The Wishing Stone - Chpt 1

 

Chapter 1

 

It was nothing more than a regular rock we had found on a camping trip to Deep Creek as kids.  Kate would stroke it three times and then make a wish. 

It had started just before we were to return home.  She had wished for the folks to stop and get us an ice cream for the ride home... and they did.

The following week, she wished for a new notebook for school and the next day it appeared in her room.  It didn't happen every time but it did more often than not so it became our wishing stone.  As we grew older it became the conduit between us.  We would take turns holding it, talking for hours before making our wish.

Kate was its guardian, swearing to use it only for good and only when the two of us were together.  It became a regular ritual between us.  We wished for large things and small, all with equal desire that they would come true.  Once a week, it gave each of us an opportunity to vent our frustrations and to express our desire to make things right with the world. 

Slowly, as I grew older, my interest began to wane.  My wishes became more trivial and I had less and less time to share with her so I began to concentrate on making her wishes come true.  It made me feel good to secretly fulfill her modest desires.  The stone had changed from secret dreams to open communication between us.   

Eventually, each of us gained new obligations that left little time for the wishing stone.  Kate had gone off to college and I had dropped out.  We saw each other at least once a month... at least until our parents died.  From that moment to her last, we were joined at the hip.  She looked after me far more than I did her and the wishing stone became a thing of the past.

Two years later, after our parents' death, New Years Eve, it reappeared.  I thought it had been lost long before and was surprised by its return.  We spent the night talking, endlessly talking, and it made me feel like I was no longer lost in my grief, no longer alone.

At midnight we made our wish.  Hers came true eight months later when she met Roger.  I was still waiting, nursing a flicker of similar hope.

For the next twenty, each year on New Years Eve, the wishing stone was passed from hand to hand, first to Kate, then Roger, then me. 

During that last summer, as if in punishment for being happy, Kate was diagnosed with cancer.

The last time we used it was at the hospital the morning she died.

On that day, all three of us made a silent wish, certain the others had wished the same.  Kate died that afternoon and I never thought about it again. It was the last time I believed in magic, in love or... in the existence of God... and then, after three miserable, lonely years... the unthinkable, a second chance... Warwick.

 

Having lived the total of my life in Southern California I found the towns on the opposite side of the country...  Odd.  All the buildings were grouped tightly together, each placed solidly against the next until the last in the row rubbed shoulders with open ground.  Suddenly, I was no longer in town but in an open field.  It was very disorienting... standing at the edge of this new experience.  To my right a town in every sense of the word, ­stores, people, cars and to my left open ground - fields, bushes, trees for as far as the eye could see.  It was as if the buildings had sprouted in one place only and stopped.   

There were no people here.  At home, everywhere I looked there were people... cutting lawns, washing cars, riding bikes, roller skating... everywhere, every corner.  Here, in this place, no buildings, no people.

In Southern California the buildings were placed, neatly separated with a thin patch of lawn or concrete between them and fill every square foot available for a hundred miles in every direction.  Passing from one town to the next was indicated by the change in color of the street signs.  Open ground, fields or empty lots were the exception not the rule.  If one existed at all, returning a week later would reveal a new building now standing in its place.

Wide, smooth, beautiful roads tied the beach to the mountains and the desert to the snow.  Every type of weather, every condition a person could want was little more than an hour away.  Everything the world had to offer was available from the outer eastern edge marked by a forest of one hundred and fifty foot tall wind generators straight to the ocean...  gold and purple mountains... south to the Mexican border. 

I had never been homesick before but this must have been what it felt like.

As we drove along, the open fields slowly gave way to more and more trees.  They grew straight with deep brown and white trunks and small branches that jutted out like needles on a porcupine's back, each stabbing into the mass of the next tree. 

The leaves blazed in the early morning light, their lush color seeming surreal.  Bright yellows, reds, and a hundred shades of gold covered every twig as well as the ground.  Only the slightest touch of green remained, soon to be converted to the color carpeting the forest floor.

We had driven for so long I had begun to grow drowsy.  The tangled mass of trees was relentless, appearing the same as I closed my eyes briefly and then opened them again.  I settled into the comfortable jostle of the car, rocking gently with its sway.  When next I peered through sleepy lids, the curtain of trees had parted, replaced with a stone wall.

