The Mentor (42 page)

Quickly,
less nosily, I moved back to the rear of the car and could now hear his
footfalls on the gravel.  He was on the road.

Not even
fully considering my actions--
blink
-- I spun out, rolled forward and
used my considerable weight to plow my shoulder hard into the upper right thigh
of The Mentor.

The
satisfying
crack
I heard wouldn’t immobilize him but would slow him down
for a few seconds.  Momentum propelling me, I spun again as he went down,
and my feet came down hard on the flesh of the man beneath me as I ran, but I
was not just pumping my legs to get away, I was trying to
hurt
the
son-of-a-bitch.

He'd not
said a word but, on the ground beneath my heels for only a second, he finally
let out a satisfying "
uuunnnffff.
"

Before he
could reach up for me, I rushed into the darkness and out of the light.

Pitch
black; still I raced forward sure that the sound of his own footfalls would be
on me in a second.  My eyes quickly began to adjust to the night, and it
occurred to me that the bright glow from his phone’s screen may have done just
the opposite for him.  For a few seconds, maybe, that could give me an advantage…
or at least a small chance.

There was a
ragged path to my right-- dead grass, dirt and stones-- and I took it.
 Ahead, the dark hinted at some light: an odd, vertical pooling of
moonlight that looked like I was being watched by a huge, dirty glass eye.

Coming on
it fast, some fifty feet away now and my breaths digging deeper into my body,
just waiting to feel the steel grip of his fingers at my shoulder blades, I
could see on the other side of this glass there was another path, this one much
wider and made from concrete.  Terrified, my mind filled with images of
visitors, just paper-thin specters forever trotting along as they held hands
and corndogs, checking out the zoo animals.  Except, this night these
ghosts, indifferent, were looking at me.

I charged
toward the glass, closing the distance quickly, my eyes scanned for a break or
an open door to take me onto the other side.

Behind me,
a fumbling and crash.  The Mentor had leapt up and was pursuing me, but
now had fallen or slammed into a tree or row of brush.

My lungs
burned hot as I pumped my arms and legs, heading down the path; I didn’t dare
turn around, I didn’t dare slow down.  Full sprint with everything I had
left.

There!
 I could see the moonlight
reflecting off small puddles of water on the path just beyond the spider-webbed
glass.  Crossing in front of it, on a small, dusty cement ledge,
desperately searching for a way to the other side, I only saw holes, the size
of angry fists—but nothing I could slip through.

Reaching
the end of the ledge—
blink
— I was leaping, twisting, rolling toward the
large dog-eared gap at the top of the Plexiglas where many drunken kids had
probably tumbled through over the years as they headed deeper into the zoo.
 

My cheap
shoes met the wall and I sprung back toward the opening, and hit the gap
squarely, then dropped like a rock down onto the other side.  Anticipating
a painful crunch of bone, I readied myself and instead rolled from shoulder to
back and onto my feet, my legs buckling only slightly as my body folded then
sprung open, still moving fast.

On my feet
again, my legs felt like springs, I headed upward out of the stone tunneled
observation area, and started charging for the top of the wide concrete
walkway, but the flash of neoprene body armor to my right prompted my mind to
jut left, out of the way of the strike, and I heard the grunt of exertion
behind me, then the burst of breath as The Mentor pursued me up the long hill.

Running as
hard as I could, faster than my body had ever moved even when I was in better
shape, I felt liberated and free and strong, stronger than I’d ever been in my
life, and even though I knew now there was no way to escape him, some part of
me had
beat
him, if only for a short time, and most importantly, he
knew
it.  

It would be
short-lived, but I
had
beaten him.

The first
grab at my shoulder I shook off, but I knew it wouldn’t be long.  He’d
knocked me off balance and, as tired as he was, maybe winded from my blow on
the gravel road, he was still twenty times my physical better and would have me
down in seconds.

But, for
that short moment, the brief snap of time, I’d beaten the unbeatable.
 Something told me, and it rang true to me, this was a first for the cruel
fuck.

When, at
last, his fists came down hard upon my shoulders, my chest buckled.  I’d
not gone down without a damn good fight.

At that
moment, as I rolled to the ground, my body bouncing violently off the zoo
path's uneven pavement, I heard a horrendous,
unnatural
sound.  Not
just a growl, but a
roar
, a blood-thirsty call for flesh.

And it
hadn’t come from behind me.

My eyes
tracked the horizon, looked for any movement.

Disoriented. 
Empty cages of rusted iron and Plexiglas to my left and right, dilapidated and
in disrepair, ahead and above me, at the top of the hill, racing toward me and
my midnight tormentor, together we saw it.

