Chapter One
I remember a time before it all began ... when times were happier, friends were closer, family meant a little more to me, and life was better. Of course, back then I couldn’t spend throw around C-notes in a night on the town, getting myself completely plastered and trying to forget it all. Back then, all I had was a dream.
I had been inventing and testing games: card games, then board games, and even role-playing games. With help and encouragement from my friend, Micah Edwards, I was able to actually print, publish, and market my first game. Of course, I didn’t have the kind of capital to sustain such an enterprise at first. That was when my family started dying.
Now, my mother’s mother had died some time before this, and my dad’s oldest sister and father passed within a very short time frame of one another, but then others of that generation in my family started dropping like flies. When my parents died in the “accident” at their brand-new house, I began to get suspicious. I was even more suspicious when I returned for their funerals and found my whole hometown had gone up in fire and smoke. This would have been ten years ago.
After that, family members I didn’t even remember I had started shuffling off the mortal coil, and I slowly became the last of either side of my family remaining. So many died that I began to fear for my own life, even become a bit paranoid and reclusive, but I also became the sole inheritor of a massive fortune. It was almost as though someone or something were using my family tree as a checklist, and I was the one being kept alive, for some reason.
Once I had the money to do so, I began to fund my own projects (and purchase heavy round-the-clock security). I began calling in favors from some old friends, and some of them began to move from all corners of the United States to Charleston. By that time, Charleston had taken on a life of its own, growing to metropolis proportions, what with the number of jobs I now had in producing a vast array of entertainment devices, not restricted to games alone. We developed dolls, mechanical and electrical devices, and even virtual reality computer games. My business did so much work in the technological field that I thought it only appropriate to call in Dan’s best friend, CJ, to head up the department. It had been hard to locate him, as he had left his old job at the computer repair store and his parents had passed on, but I trusted no other person to develop such projects than him.
In fact, most of my friends from my younger days had gotten lost in the whirlwind and flurry of activity that had become my life. I was now making deals with foreign manufacturers, being invited to civic luncheons, and even meeting with military leaders over more “practical” applications of the devices the “boys in the lab” were devising. It’s not that I’d made new friends to replace them; it’s just that I continued to fear that anyone near me would be cursed to a dismal death like the rest of my family. I never even married, had kids, or did any of the wonderful things life is supposed to bestow upon the lucky ones. However, I tried to make certain positions within the ranks of my companies available to the people I had held most dear before I’d finished school to my satisfaction.
Pretty soon, FordTech Enterprises was ready to unveil a new product, but at the ceremony for it, my lead developer, CJ Coffman, had disappeared. While he wasn’t necessary for the revelation, I supposed, I had still wanted him there. I had always felt a special bond with CJ, and his absence left a sinking feeling in my heart.
Still, the show must go on in all cases, and the Ebbing Feedback device was no exception. The device was designed to be an add-on to future versions of our virtual reality games. Say you wanted a particular smell to stand out over the rest of the environment and to make it stronger the closer a player got, or have an image so bright the user had to close her eyes, or perhaps simulate the sensations of intense radiation burns or the compression and coldness of deep space, without ever actually harming the person inside the suit. With this device, neural stimulations and signals could be suppressed or boosted in such a way that more intensity could be given to all the new games that would be released around Christmas-time. Needless to say, crowd response was dramatic, and stock prices in FordTech soared.
However, it was a very hollow victory. CJ, despite his years of intensive research and labor, had not been there to see it, and I began to get very concerned - someone might have gotten to him, too, and the world may never have known. Still, I tried to keep spirits up and hope alive by making public appearances and putting my skills as an actor to good use.
It wasn’t long before the military began approaching me about strategic uses for the Ebbing Feedback device. At first, I was loathe to acquiesce to their repeated requests, but as I became a little more curious, I conscripted my employees to try and develop alternative uses for the device, which could fall under military purposes. Apparently, CJ found out about this, and suddenly reappeared, curious and demanding to head up the project. I had no quarrel with the idea and agreed.
Shortly after this agreement, I noticed that Dan Bledsaw had come back to Charleston, and CJ had put in requests to have him join the Ebbing Feedback Suit project. I couldn’t give CJ a firm answer “yea” or “nay.” I'd had quite the falling out with Dan a long time before my entire family had died, and old wounds are often the toughest to heal. Still, I had wanted to have CJ by my side through all of this, and the only way he seemed interested in continuing the efforts was if I dangled the carrot of his life-long best friend in front of him. It was manipulative and shifty, but no one ever got anywhere in business by being openly and naively honest.
