Oakdale, Illinois, Oakdale Memorial Hospital, 2019

It took Dr. Christopher Hughes 30 minutes longer than normal to leave his house that morning. He couldn't pull himself away from the television where a news bulletin speculated on whether Sen. Charles Marsden had any prior knowledge of certain military studies into chemical warfare.

You can bet your ass he does!

The subject matter brought up dark memories for Chris. It had taken 10 long years to bury them deep enough at least to continue somewhat of a normal existence. But he never forgot. He was reminded every time he reached over his shoulder to scratch an itch or massage a tired muscle and his fingers brushed the scar. He still had nightmares.

He wasn't sure why that should be the case. Really all he remembered from that day was one minute reviewing a file of results and the next minute… blackness… screaming… wide eyes…

Still… he couldn't ever shake that feeling that sat like stones in his gut… that feeling that his survival was an accident.

He still thought about Luke Snyder.

This was especially prevalent when he saw the Snyders at social functions or around town. He felt a lot of guilt about his silence over the years. But it was regulated… the law. Besides, how would speaking out help?

His late arrival in the lab earned him a stern look from his aging father; Memorial Hospital's former Chief of Staff Dr. Bob Hughes, stopping by the lab on his way to attend a board meeting.

Consequently, Chris was running behind on getting the lab results back to the anxious police detectives working on a homicide just south of town.

He carefully slid the Petri dish under the microscope and adjusted the height; peering through the lens.

"Sample 156… taken from the lung contents," he muttered aside to his assistant Sade, who carefully recorded Chris's findings on the official police case form.

The tiny creatures he could see swimming in sweet obliviousness to the massive world they inhabited were thankfully well known to Chris. It would at least be an easy one.

"We have a subdivision of Verrucomicrobia here. Found commonly in one of three states." He sat up and stretched. "Um…" He squeezed the bridge of his nose where a headache had been forming since he saw the news report. "Illinois, Missouri and Tennessee. It is my professional opinion the victim died from drowning in a pond or lake or some similar body of still natural water."

He reached over for the next sample but was stopped from slipping it under the scope by a light knock on the lab door.

"Come in," he called.

Nurse Alison Stewart stuck her head round the door.

"Alison!" Chris smiled at his nephew's girlfriend. She was a sweet person and, Chris suspected, far too good for lazy good for nothing Casey. "What can I do for you?"

"Sorry to disturb you Chris," she apologized, smiling her hello to Sade. "But there's a phone call on line three? He says it's urgent he speak with you."

Chris frowned. "Did he say who it was?"

"No, I'm sorry. I tried to get a name but he wouldn't tell me. He had a strange accent though… Said it was very important he speak with you personally."

Chris sighed. "Probably a cold call… No worries I'll take it in my office. Thanks Ali."

"Anytime…" She smiled and closed the door softly behind her.

Chris slipped off the latex gloves he was wearing. "Shouldn't be long, Sade."

"No problem," Sade assured him. "I have some paperwork to file anyway."

He nodded and entered his office at the back of the lab. The yellow light on line three rapidly blinked on and off, on and off.

He didn't know why but for some reason he felt a sudden icy dread creep over him. He lifted the receiver but hesitated in pressing the call button. His finger hovered over it and a shiver passed down his spine. He thought he felt the scar throb on his back.

Taking a deep breath he accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Dr. Hughes?"

"Speaking."

"We must meet. There is a car waiting for you outside Exit B off the Main Pavilion."

"Excuse me?"

Alison was right. The voice was heavily accented and distinctly no-nonsense. "This is very important Dr. Hughes. I don't have time to waste."

Chris was just about to tell the man where he could shove it, when the voice spoke again.

"You have a beautiful wife, Doctor."

Chris gasped in horror. "W…what?"

"Katie is it?" the voice continued. "She drives that little yellow car to WOAK the same time every day… Doesn't she? And... Jacob? He's your stepson, correct?"

"Okay that's enough!" Chris exploded. "I don't know what kind of fucking game you're playing but-"

"Oh… I assure you… this is no game. Anything but..."

There was a pregnant pause. The threat was clear and Chris felt his fear level spike.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Chris hesitated. But he knew he had no choice.

"Doctor? Are you still with me?" the voice persisted.

"Yes!" he hissed.

"Good. Exit B. Five minutes!"

The line went dead.

The phone dropped to the table with a loud clang, as Chris took off for the elevators; leaving Sade in the lab, mouth gapped open in surprise.

The 'car' turned out to be a high-spec black Mercedes Benz with darkened windows. A large muscular man wearing a well-tailored Italian suit and chauffer cap opened the back door, as Chris approached.

Chris shuddered. This felt exceptionally mob-like to him and he had images of his bloated corpse floating downriver.

He dipped his head into the backseat and then gasped in surprise. He didn't know the man sitting opposite him personally, but he definitely knew him by sight and reputation.

"I'm sorry for the vague threat, Dr. Hughes." It was the same voice as on the phone. "Do you know who I am?"

"Damian Grimaldi."

Damian smiled. "That is correct. Please… you have nothing to fear. I am not here to harm you or your family."

The door was shut behind him.

"Why areyou here?" Chris asked, distinctly uneasy.

He can't know! Surely he can't!

The smile faded. "I think you know."

Shit!

"Maybe I do," Chris replied, using his training to hide his anxiety. "But the question is… how do you?"

Damian laughed as the driver got in and started up the engine. "May I call you Chris?"

Chris nodded.

"Chris, I'm not where I am in this life by accident. I have eyes and ears all over. I have my ways. You understand?"

"How long have you known about me?"

"Since my son's escape. I've spent a lot of time and resource investigating what happened that day."

"Okay… so… why now?"

Damian sighed and looked out the window at the sleepy town of Oakdale passing by the window. "I had hoped I'd not be forced to become more involved in this matter; that we could lay the whole sorry incident to rest. But it seems my son has played his card."

Chris sat up straight. "He contacted you!"

"Yes… He wants to meet."

"When?"

"In the next few hours. We are on our way there now…"

"What?" Chris exclaimed. "Hell no! Stop the car and let me out… Now!"

"How well do you know my son?" Damian ignored Chris's panic entirely, his voice remaining even and unconcerned.

"Not that well. He and my nephew, Casey, were school friends. I saw him around. That's about it."

"But from what you doknow…" Damian continued, looking directly at him. "Do you believe my son capable of gunning down a room full of people."

Chris was silent for a moment. He rubbed his thighs nervously; taking his time. But finally he replied, "No. I never believed it. I always thought the whole thing stank of a cover up. But… if you've investigated things as thoroughly as you say, then you understand the position I was in at the time?"

Damian nodded.

Chris sat back in the leather seat; stomach churning with nerves. "Look, Damian… I'm not really sure how I can help. Even if I did speak up, there's no proof. It's all my own speculation."

"Maybe that would have been true back then… But…"

"The news this morning… That was you!" Chris suddenly realized. "You leaked information about the senator?"

Damian failed to confirm Chris' allegation, choosing instead to offer a sly smile.