hesitates.

“
Oh, I’m so sorry,” says the young
man. He trusts out his right hand and says, “I’m Robert
Daley.”

Singleton extends his hand and shakes Paul’s.
“Pleasure to meet you—I guess.”

The older man attempts to draw his hand back,
but Paul holds it tight. His eyes are wary but there’s no
recollection at the mention of Rob’s name, so he uses the name that
Singleton would be sure to know. He draws Singleton closer and
whispers, “Maybe you know me by my other name—Paul
Guest.”

Singleton’s head snaps back as if slapped by an
invisible hand. Panic floods his eyes and his complexion turns
ghostly white. Again, he tries to pry his hand away, but Paul
continues to hold on to him. Finally, he ceases his struggling and
says, “What do you want? Have you come to kill me?”

Rob laughs and the sound almost escapes through
Paul’s mouth. Even after so many years having a combined
consciousness, it’s sometimes hard for Rob
not
to take over
the physical too.

Paul thinks, Rob, he’s afraid of
me—us.

May I?
asks Rob. Paul know what he
means.

Yes
, he thinks.

Rob comes forward from the darkness of Paul’s
mind and takes control.

“
Mr. Singleton, we’re not here to
hurt you. We need your help.” Then he explains his plans, plans
that include a former research scientist named Georgia
Cobb.

“
It’ll never work,” says Singleton
with a shake of his head. He cradles a steaming cup of coffee in
his hands. “Potter will never go for it.”

Rob, still in control of Paul, says, “Has he
ever had an offer like this?”

“
To my knowledge, no.”

“
And from what little I know of the
man, and from what you’ve told me about him tonight, I think he’ll
jump all over this opportunity.”

Singleton still shakes his head.

Rob tries another approach, one he knows will
work. “How long do you want to live here in fear?”

The older man flinches, glances at him, and
then looks away, shamed. He is afraid. As much as he doesn’t want
to admit it, he is.

Rob leans forward and grabs Singleton’s
forearm. “You know too much about him and his project. It’s only a
matter of time before he—or his superiors—decide to cut away any
loose ends.” Rob pokes him in the chest. “And that includes
you.”

Singleton’s head lowers and he nods
reluctantly. “I know. I know.” He sits in silence for a beat, then
asks, “What about Georgia Cobb? I don’t know her—have only spoken
to her once, back before I met you. I don’t even know what she
looks like.”

Rob smiles. “Don’t worry about that. Paul and I
already have her on board.”

Singleton raises his eyebrows
questioningly.

“
She’s a professor now at a small
East Texas college. I took one of her classes last summer after my
Army discharge. She’s on board and ready at a moment’s
notice.”

“
You work fast.”

Rob shakes his head, suddenly serious. “No.
This has been a yearly struggle. You see this boy?” He moves his
hand before his face. “Is this the boy you remember from that
arcade?”

“
No,” Singleton has to admit it. The
wisp of the boy he’d seen all those years ago was nothing like the
man standing before him now. This man is strong—still slight of
build, but toned to perfection by military training. The boy he
remembered could have been blown over by a strong wind.

“
You don’t know how difficult it can
be for a teenage boy to suddenly have another person sharing your
body with you.” Rob glances away, gaze staring beyond the walls of
the kitchen into some distant memory. “Paul and I often make jokes
to each other about schizophrenia. But in the end, this must be
exactly what it is.”

Singleton sips the last of his coffee. “So what
now?”

Rob’s eyes turn back to him, suddenly serious
again. “Now you pack a bag. You have an introduction to
make.”

Two days later, a tan Toyota pulls up to the
front of a small red-brick house. It’s almost midnight and the
occupant inside sleeps soundly. Years of comfort and security have
chiseled away at the ever-alert military man of his youth. This is
the one place he could lay his head down and sleep soundly with no
fear: but General Potter is about to receive an unexpected
awakening.

Singleton, Paul, and Georgia all stare out the
passenger side window at the house where General Potter lives.
Georgia grips the steering wheel, knuckles white in
anticipation.

“
Well,” says Singleton. “This is it,
isn’t it?”

Paul nods in the darkness. “Yup.”

Singleton opens the door and steps out. As Paul
reaches for his door-handle, Georgia reaches between the seats and
grabs him by the shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”

He turns. The darkness shrouds his face but she
can feel the intensity of his gaze. Voice cold, he says, “I’ve
never been more sure about anything.”

At first, he thinks thunder has awoken him; but
then his head clears and he quickly dismisses the thought. The
night before, the local weatherman predicted the weekend would be
sunny with no chance of rain. He slowly slides his hand underneath
the pillow and wraps his fingers around the pistol hidden beneath.
He listens to the quiet house.

