It's nearly August and the long, hot summer continues. The economy is on everyone's mind. Some pundits say the recession is over, but we're not sure if we can survive the recovery.
Midnight Whistler Publishing marches on, and in future weeks will endeavor to bring you hopeful words from author Beverly Eakman and founder, Jon Batson - being me.
For now, let me say that the only thing you can really count on is you and your own ability to make things go right in spite of everything.
The short stories will continue, but not here. For that, please go to my personal blog, http://jonbatson.blogspot.com. The first episode of the next story, Scandal at Shady Point, is up today.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Luna Nightmares
From the collection: Murder at Thompson Bog
Episode 7
At the arraignment, I plead guilty. A murmur was heard behind me. I didn't turn. I knew who was there. Alice was there. The kids were not. They were with their grandmother, Ted's mom, who was home crying.
The judge struck his gavel and the room got quiet. He spoke. I didn't hear it. I'm sure he said something, but I have no idea what he actually said. I knew more or less what he said, that I would be going away for 25 years to life for premeditated murder. Somehow, the fact that I had lost everything didn't hit me, either that or I just didn't care. I had lost most of it anyway.
The guard lead me from the table to the door off to one side. I couldn't help a last glance over my shoulder at Alice, standing to leave the courtroom. Her face was contorted with pain and she cried out to me, “Why?” The guard tugged at my arm and Alice turned to go through the large double doors. I replied, though she could not hear me, “Because I love you and the kids.”
The sign on the wall by the dispensary says, “Now accepting test subjects for a new anti-depressant, Lunaxypryn. Sign up at the dispensary.”
“Unless I'm mistaken, that's pure Luna-C,” I mutter.
The sign-up sheet is on the table, a pen on a chain next to it. I pick up the pen. Before I can write, a hand reaches out and takes mine. It's an old man, short with wire glasses. His prison grays are starched stiff and look new, though I know he has been there a long time.
“They'll make you sign a waver. Last two tests they did every subject died. They covered it up, called it a construction accident. The first one wasn't pretty. The second was quieter, but those guys are still dead.”
I shrug my shoulders, as if 'so what'. The old guy lets go of my hand. He backs off, distancing himself from the crazy man who is putting his name on the paper of certain death.
I feel something I had not felt in a long time, a smile. I'm smiling. Ted and I engineered Luna-A, then Luna-B and finally Luna-C. Now I will get to see if it works or if it'll have similar results. Secretly I hope it will have the same result as Luna-A, so I will get to experience what Ted did in his last minute. I would like a painful and wretched death. But just as much I hope it's a Luna-B death, so I could just slip off quietly. Either way, I know that I have been the engineer of my own fate and that my nightmare will soon be over.
The End
Episode 7
At the arraignment, I plead guilty. A murmur was heard behind me. I didn't turn. I knew who was there. Alice was there. The kids were not. They were with their grandmother, Ted's mom, who was home crying.
The judge struck his gavel and the room got quiet. He spoke. I didn't hear it. I'm sure he said something, but I have no idea what he actually said. I knew more or less what he said, that I would be going away for 25 years to life for premeditated murder. Somehow, the fact that I had lost everything didn't hit me, either that or I just didn't care. I had lost most of it anyway.
The guard lead me from the table to the door off to one side. I couldn't help a last glance over my shoulder at Alice, standing to leave the courtroom. Her face was contorted with pain and she cried out to me, “Why?” The guard tugged at my arm and Alice turned to go through the large double doors. I replied, though she could not hear me, “Because I love you and the kids.”
The sign on the wall by the dispensary says, “Now accepting test subjects for a new anti-depressant, Lunaxypryn. Sign up at the dispensary.”
“Unless I'm mistaken, that's pure Luna-C,” I mutter.
The sign-up sheet is on the table, a pen on a chain next to it. I pick up the pen. Before I can write, a hand reaches out and takes mine. It's an old man, short with wire glasses. His prison grays are starched stiff and look new, though I know he has been there a long time.
