Darien stood in the ghost town, the harsh desert wind carrying sand and dust into his hair and clothing and eyes. Empty buildings surrounded him.
The hot sun beat down on his exposed skin. He'd have a wicked sunburn later. He could already feel it starting, warm and tight.
He scanned the surrounding buildings. They all looked so empty, so deserted. He approached one of them, his feet shuffling through the layers of sand that had built up on the pavement of the road. The door was locked. It took him ten seconds to get around that.
Inside was a deserted shop. The shelves stood empty. Marks on the walls showed where signs had once hung directing shoppers where to look for their favorites. He slipped through a door which still had faded lettering reading "Employees only" and into a storage room. Empty metal shelves. A broom closet standing open. A screened air shaft.
He turned to the last. It looked like a regular air conditioning vent. He chipped away the paint sealing down the screws, and slowly worked them loose. He was sweating in the heat, even out of the direct sun. He pulled out a water bottle and downed half of it. He wished the shaft actually could provide air conditioning.
The screen finally came loose. He set it aside and reached back into his bag, pulling out a length of nylon rope. He slipped into his rapelling harness, made sure he had ascendors for the trip back up, and tied the rope to one of the shelves.
Swinging his leg over the side, he balanced on the edge of the opening, then shifted his weight until he could swing the other led inside. The shaft was dark, so very dark. There was no way to know what was down there. He couldn't hold a flashlight and descend at the same time. He had a brief picture of dropping down into a nest of spiders.
Shrugging his bag into place behind his shoulders, he slipped off the edge of the opening and began his descent. He braced his feet against one side of the shaft, his butt against the other, and slowly worked his way downward, the ropes a safety measure in case he slipped. It seemed like it took hours. His mouth grew dry, but his hands were occupied bracing against the shaft and holding the rope. He thought longingly of the remaining water in his pack. His breath echoed against the close metal walls, harsh and ragged.
His hands were starting to blister. Once upon a time, they'd been calloused in all the right places for this sort of work, but no longer.
Finally, with a painful thunk, his foot hit a solid surface below him. He felt below with his other foot until both were solidly planted, shifted his pack around, and pulled out his flashlight.
It was one thing to know how small a space he was in, another to be confronted directly with the light reflecting off of metal walls so close at hand. He shone it around the shaft he stood in. There were openings by his feet, perhaps a foot and a half tall, heading in two directions.
He slipped his pack off and tied one end of the rope to it, then bent and tied the other end to his ankle. He pushed the pack into one of the horizontal passageways at his feet. He knealt, then slid his feet backward into the passage. He just barely had room to twist around until his legs were stretched out their full length into the tunnel. One final tight twist, and Darien was lying in the horizontal shaft, his head and chest in one part, his feet in the other.
He began creeping forward, his pack tugged along behind his feet by the short length of rope. The passage was too small to raise up onto his hands and knees. He could barely raise his head up to see where he was going, the flashlight clutched in one hand. He was glad he's worn his jacket now, despite the stifling heat within the enclosed shaft, or else his elbows would have been worn raw. The toes of his sneakers squeaked against the metal as he pushed forward.
Every two feet, a seam in the shaft where two segments were attached together. Unending sameness.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, a variation. Another shaft, branching off to the left at a right angle. Darien paused, wracking his memory. Finally, he twisted himself around the sharp curve and headed off in the new direction. A hundred yards later, what seemed like miles to him, he could see a screen in the side of the duct.
This was the hard part. The screws holding it in place were on the other side, and painted shut. The mesh was thick wire, too closely placed to fit in any decent wire cutters.
He stretched his fingers down, shoulder pressing painfully against the walls, until he could reach the rope tying his bag to his ankle. With hands stiff from crawling, he pulled the rope slowly forward, finally sliding the bag against his body. It was a close fit. The flashlight lying next to the screen, he found the pocket he needed by touch.
A small battery-powered Dremel with a cutting wheel. Safety goggles.
The whine of the Dremel against the wires echoed, high-pitched and shrill, through the metal shaft. The spray of metal chips bounced and littered the bottom. Every few cuts he paused to shove the accumulated debris through the openings.
He had a spare battery, but in the end he didn't need it. The screen came away, with an opening big enough for him to squeeze through. He stuck his head and shoulders out and shone the flashlight, carefully bracing his feet so he wouldn't fall.