I guess that’s why I’m drinking tonight. I miss my family, I yearn for the life I might have led, and I don’t know what to do now that I have to deal with ghosts from my past. And, with the Ebbing Feedback Suit nearing its completion, I also have a sneaking suspicion that something heinous is about to happen, and that I have to be ready to pick up the pieces alone when it does.
Trust no one.
*
I woke that night from the same dream I’d been having off and on for ten years. I was driving back to my home to bury my parents when I saw the raging inferno that had been my hometown. Something arose from the flames and ash and came down all around me. Surrounded by fire but not burning, surrounded by darkness but not afraid. The ... thing ... had given me strength and purpose. I was to go forward, to seek out the ones who had done this, and to get its - and my - revenge.
And every time he had awoken in this way, Don would find himself unable to return to sleep. Andrew Stawarski - his friend, cook, and personal caretaker - came to check up on him, as Andy often did, and knew immediately what Don had seen. “Brighton again, Homes?”
After the death of his loved ones, Andy was the only one who still called Don by anything other than a formal name. “Yeah, Andy. I know there’s really nothing I can do about it, but I almost feel as though something keeps calling to me, wanting me to seek revenge for what was done.
“But I’m no fighter, Andy. I know a few techniques I’ve picked up over the years, but I’m a far cry from the most capable man on the planet to do such a thing.”
Andy shrugged. “I think you’re just telling yourself this to keep from trying. My father died at a young age, and if it had happened under circumstances like that, I would have wanted revenge. It’s easy to understand...”
“But I don’t believe in ‘revenge’!” Don growled.
“Perhaps you should start with believing in yourself, first,” Andy said, walking back to his room. “Maybe the rest will follow.”
Andy had been the kick in Don’s backside for the last leg of his lifetime. Much later, when looking back on his years, Don would become firmly convinced that, were it not for Andy’s not-at-all-subtle approach to motivating him, he probably wouldn’t have had the strength or conviction to get up each day. It’s awfully difficult to get up every morning when you find yourself sick of keeping up appearances, being a respected civic leader, and know, deep down inside, that there is no one on this planet who will love you unconditionally, because some sick, malicious entity decided your whole family needed to die. Luckily, it never quite got to the point where Andy needed to install electroshock therapy devices in Don’s bed to get him “properly motivated” to get moving, though Don had heard rumor of Andy’s cattle prod collection.
Don's unique story had seen world-wide publicity, and therefore, he’d had his fair share of people coming to the mansion, pretending to be long-lost fifth cousins or great nephews or something, claiming to have “survived the massacre” and to be his next-of-kin and heir to the new Ford empire. Andy was quite used to dealing with these phoneys, and took twisted delight in threatening to release the dogs. Andy also never told Don of these encounters, because it would reminded his boss that he no longer had anyone to call family. However, today would prove both of them wrong.
The bell rang, and Andy answered it. That much went according to routine. A young blond teenaged boy stood there, wearing a modest suit and bearing a confused look and a worried grin. “Uncle Donnie?” the boy asked, staring quizzically at Andy.
Andy took a step back with a finger held up to the boy. There was something strange about this, but Andy couldn’t remember what it was, nor why this encounter struck him as odd. “One second,” he trailed off, looking just as curiously at the boy as the boy had at him.
“Don?” Andy asked over the intercom.
“Yes?” the voice answered.
“Would you come to the front door, please?”
A few minutes later, Don stood in the entry hall, looking as confused as Andy. “Who is it?” he asked, looking past his butler to the closed front door.
Andy cleared his throat and paused before choosing his words carefully. “You said that no one but your family and people from your hometown call you ‘Donnie,’ right?”
“Yeah. Why, what’s wrong?”
“There’s a young gentleman at the door, looking for ‘Uncle Donnie.’”
“You’re shitting me.”
Andy shook his head. “Go talk to him yourself.”
Don opened the door, staring slack-jawed into a face he’d not seen in ages. “Uncle Donnie?” the face asked again, even more worried and perplexed than before.
“Charles? Charles Danyael Lemp?” Don’s voice cracked and croaked a bit, choking as he spoke the words. “Is it really you?”
