WhiteSpace: Season One (Episodes 1-6 of the sci-fi horror serial) (39 page)

“Yeah, I woke up with her last night, and couldn’t get back to sleep,” Liz said, not daring to mention the impossible sighting of his father, which, in the cloud of her headache, seemed like it must’ve been a dream.
 

On the voicemail, a man’s voice began to speak, “Hello, Mrs. Heller. It’s Chief Brady…”

It was now or never. He was probably calling to find out if she’d found Alex yet, and if so, how soon could she get him to the station? Maybe he’d already heard from Katie’s mom.

Liz swallowed, went to the kitchen and picked up the phone, “Hi, chief.”

“Hello, Mrs. Heller. I heard that Alex came home last night?”

“Yes, I was going to call you this morning. I figured we could all use the sleep,” she said, suddenly wondering if maybe the chief had been up all night looking. She felt a flash of guilt for not having let him know sooner so he could call off the search, if officers, were in fact, out looking for the kids.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Heller. I was actually calling you with some good news.”

Tears started to swell in her eyes. Good news would be warm sun in December.
 

“Jake Brewster came out of his coma. He’s got a few bumps, but other than that, he’s in great shape. His parents aren’t pressing charges. They feel like enough has happened, and just want to let bygones be bygones.”

Liz was speechless.

Just like that, everything is okay?

Did she dare believe her prayers had been not only heard, but answered?

“Mrs. Heller, are you there?”

Her tears answered for her for a half-minute or so before she said, “Yes, I’m sorry, “ I’m just so happy.” she sniffed. “So that’s it. Everything’s over? We don’t need to come in?”

“Not unless you want to press charges for the kids attacking your son. But I’ve gotta be honest, Mrs. Heller. It might be best to just move on.”

“Of course,” she said.
 

Before Alex had gone missing, she never would have dropped the matter. Two boys had jumped her son. They might have killed him had his girlfriend not been there. But as she looked at him sitting on the couch beside Aubrey, together like one almost happy family, she said, “I’ll talk to Alex. But I would like to put this behind us, too. Thank you, Chief Brady. Thank you for everything.”

“Take care, Mrs. Heller,” he said. She thought she felt something else in his voice. Something he’d wanted to say or ask, but she figured maybe she was just overly emotional, and it was probably best to just hang up.

So she did.

As she stood there, overwhelmed by joy, Alex was staring from the couch, waiting to hear the news.

“They’re not pressing charges. Jake is okay, and his parents said they want to put this whole thing behind them.”

She wasn’t sure how Alex would respond, maybe he was still holding his anger, maybe he was ready to move on. A sudden creeping sadness swallowed his face.

“I saw on the news this morning about Manny. He died. And Milo’s in the hospital now. His mom tried to kill herself, they think. She drove into Jordy’s.”

“I know, Honey, I’m so sorry,” Liz said, as her son collapsed into tears.

She was at his side in a second, pulling him into a hug.

“Why did Dad do this?” Alex wept, his voice shredded by tears. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Liz said, crying herself.

Aubrey stared at them, her face puzzled. She looked from her mom to her brother, then back to her mom. Her lip trembled and she started to cry.

Liz picked her baby up and held her, tears now filling her eyes. Tears of joy to have Alex back. Tears of pain for all that they’d lost. And tears for all they had yet to endure.

As she looked at Alex, safely back home, she thanked God for returning her son.

And maybe soon, she’d have answers as well, once Mr. Houser found out what was on the flash drive. Or, if she wasn’t losing her mind, and her husband had somehow returned from the beyond, perhaps she could ask him directly, and maybe heal her wounds.

After they had a good long cry, the phone rang, bouncing the fear of more bad news against the walls.

She dreaded the dull ache of more bad news.

It was the funeral home. They’d
finally
gotten Roger’s body from the coroner’s, and were ready to provide a funeral. Just one problem — they accidentally cremated him.

* * * *

CHAPTER 6 — Chief Kevin Brady

Saturday morning…

Kevin Brady was sitting at the dining room table eating corn flakes with his six year old son, Aidan, when he saw the black Paladin van idling on the street outside.

What the hell are they doing here?

Paladin usually called when they needed something. If they were showing up at his house, something big must’ve gone down.

He took a sip of orange juice, wiped his mouth, and said, “Be right back, buddy. Daddy’s got some work stuff to take care of outside.”

“OK,” Aidan said, shoving another spoonful of corn flakes into his mouth.

Brady slipped on his jogging sneakers sitting beside the front door and went outside to see what was going on.

The black window of the SUV purred as it lowered, revealing the jagged scar of Carl Kaiser, the second in charge at Paladin, a 45 year old 6 foot five bald man with a wicked scar creeping over his left eyebrow then fleeing his face down to the bottom of his left cheek. The crown jewel in Kaiser’s blemish was the bleeding edge in artificial eyes, one of several Conway Industries state of the art prosthetics. It was unnerving because the eye wasn’t designed to look, or even work like normal. It was an augmented eye, glowing bright blue with abilities. It worked a lot like the sight of a rifle, with zoom, infrared, and God knows what else. Kaiser was one of the first civilian subjects to test the eye. The company had already signed a big fat contract to provide the artificial tech-augmented eyes to injured soldiers.

Something about the eye, in combination with the ugly mug of its former Marine host, gave Brady the absolute creeps. Brady was not happy to see him at his house.

“Nice house you have here,” Kaiser said. The way he looked past Brady and at the red of his front door was a subtle veiled threat, though not particularly subtle.
 

“What are you doing here? You lose my phone number?” Brady asked.