There it is again, and there’s no mistaking it
this time—someone is knocking at the front door. He throws off the
covers and darts from the bedroom, down the short hallway, and
stops just short of the front door. He does not turn on any light.
Bordering the door are two thick windows. Blinds cover both, but
the one on the left has a slight crack, allowing him to peek
outside without actually having to move the fabric. Two men are on
his front porch—both stand well away from the front door, as if
they
expect
the occupant inside to glance out before opening
the door.

He takes a breath and shouts through the door,
“Please take another step back.” He flips on the porch light. He
does not recognize the young man, but the man closest to the door,
he knows him.

He opens the door. The humid, Friday night air
hits him like a blast from a furnace. “Aaron Singleton? What the
hell are you doing here?”

Singleton takes another step back as the door
swings open. It never occurred to him the General would greet them
with a gun.
What did you expect
, he asks himself.
It’s
freaking midnight and we just woke up a military psychopath
.
Still, the gun startles him.

“
Who’s this?” he spouts, flicking
the gun in Paul’s direction.

Singleton takes a hesitant step forward. “We’ll
get to that shortly. May we come in? I have a proposition for
you.”

Potter’s ice-blue eyes roll away from the young
man and settle back on Singleton. “Proposition? I don’t think
you’re in a position to offer me anything. I
terminated
your
contract.”

Singleton closes more distance. Potter lifts
the gun involuntarily, but this time, Singleton does not back away.
He meets the other man’s gaze.

The General takes a deep, halting breath,
lowers the gun, and steps aside, allowing Singleton to
pass.

He crosses the threshold with Paul close
behind. Potter flips on the hall light and closes the front door,
then leads them into the kitchen. A flimsy card table surrounded by
metal folding chairs takes up most of the floor space.

Potter drops into one of the chairs and
addresses Singleton, “You have ten minutes.”

“
That’s all I’ll need,” says
Singleton, taking the seat across from Potter.

Paul is content to lean in the
doorway.

Singleton shifts uncomfortably in the chair. He
asks, “How’s the
project
fairing?”

Potter raises his eyes to the light fixture
above them. He closes them briefly then lowers his head. His eyes
suddenly look extremely tired, cloudy and glassy like a winter
lake. “Let’s just say that after all these years, we still haven’t
found the answers to the problems that have plagued us from the
beginning.”

“
I’m surprised the government hasn’t
shut the program down.”

Potter leans forward and says, “Your ten
minutes are ticking away. Want to get to the point?”

Singleton glances at Paul, takes a halting
breath, and then says, “I have a volunteer for your
program.”

“
A…a volunteer?”

Singleton nods toward Paul. Potter looks at the
younger man with narrowed eyes, as if Paul were a stain in the
carpet. Voice low and full of venom, he asks in quick succession,
“Who is he? Why does he know about the program? And why in God’s
name should I consider using
him?
”

Singleton returns with his own string of
questions, “Remember the boy? The one that ran away? The only one
to ever walk away from this program with all his marbles still in
his head?”

Paul grins at this last question. Yes, he
retained all his marbles—but he also gained quite a few in the
process. He pushes away from the wall, approaches Potter, dons his
best smile, and holds out his hand. “Paul Guest.”

Potter stares at Paul’s hand as if it’s a
scorpion’s stinger. His eyes scan Paul, but when he speaks, he
addresses Singleton: “This better not be a sick joke.” Paul watches
his eyes. Even though the menacing tone has not left his voice,
there is a definite glint of excitement in those eyes.

Singleton says, “This is no joke,
General.”

Finally, dismissing Paul with a glare, he turns
to Singleton and says, “You have my attention.”

He’s completely obsessed
, Rob tells
Paul. They had planned for a barrage of questions from the
General—but it looks as if they would not have to work at
convincing him—they hooked him on the first cast of bait. Potter
isn’t going to shake his hand, so instead of continuing standing
there with his hand floating out in front of him, he retreats to
the doorway and resigns himself to lean against the doorjamb
again.

Singleton relays the story he, Paul, Rob, and
Georgia fabricated over the past few days. It’s a good story, a
story that Potter would believe, but as Paul watches the General’s
face, he’s not too sure they really needed a story. Potter’s eyes
are bright and excited. His leg bounces with nervous anticipation
below the table. It’s as if he’s ready to spring out of his chair
and get this new project under way. Paul and Rob begin to worry
that Singleton is going to ruin the magic and Potter is going to
begin to smell a rat—that this is too good to be true.