The boy seemed to smile for the first time since Andy had seen him. “Yes! Yes, it’s me, uncle Donnie!” Don threw his arms open and embraced the young man.
“What are you doing in Charleston?” Don asked.
“I’m coming to school here, at Eastern Illinois University, this fall! I’m going to go for my education degree. I’m going to teach, like Mom!”
Don just chuckled. “How is your mother?”
Charles sighed and looked down. “Not good.”
“You want to come in and talk about it, Charles?”
All he could do was nod. “Andy, would you get my ‘nephew’ here a drink, and join us in the sitting room? I think we have a lot of catching up to do.”
*
Charles explained that he was getting almost a full free ride through college because his mother had been a teacher as well as becoming a cancer victim. Elisa, once Lemp and now Crockett again, had been needing proper treatment for months, and she had finally broken down to ask for help. With Don being the unofficial godfather to her children, and at one time having been thought to be the actual father by hospital staff, as well as her “adopted” brother, she hoped he would help a woman who’d raised two boys on a teacher’s salary.
“She didn’t need to go to such great lengths to ask for help, Charles,” Don finally said, after letting his “nephew” speak his piece. “A simple phone call and I would have opened a whole hospital wing in her name, private care and all.”
He laughed and shook his head, filling the house with the most genuine noise it had heard in a long time. “Exactly. That’s why she sent me here with a sob story. She doesn’t want special treatment, just regular treatment. She wants it to be quiet, unimportant, and completely media-free.” He paused to sip some of Andy’s sweetened lemonade tea. “She didn’t want cameras on her, 24/7, broadcasting the life struggles of someone in the life of Don Ford. That, and she doesn’t want to exist in your shadow.” He laughed again.
“Fair enough,” Don said, taking a swig of the drink himself. “So, you just want me to check her in, quietly, and make sure she gets the help she needs while you go to school. What about Trina or Xavior?”
“Mom left Trina a few years ago. Kept saying, ‘if I had wanted a man, I would have gotten married ... again.’” He snickered. “And Xavior is at school right now. High school starts a little earlier than college.”
“So, you’re living in Charleston now?”
He nodded. “Moved back to Illinois after Grandma died and Mom left Trina. Moved here when she ran out of money.”
“Good. I can have my secret enforcers watch you while you sleep. Make sure you and your brother don’t start shit in my city.” Charles spit his drink, barely making it into his glass. “Just kidding,” Don said, smirking, “but I would like to make sure you and yours are all right.”
Charles coughed a few times to clear his throat after the joke, then nodded. “Thanks, Uncle Donnie. I’m sure Mom would appreciate that.”
“I’ll phone one of my workers and have her take your mom to the hospital. That way, we spare unwanted publicity. Hey, Andy? Would you get me the phone, please?”
Andy returned, bearing the cordless phone on a silver tray. Don shook his head as he took it off the tray. “Thanks for the theatrics, Andy, but Charles doesn’t need a display of my propriety. They don’t care how loaded I am, as long as I can get things done.”
Don took the phone and dialed the security post at FordTech Enterprises. “Hey, Gavin? Can I ask a favor?”
“Not right now, sir. I’m afraid something’s happened. The plant manager’s been trying to call you all afternoon. There’s been a break-in, sir.”
“What happened?”
“The prototype Ebbing Feedback Suit is missing.”
*
Andy drove the two men to the FordTech plant, and after the car was checked in through security, Don met with Gavin Johnson. Gavin felt appreciated in Don’s presence, even if he was just a security guard, Don had a way of making Gavin feel like the head of security at the plant. Johnson had no idea, but Don’s familiarity and openness with him stemmed from watching him grow up. Gavin had barely been a toddler when Don’s family started dying, and though Don had lost touch with Gavin’s family, Don recognized him when he came in for a job at his plant and was hired immediately.
“So, what can you tell me?” Don asked, pacing around the guard shed outside the Technological Development Facility.
“Not much to tell, sir,” Gavin admitted with a heavy sigh. “No evidence left behind and no witnesses of odd behavior or persons.”
Don shook his head. “You don’t need to call me ‘sir,’ Gavin. You can call me ‘Don.’”
Gavin shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Ford. That just wouldn’t seem right.”
