"Always Darkest Before Dawn, Part II"
Perching on a tree branch, morning comes. Not colorful, but brighter than the night. My eyes adjust to see small motion on the ground far below.
I take off.
It looks small and shiny. Smaller than me …
I grab it!
It hisses at me, and the sparkles start chasing the string sticking out of the end.
I fly away. Then, my human mind deciphers what this object is, and right before it explodes …
“AH!” Don screamed, shooting upright in bed. “Where am I?”
He realized he couldn’t see just before he felt the gauze on his face. Then, he heard someone moving. “Who’s there?”
“Jeez, Don, take it easy,” a familiar female voice replied. “I’ll take the gauze off before I leave.”
“Who are you, and why do you sound so familiar?”
“I’m your doctor,” she replied, just as the familiar sound of ripping gauze caught his ears.
“Uh, you must be mistaken,” Don replied. “My doctor’s a man.”
“Not now he isn’t,” she replied, just as enough gauze was removed to reveal a smirk on her face. “Not when you need to keep a secret.”
Don stopped dead. “You know,” he replied coldly.
“Of course I know,” the doctor replied. “How many billionaires get shot at?”
“I could name plenty of names …” he started.
“Multiple shots?” she smirked again, taking away more of the gauze. Don could almost see the daylight streaming in through the bedroom’s bay window.
“Fine. You know, Andy’s right. I guess I have a real problem accepting that people are smart enough to figure out things on their own.”
“Yeah, well, I do read newspapers. Quite the story, Don.”
Read newspapers? That voice … it all finally came back to him. “Well, thanks, Jessica. I owe you one.”
“You’ll owe me more than one,” Dr. Downen said, removing the last of the gauze covering his eyes. “I don’t make house calls, and I have a feeling you’re going to need quite a few, if you keep this up.”
“If it’s a matter of money …”
“It’s not a matter of money, Don, it’s a matter of time,” she said, as her belt started to beep.
“Damn it. I’m on call. Just rest a few days, everything should be fine. Some of those bullets were really hard to pull out, though!” Jessica added over her shoulder as she threw on her lab coat and headed for the door.
“How’s that saying go again?” Andy asked. “‘Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies.’ Yeah.”
Don looked out of the corner of his eye at his assistant. “Very funny, Andy. You should do stand-up.”
“I’m serious, holmes,” Andy replied. “Do you have any fucking idea how heavy you are with that suit on? Jesus, I almost called in a forklift.”
“You finished?” Don said, looking up at him.
Don’s vision blurred as the back of his head felt a sharp impact. “Ow …” he trailed off.
“Yeah. That was for almost getting yourself killed last night.”
Don shook his head. “I’m glad I have such good friends,” he intoned sarcastically.
“In order to prevent more instances of what happened last night,” Andy began, “I’ve called my friend, Martin, to come here and see what he can come up with.”
“Can he be trusted?” Don asked.
“You want another hit to the head?” Andy retorted. “I’ve been friends with Martin for years, Don. He won’t tell.” He turned to his gauzed companion. “Especially if we keep his mind occupied with things to do.”
“Okay,” Don sighed, “but I don’t want any more people knowing.”
“Stop going out, then,” Andy said, staring him down.
“I can’t do that,” he said. “I must know about what happened to my parents.”
“Then I’m not making a promise I might have to break,” Andy said, crossing his arms and leaning back into the wall. “But I will see what I can do.”
Sitting on the back porch, Don suddenly remembered the doll he’d saved from the explosion at the old LoComp building in Maroa. Waiting until Andy left the house to pick up the children from school, he grabbed it from where Andy had moved the suit. The tag of the doll read “Personalized People,” and listed a website.
Don hopped up from the chaise and went to his computer. The website no longer existed, but a search for the company name turned up a warehouse on Kennedy Avenue, in the industrial district of Charleston.
“Industrial …” Don trailed off, turning the doll over in his hands and thinking back to CJ’s voice on the intercom. “No. He can’t be. Can he?”
Andy still wasn’t home when Don threw on the suit and reconditioned helmet. He quickly grabbed a car from the garage that hadn’t seen the light of day in a long while and sped off. He promised himself he’d be back before dinner.
