The Immortal Harvest (14 page)

She could tell that Sylvan was slowly gaining consciousness. Her eyes were open and darting back and forth as though she was trying to focus. Crystal could hear a soft voice emanate through cracked dry lips.

“W w where …am…I?”

Crystal smiled and peered intently into Sylvan’s face as she spoke.

“You’re at home sweetie. You were hurt. You’re safe now. Crystal’s here to look after ya. Just go back to sleep, you’ve gotta get ya strength back.”

Crystal smiled tenderly as she could tell that under her ministrations her patient had lapsed back into a more peaceful state. She could even detect a slight smile on Sylvan’s lips as she slept. She continued dabbing her forehead until she was satisfied that Sylvan was in a deep sleep and then moved away to retrieve her handbag.

She pulled her mobile out of her handbag and hit the speed dial button. She picked at a scab on her arm as she waited for the dealer to pick up.

“Have ya got something for me baby? I need it real bad,” she said quietly and smiled at the response.

“Thank you. I’ll be there soon,” she said with relief in her voice. She placed the phone back into her handbag and moved back to her patient. She put her hand tenderly on the top of Sylvan’s forehead and kissed her lightly as she spoke.

“I’m just ducking out to see a friend. I won’t be long sweetie.”

She heard a slight moan from Sylvan and smiled as she turned to leave. She left her apartment and as she silently closed the door behind her she took one more look at her patient.

Good she’s sleeping like a baby
, she thought as she crept down the dingy corridor and hurriedly made her way to get her fix.

*     *     *

Sylvan’s state of sleep was far from peaceful. Her mind was a confusion of images and memories.

At times it drifted between her horrendous ordeal with her Mother and Step-Father and the brutality of her assault.

Disgusting and grotesque images of evil and savagery paraded through her mind and filled her with a profound sense of dread.

Occasionally she would fight off the horror and then her mind would conjure up more serene images of her childhood and meeting Michael.

She had fallen in love with Michael after their first meeting. She was only sixteen, he was much older. He was a mystery; there was so much she didn’t know about the Father of her child. Only fragments of their love survived.

There were snippets.

He told her that he was a soldier. She had met him whilst he was on leave from a tour in some exotic location that he refused to discuss.

She would spend many hours staring into his unique crystal blue eyes. She was so glad when she realised that Justen had inherited his Father’s eyes. She often wondered what other traits had Justen inherited.

Had Justen inherited his unique abilities from his Father?

She never really had the time to get to know Michael. Other than his name and the fact that he had been her first real lover, there was very little she knew about him. Like everything else in her life, he had turned out to be a disappointment. He had gotten her pregnant and then disappeared from her life.

However, she knew that she would always be grateful to Michael for giving her the most wonderful gift imaginable. Her heart ached for the love that she felt for her beautiful child.

Her mind refocussed from that of Michael to that of her son. She was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of foreboding. The images of Justen were not clear. They were smudged and hazy. He was not tangible. She reached out for him but could not grasp him. He was slipping away from her. Somehow she could sense that he was in danger.

A surge of adrenalin spiked through Sylvan’s body and forced her into a state of heightened consciousness. She opened her eyes, sat up and screamed.

“JUSTEN!”

Being fully conscious the sudden onrush of feelings and pain flooded her mind. The room spun around and she had to clutch at the edge of the bed to stop from falling. The waves of pain and nausea conspired to cause her to blow chunks across the room.

The sudden expulsion made her feel a little bit better. She gulped in deep breaths and slowly regained control. She knew she had to focus. She knew that Justen was in danger. She screamed his name again.

“JUSTEN! Where are you?”

She sat still and listened, there was no response. The room was dark and eerily quiet. She could tell from the pungent aroma that she was back in Crystal’s apartment.

Her mind swam. She struggled to recollect why she had so much pain. She could feel the aches from countless bruises.

Her head ached, her groin ached, and in fact everything ached.

What happened to me? Where is everyone? Where is Chrystal? Where is Justen?

She could feel the tears well up inside her and begin to cascade down her face. The salt in the tears stung as they traversed each of the several lacerations that she had on her cheeks.

She reached down and picked up the damp cloth that was beside her and carefully dabbed her face. She decided that she needed to toughen up and start getting some answers. Justen was in trouble. She had to find him.

She threw the tattered sheet from her legs and slowly swung them around so that she now sat on the edge of the bed. She stared down at the motley blue patches on her legs and winced as jolts of pain shot through her body.

She fought to control another wave of nausea. She sucked in deep breaths and then slowly placed her feet on the floor and stood. Once again the room spun, she closed her eyes and used the edge of the bed to steady her as the wave passed.

She opened her eyes and surveyed the room. Everything appeared to be the same, apart from the mysterious addition of a hospital wheelchair next to the bed. The room was still a dishevelled mess.

She slowly placed one foot in front of the other and made her way from the bed and further into the apartment. From where she stood she could see evidence that Justen had been there.

She tried to remember the last time she had seen him. She remembered packing his lunch for school and waiting for him to catch the bus. She remembered telling him that she loved him and that she would be waiting for him. That was all she could recall.

So much of her memory was still just a haze. An assorted mishmash of fragments that haunted her as the feeling of foreboding still clung to her like a leech.

She felt that there was so much she didn’t know. She was unsure about time.

How long had it been since she had said goodbye to Justen? Was it a day, a week? She didn’t know.

She could feel a wave of panic begin to spread through her. She thought of how Justen must be feeling. She knew that he would be scared. She had never left him before.

Where is he? Would he have gone to a friend’s house?

Her mind was full of unanswered questions. The anxiety within her increased as her mind went to all of the dark places. She thought of the man that Justen had seen.

