"The Revolving Grave" (A Trom Girl Mystery)
"The Revolving Grave"
2/2-2/3/2007
I.
"Don't tell me you rode a motorcycle here! It's ten degrees outside."
Megan Salenger thumbed the ear pod on her helmet and the clear visor retracted up into its internal track. The gamin face face revealed looked puzzled. "No, sir. This is a survival suit. I was comfortable outside."
In fact, the field suit she wore, with its layer of flexible armor and numerous gadgets hidden in pockets and pouches, had its own advanced power source to keep her temperature constant. Wearing it, Megan had hiked through blizzards and skirted lava flows without distress.
The police chief of North Creek, Texas shivered at the thought of walking around outside that night, survival suit or not. The wind chill stood at five below zero. Hitting sixty and sporting a considerable paunch, Chief Winselm had become used to staying in his nice snug office. The comforting tang of coffee brewing in one corner was another nicety he appreciated. He sat down behind his desk again and gestured for his visitor to take a chair. "You've been asked to come here about the murders, but I still feel it's highly irregular."
Pulling out a plain wooden chair facing the chief, the Trom Girl unlatched her helmet and tugged it off. Her short black hair was tousled and she absently brushed it down with her gloved fingers. Megan had an likeable face with a pointed face and huge dark eyes that were always active and inquisitive.
"Yes," she replied simply. "Your mayor called our headquarters this morning and asked if we could investigate. The other members of the KDF are already on assignment. I am here to look into these deaths."
Winselm cleared his throat. "You'll forgive my saying so, but you seem awfully young to be investigating homicides, Miss. Especially by yourself."
"I am twenty-seven. I assume you have done some research on me," she said as she removed her thin leather gloves and placed them with her helmet on the empty chair next to her.
"Yessss. You do have an impressive record of success resolving unusual cases... cases that are kind of weird and bizarre. Hell, let's come right out with it, cases that border on the supernatural."
The Trom Girl did not smile. She nodded solemnly. "I'm glad to see you are open to such concepts, chief. The Kenneth Dred Foundation has worked with the NYPD and the FBI's Department 21 Black for years now. I'm certain you could find many officials who would vouch for our work."
Before Winselm could continue, a bulky form appeared in the office door which had been left ajar. A few inches over six feet tall and wide enough to fill the doorway, the man was bundled in a down-filled blue parka, with wool gloves and a ski mask pulled down past his ears. What could be seen of his face was red from exposure.
"Hi, Archie!" Megan sang out and cleared the other chair for him. "Chief Winselm, this is my partner Archie McAllister. I expected him to arrive a few minutes after I did."
"Evening, sir," said Archie. As he peeled off the hat and relaxed a bit at being indoors, the big man sighed. As always, he looked as if he needed a shave and some sleep. In the heavy-featured face, gentle blue eyes gave away his real nature.
"Yeah, I was told you guys worked as a team," the chief said. "Actually, I feel better knowing you can watch each other's backs. Anyway. There have been two murders so far and I'm afraid we can expect quite a few more. There were seven men and five women on the jury that condemned Dr Leon Brevard to death last month...."
II.
Stepping out of the police station forty minutes later, Megan and Archie wasted no time getting into the cherry red Jeep Cherokee parked next to the door. It was well past eleven and the parking lot was empty except for the chief's personal car and two black and white cruisers for the officers on duty.
Getting behind the wheel and starting the engine up, Megan placed her helmet on the seat behind her. "It is refreshing to have the authorities be helpful for once. Chief Winselm appears to genuinely welcome our assistance."
"Yeah, it's a nice change from the usual speeches we get discouraging us and insisting there has to be a nice dull prosaic explanation for all the gruesome shenanigans." Archie held his hands up by the hot air vents in the dashboard. "You know, he didn't ask why you got here before I did but we're leaving in the same vehicle."
Megan put the Jeep in gear and eased out of the parking lot onto North Creek's main street. There was no snow on the ground this final week of February, but the sudden cold snap that night was a reminder that winter was still present. "No," she said. "If he considered it at all, he probably thought I arrived in a taxi."
"Yeah. He wouldn't know that you wear that gravity shield disc on your back, or that you flew in and landed behind the station. Did you think to offer him a ride around the block?"
She gave him a mischievous grin. When alone with Archie, the Trom Girl allowed herself more relaxed facial expressions than in public. "Of course not. Archie, what reactions do you have to the murders?"
"Creepy as all get-out, if you ask me. Let me see if I got it straight. A doctor named Leon Brevard was arrested for giving his nephew Roger Brevard an injection of cyanide. The nephew's girlfriend had gone to the police all hysterical because she had overheard the two of them discussing the injection."
"You are correct." Megan slowed to a stop at a red light, peering in both directions up deserted streets. "Go on."
"All right then. Dr Brevard threw a fit when the police barged in and insisted he be left alone to perform some experiment on the corpse. He claimed he would be able to bring the guy back to life. The cops were not convinced. They determined by that fact that the body was at room temperature that the assistant had been dead for over half an hour. Lips and fingernails were blue."
"I do not blame them for concluding that the man could not be revived," Megan broke in. "CPR seldom works under the best of circumstances and it's understandable they simply arrested Brevard. After a trial which was quite a sensation in the local media, Dr Lukas was convicted of first degree murder. After several appeals that were turned down, he was executed by lethal injection on February 8th."
"You know, I thought you wanted me to tell this story...." Archie began.
"The body of Dr Brevard was claimed by his assistant, a medical student named Willoughby," Megan continued as if she had not heard. "In this state, no autopsy was required by law since a doctor had been present at time of death. Willoughby claimed he was taking the cadaver to a well-known local funeral home but in fact neither he nor the body were seen again."
"Very creepy," said Archie. "From what I read on the trip out here, two murders then occured at the end of last month. Both were members of the jury who had decided on a guilty verdict--"
"Not only that," Megan interrupted again, "But they were the foreman of the jury and the woman who had convinced several others that Brevard was guilty. If someone was seeking to avenge Brevard's death, they might be the exact two people he would blame first. A significant detail is that the deaths were caused by an injection of potassium cyanide, the same means used to kill Brevard's victim."
Unseen over in the passenger seat, Archie grinned and decided to let her tell the tale as she was obviously determined to do. "What do you think is going to happen next, hon?"
"We will stop at that diner up ahead. Neither of us have eaten since breakfast."
"No, no. I mean, the diner's fine but what about the murders?"
"I am considering possible contingencies," the Trom Girl replied with that distant tone which meant her mind was working on different trains of thought simultaneously. "Here we are. While we eat, I can tell you my tentative plan."
They left the Jeep and hustled through the chilly night into the chrome and blue enamel structure that read HARTMANN BROTHERS DINER in blinking neon letters. Inside, the air was warm and a bit moist, with only one booth holding two customers. Somewhere in the back, a radio was playing Hank Snow's "Born To Lose."
Catching the eye of the waitress behind the counter, Archie said, "We'll sit over there in the corner, okay?"
"Sure," came the blase answer. As Archie hung up his heavy parka on a metal hook next to their booth, Megan unzipped the front of her field jacket. Underneath was a black crewneck shirt of insulating material. Slim and only five feet three, she did look younger than her age to most people.
They were ready to order as soon as the menus were brought over. The two of them had begun eating breakfast food when on the run because it was prepared quickly and was light on the stomach. Archie ordered a double cheese omelet with strips of bacon while Megan decided on wheat pancakes and scrambled eggs. Orange juice for him and grapefruit juice for her completed their order.
While they waited, Megan leaned forward conspiratorily after being sure no one was within eavesdrop distance. Archie smiled affectionately. She was always so serious and so deadpan on a case that he found her expressions funny.
"Chief Winselm allowed me to read his list of jury members and other persons of interest in this case," she told him. "Of course, he would not allow us to take a copy but I memorized it."
"I thought so. I've seen you remember a page from a telephone book after a quick glance."
"Being brought up by the Trom had its effects on me," Megan said. "The members of the jury have all been alarmed after learning of the killings and we may expect them to be on guard. Several have moved away from this area temporarily. Naturally, the judge and the prosecutor are always alert to possible assassination attempts--"
Just as she spoke about assassination attempts on a judge and a prosecutor, their food arrived. Megan Salenger gave the waitress a sheepish grin but the woman gave no indication she had been listening. The two partners dug in and suddenly realized how ravenous they were.
When his plate was almost empty, Archie grunted. "Whew. Better come up for air. Anyway, honey, I was looking over your shoulder at the police station and I noticed two names that should have been on that paper. The victim's girlfriend and the doc's assistant."
"Oh, very good." The Trom Girl worked on the last scrap of her stack of pancakes. She chewed so throughly that it seemed likely she didn't really have to swallow by the time she was done. "You have a logical mind for a Human, Archie. Yes. I project a high probability that the girlfriend will be next on the killer's list."