Don smirked as he turned away, but put on a very serious face as he turned back to face Gavin. He remembered saying something similar to Gavin’s mother, Bridget, so many years ago. “Seriously, Gavin. You don’t start calling me ‘Don,’ and I’ll have you arrested and possibly put to death.”
Gavin gulped hard. “Only joking,” Don said, a smile finally coming to his face. Gavin sighed and eased his posture from full attention. “So, honestly, Gavin. Just tell me what you know.”
“Well, si-, er, Don,” he said with an uneasy grin, “like I said, we haven’t found any evidence of break in or tampering.”
Don nodded. “So, whoever took the suit already had access to it.”
“Actually, sir, that would go well with the other evidence.”
“What other evidence?”
Gavin took in a deep breath and looked up at his boss’s face. “Mr. Coffman appeared.”
Don gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles whitening a bit. “And what happened?”
“He was checked through security, went straight up to the plant, was inside for a few minutes, then drove out. Nothing bizarre, except for the fact that he hasn’t been here in a few weeks.”
“And the suit’s gone?”
“Yes, sir.”
Don shook his head and sighed. “CJ - Mr. Coffman - has the suit.”
Gavin nodded. “That’s what we suspected. But we don’t have any proof. No one actually saw him enter the room where the project was being kept.”
“He’s been working here for how long? Of course he knows ways in and out of those rooms that no one else does. Hell, I showed him access ways that he could use to get to-and-from areas of the facility quickly and quietly.”
Don started staring at each of the security screens and sighed. “I didn’t mean to blow up like that, Gavin. It’s just so frustrating to drop so much of my money on a super-secret project, only to have it disappear like this.” He looked over the security control panel. “Is there a way to see the room where they were storing the suit?”
“Sure, Don,” he said, dropping into the chair in front of the console. A few quick button pushes and the screen displayed a perfect digital rendition of the chamber in which the suit was being stored.
“These cameras ... they have other modes than just ‘video,’ right?” Don asked, looking down at Gavin.
“Sure!” he said, sounding excited to explain this to his own boss. “Capabilities for nighttime surveillance, magnification, thermal scanning...”
Don smirked. “Bring up the infrared. Let’s see if I remember my high school science.”
Since electronic devices are best stored at near-body temperatures, the thermal-regulated chamber where the electronics had been stored were suddenly yellow-colored, save for an yellow-orange trail leading into the center of the room from the wall. “A heat source takes longer to dissipate completely from a warm room than a cold one. Thermodynamics.” Don smiled. “Someone was in there, and that someone used a secret access route to enter and exit the room, and only grabbed the suit.
“There’s your evidence, Mr. Johnson. I’d suggest contacting the authorities. Commissioner Newton will be happy to issue a warrant.”
Don decided to have Charles stay with Andy while he went to speak to the scientists who worked on the suit with CJ. The crew was shocked when he appeared without warning, but not surprised, considering what had just transpired. “Do any of you know where he took it?”
None of the scientists were quick to answer. Eventually, one of his assistants spoke up. “We don’t know, sir. None of us spoke to him.”
Don nodded. “Do you still have the working schematics?”
“Oh, better than that, sir,” one of the technicians grinned. “We have a working model.”
“You made two suits?”
“Of course. A project of this magnitude would be foolish not to have a backup, in case the initial tests failed. Which, ironically enough, they did.”
“What do you mean by that?” Don asked, one brow raised.
“The analytical buffer of the units was found to be defective.”
“In English, if you would, please?” Don joked.
“Test subjects are currently seeking counseling with Dr. Heumann, as you referred. Apparently, the testers could not distinguish the fantasy of the environment of the suit from reality,” one of the other scientists explained.
Don nodded. “Working on that?”
“That’s why we’d pulled the first suit out of storage. We were going to get to the second suit, but we hadn’t quite gotten all the problems of the first suit fixed.”
Don mimed wiping his brow and laughed. “Well, that’s somewhat of a relief. Though, that still leaves one dysfunctional suit out there, but that’s my problem. You keep working at it. I’m sure we’ll have a fully-functional suit in due time.
“Still, I wonder why he stole a faulty suit.”
“If I may, sir,” another technician spoke up, “you went public with the suit on television, right?”
“True. What are you getting at?”
“I’m sure he thought the project was complete. We never went public with the problems we were having.”
Don nodded. “Then I need to find where he was going. Thank you for your time.”