Was he the man that had killed that Senator? Did he realise that Justen had seen him? Would he try to find Justen?

Oh my God! What if he has taken Justen? Oh my God!!!

She was almost in a state of full blown panic when she realised that she was being ridiculous. She realised that almost no one, other than herself and Justen, knew that he had seen the killer.

Through the confusion in her mind she could vaguely recall telling someone else.

Was it a woman? When had I told her? Did I tell her or was it just a dream?

After awhile she managed to get her panic attack under control. She suppressed her fears and doubts. She controlled her breathing and began to pull herself together. She realised that she would have to think logically if she were to find her missing child.

She thought of her Mother. Justen’s school bus passed her Mother’s house. He could have gone back to his Grand Mother’s house.

Yes! Of course! He would have gone back to what he knows. To someone he knows. He must have gone back there.

Sylvan began to relax. She knew what she must do. She had to go and get Justen. He did not understand that her step Father was a monster.

Having made the decision, she grabbed a torn piece of paper and a pen and quickly wrote a note to Crystal.

She slowly hobbled out of the apartment and made her way towards her Mother’s house.

As she walked slowly along the quiet street she still could not shake the dread that consumed her. She tried to control her fear. Horrible images swirled in the back of her mind, remnants of her dream.

She shook her head and tried to tell herself that her son was fine and that she must have been suffering from the effects of whatever drugs she must have been given for the pain.

Persistent questions still ran through her mind.

What happened to me? Why am I in so much pain? Who did this to me?

She decided that the answers to those questions would have to wait. She had to find her son. She had to know that he was unharmed.

She quickly wiped a tear from her eye and concentrated on the path ahead. She dreaded the thought of seeing her Step-Father but knew it was another fear she had to face to get her son back and even though she did not consider herself to be a religious person, she quietly said a prayer.

As she walked she could feel the blood draining from her face. Sweat beads formed on her forehead and ran in rivulets down her face. Her vision started to become blurry as she fought off the urge to pass out.

She began to lose feeling in her fingers and she ran her hands down her arms as she began to shiver. She realised that she may be suffering from shock and through her blurred vision she could see a bus shelter.

As she reached the bench seat in the bus shelter, her vision faded and her world went dark as she lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Baxter’s head still pounded and his nerves were frayed. He desperately wanted to sink into the bottle of 12 year old scotch that he had hidden in his bottom desk drawer.

Thoughts of drowning his sorrows and settling his nerves battled against his better judgement. He desperately needed something, anything, to battle with the growing presence in his head. Unfortunately, he knew that falling into a bottle wasn’t going to buy back his life.

The aftermath of witnessing the scene of the brutal murders of two elderly and seemingly defenceless people had clearly rattled his normally outwardly calm persona.

He was unclear as to why this particular murder scene had made him feel so rotten. He figured it was because the murderer seemed to be thumbing his nose at the authorities as if he was somehow immune to prosecution or to even being apprehended.

The prick left so much DNA, why would he be so careless?

The rage growing within Baxter drew him ever closer to attacking the bottle in his desk and he was just about to succumb to his overwhelming urge when he was disturbed by someone knocking on his door.

He looked up from pretending to read a report and noticed two of his Agents, Webster and Durning, the remainder of his team. They looked excited.

“Hi Boss, do you have a minute?” Webster asked as she sauntered into the room, accompanied by a rather smug looking Durning, who collapsed onto one of Baxter’s visitor’s chairs and promptly put his feet up onto the coffee table.

Baxter scowled as he took in the two agents and thought about why he had selected them for his team.

Agent Drew Webster was an astoundingly brilliant individual who, according to her profile was the youngest ever graduate from Caltech. She was promptly scooped up by NASA to work in their Jet Propulsion Laboratories. They wanted her specifically to work on their Mission to Mars project. They considered her to be gifted in the field of advanced technological systems.

It was only her desire to move to Washington to be closer to her aging parents that enabled her to be head-hunted by the FBI.

Agent Jason Durning was another story entirely. He was an ex Intelligence Analyst who joined the Bureau to follow in his Father’s footsteps. He was placed in Baxter’s team.

His Father was a close friend of the Deputy Director. Considering Baxter’s volatile history with Howard Elliott, the placement was doomed from the start.

He often wondered whether Durning was informing on his performance to the DD. He had his suspicions but had to keep them to himself. He found it difficult to keep his cool around the agent who seemed to have a knack of rubbing him the wrong way.

“Get those fucking filthy things off my coffee table, Durning,” he said as he shoved the report aside and slid his chair back from his desk.

“I expect a little bit more professionalism from my agents, do I make myself clear?”

Durning slowly took his feet down from the coffee table and smiled as he sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head.

“Yes Boss, sorry Boss,” he said as he winked at Webster who instantly blushed.

Baxter saw the discomfort blaze across Webster’s face.

Was it discomfort or was there something going on between those two
.

He shook his head and decided to ignore Durning’s insubordinate behaviour and turned his attention to Webster.

“What have you got for me Drew?” he asked as he held out his hand for the report that the young agent had been clasping under her arm.

He took the report and started turning the pages as Webster found her voice.

“Well boss as you can see from the satellite photos in this report, it is obvious that something has caused a large crater to appear in Mount Vinson Massif in Antarctica.

A team of Scientists from Byrd station, which is the nearest outpost to Vinson Massif, were dispatched to investigate this anomaly. As you can see from the photographs they took, what they discovered was quite disturbing.

Baxter took in the grisly scene that had been captured by the team of Scientists. He could clearly see the charred remains of what appeared to be a human.

“What could possibly cause these injuries?”

“From what they have been able to ascertain, the body had been cooked from the inside out.”