"Huh. And where is she staying?"
"Her address as given indicates a house out on Route 44, approximately thirty-four miles west of where we are. Archie, both murders so far have taken place in the middle of the night. The first occured at two-thirty AM and the second at three-twenty AM. Even if we do not leave immediately, we will be able to start our vigil well before the murderer's preferred time."
Remembering again how bitter cold it was outside, Archie could not summon any enthusiasm for standing guard all night. "Maybe I'll have some coffee," he said.
III.
Sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep, Archie pulled out his phone and checked the time again. Only one-fifteen. He was parked fifty yards up the road, ready to start the engine and come to help if Megan sent him a text message from her Link.
The interior of the Jeep was snug and toasty enough, he had to admit, even with the motor not running. Megan had left a Trom device nestled in the cupholder nook between seats. It was a squat cylinder that blew steady heat and he had adjusted it to his liking. He had long ago given up on learning every gadget she might be carrying in her travel bag. Not only were there dozens of the little gizmos and she varied them according to circumstances, but Megan frequently crafted new ones she thought might be useful.
Right now, his favorite had to be this tiny heater that warmed the interior of a vehicle while remaining cool to the touch itself. He certainly could have used it while camping out on his road trips years earlier.
The single-story house with the slate roof was dark except for a vague nightlight in what was likely the bathroom window. Smoke rose from the brick chimney. Parked in the gravel driveway was a rather dingy and forlorn Ford Taurus that had seen its share of miles. When they had first arrived, Megan had quite illegally tapped in DMV records and confirmed ownership of that car was in Lydia Coutant's name.
Archie settled back to wait. He did not feel at all sleepy. There was no use his trying to spot where the Trom Girl was concealed. In her all-black outfit including helmet and gloves, she would hard to pick out on this overcast winter night even if she had been standing out in plain sight.
On the other side of the house from where Archie was parked, Megan Salenger crept silently through the murk. Her helmet's light enhancers and infra-red beam combined to enable her to see quite clearly. Tonight might be a fruitless endeavour, she realized. The murders had taken place roughly a week apart and the second one had been eight days ago. But she had no certainty that the murderer would feel compelled to follow a pattern. Revenge murderers were not like serial killers.
The beam projector was clipped to the side of her belt at her right hip, ready for use. She had chosen a neural shock cartridge set at medium. Working over the case in her mind, she was unhappy that no one in the police department seemed to have asked Dr Brevard just how he had intended to revive the victim. The subject had not been brought up at the trial, which Megan found out.
Did Brevard have some new technique or formula that he thought would revive the recently deceased? If so, why hadn't he elaborated on it during his questioning and cross-examination? Was it something so revolutionary that he hadn't wanted to reveal it? What would that matter to him after his execution?
The Trom Council who had raised her had warned Megan that she would probably never understand normal Humans. She had reluctantly come to agree. Logic could not fathom what was illogical. Lately, though, she had realized that random factor in Human thinking appealed to her. People were full of surprises.
Headlights showed in the distance and clicked off. Megan darted across the backyard and flattened up against the rear wall of the house. She twisted the right ear pod on her helmet two clicks clockwise and turned up her audio sensors. She could clearly hear two car doors being closed as quietly as possible and then two sets of footsteps on the gravel. They were men, one a bit over hundred pounds and the other thiry pounds lighter, she decided. They were trying to be stealthy but she judged they had no appropriate training.
The footsteps were slowing as they neared the side of the house to her right. That was where the window to Lydia's bedroom was located. Megan unclipped the beam projector from her belt and held it up as she swung around the corner of the house to confront the intruders. "Stop!" she snapped in what she tried to make an intimidating voice. Then she froze in position.
For once, even the Trom Girl's analytical mind slowed as she had to deal with a bizarre and unexpected sight. Standing at arm's length was a tall gaunt man wearing only slippers, thin white cotton pants and a white dress shirt unbuttoned down the front to reveal a bony chest. A long face with a lantern jaw and a bushy mustache glared at her.
Not only was the strange man exposed to the subzero wind chill, his skin was dead white... more white than any living person's could be. The irises of his eyes were not pink as in an albino's but clear. In the light enhancers of her visor, the weird man seemed to have solid white eyes.
Despite all her training and experience, this was enough to make her hesitate. In that split-second of indecision, she was lost. Stepping around from behind the all-white man was a shorter heavier form that swung up the muzzle of an assault weapon. It was a Colt AR-15 with a detachable box magazine. A thundering blast of automatic fire slammed her torso with twenty bullets within a second.
The flexible Trom armor which she wore under her field suit dispersed impact across its entire surface. It was highly effective but everything has limits. Megan doubled up and was knocked over onto her back. Blood was forced away from her lower body cavity and she blacked out.
Hearing that burst of gunfire, Archie McAllister slammed open the door of the Jeep and was running as fast as he possibly could toward the backyard. His heart was pounding. Since he didn't carry any weapons, Archie could not have said what he thought he could do against a gunman but that didn't matter. The thought that Megan might be in danger was all he cared about.
High up on the roof, a floodlight clicked on and the scene was brilliantly illuminated. For one second, the all-white man and the gunman were revealed in painful detail, then the bedroom window slammed up and two small hands extended the snout of a .45 automatic. Again the night echoed with gunfire as heavy slugs punched into the body of the white-skinned man. He crumbled as if his knees had melted and he sagged to the frozen lawn.
Archie raced through the yard, saw the gunman grab the limp body of the all-white man under both arms to drag it away. The rifle had been slung over one shoulder. Archie ignored them as he also disregarded the thought that the person inside the house might shoot again. All he could think of was Megan's safety. The big mechanic dropped to his knees and lifted her up by the shoulders.
He couldn't find any blood on her torso, which was a happy surprise until he remembered her armor. She still could have ruptured organs. The front of her field suit jacket had been shredded and hung in tatters, exposing a sheen like wet silk. The double layer of Trom armor on her body had saved her life more than once before.
Megan coughed and groaned and stirred, feebly raising her hands to paw at the air. Cradling her gently, Archie pressed the ear pod of her helmet to retract the visor. "Meg? Can you hear me? Are you conscious?"
She made an incoherent mumbling noise and tried feebly to sit up. A woman's voice yelling from the open bedroom window made Archie swing his head around.
Leaning out of the window, wearing a gold-colored bathrobe, a heavyset blonde woman pointed her 45 at him and yelled, "Don't you dare move! I reloaded. This was my deddy's gun and I know how to use it."
Careful to remain motionless, Archie called back, "We're with the police. We're investigating the recent murders. My girlfriend has been injured, please lower your weapon."
The obvious sincerity and anguish in his voice reached her. After a few seconds, she said, "Stay put. I'm coming out." The bedroom window came down with a bang.
Held up in her partner's strong arms, the Trom Girl coughed again and said, "I do not think I have any internal damage."
"Oh thank God," he said. "Listen to the way you said that. Your head is clear all right."
"I do feel awful, dear," she said. "Ow. I am going to be so sore. Am I speaking coherently?"
"More than I ever do." Archie hugged her to him and she raised one arm around his shoulders.
Wearing only the bathrobe and slippers, the blonde stomped up to them with the massive automatic in both hands. "I want to see some ID and I want to see it NOW."
Reaching into the lower front pocket of Megan's jacket, Archie took out her leather cardcase and held it open. The woman bent closer and stared at it. The New York State Private Investigator license and the Civilian Consultant Card for the NYPD both had photo IDs of Megan.
"All right," the woman said. "I suppose. Is she gonna need an ambulance?"
"No," the Trom Girl replied. "I should be able to walk now. Archie, perhaps I will need some support."
"Let's get inside," said Lydia. "I'm freezin' and that's no joke. Listen, did you either of you get a good look at that freak in the white PJs?"
"I did," Megan said as she managed to stand with Archie's help. "It seems nearly impossible but I recognized him."
"I know! I know," shouted the woman. "It was Dr Leon Brevard alive again. And I think I killed him for the second time."
IV.
They were invited into Lydia's house, where they gathered close together around a tiny round table in the kitchen. As she put the gun away in a drawer, Lydia noticed her hands were trembling visibly and she started talking.
The main reason she trusted these two strangers was that Archie was a big comforting teddy bear of a man. He listened attentively with only an occasional "And then what happened?" or "That's terrible" to prompt Lydia. The big blue eyes in the weathered face with its five o'clock shadow also had a very reassuring effect.
At twenty-nine, Lydia Coutant still lived in the house she had been renting with her boyfriend. Now that he was dead and his life insurance spent on the funeral and related expenses, she realized she would have to move out soon. Her sister had invited Lydia to stay with her and her husband for the moment.
Watching the heavyset blonde spill all her worries and problems to Archie made Megan happy. She herself had liked Archie as soon as they had met a few years earlier. Megan had never given the possibility of romance or a relationship any serious thought but she had tumbled hard for the big mechanic with the poetic soul, and they had been inseperable ever since.