Don left the lab with questions and fears. On his way out of the building, he saw Gavin approaching with an old friend trailing behind him. Krysta Plank had been in the employ of FordTech Enterprises since its founding, having a great deal of experience from her days as a medical receptionist. Admittedly, Don had seen fit to remove her from the public sector so that she wouldn’t pull all of her hair out. Dealing with customers, as he could attest to, was terribly draining on the spirit.
“Gavin? Krysta? What’s going on?” Don asked.
“Don, Krysta says she was showing some investors the facilities here when Mr. Coffman passed her in the hallway.”
“What did you hear, Krysta?”
She looked worried. “I don’t know if this means anything, but he had said something about ‘if Don won’t let him in on the project, I’ll take the project to him,’ but I don’t know who ‘him’ is.”
Don’s eyes narrowed. “I know who he is,” he said, leaving the building behind.
*
On the way out of the plant, Don notified Andy remotely to take Charles back to the mansion, pick up Xavior from school, and make sure Elisa got some flowers in her hospital room, to remind her that people were praying for her speedy recovery. Don hopped into the company car, and sped off to speak with Commissioner Newton at the Old Charleston Courthouse.
Dustin Newton had just been appointed to the office, and Don was already calling in friendly favors from their days of working together at Casey’s General Store. Though the store no longer stood in town, Don hadn’t seen a reason to stop his friendship with his former co-worker. Dustin already had reports preceding Don’s arrival,about the two billion dollar suit’s disappearance and was already prepared to tell the thirtysomething entrepreneur that his office was “doing everything they could to track the suit down.” He wasn’t ready for his former co-worker to come in and tell him exactly who had taken it and where it was headed.
“Excuse me?” Dustin asked, when Don stood in his office doorway, casually leaning on the door jamb.
“It’s just like I said it, ‘Fig,’” Don said, using Dustin’s familiar nickname, “CJ took the suit to deliver it to Dan. One of my administrative assistants witnessed him with the suit in his possession and overheard enough of CJ’s mumblings to validate my fears about Dan. You know how much he still hates me for what happened.”
Dustin nodded. “Okay, do you know - for certain - that CJ is taking it to Dan?”
Don sighed and shook his head. “No. I don’t know it for certain. But, I do know that CJ took it. That much is fact. It’s just that he was gung-ho for having Dan join the project, and I never gave him a straightforward answer, one way or the other. I suppose it’s my fault, but I thought CJ would leave if I didn’t allow Dan to come in to help.”
“Do you know where he might be headed?”
The bald billionaire shook his head. “I can only guess. Meeting here in the city, where I have so many employees watching, would be foolish. Even meeting in the slums would be stupid, considering how much publicity this whole thing’s gotten. Every two-bit crook in Charleston’s going to be looking to get this thing, if even just to extort me for the money.
“No, if I were CJ and I were smart, I’d high-tail it out of the city at the same time I was fleeing the crime scene. Go somewhere more familiar, wait until the heat is off, and then go where the wind takes me.”
“You haven’t received a ransom threat?” Dustin asked.
“No,” Don said. “I don’t think they’re out for me, but they’re probably out for money. I made up my mind a few days ago that I wasn’t going to accept the military’s offer to utilize the suit for combat purposes. CJ might be trying to monopolize on that. He might still have some people here loyal to him, which is how he might have known of my decision.”
Commissioner Newton nodded. “And where might CJ go to hide?”
Don smirked. “The place he likes most.
“Home.”
*
Newton’s unmarked squad car held only two: himself and Don Ford, who had insisted he come along to speak with CJ. Perhaps, Ford felt, he could convince his former project head to give back the prototype suit by telling him it was faulty. Along with them came Charleston city, Coles and Macon county, and Illinois state troopers’ cars. The billionaire had suggested CJ might be more willing to back down and listen to reason if the authorities came in force.
Upon reaching the Coffman residence in Decatur, a car sped from behind the building, taking to the back roads. Macon County sped on ahead, being most familiar with these roads, letting the other cars take up the rear. Radios were a constant source of chatter, and Don’s fingers had firmly entrenched themselves into Dustin’s dash and arm rest.
When CJ realized he wasn’t going to lose the locals on the country dirt roads, he frantically wracked his brain for a place dangerous enough in which to lose police. He briefly ducked around a few of the streets of Harristown and Niantic, which was enough to shake some of the police from Charleston and the state, but the Macon County department and Commissioner Newton’s vehicles stayed firmly in sight of CJ’s car.