Ten feet tall or better with a white cap, it ran along side the road, just beyond the first set of trees.  It was barely visible at first as I tried to shake off the weight of sleep and to focus.  Built of large blocks of cut faced, gray stone, it followed the road, weaving in and out of the woods as if racing a little ahead,  being built moments before us.  Shortly, only the wall itself remained.  Now the trees showed over the top of the wall, only on the inside.  

It went on far longer than I would have thought.  Whatever was on the other side, whatever stood beyond this wall must encompass half the state.

Eventually, the road curved and an opening appeared.  Iron gates, as large as the wall itself spanned the entrance.  To one side, a small building housed two men in uniform.

My mind raced as the first guard approached and the second trained his weapon on the car.  Each carried a rifle of sorts that looked disturbingly like a laser weapon Roger designed, an Lz33.  It used light instead of bullets that burned through everything they touched, everything except me.  Those light pellets only stored themselves in my body until I touched... I didn't mean to kill him, not really.

It appeared smaller, more streamline, more sleek in design but it was Roger's gun, I was certain of it. 

Panic gripped me as images of the past filled me and I relived being shot by this very weapon once more.

The inhibitors on my arms jumped to life, trying to suppress the excess electric energy my body began to generate, keeping pace with my heart.

"It's alright," Audry whispered, placing a warm hand on my leg and my anxiety began to subside.

The car filled with the hum of the left front window going down.  Our driver stuck out a small blue card.

 

The young man turned to his counter point, handing him the card.  The second shouldered his rifle, returning to the structure.

The remaining windows went down, letting in the cold air as the first pushed his face into the car to inspect us.

"Ms. Williams," he said with a nod. 

Williams merely nodded in return and the windows went up again.  The sound of motors engaging cut the air as an orange card was returned to the driver.  With a heavy groan, the two gates began to roll behind the wall, slowly parting.  Almost before the car could pass, they began to close.

This side of the wall looked just like the other.  Had it not been for the guards, for the gates... there was no way to tell which side was which.  Slowly, the road led deeper into the woods and the wall, the gates, the guards, all disappeared from sight.  No buildings, no signs - no nothing - only more trees as the road thread its way along.  

After twenty minutes, the trees fell away.  There was no mistaking it... we had arrived.

Comprised of no more than nine buildings, carved from the center of a seemingly endless forest,  surrounded by acres of beautifully manicured, open lawns, the Warwick Facility looked like every Ivy League college ever created.  

Asphalt pathways crisscrossed the landscape, stretching out like the arms of an octopus, reaching to envelop each new structure that radiated from a central building.

The sharp edged buildings,  all similar in appearance, each rectangular, were made from a dull gray, rough cut stone much like that of the wall.  Each rose three stories above the ground.  At their top, dark, flat stones delineated the parapet, forming a castle like appearance along its upper edge.  Rows of long thin windows, painted a bright white filled the side of each building.  Each entry held wide double doors with side light windows. 

We drove to the main building where a heavyset man sat, waiting on the steps.  Dressed in dark slacks, a tan sweater over a light green shirt, he wore a pair of rainbow suspenders, over the top of the sweater.

As the car pulled up, the man got up quickly and ran inside.  To my surprise he appeared to have no shoes.

"They're here.  They're here," he shouted and disappeared into the building.

"Thank you, Henry," Audry said to the driver as we drew to a stop.

Roger got out first, standing by the car, holding onto the vehicle's door.  He gazed up and down the building before nodding silently to himself.  

Audry pushed lightly to get past him as I followed.  She slipped her hand into Roger's, urging him forward.  Williams hand suddenly stretched out to me as I straightened.  I pulled gently helping her to get out of the car.

Seven stone steps drew us up from the asphalt to the door's landing.  I followed as Audry led the way, pushing open the huge wooden door.

Inside, the room was enormous.  The floor was covered in a black marble, washing several feet up the walls in a matching wainscoting.  The ceiling, covered in a geometric pattern of punched tin, rose better than twenty feet above us.  Our voices, our heel clicks all echoed as we made our way across the floor to what appeared to be a check in desk.

Standing at the far side of the room, a large assembly of people watched us intently.  They had divided themselves into three separate groups. 

