Keep Me Watching.
Chapter 1.
A hatchback races down the street, kicking up a lot of dust from the road. The repetitive thumps of music from the end of the street encourage her. From the sound of it, the place is busy. Good. The locals are already drowning their sorrows in their favourite liquors. Their off key karaoke leaving the open door affirms her that it's going to be a good night for dissolving into the background.
People wolf whistle as she climbs onto the porch; the locals being their usual selves. Her lips stretch upwards at the thought of the attention, but she carries on uninterested.
The bartender smiles as soon as she steps foot in the main room.
"Rachel!" he waves, calling her over despite the number of bodies on the bar stools. "Your usual?"
"Please, Eddie," sheanswers.
"Comin' right up," he sends her an easy smile.
She bobs her head before retreating to the dark alcove at the back of the room. Most of the men around her stumble to beat of the local band performing. A fast paced story of some man and his true love…she's heard it so many times that she can recite the lyrics backwards.
"Here you go," Eddie slides the wine glass over the table.
"Thanks," she smiles.
He leans against the table, drumming his fingers against the top.
"Say, how long've you been 'ere? A year now is it? And it still feels like I barely know you. And trust me, that's rare for a barkeep such as myself," he grins, adjusting his black bow tie.
"It's…"
Complicated?
Awkward?
Difficult to explain?
"…a long story," she finally says.
"Another time, maybe?" he asks, before looking over his shoulder to Friday night's rush.
"Yeah," she nods.
Maybe in another five years, eleven months and twenty nine days…but not now.
Rachel takes a sip of her dry white. Eddie leaves to help with the demand for "more beer!" She shuffles back into the cushions and dissolves into the darkness. The couple in the next booth along lean on one another; his arm wrapping around his companion, circling a thumb over a single spot on his arm. Women at the bar swig Sambuca shots after a count of three, one giggling blonde hits the floor before clumsily staggering to her feet.
The other regulars are in; Stetson man – who always wears the same chequered shirt and hat – hunches over a bar stool, bottle in hand. He speaks to Eddie – a rare occasion – and gradually sips at his beer.
The bearded man with the sunglasses sits in the opposite corner of the bar; a bright white cane lies along the table top and a half empty glass of water sits an arm's length away. He – like Stetson – rarely speaks to the other regulars. In some way, she can relate to Stetson and Sunglasses. No one troubles them, they are loners in their own little worlds.
Rachel looks at her own drink, a drop of condensation dribbles down the outside of the glass and down the stem. She has to be careful. One glass. No more. It isn't worth the risk of blabbing her mouth off if she got a little too intoxicated. Her hand absently rises to play with the dark brown ends of her hair.
One day, she tells herself, one day I'll be able to say something.
The front door swings gently closed. The new customer pushes through the pack of fumbling dancers and takes a rare vacant seat at the bar. He briefly looks at Rachel around the room before calling Eddie over.
Where have I seen him before?
Rachel studies the guy; his face half covered with a thick brown beard, a scar cuts down his right cheek.
Hmmm, maybe he just looks like someone…
The guy turns in her direction, catching his bottle of beer with an open hand. His eyes fix on her.
Her heart begins to beat faster.
"Gary! There you are!"
The man rises from his seat and heads into the booth beside her.
Rachel takes a deep breath.
I really should stop worrying…
The music…the people…her head begins to swim…
No. Not here. Not now.
She downs the rest of her drink, places a couple of bills under the base and leaves.
I need to be careful, she reminds herself. Especially after what happened in San Diego...and in Connecticut.
But she has to keep moving…for survival.
Rachel wraps her jacket tighter, her arms having gone pimply with goosebumps, and heads away from the small bar. The music fades as she approaches the end of the street that is lined with cars. One driver having forgotten to turn their head lights off.
Her hand shakes as she glides the key into the lock.
She leaves the character of 'Rachel' at the door.
An overflow of paper spills from her living room into the hallway.
"God damn it," she sighs.
She must've pressed the print button twice…again.
Files, I need more files.
Her lips turn slightly upwards at the thought. She slams the door closed and checks all the locks twice. Claire drops her keys onto the small table in front of her and strides over to pick up the latest field day the press were having on the incident as new information had surfaced.
Yet another stupid whistle blower looking for their fifteen minutes.