“They'll make you sign a waver. Last two tests they did every subject died. They covered it up, called it a construction accident. The first one wasn't pretty. The second was quieter, but those guys are still dead.”
I shrug my shoulders, as if 'so what'. The old guy lets go of my hand. He backs off, distancing himself from the crazy man who is putting his name on the paper of certain death.
I feel something I had not felt in a long time, a smile. I'm smiling. Ted and I engineered Luna-A, then Luna-B and finally Luna-C. Now I will get to see if it works or if it'll have similar results. Secretly I hope it will have the same result as Luna-A, so I will get to experience what Ted did in his last minute. I would like a painful and wretched death. But just as much I hope it's a Luna-B death, so I could just slip off quietly. Either way, I know that I have been the engineer of my own fate and that my nightmare will soon be over.
The End
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Luna Nightmares
From the collection: Murder at Thompson Bog
Episode 6
Ted opened the door, “Phil? What's up?”
“You know,” I was thinking fast but talking slow, I hadn't thought this through. “I'm just perplexed by this whole thing and I thought, you know, that we have, you know,” I realized that I had said 'you know' three times in a sentence. “that we don't spend any down-time together. We used to do that, and I thought it would be a good idea ...” My eyes fell on a cut-glass decanter of Scotch on the counter, “... if we could just have a drink together...” I looked at Ted, an innocent smile crossing my face. Ted just looked back at me. It seemed like an hour, but it was only a few seconds before he spoke.
“Sure, Phil, it's a little early for me, but I have no plans, so why not. I'll get us a glass.” Ted took out two short glasses with heavy, cut-glass bottoms. They were part of the set with the decanter. He poured two of what I knew to be first class Scotch and added water from a bottle in the fridge. As he opened the fridge door to return the bottle to the shelf inside, I emptied the pink envelope into Ted's glass. I watched the few tiny crystals disappear into the Scotch.
“Here's to a successful test and a popular product,” I said, lifting my glass.
“I'll drink to that,” responded Ted, drinking half the glass in a gulp. I drank as well, looking around for something to take the attention off of the glass, just in case there was a taste.
“Have you redone the kitchen?”
“Nope. It's the same as the last time you were here.”
“Hmm! That was Thanksgiving...” I realized that I had brought up a memory of Carol and decided to stop there. “Well, I must have forgotten what it looked like, you keep it so nice, it looks new.” I smiled, taking another sip.
Ted finished his drink on that cue. We stood there regarding each other. Then Ted got a look on his face; he stiffened, moving his hand to his belly. His face questioned what he felt, then the answer was written in his eyes. Ted looked straight at me. His mouth opened. I expected him to ask, 'What have you done?' but he didn't, he just gagged and his eyes lost focus.
Ted convulsed and fell on the floor, writhing out of control. I stepped back, giving him room to flail against the floor and cabinets. He spat up some ugly, colorless gunk and jerked to a stop. His arms and legs, hands and feet were all at right angles; his fingers splayed. Ted spasmed once, twice, a third time and then released across the floor, completely limp. The eyes were open.
Standing there, watching my friend of so many years, I couldn't help but feel that this was the right thing to do. In his front pocket, I pulled the paper, torn from the pad at work, with a corner missing. It said, “I love you and the kids.” It was exactly like my dream, only it was Ted on the floor, not his wife and kids. I reached into his shirt pocket and took out the blue envelope.
“Ted? Are you home?” sang Alice, coming in the front door. I ran to stop her from coming into the kitchen. She was surprised to see me. “Phil! Uh, how nice to see you. You haven't visited in a while. Where's Ted?”
“Alice, you've got to go upstairs.”
“What are you talking about?” Alice gave a shallow laugh, then became afraid. “What's going on? Where's Ted?”
“Alice, just go upstairs now. Everything will be all right, but I need you to go upstairs right now.” A noise at the door revealed my worst fear, the kids were with her. “Alice, go upstairs and take the kids. Please!”
“Phil, you're scaring me.”
“Go! Now!” I cried.