CJ was on the road to Illiopolis when he screeched to a halt, leaping from a still running, still moving vehicle, shoving himself underneath the barbed-wire fence around the old Illiopolis chemical plant. He and Dan had had their first brush with the law here, and he thought it ironically fitting that it may be his last. He was well into the plant’s rusted and collapsing infrastructure when the Macon County police poured out onto the scene.
The radio in Newton’s vehicle squelched to life as the police at the scene finished their search of Coffman’s car, but no suit had been found. Don then directed Dustin how to get to the abandoned chemical plant, and soon the backup the Macon County police needed had arrived. Together, the forces began prying back chain-linked fence and entering the plant. Ignoring the warnings to leave it up to the law enforcement officials, Don charged in with the commissioner, running for the main warehouse.
“CJ!” Don called out inside the main building. A stutter, clank, louder thunk, and muffled curse alerted the billionaire to his presence, and Don charged up a nearby staircase to a narrow catwalk, where CJ was nursing an injury on his hand.
“CJ, I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want them to hurt you,” Don started, easing forward. “I just want my suit back. I don’t even want to press charges.”
“You weren’t even going to ask me what I thought about the military project!” he yelled back. “You were just going to go ahead and cancel, even though we could have made a lot more money with a government contract!”
Don shook his head and eased forward more. “CJ, you weren’t around,” he spoke calmly. “I wanted to talk it over with you, but I didn’t know how to get ahold of you. I was flying blind.”
“Why wouldn’t you let Dan help?”
Don stopped. “CJ, you know that he and I haven’t spoken in years. We’re both too proud and both too selfish to admit to the other we were wrong. And now really isn’t the time, CJ. This stantion isn’t going to hold much longer. Let me help you down, and we can talk about this.”
CJ snarled. “Dan’s got the suit now. I’m not giving it back. Call it pride and selfishness,” he smiled, “but I think we’re going to be able to set ourselves up for life with this.” Then, CJ pulled a gun from his pocket and leveled it at his former boss. “And, if you’re out of the way, we won’t have to worry about lawsuits.”
One of the officers below shouted to the others that their pursuit had a gun. CJ’s trigger finger started to squeeze, and Don ducked out of the way. CJ’s aim was off, and he struck an old gas main, which leaked into the rafters and pipes above.
“Mr. Coffman, lay down your weapon!” Commissioner Newton declared.
CJ, in a fit of bravado, began waving it around in wide hand motions. “Or what?” he yelled over the whine of depressurizing gases.
“Fire a warning shot,” said one of the police officers on the ground floor, as Commissioner Newton made his way up the staircase to keep a closer eye on Don and CJ. One of the officers let a shot fly, and it struck a piece of metal on the ceiling, sparking the gas, causing an explosion which shook free the catwalk, sending both CJ and Don hurtling over the edge. Don’s hand had been gripping the rail, and he was dangling from it, staring down into a pile of collapsed rusted girders and pipes. CJ struggled to reach out, Don’s other hand trying to grab for him.
“Give me your hand!” Don cried, trying to scoot himself closer to CJ’s flailing body. As their fingers touched, the fires erupting above them had finally grown too powerful, and old pressurized pipes began blowing out under the intense exposure, knocking Don’s former business partner into a tangled mass of pipes and jagged pieces of old, rusty metal. Officers rushed to try and catch him, but only a trickle of blood from under the pile of rubble marked CJ’s fate. Dustin Newton ran to Don’s aid, and the entrepreneur was able to be pulled to safety, just as the ceiling threatened to collapse around the survivors.
They all rushed to their vehicles as the last remaining pieces of the Illiopolis chemical facility caved in. CJ Coffman, even if he had survived the fall, was now assuredly no more.* Entering the cathedral of St. Charles Borromeo, Don sought the quiet closet of the confessional booths, and soon, a familiar voice was there to greet him. “What troubles you, my son?”
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Don began. “I treated one of my friends poorly, and now I feel that I have lost him on such a bad note that I might not be able to salvage anything of the old friendships we shared, let alone the objects which he had stolen from me.”
“Don,” Father John said, “CJ’s death wasn’t your fault. It was his. He chose to do what he did, and you could have done no more for him than what you did. I saw the news.”
“But, Father ...”