He'd remembered right. The small, pale light illuminated the old lab. The place where his life had changed forever. He moved back into the shaft, crawled a couple of feet forward, and swung his feet out of the opening. The landing jarred his ankle, but not badly enough to stop him. He slung his pack back onto his shoulder and began reorienting himself. It was amazing how quickly the memories returned.
The doors, once sealed with magnetic locks and key cards, stood open, welcoming and ominous. He glanced at the empty cabinets, the dusty shelves and desks, the silent refrigerator and incubator. Resolutely, he turned to the open doorway and headed into the hall.
He knew the spot the moment he reached it. Just like last time.
He knealt, touching the tiles. The faint light of the small flashlight was just enough to reveal the slight stain on the floor. Blood was so hard to get out, and there had been other priorities.
He opened his pack once again, the larger main compartment this time. Inside, carefully shielded in plastic against the desert heat and dryness on the way in, was a bouquet of daisies. They'd always been Kevin's favorite. Darien reverently placed them on the spot his brother had died.
"There's so much I want to say....
"Part of me wants you back just so I can kill you myself. For hiding so much from me. For using me. For leaving me so vulnerable.
"Part of me wants you back so you can help get me out of this mess. If anyone could do it, it's you, Kevin."
"And part of me just wants you back."
He rose to his feet in one smooth motion. It was time to get back to work.
What he was looking for, it would take some time to locate. He had the rest of the day and the night to find it, get back out, and get back to San Diego before they'd miss him. He just hoped the clues on its location were accurate. Ironic, that the one who'd gotten him into this mess might now be the one to get him out. But Arnaud had been in no position to lie....
Darien was certain the notes would be where he'd said. The rest of it, bits and pieces no one had thought important at the time, would be the most difficult to gather.
The end of his six days was coming up tomorrow. A little play-acting would be necessary, to convince them he was only just edging into madness. But it was nothing he hadn't done before.
When his goal was the same, mad or sane, life was so much easier.... Like two uneasy allies, working together. Mad, he could do things his sane self would never dare. Sane, he had the trust of his friends and coworkers. Between the two of them, they would be able to pull it off.
He chuckled. A sweet gesture for one, a reward for allowing the other to do what was necessary to Arnaud. What the little Swiss Miss had been begging for all along.
This part of him had already forgotten the flowers as he turned back down the hall, searching out Arnaud's quarters. His red eyes focused only on the goal ahead now.
The hot sun beat down on his exposed skin. He'd have a wicked sunburn later. He could already feel it starting, warm and tight.
He scanned the surrounding buildings. They all looked so empty, so deserted. He approached one of them, his feet shuffling through the layers of sand that had built up on the pavement of the road. The door was locked. It took him ten seconds to get around that.
Inside was a deserted shop. The shelves stood empty. Marks on the walls showed where signs had once hung directing shoppers where to look for their favorites. He slipped through a door which still had faded lettering reading "Employees only" and into a storage room. Empty metal shelves. A broom closet standing open. A screened air shaft.
He turned to the last. It looked like a regular air conditioning vent. He chipped away the paint sealing down the screws, and slowly worked them loose. He was sweating in the heat, even out of the direct sun. He pulled out a water bottle and downed half of it. He wished the shaft actually could provide air conditioning.
The screen finally came loose. He set it aside and reached back into his bag, pulling out a length of nylon rope. He slipped into his rapelling harness, made sure he had ascendors for the trip back up, and tied the rope to one of the shelves.
Swinging his leg over the side, he balanced on the edge of the opening, then shifted his weight until he could swing the other led inside. The shaft was dark, so very dark. There was no way to know what was down there. He couldn't hold a flashlight and descend at the same time. He had a brief picture of dropping down into a nest of spiders.
Shrugging his bag into place behind his shoulders, he slipped off the edge of the opening and began his descent. He braced his feet against one side of the shaft, his butt against the other, and slowly worked his way downward, the ropes a safety measure in case he slipped. It seemed like it took hours. His mouth grew dry, but his hands were occupied bracing against the shaft and holding the rope. He thought longingly of the remaining water in his pack. His breath echoed against the close metal walls, harsh and ragged.
His hands were starting to blister. Once upon a time, they'd been calloused in all the right places for this sort of work, but no longer.
Finally, with a painful thunk, his foot hit a solid surface below him. He felt below with his other foot until both were solidly planted, shifted his pack around, and pulled out his flashlight.
It was one thing to know how small a space he was in, another to be confronted directly with the light reflecting off of metal walls so close at hand. He shone it around the shaft he stood in. There were openings by his feet, perhaps a foot and a half tall, heading in two directions.