Lydia was talking fast, obviously glad to find receptive ears. She detailed how she had been a childhood pal of Roger Brevard growing up in North Creek, how they had started dating in high school and had been serious enough to rent this house together and start discussing possible children. She had never liked Roger's uncle, the reclusive research scientist Dr Brevard.
"What exactly did the doctor do?" Megan broke in, speaking for the first time.
"He claimed to be a biochemist researching rare blood types," Lydia said. "Maybe. I dunno, he worked out of a garage he had made into a lab complete with all kinds of goofy electronic equipment. Roger sometimes helped him for extra cash. Here's what bothered me. Roger thought his uncle was a genius. He used to tell me that Dr Brevard would earn a Nobel Prize someday and be in the history books. I thought he was a creepy old bastard." She shoved her chair back and said, "You guys want coffee? I'm jonesin' for some."
"I'd like a cup, black," Archie was quick to say. Megan added that she would drink some as well. Normally, she avoided any stimulants including caffeine but she thought it would help the bonding between them all.
As she made instant coffee, boiling water on the gas stove, Lydia said, "I dunno why but it makes me feel better talking to you two. Before Roger died--was murdered, I should say-- all he talked about was how his uncle had developed synthetic blood. Not plasma but a complete blood substitute. Dr Brevard swore his artificial blood would cure a dozen diseases including diabetes and bad kidneys. He even told me one night that it revive someone who had died if administered soon enough."
"Oh. My. God," Archie breathed. "That's why the doc injected Roger with poison! He intended to bring him back to life with that blood substitute."
"That's why I think." Lydia brought three cups over to the table and fetched sugar and milk before sitting down again. "Of course, that was crazy talk. I figured the old man was crazy as a raccoon getting into the liquor cabinet. When I realized they were planning on trying the fake blood on my Roger, I ran to the cops in a panic."
Megan took a single sip of the coffee to be polite and put the cup down. "Lydia, Dr Brevard was executed by lethal injection at Plainsworth Prison. It's well documented. Yet you and I both saw him alive and active a few minutes ago."
"I know, I know." The blonde woman broke down without warning, deep shuddering sobs making her body shake. She hid her face in her hands. "That blood substitute! That has to be it. His assistant claimed his body and performed a transfusion and Dr Brevard came back to life."
For a long moment, no one spoke. Lydia wiped her face with the back of one hand and had to blow her nose on a napkin before she could continue. "That's what is bothering me so much. Roger could have been saved. If Dr Brevard had been allowed to finish the experiment, Roger would be alive today..."
Archie leaned over and rubbed her upper back. "You don't know that. Maybe it wouldn't have worked on him. Maybe he was type O while the doctor was type B and the synthetic only works on Bs. Maybe it depends on the poison used. There might be a hundred other facts we don't know about."
"I suppose," Lydia sniffled and wiped her nose again. "In any case, Dr Brevard has sure paid the price for what he done. My daddy's gun don't fool around, whatever I plug with it is stone dead."
Picking up her coffee cup again, the Trom Girl realized they both were staring at her. "Unless," she said a barely audible voice, "Unless another transfusion of the blood substitute brings him back again."
V.
Shortly afterwards, Megan and Archie were readying to leave. Despite the fact that they repeatedly and strongly urged Lydia to report the incidents at the house to the police, the woman refused.
"They'll think I'm crazy. They're already half convinced I'm nuts. When I tell them a friggin' zombie was outside my window and I emptied four slugs in it, they'll schedule me to talk with a nice young man in a clean white coat. No thanks."
Despite the gravity of the situation, Megan found the woman's phrases interesting. But she remained severe. "We are not going to report anything that happened here. Archie and I intend to track down Willoughby and Dr Brevard whether he is alive, dead or somewhere in between. But you may find yourself facing serious charges if you do not let the police know what you know."
"Fiddlesticks. I know my rights. If they come here asking questions and I deny knowledge of any crimes committed, why then I could be considered obstructing justice. But far as I know, I heard a possum or some varmint outside my house and I chased it away with a few shots in the air. Then I went to bed."
Picking up his down-filled coat, Archie sighed. "Well, it's up to you. Tell you what. We promise to come back here when everything is all wrapped up and fill you on the insanity."
"Sounds good." Lydia gave Archie a big full-body hug and then one for Megan, who accepted it without enthusiasm. "Just talking to you guys has been a big relief. I'm goin' back to bed. In the morning, this'll all seem far away."
Saying goodnight, Megan and Archie went back out into the freezing night. Fastening her helmet and lowering its visor, the Trom Girl crouched over the spot where Dr Brevard had been shot. Splattered on the ground was a viscous colorless goo. Megan found the sample bags inside her jacket had escaped the AR-15 attack. Using sterile plastic rods, she got as much of the gunk into the backs as possible and then placed the sealed sample bags back into their pocket.
"The blood substitute?" asked Archie.
"It seems almost certain. My love, would you mind driving? I am going to do some research?" Striding quickly through the darkness, she reached her Jeep and vaulted nimbly up into the passenger seat. Whatever soreness and bruising she had sustained from the gunfire did not hamper her.
As Archie started it up and pulled out onto the highway, he asked, "Which direction, hon?"
"Hm? Oh, back toward the village, I believe." She was scrutinizing the glowing screen of her Link, tapping buttons on its pad and scowling as if receiving dismal news. "This is difficult. I want to get into local real estate sales and property tax records."
Archie gave a scoffing noise. "Honey, does it cross your mind how many laws you break during a typical 'Trom Girl Mystery?'"
"No. Tel Shai knights serve justice, not the law. I've found something interesting here. Soon after Jacob Willoughby wrote a check for sixty-three thousand and eight hundred dollars from his life savings, the same amount was paid to a local realtor to lease a property out on Sawmill Road."
"Sounds like it might be a clue to me," Archie kept a straight face with that statement.
"Yes. Proceed in the direction we are now going. I am seeking information not available to the North Creek police. This may take a minute. I'm in FBI databanks now."
"More jail time for you, little girl, if you ever get caught pulling these tricks."
Megan shushed him. "Oh. Listen to this, Archie. Dr Brevard was employed for eleven years at the HeadStart Breakthrough Laboratory in Dallas. This facility was actually owned and run by John Grim Enterprises."
"Damn. HIM again? Dead all these years and we keep running in his henchmen and flunkies. So Brevard had plenty of up to date tech and lots of financial backing if he was working for Grim, right?".
"It makes his invention of fully synthetic blood more plausible," she said. After a minute of skipping from one screen to the next, she went on, "John Grim was a limited telepath. Did you know that, Archie?"
"Yeah. Someone mentioned it."
"He became a world class crimelord after several Trom scientists began working undercover at his facilities. He soon started developing advanced technology that he had in fact extracted from their memories. His developments like the Solar Knights and the Pentagram cyborgs were based on knowledge he stole from the Trom." A hint of resentment had edged her voice. "To be fair, he may not have realized this. His telepathy worked on a subconscious level. Grim may have thought he was an even greater genius than he was."
"Bet the Trom were still ticked off, huh?"
"That is accurate. That was knowledge not meant for Humans. We will be reaching a crossroads in three miles, dear. Turn right and head onto Sawmill Road. I estimate another eleven mile drive after that."
"Whatever you say, kid." Archie tilted his seat back, needing a lot more room than his partner. "How's your poor chest feel?"
"Tender. Sore," she answered, rubbing her upper body with one hand. "The enhanced healing factor has kicked in, so I should have no discomfort soon. I must always remember that the armor does not make me invulnerable. That man intended to kill me without knowing who I was."
"Yeah," said Archie. "I'm not going to forget that when we meet him."
VI.
When they pulled over at the bottom of the hill, Archie slapped his own forehead. "Oh come ON!" he said. "That is such a classic Mad Scientist house."
"I... don't understand," Megan Salenger said. She stared up at the four story 19th Century structure with its tower in one corner. An ornate wrought iron fence surrounded the house, with a PRIVATE PROPERTY sign on a post. The house itself was shabby and abandoned-looking with no lights in any window. A long-dead apple tree stretched out bare leafless branches and added to the general air of decay. "What do you mean?"
Archie placed a big hand on his shoulder. "Aw, it's from a hundred old movies. That's the kind of Gothic house where a Mad Scientist is conducting crazy experiments in the basement. Transplanting brains or making giant spiders, that sort of thing. You didn't grow up watching those movies, did you?"
"No. I was exposed to very little entertainment as a child." Her voice had a wistful tone that was unusual for her. "Most of your cultural references are lost on me, Archie."
"Yeah, well," Archie sighed. "You were raised to be a genius about physics and chemistry and all that, but you never went to the drive-in with your friends. Forget it. It's not important. This is the address you found for that Willoughby guy?"
"Yes." She reached in the back seat and fetched her helmet. "I want you to remain in the Jeep and stand by."