“Tyler, Spencer, come with mommy.” Alice reached her hands for her children and lead them upstairs, her face pale, her eyes wide with fright.
There was only one thing for me to do; go to the phone and dial 911.
“911 Operator,” said a male voice.
“I've just killed my best friend,” I told him.
Episode 6
Ted opened the door, “Phil? What's up?”
“You know,” I was thinking fast but talking slow, I hadn't thought this through. “I'm just perplexed by this whole thing and I thought, you know, that we have, you know,” I realized that I had said 'you know' three times in a sentence. “that we don't spend any down-time together. We used to do that, and I thought it would be a good idea ...” My eyes fell on a cut-glass decanter of Scotch on the counter, “... if we could just have a drink together...” I looked at Ted, an innocent smile crossing my face. Ted just looked back at me. It seemed like an hour, but it was only a few seconds before he spoke.
“Sure, Phil, it's a little early for me, but I have no plans, so why not. I'll get us a glass.” Ted took out two short glasses with heavy, cut-glass bottoms. They were part of the set with the decanter. He poured two of what I knew to be first class Scotch and added water from a bottle in the fridge. As he opened the fridge door to return the bottle to the shelf inside, I emptied the pink envelope into Ted's glass. I watched the few tiny crystals disappear into the Scotch.
“Here's to a successful test and a popular product,” I said, lifting my glass.
“I'll drink to that,” responded Ted, drinking half the glass in a gulp. I drank as well, looking around for something to take the attention off of the glass, just in case there was a taste.
“Have you redone the kitchen?”
“Nope. It's the same as the last time you were here.”
“Hmm! That was Thanksgiving...” I realized that I had brought up a memory of Carol and decided to stop there. “Well, I must have forgotten what it looked like, you keep it so nice, it looks new.” I smiled, taking another sip.
Ted finished his drink on that cue. We stood there regarding each other. Then Ted got a look on his face; he stiffened, moving his hand to his belly. His face questioned what he felt, then the answer was written in his eyes. Ted looked straight at me. His mouth opened. I expected him to ask, 'What have you done?' but he didn't, he just gagged and his eyes lost focus.
Ted convulsed and fell on the floor, writhing out of control. I stepped back, giving him room to flail against the floor and cabinets. He spat up some ugly, colorless gunk and jerked to a stop. His arms and legs, hands and feet were all at right angles; his fingers splayed. Ted spasmed once, twice, a third time and then released across the floor, completely limp. The eyes were open.
Standing there, watching my friend of so many years, I couldn't help but feel that this was the right thing to do. In his front pocket, I pulled the paper, torn from the pad at work, with a corner missing. It said, “I love you and the kids.” It was exactly like my dream, only it was Ted on the floor, not his wife and kids. I reached into his shirt pocket and took out the blue envelope.
“Ted? Are you home?” sang Alice, coming in the front door. I ran to stop her from coming into the kitchen. She was surprised to see me. “Phil! Uh, how nice to see you. You haven't visited in a while. Where's Ted?”
“Alice, you've got to go upstairs.”
“What are you talking about?” Alice gave a shallow laugh, then became afraid. “What's going on? Where's Ted?”
“Alice, just go upstairs now. Everything will be all right, but I need you to go upstairs right now.” A noise at the door revealed my worst fear, the kids were with her. “Alice, go upstairs and take the kids. Please!”
“Phil, you're scaring me.”
“Go! Now!” I cried.
“Tyler, Spencer, come with mommy.” Alice reached her hands for her children and lead them upstairs, her face pale, her eyes wide with fright.
There was only one thing for me to do; go to the phone and dial 911.
“911 Operator,” said a male voice.
“I've just killed my best friend,” I told him.
Luna Nightmares
From the collection: Murder at Thompson Bog
Episode 6
Ted opened the door, “Phil? What's up?”