The first, a small gathering of ten perhaps fifteen men and women in white coats and clipboards huddled together in the back of the room.

The second, larger group, appearing to be more women than men,  stood slightly closer.  Dressed with in plain street clothes, many stood with their arms folded.  Many more of them swayed back and forth slightly as if they were all aboard a ship. 

The third consisted of eight people with an equal number of men and women.  Standing closer than all the others, each rocked excitedly back and forth.  Each held a plate with a sandwich. 

Audry made straight for the desk.

I watched the people as they stared at Audry and Roger.  A palpable tension gripped the room.

"Hi.  I'm..." Audry started.

"I'm Roger Keswick," Roger interrupted and the room exploded in applause.  He turned to face the crowd as those with sandwiches rushed closer.  Roger gripped my arm, pulling me along with him.

The applause grew louder as everyone drew around him.

"Tuna, Roger, tuna," a man closest to us yelled over the din of noise.

"Peanut butter, I have peanut butter," a woman yelled, pushing forward.

A hundred hands, a thousand sounds suddenly appeared, all trying to reach him, to shake his hand or just to touch him, pushing me to the side.

After a few moments the people in white coats began to break up the crowd.

"Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you," Roger said with a broad smile as each person was pulled away, each refusing to let go of his hand. 

"What's going on?  Who are these people?" I whispered to Audry as she slipped an arm around me.  

It was odd to see Roger in this setting, with other people.  He was more like... the way I remembered him.  The way he was when Kate was alive.  He was happy.

"Welcome to the freak show, Mr. Harris," William's sniped, suddenly at my side.

"She's right." Audry leaned forward to look past me to give the other woman a sour look before squeezing my hand.  "They call them the freak show... but here among these people, among Roger's peers, he is the rock star of freaks,"  she said proudly.

I liked the way she said it.  It made me feel less freakish, less like an outsider. 

At last all but two had been dispersed.  Only the man with the suspenders and a young woman remained.

"Roger, too long," the heavyset man with the rainbow suspenders said.  He held out his arms in invitation.  His voice was much higher in tone than I would have thought for a man of his size.  There was what could only be described as a lilt in his voice, and for what I could tell... a light German accent.  To my gratification he was indeed barefooted.

He appeared to be in his mid to late sixties with thin white hair that had been combed with fingers if at all.  Around his neck hung a smooth gold chain with a locket of sorts that looked out of place for this man.  I had seen one like it once before on Roger.  His face was round, plump, unshaven with a red bulbous nose.  A small pair of gold rimmed glasses were held in place, squeezed between that nose and a pair of thick, wildly out of control eyebrows that flowed freely into his eyes. 

With a wide, genuinely delighted smile that showed all his teeth, he rocked lightly back and forth as if trying to maintain his balance.

"Digby,  I've missed you too," Roger said as he wrapped his arms around the large man, patting him firmly on the back.  "This is new," Roger said, snapping the man's suspenders.

Grinning from ear to ear, Digby leaned close to Roger after a quick look around.

"They think it will keep my pants on," he whispered.

Both men broke out into laughter.  It was loud, echoing off the stone floor and walls.  

"Simpletons.  How are you suppose to link with the universe with pants on?" Roger asked, shaking his head.

"They understand nothing.  You know how these clipboards are... they only watch and scribble and always... always have pants," Digby said solemnly.

Roger mirrored his somber expression, nodding his agreement.

"So," the big man started, leaning close to Roger again.

"This is him?  For an warlock I thought maybe fangs, or talons... at least a cape.  Not so much for an evildoer." 

Williams spurted in an attempt to stifle a laugh.  She covered her mouth with her hand and drew back a step.

"Sorry," she whispered, trying to contain her smile.

At my expense, no doubt.

"Hi, Audry," the young woman said with way too much excitement and energy.  She flung herself into Audry's arms and exchanged a kiss on the cheek.  "I'm Marcie.  I'm right handed, I'm special," she continued, turning to face me and Roger.

"Hi," Roger, and I said at the same time.

