A sharp knock. Once. Twice. “Enter,” Oscar said. The door opened.
“You asked to see me, sir.” Oscar beckoned his visitor to the desk, then ran his hands along the dark granite. He tapped a finger, nails clicking against the cold stone.
“What is the status? Have you found him?” Piercing blue eyes looked at Dom.
Silence.
Dom shifted his look from the carpet to Oscar but remained standing. A trickle of sweat formed at the back of his neck.
“Dom,” Oscar said, taking off his sunglasses and laying them on the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sucked in his breath, and exhaled. “I asked you a question. I don’t like to wait.”
“We are making inroads.”
Oscar held up a hand. “You haven’t found him.”
Dom shook his head, hung it briefly, straightened his shoulders and looked his boss in the eye.
“No, sir. We have not.”
Oscar stopped his tapping and gripped the edge of the desk. His knuckles went white. He released the desk and bared his teeth. “I see,” he said, touching steepled fingers to his lips, then turned to the window.
Dom glanced at himself in the mirror over the wet bar, beads of sweat glistened in the sunlight. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and had just returned it to his side, when Oscar turned back around.
“Okay. Strategy session. And you can tell me what you have been doing.” He stood up and trailing his fingers along the thin bar that ran the length of the room from the windowsill, walked to the wet bar by the door. He reached for a bottle and held it up. “Drink? It’s top shelf.”
Dom licked his lips. “Of course, sir. Thank you.”
Oscar poured and they clinked glasses in toast.
“What are we toasting?” Dom asked.
A long pause. Dom’s hand shook slightly.
“To the peace of reclusiveness,” answered Oscar. No sigh. No mumbled apologies. Oscar held the glass with both hands, twisting it one way, then another. At last, he returned it to the table, and spoke into his glass. “What do you know of dreams, Dom?”
Dom shrugged. “Never thought much about it.” He took a swig of bourbon from his glass. “Why?” Another sip. And another. And another. Tongue between his teeth, Dom hissed. The ice rattled against itself, and he drained the glass. “To recluth-ev-tee!” Dom shouted, waving his empty glass, his face red and his smile wide.
“I’ll show you.”
“Show me what?”
“I’ll show you why,” Oscar said as he walked toward an unlit fireplace. He stopped a few feet to the right of it. “I’ll show you why I asked the question and the what will come to you.” They stood in front of a large dark painting. In it, three men surrounded another. A woman stood to the man’s right, while one of the three held him, his face obscured. The man being held had his hand out, reaching toward someone. Anyone.
Oscar’s hand found purchase just to the right of the painting and pressed. Dom’s jaw dropped as the wall separated into four. Two disappeared into the wall on each side, one into the floor, and one into the ceiling. “Come.” He took Dom’s arm without looking at him, and pulled him through the opening.
Dark rock walls belied the steel tables incongruous in the darkness. Machines. Computers. Wires everywhere, but neatly wrapped. Nothing tangled. In the center of it all, a long glass and steel tube. Knobs. Buttons. More wires fed through the tube and a crack in the glass. The glass split into two when Oscar punched in a few numbers on the keypad.
“What is this place?”
“This is where dreams are made.” Oscar indicated the machine. The glow of the machines made his face a ghastly mass of shadows. “Get in.”
“What?”
“Get. In.” Oscar shoved Dom forward. “Now. You will help me test my machine, and after, we may talk more about your mission. And how you can do better.”
Dom went to the machine, put his hands on the contraption, and turned back to his boss. Wide-eyed, he opened his mouth to speak. No sound escaped. He half turned back toward the machine and winced as Oscar’s voice came at him in the darkness.
“Tell me when you’re inside and we’ll begin,” Oscar said, adjusting his shades, he leaned with both hands on the pommel of his cane, and listened. “I’ll know if you’re lying. I know the sound of your step.” He rapped his cane on the floor twice, flicked a switch on its hilt, and pointed the dagger at the tip at Dom. “The machine or the cane. Your choice.” Dom climbed inside.
Oscar retracted the dagger, hooked up wires to Dom’s head and chest, and closed Dom in.
He turned the dial until it clicked, then ran his hand along the machine until he found the next dial filling the tank with a white gaseous cloud and a quick prick of morphine through the intravenous tubes only visible as small holes in the machine’s body. Dom’s once pink face had paled, his chest rose and fell in great heaving gasps. Then his breathing slowed, and his eyes flickered behind their lids. Finally, the breathing was so slow, so rhythmic, he didn’t seem to be breathing at all.
The machines whirred to life and an automated voice read the stats on his subject. “Male. 6’2.” 180.”
“Commence protocol 1.7892.” Oscar’s machine began its work at his command.
***********
Oscar pressed a button on the pad on his desk. “Emma,” he said. “When is the meeting with the investors?” He swiveled in his chair, the sun bathing his face in its glow, and over his shoulder he added, “Fine. Send up the cleaners, too.”
Oscar sat at his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a picture. He ran his hands over its matte finish. “I’ll find you, JD. And her. The Alexander woman.”
****
Catch up on the story with the first three chapters.
Chapter 1 - The Silver Feather
Chapter 2 - Lucien’s Visit
Chapter 3 - Callie
©Lisa Rogers. This story has been written from my head by my hand for more years than I care to count. Completed December 2024. All Rights Reserved.
I have gone back-and-forth ad nauseum about whether or not to serialize this book and have decided to rip off the Band-Aid(tm) or plaster, if you prefer.
Disclaimer: it’s not going to be perfect, but it has been story coached, developmental, and line-edited, any typos or similar issues are mine and mine alone.