Lazarus
It's time to move on. Time to turn the page. Time to finish this chapter of my life and start a new one. The task that lies ahead of me… it's daunting. I need to punish the people who turned me into a freak, but first I have to find them. Other than three names and blurred memories of faces, I have no idea who these people are, or where they are now. But I do know where they've been. So, I'm going back to where I was created, in the hopes of finding some clue about how to continue. I'm going back to Three Mile Island.
13. Missing You
Wade paced back and forth in his hospital room, waiting for the sun to sink below the horizon. Although he could, technically, leave at any time, he got the feeling his departure through the main entrance would draw attention. Besides, doors were so overused. So boring. So average. Who needed a door when he had a perfectly good window?
We're doing the right thing, said Deadpool.
I know we're doing the right thing. Did I ever suggest we're not doing the right thing? Have I given us cause to doubt my resolve?
No. Not yet. But I know how much you wanted to be with Connie. I know how much you wanted to be a better man.
He stopped pacing and sank down on the edge of the hospital bed.
I can be a better man this way, too. I mean, I'm doing this to get revenge against the people who did this to us. Because it's justice, as much as vengeance. Because if I don't stop them, they'll only keep doing it to others, and that'll be on our heads. But once we're done with the killing… we're out of it. Justice served. Vengeance complete. Once it's over, I'll have no reason to keep killing. No reason to be the weapon they tried to make me. Promise me that when we've accomplished our task, that's it. We're out of the game.
What will we do instead?
I don't know. But we'll find something. Anything. We won't be a killer. A weapon.
Did you ever stop to think that maybe the military didn't make us into a weapon; maybe we already were a weapon, and they just made us sharper.
…No. That's not what we were. We were a man. Maybe not a good man, but we weren't a weapon, and we weren't a monster. They stole everything from us, when they turned us into Weapon XI.
Weapon XI. I hated that guy. Although it does lead me to wonder…
What?
Well, if we're XI, what happened to the other X? We woke up alone on Three Mile Island, right? But what if we weren't the only ones there? What if the first ten were there, too?
I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
When we were Weapon XI, and we had that computer chip in our brain, controlling our every action, we would have done anything. Killed anyone. What if the other Weapons are like that? What if the military uses them to stop us?
Well, I suppose we'll just have to find a way to free them. No computer, no weapon. Right?… Right?
Computers aren't the only way of programming people. Hmm. Do you think we were the last? Maybe by the time we woke up, they'd already created Weapons XII through XXII.
Why are you asking me? You know I only know as much as you do.
Who else am I supposed to ask? Our adoring audience can't really converse with us, can they? Although maybe they should…
Bah! Enough speculation. We'll either encounter other Weapons, or we won't. Either we were the last, or we weren't. Like I said, we need to make sure no more are made. That's on us.
Fine, mister grumpy-pants. In that case, we should go. Whilst we were sitting here engaging in internal monologue, the sun conveniently decided to set. Say goodbye to the room, then we'll go say goodbye to Connie, and we can finally get started on this vengeance kick.
Justice kick.
However you want to sell it to yourself.
"Goodbye, room," he said, and stood to turn towards the window.
Wait.
What?
I need to pee before we go.
Wade sighed.
Hey, it's not my fault! The prospect of vengeance makes Mr Bladder get all excited. Besides, toilet humour is to be expected from us.
Fine, fine, just hurry up. The audience doesn't want to read about you peeing.
I bet they do, the kinky voyeurs.
In the bathroom, Wade's reflection joined him. Yesterday his reflection had been a monster, but today it was a mummy. He'd wrapped his head in bandages, because until he could find himself some sort of mask, he needed to move around without drawing attention. Granted, a bandage-wrapped face wasn't likely to go unnoticed, but this way he could pass himself off as a burns victim. Or a leper. Either lie was probably better than the truth.
I look like Darkman, he thought.
Who?
You know, Darkman. That film with Liam Neeson playing the disfigured vigilanté determined to punish the men who burnt him alive and left him for dead?
That film wasn't made until 1990. You're going to break the plot with your anachronisms.