"After what happened? Forget it. I'm going with you."
"You have no armor and no weapons, my love."
"I don't care," he insisted. "You're not going to go after those creeps while I sit here worrying." He pulled his wool hat down over his ears and grumbled as he unbuckled his seat belt.
Megan smiled in the gloom. "I know better than to argue with you. Wait." She twisted around and dug in the equipment knapsack she kept in the backseat. She turned back with two metal spheres the size of cherry tomatoes and an areosol spray tube no thicker than a pencil.
"Oh, I've seen you use those. Dazzle grenades and the anesthetic gas." He accepted them as she handed them over. "When those grenades go off, everyone is deaf and blind for the rest of the day."
"Keep them in your pocket for a moment of extreme danger," she said. "I want you to hold this spray in your hand and be ready to use it. It has an effective range of six feet and a brief burst is enough to incapacitate a normal adult. Take a deep breath and hold it before discharge."
"Gotcha," Archie said. "But you be careful yourself! You took a real pounding earlier tonight."
"I will be fully alert, thank you." Megan lowered the visor on her helmet with a click.
"You know, how is it Willoughby had so much money available? He paid for this place with no loans or anything?"
"We will find out later," the Trom Girl said. "My conjecture is that Dr Brevard was high up in the John Grim organization and that he authorized his assistant to draw on funds as needed." She opened her door and freezing air rushed in.
Following her lead, Archie trotted across the road and up the bleak hill. When they reached the gate of the iron fence, he noticed the upright bars were topped with short wavy barbs. The gate was unlocked and didn't close completely in any case, so they simply went through.
Megan Salenger marched openly up to the front door of the rundown mansion. It had not been visible from the road, but a gleaming black Honda Civic was parked alongside the house. Stacked behind it were a half dozen wooden crates and packing debris. She pointed to them and nodded to Archie for silence, then circled around to the rear of the house.
The Trom Girl made some adjustments on her helmet, tapping a few flat buttons on the front crest. He had seen her do this many times. Although he wasn't sure exactly what she was checking this time, he knew that was how thw adjusted the sensors in her helmet. Probably she was looking for heat sources or electrical fields to find where anyone was.
In a low voice, she told him, "There are people in the basement. I can't find any alarms and I doubt if they will hear us approach." The Trom Girl lifted her main weapon, the beam projector, and turned its intensity up to high, then simply opened the rear door of the house and stepped into the darkness within.
Although she could see perfectly through the light enhancers, Megan reached behind her and took Archie's hand. They passed through frigid musty space, went down a short hallway and found the first speck of light on the property showing beneath a narrow door.
Creeping down narrow wooden steps with no banister, a damp stone wall to their left, Megan and Archie stepped down to blink at a brightly lit chamber which filled the basement. The air was warm and dry but reeked of ammonia. Under overhead fluorescent lamps, a man in a white smock was turning off a compressor that fed pressure to an IV machine.
All of Archie's snarky thoughts mocking ancient "B'-movies faded away as he saw a bullet-ridden corpse on a table take a deep breath and sit up.
VIII.
Under the pitiless fluorescent light, Dr Leon Brevard was a grisly spectacle. His skin and hair were white as cotton. Stripped to the waist, his bony chest and abdomen showed four gaping wounds which had not bled. As he fought upright, bracing himself with stiff arms behind him, the revenant gasped with awful gurgling noises.
Willoughby could not restrain his excitement. The small, almost dwarfish assistant was bouncing up and down. He clasped his hands in front of him. "Again! Again it worked!" he cackled. "Oxytetrachol was the needed ingredient. You live again. Death is nothing more than a revolving door for us now."
"A revolving grave...." intoned Brevard in a hollow voice. "I have passed through the revolving grave twice now. Oh, that interval of dreamless oblivion is dreadful, my friend."
"Wait, I must put dressings on your wounds," Willoughby said. "The synthetic blood will seep out if I do not."
"I do not have a pulse," Brevard observed with two fingers on a wrist. "No. None at all. The serum is not circulating, I must move around to keep it from pooling. Poor Roger. If only those imbeciles had allowed me to save him! He could be here to share our triumph..."
The assistant bustled about, taping thick gauze pads to the holes in the creature's torso. "When that bitch shot you, I was afraid. All our work would be wasted. You and Roger would have died in vain."
In another minute, Brevard looked around for his white jacket and pulled it on. "I do not feel the cold or pain, old friend. This is not fully life as it was."
"Still better than death. Every time the grave calls you, I will summon you back."
"Yes...." The all-white man examined the bandages on his body and scowled. "I wonder.. If the serum is supplying me with animation, it may not last for long. I may need more to continue functioning."
"The supply is growing short," Willoughby said. "I must purchase some plasma and begin the mixture."
Standing up, Dr Brevard moved his arms experimentally. Then, unexpectedly, he loose a burst of mirthless laughter that echoed across the basement. "But we must also continue our retribution, Willouhgby. I will have my revenge! Everyone who voted for my death will suffer terror as they wait for death to come to me."
"That will be enough of that," announced the Trom Girl. She stepped into the view with the beam projector raised and covered them both. "As a licensed PI, I place you both under arrest. Do not move. The police will be shortly to take you into custody--"
Her words were cut off. In a flash of jerky motion, the revenant had picked up the heavy table next to him and thrown it with murderous force across the room to crash into both Megan and Archie behind her.
"You do not realize what you are dealing with!" roared Dr Brevard. "I am filled with synthetic blood, purer and more potent than natural blood." With a stiff-legged gait, he shambled across the basement to effortlessly toss the table aside. Bending, he snatched up the beam projector from Megan's limp hand and glared at it.
"Some sort of weapon, I suppose. Willoughby, search them for guns or knives. I will get some ropes. These fools have questions to answer."
Lying beneath the Trom Girl, Archie shook his head. She had taken most of the impact of the table, but having her slammed into him had driven the breath from his lungs. He felt her stir and try to sit up.
Poor kid is sure taking her lumps on this case, he thought. Maybe she should work up a stiff breastplate of that Trom armor. He eased out from under her dazed form and rolled over onto his knees as the assistant reached them.
Archie raised the metal tube and released a brief burst of the odorless clear vapor. Devised by the Trom and long used by the KDF in their dart guns, the anesthetic dazed Willoughby instantly. The little man swayed and fell over onto his back with a crash as he knocked over a stool.
Across the basement lab, the undead thing that had been Leon Brevard snarled. He lurched around and took a menacing step toward them. "Forget the interrogation," he hissed. "Whatever you know will die with you."
"I've got those dazzlers," Archie whispered, but Megan placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"Dr Brevard, I take it you have heard of the Trom? Yes, I see you have. Your former boss John Grim stole many of his so-called advances from Trom scientists. The synthetic blood you are using is based on a serum that we Trom have long possessed."
"So what?"
"We do not make use of it except in short-term emergencies because it has a major defect. Yes, you are stronger than normal at the moment. You are immune to pain or fear. In your mind, you have nothing to fear."
"Death is an open door to me," Brevard said as he began stalking toward them.
"Nothing is that simple," the Trom Girl told him without triumph. "Without a heartbeat, we must keep our subjects hooked up to a circulator. Otherwise, the serum collects by gravity and fails to work after a few hours. Considering the damage you took from those bullets, I think you only have a minute or so of reanimation left."
"No. You're lying!"
"I never lie," she said.
The revenant took three more stumbling steps, doubled up and sagged slowly down. His face hit the floor with a thud that showed he had made no effort to cushion it.
"Dead again," Archie announced. "Third and final time, I hope."
Megan walked over and examined the cadaver. She rose and wiped her hands unconsciously on her field suit pants. "Yes. There is much to do, Archie. We must confiscate the supply of the serum kept here and any notes we can find. Some of this equipment must also be taken. We will conceal it in my Jeep." She frowned and looked back at Brevard. "That body must be taken and destroyed so no one can analyze the serum in it."
"What about this bird?" Archie said as he nudged the unconscious Willoughby with a toe.
"He will be unconscious for more than an hour. Let him tell whatever story he will. The police will not believe him. I will strongly recommend he take whatever funds John Grim still supplies and that he move far away to live in anonymity."
Megan began unfastening clear IV bags of the blood substitute and gathering them into a pile. "Perhaps you drive the Jeep up to the door to expedite this?"
"Yeah, good idea." Archie stood over the all-white body. "You know, honey, sometimes I wonder something. Why don't your Trom share discoveries like this? Why don't hospitals all have synthetic blood on hand?"
She paused with a thick notebook in her hands. "That is not my decision. I am not sure I agree with Trom policy, but our Council believes in letting Humans advance at their own rate. The Trom believe it would cause great harm if people received advanced technology before they are ready to deal with it."
Heading for the door, Archie shook his head "I guess. It sure sounds like that old chestnut. You know, 'there are things we are not meant to meddle with.' For now, at least."