I take off.
It looks small and shiny. Smaller than me …
I grab it!
It hisses at me, and the sparkles start chasing the string sticking out of the end.
I fly away. Then, my human mind deciphers what this object is, and right before it explodes …
“AH!” Don screamed, shooting upright in bed. “Where am I?”
He realized he couldn’t see just before he felt the gauze on his face. Then, he heard someone moving. “Who’s there?”
“Jeez, Don, take it easy,” a familiar female voice replied. “I’ll take the gauze off before I leave.”
“Who are you, and why do you sound so familiar?”
“I’m your doctor,” she replied, just as the familiar sound of ripping gauze caught his ears.
“Uh, you must be mistaken,” Don replied. “My doctor’s a man.”
“Not now he isn’t,” she replied, just as enough gauze was removed to reveal a smirk on her face. “Not when you need to keep a secret.”
Don stopped dead. “You know,” he replied coldly.
“Of course I know,” the doctor replied. “How many billionaires get shot at?”
“I could name plenty of names …” he started.
“Multiple shots?” she smirked again, taking away more of the gauze. Don could almost see the daylight streaming in through the bedroom’s bay window.
“Fine. You know, Andy’s right. I guess I have a real problem accepting that people are smart enough to figure out things on their own.”
“Yeah, well, I do read newspapers. Quite the story, Don.”
Read newspapers? That voice … it all finally came back to him. “Well, thanks, Jessica. I owe you one.”
“You’ll owe me more than one,” Dr. Downen said, removing the last of the gauze covering his eyes. “I don’t make house calls, and I have a feeling you’re going to need quite a few, if you keep this up.”
“If it’s a matter of money …”
“It’s not a matter of money, Don, it’s a matter of time,” she said, as her belt started to beep.
“Damn it. I’m on call. Just rest a few days, everything should be fine. Some of those bullets were really hard to pull out, though!” Jessica added over her shoulder as she threw on her lab coat and headed for the door.
“How’s that saying go again?” Andy asked. “‘Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies.’ Yeah.”
Don looked out of the corner of his eye at his assistant. “Very funny, Andy. You should do stand-up.”
“I’m serious, holmes,” Andy replied. “Do you have any fucking idea how heavy you are with that suit on? Jesus, I almost called in a forklift.”
“You finished?” Don said, looking up at him.
Don’s vision blurred as the back of his head felt a sharp impact. “Ow …” he trailed off.
“Yeah. That was for almost getting yourself killed last night.”
Don shook his head. “I’m glad I have such good friends,” he intoned sarcastically.
“In order to prevent more instances of what happened last night,” Andy began, “I’ve called my friend, Martin, to come here and see what he can come up with.”
“Can he be trusted?” Don asked.
“You want another hit to the head?” Andy retorted. “I’ve been friends with Martin for years, Don. He won’t tell.” He turned to his gauzed companion. “Especially if we keep his mind occupied with things to do.”
“Okay,” Don sighed, “but I don’t want any more people knowing.”
“Stop going out, then,” Andy said, staring him down.
“I can’t do that,” he said. “I must know about what happened to my parents.”
“Then I’m not making a promise I might have to break,” Andy said, crossing his arms and leaning back into the wall. “But I will see what I can do.”
Sitting on the back porch, Don suddenly remembered the doll he’d saved from the explosion at the old LoComp building in Maroa. Waiting until Andy left the house to pick up the children from school, he grabbed it from where Andy had moved the suit. The tag of the doll read “Personalized People,” and listed a website.
Don hopped up from the chaise and went to his computer. The website no longer existed, but a search for the company name turned up a warehouse on Kennedy Avenue, in the industrial district of Charleston.
“Industrial …” Don trailed off, turning the doll over in his hands and thinking back to CJ’s voice on the intercom. “No. He can’t be. Can he?”
Andy still wasn’t home when Don threw on the suit and reconditioned helmet. He quickly grabbed a car from the garage that hadn’t seen the light of day in a long while and sped off. He promised himself he’d be back before dinner.