Oh man, it's really hard being in 1984. So many cool pop-culture references I want to make…
You just leave the references to me. Right, I'm done here. Mr Bladder is good for another 10,000 miles. Shall we depart?
I believe we shall.
Wade left the bathroom and opened the catch on the treatment room window. He hoisted himself easily onto the windowsill and reached out for the drainpipe, which was securely fastened to the wall. One short drainpipe-shimmy later and he was running silently towards the nearby garden, where patients were taken for walks (or wheels, in some cases) on fine days. Now the garden was empty, because the air was cold and the sky was dark.
This feels too easy.
What?
The sun setting so we don't have to wait long, boring hours. The conveniently placed drainpipe. The emptiness of the garden. It's all very… suspicious.
You're just being foolish and paranoid. We got a lucky break. That's all.
Riiight. Because lucky breaks are our thing.
Shut up and keep alert. We've come too far to be ambushed now.
Deadpool grumbled but obeyed as Wade set off for one of the nearby side-streets. He'd travelled between the hospital and Connie's apartment enough times to know the route like the back of his hand… or at least, the back of his hand before it had been twisted and warped by cancer. He navigated his way through alleys, climbed onto buildings, leapt from rooftop to rooftop like a seasoned steeplechaser and tumbled with catlike agility.
A short time later he found himself approaching Connie's apartment, where his own caution as much as Deadpool's paranoia made him stop and wait for half an hour as he observed everything around the building. The roads were quiet, but not overly so. The cars parked on the streets were empty of occupants. There were no trenchcoat-clad men hanging around on the corners.
So. It really did seem that the military had given up on their stakeout of this place. They'd either lost interest, possibly believing their mutant killing-machine was dead, or they believed he'd left the city and turned their attentions elsewhere.
Score one for paranoid homeless guy.
Finally content that, for the moment, all was well, Wade descended from his lookout position and made his way to the fire escape on Connie's building.
"Hello, old friend," he said, patting the structure's metal railings. "It's been a while, huh?"
He climbed up as quietly as the structure would allow, and found the window to Connie's room unlocked. When he peered inside, he realised the apartment was in darkness, and it had the melancholic air of an un-lived-in home.
She's probably in the bedroom, crying in the dark. That's how she's going to try to trick you into staying. You'll need to be strong. Don't give in to tears, or pleading. And for God's sake, don't let her touch you. The last thing we need is you crumpling.
Shut up, I can do this. What little pain I cause Connie now will spare her the lifetime of misery we'd cause if we stayed.
Good boy. Well then. Let's do this.
He slipped into the room and left the window open. No point in closing it; he'd be leaving again in a few minutes. With his hearing strained for Connie's sobs, he wandered through the tiny kitchen and cosy living room, past the sofa which had been his bed during the first week or so of his waking, and towards the bedroom. He paused momentarily to take a deep breath and ensure his resolve was still intact, and then pushed the door open.
The bedroom was empty, the bed messy from their hurried departure all those days ago. The air was warm and humid, not yet cooled by the aircon Connie had only switched on earlier today.
We probably beat her back from the hospital. What time does her shift finish, anyway?
I don't know. I don't even know if she was actually working today, or whether she was just there to see us. She wasn't in uniform, but that could mean she'd just arrived.
Huh. I was so sure she'd be here, ready to seduce us and make us stay.
We'll just have to wait for her.
I'm not very good at waiting.
Well then, go do whatever it is you do in my head when you're not talking.
Mostly I just watch stuff through your eyes and try to remember things from our past. Oh, and karaoke, of course. Would you like me to sing something? Howzabout 'I will survive'? I am a way better singer than Gloria Gaynor.
Actually, I'd prefer it if you were silent.
Fine. Then I'll sing silently, to myself. And you can just be Mr Sulky Pensive Boring Guy.
Good.
When Deadpool's chatter fell silent, Wade returned to the living room and took a seat on the sofa. The blanket Connie had lent him was still there, so he picked it up and wrapped it around himself, forming a cocoon of warmth around his ravaged body. This was very possibly the last time he might have a nice comfy sofa to sit on, and a warm blanket to wrap around himself, so he might as well enjoy it.