“You know,” I was thinking fast but talking slow, I hadn't thought this through. “I'm just perplexed by this whole thing and I thought, you know, that we have, you know,” I realized that I had said 'you know' three times in a sentence. “that we don't spend any down-time together. We used to do that, and I thought it would be a good idea ...” My eyes fell on a cut-glass decanter of Scotch on the counter, “... if we could just have a drink together...” I looked at Ted, an innocent smile crossing my face. Ted just looked back at me. It seemed like an hour, but it was only a few seconds before he spoke.
“Sure, Phil, it's a little early for me, but I have no plans, so why not. I'll get us a glass.” Ted took out two short glasses with heavy, cut-glass bottoms. They were part of the set with the decanter. He poured two of what I knew to be first class Scotch and added water from a bottle in the fridge. As he opened the fridge door to return the bottle to the shelf inside, I emptied the pink envelope into Ted's glass. I watched the few tiny crystals disappear into the Scotch.
“Here's to a successful test and a popular product,” I said, lifting my glass.
“I'll drink to that,” responded Ted, drinking half the glass in a gulp. I drank as well, looking around for something to take the attention off of the glass, just in case there was a taste.
“Have you redone the kitchen?”
“Nope. It's the same as the last time you were here.”
“Hmm! That was Thanksgiving...” I realized that I had brought up a memory of Carol and decided to stop there. “Well, I must have forgotten what it looked like, you keep it so nice, it looks new.” I smiled, taking another sip.
Ted finished his drink on that cue. We stood there regarding each other. Then Ted got a look on his face; he stiffened, moving his hand to his belly. His face questioned what he felt, then the answer was written in his eyes. Ted looked straight at me. His mouth opened. I expected him to ask, 'What have you done?' but he didn't, he just gagged and his eyes lost focus.
Ted convulsed and fell on the floor, writhing out of control. I stepped back, giving him room to flail against the floor and cabinets. He spat up some ugly, colorless gunk and jerked to a stop. His arms and legs, hands and feet were all at right angles; his fingers splayed. Ted spasmed once, twice, a third time and then released across the floor, completely limp. The eyes were open.
Standing there, watching my friend of so many years, I couldn't help but feel that this was the right thing to do. In his front pocket, I pulled the paper, torn from the pad at work, with a corner missing. It said, “I love you and the kids.” It was exactly like my dream, only it was Ted on the floor, not his wife and kids. I reached into his shirt pocket and took out the blue envelope.
“Ted? Are you home?” sang Alice, coming in the front door. I ran to stop her from coming into the kitchen. She was surprised to see me. “Phil! Uh, how nice to see you. You haven't visited in a while. Where's Ted?”
“Alice, you've got to go upstairs.”
“What are you talking about?” Alice gave a shallow laugh, then became afraid. “What's going on? Where's Ted?”
“Alice, just go upstairs now. Everything will be all right, but I need you to go upstairs right now.” A noise at the door revealed my worst fear, the kids were with her. “Alice, go upstairs and take the kids. Please!”
“Phil, you're scaring me.”
“Go! Now!” I cried.
“Tyler, Spencer, come with mommy.” Alice reached her hands for her children and lead them upstairs, her face pale, her eyes wide with fright.
There was only one thing for me to do; go to the phone and dial 911.
“911 Operator,” said a male voice.
“I've just killed my best friend,” I told him.
Episode 6
Ted opened the door, “Phil? What's up?”
“You know,” I was thinking fast but talking slow, I hadn't thought this through. “I'm just perplexed by this whole thing and I thought, you know, that we have, you know,” I realized that I had said 'you know' three times in a sentence. “that we don't spend any down-time together. We used to do that, and I thought it would be a good idea ...” My eyes fell on a cut-glass decanter of Scotch on the counter, “... if we could just have a drink together...” I looked at Ted, an innocent smile crossing my face. Ted just looked back at me. It seemed like an hour, but it was only a few seconds before he spoke.