“No, I was in the neighborhood and wanted to update you on the status of the Heller boy incident.”

“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t remember this involving Paladin.”

Kaiser smiled his snake-like smile, and ignored Brady. “Jake Brewster has made a full recovery. His parents would like to apologize to Mrs. Heller, and wish for the whole situation to go away.”

“Full recovery? He was in a coma yesterday, with all kinds of injuries.”

“Miracles of modern medicine, eh?” Kaiser said, his smile broad. “That’s all she wrote, the case is closed. Understand?”

“Well, we’ve still got two missing kids, so the case is not ‘over.’”

“The kids both returned home last night. Safe and sound, everything is alright in the world again.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Brady asked, immediately wishing he hadn’t asked.

“The question is, how the hell do you
not know
that,
chief?
”

Kaiser was so fat with condescension, Brady wanted to punch him in the center of his stupid fucking eye. Hell, the eye was probably reading Brady’s biometrics and shit right now, telling Kaiser how much he wanted to fucking punch him. Brady forced himself to calm down before he said, or did, something he regretted.

“I’ll call the parents, and if everything checks out, the case is closed.”

“Everything will check out,” Kaiser said, then rolled up the window and drove away.

Brady went back inside the house to find Molly standing on the other side of the door in her pajamas, worry haunting her face.

Oh God. Why couldn’t she have just stayed in bed until noon like she usually does?

“What was that all about?”

“Just work stuff,” Brady said, closing the door and locking the bolt.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice still calm, but with a blush of hysteria brewing just under the surface.

“Nothing you need to worry about, dear,” Brady said as his words could detour the inevitable.

“Why aren’t you telling me? Was it something about Aidan?” Molly’s voice rose five octaves; her eyes were wild.

“Why would it be about Aidan?” Brady asked as if logic would unlatch the crazy in her head.

“I dunno,” she said, looking over at her son with eyes like a mother with a terminally ill child. “Then what’s wrong?”

Brady kept his voice calm, like always, and put his hands on her shoulders, gently trying to talk her down, “Some kids ran off yesterday, but Mr. Kaiser just told me they were found, safe and sound.”

“What do you mean
ran away
? They were missing?”

Oh God, not this. Not now. Don’t bring up Christina. Not now.

“Nobody was
missing
. It was a couple of kids, a boyfriend and girlfriend, just sneaking off for some quick nookie somewhere. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?” she said, her eyes as wide as they were worried, but seemingly open to his offer of good news.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“And everything is okay?” she asked.

“Yes, I swear,” he said. “Want some breakfast? We’re having Corn Flakes, but I can make you eggs and turkey bacon if you like.”

“I’d like that very much,” she said, then hugged him as if he had just given her the news that their son was safe.

And that Christina had been found.

* * * *

CHAPTER 7 — Jon Conway Part 3

Saturday morning…

Jon’s head was a grinding transmission.
 

Even with practice, that was a helluva lot of alcohol. Man was not made to consume so much.
 

He felt the sun outside, but wasn’t ready to open his eyes to the ocean. He turned, pulling the pillow closer to his body, hugging it tighter and trying to piece together the previous evening.

His pillow felt weird. When did he get home?

Warren was the first tangible thought to crystallize in his mind.
 

Jon had been ready to tear that fucker in two, but Warren managed to beat the holy heaping shit from inside him with a sentence. He left Conway Gardens without another goddamned word.
 

Jon had left the house so angry, he was actually laughing. And had laughed himself silly, all the way to . . . Cassidy’s.
 

Jon opened his eyes, then turned over. He was in Cassidy’s room, but her bed was empty.
 

Jon’s feet hit the carpet. He crossed the room and grabbed his jeans from the floor. His right foot was dipping into his pant’s leg when Cassidy entered the room with two cups of steaming coffee.
 

“Well, good morning,” she said. “Would you like some coffee? It’s probably not good enough for the Duke of Fancy Pants like all the ritzy shit, picked by a free range Brazilian migrant worker, like you’re used to. But I’m sure it will do for now.”
 

Jon took the cup and looked inside, an eyebrow raised in mock suspicion. “This coffee looks lighter than my white ass,” he said. “How much milk is in here? Good coffee shouldn't need more than a splash.”

“It is just a splash,” Cassidy said, smiling.

Jon brought the mug to his lips and sipped, then soured his face as though his throat was suddenly soaked in cat piss.
 

Cassidy’s face flooded with hurt.
 

Jon started to laugh. “Just kidding,” he said. “It’s perfect. Just a little too hot. Could probably use some more milk,” he said with a wink. “I’m going to set it on the nightstand to cool while you remind me what in the hell happened last night.”

Jon smiled, set the coffee on the nightstand, then found her eyes and held them. He patted the mattress beside him. Cassidy stepped tentatively toward the edge of the bed, then sat beside him. A few minutes of silence stretched all the way from awkward to uncertain, until Cassidy finally cracked the quiet between them, skipping the part about what they’d done the night before and settling on “How did you sleep?” instead.

“Like a rock,” he said. “I’m shocked I don’t have a hangover, though, considering I swallowed a bar last night.”

Cassidy laughed.
 

“Will you take it personally if I admit to not remembering shit about last night, at least not much after I left my brother’s?”

“Actually,” Cassidy laughed, “I’m not sure anything would make me happier.” She covered her face with her hand, but Jon could still see the flush of her cheeks bleeding from behind the splay of her fingers.
 

The awkward air thinned between them, until the warmth on Cassidy’s bed was catching up with the warmth through her window. Jon reached to the nightstand, picked up his cup of coffee, blew across the top, then took another small sip and said, “Perfect, Cass. And thanks.”