Regenesis (Book 1): Impact (21 page)

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He
circled back after a few minutes and bought a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, a
loaf of bread, and a newspaper. Jason carried the paper bag back in one arm
while he read an article on the front page of the paper. The headline read
‘Bombing in Cairo. 16 Dead, 12 Wounded’.

Aug.
22 – Late last night, in front of Khan el-Khalili, a major tourist attraction
in Cairo, a bomb was detonated on a person within the market that resulted in
the deaths of six individuals and nearly another dozen injuries. The market is
closed today as a precaution to the possibility of a second attack. The bomber
is assumed to be a member of the Dáfù who have since their attack on United
States President Jean Monroe last Friday, made attacks on ten other areas
around the world including Tokyo, Mexico City, and Berlin. The velocity of the
recent attacks has caused alarm in many nations world-wide and many are on edge
from fear that the Dáfù may be plotting a much larger attack.

      For
the complete story see section A2…

Jason
reread the small news clip over again.
What possesses someone to do
something like that? Kill others? Why do they think it’s right? I would have
thought everyone would have some semblance of life’s worth, but I guess not.
He
stopped walking in front of a small bakery and set his bag down for a moment to
open to the rest of the article, though another story caught his eye first. ‘Body
of Local Seamstress Found, Missing One Kilogram of Flesh.’

Aug.
22 - The remains of Emma Thompson, aged twenty-four, were discovered near the
Municipal Offices in Twickenham mid-afternoon yesterday. Thompson was found
without nearly a whole kilogram of skin, which is said to have been surgically
removed. The list of suspects is limited at this time given the nature of the
macabre state of the victim’s remains. There is however speculation that this
murder could be linked to the disappearance and ultimate finding of Edward
Park’s remains not a week earlier. Park, thirty-six at the time of death, was
missing over a liter of blood when he was located outside his home in Ham.
Authorities have declined any official statement at this time about any
connection between the two murders.

The
rest of the article continued to mention the victim’s personal life, family and
friend’s reactions, and further theories from interested parties.
More
crazies. Who kills someone and takes skin? I’ve heard of these psychopaths taking
hair from their victims, but skin?
Jason frowned.
And this is so close
to home too. I didn’t even know about this.
Jason folded the paper under
his arm, took his groceries, and continued home.

After
a moment Jason heard some panic a few blocks from where he was. Groups of
people rushed past him both to and from the area in question.
What on earth?
He looked for himself and saw smoke billowing into the night sky from a
building near his home.
No. No no no no no, damn it no. Please. It can’t be.
Jason dropped his things and sprinted toward the fire; his home stood engulfed
in flames from the ground up.

Audrey,
where are you? Please.
He called her name out amidst the fleeing crowd. Jason
questioned other tenants he knew from passing but no one knew if she was
outside at all. A pit of fear grew within him and he turned his attention
toward the building.
Shit, Audrey. Why the hell’d I have to go out tonight?
Why can’t I just sleep like normal people? If I’d been there you and I would
be…
He shook his head.
It’s too early to regret anything, she’s going to
be fine, and I’m going to make sure she’s out of there and we’re going to be
safe.
He took a breath and without recognition of other’s words or warnings
he dashed into the firestorm in search of his wife.

Their
building was an inferno; flames poured out of the walls and smoke followed
Jason up the stairs as he counted the floors to their floor. Jason wasn’t sure
how much longer the floor would support him after planks smoldered away behind
him.

Once
he reached his floor he ran down the hall to their room, where he tried the
door, but recalled that the lock was still in place. “Audrey!” he yelled as he
choked on the smoke. He slammed his fist into the door and called out again,
though there wasn’t a response.

Damn
it, this isn’t going to work. Even if she can hear me, the locks and the knob
have got to be scalding hot by now.
He changed tactics and took a step back. He
took a breath (of what air he could find), kicked their door right where the
knob and lock were and broke into their home.

Audrey
wasn’t anywhere in sight.
Have to be sure Jason. You can’t assume here, be
certain.
He coughed and hoarsely called her name out. With what little
vision he had he searched their closet, bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom until he
knew she managed to escape without him.

What
a bloody idiot I’ve been Audrey. Please forgive me, if you can. I shouldn’t
have gone, I-I didn’t know this would happen. I’m so sorry.

