The Administrator (2 page)

“Don’t be ridiculous. The public has been clamoring for the legislature to do something about the relentless growth of violence for years. They have been begging for tougher penalties since the 90’s. They got what they asked for. Thieves work in prison sweat shops for minimum wage until they pay back every dime they stole. Rapists are raped. Killers are killed. Eye for an eye. Society wanted it, and society got it.”

“But, not this way. They didn’t want this.”

“How could you know what all the public wants? Do you speak for everyone?” An edge of hostility crept into her carefully controlled voice, “And, even if your allegations were true, how could such a thing happen?”

“Power. A small group of people who are so powerful they can manipulate the law to suit themselves. I got a glimpse of some files in Washington that prove it.”

“How did you accomplish that?”

“I hacked into the master web, but the security is tight. My access shut down as soon as I touched the files.”

Alice moved from the buffet to stand directly in front of Jake. Her cold, blue eyes held his. “Do you know who this hypothetical group is?”
 

“No. But, I’m close. That’s why I came to you. I figure your son is one of their victims, and you are rich and powerful enough to help me. As a retired Supreme Court Judge, you have pull that few others have.”

She sighed, beckoned him to be seated, and settled into the facing antique brocade love seat. Leaning toward him, she touched his hand in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. “You are right about one thing, young man, I do have a certain amount of influence in high places. You have uncovered part of the truth, but it seems you were stopped short of the most important facts. Bureaucracy is like that.”

“You ... you knew?” His young face reflected incredulous shock.

“Do you remember the serial murders in Utah about two years ago?”

He recovered from his shock to stare at the cultivated woman across from him, then disconcerted, he answered quietly, “Yeah ... yeah I remember. They never found the killer.”

“Oh, but they did.”

“Who? When? Why didn’t the medi...?”

Alice interrupted quietly, “Jake, do you have children?”

“No. I ... I’m not married. What does that have to do with ... oh, shit!” He became suddenly aware of the importance of her seemingly pointless question. “It was your son!”
 

Ignoring Jake’s surprised accusation, she said, “John was always a precocious child. A genius, you know. He scored off the charts in every IQ test. He did have a few unusual idiosyncrasies, but that is expected of children as bright as he is. I had to protect him, you see. I couldn’t bear to see him unhappy. When he was small, I felt he would outgrow his little habits. I gave him mice and later rabbits and other small animals to play with, but he kept wanting more. I drew the line at humans of course. But he managed to find a few homeless waifs. There are a lot of homeless people now, Jake. Starving people who will do anything, sell anyone, for a meal or drugs. He is very creative, my little Johnny.”

“You! It was you.” His voice was a hushed whisper.
 

She smiled patiently at him, as if she was telling a slow witted child a story. “You were right about the power push for legislation, but it wasn’t a group. It was only one person. One very rich, very powerful person. And I wasn’t motivated by hate. It was love. A mother’s love.”
 

“But, why? Why the others? What about the brain parasite? How did you—”

“It’s not a parasite, you silly boy.” She shook her head and smiled indulgently at him. “We live in the twenty first century, Jake. Haven’t you ever heard of nanotechnology? Tiny little robots so small they can be injected into human bloodstreams? No? Well, it is a rather new field. Anyway, originally they were designed to detect foreign elements in the human body—like cancer cells. When they find them, they destroy them, leaving the body clean and purified. They can be programmed to seek out other types of cells too.”

“Like ... like brain cells? But why?” His ashen face begged for her to tell him that none of it was true.

“Because the law would never have passed, even with all my influence, if John was the only one allowed to play his little games. There had to be others. True psychopaths are very difficult to control. You never know who they will attack or what they will do. Artificial killers follow commands because they have no independent thinking process above the minimum required to perform simple, physical tasks. Control is the key to administrators. And they are very comfortable. They have luxurious rooms, holovision, plenty of food, all the comforts that anyone could ask for.”

“But your own son. How could you do that to your own son?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Oh we didn’t do it to him. He is the only one that is doing what he really enjoys. He is the reason for all the others. Don’t you see that? I just couldn’t stand for him to be unhappy, and if he had been caught in Utah, he would have been terribly annoyed. After all, boys will be boys, won’t they?”

“I ... I have to go.” Jake had risen from his seat and was backing slowly toward the door.

“Of course you do, young man, we both know that.”
 

She fluttered a delicate hand, and the butler appeared from nowhere again. His huge paw gripped Jake’s arm.
 

“George, call the police. Tell them we have found the Utah serial killer. Tell them I will send them a tape of his full confession, in his own voice, tomorrow morning.” She removed a large diamond ring from her finger and lifted the stone revealing a minuscule tape recorder inside. “Cleopatra had a ring similar to this,” she said. “Only hers was filled with poison. Modern science is amazing, you know. Just a little editing and your recorded voice will say whatever I want it to say.”
 

“Bitch! You crazy old woman! You’ll never get away with this!” Jake’s voice was heavy with fear.

George tightened his hold on Jake’s arm and spoke as calmly as if he was asking to take his coat, “Sir, please remain quiet, or I will be forced to use violence to restrain you.”

Alice turned toward the elegant, spiral staircase. “Oh yes, George, offer our guest some more Brazilian coffee while you wait for the police. He is quite fond of it you know. Now if you will excuse me, I have a number of phone calls to make. We must see that this sort of security breach does not happen again, and we want to make sure you get to the right prison. Don’t we, Jake? I wouldn’t want you to miss the opportunity to meet my handsome son.” She was humming softly as she glided up the stairs.
 

Held in the iron grip of the giant beside him, Jake Roman stared incredulously at her retreating back. He thought he recognized the tune she hummed. It sounded like a nursery rhyme ... John, John, my son John....