1/20/2018
2/2-2/3/2007
I.
"Don't tell me you rode a motorcycle here! It's ten degrees outside."
Megan Salenger thumbed the ear pod on her helmet and the clear visor retracted up into its internal track. The gamin face face revealed looked puzzled. "No, sir. This is a survival suit. I was comfortable outside."
In fact, the field suit she wore, with its layer of flexible armor and numerous gadgets hidden in pockets and pouches, had its own advanced power source to keep her temperature constant. Wearing it, Megan had hiked through blizzards and skirted lava flows without distress.
The police chief of North Creek, Texas shivered at the thought of walking around outside that night, survival suit or not. The wind chill stood at five below zero. Hitting sixty and sporting a considerable paunch, Chief Winselm had become used to staying in his nice snug office. The comforting tang of coffee brewing in one corner was another nicety he appreciated. He sat down behind his desk again and gestured for his visitor to take a chair. "You've been asked to come here about the murders, but I still feel it's highly irregular."
Pulling out a plain wooden chair facing the chief, the Trom Girl unlatched her helmet and tugged it off. Her short black hair was tousled and she absently brushed it down with her gloved fingers. Megan had an likeable face with a pointed face and huge dark eyes that were always active and inquisitive.
"Yes," she replied simply. "Your mayor called our headquarters this morning and asked if we could investigate. The other members of the KDF are already on assignment. I am here to look into these deaths."
Winselm cleared his throat. "You'll forgive my saying so, but you seem awfully young to be investigating homicides, Miss. Especially by yourself."
"I am twenty-seven. I assume you have done some research on me," she said as she removed her thin leather gloves and placed them with her helmet on the empty chair next to her.
"Yessss. You do have an impressive record of success resolving unusual cases... cases that are kind of weird and bizarre. Hell, let's come right out with it, cases that border on the supernatural."
The Trom Girl did not smile. She nodded solemnly. "I'm glad to see you are open to such concepts, chief. The Kenneth Dred Foundation has worked with the NYPD and the FBI's Department 21 Black for years now. I'm certain you could find many officials who would vouch for our work."
Before Winselm could continue, a bulky form appeared in the office door which had been left ajar. A few inches over six feet tall and wide enough to fill the doorway, the man was bundled in a down-filled blue parka, with wool gloves and a ski mask pulled down past his ears. What could be seen of his face was red from exposure.
"Hi, Archie!" Megan sang out and cleared the other chair for him. "Chief Winselm, this is my partner Archie McAllister. I expected him to arrive a few minutes after I did."
"Evening, sir," said Archie. As he peeled off the hat and relaxed a bit at being indoors, the big man sighed. As always, he looked as if he needed a shave and some sleep. In the heavy-featured face, gentle blue eyes gave away his real nature.
"Yeah, I was told you guys worked as a team," the chief said. "Actually, I feel better knowing you can watch each other's backs. Anyway. There have been two murders so far and I'm afraid we can expect quite a few more. There were seven men and five women on the jury that condemned Dr Leon Brevard to death last month...."
II.
Stepping out of the police station forty minutes later, Megan and Archie wasted no time getting into the cherry red Jeep Cherokee parked next to the door. It was well past eleven and the parking lot was empty except for the chief's personal car and two black and white cruisers for the officers on duty.
Getting behind the wheel and starting the engine up, Megan placed her helmet on the seat behind her. "It is refreshing to have the authorities be helpful for once. Chief Winselm appears to genuinely welcome our assistance."
"Yeah, it's a nice change from the usual speeches we get discouraging us and insisting there has to be a nice dull prosaic explanation for all the gruesome shenanigans." Archie held his hands up by the hot air vents in the dashboard. "You know, he didn't ask why you got here before I did but we're leaving in the same vehicle."
Megan put the Jeep in gear and eased out of the parking lot onto North Creek's main street. There was no snow on the ground this final week of February, but the sudden cold snap that night was a reminder that winter was still present. "No," she said. "If he considered it at all, he probably thought I arrived in a taxi."
"Yeah. He wouldn't know that you wear that gravity shield disc on your back, or that you flew in and landed behind the station. Did you think to offer him a ride around the block?"
She gave him a mischievous grin. When alone with Archie, the Trom Girl allowed herself more relaxed facial expressions than in public. "Of course not. Archie, what reactions do you have to the murders?"
"Creepy as all get-out, if you ask me. Let me see if I got it straight. A doctor named Leon Brevard was arrested for giving his nephew Roger Brevard an injection of cyanide. The nephew's girlfriend had gone to the police all hysterical because she had overheard the two of them discussing the injection."
"You are correct." Megan slowed to a stop at a red light, peering in both directions up deserted streets. "Go on."
"All right then. Dr Brevard threw a fit when the police barged in and insisted he be left alone to perform some experiment on the corpse. He claimed he would be able to bring the guy back to life. The cops were not convinced. They determined by that fact that the body was at room temperature that the assistant had been dead for over half an hour. Lips and fingernails were blue."
"I do not blame them for concluding that the man could not be revived," Megan broke in. "CPR seldom works under the best of circumstances and it's understandable they simply arrested Brevard. After a trial which was quite a sensation in the local media, Dr Lukas was convicted of first degree murder. After several appeals that were turned down, he was executed by lethal injection on February 8th."
"You know, I thought you wanted me to tell this story...." Archie began.
"The body of Dr Brevard was claimed by his assistant, a medical student named Willoughby," Megan continued as if she had not heard. "In this state, no autopsy was required by law since a doctor had been present at time of death. Willoughby claimed he was taking the cadaver to a well-known local funeral home but in fact neither he nor the body were seen again."
"Very creepy," said Archie. "From what I read on the trip out here, two murders then occured at the end of last month. Both were members of the jury who had decided on a guilty verdict--"
"Not only that," Megan interrupted again, "But they were the foreman of the jury and the woman who had convinced several others that Brevard was guilty. If someone was seeking to avenge Brevard's death, they might be the exact two people he would blame first. A significant detail is that the deaths were caused by an injection of potassium cyanide, the same means used to kill Brevard's victim."
Unseen over in the passenger seat, Archie grinned and decided to let her tell the tale as she was obviously determined to do. "What do you think is going to happen next, hon?"
"We will stop at that diner up ahead. Neither of us have eaten since breakfast."
"No, no. I mean, the diner's fine but what about the murders?"
"I am considering possible contingencies," the Trom Girl replied with that distant tone which meant her mind was working on different trains of thought simultaneously. "Here we are. While we eat, I can tell you my tentative plan."
They left the Jeep and hustled through the chilly night into the chrome and blue enamel structure that read HARTMANN BROTHERS DINER in blinking neon letters. Inside, the air was warm and a bit moist, with only one booth holding two customers. Somewhere in the back, a radio was playing Hank Snow's "Born To Lose."
Catching the eye of the waitress behind the counter, Archie said, "We'll sit over there in the corner, okay?"
"Sure," came the blase answer. As Archie hung up his heavy parka on a metal hook next to their booth, Megan unzipped the front of her field jacket. Underneath was a black crewneck shirt of insulating material. Slim and only five feet three, she did look younger than her age to most people.
They were ready to order as soon as the menus were brought over. The two of them had begun eating breakfast food when on the run because it was prepared quickly and was light on the stomach. Archie ordered a double cheese omelet with strips of bacon while Megan decided on wheat pancakes and scrambled eggs. Orange juice for him and grapefruit juice for her completed their order.
While they waited, Megan leaned forward conspiratorily after being sure no one was within eavesdrop distance. Archie smiled affectionately. She was always so serious and so deadpan on a case that he found her expressions funny.
"Chief Winselm allowed me to read his list of jury members and other persons of interest in this case," she told him. "Of course, he would not allow us to take a copy but I memorized it."
"I thought so. I've seen you remember a page from a telephone book after a quick glance."
"Being brought up by the Trom had its effects on me," Megan said. "The members of the jury have all been alarmed after learning of the killings and we may expect them to be on guard. Several have moved away from this area temporarily. Naturally, the judge and the prosecutor are always alert to possible assassination attempts--"
Just as she spoke about assassination attempts on a judge and a prosecutor, their food arrived. Megan Salenger gave the waitress a sheepish grin but the woman gave no indication she had been listening. The two partners dug in and suddenly realized how ravenous they were.
When his plate was almost empty, Archie grunted. "Whew. Better come up for air. Anyway, honey, I was looking over your shoulder at the police station and I noticed two names that should have been on that paper. The victim's girlfriend and the doc's assistant."
"Oh, very good." The Trom Girl worked on the last scrap of her stack of pancakes. She chewed so throughly that it seemed likely she didn't really have to swallow by the time she was done. "You have a logical mind for a Human, Archie. Yes. I project a high probability that the girlfriend will be next on the killer's list."
"Huh. And where is she staying?"