“Sure, Phil, it's a little early for me, but I have no plans, so why not. I'll get us a glass.” Ted took out two short glasses with heavy, cut-glass bottoms. They were part of the set with the decanter. He poured two of what I knew to be first class Scotch and added water from a bottle in the fridge. As he opened the fridge door to return the bottle to the shelf inside, I emptied the pink envelope into Ted's glass. I watched the few tiny crystals disappear into the Scotch.
“Here's to a successful test and a popular product,” I said, lifting my glass.
“I'll drink to that,” responded Ted, drinking half the glass in a gulp. I drank as well, looking around for something to take the attention off of the glass, just in case there was a taste.
“Have you redone the kitchen?”
“Nope. It's the same as the last time you were here.”
“Hmm! That was Thanksgiving...” I realized that I had brought up a memory of Carol and decided to stop there. “Well, I must have forgotten what it looked like, you keep it so nice, it looks new.” I smiled, taking another sip.
Ted finished his drink on that cue. We stood there regarding each other. Then Ted got a look on his face; he stiffened, moving his hand to his belly. His face questioned what he felt, then the answer was written in his eyes. Ted looked straight at me. His mouth opened. I expected him to ask, 'What have you done?' but he didn't, he just gagged and his eyes lost focus.
Ted convulsed and fell on the floor, writhing out of control. I stepped back, giving him room to flail against the floor and cabinets. He spat up some ugly, colorless gunk and jerked to a stop. His arms and legs, hands and feet were all at right angles; his fingers splayed. Ted spasmed once, twice, a third time and then released across the floor, completely limp. The eyes were open.
Standing there, watching my friend of so many years, I couldn't help but feel that this was the right thing to do. In his front pocket, I pulled the paper, torn from the pad at work, with a corner missing. It said, “I love you and the kids.” It was exactly like my dream, only it was Ted on the floor, not his wife and kids. I reached into his shirt pocket and took out the blue envelope.
“Ted? Are you home?” sang Alice, coming in the front door. I ran to stop her from coming into the kitchen. She was surprised to see me. “Phil! Uh, how nice to see you. You haven't visited in a while. Where's Ted?”
“Alice, you've got to go upstairs.”
“What are you talking about?” Alice gave a shallow laugh, then became afraid. “What's going on? Where's Ted?”
“Alice, just go upstairs now. Everything will be all right, but I need you to go upstairs right now.” A noise at the door revealed my worst fear, the kids were with her. “Alice, go upstairs and take the kids. Please!”
“Phil, you're scaring me.”
“Go! Now!” I cried.
“Tyler, Spencer, come with mommy.” Alice reached her hands for her children and lead them upstairs, her face pale, her eyes wide with fright.
There was only one thing for me to do; go to the phone and dial 911.
“911 Operator,” said a male voice.
“I've just killed my best friend,” I told him.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Luna Nightmares
From the collection: Murder at Thompson Bog
Episode 5
Not drinking the night before agreed with me. I felt better.
“Rensler's in the office. Better come,” said Ted as I poured a cup of coffee.
I felt a chill run through me. Charles Rensler was the board liaison. When they wanted to tell us something, it was Mr. Rensler who came out of the elevator and into our lab. Not Charlie or Chuck, but Mr. Rensler. He didn't know a test tube from a shoe horn but he gave the orders, or at least relayed them.
In the lab, Rensler was leaning with one hand on the table, as if he had been waiting for me to finish playing with myself. He looked disturbed, but then he always looked that way.
“Gentlemen, we are going into testing in a week.” (“Ready or not,” said the word-bubble over his head.) “You have been playing with this new concoction long enough. It's time to take it to the subjects. We want this ready for market before the snow falls.”
Rensler's eyebrows were furrowed, admonishing his wayward children who never did as they were told. He had already decided that we were holding up this project on purpose. He had made up his mind about us; we were bad.
“It's not ready,” said Ted.
Rensler flared, his eyes wild. “Well, get it ready! The board wants to know if we've made a mistake with you two. The holidays are a stressful time and we want our new anti-depressant out and on the market in time to deal with it. You get it ready to go or it's you who will be going. No more hold ups, no more excuses.”