The young woman bounced closer, her hands behind her back.  She was small, only about five two or so, dressed in a pair of pleated, black slacks and a pale green blouse.  A wide woven, leather belt spanned her trim waist.  Her hair, a mousy brown, had been pulled back and tied loosely at the nape of her neck.  It hung as if sprouted from a central point, appearing as if it would fly away if not tied in this manner.  Her face, thin with high cheek bones and a sharp chin were pleasant enough, elfin like in appearance.  Her ears, drawn to a soft point, jutted out beyond her hair slightly, adding to the fairy tale image she cast.

She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet in anticipation of what I couldn't say.

"Walter Digby, Marcie Wells, this is my brother-in-law... my best friend... this is Ben.  Benjamin Harris," Roger said, placing a firm grip on my shoulder.

"Glad to meet you," I said, extending my hand.

Digby looked at me.  He began to reach out to me but pulled back, smoothing his palm over his chest anxiously several times before trying again.  His rigid fingers hovered inches away from mine and began to quiver before he again withdrew them.

"Me.  Let me.  I'm not afraid," Marcie said, pushing to stand in front of me.  As she thrust out her arm, she closed her eyes tightly and turned her head to the left.

Not certain what was going on I took her hand in mine.  Both she and Digby flinched at the same moment. 

Now I got it.

"It doesn't work that way," I said with disappointment.

"Sorry, Mr. Harris.  We meant no disrespect.  It's just... when word got out that you and Roger were coming...  the place has been filled with stories about you and the guy you accidentally killed," Marcie exclaim.  The words rushed out of her at lightning speed. 

It took a moment to take it all in but I caught the gist.

"How does it work?  We'd like to know," a woman said, suddenly amongst our group.

"Christine," Williams said with disdain.

"Sara," the woman returned with equal distaste.

The two adversaries looked at each other as if they were about to fist fight.  Neither moved - neither gave any sign of weakness to the other.

"Morning, Christine," Audry said, pushing between the two, holding out her hand.

"Always a pleasure, Audry," the woman replied, taking Audry's hand.

"You remember my brother Roger?"

"Everyone knows Roger," she said with a broad smile, reaching out for his extended hand. 

"And this is Benjamin Harris.  Ben, this is my friend, Director Meadows." Audry palmed to the small of my back, guiding me toward the woman.  

Director Meadows appeared to be about my age... mid-fifties or so.  She was dressed in a long beige skirt with a matching jacket.  The button hole of her lapel sprouted a small pink rosebud.  She was attractive, very prim and proper.  Her blouse, a pale yellow, had ruffles that overflowed her jacket, held in check by a cameo pin.  Her outfit matched her complexion.  She almost appeared to be one homogeneous color, with the lone exception of her large, black plastic glasses.

Standing as straight as an ramrod, she gave Digby and his companion a withering stare.  Each turned away from her, shuffling their feet in place as if caught between the desire to stay or flee.

"It's a pleasure," I offered, shaking the woman's hand.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Harris.  Like Marcie said... we've heard a lot about you," she said softly.  She gripped my elbow, eyeing my hand, turning it over, looking first at the back and then slowly rolled it over to gently force it open, exposing my palm.  She traced a finger around the scar tissue at its center and then inspected each fingertip in order before running her thumb down to my wrist.

She resisted slightly as I pulled my hand free of her hold.   

"My apologies, Mr. Harris.  It's difficult some times to separate personal curiosity from professional inquire.  I am sorry," she said, slipping her hands behind her back, regaining her stiff composure.

"It's fine.  Don't worry about it," I said, suddenly uncomfortable.  "I'm a little more than curious myself."

I was aware of the gaze from the others burning holes in my back and shifted in an effort to dislodge them.

"Well, we'll do our best to solve it for you... for everyone's peace of mind," Meadows said, gently smoothing my shoulder.

"Fine by me... just as long as everyone remembers where Roger belongs and who he's returning with in three days," Williams spit harshly.

Silence held us for a moment. 

Williams marking her territory, more accurately, marking Roger as her property made everyone uncomfortable.

"Don't you have to go round up your flying monkeys or something?" Meadows asked.  Her voice oozed loathing.

"Step back, Sara," Audry ordered, pointing a finger toward the door.

Williams stood immobile.  Her jaw flexed.  Her right hand jerked nervously like a Hollywood gunfighter.  A trait I had seen in her in the past. 

“Fine, as long as we're clear... Roger is mine.  He will return with me in three days... hell or high water...  He and his research belongs to me." Williams practically snarled.