Jason
turned his thoughts toward his flight from the building next.
Just run
Jason, you know the way out. No time to secure anything, jewelry, photos,
computer, leave it.
He made for the hallway with a final glance for Audrey,
to satisfy his fear. But after a few steps Jason felt the floor beneath him
begin to give way. He looked down at the wooden beams visible beneath the burnt
carpet, all red hot between the charred wood. The floor crumbled beneath him
and Jason fell to the floor below. It gave way as well and the debris collapsed
on top of him. Jason blacked out and the heat, the smoke, the sirens, the
commotion, and the fire faded out of existence.

---*---

3:43
PM

Kirkland,
Washington

“How
are you feeling?” Drake asked.

Ian
stared back at him. He’d been distant since he woke up an hour earlier, as well
as slow to react to any sort of question or inquiry. The doctor told Drake it
was normal and that he was making progress, but it didn’t seem so to Drake. To
him, Ian was only one part through the ordeal; he was still in the woods, and
it worried Drake.

He
finally responded, “I’m…I’m feeling much better.” Ian spoke slowly, cautiously,
and carefully.

The
doctor said Ian would act differently in his conversational skills and he
assured Drake that this would pass too. Drake didn’t care what a normal
reaction was; he only wanted his friend to return.

Drake
and Ian sat alone in his room at the Evergreen Medical Center. Nurses and Ian’s
doctor would occasionally drop in to check on him or run brief tests, but other
than those intrusions they were alone. Ian’s mother was on her way, but because
of her absence it allowed Drake time to confirm things he hadn’t been able to
since Ian was struck by lightning.

“What
do you remember about last week?” he asked Ian.

He
only looked at Drake. After a moment he answered, “There was a football game,
or a practice…a storm, lightning…” he tried to think, to remember something,
but failed to do so.

Drake
filled in the gaps, “You and I talked, do you remember that?”

“In
the storm?”

“Yes,
we talked outside in the rain.”

“Before
I was hit by, struck by lightning?”

“Yes.
Do you remember what we talked about?”

He
shook his head. “What was it?”

Drake
cleared his throat and asked, “Do you remember that Victor was killed?”

Ian
frowned. He asked who killed him and Drake felt a twinge of relief. Drake told
him the murderer still evaded the police and that the authorities still didn’t
know who it was. Ian remained quiet for a moment. The revelation troubled him,
but his expression changed from sorrow and concern into doubt.

He
looked different than Drake recalled him last. Ian still seemed entirely scared
out of his mind, but he was pale, weak, and completely listless. Even his
mannerisms changed. He was cautious and nervous when they talked, even though
Drake was one of Ian’s oldest friends. Drake knew it would take time for Ian to
regain normalcy, but his alteration worried Drake.

Ian
slowly asked, “Did anyone else die?”

Drake’s
heart sank. He reluctantly nodded. “Principal Summers was also killed.”

With
that confirmation Ian’s eyes widened and he shot up, “It was Nick,” he said
without any inhibition.

Drake
stopped him and promptly told him to calm down. “No it wasn’t,” he assured him.
“Nick didn’t kill his own brother.”

“No,
it was,” Ian cried out. “I-I was there. I saw it happen.” He looked away from
his friend and more returned to him. “That’s why I was at…at your house. That’s
what we talked about,” he looked at Drake, “Wasn’t it?” he asked him.

Drake
only nodded.

“Then
how can you tell me Nick’s innocent?” he questioned him.

Drake
explained the events that took place at Jordan’s work and of the murder of his
employer. He told Ian that the killer left one of Victor’s credit cards behind.
“Nick was there, as was Jordan and a handful of other people, all who witnessed
Crystal’s murder by someone who wasn’t Nick.”

Ian
sat in his bed with a cross look on his face. He bitterly asked, “Why would
anyone want to kill them though?”

Drake
shook his head, “I’m really unsure Ian. You told me that the man who killed
Victor and Principal Summers looked like Nick, whereas the man who murdered
Crystal didn’t look anything like Nick.”

“And
they don’t know who it was?”

“No.”

Ian
struggled to keep up with Drake’s thought process, but asked, “Why did the
second assassin have Victor’s credit card though?”