“Please, call me ‘JJ.’ It makes me feel better.”
“JJ,” Don said, “would it be wrong for me not to attend the funeral?”
“No,” Father John said, “I think God would understand. Besides, I don’t think you’d be very welcome there, anyway.”
There was a long pause before Don spoke again. “All I really want to know is, why did he do it?”
Father John Janega nodded to himself, mulling over his words. “I don’t think you’ll know what happened unless you walk a mile in his shoes. See what CJ saw, and then you’ll know why he did it.”
Don thought long about this, and tapped the screen separating him from the pastor. “Thank you, JJ, Father John. I think I know what I have to do.”
*
“It’s been over a month since the prototype of the new FordTech Enterprises invention was stolen, and Police Commissioner Newton is no closer to finding the missing suit or the current possessor. The police department declined to comment; not surprising, considering the admitted thief, Mr. Christopher Coffman, was accidentally killed when police pursued him to the remnants of the old Illiopolis chemical facility. FordTech Laboratories also declined to comment on the project, but announced that a new invention was already underway, with a release date sometime in the spring...”
“You did?” Don asked of the voice on the other end of the phone. “That’s awesome! Expect me to visit this afternoon. I have a little matter to take care of here, but then I’ll be there straightaway.”
“What’s up, Homes?” Andy asked.
“They’ve finished fixing the other suit, but I’d already told them not to go public with it until I was ready. Dan’s still out there with a malfunctioning suit, and I’d rather not let him know there’s been an upgrade.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” Andy said. “So, are they ready to test it?”
“Yup,” the billionaire said with a smirk. “And I’m going to go play dummy.” Don slipped on the blue mesh-covered full body suit and began moving around in it, while one of the scientists on the project began explaining. “We’re almost at a point of full nanotechnology with this suit, Mr. Ford. Bio-responsive adaptation, enhanced sensory devices ... it’s like wearing thermal underwear with an additional nervous system inside it.”
“This ... is a video game?” the billionaire asked, astounded.
“Well, not directly, sir,” the lab technician explained. “It needs a program to be put into the central drive, located in the area of the belt buckle. We also had developed a keyboard device for internet game play, but Mr. Coffman must have taken that. We’ve searched the whole plant for it.”
Don nodded, then looked down at a thin rectangle just below his waist. “Do you have anything I can test drive?”
“Only one disc,” the scientist said, holding up a mini-CD. “It’s a diagnostic disc, used to activate all of the major functions and capabilities of the suit.”
The man in the suit popped in the disc and was subjected to a live video feed of the room around him. “You’re probably seeing through the suit right now,” the lab tech’s voice announced in crystal digital clarity. “The suit is programmed to have 360 vision capabilities, as well as infrared, ultraviolet, night, and electromagnetic sights, magnification and visual clarity devices for ‘far away’ objects, access to television and radio, digital surround sound, digital recording capabilities with an eight-hour span, hyper-responsive reflexes, and the ability to stimulate or diminish sensitivity to any particular area of the body. It’s so precise, we can even program it to affect a single cell. It also filters air and has custom temperature and humidity controls. This suit could not only be used for gaming, but also in the medical field, especially for patients on respirators, or even those who are immobile. It could give them the strength to stand again on their own two feet.”
“You were saying something about sensory fabrics, too?” Don asked.
“Indeed,” the scientist continued. “There are additional ‘memory cloth’ attachments that can be made for flight or submersion. What looks like a cape could be made to form into a wind catcher or parachute, or even a flotation device, in case of emergencies. There are even some stealth capabilities; however, the camouflage only works when immobile.”
“So, how does it know what I want it to do?” the suit asked. “And how does it know when to heighten the sensitivity to something or diminish it?”
“Like I said, sir, the suit is as close to nanotechnology as we can muster at this point. Its electronics are so close to our own nervous system that its pain, optical, or aural receptors will automatically adjust to your body’s movements. If the outside environment would be deadly or painful, it tries to shut out as much of the element as possible. Likewise, if it senses that you’re straining to hear, see, or touch something, it will make adjustments to allow you to do just that.”
“Does it do anything else? Make Julienne fries, perhaps?” the bald man joked.
“Actually, the suit can also be equipped with additional voices, in case you want to freak out your friends or make prank phone calls. We tested it out, just to see if we could make the suit sound like Darth Vader.” The technician chuckled. “Complete success.”