A huge,
rumbling beast.  The horrific sight of its gnashing teeth, lit by the
moonlight, wrenched my heart into a clenched fist.

Some feral
remnant of a forgotten, rundown zoo now
wild
with fury and bloodlust.

Another
crazed,
terrifying
half-scream, half-growl erupted as the creature
rocketed toward us.  Too weak, too battered, I couldn’t even move to escape
it.

The Mentor
spun in the direction of the creature’s howl.

We were
both prey this time, he was trapped alongside me, the beast racing toward us.
 With only a quick grunt, he sprinted toward the opening in the glass
where we’d both just come through.

Eyes of
fire, the creature was racing toward me but I was unsure if I was the chosen
dinner or, maybe in my crumpled heap, I’d be spared, the running man instead
its prey.

It was only
a few seconds later, confused, that I’d heard the odd, incongruous clatter from
within the rabid creature’s uneven, panicked pursuit.  

“
Raaaaaaaooowrrrrnnnnn
”

From the
ground, over my shoulder, I saw The Mentor perched at the dog-eared hole in the
Plexiglas, unsure to run or to freeze.  

“
Raaaaaaannnnommmrrrnnaaaaaaa!
”

As the
creature rocketed past me, a flash.

Is that…
metal?

Clearer
from behind, as it charged toward The Mentor, I caught a quick glimpse of the wheels
of the hand cart the creature appeared to be holding onto.  The two small ones
in front shaking furiously with the speed, the larger rubber wheels in the back
more steady on the uneven concrete path.

“
Mutherfuckin’
roarrrrrhrrnrnnnnn!”

Pavan.

The crazy
son-of-a-bitch had found an old, rusted mover’s dolly, laid it down, and was
racing down the hill at a breakneck speed.  For a split second, I
envisioned Pavan years ago, bored by trip after trip after trip to the zoo, yet
finding some great fun in racing the wheeled dollies to the base of the hills
around the many slopes of the state zoo.  

Probably a
first though: Pavan had this time slapped on his uncle’s Chupacabra mask.

“
Raaaaaaaooowrrrrnnnnn—waaaaaaaa!
”

Unable to
steer, Pavan roared past The Mentor, rattling and rocketing up the next hill,
and after a sudden, brief silence-- the length of the time the dolly had hung
in the air-- he disappeared over the hill and there was a deep splash as he landed
into the swollen creek on the other side.

This was my
window, and jumping up, I ran after him hoping to hit the water, too, not only
my ticket to escape, but if he’d been knocked unconscious in the fall, it’d be
my chance to make sure he’d not drown— but after only a few strides, I’d caught
a hard slap in the chest from a closed fist.

Everything
in me wanted to hurt the bastard, but as I leaned up, the sole of his shoe
connected to my skull and he, once again, flung my body and mind into total
darkness and quiet.

Chapter
Twenty-four

Rain.

The splash
of tires, the beating of windshield wipers.

I don’t
remember which had shaken me enough to drop my cell phone to the car floor--
the crack of thunder-flash just outside my window or Ruthie’s scream, but as my
hand came back to the wheel, too fast and too hard, the front tires must have
spasmed, and we’d begun to spin.

Clipped by
a semi-truck, its air horn bursting into the car like the howl of an ocean
liner trying to ward off pirates, the spin threw our car toward the cement
divider that split the rushing streams of north and south bound traffic.

Her long
scream hiccupped at the impact, then a long fade, as my kid sister was flung
from the car, and it was the last thing I'd ever heard from her.

Then quiet.
 

Total
silence, all stop.

Seeing her
empty seat, I said: "
Ruth--?
" but the truck, which I learned
later was a logging truck with a three-quarter load, struck me dead on, t-boned
the car and everything went black.

For years
now, all the years since the accident, I'd very often wished I'd stayed in the black.

Now, and
this was the first time-- I no longer had that wish.

My eyes
came open and he was sitting on the edge of a metal table in a dark room.
 This guy must have something against chairs.  

The air was
musty, damp and the walls looked like a mock-up of a cave's interior.
 This had been a part of the zoo, some supply room or conference space for
area businesses.  

A soft
bounce of echo in the room was the sound of water somewhere overhead.  We
were underground.

The Mentor
was talking with the faces on a video wall across from us, the entire wall.
 Ten men and a woman, five on the top row and six on the bottom, each
confined within their individual window for video conference.

"Ah,
Dexter," one of the men said.  I recognized him, instantly.  

"Marion
Bluth," I said and he nodded.  Several of the other men, and the
woman, I recognized.  Pavan had pegged it.  Each was worth more than
a small third-world country.

CEO from a
South American Telcom.