As the long minutes ticked slowly by, Wade settled in to wait.
o - o - o - o - o
The sun rose. It was heralded by the rising noise of the traffic outside the open window.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, said Deadpool.
Wade stood up, and the blanket fell from his shoulders. Connie had not returned home last night. Wade hadn't taken his eyes off the clock on the wall. He'd watched every single second pass, counting them to give himself something to do. He'd lost count at 3365 and started again, but his counting had made him acutely and painfully aware that Connie was not there. He'd played out a thousand scenarios in his mind: She'd been stuck at work because of some emergency; The cab she'd taken had been in an accident; She'd decided Wade wasn't worth another moment of her time and had gone back to Caldwell. Ad infinitum.
Now, though, he was certain that something had gone terribly wrong. The sunlight, creeping into the room through the window like a kid trying not to wake its parents after a night spent partying, brought with it an ill sense of foreboding, and as it touched Wade where he sat on the sofa, he knew that something bad had happened. Nothing would have kept Connie from saying goodbye (and possibly trying to make him stay). Of that he was sure. But which of the terrible things he'd imagined, had actually befallen her?
Only one way to find out.
It was a great risk. In the past, he'd always avoided going outside and travelling by day, preferring the obscurity of moving under the cover of darkness. But now he had no choice. Something was wrong. Connie wasn't where she was supposed to be. His sense of caution was abandoned in favour of action; even Deadpool preferred danger to waiting.
He left the apartment via the open window and clambered down the fire escape. At ground-level, he retraced his journey of the night before, travelling the rooftops and back-alleys until he reached the hospital. Because it was daytime, there were many more people about. Patients came and went. Ambulances pulled up, vomited up their sick cargo, then went on their way to the next emergency. Visitors and well-wishers were present en mass. There was little secrecy to be had by entering through one of the doors.
Fortunately, Deadpool had plenty of half-imagined, half-remembered experience of covertly entering buildings. He climbed up drainpipes until he reached the hospital roof, and there found the access door to the top storey. The door was old and rusty, and it groaned in complaint when he pulled it open; proof of how infrequently it was used. All the better for his stealthy entrance.
The topmost floors of the hospital were something he had never seen before. Up here it was all offices and meeting rooms. Doors held plaques bearing titles like Director and Senior Head. This was the domain of the high-and-mighty. The Powers That Be. The men and women who dictated the rules and regulations, and decided exactly how the hospital was going to be run.
The bigger they are, the higher the floor they fall from.
Caldwell, apparently, was not as high as some. His office was three floors from the top, and when Wade found it, he discovered the door unlocked, just as the roof access had been. How very trusting these hospital folks were.
The office was empty, so Wade settled down in the corner to begin yet another wait.
Wait wait wait. It seems like that's all we do. I wish we could fast-forward time. Imagine it; no waiting in line at Taco Bell. No waiting in line for the toilets at Led Zeppelin concerts. No waiting for events to happen which will enable us to proceed with this story. No waiting to serve slices of delicious vengeance pie. We need to find somebody to invent us a time-increaser device.
At that moment, the door opened. Caldwell walked in, saw Wade, and stopped in his tracks.
"W—Wade. I wasn't expecting to see you again."
"Oh really? Why's that?"
"Connie told me you were leaving. I expected you to be halfway across the state by now."
Wade stepped forward, felt the blades in his arms shift as Deadpool tried to slide them out. How easy it would have been, to give in to the temptation… but no. Wherever Connie was, she wouldn't want Caldwell harmed.
"See, that's just the thing," he said. "There I was, ready to leave, just waiting for Connie to come along so I could say ciao and thanks for the help. But she never showed."
Caldwell frowned. "What do you mean?"
"She's missing, genius. Figured I'd come and check here first, just in case she got drafted in to a late night emergency or something. I'm guessing, from the expression on your face, that she's not working today. So why don't you tell me about the last time you saw her?"
Caldwell quickly closed his office door, then spun around to face Wade.
"You think she's in danger, don't you?" Caldwell shook his head. "Don't try to deny it. I can hear the agitation in your voice."
Just stab him and get it over with already! He's obviously not gonna be able to tell us anything of use. And he is our arch-nemesis.