Roger hung his head slightly before turning away.  Digby patted him on the back sympathetically as they shuffled off.

"You will never speak like that in front of Roger again or so help me God, Sara, I'll..." Audry whispered harshly once Roger was relatively out of earshot. 

"Just putting it up front, so this old cow doesn't try to steal what's mine... again.  Nothing more."

"He's a human being, Sara.  No one likes to be treated like property," Audry hissed.

"I've never taken anything remotely connected to you,"  Director Meadows returned.  She held eye contact with me the whole time she was speaking to Williams.

Williams head turn abruptly toward me and then back to Meadows.

"Oh, no, you don't, you conniving b***h.  Not this time and diffidently not him," Williams shouted, suddenly yanking my arm, pulling me backward with her.

"I have no idea what you're talking about.  You should get some sleep, Sara.  You're hallucinating," Meadows sniped before turning to Audry. 

"Stop it, both of you.  I'll decide what's best for Roger, where and when he'll go as well as his research.  No one else.  And as far as Ben is concerned... he's here for help not to join the program... not yours or hers.  He's with me.  Are we clear?"

"Roger's research belongs to the Defense Department..." Williams started.

"Mine is the last word where Roger is concerned, even in the D.O.D.  You will do well to remember, that Sara," Audry snapped as she reached out for me.  "We will see you on Friday."

Williams shot a stern, cold look at Meadows and then to Audry.  Her chest heaved, her face turned red and her fingers flexed with a white knuckle intensity.

"Friday," Williams growled before storming off toward the front door. 

Meadows lowered her head as a self satisfied smile began to creep across her lips. 

"Digby," Meadows called.

"Yes, Director?"  he returned, having flinched with the sound of her voice, turning abruptly to face her.

"Please show Roger and Mr. Harris around while Audry and I take care of a little paperwork." 

"Certainly... happy to, Director," Digby said, with a visible sense of relief.  

"I'll catch up," Audry said, as she placed a warm hand on my wrist. 

"I'll keep an eye on them, Audry.  I'll make sure he doesn't get lost," Marcie volunteered, jabbing her thumb at herself for good measure.  Her words shot out in rapid-fire succession like a high pressure lawn sprinkler.

It took a moment to filter her voice into separate words.  It was so confusing.  Her energy seemed to be boundless, setting my nerves on edge.

Digby, on the other hand, seemed to be the polar opposite.  I suspected that little... other than the director... bothered him at all.  He slipped a large arm around Roger and then the other around me, pulling us into his chest.

"Roger, my friend, I've missed you, and you, Benjamin, I see many adventures together... great things ahead for the three of  us.  Yes?"

"Me too, I want to come.  I want adventure," Marcie promptly added. 

"Yes, Digby, great things," Roger answered.

"Come, let an old man see the workings of a great mind," Digby said. 

I knew what they wanted to see and rolled up my sleeves to expose the device Roger had built.  Comprised of electronic components I didn't understand, intertwined over an off the shelf carpal-tunnel brace, Roger had constructed a minor miracle on my behalf.  

Digby held me by the elbow, twisting my arm slightly back and forth, inspecting the inhibitor Roger had made for me.

Marcie pushed her nose in as close as she possibly could, making her own inspection.

"Twenty-three hundreds, that's big... what did you use for heat sinks?  Did you run series?"  Marcie asked and for the first time she spoke at normal speed and in a soft voice.  Her eyes darted over the length of the apparatus as if memorizing every inch of it.  She placed a finger delicately upon it, tracing along its length from component to component.

"Nice, Roger, nice.  You got three, burnt out on this side.  Bad wire?"  Digby asked squinting, lifting my arm all the higher.

"Running that hot, look here,"  Roger answered, twisting my other arm, revealing a burnt portion in the opposite identical brace.

"It failed?" Marcie gasped.  

Abruptly, she and Digby pulled free of me at the same moment as if I were suddenly on fire.

"It's not possible," Marcie whispered, leaning closer to Roger, stepping back a little.

"If he wanted... he could burn a hole clean through a five inch titanium plate," Roger answered.

Both stepped back again as if they were a single unit.