The creator
of an alternative, virtual payment site favored by the underworld drug trade.

Another I
recognized was a billionaire by
definition
.  As in, I’d seen him as
a frequent guest on the national news channels.  He was labeled, his
contribution to whatever they happened to be talking about, was his name then,
“Billionaire.”  Like that gave him some sort of credence or implied some
sort of life-smarts or wisdom.  Sure, you could make an argument for it
but, at that moment, strapped to a chair in a cold, damp room, and tortured to
near death the past few weeks, you’d likely have a hard time convincing me.

The woman was
a former lawmaker-- a U.S. senator from the east coast but went to the private
sector after an ethics violation, if memory served me.  Soon after, some
of her savvy investments into alternative energies, companies lifted by
endowments awarded by White House “green” initiatives, paid off and she was,
according to a half dozen magazine covers, now one of the wealthiest women in
the world.

My eyes
went to another of the men I’d recognized, but my thoughts were interrupted by
Bluth, today’s apparent meeting leader.

"It took
some time to find you.  Records indicated you had died."

"They
were right."

He waved
off my comment.  "But, we eventually did, once our chief investigator
came across the discrepancy."  In the dark corner, my athletic, blond
man-basher shifted her weight from foot to foot.  Bluth continued: "I
have to ask, did Eller, uh,
Jepson
tell you to stay off line, off the
grid like that?"

"’Off
the grid’?”  I said and laughed, but it crumbled into a moment of coughing
which stung my ribs.  “Who says that?  ‘Off the grid’!  So, does the
social awkwardness come with the uber-success or is it always sort of there,
lurking like an ulcer?"

The Mentor
hit me hard in the temple.  Enough to hurt but not enough to put me out.
 

I heard
Bluth say, "It doesn't matter."

Another man
spoke, his eyes looking wild on the video screen: "Did it work?  Do
you remember!  Tell us, now!”

“What?”

“
Did it
work?
”

Bluth cut
in: “We know it worked, we know it worked!  That’s why he’s here.”

Another
face said, “The research, the analysis, of course it did.  Increasing the
duration of each trauma event, his survival dependent upon the information in
the memories under the retrograde amnesia callus.  When those had to come
up, to survive, the rest would come up with it.  It makes per--”

“Enough!
 Yes, you’re so fucking smart, we get it!”  The wild-eyed man said,
then again turned his attention to me.  “
Do you remember
?”

The woman
said to me, smiling: "We knew you'd head, eventually, to the school.
 It seems the recording of Eller-- your Professor Jepson-- that was enough
to, in essence, pull the pin."

 “Yes,”
Wild eyes said.  “Your contribution, madam.  Wonderful.  Now credit
has been handed all around can we fucking get down to the business of why we
are here and get the goddamn procedure details?”

The Mentor
smiled at me, perfect teeth.

Bluth said.
 "You have what we need, now.  We’ve each spent individual
fortunes and waited more than a decade for the research to be completed.”
 He moved closer to the screen, his features distorted.  “It’s ours!
 Rightfully!  And it was stolen from us!"

Another
voice said, "We want it back.  Now!  It’s ours."

Christ,
this was what it was like to be threatened by mavens of industry and Wall
Street CEOs?  I couldn't help it, I laughed again.  I imagined one of
them saying something like, "
Gents, let's tabletop this discussion for
another time and reconvene…"

The Mentor
delivered another blow to my head, the back this time.  And he whispered,
"Now you got that one to match the other.  You need a couple
more?"

"Please,
it’s doing wonders for my stiff neck.  What if I asked nicely?"

Whapp-whap!!

I didn't
have to ask.

"Cut
that out," Bluth said.  "He's done enough damage to his brain
before we came along and we don't need any more.  Dexter.  Now, tell
us what Eller told you."

The taste
in my mouth was warm, metallic.  Blood.  Not my first time to bleed
in recent days and weeks, it didn't bother me.

"You
have a Post-it note and a pencil?"  I held up my wrists that had been
taped to the chairs armrest.  "You mind?  Can't write--"

"Just
tell us," a short, fat man said, his voice shaking.  "It's OURS.
 It belongs to US.  And no bullshit!  Our chief researcher is
right here with me; he assisted Eller and can tell me if you're lying!"

"That's
quite enough!" Bluth didn't like the little man and probably didn't like
implicating one of their staff, either.  "Dexter.  What did he
say?"

"You're
not going to like it."

Over a few
seconds, Bluth’s features darkened and his face filled the entire screen. 
He said to me:  "Don’t fuck with us.  I mean that."

I exhaled
and rolled my eyes.  "It's incomplete."

The room
silenced.