"Her address as given indicates a house out on Route 44, approximately thirty-four miles west of where we are. Archie, both murders so far have taken place in the middle of the night. The first occured at two-thirty AM and the second at three-twenty AM. Even if we do not leave immediately, we will be able to start our vigil well before the murderer's preferred time."
Remembering again how bitter cold it was outside, Archie could not summon any enthusiasm for standing guard all night. "Maybe I'll have some coffee," he said.
III.
Sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep, Archie pulled out his phone and checked the time again. Only one-fifteen. He was parked fifty yards up the road, ready to start the engine and come to help if Megan sent him a text message from her Link.
The interior of the Jeep was snug and toasty enough, he had to admit, even with the motor not running. Megan had left a Trom device nestled in the cupholder nook between seats. It was a squat cylinder that blew steady heat and he had adjusted it to his liking. He had long ago given up on learning every gadget she might be carrying in her travel bag. Not only were there dozens of the little gizmos and she varied them according to circumstances, but Megan frequently crafted new ones she thought might be useful.
Right now, his favorite had to be this tiny heater that warmed the interior of a vehicle while remaining cool to the touch itself. He certainly could have used it while camping out on his road trips years earlier.
The single-story house with the slate roof was dark except for a vague nightlight in what was likely the bathroom window. Smoke rose from the brick chimney. Parked in the gravel driveway was a rather dingy and forlorn Ford Taurus that had seen its share of miles. When they had first arrived, Megan had quite illegally tapped in DMV records and confirmed ownership of that car was in Lydia Coutant's name.
Archie settled back to wait. He did not feel at all sleepy. There was no use his trying to spot where the Trom Girl was concealed. In her all-black outfit including helmet and gloves, she would hard to pick out on this overcast winter night even if she had been standing out in plain sight.
On the other side of the house from where Archie was parked, Megan Salenger crept silently through the murk. Her helmet's light enhancers and infra-red beam combined to enable her to see quite clearly. Tonight might be a fruitless endeavour, she realized. The murders had taken place roughly a week apart and the second one had been eight days ago. But she had no certainty that the murderer would feel compelled to follow a pattern. Revenge murderers were not like serial killers.
The beam projector was clipped to the side of her belt at her right hip, ready for use. She had chosen a neural shock cartridge set at medium. Working over the case in her mind, she was unhappy that no one in the police department seemed to have asked Dr Brevard just how he had intended to revive the victim. The subject had not been brought up at the trial, which Megan found out.
Did Brevard have some new technique or formula that he thought would revive the recently deceased? If so, why hadn't he elaborated on it during his questioning and cross-examination? Was it something so revolutionary that he hadn't wanted to reveal it? What would that matter to him after his execution?
The Trom Council who had raised her had warned Megan that she would probably never understand normal Humans. She had reluctantly come to agree. Logic could not fathom what was illogical. Lately, though, she had realized that random factor in Human thinking appealed to her. People were full of surprises.
Headlights showed in the distance and clicked off. Megan darted across the backyard and flattened up against the rear wall of the house. She twisted the right ear pod on her helmet two clicks clockwise and turned up her audio sensors. She could clearly hear two car doors being closed as quietly as possible and then two sets of footsteps on the gravel. They were men, one a bit over hundred pounds and the other thiry pounds lighter, she decided. They were trying to be stealthy but she judged they had no appropriate training.
The footsteps were slowing as they neared the side of the house to her right. That was where the window to Lydia's bedroom was located. Megan unclipped the beam projector from her belt and held it up as she swung around the corner of the house to confront the intruders. "Stop!" she snapped in what she tried to make an intimidating voice. Then she froze in position.
For once, even the Trom Girl's analytical mind slowed as she had to deal with a bizarre and unexpected sight. Standing at arm's length was a tall gaunt man wearing only slippers, thin white cotton pants and a white dress shirt unbuttoned down the front to reveal a bony chest. A long face with a lantern jaw and a bushy mustache glared at her.
Not only was the strange man exposed to the subzero wind chill, his skin was dead white... more white than any living person's could be. The irises of his eyes were not pink as in an albino's but clear. In the light enhancers of her visor, the weird man seemed to have solid white eyes.
Despite all her training and experience, this was enough to make her hesitate. In that split-second of indecision, she was lost. Stepping around from behind the all-white man was a shorter heavier form that swung up the muzzle of an assault weapon. It was a Colt AR-15 with a detachable box magazine. A thundering blast of automatic fire slammed her torso with twenty bullets within a second.
The flexible Trom armor which she wore under her field suit dispersed impact across its entire surface. It was highly effective but everything has limits. Megan doubled up and was knocked over onto her back. Blood was forced away from her lower body cavity and she blacked out.
Hearing that burst of gunfire, Archie McAllister slammed open the door of the Jeep and was running as fast as he possibly could toward the backyard. His heart was pounding. Since he didn't carry any weapons, Archie could not have said what he thought he could do against a gunman but that didn't matter. The thought that Megan might be in danger was all he cared about.
High up on the roof, a floodlight clicked on and the scene was brilliantly illuminated. For one second, the all-white man and the gunman were revealed in painful detail, then the bedroom window slammed up and two small hands extended the snout of a .45 automatic. Again the night echoed with gunfire as heavy slugs punched into the body of the white-skinned man. He crumbled as if his knees had melted and he sagged to the frozen lawn.
Archie raced through the yard, saw the gunman grab the limp body of the all-white man under both arms to drag it away. The rifle had been slung over one shoulder. Archie ignored them as he also disregarded the thought that the person inside the house might shoot again. All he could think of was Megan's safety. The big mechanic dropped to his knees and lifted her up by the shoulders.
He couldn't find any blood on her torso, which was a happy surprise until he remembered her armor. She still could have ruptured organs. The front of her field suit jacket had been shredded and hung in tatters, exposing a sheen like wet silk. The double layer of Trom armor on her body had saved her life more than once before.
Megan coughed and groaned and stirred, feebly raising her hands to paw at the air. Cradling her gently, Archie pressed the ear pod of her helmet to retract the visor. "Meg? Can you hear me? Are you conscious?"
She made an incoherent mumbling noise and tried feebly to sit up. A woman's voice yelling from the open bedroom window made Archie swing his head around.
Leaning out of the window, wearing a gold-colored bathrobe, a heavyset blonde woman pointed her 45 at him and yelled, "Don't you dare move! I reloaded. This was my deddy's gun and I know how to use it."
Careful to remain motionless, Archie called back, "We're with the police. We're investigating the recent murders. My girlfriend has been injured, please lower your weapon."
The obvious sincerity and anguish in his voice reached her. After a few seconds, she said, "Stay put. I'm coming out." The bedroom window came down with a bang.
Held up in her partner's strong arms, the Trom Girl coughed again and said, "I do not think I have any internal damage."
"Oh thank God," he said. "Listen to the way you said that. Your head is clear all right."
"I do feel awful, dear," she said. "Ow. I am going to be so sore. Am I speaking coherently?"
"More than I ever do." Archie hugged her to him and she raised one arm around his shoulders.
Wearing only the bathrobe and slippers, the blonde stomped up to them with the massive automatic in both hands. "I want to see some ID and I want to see it NOW."
Reaching into the lower front pocket of Megan's jacket, Archie took out her leather cardcase and held it open. The woman bent closer and stared at it. The New York State Private Investigator license and the Civilian Consultant Card for the NYPD both had photo IDs of Megan.
"All right," the woman said. "I suppose. Is she gonna need an ambulance?"
"No," the Trom Girl replied. "I should be able to walk now. Archie, perhaps I will need some support."
"Let's get inside," said Lydia. "I'm freezin' and that's no joke. Listen, did you either of you get a good look at that freak in the white PJs?"
"I did," Megan said as she managed to stand with Archie's help. "It seems nearly impossible but I recognized him."
"I know! I know," shouted the woman. "It was Dr Leon Brevard alive again. And I think I killed him for the second time."
IV.
They were invited into Lydia's house, where they gathered close together around a tiny round table in the kitchen. As she put the gun away in a drawer, Lydia noticed her hands were trembling visibly and she started talking.
The main reason she trusted these two strangers was that Archie was a big comforting teddy bear of a man. He listened attentively with only an occasional "And then what happened?" or "That's terrible" to prompt Lydia. The big blue eyes in the weathered face with its five o'clock shadow also had a very reassuring effect.
At twenty-nine, Lydia Coutant still lived in the house she had been renting with her boyfriend. Now that he was dead and his life insurance spent on the funeral and related expenses, she realized she would have to move out soon. Her sister had invited Lydia to stay with her and her husband for the moment.
Watching the heavyset blonde spill all her worries and problems to Archie made Megan happy. She herself had liked Archie as soon as they had met a few years earlier. Megan had never given the possibility of romance or a relationship any serious thought but she had tumbled hard for the big mechanic with the poetic soul, and they had been inseperable ever since.