Drake
nodded. “That’s also a perplexing matter. Unless the second killer was actually
the same person who killed Victor, or unless he received, stole, or took the
credit card from the one who initially stole it from Victor. But it still
doesn’t make sense that the first would even take it and leave the rest of the
wallet intact. From what I understand nothing was taken from Principal Summer,
so why just steal one credit card?” Drake stopped and glanced at Ian, who tried
to follow Drake’s reasoning. Drake asked, “Do you at least believe me when I
tell you that Nick’s innocent?”

Ian
agreed with Drake. He saw how convinced Drake was, and after their brief talk
about all the events of the past week that he didn’t know about due to his
coma, his previously unwavering testimony of the incident was shaken. He told
his friend he no longer felt Nick was guilty and Drake was relieved.

“Why
did you fight this for so long though?” Ian asked.

Drake
answered, “I knew Nick would never do something anything so heinous, especially
not his own brother. Besides, if you told the police about what you saw it
would only spell trouble for Nick. And after everything he’s been through in
the past week he doesn’t need the additional stress.”

Ian
hadn’t considered that, or any of the trouble Nick must have faced in the past
week. He apologized to Drake, but Drake only asked that he refrain from telling
anyone about what he saw at the high school when Victor was killed if he was
asked. Ian agreed just as his mother joined them.

She
had tears in her eyes and ran to embrace her son. Drake smiled and left them
alone as he stepped outside of the room to make a call to tell his manager that
he planned on taking the remainder of the day off.

---*---

Chapter
8

August
24
^th
, 2029

7:35
PM

Seattle,
Washington

Nick
sat across from her and couldn’t stop the hammer in his chest from making him
tremble. He looked at the beautiful young woman who appeared to be entirely
calm, controlled, and well aware of Nick’s distress.

“Relax,”
she told him with a smile.

Nick
let out a nervous chuckle and admitted, “Th-This is my f-first d-date, so–”

She
stopped him, “Really?” He nodded and felt his face redden. “How’d a good
looking guy like you manage that?”

Nick
saw through the compliment but thanked her anyway.

The
two already ordered; he chose prawn yakisoba and Amy selected chicken teriyaki.
Nick remembered eating at the small shop a few times with Drake and their
friends and recalled Drake classifying it as ‘a hole.’ Nick however liked it
each of the times he’d gone there and as it was inexpensive he hoped it would
be an acceptable place to take Amy.

He
wore navy jeans, a Silversun Pickups shirt he’d inherited from his brother
months before Victor’s death, and his black leather jacket. Amy wore a white
blouse, blue jeans, and a pair of flats which would have gone along well with
Nick’s Converse, had his shoes looked at all presentable.

“How
are you doing?” she asked.

“G-Good.
How about y-you?”

“Better.”

He
didn’t know what to say. Small talk wasn’t his strongest suit by any means.
Nick believed she knew it as well when she asked him about school.

“Are
you excited for September?”

“Why?”

“Because
of school.”

“S-Sort
of. I-I find it boring.”

“Why?”

“It
doesn’t interest m-me.”

Amy
nodded, “Then what does interest you?”

Nick
didn’t have an answer. He never believed he’d amount to much, so that’s what
he’d believed in watching his stepfather Paul work aimlessly for nearly two
decades. It became something he never doubted would be for him, something
inevitable, and the reason was simply because he wasn’t overly interested in
anything to pursue anything. He thought about learning how to take care of
cars, to fix them, change tires, inspect engines, but once he began learning it
a year ago in high school he lost whatever enthusiasm he had for it. He gave
thought to computers but couldn’t memorize all of the codes needed to create or
edit anything, he pondered a career in food but soon found he couldn’t cook
beyond saving himself from starvation, and it seemed every other avenue led to
another cul-de-sac to merely return him to the empty space where he made his
last choice to try it all over again.

He
often believed that there were individuals who were not cut out for anything
beyond the bottom of society. Nick didn’t feel like he’d done anything to
deserve the bottom rung of society, unlike his stepfather, who rejected a
formal education and was one who couldn’t hold down a job as a garbage man, or
a janitor, or even a construction worker. His stepfather’s poor choice in
habits didn’t help at all either. Nick recalled two occasions where Paul’s
drinking cost him full time employment and nearly ruined their family on
multiple occasions. If Nick was destined for mediocrity, he vowed to never
follow in Paul’s ways.