Three of
the screens went dark, then two others.  A few moments later, they'd come
back, apparently, from some offline conference.

"The
drug therapy, then."  One of the others nodded and the man at my side
walked to a shelf or table behind me.

"No,
my memory is complete.  I remember it from beginning to end."

"So,
what's the problem?" the woman asked.

"Jepson--
eh, Eller-- told me it wasn't finished.  That's why he blew the lab and
hid,” I said, holding my gaze steady at the camera just above the screens.
 “He knew you'd kill him."

A quick
conversation off mic, and the little, fat man turned back to me.

"That's
a lie!  We saw the test results.  We
saw
it work!"

"Do
you
have
those results?  Let’s see them."  It was a
gamble, sure, but I had nothing else.  Thankfully, once again the room was
silent.  "He destroyed them because he'd falsified the test."

"He…
told you that?"

"Yes,"
I said.  "Someone was pressuring him to finish faster, one of you it
seems, and he said he thought his life was in danger."

One of the
faces who'd not spoken up to that point, "Sheppard, I bet.  Sheppard
was dying and put the screws on.  Selfish prick!"

"Shut
up."

"It
makes sense; he died a few months after the lab blew.  Selfish prick would
have pushed and not considered what that would mean to the rest of us."

"Any
of us would have in that condition!"

"
Shut
up!
"  Bluth yelled.  "I'm not buying it.  Not
yet."

The short,
fat man said: "We know you have at least part of it.  Give us what
you have, then.  Come on!"

“How do you
know I have--” I said.  “Oh.  Sure.  Professor Marsh was working
for you guys.  At the school in case I came back.  Of course.”

“Tell us!”

I sighed.
 "Okay, okay.  You take three-quarters of a cup of flour, two
tablespoons of vanilla extract and a half cup of sugar.  You mix that
reall--"

Another
fist, then another.  I'd expected it, but it was worth it.

I lifted my
head, dizzy.  Blood dripped, splattered on the metal table.  

The Mentor
was no longer next to me.  I saw the eyes of several of the people on the
screen move to the upper corner.  They blinked quickly and one of the
screens went to black.

He grabbed
my chin and turned my head.  A needle went into my neck, painfully, then
was yanked away.  But, he didn’t let go of his grip on my jawline and then
there was something just above my ear, warm and ticking softly.

"No
more," Bluth said.  "Give us the formula."

More tired
than scared, told them what I'd told Dr. Patel and their man, Professor Marsh,
earlier.

"The
rest."

"That's
it.  He told me it was incomplete.  That's what he had," I said.

Bluth's
screen went to black and the others did in quick, succession. Each window in
front of me was dark.  My heart-rate began to quicken and my lips went
numb.  I made a slight movement and The Mentor gripped my jaw tighter to
let me know who was in charge.

A full
minute later, only half of those on the screen returned.

Bluth said:
"We have to be sure."

He nodded
and I felt warmth fill my ear, my chin held tight by the black man above me.
 Drops of his sweat fell onto the side of my face.

Warm turned
to hot turned to burning then pain seared into the skin of my ear canal,
something was being pushed down inside, and I could hear my own flesh begin to
sizzle.  Popping and snapping, he was digging deep with something hot into
my ear.  A twisted fuck, he went slow, burning as he went.

"We
need the formula.  All of it."

"I
told you iii--
aaaerrrrrrrrrgg
"  

The smell
of my own inner ear reached my nostrils and it made me sick, I vomited but
couldn't turn my head, he had me like a vice.  I spit it up and out of my
mouth, but missed him and he pressed one last time, digging, carving like he
was digging the meat out of a stubborn nut.

I heard a
long whine, then something like the sound of a rubber band stretched, and then
snapping.

Then
nothing.

Nothing at
all.

He let me
go, and I snapped and writhed and gnashed my teeth in the open air, I could
feel blood, gore oozing out of my ear onto my check and neck.  My own
animal sounds terrified even me.

Especially
because those sounds were heard only by my left ear now.

My right
ear, he'd dug deep and burned through the eardrum.  

I was now
half deaf.

"The
procedural sequence, Dexter.  Eller's formula," Bluth said, his voice
quivering with some queer excitement.

My face,
wrenched again, there was a popping in my neck, and my left ear now offered up
to the ceiling.  Again, I felt the heat but briefly caught a glimpse of
what he'd been holding in his free hand.

Through
angry tears, I told them, word for word, the sequence I'd recalled earlier.

Then,
delivered incomplete, all that was left to do was to wait.

"The
rest
,
Dexter."

I felt the
hot iron tip push into my left ear, as he'd done to the right, and the pain
seared through my skull.  The sizzling, the last thing I would hear,
sickened me once again.