Rensler strode to the door, turned and put one hand on the door, he was making his grand exit. “We're calling it 'Lunaxapryn' and it had better be ready by the time the box is printed.” Rensler exited with a flourish, punctuating his commands with a loud march to the elevator. 'Click, clack, click, clack!' The sound of our doom.
“That man has no idea what he is doing,” said Ted, shaking his head. “If the six o'clock news mentions our product it won't be good for anyone.”
“Are we sure about it? Is there something we don't know?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Ted, as if it was obvious, “We don't know how many will die when they start taking this!” Ted turned his back to me, walking forcefully to the back of the office, picking up samples of “C” in green envelopes. He was trying to compose himself enough to actually do something. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slump. His shoulders dropped; Ted was shaking his head.
“You OK, buddy?” I asked.
“Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just peachy!” Ted stood up, squaring himself around and picked up the daily log. “I'm logging out, leaving a little early.”
“OK, Ted. You've put in enough hours to do that. Say hi to Alice.”
“Yeah,” said Ted, taking off his lab coat. “Tomorrow, same time.”
“You bet!” I replied, trying to be as light and casual as I could. I watched him go down the hall.
The pad caught my eye. There was a corner still attached to the top where the paper tore off. Ted had ripped a piece off and left a corner. My thoughts went back to my dream, to the paper with the missing corner.
I looked over the line of envelopes on the desk: colored envelopes with the active ingredient of each generation, concentrated for analysis. There were three green envelopes of “C” and one pink of “A”. The blue envelope was missing. I remembered my dream, Ted slipping that envelope into his pocket. A chill ran through me.
Returning to the pad, I recalled an old movie I saw on one of those sleepless nights, where the detective used a pencil to discover what was written on a pad. I took the pencil from the drawer and lightly ran it over the pad. There, in the impressions left by Ted's pen, was the note he had taken with him. “I love you and the kids.”
My heart went to my throat. I couldn't breathe. I steadied myself against the table. There had to be a way to stop him! I took the remaining envelope of Luna-A and put it into my pocket. I threw my white coat over the chair and ran to the nearest exit, my short-cut to the parking lot.
It was before rush hour and the traffic was still light. I figured Ted wouldn't be driving fast, but I was. My hands were shaking and there was sweat on my forehead. I couldn't think where the tissues were. The radio was on and a distraction. I switched it off and veered to the right, narrowly missing a car slowing to turn. I tore through the last intersection on a yellow light, beating the red by the skin of my teeth.
At Ted's house, I pulled up and turned the car off. Ted's Cherokee was already there. The quiet was thunderous. I could hear myself sweat.
Episode 5
Not drinking the night before agreed with me. I felt better.
“Rensler's in the office. Better come,” said Ted as I poured a cup of coffee.
I felt a chill run through me. Charles Rensler was the board liaison. When they wanted to tell us something, it was Mr. Rensler who came out of the elevator and into our lab. Not Charlie or Chuck, but Mr. Rensler. He didn't know a test tube from a shoe horn but he gave the orders, or at least relayed them.
In the lab, Rensler was leaning with one hand on the table, as if he had been waiting for me to finish playing with myself. He looked disturbed, but then he always looked that way.
“Gentlemen, we are going into testing in a week.” (“Ready or not,” said the word-bubble over his head.) “You have been playing with this new concoction long enough. It's time to take it to the subjects. We want this ready for market before the snow falls.”
Rensler's eyebrows were furrowed, admonishing his wayward children who never did as they were told. He had already decided that we were holding up this project on purpose. He had made up his mind about us; we were bad.
“It's not ready,” said Ted.
Rensler flared, his eyes wild. “Well, get it ready! The board wants to know if we've made a mistake with you two. The holidays are a stressful time and we want our new anti-depressant out and on the market in time to deal with it. You get it ready to go or it's you who will be going. No more hold ups, no more excuses.”
Rensler strode to the door, turned and put one hand on the door, he was making his grand exit. “We're calling it 'Lunaxapryn' and it had better be ready by the time the box is printed.” Rensler exited with a flourish, punctuating his commands with a loud march to the elevator. 'Click, clack, click, clack!' The sound of our doom.