He was only our arch-nemesis when he was a rival for Connie's affection. Now, even if Connie were here, we couldn't enjoy her attention. We need to leave so that she can get on with her life. So… a temporary Caldwell-truce is in effect. We're not going to hurt him.
Aww. Can't we just accidentally step on his foot or something?
Well, I guess childish acts of vindictiveness don't really count as 'hurting,' per se.
Woo!
"I don't know if Connie's in danger," he said, continuing his out-loud conversation. "But it's possible. So tell me what she did and said the last time you saw her, and whether there's been anybody hanging around the hospital asking suspicious questions."
"If I'd noticed anything, or anybody, acting suspiciously, I would have told you before now," Caldwell replied. "As for Connie… I saw her yesterday afternoon, not long before her shift started. She said she'd just been to see you, and that you were leaving. Can't say I was disheartened to hear that… she was pretty upset by it, though."
"And that was the last time you saw her?"
"Yes. I offered to give her a lift home, after her shift ended, but she declined, said she wasn't in the mood for company. I left it at that, because I had two surgeries scheduled that afternoon. As far as I know, she took a taxi."
When Caldwell moved to take his seat behind his desk, Wade began to pace.
Connie was missing.
He didn't know how, or why. All he knew was that he had to get her back. Because this was probably his fault. And Connie didn't deserve bad things to happen to her. That's why he was leaving in the first place. He should have left weeks ago. He was to blame for this.
Connie was missing.
What should he do? Call the police? Have them put out an APB? Or would that cause whoever had taken Connie to act rashly? If they'd taken her to get to him, then sooner or later the kidnappers would be in touch. They'd have a list of demands. Chimichangas probably wouldn't be on it. Unconditional surrender probably would. But dammit, he wasn't French!
I need some inspiration. Help me out here. What would…
…Jesus do?
No, not Jesus, that guy got himself crucified, and I doubt pulling fish out of thin air is gonna help me now.
…Flash Gordon do?
Hmm, Flash battled an evil emperor called Ming and got the girl. Getting warmer.
…Captain America do?
Whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves, the Cap's like… a Level 35 Paladin, and we're, what, a Level 4 Ranger at best? Don't get me wrong, we've got a lot going for us; apparent immortality, crazy healing factor, undentable bladed appendages—
Witty banter.
That too. Point is, we've only just got back in the game. Damned white-coats fried our noodle good and proper. All we've done till now is gut a few thugs, and we have no idea how this cancer thing's gonna affect our fighting skills. Let's not reach too high too soon. Go back to Flash Gordon.
Well, if you ask me, which you did, Flash would be out there bashing heads together and tearin' it up and looking for allies to help him overthrow his enemies.
Allies! Yes! Good!
Let's see. We got a wimpy surgeon. A crazy inventor who hasn't been to see us since we got a bad case of cancer. And a paranoid homeless former army veteran who may or may not be a diabolical genius.
Well, it's a start. Besides, I now have A Plan!
Formed that all on your own, did you? –Snigger–
Shut up!
Ignoring Deadpool's verbalised sound effects, Wade turned to Caldwell.
"Do you know which taxi firm Connie used last night?"
"Err, no. Sorry."
"Well, find out. She's been working here for years. Someone's gotta know the firm. Oh, and you might wanna make up some excuse for Connie's absence. Tell her co-workers she has the flu. Or diarrhoea. Whichever sounds most convincing to your fellow medical types. I'll check in again at nightfall."
"Wait, where are you going?" Caldwell asked as Wade turned for the window.
He paused half out of the window for dramatic effect. "I'm going to do what I do best, Doc. I'm going to find some heads to bang together."
o - o - o - o - o
Recon. The act of covertly infiltrating an area to determine the lie of the land, points of interest, and the location of one's designated target. Some say that reconnaissance is the most important part of a military campaign. Sun Tzu himself remarked, "Blessed is He who can reconnoitre the Way, for He is sure to find many enemies to Stab." It goes without saying that before you can strike, you need to know where to strike. Ergo, recon.
Pfft. Sun Tzu never said that.
