The Inner Struggle: Beginnings Series Book 7 (22 page)

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“Bob, you don’t smoke,” Joe said calmly to Reverend Bob who sat across from Joe in his office.

“I would like to now. I used to.”

“You may get sick.” Joe held out a cigarette to him, then a lighter. He pushed the ashtray forward.

“Thank you.” Reverend Bob looked at the cigarette. “Wow, you guys are still smoking Camel filters. One hell of a supply you must have picked up.” Shaking, he lit the cigarette.

“Tell me, usually when you’re like this it's because Frank did something to you.”

“No,” Reverend Bob said and then coughed out the hit he took of the cigarette. “I did something. We have a situation and I need your advice. Confidentially.”

“I like this.” Joe cupped his hands behind his head and rocked back in his chair. “A religious man is confessing to me. Go on. Shoot. I’m all ears.”

“O.K. Here it goes.” Reverend Bob scooted his chair closer to the desk. “I don’t pay much attention to some people in this community, especially those who really don’t frequent my services. Not on purpose mind you, but I really don’t pay much attention to their lives.”

“That’s about five people in this community. So what’s going on with one of them?”

“Two.”

“Two?” Joe raised his eyebrows with a closed mouth look. “Which two?”

“Henry and Ellen.”

“Christ . . . sorry Reverend. What did they do?”

“They didn’t do anything. I did and it could mean mayhem for you, Joe.”

“Shit.” Joe stopped rocking and folded his hands on his desk. “Go on. Give it to me.”

“One day, nearly four months ago, they came to me and asked me to marry them. It was April Fool’s Day. They wanted the quick ceremony.” Reverend Bob watched Joe’s face drop as if Joe knew where he was going already. “I said hardly anything. Honest. But . . . they took me seriously. They think, Joe, that they’re married. They aren’t. No papers have been filed with history. No real nuptials were performed. Nothing.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“They aren’t married and they think they are.”

“Marry them again.”

“So you’re saying to tell them?” Reverend Bob asked. “Telling them is chancing Frank finding out. Frank finding out could mean trouble.”

“Christ.” Joe shook his head. “You aren’t kidding. He’ll do everything in his power to stop it. They think they’re married. Then . . . make it official. Just file the paper work.”

“Joe we have rules. You and I know we can’t go insert things into history that aren’t there.”

“Don’t insert. Just put it in for today.” Joe gave a ‘so there’ attitude.

“We have procedures, Joe, procedures that we worked hard to make a marriage legal here. I would have to file the papers and the papers would need Henry and Ellen’s signature. In order to get their signatures, I’d have to tell them.”

“Reverend Bob you are really making much too much out of this. Look, who knows? Me, you, possibly Trish . . .”

“And Dean.”

“Dean can be clueless at times. File the paper work, forge Ellen and Henry’s signature, and no one is the wiser. They believe they’re married, so nothing changes. So what if Ellen and Henry aren’t married. You thought it was a joke. They think they are. Why change it? We’ll make their marriage legal without anyone knowing. As long as no one knows we aren’t following the rules, no big deal.”

A strong buzzing sound rang through Joe’s office. It echoed like a wrong answer on a game show. “Wrong!” Frank stepped inside of his father’s office. “Now.” Frank shut the door. “Now is the time you remember to keep the office door closed.” He walked further in. “Let’s go back a little bit. I walked in here on the part where you, Dad, said, Henry and Ellen aren’t married.”

“Frank.” Joe looked up at him. “Listen.”

“No-no-no.” Frank held up his hand and shook his head. “Are they or aren’t they really married?” He waited for an answer. “Reverend Bob?”

Reverend Bob cleared his throat then nervously grabbed his cigarette. “See, it was April Fool’s day. I thought it was a joke. They thought it was real. There was no paper work. No license, nothing. It was a mix up. They believe they are married.”

“But they aren’t?” Frank asked and saw Reverend Bob shake his head. “Oh yes!’ He clenched his fist. “This is fuckin great. Yes. Oh wait until I tell them.” He turned around and grabbed for the door.