Nick
made something up and told her, “I-I like m-music, s-so I thought I m-might
open a r-retro music store.”

“That
sounds interesting.”

“What
about you?”

“I’m
thinking about journalism.”

“R-Really?”

She
nodded, “But I have no idea about what field of journalism I’d want to cover or
focus on…” Amy trailed off, “It’s a ways away so I’ve got time to figure it
out.”

Their
food arrived and the conversation met another lull. Nick wanted to reignite it,
but wasn’t sure how. In the end he simply picked up his fork asked her what
sort of movies she liked.

---*---

11:40
PM

Baltimore,
Maryland

Detective
Sage tacked up a small handwritten note card labeled ‘suspects’ next to the
list of casualties of the Cladis investigation. There were a total of ten
losses and one pending judgment in their building. Sage pinned a rough sketch
of Agent Ryuzaki Miyaza up under the note card as their first and only suspect.
Sage and Felton spent a great deal of time in search of the man through the
bureau but merely learned that the man didn’t exist. More specifically, he
lived and breathed, just simply was not ever a government agent. The detectives
forwarded footage of the alleged agent to the Federal Bureau of Investigations
to see whether they knew who the man truly was. The detectives had yet to
receive an answer.

The
mysterious man did give Sage one clue though about the rain in the security
footage of the car accident. Sage looked again after things calmed down at the
station and found that Miyaza hadn’t lied. A silhouette of a man could be seen
in the rain as he shoved Angela’s car into the next lane and into Evanston’s
taxi. She travelled at nearly forty miles an hour and the silhouette, presumed
to be Cladis, moved the vehicle with ease and very little resistance.

The
chief and Detective Felton joined him in his office. The chief took a seat and
asked, “Agent Miyaza’s a suspect at this point, right?”

Sage
nodded, “Though I’m not sure we should though.”

“Why?”
asked Felton.

Sage
played the security video and paused it when the silhouette was clear. “The
figure here must be easily a head taller than Miyaza. But more importantly, why
would Cladis waltz right into the station, completely visible, and give us this
clue without killing all of us and Evanston in the process?”

“Then
we still have nothing…”

Chief
Johnson looked at all of the data Sage kept pinned up on his wall and asked,
“Isn’t this getting to be a bit excessive detective?”

Sage
shrugged, “Yes, but it isn’t like I can keep all of my notes catalogued in my
computer since REFOIA’s apparently monitoring us.”

“Could
they be tied into this?” Felton asked.

“It’s
doubtful.”

“Anyway,”
Johnson changed the subject, “What are we going to do about Evanston?”

“What
can we do?” Felton asked rhetorically. “The guy’s a walking target; we can’t
exactly take him anywhere.”

“And
he isn’t exactly safe here,” muttered Johnson. “When Cladis does show up to try
to kill him what level of havoc do you think he’s going to shepherd with him?”

“Do
you want to move him?” Sage inquired as he wrote single numbers on small cards.

“I
think it’d be in the best interest of the station and our fellow man to get his
ass out of here,” Johnson told them. “What we need to think of is where to
though.”

“Would
he be safe in a high security holding facility?”

“The
guy can shove a car moving at forty miles an hour into another lane,” Felton
reminded them, “He could probably just break through walls or whatever else
stood in his path.”

“Then
what are we supposed to do?” Johnson asked.

Sage
pinned the numbers he wrote next to the corresponding victims. Felton asked
what the numbers represented and Sage told him they were the lengths of days
between the murders. He pinned a six, five, and five next to the second, third,
and fourth victims. All of the victim’s pictures were pinned up in one vertical
line that started with Red Irons and ended with Angela Walsh. Evanston’s photo
was pinned below Angela’s.

“Why
is that important?” Felton asked.

“It’s
probably not important at all,” he admitted as he put an eight, two, and one
adjacent to the next three photos, “But I’m still hoping that there is some
sort of pattern in all of this, and I’d like to cover every angle.”

“Hey,”
Johnson stopped their momentary deviation and tried to return to the matter at
hand, “What are we going to do about Evanston?”