Oh, you've suddenly remembered what Sun Tzu said, have you? No, I thought not. Just trust me on this, Wadey. When that collapsing chimney thing fried Weapon XI's control chip doohickey, most of the military nonsense they'd programmed into it went to me. Whilst you've been idling your time getting our mouth fixed and enjoying the company of the fairer sex, I've been filing all of this information away in useful places for handy quick-reference. Unfortunately, I can't remember where I stored most of the info, but it comes to me from time to time. Shoulda maybe labelled these mental drawers…
Right. Well. I know how to do recon. Maybe you're mistaking me for some other mutant. I don't need you to quote fake Sun Tzu at me.
Just helping to set the tone.
Wade ignored his other self, and continued to search the alleys. Until now, he'd mostly only travelled them at night, and by day they were a completely different place. Gone were the homeless men, the drifters and vagrants, the part-time drunks and full-time alcoholics. Well, not entirely gone. Dumpsters apparently made good beds; Wade heard snores coming from two or three. A couple of alleys later, he saw a pair of feet sticking out from beneath a pile of newspapers. But they weren't booted feet, so he carried on.
He had a close call with a garbage truck, which was being backed into an alley behind one of the many fast food joints in the neighbourhood, but he managed to vault over a fence and into a small side-street before any of the fine municipal workers could spot him.
The garbage men probably wouldn't look twice at us. Just another tramp, right?
Still, I'd rather not take any chances. Let's just find Grimes and then get out of here.
Well, it's your plan. Make with the recon!
Grimes, it turned out, was a hard man to find. At last Wade grew frustrated, and when he saw a homeless-looking guy carrying a tatty old backpack, he approached without hesitation.
"Hey, buddy, do a fellow drifter a favour, won't you?" he said.
The man looked him up and down, taking in his second-hand clothes and the bandages wrapped around his head beneath his baseball cap. He bared his yellow, nicotine-stained teeth in a grimace of a smile.
"I don't do no favours for no-one, 'buddy'. But I might be persuaded to change my mind… f'r the right price."
I wonder if 'the right price' includes sticking one of my blades in his gut.
Wade hushed his inner voice and turned to the vagrant.
"First of all, 'don't do no favours' is a double-negative. For shame. Second, I am accounted a fine barterer in twenty-six countries." He took a step forward, using his height to loom over the man. "Third… how does twenty bucks sound?"
"A hundred."
"Twenty-five."
"Eighty."
"Twenty-five."
"Fifty."
"Twenty-five."
"Forty-five. And that's my final offer."
"Twenty-five," Deadpool spoke up, "and I don't gut you and use your intestines to spell out 'Deadpool woz 'ere."
"Twenty-five sounds good!" the tramp squeaked. "Whaddya need?"
"I need to find a man named Grimes. He's old, kinda beardy, and he pushes a shopping cart around."
"Yeah, I know the Serg." The man's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Whaddya want with him?"
"Personal business. Between him and me."
"Oh well, la-de-dah, why dintcha just say so?" The vagrant hawked and spat. "Can't take ya to Grimes. It's against the Drifter's Code."
"Drifter's Code?"
"Never give a fellow up."
"In that case I want my twenty-five bucks back."
The man patted his pockets, then scowled. "Wait, you never even give me twenty-five bucks!"
"Payment upon delivery."
"Fine, fine. I can't take you to Grimes, but I could bring Grimes to you. That good enough?"
"As long as you make it quick," Wade told him. Every moment he was outdoors increased his risk of discovery.
"And who should I tell him is asking for him? Deadpool, was it? Doesn't sound like much of a name to me."
Crap. Does Grimes even know our name? I can't remember if Connie ever mentioned it.
"Just tell him that I'm… an enemy of his enemy," Wade said.
"Rightchoo are, princess. I'll be back soon. Don't go wandering off. The alleys can be dangerous for the unwary."
And they just got a whole lot more dangerous, thought Wade, as the tramp disappeared into the maze.
In the ten minutes it took the man to return with Grimes in tow, Wade had, at Deadpool's urging, taken refuge crouching behind a nearby dumpster. At first the men didn't see him, but when he stood and stepped out of the shadows, the nameless man visibly jumped. Grimes didn't.
