Torn (4 page)

“Does Bret know?” David asked.

“Nope, because she failed to mention this to me. Tell her I called and please save that log.”

“Want me to fax it?
”

“I’d love you for it.”

“Why don’t you give Jesse a call? He blew up the street.”

“Jesse blew up the street?” Chuck laughed. “I’ll call him tomorrow. He’s probably sleeping. Thanks, David.”

After hanging up, Chuck just stayed there on the
side
of the road. He lifted the notes he had taken during his call
to
George, then reach
ed out
to increase the volume on the radio. Three times, he glanced from his notes to the radio. “Man,” he whispered in confusion. “What is going on?”

Scientists attributed it to enriched soil, perfect weather conditions, and immunity to p
esticides, a
ll of which built through
out the year
s, until finally…
boom. It hits. That was the exp
lanation for the sudden surge in the
ant population that seemed to plague the Northeast United States. It didn’t make sense to many, but it was accepted. After all, the scientific community presented it.

Bret’s street looked like a war zone. They hit the pest lottery, and a huge ant colony was discovered
existing
under the street. Sidewalks were lifted, pavement and black top removed, all to unc
over it. The borough worked diligently
to destroy it. But every attempt seemed futile, and the ants returned in ten fold.

They dug twenty feet downward, close
d off the street and suggested
flood
ing the pit
. Though it sounded insane, it was
worth
a shot, and to Bret anything that stopped her from buying all those round traps was a bonus.

That was one pest.

There was another not mentioned at all by the borough.

The cockroach.

There must have been something
attractive to them
about Buster’s bowel movements, because the third roach was found in his diaper.

Though Sally had set traps and not seen a single roach in her ho
use, she called an exterminator, t
he only one who wasn’t
overwhelmed with work
and could promise he’d stop by within a week. The pest
control
business was booming, at least in Bret’s town.

If Chuck didn’t trust Bret’s producer as much as he did, he would have sworn David was pacifying him about the fax. But David insisted he faxed the caller log t
wice. Finally, Chuck went to
David’s home and picked up the document.

The Erie
,
Pennsylvania story kept him there an entire day. When he returned the next, he spoke to Bret and David. Chuck was a man on a story mission, and before he finished the piece, he wanted more information and facts. Those were to come from Bret and David. Chuck d
idn’t fear someone scooping him;
the severity of the Pittsburgh ant incident was swept like bugs
under the rug, and no one took it serious
ly
.

The newest McDonald’s creation dripped a ketchup mixture on
to
his lap, and Chuck only smeared it when he used the rough napkin. Car eating was always a sloppy task for Chuck, but he had no choice. At least he was parked.

Rolling the napkin into a ball, the red speckled
paper
snapped his mind back to the day before. He followed a name that came up twice in Erie—a man he spoke to only briefly—and that trail led him right outside Canton
,
Ohio.

“Dr. Andrew Jeffers,” Chuck requested of the soldier who was posted outs
ide of the abandoned small
church. “Tell him Chuck Wright, The Johnstown Tribune Democrat.”

The so
lider nodded to another soldier
then slipped in between the double doors.

Chuck took in the
site. The small white building had several black cars
and military vehicles pa
rked outside. It was deemed the
‘Temporary Office of the Federal Department of Agriculture.’ As if Can
ton required the United States g
overnment to step in
to help
with their minor farming needs.

Chuck assumed
that this extension had been quickly set up and was
temporary. But why
where they here
?

The soldier returned and opened the door
for Chuck, allowing him inside, b
ut he was only permitted to go into the foyer.

He let his ears zoom in like the bionic woman, trying to hear what he could. Within seco
nds, Dr. Andrew Jeffers emerged
in a secretive manner from the interior of the church.

“Bef
ore you thank me for seeing you
…” Jeffers said. “Allow me to say you are fast becoming a pain in my ass.” He ran his hand over his head and walked to a canteen. “Coffee, Mr. Wright?”

“No, thanks,” Chuck said. “How, sir, am I becoming a pain in the ass?”

“
Four calls yesterday.
…”

“Which you didn’t return.”

“One today. Two visits to
Erie
.
…”

“Well, I’m sure
it’s
nothing compared to other reporters.”

“What other reporters?” Jeffers fixed his coffee. “The way you’re pursuing this
,
Mr. Wright, I’d believe I was some sort of big celebrity and you’re the paparazzi.”

“Exaggerating, don’t you think?”

“No.” Jeffers was polite, yet blunt. “Are you pining for a big newspaper job somewhere? Do you think you’re on the brink of breaking of huge story?”

“Well, yes.”

“Well
…you’re wrong.” Jeffers raised his eyebrows. “There’s nothing to tell. I’m sorry.”

“The ants in that Pittsburgh
community, the.
…”

“Mr. Wright.” Jeffers cut him off. “Occasionally the earth gets a
little too stuffed with nature, a
nd it burps that little stuff out. That’s it. No more. Happened before, will happen again.”

“
At t
his magnitude?”

“What magnitude?” Jeffers asked.

“An entire street, sidewalks and all, removed, a huge lake hole dug into it.”