"Almost as good as a cape, yes?" Digby said, lightly pushing an index finger against the burnt circuits as if he were poking a stick at a dead animal. 

"Let's hope he doesn't want too," Marcie added with a weak smile.

"So tell me about this place," I had become uncomfortable and pushed down my sleeves to cover the inhibitors.

For a moment the three of them just stood there looking at me.

"Built in the late twenties," Marcie said, at last breaking the silence, "Warwick was assembled for the nation's brain trust after World War I ... there are nine buildings...  ninety-three doors, two hundred fourteen windows, twenty-seven thousand, four hundred and thirty-one tiles..." she said in rapid-fire order, with all the words strung back to back without a pause or a break of any kind.   

"Please just a little slower." I held up my hand to stop her.  My head ached with the speed of her voice and the effort it took to make sense of it.  "You're talking so fast."

Marcie stood with her mouth open as if in mid-word, waiting for a signal from me to begin again.

Digby mirrored her expression,  waving his hand in a circle to encourage her to continue.  His head bobbed, weaving slightly from one side to the other as if it would help her to finish the word caught in her throat. 

"Five hundred, sixty-eight wall plugs.  Three hundred..." Marcie started again as I dropped my hand to my side.

"Wait," I said, holding up my hand once more.  "That's not what I meant.  Who are all these people and why are they... why are you here?" I asked.

"Is he always so testy?" Digby asked softly as he leaned closer to Roger.

"He always wears pants," Roger responded in kind.  "Come to think of it, I can't remember a time when I've seen him without shoes."

"Well then, that explains it, yes?" Digby returned.

"I'm standing right here," I said with growing irritation.  

"So you are, so you are," Digby replied, patting me firmly on the back.

We had begun to climb a wide set of curving stairs.  Built from white marble and edged in black, they climbed to a balcony overlooking the main floor.  A line of eight doors populated this level.

"Sensitive type, isn't he?" Digby asked, whispering to Roger as they led the way.

"I noticed that right away myself," Marcie added, looking back over her shoulder at me.

The three of them huddled together as we walked along, whispering to one another.  It was like being in high school all over again, only this time I was being shunned by the geeks.

"I'm still right here," I said, growing more irate than before.

"An eavesdropper too," Marcie announced as she squeezed in to stand between them.

"I never would have guessed.  He looks so nice, yes?" Digby said as if I were invisible.

"Oh yes, very nice, very nice indeed," Roger chimed in.

It was official.  I had clearly slipped into the Claude Reins realm as far as these three were concerned.

"He follows you everywhere?" Digby questioned as we continued to walk, giving me a backward glance. 

"No,  I hadn't seen him for a while.  He disappeared after Kate died," Roger said.

"Your wife?  He killed your wife?" Digby asked.  He glanced toward me, his face frozen in shock.

"Kate was his sister," Marcie offered.

"My God, man, he killed your sister too?  Is there no stopping him?"

"My wife..." Roger started.

"My sister," I said, raising my hand.  It no longer mattered.  I was in a new and different world and everyone here spoke Roger.

"He killed someone, yes?  Everyone said so.  This is him, yes?" Digby said.  He waved his hands wildly as he spoke.

"Yes, he did, but he didn't mean to... did it to rescue me," Roger offered.

"I didn't say so," Marcie said, grabbing his hands in mid air.

"Really?  I thought you said so,"

"Nope, not me, never said it.  I'm almost everybody and never said so," Marcie continued.

"Well, you would know," Roger countered.

"She would," Digby agreed. 

"I would," Marcie announced and began walking in front of the others.  "Where was I?  Built in the late twenties, Warwick was assembled for the nation's brain trust after World War I ... there are nine buildings...  ninety-three doors, two hundred fourteen windows, twenty-seven thousand, four hundred and thirty- one tiles...  I said that didn't I?  Certain I did... pretty certain I did."  She stopped in front of a door at the end of the landing.

"Ninety-three doors... odd...  yes?  If you built it, wouldn't you make it an even number?  I think ninety is a better number, yes?" Digby asked.

"I think they keep one locked," Roger answered.

"Ahh, that solves it... an even number after all," Digby said, obviously pleased at last.  

Attached to the wall to the right of the door was a locking mechanism.  Made of black metal, with chrome details, it had three bright red lights,  blinking in order across the top.  With a credit card slit on its right side the entire lock was no bigger than a cell phone. 