"Ahh, I thought it might be you, stranger," said Grimes. We waved his companion away. "What brings you to The Warren?"
Cool name for a hideout, if not for the bunny connotations.
"Connie's missing," he replied without preamble. "I think they've taken her."
Grimes found. "Taken her? What for?"
"I don't know. Maybe to get to me. Maybe to question her about the men who attacked her the night she and I met. Maybe to hurt her."
"Then you have to find her."
"I know. But I can't do it alone. This city is too big; it would take me years to search every building."
"They might not keep her in one place," Grimes mused with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Mobile prisons. You know of them?"
"No."
"Premise is simple. Keep your prisoner in a vehicle, keep the vehicle on the move, nobody ever suspects. But they could just as easily have her holed up somewhere. Like you say, New York is big. Lots of hiding places."
"That's where I was hoping you might come in. You and your fellow drifters must see and hear things most people don't."
"True," Grimes admitted. "When you live in the shadows, you tend to see activities which take place in the shadows more often than you'd like. And because of what we are, very few people see us. We're just there. In the background. An unsavoury piece of the scenery."
I know how that feels.
"To find Connie, I first need to know what happened to her," said Wade. "Was she taken from the hospital? Was she picked up by someone pretending to be a cab? Did she make it to her apartment before being snatched from outside it? Somebody, somewhere, must have seen something. It's hard to be alone in a city the size of New York."
"I'll make enquiries. Come back after midnight. Hopefully I'll have news."
"Midnight, then."
"Stranger," said Grimes, as Wade began to turn away, "you watch yourself out there. It's easier than you think, to be alone in a city the size of New York. Especially when you live in the shadows."
"I'll be careful."
"Hey, what about my twenty-five bucks?!" the second man called.
"IOU," Wade returned. Then he vaulted the fence and made his way back to more familiar territory.
Time for recon #2.
o - o - o - o - o
The university was easier to sneak into than the hospital. Wade waited on a bench across the road, seemingly absorbed in a newspaper as he surreptitiously surveilled the campus. As the lunch period ended and classes started to resume, he left his seat and approached the building which housed the medical research labs. A few students glanced his way, but he kept the collar of his jacket up and his baseball cap lowered down, so few got chance to glimpse his bandaged face.
Thankfully, the corridors of the medical research department were quiet, his footsteps the loudest thing to be heard. When he reached Eddington's office door he knocked, and waited. When there was no response he knocked again, to the same end.
He's probably teaching. We should just go in and wait for him.
He pushed the door open and found the office empty. Sunlight streamed in from the window, illuminating the empty desk, and the abandoned filing cabinets. Even the potted plants which Wade had glimpsed before were gone. It was as if all trace of Eddington had been erased from the room.
Backing out of the office, he checked the name plaque, just to be sure he had the right place. He'd only seen the inside of Eddington's office in passing, had never actually been inside it, but he was fairly certain it hadn't been this tidy the last time he'd walked past. Eddington was the type of man who collected things. His office, like his lab, should have been full of clutter.
Check the labs.
But what if he's got a class in there?
You're one of Eddington's patients. A burns victim. Car accident. Very nasty. Good old Eddington has been trying to fix you up. Get himself one of those shiny gold awards they hand out to boffins.
This is risky.
More risky than leaving Connie in the hands of whoever's taken her? More risky than going back to Three Mile Island? Maybe you should reassess your priorities.
All right, you've made your point. Labs it is.
Wade made his way to the door to the labs, and entered the first one. It was just as he remembered it, full of beakers and test-tubes and bunsen burners, the smell of sulphur thick in the air. There were no students present, which gave Wade cause to sigh with relief, but he wasted no time in reaching the second door, at the back of the room. Just because there weren't any students here now, didn't mean it wouldn't stay that way.
He pushed open the door to the main lab, and froze. It was empty. Just like the office. Everything was gone. The desks had been cleared out. The notes and charts adorning the walls had been taken down. The computers had been disconnected from their network points and removed. Bookshelves stood empty and forlorn. But most telling of all, the huge-ass laser that had hung from the ceiling and dominated the room with its malevolent presence, was no longer there either.