“Frank,” Joe yelled out ads he stood up, “Hold it. Be a little mature for crying out loud. Just wait a second and listen to me.”

“O.K. I can listen.” Frank folded his arms.

“All right. They think they’re married. They aren’t, so what. What difference does it make? If no one knows, Reverend Bob here can make it legal and no one is the wiser.”

“I am and we have rules Dad. Nope. Follow the rules. Sorry. They aren’t married. I’m telling.” He raced for the door again.

“Frank!”

“What!” Frank stopped again in total annoyance.

“They married each other once, so they think they’ll marry each other again.” He saw Frank shake his head ‘no. “No? Why are you saying no, Frank?”

“Because the little ‘sneak off and not tell anyone’ marriage failed. They are the two most superstitious people I know. Serves them right. Good job, Bob.” He gave a thumbs up to Reverend Bob. “I haven’t yet told Ellen how much her marriage to Henry bothers me. I will now. They won’t get married. They may plan on it, but they won’t, mark my words. I have to go, I’m excited. I have to tell Henry.”

“Frank.”

“Oh you just have to stop me every time I make an exit.” Frank turned around again. “Yes, Dad. What now?”

“Tell him maturely. Break it to him nicely.”

“I will. I won’t even gloat, even though that will be hard,” Frank nodded. “Anything else?”

“No, go on.” Joe waved his hand at him. “Just one more thing.”

A squeak, a stop, a huff, and then a turn. “Yes.”

“Do you really think you can stop them from getting married?” Joe asked in doubt of Frank’s ability.

“Oh I’m not going to be the . . .” Frank paused and held up his hand to halt his father from saying anything. Frank looked at Reverend Bob, then at Joe, and then he opened the door. “This is my big dramatic exit.” Frank cleared his throat. “I’m not going to be the one to stop them, Dad. One of them will back down, guaranteed. Finish and . . .” he stepped out and poked his head back in. “Goodbye.” The door closed.

With a smack, Joe ran his hand down his face and reached for a cigarette of his own. “Don’t blame me for him, Reverend Bob. I’m still not convinced he’s really my son.”

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With a single click on the keyboard of the computer in the mobile lab, the monitor before Johnny switched pictures. What looked like a sea creature of some sorts filled with multiple colors flashed before him, Dean, and Ellen. He grabbed his sandwich which was next to him. “Same.” He took a bite and clicked again. “Same.” Another click as he spoke monotone. “Same.”

“Wait.” Ellen grabbed his hand as she leaned over his shoulder. “Go back two.”

“They’re the same, El.”

“No, they aren’t. Go back.” She glanced closer when Johnny pulled it back. “Look.” Her finger touched the screen. “Look Dean, the tail of the virus. It’s different. It curves slightly at the bottom and to the right, and look at the follicles.” Her fingers traced. “Zoom in John.”

Dean adjusted his glasses. “El, you’re right. More of them.”

“We’ve seen this one before.” Ellen snapped her fingers and moved to the next monitor. Her fingers worked the keyboard. “Come on.” She beckoned the computer. “I know where we’ve seen it or something similar.”

Johnny looked over at her. “What are you pulling up?”

“Slides of the future samples we took.”

“Weren’t all those samples the same?” Johnny asked.

“Not all.” Ellen stepped back with folded arms. “I knew it. The first wave, the small wave, that’s the same strain Robbie’s men have, but look at Jenny Matoose’s sample. Look closely. It’s so different than both of them.”

Dean rushed over. “Whoa.” He looked in awe. “And here we thought she just contracted it at a different time.” He ran over to the files. “I remember distinctively talking about this, El. Jenny, Jenny. Got her.” He grabbed the file and went back to the counter with it. “Remember we discussed this? She came down with the symptoms at a totally different time than when the other plague waves hit.”

Ellen nodded. “And we thought that may have been the reason for it being slightly different.”

“Which tells me . . .” Dean viewed both samples, “we’re not looking at a mutated form. We’re looking at a totally different strain of our virus.”

Ellen agreed. “Same virus, different strain. That explains the different stages of symptoms that are hitting Robbie’s men and the longer incubation period. If I recall, wasn’t Jenny’s remission shorter?”