Tied to a flexible cord, Digby pulled a card from inside his shirt.  He gave a backward glance in my direction before quickly sliding the card through the apparatus.  Several beeps accompanied the action but the door remained locked as Digby yanked on it, openly expecting a different result.  He tried three more times growing impatient from its refusal to co-operate.

"I don't understand.  This has never happened before," he said with a great deal of frustration.

"Let me try," Marcie insisted, pulling hard at the cord around Digby's neck.  After several tries, she too had no luck.

They stood perplexed for a brief moment.

"Let me try," Roger offered.

Marcie held out the card to him.  Instead of taking it, he, gripped my arm and led me several feet back the way we had come.

"Try it now," he said.

Marcie slid it through and the lights went green accompanied with a metallic click and then the door opened with a gentle pull.

"Did you see what he did to my door... vvvipp," he said, making a funny noise as he passed his hand over the lock.

"I saw it... vvvipp," Marcie repeated, still holding the door, "Vvvipp," she made the noise again, passing her hand over the lock.

"Told you," Roger added, now entering the room.

"He did," Marcie said smugly. 

"So, he did," Digby agreed.  "What else can he do?  Does he see through walls?"

"That would be wonderful," Marcie said gleefully, clapping her hands.

"I can't see through walls," I said with open disdain.

"I think he can and he doesn't want us to know," Digby said, looking at me with squinty eyes.

"I think he's looking through my clothes right now," Marcie said, standing with her hands on her hips, facing me. 

"I can't..." I stammered.

"Nope.  Can't do it," Roger offered as he waved for us to follow him into the room.

"I think he was looking through my clothes as well," Digby whispered to Marcie, pulling his sweater tightly about him as he followed Roger.

"Like what you see, mister?" Marcie asked, releasing the door, entering the room ahead of me.  Suddenly, her walk changed.  Her hips swung with more... flare.

I could only shake my head in disbelief.

Measuring no more than twenty by twenty, the room was a stunning contradiction of everything on the other side of the door.  The floors had shifted from marble to blue vinyl tiles.  The walls were an off white and lined with wide, tall, metal work benches.  Each surface was littered with a variety of circuit boards, wire, electronic components and solenoids.  Scattered around the room on the floor were heaps of broken and twisted equipment,  most of which had the appearance of having been repaired with a hammer. 

In the middle of the room stood a large machine of some sort.  Six large, blue cylinders, with thick cables and several hoses protruding out of their tops, made up the bulk of the apparatus.  At the bottom, each narrowed almost to a point, terminating in a black plastic square.  A rainbow of braided wire, jutted out of one side of the square before being taped to the side of each cylinder.  The wires trailed along the thicker cable until they connected to the back of a dull aluminum box.  More cables, attached to a computer, were tied to the opposite side of the aluminum box.  Below the cylinders was a flat, slanted table.

Roger stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, staring at the contrivance.

"I'm sorry, my friend,"  Digby said softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "I fixed it."

"Got it to work at last then?" Roger asked.  His voice held a sorrowful tone.

"I wish it had been in time," Digby said, patting him.

I didn't understand what was going on.  What was this machine?  What did it do?  

"It looks... complicated," I offered trying to think of the right thing to say.

"It was Roger's design.  Digby finished it when Kate went into the hospital for the last time," Marcie answered, coming to my rescue.

"What does it do?" I asked, running a curious hand over the metal cylinders.

"It doesn't do anything... it makes," Digby said, lightly slapping my hand away from the apparatus.

"My mistake... what does it make?"

"Skin," he returned.

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Skin," he repeated.

"Skin like..." I couldn't think of the right words to convey my curiosity.

"Yes, skin... people skin... like yours, like mine, like hers," he said with disinterest, pointing at Marcie.

"Well, not like my skin," Marcie countered.

"Oh, you're right.  I hadn't thought about that... wouldn't that be interesting.  Yes?" Digby exclaimed, covering his mouth with his fingers.  He stood for a moment looking to the ceiling, his fingers drumming over his half open mouth.  