Felton
shrugged, “What can we do? What day is it again Sage?”

“Day
five”

“The
fifth day,” Felton repeated, “Which means his time’s just about up and so is
ours. We need to figure this out.”

Chief
Johnson frowned while he contemplated their next move. “What if we try to get
him out of the city?”

“What
would that do?”

“All
of the murders take place here in Baltimore,” Chief Johnson began, “If we get
him outside of the city then Evanston won’t fit his method of operation. Serial
killers are specific about everything they do, right? If we get him out of
Baltimore then we can save him and disrupt Cladis’ killing spree.”

“What
if it’s not Evanston though,” Felton asked. “What if we’ve got the wrong person
and we take him away and miss that it was someone else?”

“Then
they’re dead anyway because we couldn’t find them,” Sage answered. “I agree
that this is probably the best plan that we’ve got.”

“Alright,
so how are we going to go about transporting him?” Johnson asked.

“We
wouldn’t want to be too obvious about it,” Felton began, “Otherwise Cladis
could discover our ploy and stop us.”

“So
average police vehicles…”

“We
should take other officers if we could get them as well,” Sage added. “If we
have a car trailing behind and one ahead we could better defend if Cladis does
attack.”

Johnson
agreed. “Who do you think we should ask?”

Sage
sighed, “Whoever we can convince I guess.”

---*---

8:43
PM

Seattle,
Washington

Jordan
and Rachel sat near the end of a bus past a couple of other riders. Jordan sat
asleep near the aisle while Rachel sat by the window as the lookout for their
destination. He wore a black unbuttoned shirt with a silvery-gray undershirt
and a pair of black slacks, while she wore a warm gray blouse she covered with
a brown hoodie and a skirt that matched the hoodie as well. Rachel peered
through the window and found they had arrived. She signaled that they wanted
off and woke Jordan. The two ran off the bus, through the rain and to the club
Drake booked out of Seattle.

Drake
always had extravagant parties. It wasn’t beyond him to do something as
excessive as rent out a Seattle night club for an evening. Drake’s father knew
a lot a people in and out of Seattle and as such Drake knew nearly as many as
well. The owner of the club Drake rented out was a high school chum of his
father’s and after a friendly conversation and a sizable sum of money, the
owner was more than willing to accept the proposal for the use of his
establishment.

They
only waited a moment at the door for their admittance into the party, which
they found was in full swing. The place was vast and the dance floor was filled
with people who danced to their own interpretations of the bass, rhythm, and
rhyme that flowed through the room. Multicolored lights flashed throughout the
club in twisting, twirling, and rapid patterns and formed intricate designs on
the walls, crowd, and ceiling. A light smokescreen covered the area, which
enhanced the lights and cloaked the people on the dance floor. The bar area was
closed, (something Jordan and Rachel both guessed was Tony Winchester’s request
to the owner), but some people hung around there anyway, though the alcohol was
moved and security lingered around to ensure none of the partygoers tried to
find it.

Rachel
and Jordan fought through the crowd until Jordan muttered something under his
breath.

“What’s
wrong?”

“Look
who’s here,” he told her as he pointed out her Romanian friend.

Vladimir
stood alone near the closed bar. He watched the dance floor with an
uncomfortable look on his face. Rachel guessed he wasn’t accustomed to social
gatherings at the caliber Drake’s party was, and she felt she needed to at
least talk to him to possibly help ease him into the party.

“Let’s
go say hi and then we can go find your friends,” she told him.

Jordan
tried and failed to voice his opposition in the matter. Rachel rushed away from
him though and he reluctantly followed after her.

Vladimir
smiled when he saw her approach him. The music was loud and he nearly missed
her greeting. “Hey, I’m glad you were able to make if Vladimir.”

“As
am I,” he replied with a smile. “I thought my host brother and I were lost for
quite a while, but it seems we were able to find this party without too great
of a headache.”

“Is
your host brother here?”

“Yes,
but I know not where at the moment,” he confessed. With their small talk over
Vladimir changed the subject and told Rachel he’d managed to enroll and place
into the advanced art class at their school.

“Really?
That’s cool, what other classes did you sign up for, Vlad?” Jordan butted in.