And the Gang’s All Here

Sarah hurried along the sidewalk with her head down against the stiff breeze, balancing a bag of groceries under each arm. She saw but did not see the hardiest of sickly weeds struggling toward the light between the jagged fissures etched into the concrete.

Johnny’s small, five-year-old hand clutched her skirt. “Look, Mama, another skeleton.” He pointed with his other hand at the costumed figure lounging against a smog-blackened brick wall. The figure’s shiny black eyes squinted above a red, gaping mouth that leered at them with an eternal grimace.

“It’s just a Hallows Eve costume, Johnny. Now come on.” She quickened her already fast pace so her son almost had to run to stay beside her.

Ahead of them, a red devil and a black cat laughed and pulled at each other’s masks. As Sarah and Johnny approached, the cat jumped in front of them and crouched with his razor sharp metal claws extended toward them. “Meow,” he squealed. “Meow. Trick or treat.” He raked the air in front of them.

Sarah froze. One of the bags crashed to the sidewalk, spilling its contents. Broken eggs leaked onto the pavement. Her heart hammered in her chest. She shoved Johnny behind her.

“Come on, Bill,” growled the devil. “It’s not time yet. You know the rules. No tricks until at least four o’clock.”

“Meow,” the cat squealed. “Darn, Jeff, I was just havin’ a little fun. These two wouldn’t be any fun anyway. They’re both too skinny to put up much of a fight.” He raked his claws at them again and laughed as he joined his friend. They began shoving each other and laughing as Sarah grabbed Johnny and rushed on.

“Mama, the groceries,” cried Johnny as his little legs struggled to match her longer stride.

“Forget them. It’s all right. It was stupid to go out this late today anyway.” She glanced up at the murky, overcast sky and berated herself for not noticing the time, today of all days.

Suddenly the warning sirens, shrieking like a million tortured souls in agony, wailed from the street speakers. Johnny slammed his hands over his ears.

Oh, God! Not yet, she prayed.

She glimpsed the stoop of their tiny house as she turned the corner. For the first time, she was glad to see the peeling gray paint and broken brick of her front steps.

All Hallows Eve, the night of amnesty for the uncontrollable gangs, had begun. The police would not be out tonight. This was the night set aside for street gangs to rumble. To reign. In exchange, they agreed to an uneasy peace for the rest of the year. It worked—mostly.
      
 

Her hands were shaking so violently, she dropped her key twice before she got the door unlocked. Slamming the heavy wooden door open and herding her son inside, she said, “It’s four o’clock. Lock the doors. Hurry!” She scurried around closing all the blinds, checking the steel locks on the windows, mumbling under her breath, “No time. No time. They’ll be here. They’re coming....”

The pop-pop of gun fire in the distance silenced her mumbling. She became a statue, listening, not breathing, eyes wide, head cocked to the side. Her shoulders slumped, she gasped a breath of air and whispered, “Johnny? Johnny, where are you?”

“Here, Mama. In the kitchen.” He came through the door carrying a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread and an orange.
 

“Come here. What are you doing? You know it’s time. I’ve got everything we need. Hurry!” She pushed him toward the stairs.
 

“I was hungry, Mom.”

“You can eat later.”

Johnny hopped down the stairs to the basement with the exuberance of youth, the bag of bread bouncing on his shoulder. His mother followed and slammed the door shut as the cracking explosion of a homemade bomb sounded from outside. Close. That one’s real close. She snapped all four locks in rapid succession, then leaned against the rough wood with its peeling paint that was once white, but now was the color of urine. The musty smell of old earth and mold assailed her. No matter how much disinfectant I use, I can’t get rid of that smell. I guess it doesn’t matter. Not much matters any more. Except Johnny. She sighed and hurried down the stairs.

Johnny sat cross-legged on the steel cot against the far wall of the damp room. A single light bulb swung gently from the ceiling, making the shadowy corners seem to shudder. She sat next to him on the scratchy blanket and clasped her graceful hands together so they wouldn’t tremble. She tried not to think about the shotgun waiting beneath the cot.

“Mama?” Johnny’s blue eyes sought hers. A frown creased his freckled forehead. “Why do they call it All Hallows Eve?”

She smoothed an indomitable lock of auburn hair from over his eye. His hair immediately fell back to take possession of its rightful place, and she smiled. “I don’t know, Son. I think it has something to do with tradition. When I was a little girl, it wasn’t like this. We called it Halloween, and it was different ... fun. Everybody dressed up in funny or scary costumes, not just the gang members. We carried sacks to our friends’ and neighbors’ doors and yelled trick or treat when they opened their door.”

Johnny’s eyes went wide. He drew back from her gentle hand on his arm. “You took bomb sacks to your friends’ houses?” he whispered.

“Oh no. No, Johnny, not bomb sacks. Empty sacks. They gave us candy to fill them with, and people laughed at our funny costumes.”

“You didn’t shoot them?”

She gathered his small body protectively into her arms and kissed his head. “No, darling, we didn’t shoot them. It was different then, before the Halloween amnesty law. Then if someone hurt someone, even on Halloween, he was put in jail and punished. But the gangs grew too strong. Every night, they went after each other and anyone else who got in the way.”

The crashing of splintering wood and heavy feet running across the floor above them silenced the two figures huddled on the cot. The single light fixture bounced and swung in wide arcs as heavy combat boots stomped across the kitchen floor over their heads. She pulled her son closer to her small breasts, covered his mouth with her hand so he wouldn’t scream, and held her breath while she stared at the worn, dark boards above her.

The light! She reached for the string pull of the dancing bulb and jerked hard. She felt the string coil around her wrist like a feather snake as it broke from the sudden yank. She stuffed her fist into her own mouth, biting hard, to stifle the scream welling up in her throat. She pulled the shotgun from under the bed and laid it gently on the pillow.