Jeffers lau
ghed. “The work of overreacting
and neurotic borough workers. That’s it. Your information is also grossly distorted. I believe that street that was dug up was only a twenty
by five foot section.
” He spoke nonchalantly. “Hardly lake
-
size.”

“What about Erie?”

“Smaller than that Pittsburgh c
ommunity incident. Two bug mishaps do not a story make.” Jeffers smiled and walked to the double doors. “Mr. Wright, may I give you some advice?”

Chuck nodded.

“Let this go. Save your paper
the expense, yourself the work
and humiliation. There is nothing happening. We had two freakish incidents. That’s it.”

“Only two.”

“Yes.” Jeffers opened the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“One more thing.”

Jeffers huffed, and gave a polite smile. “Yes.”

“If they were freak incidents, and only two in
E
rie and
Pittsburgh, then why, Dr. J
effers, does the United States g
overnment have an agricultural
office,
complete with military guards
,
set up in Canton Ohio.”

Dr. Jeffers didn’t respond;
he slipped
back
through the doors.

That was it.

W
ith another bite of his cold
McDonald’s sandwich, Chuck closed that memory and meeting. He glanced down to his phone, and lifted it. “Come on, Bret. What’s taking you so long?”

A day off. A complete day off for Bret. She even forewent getting some sleep to enjoy the day. Got the kids off to school, cleaned her house, then settled on the porch for a while to watch the construction workers and fire department flood th
at huge gap
ing hole in the street that was fast becoming James Avenue Lake.

She thought of Jesse while she was on the porch. How it could have easily been him out there working on the street, because that was the type of construction he was doing. In a way she felt fortunate
he
wasn’t, because her days were hers. She enjoyed watching other sweaty construction workers—her sweaty husband was not
the
vision
she wanted to see
.

She stayed out for a short time;
the progress was slow, and it was a bit boring. The only excitement came when occasionally someone would yell out, ‘Fuck, these things won’t die.’

Inside she booted up the computer, a task she was
supposed to do an hour earlier
but forgot. Her plan to attempt—again—to send Chuck the pictures from the street was thwarted momentarily when Jesse walked in the door. She glanced at
her
watch, then at him.

“What are you doing home?” she asked. “It’s only eleven o’clock.”

“Why?” he retorted.

“I asked first.”

“We’re not working today. It’s raining.”

Immediately, Bret stood up, walked to the door, opened it, and looked out. The sun was bright and warm. “Oh, yeah.” she said sarcastically. “It’s pouring.” She shut the door. “Jesse, there’s not a cloud in the sky.”

“It was raining.”

“When?”

“This morning. We waited for it to stop. It didn’t.”

“Right. You called off on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.” He shook his head. “No, Bret, It was raining. Feel.” He grabbed her hand and laid it on his thigh. “My jeans are still wet.”

“Ew.” She shook my hand. “Probably sweat.”

He just stared.

“Fine.” She turned from him.

“Fine?” he chuckled. “It’s fine that I’m home. Thanks for permission. You act like I’m in the way or something.”

“You are.”

“Of what?”

Smug, Bret cocked her head. “My day. So there. I’m not making you lunch. I cook for you enough.”

“Bret, I still have my lunch from this morning.”

“That’s foul.”

Jesse gave up. After giving his stock, ‘whatever’, he headed up stairs.

“You’re not going to sleep are you?” She yelled up.

“No. But so what if I am. I’ll be out of the way of your day.” He yelled down.

“I just made the beds. Don’t sit on them.”

“I’m taking a shower.”

“OK, but I just used the Daily Clean. So squirt the doors when you’re finished.”

The closing of the bathroom door
was his
only
response. He was
either
going to follow her instructions, or he was just ignoring her. She banked on the lat
t
er and returned to the computer.

Her message to Chuck
was simple: ‘Okay
, routed from your mother. Hope you get it this time. I can’t believe you haven’t received these pictures yet.’ After attaching the photos, she hit ‘send’ in her fourth attempt
to electronically reach
Chuck.

Chuck laughed i
n complete enjoyment
, gloating
—
as
if anyone was around to see it. “Yeah, right.” He said to himself in his car. “This is nothing.” Laughing aloud, he
viewed via his phone
the pictures that Bret sent him; p
ictures that
had
got
ten
lost
in
the electronic universe
for some odd reason. “Thank you,” h
e said then typed it in as a reply.

He put the phone in
the
glove compartment, checked the tiny recorder, and opened the door to his car. A good whiff of the spring air lifted his chest and a grin crossed his face as he took a good glance at a building on the grounds of West Virginia University.

Chuck glanced down
at
the call log
in his small notebook
and made a check mark as he proceeded to the building. The door was open, and he followed the directions hand
-
written on that sheet.

Empty corridors struck him as odd seeing how it was the middle of the day. Though some classes were done for the summer, surely there had to be students remaining. He saw them about campus.

Another turn of the bend, and he caught glimpse of the yellow ‘do not cross’ tape that plastered the set of double doors.

It had to be the room. It was.

The room number and name matched the information Chuck had. Mini
-
cam tucked in his chest pocke
t, Chuck snapped a few pictures
and then reached for the handle.