“Naturally. We’re selling it to kids, so make it do what kids want,” Don said, nodding.
“Actually, that was also a military upgrade,” the scientist said with a smirk. “Anything else I can answer for you, sir?”
Don looked at the blue arms and body of the suit. “Yeah. Does it come in black?”
“Keep this suit here, under lock-and-key. No one is to be permitted to have access except the top scientists of the project. I want a two-passkey system and any other protocol you feel is necessary. Then, I want you folks to start working on a dumbed-down version with none of the military-specific upgrades that can be easily and fairly cheaply mass-produced. That way, if we should ever decide to go ahead with the military or medical uses of the project, we still have a template in addition to the schematics we’ve backwardly re-created, and we’ve still got a product out in time for Christmas,” Don paused, turning to face his overworked technical staff. “Is that cool with everyone?”
Most of the members of the team agreed it could be done. “Good. You all know what to do, so let’s get started. We’ve got half a year, and you all have some serious vacation time coming up. I know you can do it without overworking yourselves,” the CEO said, smiling at them all. “You’ll all be in for a serious bonus when you pull this off. I know we can do it. CJ would have wanted it that way.”
With that, Don turned from the impromptu gathering of the brains behind the Ebbing Feedback Suit and left the FordTech premises.
*
The scene of CJ’s death played through Don’s mind again as he assembled an array of gadgets and gizmos he’d acquired over the years: some mountaineering equipment, a pocket fog machine, a cutting torch, and a military-grade electromagnetic pulse gun. “Tuck the kids into bed, make sure Elisa knows I’ll be stopping by tomorrow, leave me something to eat, and see to it my clothes get pressed for the public address tomorrow, Andy. And, if anyone asks about what happened tonight, you don’t know anything.”
“Don’t know anything about what, man?”
Don smirked and hugged Andy. “Andy, you rule.”
Adrenaline pulsed through his head as he snuck up to the edge of the security perimeter. He waited for the guard shift change before charging an opening he’d seen in the gates while touring the facilities a few weeks ago. Thankfully, as on-task as the security forces at FordTech were, a small fence breach due to a misguided young buck was not a top priority.
He made his way stealthily up to the building proper, then slid a copy of Gavin Johnson’s passkey into the slot. Once inside, he made his way to the hallway containing the room in which the suit was being kept. Waiting for the guards here to pass, he carefully looked over the two-keycard security system before blasting it point-blank with the EMP gun. With the system down, it was only a matter of time before guards came charging up to see what was the matter.
He pried open the large doorway that had been sealed and began to fog the room for lasers. Most of the beams crossed multiple times on the floor, but only a few were set up to guard the air above the suit’s case. Popping his neck a few times, the man in black quickly assessed the laser grid and threw a grappling hook up into the rafters. He then let momentum and gravity work in his favor, swinging directly through a blind spot in the lasers before coming to the reinforced glass case.
Quickly lighting the torch, he carved a large enough hole to grab the suit and some memory cloth, then shoved them into his backpack and started to pull himself up the rope, lit cutting torch between his teeth. Once in the rafters, he unhooked the grapple and shoved the whole thing into the pack alongside the suit, just before starting to cut the ceiling away to make an escape.
Guards charged into the room, guns drawn. When the pulse finally cycled out of the machine and the guards obscuring the path of the lasers, the doors slammed shut and alarms started ringing throughout the compound. It was enough of a distraction for the still unseen thief to sneak away.
Don now knew how CJ had felt in stealing the first suit. Now, he just had to get the other one back.
*
“Did you get it, man?” Andy asked.
“Yeah,” Don said. “What’s up? Something wrong?”
“Commissioner Newton called. And the local news is going insane.”
“Why?”
“Decatur’s on fire.”
Don looked at the scene. It resembled Brighton almost to the point it started to make him sick. “I need to go. Whoever did this might know what happened to Brighton.”
“Wait. You can’t go as ‘Don Ford.’”
“You’re right. What should I call the suit?”
“What about Ba-”
Don held his hand up. “We don’t want a lawsuit on top of grand theft.”
Andy shrugged. “What do you call a man chasing a murdering arsonist in an Ebbing Feedback Suit?”
The shiver that shot up Don’s spine gave him the vision of the bird from his dreams.
“Easy. ‘Ebon Phoenix.’”