“That man has no idea what he is doing,” said Ted, shaking his head. “If the six o'clock news mentions our product it won't be good for anyone.”
“Are we sure about it? Is there something we don't know?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Ted, as if it was obvious, “We don't know how many will die when they start taking this!” Ted turned his back to me, walking forcefully to the back of the office, picking up samples of “C” in green envelopes. He was trying to compose himself enough to actually do something. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slump. His shoulders dropped; Ted was shaking his head.
“You OK, buddy?” I asked.
“Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just peachy!” Ted stood up, squaring himself around and picked up the daily log. “I'm logging out, leaving a little early.”
“OK, Ted. You've put in enough hours to do that. Say hi to Alice.”
“Yeah,” said Ted, taking off his lab coat. “Tomorrow, same time.”
“You bet!” I replied, trying to be as light and casual as I could. I watched him go down the hall.
The pad caught my eye. There was a corner still attached to the top where the paper tore off. Ted had ripped a piece off and left a corner. My thoughts went back to my dream, to the paper with the missing corner.
I looked over the line of envelopes on the desk: colored envelopes with the active ingredient of each generation, concentrated for analysis. There were three green envelopes of “C” and one pink of “A”. The blue envelope was missing. I remembered my dream, Ted slipping that envelope into his pocket. A chill ran through me.
Returning to the pad, I recalled an old movie I saw on one of those sleepless nights, where the detective used a pencil to discover what was written on a pad. I took the pencil from the drawer and lightly ran it over the pad. There, in the impressions left by Ted's pen, was the note he had taken with him. “I love you and the kids.”
My heart went to my throat. I couldn't breathe. I steadied myself against the table. There had to be a way to stop him! I took the remaining envelope of Luna-A and put it into my pocket. I threw my white coat over the chair and ran to the nearest exit, my short-cut to the parking lot.
It was before rush hour and the traffic was still light. I figured Ted wouldn't be driving fast, but I was. My hands were shaking and there was sweat on my forehead. I couldn't think where the tissues were. The radio was on and a distraction. I switched it off and veered to the right, narrowly missing a car slowing to turn. I tore through the last intersection on a yellow light, beating the red by the skin of my teeth.
At Ted's house, I pulled up and turned the car off. Ted's Cherokee was already there. The quiet was thunderous. I could hear myself sweat.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Luna Nightmares
From the collection: Murder at Thompson Bog
Episode 4
Ted's Grand Cherokee was already in the parking lot early next morning.
“What're you doing here at this ungodly hour?” asked Ted, looking up.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I replied.
“Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd come in and make sure we weren't on the wrong track again. You?”
“About the same,” I said, trying to find something to look at.
“Too many voices in my head,” said Ted, returning to whatever he was working on before I came in.
“Me too. Is it warm in here, or is it me?”
“It's you. The air kicked on more than an hour ago.”
“You've been here more than an hour?” I asked, “How did you get in?”
“I got them to give me a key; I've been coming earlier lately.”
“But you're here when I leave.” I was wondering if I might not be right, there was something wrong with Ted.
“Not for long, I usually follow you out. It's just that we came up with Luna-A and Luna-B. Now we've got “C” and I don't want to be the guy who killed a bunch of subjects with three products in a row.”
“I share some of that blame, you know. And we're not alone here, we have a large staff of people, anyone of which could have discovered the flaws in “A” and “B” and didn't. You can't carry this all on your shoulders.”
“I'm not, Phil,” said Ted, getting up and reaching for his empty coffee cup, “I'm just trying to make sure we don't have to formulate a Luna-D.” Ted left for the coffee room.
In the trash, were two blue envelopes. Ted had been using some of the “B” samples. Had Ted been retesting? But we discovered what was causing the results in “B”. Why would he have Luna-B out?