He slipped his pack off and tied one end of the rope to it, then bent and tied the other end to his ankle. He pushed the pack into one of the horizontal passageways at his feet. He knealt, then slid his feet backward into the passage. He just barely had room to twist around until his legs were stretched out their full length into the tunnel. One final tight twist, and Darien was lying in the horizontal shaft, his head and chest in one part, his feet in the other.
He began creeping forward, his pack tugged along behind his feet by the short length of rope. The passage was too small to raise up onto his hands and knees. He could barely raise his head up to see where he was going, the flashlight clutched in one hand. He was glad he's worn his jacket now, despite the stifling heat within the enclosed shaft, or else his elbows would have been worn raw. The toes of his sneakers squeaked against the metal as he pushed forward.
Every two feet, a seam in the shaft where two segments were attached together. Unending sameness.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, a variation. Another shaft, branching off to the left at a right angle. Darien paused, wracking his memory. Finally, he twisted himself around the sharp curve and headed off in the new direction. A hundred yards later, what seemed like miles to him, he could see a screen in the side of the duct.
This was the hard part. The screws holding it in place were on the other side, and painted shut. The mesh was thick wire, too closely placed to fit in any decent wire cutters.
He stretched his fingers down, shoulder pressing painfully against the walls, until he could reach the rope tying his bag to his ankle. With hands stiff from crawling, he pulled the rope slowly forward, finally sliding the bag against his body. It was a close fit. The flashlight lying next to the screen, he found the pocket he needed by touch.
A small battery-powered Dremel with a cutting wheel. Safety goggles.
The whine of the Dremel against the wires echoed, high-pitched and shrill, through the metal shaft. The spray of metal chips bounced and littered the bottom. Every few cuts he paused to shove the accumulated debris through the openings.
He had a spare battery, but in the end he didn't need it. The screen came away, with an opening big enough for him to squeeze through. He stuck his head and shoulders out and shone the flashlight, carefully bracing his feet so he wouldn't fall.
He'd remembered right. The small, pale light illuminated the old lab. The place where his life had changed forever. He moved back into the shaft, crawled a couple of feet forward, and swung his feet out of the opening. The landing jarred his ankle, but not badly enough to stop him. He slung his pack back onto his shoulder and began reorienting himself. It was amazing how quickly the memories returned.
The doors, once sealed with magnetic locks and key cards, stood open, welcoming and ominous. He glanced at the empty cabinets, the dusty shelves and desks, the silent refrigerator and incubator. Resolutely, he turned to the open doorway and headed into the hall.
He knew the spot the moment he reached it. Just like last time.
He knealt, touching the tiles. The faint light of the small flashlight was just enough to reveal the slight stain on the floor. Blood was so hard to get out, and there had been other priorities.
He opened his pack once again, the larger main compartment this time. Inside, carefully shielded in plastic against the desert heat and dryness on the way in, was a bouquet of daisies. They'd always been Kevin's favorite. Darien reverently placed them on the spot his brother had died.
"There's so much I want to say....
"Part of me wants you back just so I can kill you myself. For hiding so much from me. For using me. For leaving me so vulnerable.
"Part of me wants you back so you can help get me out of this mess. If anyone could do it, it's you, Kevin."
"And part of me just wants you back."
He rose to his feet in one smooth motion. It was time to get back to work.
What he was looking for, it would take some time to locate. He had the rest of the day and the night to find it, get back out, and get back to San Diego before they'd miss him. He just hoped the clues on its location were accurate. Ironic, that the one who'd gotten him into this mess might now be the one to get him out. But Arnaud had been in no position to lie....
Darien was certain the notes would be where he'd said. The rest of it, bits and pieces no one had thought important at the time, would be the most difficult to gather.
The end of his six days was coming up tomorrow. A little play-acting would be necessary, to convince them he was only just edging into madness. But it was nothing he hadn't done before.
When his goal was the same, mad or sane, life was so much easier.... Like two uneasy allies, working together. Mad, he could do things his sane self would never dare. Sane, he had the trust of his friends and coworkers. Between the two of them, they would be able to pull it off.
He chuckled. A sweet gesture for one, a reward for allowing the other to do what was necessary to Arnaud. What the little Swiss Miss had been begging for all along.
This part of him had already forgotten the flowers as he turned back down the hall, searching out Arnaud's quarters. His red eyes focused only on the goal ahead now.