“Yes,” Dean said. “Instead of dying four days after coming out of remission, Jenny died in two.” He closed the folder. “Here I was blaming it in my records or the fact that she had run herself down helping out with the plague. She couldn’t fight it.”

Johnny’s ‘uh-oh’ captured both Dean and Ellen’s attention.

“Uh-oh what?” Dean asked. “Uh-oh isn’t science here, Johnny.”

“And neither is what I’m saying uh-oh about.” Johnny spun his stool to face them. “What we actually have is three strains of the virus in the future. If everyone in the future plague has, let’s call it Strains ‘A’ and ‘B’. Jenny has Strain ‘C’ Robbie’s men in the present have strain ‘B’. Then how in the world did Jenny Matoose seem to be the only one who got a totally different strain in the future and from the present? One person, out of a hundred and some, doesn’t get a totally different strain of a virus. That’s not typically plague, Dr. Dean, and you know it. That’s . . .”

“Murder.” Dean spoke softly.

“Exactly.” Johnny grabbed his sandwich and took another bite. “It’s some pretty cool stuff if you think about it. Like, who would give Jenny the virus deliberately?”

Dean’s eyes shifted to Ellen. “John Matoose?”

Johnny nodded. “Possibly, if he is working for George like Ellen has been saying. If he is on the inside, then he would have been able to get access to the strain if say, Jenny wasn’t getting exposed.”

“Good thinking, John,” Dean said. “But John Matoose loves Jenny. There’s no doubt about that. Why would he give her the virus, unless someone else is on the inside for George as well?”

“Not exactly,” Ellen interjected. “John’s a weasel. If Jenny found out about him, to protect his ass, he’d get rid of her in a heartbeat. You know Jenny. If she did find out, she would go to Joe or Frank. Watching her community die and knowing that John was responsible, she wouldn’t hesitate to turn him in. She’s too self-righteous. Which means . . .” Ellen smiled and spoke softly to herself. “Jenny does know a lot about John and Joe is right. So maybe . . .” She noticed they were watching her wondering what she rambled on about. “Sorry.” She shrugged. “Unfortunately for Jenny, we can’t worry about this right now. We have to worry about this.” She pointed to the screen. “Our virus or viruses.”

Johnny returned to his computer. “Strain ‘B’ is getting an even slower reaction to any of our prototypes than virus ‘A’.”

Dean knew the reason for it. “That’s because Strain ‘B’ is more violent and deadly. Let’s up the ingredients in all twenty-two agents we have. Let’s see if that works now that we realize we’re working with a mightier sword. Sound good?”

Johnny stood up. “I’ll start mixing the first five.” He looked at his watch. “We should have at least enough time to mix them and see if they work while we’re in here.” He grabbed his sandwich and walked to the other counter.

Ellen let out a long breath. “Wow, I feel like I’m in a Sherlock Holmes novel or something, piecing all of it together and such. Thinking it’s one way and finding out it’s another. It’s exhilarating.”

“Really?” Dean asked. “Mysteries are exhilarating to you?”

“Oh sure. I think.” Ellen looked up. “I guess they are. Why?”

Dean grabbed her arm and pulled her with him. “I have a mystery for you to solve.”

“Really Dean? Oh that sounds exciting. I’m a very good detective.”

“You think.” Dean looked at Johnny as he took her to the other mobile. “We’ll be right back. I have to talk to Ellen.” Getting an acknowledging motion of Johnny’s head, Dean led Ellen out.

“Must be good,” Ellen said as they walked to the living room.

“It is. Sit down.” He held his hand out to the couch.

“Give it to me, Dean.”

“All right.” Dean clapped his hands together. “Which couple in Beginnings says they are married, and think they are married? They joke around with everyone, but the joke is on them, because they aren’t really married after all.”

“Geez, Dean, it sounds like a riddle or a joke, not a mystery. Who?”

“Guess.”

“Um . . . Jenny and John.”

“Nope.”

“Who?”

“You and Henry.”

Ellen laughed. “Good one, Dean. But who?”

“El.” He sat down next to her. “You and Henry aren’t married.”