What's that? The fourth time…or fifth this year?
Claire shakes her head.
The files lining a whole wall of the front room lay testament to the incident at Jurassic World; autobiographies of survivors have their own shelf on an adjoining bookcase. The latest one lies abandoned on the floor, open and highlighted with numerous errors – some exaggerations and others outright lies. The book will soon find its new home on Claire's 'complete crap' shelf.
But with each book release came the relief that some of her most trusted colleagues had kept their mouths shut; Barry, Lowery, Vivian…and Owen. They'd been smart, been brave…she hadn't.
She sighs and straightens up the sheets.
"God damn it," she curses.
The text is streaked with deep black lines.
Yet another damn thing to add to the shopping list. It can wait, she looks down at the book. Everything can wait.
Right now, she needs sleep.
Her heart. Thumping.
Gotta go. Gotta go now.
Her hands clumsily shove clothes into a bag.
He'll see. He'll see.
Run. Run as fast as you can. It's the only way. The only way you can escape. Run. Survive!
The pieces of paper scatter in the wind; a tornado in an endless room. She picks up a sheet. A report that she wrote to Masrani sealed with the familiar blue and silver logo of the now extinct theme park. The paper folds in on itself, sharp creases appear as it takes the form of a long, curved triangular prism. A tooth… The carpet of A4 floats, before flying past her, slicing her exposed legs with paper cuts. They fold together; an ornate and complex puzzle that creates the unmistakable form of the Indominus Rex. Its heavy breaths rasp like shifting gravel.
"No," her voice is barely a whisper. "You're dead. I saw it. You're dead."
The creature bears its teeth defiantly, almost grinning at her.
"No," Claire repeats. "You're dead!"
The Indominus takes a step forward, her snout millimetres away. A foul smell arises from her mouth. A concoction of rotten flesh and sea water. Bile rises to the back of Claire's throat.
She screams and sprints to the bathroom, managing to make it in time.
"It's dead," she repeats.
I saw it happen. I saw it…
She downs a couple of herbal sleeping tablets. The taste used to make her gag…now it doesn't bother her so much. She runs a hand through her dyed hair. She did prefer it natural…but people would recognise her; ask her questions that she couldn't answer. The more anonymous she is…the better.
Claire steps back into her bedroom and finds her laptop under a pile of dirty clothing. Opening it, the screen immediately lights up, basking her in a white glow. Her last search pops up: Jurassic World. She had to know. Like an itch she's unable to scratch.
A new link appears at the top of the screen, one blue amongst the purple lines that she has read and re-read several times.
Jurassic Bust.
By Donna Sullivan.
In the wake of the sixth year anniversary of the massacre that occurred at Jurassic World, many families still have unanswered questions concerning their loved ones.
No person should ever have to face the excruciating pain of wondering what really happened to their parent, sibling or close relative. Yet as each day passes, many high ranking Jurassic World officials have declined comment on the infamous incident.
With Simon Masrani out of the picture, the questions fall to Senior Assets Manager Claire Dearing, who has not been seen since a month after the incident.
Other board members remain directly in the firing line as dangers on Isla Nublar prevent authorities from conducting a full investigation on what happened in the moments leading up to the disaster.
Many eye witnesses claim that incident began with the escape of the Dimorphodon and Pteranodon from the aviary. So what happened before? There have been no history of the park experiencing containment issues, which leads us to believe that this was due to another cause.
Some speculation that has been both confirmed and denied by lower ranked workers is that the escape was due to the park's newest attraction, the Indominus Rex. Details are still unknown about this monster, though images and videos have surfaced on the internet of the alleged beast. Some witnesses also claim that a team, including Ms Dearing, were able to corral the beast…with the help of the locally trained velociraptors and tyrannosaurus rex. (Really?)
The lack of communication by Masrani Global, their research department InGen – headed by Dr Henry Wu – and fellow employees asks the question: what have they to hide?
With the number of deaths totalling 783, isn't it time that those families had some peace of mind? Does this incident somehow affect the future of this country? Or is something more sinister going on?
There have been three attempts to bring back the dinosaurs, yet each time has ended in catastrophic disaster. So is it time for Hammond's dream to finally be put to rest? Or will another attempt of playing God come to haunt us?