"It was for Kate.  We take a digital photo of an infected or damaged area of your body and simply print up a replacement.  With a DNA sample, we set it into a protein base... reproducing it multiple times to make a slurry... filling these cylinders.  It sprays different layers like ink...  printing an exact copy of skin on a biodegradable matrix.  The matrix holds it together until the body absorbs it, making for a near perfect match... an instant replacement for cancered... damaged skin."

I was shocked.  I knew he had invented a number of apparatus on Kate's behalf but this... he had done far more in an effort to save her than I was aware.

"That's incredible," I said, genuinely impressed with his genius.

"Not incredible enough... at least not in time," Roger said softly, turning away.

I didn't know what to say, what to do.  My heart went out to him.

"What about Eve?" Roger asked, his voice suddenly strong.

Both Marcie and Digby turned to look at me before nervously turning their eyes to the floor.

Roger turned to them with a confused look on his face.  

"Ready, Mr. Harris?"  Director Meadows asked, suddenly standing at the door, her hands behind her back.

The room went silent.

"Ready for...?" I asked, looking for Audry. 

"Ben, walk me out," Audry's voice called from beyond the doorway. 

My heart sank a little at first.  It was real.  She was going to leave and I would be here, alone for the next three days.

"Sure.  Give me a sec," I said, going to Roger.  "Rog, you okay?"

He shifted uncomfortably, giving a quick glance at Digby.

"We'll see you out, Sis," Roger said, slipping a hand to my shoulder.

We walked in silence back to the front door and outside where the car waited.  The driver opened the door for her and Williams slid over out of the way.  The desire to get in with her pulled at me as she wrapped her arms around me.

"Be good," I said as we kissed.  "If you can't be good... be funny."

"Three days, Ben... I'll be back... and we'll go home.  Three days," she said, kissing me again. 

"Three days," I repeated and almost before I realized it she had slipped into the vehicle, the door had closed and she was gone.

I watched the car for as long as I could before it finally faded from view.  

The others had returned inside, all except Director Meadows.

"Ready?" she asked, rubbing her arms, warming them in the cold air.

"So ready I'm first in line," I joked.  The tug of Audry and homesick hit me all at once.

She slipped a warm arm around my shoulder, guiding me back inside.

As we reentered Roger and the others had disappeared.  We were greeted by two people, a man and a woman, both in white coats.  

"Mr. Harris, this is Doctor Richard Prout and his wife, Doctor Joan Prout.  They will be your -"

"Guides," the woman interrupted, leaning forward a little.

"Yes, I like that... guides...  for the next few days," she continued with an odd smile.  "They will help you get to the bottom of your... situation." 

"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking each of their hands in turn.

Meadows went about her way leaving me with my two new companions.

Richard Prout appeared to be in his mid-forties with dark hair, graying temples and square features.  What I found interesting in this nondescript man was his shoes.  He wore black socks, black slacks and a crisp white jacket over a white shirt and bright blue tie but his shoes were brown.  What had drawn my attention to them wasn't their color but the mud that laced them.

He gave my hand the usual firm shake.  Every man I had ever shaken hands with did the same thing.  A rigid squeeze and a slight pull toward himself.  It's a domination thing.  If I gave to the pull I was a follower.  If I pulled back too hard I was an a*****e.  It happened every time.

Wearing almost the identical outfit, Joan Prout had dark brown hair with equally gray temples and, to my surprise, a ruby red pair of shoes.

"No place like home?" I asked, pointing at her shoes.

She smiled softly, turning to her husband.

"Told you so," she said.

"Fine, damn it," Richard Prout cursed as he thrust his hand into his pocket and removed his wallet.  "But no more than three hours," he insisted, pushing a twenty dollar bill into her hand.

"Double or nothing?" she asked, waving the twenty between two fingers.

"Three hours, Joan.  Then it's my turn," he said, walking away.

"Did I miss something?" I asked, confused with their behavior.

"Nothing at all, Mr. Harris.  Just a little woman's intuition," she said, pushing the money into her jacket pocket.  "Tic toc, Mr. Harris, tic toc," she pronounced, kicking off her shoes, tapping her watch.

 

 

Reviews

[Wendy Seames Garner]

I think I read the beginning of this chapter as a short story somewhere else. Got me intrigued about what this place is. Sort of reminds me of a place a friend told me about years ago.