Lydia was talking fast, obviously glad to find receptive ears. She detailed how she had been a childhood pal of Roger Brevard growing up in North Creek, how they had started dating in high school and had been serious enough to rent this house together and start discussing possible children. She had never liked Roger's uncle, the reclusive research scientist Dr Brevard.
"What exactly did the doctor do?" Megan broke in, speaking for the first time.
"He claimed to be a biochemist researching rare blood types," Lydia said. "Maybe. I dunno, he worked out of a garage he had made into a lab complete with all kinds of goofy electronic equipment. Roger sometimes helped him for extra cash. Here's what bothered me. Roger thought his uncle was a genius. He used to tell me that Dr Brevard would earn a Nobel Prize someday and be in the history books. I thought he was a creepy old bastard." She shoved her chair back and said, "You guys want coffee? I'm jonesin' for some."
"I'd like a cup, black," Archie was quick to say. Megan added that she would drink some as well. Normally, she avoided any stimulants including caffeine but she thought it would help the bonding between them all.
As she made instant coffee, boiling water on the gas stove, Lydia said, "I dunno why but it makes me feel better talking to you two. Before Roger died--was murdered, I should say-- all he talked about was how his uncle had developed synthetic blood. Not plasma but a complete blood substitute. Dr Brevard swore his artificial blood would cure a dozen diseases including diabetes and bad kidneys. He even told me one night that it revive someone who had died if administered soon enough."
"Oh. My. God," Archie breathed. "That's why the doc injected Roger with poison! He intended to bring him back to life with that blood substitute."
"That's why I think." Lydia brought three cups over to the table and fetched sugar and milk before sitting down again. "Of course, that was crazy talk. I figured the old man was crazy as a raccoon getting into the liquor cabinet. When I realized they were planning on trying the fake blood on my Roger, I ran to the cops in a panic."
Megan took a single sip of the coffee to be polite and put the cup down. "Lydia, Dr Brevard was executed by lethal injection at Plainsworth Prison. It's well documented. Yet you and I both saw him alive and active a few minutes ago."
"I know, I know." The blonde woman broke down without warning, deep shuddering sobs making her body shake. She hid her face in her hands. "That blood substitute! That has to be it. His assistant claimed his body and performed a transfusion and Dr Brevard came back to life."
For a long moment, no one spoke. Lydia wiped her face with the back of one hand and had to blow her nose on a napkin before she could continue. "That's what is bothering me so much. Roger could have been saved. If Dr Brevard had been allowed to finish the experiment, Roger would be alive today..."
Archie leaned over and rubbed her upper back. "You don't know that. Maybe it wouldn't have worked on him. Maybe he was type O while the doctor was type B and the synthetic only works on Bs. Maybe it depends on the poison used. There might be a hundred other facts we don't know about."
"I suppose," Lydia sniffled and wiped her nose again. "In any case, Dr Brevard has sure paid the price for what he done. My daddy's gun don't fool around, whatever I plug with it is stone dead."
Picking up her coffee cup again, the Trom Girl realized they both were staring at her. "Unless," she said a barely audible voice, "Unless another transfusion of the blood substitute brings him back again."
V.
Shortly afterwards, Megan and Archie were readying to leave. Despite the fact that they repeatedly and strongly urged Lydia to report the incidents at the house to the police, the woman refused.
"They'll think I'm crazy. They're already half convinced I'm nuts. When I tell them a friggin' zombie was outside my window and I emptied four slugs in it, they'll schedule me to talk with a nice young man in a clean white coat. No thanks."
Despite the gravity of the situation, Megan found the woman's phrases interesting. But she remained severe. "We are not going to report anything that happened here. Archie and I intend to track down Willoughby and Dr Brevard whether he is alive, dead or somewhere in between. But you may find yourself facing serious charges if you do not let the police know what you know."
"Fiddlesticks. I know my rights. If they come here asking questions and I deny knowledge of any crimes committed, why then I could be considered obstructing justice. But far as I know, I heard a possum or some varmint outside my house and I chased it away with a few shots in the air. Then I went to bed."
Picking up his down-filled coat, Archie sighed. "Well, it's up to you. Tell you what. We promise to come back here when everything is all wrapped up and fill you on the insanity."
"Sounds good." Lydia gave Archie a big full-body hug and then one for Megan, who accepted it without enthusiasm. "Just talking to you guys has been a big relief. I'm goin' back to bed. In the morning, this'll all seem far away."
Saying goodnight, Megan and Archie went back out into the freezing night. Fastening her helmet and lowering its visor, the Trom Girl crouched over the spot where Dr Brevard had been shot. Splattered on the ground was a viscous colorless goo. Megan found the sample bags inside her jacket had escaped the AR-15 attack. Using sterile plastic rods, she got as much of the gunk into the backs as possible and then placed the sealed sample bags back into their pocket.
"The blood substitute?" asked Archie.
"It seems almost certain. My love, would you mind driving? I am going to do some research?" Striding quickly through the darkness, she reached her Jeep and vaulted nimbly up into the passenger seat. Whatever soreness and bruising she had sustained from the gunfire did not hamper her.
As Archie started it up and pulled out onto the highway, he asked, "Which direction, hon?"
"Hm? Oh, back toward the village, I believe." She was scrutinizing the glowing screen of her Link, tapping buttons on its pad and scowling as if receiving dismal news. "This is difficult. I want to get into local real estate sales and property tax records."
Archie gave a scoffing noise. "Honey, does it cross your mind how many laws you break during a typical 'Trom Girl Mystery?'"
"No. Tel Shai knights serve justice, not the law. I've found something interesting here. Soon after Jacob Willoughby wrote a check for sixty-three thousand and eight hundred dollars from his life savings, the same amount was paid to a local realtor to lease a property out on Sawmill Road."
"Sounds like it might be a clue to me," Archie kept a straight face with that statement.
"Yes. Proceed in the direction we are now going. I am seeking information not available to the North Creek police. This may take a minute. I'm in FBI databanks now."
"More jail time for you, little girl, if you ever get caught pulling these tricks."
Megan shushed him. "Oh. Listen to this, Archie. Dr Brevard was employed for eleven years at the HeadStart Breakthrough Laboratory in Dallas. This facility was actually owned and run by John Grim Enterprises."
"Damn. HIM again? Dead all these years and we keep running in his henchmen and flunkies. So Brevard had plenty of up to date tech and lots of financial backing if he was working for Grim, right?".
"It makes his invention of fully synthetic blood more plausible," she said. After a minute of skipping from one screen to the next, she went on, "John Grim was a limited telepath. Did you know that, Archie?"
"Yeah. Someone mentioned it."
"He became a world class crimelord after several Trom scientists began working undercover at his facilities. He soon started developing advanced technology that he had in fact extracted from their memories. His developments like the Solar Knights and the Pentagram cyborgs were based on knowledge he stole from the Trom." A hint of resentment had edged her voice. "To be fair, he may not have realized this. His telepathy worked on a subconscious level. Grim may have thought he was an even greater genius than he was."
"Bet the Trom were still ticked off, huh?"
"That is accurate. That was knowledge not meant for Humans. We will be reaching a crossroads in three miles, dear. Turn right and head onto Sawmill Road. I estimate another eleven mile drive after that."
"Whatever you say, kid." Archie tilted his seat back, needing a lot more room than his partner. "How's your poor chest feel?"
"Tender. Sore," she answered, rubbing her upper body with one hand. "The enhanced healing factor has kicked in, so I should have no discomfort soon. I must always remember that the armor does not make me invulnerable. That man intended to kill me without knowing who I was."
"Yeah," said Archie. "I'm not going to forget that when we meet him."
VI.
When they pulled over at the bottom of the hill, Archie slapped his own forehead. "Oh come ON!" he said. "That is such a classic Mad Scientist house."
"I... don't understand," Megan Salenger said. She stared up at the four story 19th Century structure with its tower in one corner. An ornate wrought iron fence surrounded the house, with a PRIVATE PROPERTY sign on a post. The house itself was shabby and abandoned-looking with no lights in any window. A long-dead apple tree stretched out bare leafless branches and added to the general air of decay. "What do you mean?"
Archie placed a big hand on his shoulder. "Aw, it's from a hundred old movies. That's the kind of Gothic house where a Mad Scientist is conducting crazy experiments in the basement. Transplanting brains or making giant spiders, that sort of thing. You didn't grow up watching those movies, did you?"
"No. I was exposed to very little entertainment as a child." Her voice had a wistful tone that was unusual for her. "Most of your cultural references are lost on me, Archie."
"Yeah, well," Archie sighed. "You were raised to be a genius about physics and chemistry and all that, but you never went to the drive-in with your friends. Forget it. It's not important. This is the address you found for that Willoughby guy?"
"Yes." She reached in the back seat and fetched her helmet. "I want you to remain in the Jeep and stand by."
