CHAPTER FIFTY one
Deep Dark Depression
Two hours later Christine felt physically and emotionally exhausted. Once again she exited the expressway. A twenty-four hour superstore sat a little less than a mile down the road.
Untangling her sore limbs from the car, she absently pat the Volkswagen's hood. Plato was right, the car was a keeper.
Once in the store, Christine purchased easy to eat snacks and drinks. Underwear and a couple of mix and match outfits in her size came next. Shoes, toiletries and a small suitcase followed.
Moving on to the electronics' section she purchased a pay-as-you-go phone and a laptop.
Back behind the steering wheel she headed toward a well-lit motel. Once ensconced in her room, Christine gazed at the bed with longing. Instead she forced herself to shower.
Glad the motel had free wi-fi, she searched the recent news articles on the internet. Popping a diet coke, she dug her plastic baggie out of her dirty clothes.
Taking a deep breath, trying to clear her mind, she pulled the picture she had taken from Erik out.
Staring back at her was Gaston. She wiped off a piece of lint. A familiar face wavered before her eyes. The couple in the picture were in love and currently unaware that she was already expecting Connie.
Her heart clenched, why would Erik have his picture? A scarab scuttled across the bed to disappear down the other side.
Christine stared. Within seconds the tips of its antennae appeared. She shifted her weight and they disappeared. She was ready with her shoe when it reappeared.
Not feeling any movement, the bug hesitantly crawled back on top of the bed.
With a lifetime of frustration she swung. Putting her weight behind the swing, she smacked the insect. Emitting a squeal, antennas rubbing its head, the insect backed down the bed, scuttled across the room and disappeared under the hall door.
Thumbing her nose in distaste, Christine returned to the picture. Rubbing her forehead, she realized she'd have to go to sleep soon. Her eyes felt gritty and heavy. Leaning back against the headboard, she lost herself to memories.
It was unnaturally quiet. He could hear the clink of silverware on metal plates in the mess tent. Rubbing the sweat from his brow the young soldier was glad his turn at patrol was over.
Heading for his quarters, he absently rubbed the laminated picture in his pocket. A comforting habit.
The picture was of his wife. His heart raced with joy, he was going to be a father!
His head suddenly exploded in pain.
Busy with plans and dreams regarding his upcoming discharge, his mind initially refused to acknowledge that he'd been fatally wounded.
He found himself lying on the ground, a metallic odor permeating his sense of smell. Sticky, warm, rivulets were trickling down his suddenly cold cheek.
Christine's face swam in his view. Dozens and dozens of snapshot-like images shuffled by. Her smiles and laughter. The adorable way her tongue tipped to the side of her lip as she kept up with the General in a violin duet. Her hair cascading around him as they made love… Oh, Christine!
A black shadow blocked the desert sun bearing down on his numb body. His only thought was of his darling, his life. He licked his lip with a tongue that felt five times too large for his mouth. "Picture. Tell…love her," he entreated the shadow.
In horror, Christine watched a scarab nonchalantly make tiny, bloody footprints across his forehead. It skirted the gaping wound in the center. She reached out a trembling hand... too late. She could feel his last thoughts rush down her spine with glacier-like intensity.
'It was too hard to think'. Sleepily, he closed his eyes.
No…No! Christine woke up frantically sobbing. Squeezing a pillow she cried until her eyes were sore. She had no doubt who the shadow was. She knew before the scarab showed up.
She had kissed her husband's killer.
"Healer?"
"Have a seat Mr. Hawke," Ms. Watts indicated a chair, "Sorry to put a burr under your saddle, but this was the only solution on such short notice."
"I am one of the healers that Sorelli and Dugan kidnapped," the diminutive woman added.
"How did you get in here," Hawke plopped down, amazed.
Pointing to the dinner cart, Mia shrugged.
A slow grin pulled at Hawke's lips. She had hidden under the cloth?
"The kitchen workers go by the healers first for dinner. They stop by here first for breakfast, so she travels back and forth easily." Ms. Watts offered.
"So our plans…," Hawke awkwardly blushed.
"Just because there is frost on the roof, don't meant there's not a fire in the oven," Ms Watts snorted.
Mia giggled behind her hand at Hawke's obvious discomfort.
"I don't want any hanky-panky, youngster, you aren't my type. But it was a good way to get you alone don't you think?"
"What," Hawke felt like an imbecile.
Mia paced in front of the disgruntled brave's chair. "The women you visited are well aware that they did not participate in that particular pleasure, Mr. Hawke."
"Mia found her way here the first day of captivity. Unfortunately this is the only consistent route the dinner cart is taken on."
"The healers are kept in two separate bunkers that butt up to the basement holding cells."
"We are given the necessities but haven't been allowed outside. Every night the construction workers enlarge the holding cells," Mia informed him.
"Hell enlarges her gates every day," Betty muttered.
"Do the other women know that Mia…," Hawke stuttered.
"Of course. There is safety in numbers, Mr. Hawke."
"More leeway for an information leak, though," he answered.
"Our hen parties have been very informative. Sorelli doesn't feel the need to join our card games and we discuss a plethora of subjects."
"But that is neither here nor there. Do you know who I am," Betty asked.
"I'm not a clone. I raised Sorelli who, by-the-way is not a clone. She is her father's daughter."
"I don't understand," Hawke grumbled.
"In the late 1800's a team of scientist were headed to Easter Island. A sudden tidal wave overwhelmed their boat. The next morning the survivors found themselves here, on Easter Island."
"Do you take me for an imbecile? Easter Island has been thoroughly explored," Hawke spat.
Betty sighed, "Not here. This streak of ground cannot be seen from the water, land or air."
"Huh," Hawke screwed up his face, and turned to Mia.
The small woman shrugged, "Don't ask me, I'm just learning the ropes."
"The team of scientists were a multicultural group. Some of the best the world had to offer. There were four child prodigies on board.
"They of course built a boat and tried to leave the island. Time after time quiet seas gave way to tempest and the group found themselves back here.
"Resigning themselves to the fact that traditional methods of transportation were getting them nowhere, they set up Machaeon Enterprises. Together they made scientific breakthrough after scientific break through.
"Then…Mrs. Hefley died. Her husband sequestered himself in his laboratory for years, his work? Cloning. The first person he cloned was his wife."
"During the time Dr. Hefley became a recluse, the children grew up. One from Britian by the name of Watts, came up with the formula for inanimate invisibility."
"Watts? Your husband?"
"No, my brother."