What the…
Well, I guess this explains why ol' Eddington never came to see us. He's closed up shop. Maybe he feared a law-suit. Not that we'd ever find a lawyer to represent us.
"Can we help you?"
Wade spun on the spot, and found two sciencey-looking types standing behind him. Damn, how did they manage to sneak up on us so quietly? They were young, a man and a woman, and both took a step back when they laid eyes upon his bandaged head.
Quick, the cover-story!
"My name is Frank O'Malley," said Wade, pulling the first name from the top of his head. "I was in a horrific car accident several months ago and suffered terrible third-degree burns. Doctor Eddington has been seeing me on a regular basis, in order to ascertain my chances of recovery by participating in one of his experiments."
Smooth.
"Oh, you poor man!" the woman said, her features slipping into sympathy. "Professor Eddington is so kind, to help you like that."
"Yes, yes, very kind. But see, I was supposed to have a consultation with him today…"
"I'm afraid we have to be the bearers of bad news, then," the man replied. "The professor is gone."
"Gone? What do you mean? How can he just be gone?"
"He just packed up and left, two days ago. Said he'd been offered another job. Somewhere in California."
"If you ask me, the nice Californian weather will do him a world of good," the woman continued. "The poor professor was looking so pale and exhausted the last time we spoke to him. I'm very sorry Mister O'Malley… I can't imagine why Professor Eddington didn't tell you this news himself, but it looks like he won't be treating you any longer. It's such a shame. If he'd left any of his research notes and instruments we might have carried on his treatment for you."
"Who are you two, anyway?" asked Wade.
"Professor Eddington's lab assistants," the man replied. "For whatever that's worth."
The woman tutted. "Casey, you shouldn't besmirch the man."
"Besmirch him? Sandy, he upped and left in the middle of a semester! Abandoned all his students and took everything we'd been working on for almost two years! I don't care if he got a job working for the damn Pope. There's no excuse for how he left!"
"He looked ill," Sandy said to Wade, in an apologetic tone. "It probably affected his judgement. I just wish he'd given us more warning. We could have backed up some of our data. And the University would have had more time to find a replacement. It's the students I feel sorry for."
"Yes yes, poor students," said Wade. "So this disappearance… you'd say it was out of character for Eddington?"
"Oh, very much so! He was dedicated to the research he'd done here, and he really enjoyed teaching."
"Obviously he wasn't as dedicated as we thought," Casey sulked.
"Do you know what happened to all his stuff?" asked Wade. "You know, the giant laser, the research notes, the computers… the potted plants?"
Casey shrugged. "We assume he took it all with him to his new job."
"Yeah, but that laser was pretty big. I mean, it was attached to the ceiling by rails and chains. How'd he get it down? How'd he clear everything out so fast? This place… it's been well-cleaned."
Purged.
"Oh, that," said Sandy. "Some removal men came in, and took everything. It was so strange. I expected the professor to give them some instructions, especially when they started taking down the laser. He'd invested years of work into that thing, you know? But he just stood there, watching and sweating and looking ill. And the removal men were so grim. They didn't chat and joke and ask for advice about what to take… they just got on with it in silence and took everything that wasn't nailed down. And most things that were, come to think of it."
"Did you see the name of the removal company on the van?"
"No. We were busy consoling students."
"And trying to stop the removal guys from taking everything from our office, too," Casey scowled. "They only left when I threatened to call campus security."
"I don't suppose Eddington left a forwarding address, or a telephone number?"
"Actually… no, he didn't." A frown of concern drew Sandy's brows down. "That's a good point. Unless he left his details with the main office. I just hope he gets in contact soon, to tell us where we can forward correspondence to."
"Right. Well. Thanks. You've been very helpful."
"If Professor Eddington does contact us, would you like us to let him know you were asking after him?" asked Sandy.
"No, it's okay. Thanks."
He left the pair and made his way back through the university halls, grim thoughts weighing heavily on his mind. What had started out as a case of a missing person was rapidly expanding into something that smelt suspiciously like a conspiracy. Who would be the next to disappear? Caldwell? Grimes? How many people would they take before they finally found Wade himself?