"After what happened? Forget it. I'm going with you."
"You have no armor and no weapons, my love."
"I don't care," he insisted. "You're not going to go after those creeps while I sit here worrying." He pulled his wool hat down over his ears and grumbled as he unbuckled his seat belt.
Megan smiled in the gloom. "I know better than to argue with you. Wait." She twisted around and dug in the equipment knapsack she kept in the backseat. She turned back with two metal spheres the size of cherry tomatoes and an areosol spray tube no thicker than a pencil.
"Oh, I've seen you use those. Dazzle grenades and the anesthetic gas." He accepted them as she handed them over. "When those grenades go off, everyone is deaf and blind for the rest of the day."
"Keep them in your pocket for a moment of extreme danger," she said. "I want you to hold this spray in your hand and be ready to use it. It has an effective range of six feet and a brief burst is enough to incapacitate a normal adult. Take a deep breath and hold it before discharge."
"Gotcha," Archie said. "But you be careful yourself! You took a real pounding earlier tonight."
"I will be fully alert, thank you." Megan lowered the visor on her helmet with a click.
"You know, how is it Willoughby had so much money available? He paid for this place with no loans or anything?"
"We will find out later," the Trom Girl said. "My conjecture is that Dr Brevard was high up in the John Grim organization and that he authorized his assistant to draw on funds as needed." She opened her door and freezing air rushed in.
Following her lead, Archie trotted across the road and up the bleak hill. When they reached the gate of the iron fence, he noticed the upright bars were topped with short wavy barbs. The gate was unlocked and didn't close completely in any case, so they simply went through.
Megan Salenger marched openly up to the front door of the rundown mansion. It had not been visible from the road, but a gleaming black Honda Civic was parked alongside the house. Stacked behind it were a half dozen wooden crates and packing debris. She pointed to them and nodded to Archie for silence, then circled around to the rear of the house.
The Trom Girl made some adjustments on her helmet, tapping a few flat buttons on the front crest. He had seen her do this many times. Although he wasn't sure exactly what she was checking this time, he knew that was how thw adjusted the sensors in her helmet. Probably she was looking for heat sources or electrical fields to find where anyone was.
In a low voice, she told him, "There are people in the basement. I can't find any alarms and I doubt if they will hear us approach." The Trom Girl lifted her main weapon, the beam projector, and turned its intensity up to high, then simply opened the rear door of the house and stepped into the darkness within.
Although she could see perfectly through the light enhancers, Megan reached behind her and took Archie's hand. They passed through frigid musty space, went down a short hallway and found the first speck of light on the property showing beneath a narrow door.
Creeping down narrow wooden steps with no banister, a damp stone wall to their left, Megan and Archie stepped down to blink at a brightly lit chamber which filled the basement. The air was warm and dry but reeked of ammonia. Under overhead fluorescent lamps, a man in a white smock was turning off a compressor that fed pressure to an IV machine.
All of Archie's snarky thoughts mocking ancient "B'-movies faded away as he saw a bullet-ridden corpse on a table take a deep breath and sit up.
VIII.
Under the pitiless fluorescent light, Dr Leon Brevard was a grisly spectacle. His skin and hair were white as cotton. Stripped to the waist, his bony chest and abdomen showed four gaping wounds which had not bled. As he fought upright, bracing himself with stiff arms behind him, the revenant gasped with awful gurgling noises.
Willoughby could not restrain his excitement. The small, almost dwarfish assistant was bouncing up and down. He clasped his hands in front of him. "Again! Again it worked!" he cackled. "Oxytetrachol was the needed ingredient. You live again. Death is nothing more than a revolving door for us now."
"A revolving grave...." intoned Brevard in a hollow voice. "I have passed through the revolving grave twice now. Oh, that interval of dreamless oblivion is dreadful, my friend."
"Wait, I must put dressings on your wounds," Willoughby said. "The synthetic blood will seep out if I do not."
"I do not have a pulse," Brevard observed with two fingers on a wrist. "No. None at all. The serum is not circulating, I must move around to keep it from pooling. Poor Roger. If only those imbeciles had allowed me to save him! He could be here to share our triumph..."
The assistant bustled about, taping thick gauze pads to the holes in the creature's torso. "When that bitch shot you, I was afraid. All our work would be wasted. You and Roger would have died in vain."
In another minute, Brevard looked around for his white jacket and pulled it on. "I do not feel the cold or pain, old friend. This is not fully life as it was."
"Still better than death. Every time the grave calls you, I will summon you back."
"Yes...." The all-white man examined the bandages on his body and scowled. "I wonder.. If the serum is supplying me with animation, it may not last for long. I may need more to continue functioning."
"The supply is growing short," Willoughby said. "I must purchase some plasma and begin the mixture."
Standing up, Dr Brevard moved his arms experimentally. Then, unexpectedly, he loose a burst of mirthless laughter that echoed across the basement. "But we must also continue our retribution, Willouhgby. I will have my revenge! Everyone who voted for my death will suffer terror as they wait for death to come to me."
"That will be enough of that," announced the Trom Girl. She stepped into the view with the beam projector raised and covered them both. "As a licensed PI, I place you both under arrest. Do not move. The police will be shortly to take you into custody--"
Her words were cut off. In a flash of jerky motion, the revenant had picked up the heavy table next to him and thrown it with murderous force across the room to crash into both Megan and Archie behind her.
"You do not realize what you are dealing with!" roared Dr Brevard. "I am filled with synthetic blood, purer and more potent than natural blood." With a stiff-legged gait, he shambled across the basement to effortlessly toss the table aside. Bending, he snatched up the beam projector from Megan's limp hand and glared at it.
"Some sort of weapon, I suppose. Willoughby, search them for guns or knives. I will get some ropes. These fools have questions to answer."
Lying beneath the Trom Girl, Archie shook his head. She had taken most of the impact of the table, but having her slammed into him had driven the breath from his lungs. He felt her stir and try to sit up.
Poor kid is sure taking her lumps on this case, he thought. Maybe she should work up a stiff breastplate of that Trom armor. He eased out from under her dazed form and rolled over onto his knees as the assistant reached them.
Archie raised the metal tube and released a brief burst of the odorless clear vapor. Devised by the Trom and long used by the KDF in their dart guns, the anesthetic dazed Willoughby instantly. The little man swayed and fell over onto his back with a crash as he knocked over a stool.
Across the basement lab, the undead thing that had been Leon Brevard snarled. He lurched around and took a menacing step toward them. "Forget the interrogation," he hissed. "Whatever you know will die with you."
"I've got those dazzlers," Archie whispered, but Megan placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"Dr Brevard, I take it you have heard of the Trom? Yes, I see you have. Your former boss John Grim stole many of his so-called advances from Trom scientists. The synthetic blood you are using is based on a serum that we Trom have long possessed."
"So what?"
"We do not make use of it except in short-term emergencies because it has a major defect. Yes, you are stronger than normal at the moment. You are immune to pain or fear. In your mind, you have nothing to fear."
"Death is an open door to me," Brevard said as he began stalking toward them.
"Nothing is that simple," the Trom Girl told him without triumph. "Without a heartbeat, we must keep our subjects hooked up to a circulator. Otherwise, the serum collects by gravity and fails to work after a few hours. Considering the damage you took from those bullets, I think you only have a minute or so of reanimation left."
"No. You're lying!"
"I never lie," she said.
The revenant took three more stumbling steps, doubled up and sagged slowly down. His face hit the floor with a thud that showed he had made no effort to cushion it.
"Dead again," Archie announced. "Third and final time, I hope."
Megan walked over and examined the cadaver. She rose and wiped her hands unconsciously on her field suit pants. "Yes. There is much to do, Archie. We must confiscate the supply of the serum kept here and any notes we can find. Some of this equipment must also be taken. We will conceal it in my Jeep." She frowned and looked back at Brevard. "That body must be taken and destroyed so no one can analyze the serum in it."
"What about this bird?" Archie said as he nudged the unconscious Willoughby with a toe.
"He will be unconscious for more than an hour. Let him tell whatever story he will. The police will not believe him. I will strongly recommend he take whatever funds John Grim still supplies and that he move far away to live in anonymity."
Megan began unfastening clear IV bags of the blood substitute and gathering them into a pile. "Perhaps you drive the Jeep up to the door to expedite this?"
"Yeah, good idea." Archie stood over the all-white body. "You know, honey, sometimes I wonder something. Why don't your Trom share discoveries like this? Why don't hospitals all have synthetic blood on hand?"
She paused with a thick notebook in her hands. "That is not my decision. I am not sure I agree with Trom policy, but our Council believes in letting Humans advance at their own rate. The Trom believe it would cause great harm if people received advanced technology before they are ready to deal with it."
Heading for the door, Archie shook his head "I guess. It sure sounds like that old chestnut. You know, 'there are things we are not meant to meddle with.' For now, at least."
1/20/2018