At the end of the day, Ted seemed fine and normal. He even left at a reasonable time. Ted gave me a wave and ambled off to his Grand Cherokee. It looked like another world to me, his gleaming clean Grand Cherokee, knowing that he would go home to the beautiful Alice who would have dinner on the table. Two endearing children would run in to hug their daddy and the cares of the day would fade into oblivion without the use of artificial nerve-dullers.
I drove my aging wreck to the poor side of town where I nuked a burger and fries meal that didn't live up to it's advertising. Settling down in front of the television, I reached for the bottle of hooch, then stopped myself. No, three didn't do it, four certainly wouldn't. I would try my theory and have none.
Just before I toddled off to bed, I breathed a quiet prayer that Carol would fall in love and get remarried, then I could have my paycheck back and could move out of that lousy neighborhood.
The breeze through the window was just right, the bums were quiet and there were few cars at that late hour.
Then the dreams came. I saw the table, Ted's kids slumped over and Ted with his note, roughly torn from the pad at work and carrying it's chilling message. The blue envelope fell from his hand to the floor. My gaze followed the envelope to the floor. Then a strange cry entered the scene and I woke up to a siren passing; an ambulance going by. I turned and looked at the clock – little after three in the morning. I got up and went to the couch, turning on the television. There was nothing on, so I turned it off, laid back on the couch and drifted off.
Episode 4
Ted's Grand Cherokee was already in the parking lot early next morning.
“What're you doing here at this ungodly hour?” asked Ted, looking up.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I replied.
“Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd come in and make sure we weren't on the wrong track again. You?”
“About the same,” I said, trying to find something to look at.
“Too many voices in my head,” said Ted, returning to whatever he was working on before I came in.
“Me too. Is it warm in here, or is it me?”
“It's you. The air kicked on more than an hour ago.”
“You've been here more than an hour?” I asked, “How did you get in?”
“I got them to give me a key; I've been coming earlier lately.”
“But you're here when I leave.” I was wondering if I might not be right, there was something wrong with Ted.
“Not for long, I usually follow you out. It's just that we came up with Luna-A and Luna-B. Now we've got “C” and I don't want to be the guy who killed a bunch of subjects with three products in a row.”
“I share some of that blame, you know. And we're not alone here, we have a large staff of people, anyone of which could have discovered the flaws in “A” and “B” and didn't. You can't carry this all on your shoulders.”
“I'm not, Phil,” said Ted, getting up and reaching for his empty coffee cup, “I'm just trying to make sure we don't have to formulate a Luna-D.” Ted left for the coffee room.
In the trash, were two blue envelopes. Ted had been using some of the “B” samples. Had Ted been retesting? But we discovered what was causing the results in “B”. Why would he have Luna-B out?
At the end of the day, Ted seemed fine and normal. He even left at a reasonable time. Ted gave me a wave and ambled off to his Grand Cherokee. It looked like another world to me, his gleaming clean Grand Cherokee, knowing that he would go home to the beautiful Alice who would have dinner on the table. Two endearing children would run in to hug their daddy and the cares of the day would fade into oblivion without the use of artificial nerve-dullers.
I drove my aging wreck to the poor side of town where I nuked a burger and fries meal that didn't live up to it's advertising. Settling down in front of the television, I reached for the bottle of hooch, then stopped myself. No, three didn't do it, four certainly wouldn't. I would try my theory and have none.
Just before I toddled off to bed, I breathed a quiet prayer that Carol would fall in love and get remarried, then I could have my paycheck back and could move out of that lousy neighborhood.
The breeze through the window was just right, the bums were quiet and there were few cars at that late hour.
Then the dreams came. I saw the table, Ted's kids slumped over and Ted with his note, roughly torn from the pad at work and carrying it's chilling message. The blue envelope fell from his hand to the floor. My gaze followed the envelope to the floor. Then a strange cry entered the scene and I woke up to a siren passing; an ambulance going by. I turned and looked at the clock – little after three in the morning. I got up and went to the couch, turning on the television. There was nothing on, so I turned it off, laid back on the couch and drifted off.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)